The House of Diamonds Student Center in El Guanabano, Honduras, serves people whose livelihood is found in garbage. But that doesn’t mean they’re garbage themselves.

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Squatter communities under a bridge, within a cemetery, and on top of a garbage dumpsite are a few of the places in the Philippines that create vivid memories for visiting sponsors.

Last year, Korean sponsors visited their sponsored children living near the city dumpsite of Iloilo. They climbed the mountain of rubbish to observe how the children scavenged. I heard that after their visit, most of them decided to throw away or leave behind their soiled shoes and clothes because the stench would not go away.

A few months later, it was my turn to visit the “mountain.”

At the home of Hannah and Florence, the sponsored children who would take me up the gigantic pile of rubbish, I wondered why they and their mother, Lusita, put on rubber boots, two pairs of pants, and face masks as though they were preparing to go through a gas chamber. They offered me a pair of boots and extra clothing, but I refused and said, “I’m fine.”

Today, I wonder why I didn’t take them.

I’ve been to the crummiest, smelliest and most depressing communities around the Philippines, so I thought that climbing up a pile of trash wouldn’t be any different. I have visited a similar dumpsite in Manila and gotten through it quite well. In Manila, they call it Smokey Mountain because the smell of methane never goes away.

I followed Lusita and her children as we climbed a concrete wall with a barbed wire fence on top. There is open access to this walled dumpsite through the front gate, but Lusita lives at the back side of the wall. That first step just to get to the dumpsite was not easy. Then it was time to hike up the mountain.

As I first stepped onto the squishy mountain grounds, Lusita said the trick was not to look down so I wouldn’t know what I was stepping on. I did look for a few moments and saw a dead bird, fish bones, animal waste, and other gooey stuff with flies swarming.

From all my visits to homes of sponsored children near sewers, garbage pits and slaughterhouses, I have been trained not to cover my nose or make a face lest I offend anyone. This time, however, as we climbed higher and higher, I had to cover my face. Now I know why my companions and everyone else on top of the mountain were wearing face masks.

I pulled my shirt up to my nose and tried to continue walking. I was surprised not only at the foulest smell but also to see so many people there scouring through the pile of trash and filth. They ran toward the garbage truck that just arrived. I ran along not knowing what to expect. They stood behind the truck and as it opened to spew out a new set of smelly garbage, the scavengers raced to get the biggest recyclable chunk that could be sold at the highest price.

I took photos of the commotion and focused on Lusita and the children. I noticed that Lusita sorted through the discarded pieces of rotten vegetables. She feeds her neighbor’s pigs with these, but I later learned that some scavengers eat some vegetable parts that are still “clean” and “edible.”

Despite the smelly and sorry surroundings, the scavengers still seem to be having fun — a very Filipino trait. They laughed, sang, made jokes, and passed around pieces of trash as though they were playing catch with any regular basketball.

On my jeepney ride back to my hotel, it was obvious that people were staring at me. I knew why. I smelled bad. The dumpsite is so smelly that the stench sticks on you.

Inside my hotel room I ran straight to the shower and tried to wash off the smell from my clothes. The stench filled my room. I dumped my clothes and shoes on the bathroom floor and kept the shower running through the night.

From this “mountaintop” experience, I was reminded of two things that I already know:

1. Filipinos always make a way to get by.
2. Compassion is in places like this, always ready to offer help.

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Garbage is everywhere. Two children and their mothers used to trudge over the piles, holding a hook to dig in garbage. They were here at the dump at 5 or 6 in the morning every day.

Nearly 150 children used to work at this dump in León, Nicaragua, looking for food and other necessities, helping their families’ financial situations by collecting recyclable material like plastic, glass and metal that could be sold later.

Juan Carlos and Fatima are two children from two different families who were part of that number.

Almost every day Juan Carlos’ and Fatima’s mothers collected cans, copper and plastic bottles to sell at the end of each week. On a good week they’d get $5 to $10. The children went with them when there were no classes or activities at their child development center.

