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| A sleeve of new cups |
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| Used cups headed for the “garbage” |
It starts with a little brown cup. Mildly brown, white on the inside, and not more than 2 inches tall. It’s size and disposability are reminiscent of the dixie cups we kept by the sink for tooth-brushing when I was a kid. Those cups- not that I’m excusing our wastefulness- were paper, unlike these stubbornly non-biodegradable plastic residents of every outdoor nook and cranny. Why are they all the same? Same color, same shape, same size. I’m convinced that one single cup manufacturer is attempting to conquer all of Senegal by covering every square inch with its tiny brown creations. What are they for? It’s hot in Senegal and water is important for life! It’s impractical to buy a bottle for every drink, so water is sold in giant jugs- sometimes even bags. So, in addition to purchasing water in plastic containers, one must maintain a supply of little brown cups with which to drink that water. We, our caravan of 20-something foreigners, always remembered to carry a sleeve of cups with us lest we dehydrate, get sick, and miss a moment of the touring action. One sleeve for every stop. Water for me? No thanks. I refuse the cup. One piece of plastic to leave a piece of me behind at every stop? I’ll pass. I brought my Platypus bottles and I’ll stick with them. We (privileged foreigners? humanity in general?) think nothing of the garbage-filled footprints we leave behind. Surrounded by un-compostable garbage– plastic bags floating through the air or stuck to that cow’s leg. Bathed in our own refuse, and we still think nothing of it. It’s their problem. Why is their country so dirty? How many plastic cups do you imagine 20 people go through in two and a half weeks? Where do they imagine all of those cups go?
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| Off to the island (Photo by: T.S. Burke) |
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| An intricate house on the island (Photo by: My Mom) |
Flash forward to our day of rest and relaxation. We’re swept away to a tiny island off the coast of Dakar on slender, over-packed boats to bask in the sun and swim in the clear waters of Senegal. The island is beautiful. Packed to the brim with rich people from around the globe, this island is home to amazing houses surrounded by high walls and ornamental gates. It’s peaceful and full of artisans. There is no electricity- any supply required by the house comes from solar panels. In fact, residents of the community shut down a hotel construction project on the island because the company built it too big and planned to run electricity from the mainland. No way. The message of the island is: leave it the way it is- natural is beautiful. Good for them. Given all the garbage that litters the streets of Dakar, this day away on an environmentally friendly island is a welcome retreat. Don’t look too closely though. As we step off the boats and into the water to walk ashore, I notice that the water is “clear” but not clean. And there it is. Right before my eyes. The dreaded plastic soup that plagues our oceans- usually far enough away to be “out of sight, out of mind.” (Like the Pacific Trash Vortex) It’s here at this island where people swim and pretend they don’t see it. How can they not see it? The waves of Africa have torn apart the garbage of the world– torn, but not cleaned– and it persists in the water, visible only as tiny flecks of little plastic pieces. The waves pulsed in and out against my legs, nagging at my conscience and convincing me not to return to the water while we were there.
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| Cows grazing among roadside plastic |
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So, unlike what we choose to believe- that our little plastic cups go to a proper garbage disposal center somewhere (in reality, what does that even mean? even in the US??), it all ends up here in the water. In the fish we eat from that water. I’m not naiive enough to believe that if we chose not to use plastic cups while on our journey, we would’ve fixed the problem. I do believe, however, that it’s our responsibility not to add to the problem. Senegal has a serious trash problem, due in part to political issues surrounding waste management. That doesn’t excuse our environmental footprint while traveling, which was unnecessarily large. We take for granted where garbage goes when it leaves our houses in the US- carried away to unknown (or un-cared-about) locations so it won’t bother us in our own lives (see Zygmunt Bauman’s Wasted Lives: Modernity and its Outcasts). I’m thinking of you, across-the-street-neighbor with only 3 people living in that house but 2 overflowing full-size trashcans every Thursday. Small changes by all of us will add up to a big difference.
Enough with my political/environmental rant for the day…Work to reduce the role of plastic in your life. The brunt of this wasteful existence is felt most by the world’s poorest and you can change that.
