The Paper Pickers of Buenos Aires (Argentina, 2002) Now in Spanish and English Related searches:
llamadas economicas(Written October, 2002, Reedited and updated, 3/2010)
The Paper Pickers
Of Buenos Aires
(Written October, 2002, Reedited and updated English Version, 3/2010)
In English and Spanish
English Version
I arrived in Buenos Aires, Argentina four days ago and my first reaction to the paper pickers, as I call them, was 'be...ee careful' -it was the same reaction a woman on an elevator in the Hotel who had just arrived had; it was a hotel right off the main street of the city street called The '9th of-July named after the day of Argentina's independence if I recall correctly.
I liked the obelisk between the sixteen-rows of automobile street lanes that one has to cross over to get from one side to the other of this enormous wide street, the widest in the world I hear; I can see the obelisk from our hotel window mirror (later on I'll go down and visit it, as I will in the following years, or during my next two visits to Buenos Aires, in 2008 and in 2010).
My wife keeps asking me, "What are you looking at...?"
And of course, keep saying, "The obelisk honey, just the obelisk, why?"
"You know by now what it looks like," she comments. She's more practical than me, an accountant by profession, and the cutest little thing this side of the Universe, so I don't want to upset her so I just say a second time, "...the obelisk honey, that's all I'm looking at, I assure you." And the truth is, exactly that, I'm simply looking at the obelisk, not any hot chicks passing by, my wife's the jealous type, 'A' woman when it comes to that sort of thing.
When I was in St. Louis, in '98 (before I met my wife), I had gotten a room with a view looking at the 555-foot famous Arch of the Midwest, and I did the same thing, looked at the arch a dozen or so times a day, to imprint its grandness into my mind. I went to the Alamo, in Texas, and did the same thing, back in 1994, saw it five times in five days, to get its pulse. I seem to need that for some reason.
Anyhow, as I was saying, or about to say, I watched these 'Paper Pickers' for a number of days now. I could see them from our 9th story window, and of course as my wife and I would walk about outside the hotel during these evenings, they were always very busy wrapping paper and cardboard into little bundles, and placing these items into big sacks, or on top of one another, roped. They could be mistaken for bums, young ones for the most part, but I'd learn in the next two visits to this South American City, they were also Middle Aged, and one person being my age, sixty years old, with grandchildren, so he'd tell me in a video interview. But they were working, so the bum thing went out the window, they were just caught in a fractured economic crisis of the times, and they were not like their counterparts-those young folks that don't want to work for a living so they become thieves; these folks I'm talking about were hard working individuals, nothing less.
They knew I was observing them as I walked about, night after night-they had to know, it was too obvious, but they never made eye contact, caught my eye, nor paid me any attention to speak of, or for that matter, paid any folks walking by any attention. They just kept putting paper into sacks, and breaking down boxes, and then putting them onto a wheelbarrow and brought those wheelbarrows across that busy long, very wide street to the other side and down a few more streets, and down an alley, hour after hour, after hour for five hours or more between nine o'clock in the evening and two a.m., in the morning-take or give a few hours.
They were as I had said, stuffing these huge bags full of paper, and tying the cardboard boxes in tight stacks, and some paper pickers even taking apart the motors in appliances left out for the junk man to pick up, like small refrigerates from hotel rooms no longer working I would guess, and so forth, and putting them onto their carts, perhaps to strip the copper out of them later on, and sell it wherever. The old man, said he made two-hundred Pesos a week, about sixty-dollars (in 3-2010, and in 1998, my first visit to the city, the young man I talked to made less than that).
What perhaps looked the oddest to me was that: here I was in a four-star hotel, and here were these paper pickers one-hundred feet away from the hotel doing their laborious work, several of them, independently doing their work side by side, knowing one another of course. As if they had a duty station, as if they were brothers in a fraternity. Other paper pickers roamed from location to location-solo, so I suppose they all had their own preferences-that is to say, if they wanted to work in groups or independently on their own.
The streets after 10:30 p.m. appeared to be the most active time for collecting and sorting the paper, thereafter doing the bundling, stacking and tying of the cardboard and paper-consequently, most of the mountain of paper was visible to the naked eye, right to the side of the street near the four-star hotel I was in.
It was the fourth day (1998), and my Peruvian, and Spanish speaking wife and I stood by the hotel door been watching them. It was about 10:00 p.m., I started walking over to them, approaching the group, although they were stagnated several feet apart from one another, several of them busily working at their job. A few eyes started to stare at us-for the most part, because we were pert near on top of them, and then looked another way as if to avoid us, but Victor whom would speak to me in a moment, he stood a little surprised I caught his eyes and seemingly wouldn't let go. He was about twenty-two years old. As I stepped forward to greet him, he extended his hand, and I introduced myself along with my wife. He still was estranged, not knowing what my intent was, and surely knowing from my greenish-blue eyes and auburn hair, and light complexion, I was a gringo with something on my mind, with a bronze Spanish speaking wife.
