Glimpse - Your Stories from Abroad

The woman is a cartonera, one of many Chileans who sort through trash to retrieve recyclable items. Though the jobs are self-appointed, cartoneros often follow strict schedules—corresponding to the trash collection schedule in each part of the city—and most approach their work with diligence and discipline. My host mother tells me that cartoneros usually come by our apartment complex on Tuesday nights.

The next Tuesday, I venture out to the street and meet Pepe and Vicki. Vicki is hesitant to speak with me, and especially hesitant about being photographed. She points to her partner, who is carrying a pile of recyclable paper to a worn-out Toyota pickup truck. After I explain to Pepe why I’m there, he immediately starts telling me about every aspect of his life as a cartonero. I barely have the time to grab my recorder and start recording.

Pepe and Vicki, I learn, have lived together as unmarried partners for 28 years and have been working as cartoneros for the past six months. Between trips to the local recycling center a couple of times a week, they store their gathered items on their property. Rates for cardboard run around 25 Chilean pesos (4 cents) per pound, newspapers around 20 pesos per pound, white paper 55, and aluminum 200. The couple also sells many of their found items at a ferias libres, or open markets of sorts, that take place a few times a week in different parts of Santiago. “Imagine, if you try to go work for the municipality, they’re going to pay you how much? Maybe 200,000 pesos [per month]... that's not enough!” Pepe tells me. “But sometimes we can make up to 30,000 pesos in a day!”
 

The next time I see them, Vicki is less wary. As she and Pepe sort through bags of garbage, she tells me, “You never know what you'll find. Good clothing, sometimes thrown out by a girl who didn't like the color.” Pepe adds, “Shoes... I have about 22 pairs, all brand name!" The red bag in the foreground will come home with them that evening.
 

Vicki comes across an unopened container of meat and exclaims, “Ooh... the dogs are going to eat well tonight!” Some of the stranger items they've found? Cash, gold watches and necklaces, inflatable dolls, and vibrators. In their truck they keep a bottle of chlorinated water to keep their hands clean, to a degree.

I ask about the possibility of seeing the couple’s home in Santiago’s comuna of San Bernardo. San Bernardo is in the southwest corner of the city, and after about 15 stops on three different metro lines, I exit La Cisterna station in what feels like a completely different city. The next step is to take a micro, or city bus. We pass horse-drawn wagons transporting boxes of fruit. When I disembark, I definitely attract some strange looks, and I keep my camera equipment close to me as I search for the correct street number. Once inside the gate to Pepe and Vicki’s home, I can let down my guard. I am eager to take photos and start recording more conversations, but Vicki encourages me to have some tea first. I put away the camera and am treated to the same kind of tea, bread, jam, and butter that I enjoy every day in my home comuna of Ñuñoa.

I ask Vicki and Pepe about their families, and Vicki shows off a picture of her only child. The child is from her first marriage; she and Pepe do not have any children together. “My daughter—nobody told her she had to serve in the military," Vicki tells me. "She alone said, ‘I want to serve in the military.’ ”

Vicki and Pepe often encounter misguided stereotypes held by Santiaguinos (residents of Santiago) and Chileans as a whole regarding cartoneros. In fact, I learn that Vicki studies mathematics at Universidad Arturo Prat in Santiago, where she’s received a full ride on academic merit. She also holds a commercial driver’s license, which she hopes to put to good use in the near future, since she has recently been offered a job driving a garbage truck in Santiago. “My dream is to buy myself a truck,” she says. “A light pickup truck.”

Pepe poses for a photo outside his house. Regarding his current line of work, he explains, “Cartoneros are looked down upon in Chile. The police think you’ve been a delinquent or have had problems with the justice system.” Before becoming a cartonero, Pepe worked in construction for about 20 years. He earns more as a cartonero. Though he enjoys the work, he's looking for a more stable job that doesn't require as much sacrifice. That job won't be in construction, he says, because “at my age, nobody’s going to hire me anywhere.”

The following Tuesday, I spot Pepe and Vicki's truck outside my apartment building. By now, I’m somewhat familiar with their routine, and I know that my apartment building is just one stop of many. “One gets accustomed to the work and takes on the rhythm of things,” Pepe tells me. Next stop, La Reina. The night has just begun.