The sun was out. Waves off the right side of N’Gor Island were great, and I was thoroughly enjoying being less than average at surfing when the following unpleasantness occurred:
“Hey! Hey you!” I looked away.
“HEY! HEY LOOK AT ME! I’m just floating here… juuuust floatin’.” If I ignored him maybe he would go away.
“You going to paddle away from me? I will still be here; Me and ’bout a million of my friends. And you don’t even want to know what’s coming out of the drainage ditch off the mainland into the left break!”
This was killing my surf buzz. I sighed and yanked the green plastic bag out of the water, shoving him into my wet-suit, and swam out for the next wave.
“Hahaha! Biiiiig eco-warrior you are! You know exactly what will happen to me when you take me on shore!”
Oh how I hate thee plastic bag.
“You might ‘reuse’ me and hold some other bits of your trash but you know where I’ll end up in a few days… I’ll get taken to the burn pile on the beach! When you go running some time next week you will smell my sweet, sweet plastic goodness just flying into the breeze and into your lungs! Who knows, little bits of me might fly to you on the ocean!”
Not a little depressed, I finished my surf. In-spite of his threats, I took Plastic Bag back to the house and filled him with the rest of the possibly recyclable material that the three of us have sorted out of habit.
(Credit: Erinn J Hale Photography)
Later that day I was walking through the maze-like and neatly raked paths to the dark rocky coast of N’Gor Island. Sea urchins have made or found cup holder-sized divots where they make their home. Bright red crabs scurry between them, and fish jump through the surf. Between the rocks is an abundance of sea-glass that need a few more years to be smooth. Then there are the smoldering trash fires with bits of Plastic Bag’s buddies melted on the rocks around them. There is a larger, more organic smelling trash pile as well. This one seems to produce an abundance of adorable feral kittens.
None of this trash had made me happy when I saw it my first week here, but nor had it particularly troubled me. I’m in a different country and I’m a guest. My initial futility at seeing the plastic bag floating next to my surfboard, and the apathy it fueled, troubled me. I knew exactly what was going to happen to all the bits of trash on the island and I did not like the conclusion and felt helpless about it. It was hard not to think about home and the mostly trash-free ground. Burn piles in Seattle of any kind, especially plastic, would inspire a major NIMBY (not in my back yard) response and no doubt earn a stern talking to from the SPD. Then I realized I have no idea what happens to my trash. All I know is that the garbage man comes and takes it away. I like to think he takes it to a huge garbage pile that creates kittens for the entire west coast. When I have a lot of garbage I take it down to the Transfer Station. From there, trucks take it…? I think it goes on to train….? To a large landfill…? Somewhere…? I have no idea. Its easy not to think about it when the problem is picked up at your doorstep. If I followed all my trash to its end back at at home would I be any happier with the conclusion I don’t know. I know that when it comes to my garbage I stick to the local rules and ordinances and don’t give it too much a thought beyond it. I am totally average in this. I do no more or no less than what I’m asked. This conclusion was a lot less fun than being average at surfing.
I have no epic conclusion, save that it made me want to do a little better. At the very least, I want to find out where my garbage goes at home. I know that I don’t like where my trash goes on N’Gor Island. For the short time we are here, all we can think to do is try and make a little less of it. At the same time, not a lot goes to waste here in Dakar. Objects that would be considered unusable back home are on what looks like their third and fourth lives for a variety of unintended uses. Its odd, not OSHA approved, and inspiring.
All this thought of garbage and the contradictions on N’Gor Island with an abundance of neatly swept doorways and raked sand, combined with the very public trash piles led me to the following conclusion: I believe that everyone, regardless of background, likes a clean living room. The problem is that we all have different definitions of what counts as trash and how big that living room is. Is it your actual living room? Is it your neighborhood? Your city? Does it extend to your local river or perhaps all the way to the ocean? Is trash what smells? Is it what you can see? Is it what’s in the air or water that you cannot? When it comes to taking care of our environment, our debates are not whether or not we should take care of it, but on how we define it and the things that affect it.
I’m not sure what the answer is but I think its worth a conversation… with yourself, with your friends, family, neighbors… maybe perhaps a plastic bag?