"Hello," he said in a Spanish, in a kindly tone of voice, he was quite calm and serene, standing there by his cart, half filled with paper mixed with cardboard, his cart a little less filled in comparison to the full carts of the other young men.
"My partner got sick on me tonight," he told my wife, as we talked about his trade, "and so I have worked alone tonight." He commented.
I had noticed he rarely made eye contact with me when we talked, but my wife and I kind of forced Victor's hand. My wife told him, I had several questions I'd like to ask him, if he didn't mind accommodating me with the answers that is, all related to his work.
(Interlude: Eight years from this date, I'd do the same thing, a second interview, look for paper pickers, and do a movie interview this time, but this time I would select an old man by the Hotel President, a sixty-year old man, nearer my age, by the name of Luis Alberto, and he'd be kindly enough to tell me about his life in the paper picking business, and he was proud to be interviewed and put into a movie, whereas a young man I had asked prior to this second event, eight-years later, was reluctant. Anyhow back to Victor)
As Rosa, my wife, and myself stood there talking to Victor, he explained to me he worked ten-hours per day, going from hotel to hotel, to apartment building and stores, collecting paper and cardboard. Bulking it together and tying it down, then delivering it in black twenty-five-gallon bags he used for storing, where as Luis used a much larger bag seemingly made out of some kind of gunnysack material, perhaps five feet tall, and with a circumference of a small type Volkswagen.
When Victor got enough paper, and bundles and sacks filled, he'd-like the rest of his group-would bring the workload to a truck parked a few blocks away (Luis explained to me it was purchased by the government and put onto a white train, and wherever it was taken, the city only knew), the people would weigh the material at.40-cents per each kilogram [two pounds]. In a day or evening he could or would make four-dollars or so; the Argentine Pesos were very low at this time to the dollar. But he was working, which I was proud to see, not out robbing like so many during hard times.
Victor explained also that plastic was recycled, but they had to bring it to another location.
Victor's eyes were dark brown, small and round, almost as if hypnotic; a very pleasant laidback kind of person, and graceful in his manners; I'm sure his parents were proud of him, for he was working and not begging, or stealing to get a free meal, and did not blame his hardship on everyone else in the world.
His voice was steady, calm, soft. I pulled out a ten peso bill, gave it to him (Luis, eight-years down the road would get from me, seventeen pesos for his interview). He looked at me as if he was in disbelief, not sure if he should accept it or not. But my wife assured him it was for the information he provided, and therefore was and had worked for it. He looked at it a second time and took it (as did Luis take his money, but said 'It's really not necessary" but my wife insisted he should take it also, because he earned it). Some folks are just very honorable and humble, God bless them both.
As we walked away from Victor, I stopped to turn about and saw Victor one last time, he was talking to one of the two guys by him holding the bill with two hands, showing it to them, still in disbelief I would guess, or checking out to see if it was real.
In Spanish Translated by Nancy Pe??aloza
Los Recogedores
De papel de Buenos Aires
[Argentina, 2002]
Llegu?? a Buenos Aires, Argentina, hace cuatro d??as y mi primera reacci??n hacia los recogedores de papel, como los llamo, era "Cui...dado" -esta fue la misma reacci??n que tuvo una mujer en el elevador de nuestro hotel, que acababa de llegar; nuestro hotel estaba en la misma calle llamada 9 de Julio, nombrada as?? en honor al D??a de la Independencia de Argentina, si mal no recuerdo.
Me gusta el Obelisco que est?? en medio de los diecis??is carriles de autos que uno tiene que cruzar de un lado al otro de esta enorme y ancha calle, la m??s ancha del mundo escuch??; y puedo ver el obelisco por el espejo de la ventana de mi hotel (m??s adelante bajar??a para ir a verlo, como lo har??a en los siguientes a??os, o durante mis siguientes dos visitas a Buenos Aires, en el 2008 y 2010).
Mi esposa para pregunt??ndome, "Qu?? est??s mirando..."
Y por supuesto yo sigo dici??ndole "El...Obelisco querida, s??lo el obelisco. ??Por qu???"
"Para ahora ya sabes c??mo luce ??ste", ella comenta. Ella es m??s pr??ctica que yo, una contadora de profesi??n, y la cosita m??s tierna en este lado del Universo, por eso no quiero que se moleste por lo cual le digo por segunda vez, "...el obelisco querida, eso es todo lo que estoy mirando, te lo aseguro". Y la verdad es, exactamente eso, estoy simplemente mirando al obelisco, no a ninguna chica atractiva pasando por all??, mi esposa es de la clase de mujeres celosas. Una mujer A cuando se refiere a esa clase de cosas.