At the dump they were exposed to the hot Central American sun and an unsafe and unhealthy environment, punctuated with bad smells, flies, dirt and rotten food.

“I ask the Lord to take care of me because anything can happen at the dump. This year someone was killed in a fight for trash,” says Yolanda, Fatima’s mom.

“Trucks and vehicles that come in the dump move with no precaution, especially when it’s raining the ground gets slippery, and if someone is behind the truck, they can be killed,” says Maria, Juan Carlos’ mom.

Other dangers at the dump include exposure to violence, sexual abuse or getting burned with the trash.

A child burned her feet when she stood up on trash that was burning underneath. Also, if parents are not careful when trucks are unloading garbage, children can be buried in it.

Living by the river for some years so close to the dump and working at the dump led to health problems such as skin and respiratory illnesses, undernourishment, lice and allergies.

Through the medical checkups the children receive at their child development centers, the staff identified that these two children were undernourished. Both now receive complementary food three times a month, in addition to the food they regularly receive at the center.

They have also received treatment for their skin problems.

Maria explains that before going to the dump, she used to work doing domestic work. When asked why she wouldn’t look for a job like that instead of going to the dump, she says that she makes more money going to the dump for half of the day than doing domestic work for 12 hours.

This is a sad reality; however, the center has helped Juan and Fatima see life differently by motivating them to study.

“Children have a different vision. They have other dreams like to finish a professional or technical career. No one of them wishes to continue at the dump,” says Maria Elena, the center director.

Fatima would like to be a doctor and would like to clean the dirty water in the community.

Juan Carlos wants to be a lawyer and would like to clean the streets of the community so that no one will put garbage on the street or in the wells.

“Most of the people in this community did not go to school. Those who did go only went up to second or third grade because they were a big family and not all of them could go to school, had children at an early age, or parents put them to work instead of study,” says Maria Elena.

Now, this is starting to change.

Two months ago the old dump was closed and a new one was opened where children are not allowed to work.

Adults with an assigned identification are the only ones who can go in, so parents will have to find something else for their children to do, like sending them to school or the child development center.

Instead of holding a hook to dig in the trash, the children can hold a notebook and a pencil — tools that will help them grow to be someone better, someone different.

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My husband and I first moved into our apartment because of the great view it afforded us — not of an apartment parking lot, which I have grown quite tired of — but of beautiful leafy green bushes and the Rocky Mountains.

Pitying myself for still living in an apartment, my view was my solace.

And then one morning as I was getting ready for work, I heard a big truck beeping as it backed up in front of our window. I peeked through the shades and saw the driver unload a huge green dumpster.

“That’s odd,” I thought, as he drove away.

Not long after, there was more beeping. And another big green dumpster. And then another truck pulled up, and my new green neighbors were met with a shiny new Port-o-Let. I was less than thrilled.

It seems that our little view had become operating central for the crews that were methodically painting our entire apartment complex.

Each morning, instead of gazing out at my view and enjoying the chirping of the birds and the occasional sight of a fox bounding down the ditch, I gazed down at work crews banging in and out of the Port-o-Let and whistling along to the polka music blaring from the trucks. Again, less than thrilled.

As they moved in and got comfy, they got messier and messier. Trash flung here and there, half-started painting projects, and an overflowing dumpster.

Each day, instead of gazing past it all to the Rocky Mountains, which still loomed as tall as ever, I found my eyes fixated on this blight on my view.

But then I remembered this.

These children are smiling and laughing, despite being surrounded by worse conditions.

I had developed tunnel vision, or garbage vision, only noticing each day not the incredible blessings of God around me — the trees and mountains and birds who still chirped along with the polka music — but only what was in my life that wasn’t right, that I didn’t want to be there.

God blesses me so much every day. Sometimes I see it, and other times I don’t see the blessings for the garbage. What’s your view? How do you remember the good God has given you instead of what’s still not quite right?

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