What a noble trade it is to be a street sweeper. It consists of sweeping the filth we produce, making our existence less infected.
Mindless and ungrateful are those who use the word sweeper in a disparaging way, and who do not understand how extraordinary and precious the sweepers are. We would die of stench, dirt and shame without them.
In earlier times back home, (during the 50s-60s), nobody wanted to be a sweeper. Branded as camineros or camineras, they were then called Metro Aides during Mrs. Marcos’ leadership. They gather the filth randomly, breaking the bags and emptying the dust bins.
In Smokey Mountain, instead of burning it, they spill it into shallow holes where it remained to taint the air with a putrid smell of mish mash trash. They never cleaned the sewer nor swept the alleys, path ways or sidewalks. In short, these were the bad sweepers — the world’s worst sweepers.
But not Mang Segundo. He always swept the alleys, the lanes, the pathways and the side walks, he always unclogged the sewers, emptied the dust bins down to the bottom. He never broke the bag, he never lost the filth on the way, but spilled it into deep holes and burned it. He was in sum, a fine sweeper — a sweeper who practiced his trade with pride and meticulousness. Like the arbulario (folk doctor) who cures diseases, Mang Segundo could heal Smokey Mountain’s disease of poverty.
The other protection was his Bible. He employed his broom with special skill like a soldier, without wasting ammunition and without wasting a shot. He was gaunt, and awfully poor, that the only clothing he owned was a pair of broken soled shoes, a pair of pants, a jacket of multi colored patches. Yet, to soothe such poverty, he had Sepa, his wife.
He went to adult school at night, learned his lessons with ease, and from his 4’11” stature, he saw more than tall people do.
Their barangay captain met him by chance, in an old city street – saw how carefully that boy sweeps the sidewalk, only to realize he was a man. He and Mang Segundo immediately started to talk and struck up friendship. Mang Segundo told the Barangay Captain that at age 40, the only thing he was most familiar with was his broom and his Bible. With the broom, he supported six children, a wife who is expecting a seventh and an in infirm father. They could barely have three square meals a day, and they were all suffering from malnutrition.
That was when I met him, while covering the City Mayors Nutrition Program in a squatters area in Payatas. He was rich in intelligence and knew how to read and write. He told me the two kinds of malnutrition: the one of the body, which comes from not eating, and the one of the soul, which comes from not knowing. And that since both of them prevent us from growing, we need to know, as well as eat.
I asked Mang Segundo if he has ever read a book, his reply was, “Books are more expensive than meat.” But now, he understands why he is hungry even when he eats: his is not hungry for food — as that can be staved off by nutrition programs — he is actually hungry for knowing. He would like so much to know, to discover why the world turns. Why at times to the left or to the right, why some people have five or six jackets and some have only one (full of multi-colored patches), or one pair of shoes, as others have dozens.
He made me promise I will bring him a book, and I did.
But then, the eviction and relocation order had been handed down by the court and had taken place. A number of them were severely wounded as they fought with the authorities while protecting their homes for years.
And besides, what book do I bring to a man who has never read a book?