Cuando estuve en San Luis, en 1998 (antes de conocer a mi esposa) obtuve una habitaci??n con vista al famoso Arco de la regi??n norcentral de los Estados Unidos de 169 metros de altura, e hice lo mismo, mir?? al arco una docena de veces al d??a, para grabar su grandeza en mi mente. La misma cosa hice cuando fui al Alabama en Texas, all?? en 1994, lo vi cinco veces por d??a, para obtener su pulso. Parece que, por alguna raz??n, necesito eso.
De todos modos, como iba diciendo, o estaba por decir, mir?? a esos "recogedores de papel", por unos cuantos d??as ahora. Pod??a verlos desde mi ventana en el noveno piso, y desde luego mientras mi esposa y yo camin??bamos afuera del hotel durante esas noches, ellos estaban siempre ocupados envolviendo papeles y cartones en peque??os bultos y poni??ndolos en bolsas grandes, o uno encima del otro, amarr??ndolos. Ellos podr??an ser confundidos por vagabundos, j??venes la mayor??a de ellos, pero aprender??a en las pr??ximas dos visitas a esta ciudad sudamericana, que hab??a tambi??n gente de edad madura, y una persona de mi edad, sesenta a??os con nietos, eso ??l me dir??a en un video de entrevista. Pero ellos estaban trabajando, entonces la idea de vagabundo, qued?? descartada, ellos s??lo hab??an sido atrapados en una quebrantada crisis econ??mica de los tiempos, y ellos no eran como alguno de sus hom??logos-aquella gente joven que no quieren trabajar as?? se convierten en ladrones; esta gente de la que estoy hablando eran, nada menos, individuos muy trabajadores
Ellos sab??an que yo los observaba mientras caminaba alrededor, noche tras noche-ten??an que saberlo, era muy obvio, pero ellos nunca hicieron contacto visual, ni me prestaron atenci??n para hablar, o en realidad, nunca prestaron atenci??n a ninguna gente que pasaba. Ellos s??lo continuaban poniendo los papeles dentro de los sacos, y partiendo las cajas, y luego poni??ndolos en una carretilla que lo llevar??an a trav??s de aquella calle muy amplia y atareada cruzando hacia el otro lado, y llev??ndolo unas cuadras m??s abajo, y luego hacia un callej??n, hora tras hora, por cinco horas o m??s, entre nueve de la noche y dos de la ma??ana-m??s o menos.
Ellos estaban, como hab??a dicho, rellenando estas bolsas enormes con papel y atando las cajas de cart??n en montones apretados, y algunos recogedores de papeles incluso desarmando los motores de los electrodom??sticos dejados afuera para que los recogiera el chatarrero, como peque??as refrigeradoras del hotel que ya no funcionaban, etc. supondr??a, y poni??ndolos en su triciclo, talvez para sacar el cobre m??s adelante, y venderlo en alg??n sitio. El anciano me dijo que ganaba doscientos pesos por semana, alrededor de sesenta d??lares (esto es en Marzo del 2010, pero en 1998, mi primera visita a la ciudad, el joven del que habl?? ganaba menos que eso).
Lo que me parec??a m??s raro talvez era que, aqu?? me encontraba en un hotel de cuatro estrellas, y a unos treinta metros de ??ste estaban estos recogedores de papel haciendo dedicadamente su trabajo, muchos de ellos independientemente, trabajando uno junto al otro, conoci??ndose unos al otro por supuesto, como si ellos tuvieran una estaci??n de servicio, como si fueran hermanos en fraternidad. Otros recogedores de papeles deambulaban de un lugar a otro-solos, por eso creo que todos ellos ten??an sus propias preferencias-es decir, si ellos quer??an trabajar en grupos o independientemente por su cuenta.
Despu??s de las 10:30 de la noche, las calles parec??an ser las m??s activas para recoger y clasificar papeles, a partir de entonces hacer los paquetes, apil??ndolos y at??ndolos, la mayor parte de la monta??a de papel era visible a simple vista, justo al costado de la calle cerca al hotel cuatro estrellas en el que yo estaba.
Este era el cuarto d??a, y mi peruana esposa hispanohablante y yo estuvimos parados por la puerta del hotel mir??ndolos. Era cerca de las 10:00 de la noche, cuando comenzamos a caminar hacia ellos, acerc??ndonos al grupo, aunque ellos estaban parados a varios pies uno del otro, muchos de ellos trabajaban afanosamente en su labor. Unos cuantos ojos empezaron a mirarnos fijamente, ya que est??bamos casi encima de ellos, y luego miraron en otra direcci??n como para evitarnos, pero V??ctor quien me hablar??a en un momento permaneci?? un poco sorprendido que atraje su atenci??n y aparentemente no lo soltaba. ??l ten??a aproximadamente veintid??s a??os. Mientras caminaba hacia delante para saludarlo, ??l extendi?? su brazo, y me present?? junto con mi esposa. ??l todav??a estaba extra??ado sin saber cu??l era mi intenci??n, y seguramente sabiendo-por mis ojos azules verdoso, mis cabellos casta??o rojizo, y mi cutis claro-que yo era un gringo con algo en la mente y con una esposa bronceada e hispanohablante.
