JEDDAH: Jeddah’s Corniche, early in the first week of Ramadan was remarkable not for what it had, but for what was missing. The festivities of the previous night, when families broke fast and stayed on to catch the sea breeze, has in previous years resulted in the Corniche covered with rubbish and discarded food in the following dawn’s early light.
The Al-Hamra beach had obviously received the same attention. A few people were taking advantage of the morning calm and snoozing on the sand which was clean and virtually completely litter free. Schools of small fish shimmered into the shallows and visiting birds, both waders and divers, took advantage of the free feast for a quick breakfast.
The “Purple People”, unsung heroes of the night-soil community, have worked wonders this year. At 6.30 a.m., normally an hour in Ramadan when only devoted insomniacs and photographers are awake, the Corniche was spotless. It was hard to find even a small piece of litter. Itinerant cats and unruly crows scoured the littoral for scraps with singular lack of success, often competing for tiny tid-bits that seemed hardly worth the effort of the tussle.
Even more amazing for the long-time observer of the early morning Corniche, the smart purple waste bins that stood on the sidewalk were empty, the litter-bins freshly stocked with black bags some already filling with the new days complement of litter and evidence of the paved areas having been washed.
The night-elves responsible for this, all dressed in their purple cover-alls, were at this early hour near the end of their duties. Quietly strolling the length of their overlapping and pre-determined patches of responsibility, the most they had to do in the run-down into the coming day was flick the occasional cigarette-butt into a virtually empty pan with a casual skill born of long practice. Clearly they had been at work through the night; the result was, to say the least, impressive.
All credit to them too; theirs is a job seen by many as beneath them. Imported by the thousands and paid a pitifully small wage, these people, the cleaners up of wealthier people’s waste, are the first line of defense in public health. By removing the source of food, they reduce the rat, feral cat and crow populations. This in turn reduces the likelihood of animal-borne diseases — the zoonotic diseases — that can jump from animals to humans: The plague and avian flu are but two. There are many more.
With the small income they earn from others excesses and discarded food, they in turn eat. “Nobody has ever eaten a better meal than one which he has earned with his own hands” (Sahih Bukhari).
Not everyone spurns menial work. A young Saudi in Yanbu, a very religious young man, was spotted sweeping the floor of a factory with great vim. Asked whether he minded his menial current occupation he looked confused. “Why should I mind?” he asked. “All halal work is good work.” The spirit is still alive for certain but not highly visible.
It seems that someone somewhere has finally been moved to organize a Corniche cleaning crew who continue that young man’s contribution to public health and the comfort of their employers and thousands more. Well done indeed; that’s one half of the equation. It makes a deal of difference to strollers, early morning visitors and community health to have a clean public area in which to sit and enjoy the sea or take a quick nap.
Now let’s address the other half of the equation; perhaps it might be better if the litter never arrived in the first place? Can we see a ‘take your litter home’ campaign or at least a ‘put your litter in the bin’ soon please? It took two generations of a ‘Keep Britain Tidy’ campaign to get the message through — traditions change slowly. But the longest journey starts with a single step — and this first step has made an impressive improvement on the environment, the journey just as to be worthwhile.
