Keeping Clean

I finally managed to snap a sly shot of a street cleaner. It's not what I really wanted. Rather, I keep imagining a series of portraits- up close and personal photos of the Kinshasa street cleaners. Something about their work intrigues me, only part of it being the different way they costume themselves.

Street sweeper along the curb with mask in hand

Some wear masks, some wear hats, many fashion head and face coverings by wrapping t-shirts or scarves so that only their eyes are showing. All of them wear the required neon yellow vest. And they seem to line the streets at all hours. I see them in the morning, every 10 feet or so, dotted in zigzag lines up and down the roads, some taking the inside- the most dangerous placement between the cars - and some take the outside, along the curb. They're all armed with a small push broom and steadily sweep the dirt from their section. Some make little piles, miniature pyramids of dirt, while others appear with a dustpan and scoop the dirt up.

The street cleaning continues on into the night. I've seen them out there long after dark when the hour seems ridiculous for such work. Ten-thirty, eleven o'clock at night and they are still there. Not the same people perhaps, but the job continues.

I wonder how they know when they are done...have realized in fact, that is probably not the question. It is a job that will never end, cleaning dirt from the place where dirt is born. But they sweep with concentration and gusto and I wonder why. Do they get paid? It seems hard to imagine, if the police are frequently not paid, that there could be money for this. Who knows they are there, how is this operation organized and what would happen if they stopped?

I like to imagine the streets being overtaken by immense piles of dust and dirt, so strong and so tall that cars begin to have trouble passing through until eventually, the city starts to close down. The equivalent of a snow day in the northern US. Of course, it would never happen like that, but it makes for a comic picture.  After reading this article, I understand that sweeping the streets may be a necessary strategy for keeping the drainage systems less clogged (the proposal, written in 2007, could still be describing the city streets today, though the main streets are well paved and the drainage systems cleaned out on some sort of schedule---who knows where they cart the muck off to.)

Through-the-windshield picture of a street cleaner along the median

I am also aware sometime in one of the previous regimes, a cleaning routine was began. A sense of pride and order attempted to be instilled. I can't find the details on that, nor on the joggers. Another source of curiosity for me, mostly due to what I find to be, their unique running style. The arms hang down by the sides, stiff and not really moving.  But it is a small curiosity. I remain enamored with the street cleaners and can imagine portrait after portrait alongside small stories about their lives. They are men and women, young and old, well-dressed and outfitted in rags. It is such a diverse mix of people attacking the same boring job every day and finding worth and purpose in what they do.

I suppose, in many ways, that is what attracts me most. Their perseverance. I am reminded of The Sky Sweeper, a beautiful tale about a Flower Keeper, whose job is to sweep away the fallen plum and cherry blossoms. It is a somewhat thankless job that no one seems to really appreciate until, of course, he is no longer around to do it. The blossoms pile up- much like my imagined drifts of snow dirt- making the garden paths unusable. But in his life, the flower keeper, Takeboki, was humble and happy and perfectly pleased to perform his job everyday. He found satisfaction in the clean and orderly, in the beauty of the flowers- fallen though they might be- and in knowing his purpose.

I fear I might get lost in the purposeless position of re-cleaning the same street everyday. A small square of an endless stretch of road. I would be tempted to give in to being overwhelmed and disheartened. But they carry on, day after day, stable in their commitment to keeping things clean.