Before the morning sun rises, a twelve-year-old Hussein wakes up. He ties his shoes, carries a torn plastic bag, and heads toward the hill. A hill that grows no grass or trees — only the remains of what people have thrown away: bottles, wires, broken toys, and worn-out clothes.
Since his father fell ill and he had to start working, this place has become his world and his refuge.
He moves between the heavy smells and dust, searching with his small eyes for something that can be sold or used. Sometimes, with a shy smile, he says:
“The best thing here is when I find a toy that still works… I clean it and give it to my cousin.”
Near him, other children work too — they’ve built a small community of their own, helping one another.
Among them is Ahmad, who keeps himself busy singing as he sorts the garbage.
Every now and then, he lifts his head toward the sky and says: “I don’t like working here… I wish I could be like the birds flying above us.”
Despite their young age, they know that life on the hill is not a choice.
Hussein says, “What hurts isn’t the smell… it’s how people look at us, as if we chose to be here.”
Yet in his eyes, a small light still refuses to fade.
When asked about his dreams, he answers with passion:
“I dream of becoming an inventor — to make something that cleans and fixes the garbage… not just the garbage, maybe a machine that cleans the whole world.”
On the garbage hill, dreams still breathe — postponed, but alive.
Note:
This story does not glorify child labor, but tells the reality of those whom life has treated unfairly — children deprived of their childhood and forced to work just to hold on to hope.
It was born from lived experience and from the children’s own voices — built on trust and mutual respect.
