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"The smells of life"  By Taís Martins

How I have fun seeing the garbage man pass with his usual uproar. The truck. The young men running and the whistles that echo through the street to let them know that the load is ready and they can go on to the next stop. Their green uniforms with reflective strips give a fleeting indication that it’s a dangerous and challenging activity.

The one responsible for my respect for the garbage collectors was my dear grandfather Isandi Ramalho de Oliveira (that's his name alright, who knows what obscure source my great grandfather chose it). And this old gentleman of little schooling, unattached to much religion taught me that respect for people is always a form of contact with God.

I remember clearly the end of each year in our house. What happiness! The Christmas baskets would arrive. How delicious it was to see that box full of goodies and things that we just ate on rare occasions like brazil nuts and other nuts. What happiness to see the fruitcakes, the chocolates and finally the beauty of the bottle of cider and that huge apple in the front.

I would go crazy. I knew that this would be shared in a familial way between everyone and that, as the only daughter and granddaughter, I would get my own delicious share. At another point my grandfather taught another valuable lesson. It has an effect on my heart until this day. He, the very kind and handsome gentleman with blue eyes, would proceed in the same way every December.

He would separate the ciders and one of the fruitcakes each basket, since there were three adults that would receive this, besides my grandmother and I that didn’t work in the same company. Later he bought a huge box of bonbons - the one kilo size. He bought a few more sodas and a new basket.

When the new basket was done he called my grandmother and I and said: “Here’s the deal, I’ll be at work when “the garbage man” comes. But I want that you, and anyone else that’s around, to stay alert, and when he comes whistling through the street, grab the basket and take it to the gate. When they stop in front of the house, give them the box as an end of the year present.

One always obeyed an order Grandfather in our house. After all he was the oldest. I was even curious observing this, and to a certain extent I follow unwritten rules of his until this day. Because besides the regard and affection for him there is also still the custom to respect the order of food on the table just as there’s the time to take a shower after watching the nightly series on TV.

This done my kind and wise grandfather had given his order. To finish he put some amount of money in my grandmother’s hands and in mine that big box of chocolates and said “This is for the garbage man. On ‘the day of the year’ (read New Years) we would get our basket”. I was a bit intrigued with that but I didn’t question it. After all it was Grandfather’s orders.

However, the next year, after seeing the same procedure and the same orders, I waited until he sat down “in his corner of the sofa”. I sat at his feet as was my habit and asked him a question (in these words at the time): “Grandpa, why is it that every year you give half of one of our baskets plus buy more cider and give money to Grandma and me to give to garbage man”?

He looked in my eyes and said: “Cutie Pie” (Grandparents nickname). The garbage man has to go through a lot. He works sun up to sun down with that mountain of garbage. Besides the difficult work, people don’t help and put glass and things that can cause injury in sacks and the poor guys suffer with this. And imagine what our streets would be like without them. They’d be ugly and dirty. And see how they always come whistling and singing”.

“The lads “deal” with that awful smell all day and don’t earn much. So at the end of the year, and also at Easter, we take some things the baskets and give them to them as a form of thanks to them taking care of our street and our family. Because with that bad smell our house would have ugly critters and cooties and wouldn’t be so squeaky clean”.

In that moment of my life many things went through my mind. I heard my old grandfather and tried to understand what he was saying. He never used the term “dignity for workers” much less did he know of workers rights (that at that time I never even dream existed), but spoke with respect for others and regard for the next man.

I saw through his words that there is no service that doesn’t deserve respect. And today I understand that the value of things being clean and organized was fundamental for my grandfather. A person that grew up on the farm in the countryside of the state of  Minas Gerais. In his house with a packed earth floor but always well swept and organized by his mother, as he always told my grandmother Rosa.

Cover of BLACK ANGEL III  and writter TAÍS MARTINS

We spent so many years with this instruction. We at home still separate out end of the year presents for the garbage man. Not the baskets as none of us receive them, but we buy cider, fruitcakes and sodas and we repeat the phrase as instructed: “It’s only a little but it’s for you to share with your family. Have a Happy New Year!”.

At times I laugh out of the side of my mouth when I remember this. In life everything needs a funny side. Most of my college classes are are night classes, and when I finish my day and I’m headed home I often come across the guys dressed in green with the reflective strips whistling through the street. They run and whistle as if they were listening to music.

I make a habit of pulling up along side the garbage truck and saying: “Good evening. Am I beautiful today?” Startled they don’t always reply. Then I take some money out of my wallet and say: “will it be a Coke for a snack today?” And they, though awkward to see this perfumed young woman, accept the money and return with whistles saying: “you are beautiful today..!”

There’s no doubt that my gesture is not understood by these guys with their common way of thinking and I don’t care in the slightest. The fact is, that at that moment, two things are important to me. The fact that they are ignored by people night and day, and that even if one’s smell is obtrusive, one’s dignity is the same.

Glimpsing their happiness with that soda or that joke makes their day better and makes mine closes to perfect. Because I imagine that I wouldn’t be able to take an activity that complex, and why not say, dangerous for the soul. After all, as Joazinho 30 (a well known Brazilian artist) would say: “What the people like is luxury, it’s intellectuals that like garbage”.

All during this Carnaval it never left my head. It’s garbage in garbage and also knowing luxury. I say that living well has its center in respect for ones fellow man. I make a habit of honking for the garbage man. Give a “good night”. Wave. Separate the garbage in a way not to injure the garbage men nor the paper collectors.

There are things that the decades don’t erase the soul and the heart. I still have, impregnated in my nostrils, the smell of my grandfather. Always well dressed and with his hair oiled and shiny. He didn’t go out without being all dressed up and with his shoes well shined. It was lucky that his cleanliness matched his soul because the perfume of generosity was always in his hands.

Taís Martins

Writter, MsC and Teacher.

Contact:  taisprof@hotmail.com

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