Childhoods scrapped away in search of scraps

Six-year-old Noor was sleeping on the bare ground of the Matuail landfill, nestled above a mound of old, frayed jute sacks. His frail frame, clad only in a pair of ripped shorts and an oversized pair of discarded blue shoes, lay still as flies buzzed over him. 

While most children his age were busy in school or playing in shaded yards, Noor slept among the never-ending pile of waste, with the stench of rot thick in the air.

His mother, Asiya, watched over him with a kind of quiet despair. "He's always tired because he has to work with me at this age," she said. "I gave him a piece of bread in the morning. That's all I could manage. He didn't even complain. He just lay down and slept." 

Every day in Dhaka, hundreds of children like Noor work in landfills, picking through garbage piles comprising rotting food, human waste, medical debris, and chemicals to find recyclables they can sell. These minors, some as young as five, spend hours scavenging under the open sky, exposed to toxic substances, sharp objects and unsanitary conditions. 

While Bangladesh officially prohibits child labour in hazardous environments, the reality on the ground is different. In Matuail landfill, for instance, families migrate from rural areas and settle near the dumpyard. Many bring their children to work alongside them, choosing daily income over a long-term education. 

These children face serious health hazards — infections, respiratory problems and lifelong illnesses. And deprived of education, proper nutrition and any semblance of safety, they often become trapped in a cycle of generational poverty. 

Childhood in the landfills

Ten-year-old Tia spends her days alongside her mother, sifting through waste under the scorching sun. Her hands, already calloused, dig through layers of trash in search of polythene and plastic bottles.

Her mother, Shamsun Nahar, used to live in a rented house in Shonir Akhra. Before the pandemic, Tia's father earned Tk30,000 a month. Now, partially blind in one eye, he can no longer work. 

"Before Covid-19, she was in school," said Shamsun. "But I couldn't pay the fees or buy her books anymore. What choice did I have? This is our only option now."

Tia had one request last Eid — a new dress. But even that was unaffordable. "I felt so ashamed when she saw the other kids in new clothes," Shamsun added, eyes moist beneath her scarf.

Across the landfill, children can be seen playing with broken toys they scavenged from the trash. Others eat half-rotten fruit or leftover rice wrapped in polythene, brushing off flies as they chew. 

A 100-acre-wide Petri dish

For these children, the risks are ever-present: stepping on a rusted nail, getting scratched by glass shards, falling ill from toxic fumes. Many suffer from untreated cuts, fevers and stomach issues.

Tanvir, a 14-year-old garbage collector in Gandaria, still limps from a wound he received three days prior. 

"I was stomping down trash in my van when a syringe pierced my foot," he said. He had to spend Tk300 on a tetanus shot and antibiotics — money that came out of his own pocket. "It was filled with pus. I couldn't walk. The doctor drained it, but I'm still in pain. I had to come back to work though. If I don't work, I don't eat."

Tanvir earns Tk6,000 a month — barely enough to cover food and medicine costs, let alone any long-term treatment. His employer provides only an apron. No gloves, boots or insurance.

Public health experts warn that prolonged exposure to such unsafe conditions leads to chronic respiratory issues, stunted growth, skin infections, and malnutrition. 

"Working in such environments poses both immediate and long-term health risks to children. Coming into contact with various germs from the garbage causes skin diseases. Moreover, the ammonia gas produced from it can later lead to illnesses like bronchitis and lung cancer," said Dr Tajuddin Sikdar, professor at the Department of Public Health at Jahangirnagar University.

"The lives of these children are full of suffering. Due to the necessity of earning a livelihood, they continue to work in such appalling environments, putting their health at risk. Moreover, their life expectancy is significantly reduced. Even the few years they survive are filled with various health issues, and they endure constant suffering," he added.

Addressing the possibility of restricting their access to landfills, Dr Shafiullah Siddique, the director of the Matuail Landfill Extension Project and supervising engineer at the Dhaka South City Corporation, stated, "We are actively working to reduce this issue. The number of children working in these areas has already decreased significantly compared to two to three years ago. Once the boundary wall around the Matuail Landfill is completed, we anticipate a further reduction in their presence."

Dr Shafiullah said that permanent workers receive protective gear — masks, gloves, boots, and aprons. But workers often do not wear them. "They say it's uncomfortable, they claim that these gears suffocate them," he explained.

'Dependent on trash'

"People think this garbage is useless," said Moriyum Begum, a woman who has worked in Matuail for eight years. "But this garbage helps to feed my children. It's our only way to live. Even the dogs here know us. We're all dependent on this trash."

But for children like Noor, Tia, Tanvir and the many others who roam the garbage hills of Dhaka, the future is fragile. 

With no education, no protection, and no escape in sight, they continue to grow up amidst rot, dreaming not of toys or textbooks, but of finding an oversized jacket, a scrap of food, or an unbroken bottle to sell. And their stories remain buried under the waste that sustains them.