"??Hola!" ??l dijo en espa??ol, con un amable tono de voz, ??l estaba bastante calmado y sereno, parado por su triciclo, medio lleno con papeles mezclado con cartones; su triciclo, comparado con los triciclos de los otros j??venes, estaba menos lleno.
"Mi compa??ero se enferm?? esta noche", le dijo a mi esposa, mientras habl??bamos de su negocio, "por eso hoy estoy trabajando solo", ??l coment??.
Yo hab??a notado que ??l raras veces hac??a contacto visual conmigo cuando habl??bamos, pero mi esposa y yo como que obligamos a V??ctor. Mi esposa le dijo que yo ten??a varias preguntas que me gustar??a hacerle, todas relacionadas a su trabajo, si a ??l no le importaba complacerme con las respuestas.
(Intervalo: Ocho a??os despu??s, har??a lo mismo, mirar??a por los recogedores de papeles, y har??a una segunda entrevista, esta vez grabada en un video, pero esta vez escoger??a a un hombre mayor trabajando por el Hotel Presidente, un anciano de sesenta a??os de edad, casi de mi edad, con el nombre de Luis Alberto, y ??l ser??a suficientemente amable de contarme sobre su vida en el negocio de recojo de papeles, y ??l estar??a orgulloso de ser entrevistado y puesto en un video, a diferencia de un joven, al que le ped?? antes en este segundo evento, ocho a??os m??s tarde, se mostr?? reacio. De todos modos, volvamos a V??ctor)
Mientras Rosa, mi esposa, y yo estuvimos all?? hablando con V??ctor, ??l me explic?? que trabajaba diez horas al d??a, yendo de hotel a hotel, a edificios de departamentos y tiendas, recogiendo papeles y cartones, amonton??ndolos juntos, at??ndolos, y guard??ndolos en bolsas negras de 25-galones, luego entreg??ndolos; a diferencia de Luis quien usaba una bolsa mucho m??s larga, aparentemente hecha de alguna clase de material tipo yute, de talvez 1.50 metro de alto, y con una circunferencia de un peque??o Volkswagen.
Cuando V??ctor tendr??a suficiente papel, paquetes y sacos llenos, ??l-como el resto de su grupo-lo llevar??a hacia el cami??n parqueado a pocas cuadras de all?? (Luis me explic?? que el gobierno les compraba todo ese material y lo pon??a en un tren y s??lo el gobierno sab??a a d??nde lo llevaban), la gente los pesar??a y le pagar??a 0.40 centavos por cada kilogramo (2.20 libras). En un d??a o una noche ??l ganar??a cuatro d??lares aproximadamente; el cambio del peso argentino a d??lares estaba muy bajo esta vez. Pero ??l estaba trabajando, del que yo estaba orgulloso de ver, no afuera robando como muchos lo hac??an durantes tiempos dif??ciles.
V??ctor explic?? tambi??n que el pl??stico era reciclable, pero ellos ten??an que llevarlo a otra ubicaci??n.
Los ojos de V??ctor eran marrones oscuros, peque??os y redondos, casi como si hipn??ticos: una persona muy agradable, una clase de persona tranquila y relajada, y llena de gracia en sus modales; estoy seguro que sus padres estaban orgullosos de ??l, ya que ??l estaba trabajando y no pidiendo limosna, o robando para tener una comida gratis, y no le echaba la culpa a nadie en este mundo por sus penurias.
Su voz era firme, calmada, y suave. Saqu?? un billete de diez pesos y se lo di (Luis, ocho a??os despu??s, obtendr??a de mi, diecisiete pesos por su entrevista). ??l me mir?? como si estuviera incr??dulo, no seguro de aceptar o no. Pero mi esposa le asegur?? que era por la informaci??n que ??l proporcion??, y por lo tanto ??l se lo hab??a ganado. ??l mir?? por segunda vez y lo tom?? (como tambi??n Luis tom?? el dinero, pero dijo que no era necesario, pero mi esposa insisti?? que lo tomara, porque ??l tambi??n se lo hab??a ganado). Algunas personas son s??lo muy honorables y humildes, Dios los bendiga a ambos.
Mientras nos alejamos de V??ctor, me volte?? y lo mir?? por ??ltima vez, ??l estaba hablando con uno de los dos muchachos cerca de ??l, agarrando el billete con sus dos manos, mostr??ndolo a ellos, todav??a incr??dulo, supongo, o cheque??ndolo si era real.
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