Tuesday, December 3, 2024

Alumni

Managing Waste in New York and Globally

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“Do you really need one more seashell?” During Nell Pearson’s senior year of high school, her classmate posed this question to her.  They were visiting Assateague, a island off the coast of Maryland and Virginia known for its wild ponies and beaches, but her classmate worried about the retreat’s environmental impact. She used a seashell to symbolize tourists who took shells and other articles that didn’t belong to them, which hampered with the park’s natural decomposition processes.

This past summer Pearson designed and constructed a prototype three-bin system for composting at Plimoth Plantation in Massachusetts. The system is currently being utilized to help the museum become a zero-waste facility. Photo: Plimoth Plantation Staff

The illustration stuck with Pearson, not that she was a novice to conservation or waste management. Since a junior in high school, the New York City native has worked with several organizations that promote recycling, composting, and environmental protection. It all began with her internship at the Brooklyn Historical Society, where she learned about Brooklyn’s sewers. The project led to her joining The Billion Oysters Project the following summer. As a partner organization to Earth Matters, The Billion Oysters Project replants oysters into New York’s rivers. “Actually New York was a huge spot for oysters originally,” Pearson explains. “Oysters can naturally filter the waste generated by New York City.”

Besides her oyster-centered work, Pearson spent the same summer composting, practicing urban agriculture, and teaching New Yorkers to improve their personal waste management strategies. Peterson reflects, “It was really cool seeing and understanding waste on a larger scale. In New York you’re not really thinking about it and just put your trash on the sidewalk for someone else to pick up. ” She laughs. “I’m now the waste enforcer of my house!”

At Plimoth Plantation, Pearson collected a variety of waste to be composted, including these food scraps from the museum’s kitchen. Photo: Plimoth Plantation Staff

This past summer Pearson applied the skills she learned to an original project. At Plimouth Plantation in Plymouth, Massachusetts, Pearson initiated a composting prototype for its horticultural department. After contacting the museum’s gardens, kitchen, and offices, she collected scraps for composting. “Looking towards the future, I think the museum can become a leader among neighboring institutions to live more sustainably,” Pearson states.

As Pearson completes her semester in Durban, South Africa, she looks forward to pursuing waste management research in a new context. After observing plenty of waste along the roadside and few collection bins, she knows the area has potential. “I think it’s really important to not only be aware of the problems in my community but also what’s going on at a global scale.”

Cato Manor from the Outside-In

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Some of its houses are meager in size, tin-roofed dwellings that seem claustrophobic to the outside eye. Other homes look more sophisticated  – orange, yellow, and tan mud structures, accentuated by tall gates with barbed wire and sharp glass on top. Here you might at one moment catch the infectious scent of meat grilling, but soon after sniff a strange mixture of smoke and decomposing refuse. This is Cato Manor.

Cato Manor is located 7 kilometers from Durban’s city centre. Although Indian gardeners originally settled there, it has since been dominated the black working class. Photo: Aaliyah Wells-Samci

The homes of this Durban suburb may not be imposing, but its people present a striking contrast. In the early hours of morning, black African women bustle on the sidewalks on their way to work, their dresses well-ironed, their hair impeccably arranged, and thick handbags giving off a final stylish touch. “Sawubona!” they greet each other as they go their separate ways. Now and then uniform-clad children run to the sidewalk, their small backpacks hanging around their shoulders, as some carry a couple of rands for the mini-bus taxi. Men rise early too, some beginning their daily Taxify and Uber rounds, while others descend the streets to the city on foot, their meager clothing in sharp contrast to their female counterparts.   

Outsiders are wary of Cato Manor, with its reputation as a dangerous place, but with the sunrise, danger is not yet on the horizon. Come evening the suburb becomes a different place. The distant city lights, combined with glow from street and home lamps, prevent total darkness from engulfing the area, illuminating men and women who walk alone or isolated groups of young men venturing into the unknown. At the nightlife heart of Cato Manor, Mojo’s Car Wash hosts a DJ and serves cheap shisanyama, pap, and drinks through the wee hours of night. Young people sit, chat, and occasionally get up to dance to old-school western beats.

Although Cato Manor’s informal settlements have scared many upperclass South Africans from the area, the settlements’ residents go to the city everyday for work. Photo: Kate Irwin

Come Sunday morning, Cato Manor transforms again. Neighbours are to be found greeting each other, this time as they make their way to church. The work outfits of the week are replaced by lavish, colorful dresses and heels, ironed suits and polished dress shoes. Those from the poorest of homes mingle freely with those from the most sophisticated homes as they all praise the same God together. This is Cato Manor.

 

How the Sun Rises

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By Corey D. Smith

The sun sets in beautiful rays of reds, blues and yellows. In the distance the cars pass on the highway. Tail lights bright red, the headlights showing white. It is evening and from atop the hill at my Cato manor homestay, peace abounds.

As the crickets begin to chirp, the other animals—the likes of dogs, monkeys, chickens and goats—retreat to their resting places, only to be heard again in the morning, making way for the moonlight. Rest arrives, starlight blankets the sky.

When the doors open and shut and conversations start , you know it is time for the daily hustle and bustle. Instantly the township bursts into life. I get up, take a bite of breakfast and relax with Abongile, my homestay niece, who enjoys cartoons. They envelop me as she practices her English.

Half past seven. I head to the bus stop: immediately the honking of minibus taxis alarms me. Confused, I look down the wrong side of the street.

“Sawubona.” “Howszit.” “Awe.” “Sharp.” All said as you walk by. It is a community of love you are introduced to, all as I leave for school. These interactions continue as I make my way to the main road. I can only imagine what the day will bring for the community of Blinkbonnie.

