A Life Amid Garbage

“When people are desperate for jobs, they come here,” says Resa Boenard, co-founder of Seeds of Bantar Gebang, a nonprofit helping the community.

Indonesia has the largest economy in Southeast Asia; it’s also one of the region’s fastest growing economies. Its poverty rate is about half what it was 20 years ago, but the gap between the country’s rich and poor has widened and poverty remains a huge problem.

The Indonesians at Bantar Gebang typically earn from $2 to $10 a day, from the plastic, metal, wood, and electronic waste they collect. Even animal bones have value, used to make jewelry or as an ingredient in floor tiles or concrete. In some families, children as young as 5 search for usable trash alongside their parents.

The landfill opened more than 30 years ago, and residents of the surrounding district have long complained about the stench and the skin problems they suffer.

“The groundwater in the landfill area is contaminated, and they cannot use the water anymore,” says Asep Gunawan, a local official. “All of the people are upset.”

When the facility is operating at full tilt, hundreds of scavengers swarm around the heavy equipment rumbling on the mountain.

“When people are desperate for jobs, they come here,” says Resa Boenard, co-founder of Seeds of Bantar Gebang, a nonprofit helping the community.

Indonesia has the largest economy in Southeast Asia. It’s also one of the region’s fastest growing economies. Its poverty rate is about half what it was 20 years ago. Despite that, the gap between the country’s rich and poor has widened. And poverty has remained a huge problem.

The Indonesians at Bantar Gebang typically earn from $2 to $10 a day. That’s thanks to the plastic, metal, wood, and electronic waste they collect. Even animal bones have value. They’re used to make jewelry or as an ingredient in floor tiles or concrete. In some families, children as young as 5 search for usable trash alongside their parents.

The landfill opened more than 30 years ago. Residents of the surrounding district have long complained about the foul smell. They’ve also filed complaints about the skin problems they suffer.

“The groundwater in the landfill area is contaminated, and they cannot use the water anymore,” says Asep Gunawan, a local official. “All of the people are upset.”

When the facility operates at full strength, hundreds of scavengers swarm the area. They are surrounded by the heavy equipment rumbling on the mountain.

Now, the global economic slowdown caused by the coronavirus pandemic has reached even here, adding to the misery. Most recycling companies that buy waste from people who pick the trash have closed their doors, so fewer scavengers are working because they have no place to sell what they collect, says Resa.

“Since the virus has spread around the world, it has made life even harder now,” she says. “Most of them are staying at home because they cannot sell plastic anymore.”

Resa, 34, was 6 when her family moved to the area. Her parents bought a rice field, but it was eventually swallowed up by the ever-growing mountain of trash. At school, other children called her “Princess of the Dump” because her clothes smelled of the landfill. But she excelled in her studies and won a scholarship to attend a university.

She could have been one of the few to escape the landfill for a better life, but she returned to help the families there, especially the children. Now, with the economic slowdown, her organization helps feed 600 families a day.

“People don’t need masks or hand sanitizer,” she says. “People need food to feed their families.”

Although fewer are picking through the landfill, the garbage trucks keep coming. The decline in scavenging means that many items that could be recycled are instead being buried under the incoming crush. Resa hopes Jakarta residents will get the message to throw away less stuff.

“We are telling people in Jakarta, ‘Please reduce your waste,’” she says. “We can’t process it, because we can’t sell it. It just makes the mountain grow higher.”

Now, the global economic slowdown caused by the coronavirus pandemic has hit the area. It’s added to the misery. Most recycling companies that buy waste from people who pick the trash have closed their doors. In turn, fewer scavengers are working because they have no place to sell what they collect, says Resa.

“Since the virus has spread around the world, it has made life even harder now,” she says. “Most of them are staying at home because they cannot sell plastic anymore.”

Resa, 34, was 6 when her family moved to the area. Her parents bought a rice field. It was eventually swallowed up by the ever-growing mountain of trash. At school, other children called her “Princess of the Dump” because her clothes smelled of the landfill. But she excelled in school and won a scholarship to attend a university.

She could have been one of the few to escape the landfill for a better life, but she chose not to. Instead, she returned to help the families there, especially the children. Now, with the economic slowdown, her organization helps feed 600 families a day.

“People don’t need masks or hand sanitizer,” she says. “People need food to feed their families.”

Although fewer are picking through the landfill, the garbage trucks keep coming. The decline in scavenging means that many items that could be recycled are instead being buried under the incoming crush. Resa hopes Jakarta residents will get the message to throw away less stuff.

“We are telling people in Jakarta, ‘Please reduce your waste,’” she says. “We can’t process it, because we can’t sell it. It just makes the mountain grow higher.”

Richard C. Paddock covers Southeast Asia for The New York Times. Adam Dean is a photojournalist and frequent contributor.

Richard C. Paddock covers Southeast Asia for The New York Times. Adam Dean is a photojournalist and frequent contributor.