The Return of the Crunchy-Granola-Dirty-Hippie

At home, I knew it was Saturday when I heard my father collecting the house’s trash bags to take to the dump. In Providence, the sound of the garbage truck woke me early each Tuesday morning. In Pittsburgh, when I found myself vaulting over trash bags on my morning run, I knew it must be Thursday—South Side’s garbage day.

In Jamaica, there are no such cues. Rather, the smell of burning trash and the sight of gray smoke spirals is a perpetual occurrence. These trash fires, seen in developing countries over the world, are a symbol of systemic poverty. There is no sanitation in Mount Friendship—or Devon Pen—or King Weston—or Tom’s River. The poor dump their rubbish into a gully and then set fire to it. The smells are terrible, the charred remnants are ugly, and the released fumes are toxic. But for the forgotten people in the hills, there is no alternative.

I was all about the Earth in college. Friends dubbed me the "crunchy-granola-dirty-hippie." I separated cans and bottles and ranted about going green. I ate organic and had a brief stint at an organic co-operative farm. I even wore a grubby “reduce, reuse, recycle” t-shirt that made my roommates Mandee, Nicole, and Sarah plot my death.

I quickly realized, however, that Jamaica is not particularly “eco-friendly.” (Much to the dismay of my crunchy-granola side.) It was not until we stumbled upon some Peace Corps Sanitation Volunteers that we realized we had options.

Bill and Gail, our newest set of Peace Corps friends, told us about a partnership they had developed with local government officials—if they could get the people in the poor mountain areas to recycle, a company would come collect these recycled materials. They invited us to join them, provided us with the recycling canisters and the rules, and told us to give it a try.

We, the Passionist Volunteers, decided to start small—we planned to start in each of our schools. As with any service or justice initiative, one must begin with education. The four of us designed a curriculum based on children’s books about pollution and on protecting the Earth. I, naturally, turned to the Doctor.

The Lorax is a Dr. Seuss classic that features a forest of Truffala Trees and an evil gremlin named the Once-Ler who chops them all down and pollutes a fragile ecosystem. The character of the Lorax speaks for the trees and urges the greedy Once-Ler not to pollute. I decided that the short, mustached and adorable (and so very eco-conscious) Lorax would be the perfect person to remind children to protect their world.

I presented my curriculum to the staff of Mount Friendship’s school and it was surprisingly met with enthusiasm. We planned to start by recycling plastic: plastic bags, bottles, bottle caps—everything plastic. The staff gave me their full support and encouragement and agreed to help me with the project.

We kicked off the initiative on April 1st and my dirty-hippie side, a side that had lain dormant for months, was unleashed. I brought up the barrel, posters explaining recycling, a hand-painted sign where the Lorax reminds us to recycle, and a handful of worksheets. I read each grade the story of the Lorax, gave them their own Loraxes to color, and talked about what their job will be over the course of the next month. They are to put any plastics they see into the bin and the best recyclers will get prizes each week.

This is an experiment. As volunteers, our hopes are modest: we know we work in areas that are destitute. The people with whom we work are not particularly concerned about saving the Earth—their worries focus on feeding their children and keeping a roof over their heads. But we hope that this project will give them dignity—a chance to escape the toxins of the plastics and a place to put their garbage. Volunteer work is all about sustainability: Can your project survive? How will it last if you abandon it? We are not yet sure that this project is sustainable. We are giving it until Earth Day: April 22. It is then that the schools will tell us if this is something they want to continue on their own terms.

I can’t give Mount Friendship a garbage collection day. I can’t even give them my recycling t-shirt (sorry, girls). All I can offer them is an alternative to their current method. Will it work? I don’t know—but I’ll keep you posted.