The afternoon brings new energy as we head back into Blinkbonnie. Men and women are returning from work as the children return from school. Everyone’s tired from a busy day and ready to unwind.

Laughter fills the air, mixed with music, the aroma of food—ujeqe kanye noshukela ubhontshisi, or maybe chicken and rice—and conversation. Kids play kickball to pass the time, mothers chat with friends, fathers recline in their favorite chair, Soon, everyone will be called for dinner.

“Dinner is ready,” my host moms says in Zulu. We wash our hands, plates are dished; it is time to chow and watch soapies. Everyone has their favourite; from Uzalo to Generations. This is family time. It is not a very social hour, as we each sit captivated by the latest drama between shows. Warmness is still very much present.

We sit like this for an hour or so, before we feel it’s time to wind down. Soon sleep will come barging in. The credits roll, we say goodnight and prepare for the day ahead of us.

The sun rises in beautiful rays of reds, blues and yellows, in the distance the cars pass on the highway. Tail lights bright red, the headlights showing white. It is morning and from atop the hill at my Cato manor homestay, the night’s peaceful energy is preparing to burst into a new day.

7 am in Cato Manor. Photo by Corey D. Smith

A Town Within A City

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By Natalie Elliott

At the edge of my vision is the start of the township. Small shacks made of aluminum dot the landscape. If you were to walk there, your feet would kick trash at every step. These are the informal settlements. Take the first right, and you will arrive on my street, Blinkbonnie.

Waves of people walk home from work in the 5 o’clock setting sun, and school children in plaid uniforms run in between them. Small bare feet kick soccer balls in a car park to the left. On the right, a hair salon operates out of a concrete block with no windows and a gap in the wall for a doorway. Up ahead, the street steadily climbs a hill. At the top is my host family’s home.

Turn left into the car park you find there, and walk back down the hill a bit. A dirt path takes you past the car full of boys playing house music. They are brothers and cousins of the people who live here. Go down past Keira’s house, my sweet twelve-year-old neighbour who loves to play with my hair and my phone. Walk past the house with Hindu statues, blasting out Indian music, and onto the house with the red car. This is where I’m standing.

Behind me, a humble home sits with its door open, but gate closed. Inside, my sister Zama watches soapies while my mama cooks dinner. The smell of carrots steaming with chilli powder and potatoes wafts through the gate, and out to where I am standing.

In front of me, tall grass with glimpses of wildflowers reveals only the roofs of houses perched on the hill below. Above these houses, a clothesline holds onto long pink nightshirts, blue polka-dot pyjama shorts and an orange beach towel.

The wind feels like a soft touch, gently wrapping my body in its arms. Winter has turned into Spring and if I look far enough, I can see the ocean. Perhaps, this is where the cool air comes from. The waves crash into sand, and from there, skyscrapers erupt from the earth. A freeway snakes in between these buildings, and cars look like ants making their way home.

Out there is the city of Durban, but right in front of me is the township of Cato Manor, my home for now.

An Outsider Inside Cato Manor

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Cato Manor can be chaotic. Houses undulate on uneven ground with rainbows of laundry drying on the line. On weekdays, dogs bark the neighborhood to sleep. On weekends, electronic music reverberates to the beat of flashing lights and honking minibus taxis filled with people. I’ve never seen them with open seats.

Before entering this Cato Manor home, dwellers must unlock the gate.

Last year, a man in the community died tragically. His family slaughters a cow and rents a tent to celebrate the anniversary.

My host sister sings all the time. Cooking hot dogs for breakfast, mopping the floor, fidgeting on her phone, there’s Sisi singing Christian gospel.  

Inside the family home, there are no closed doors. They’re seen as rude, against the Zulu tradition of an honest and transparent way of life, I am told. There’s no hiding here—especially from my Zulu mama.

Most of the time she sits on the sofa engrossed in South African soapies. She prefers to speak isiZulu so she barely speaks to me. She’s not afraid to show her frustration when I don’t finish dinner, come home late, forget to unplug the toaster. Electricity is something to save. However, I see her smile for the first time when I show her a portrait I have drawn. Then she commands, “Draw me.” After a week living on Deeside Drive, this brutal honesty isn’t offensive anymore—it’s genuine.

In Cato Manor, I can go for a run down the street and return having made five new friends. I join a soccer game on the street. A neighbour comes out to complement my sneakers.

One night there is a birthday party—a massive barbeque event. Cow (inkomo), chicken, and sausage are grilled over flaming coals until well-done and, well, burnt. I take a bite of the sausage. Coriander and clove explode on my palate. Wait, I wonder, could that be nutmeg?

I say it’s the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in South Africa so far. “That’s the only thing us black people love about Afrikaaners,” a guest says in reference to the boerewors.

Despite moments of feeling welcome, Cato Manor is not my home, however much I try to make it so. A man at a coffee shop warns me, “It isn’t safe there. Bad things happen.” One Uber driver dumps me out of the car before we reach my stop in fear of getting shot. My friend gets drugged at a combination car wash-club and we swerve through late-night traffic to save her life. Locals show their kindness in concern, coming to the silly foreigners’ aid.

This place is somewhere in between feeling safe and scared every day.

Photo of the Day: October 1, 2018

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Three soccer fans approach the illuminated Moses Mabhida Stadium situated in Durban to watch a the MTN8 Final between SuperSport United and Cape Town City. The game went into overtime with Cape Town City winning on penalities, 1-4 (captured September 29).

Photo of the Day: October 2, 2018

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After winning the chilli eating contest at the Atrium Mall in Durban, Francine Barchett (at centre) was excited to receive her own chilli hamper! To secure her win, the undergraduate had to down three jalapeño peppers and an array of chicken, prawns, and corn fritters doused in hot sauce quicker than her three other competitors. Photo: Roshan Singh
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