CHAPTER 2
The Children Who Came with the Garbage Trucks
At twelve minutes past five in the morning, Raka knew the day would be hot.
He knew from the air.
Not from the weather forecast.
Not from an app on a phone.
He didn't have a phone.
He knew from the way the smell of garbage hung low in the air.
When the morning air felt heavy and the smell of leftover food from the landfill had reached the settlement before sunrise, the day would usually be hot.
Raka opened his eyes.
The ceiling of the shack was still dark.
A drop of water fell from the corrugated metal roof and hit his cheek.
Plop.
He wiped his face.
The next drop fell not far from his ear.
Plop.
Raka looked up.
"Leaking again."
No one answered.
He turned to the side.
Jali was sleeping curled up, both arms hugging a small sack as if it were a pillow.
On the other side, Bimo slept with his back to the wall.
Sari was already awake.
The girl was sitting up, tying her hair with an elastic band that had lost its shape.
Ucup was still asleep.
His mouth was slightly open.
Raka touched his foot.
"Cup."
He didn't move.
Raka touched him again.
"Ucup."
The boy mumbled.
"It's not morning yet."
"It is."
"Liar."
"Wake up."
Ucup opened one eye.
"What time is it?"
"Twelve past five."
Ucup closed his eye again.
"It's still early."
Raka pulled off his thin blanket.
"If you get up now, we'll find good cardboard."
Ucup's eyes flew open.
"From where?"
"Don't know yet."
"What if we don't find any?"
"Then we go home."
"What if we don't have any money when we go home?"
Raka sighed.
"That's why you need to get up."
Ucup sat up.
His hair was sticking up like dry grass.
Jali suddenly spoke without opening his eyes.
"If we sold Ucup's hair, would it count as plastic or fiber?"
Ucup threw a sandal.
It hit Jali's foot.
Jali laughed.
Raka smiled too.
Their mornings always began like that.
With a leaky roof.
Empty stomachs.
And jokes that weren't always funny.
But they were enough to make the children forget for a moment that life was never truly easy.
Raka stood up.
He took the sack hanging on the wall.
The sack was old.
Its original color might have been white, but now it was mostly gray.
It had three patches.
Two tears.
And one section sewn with red thread.
Raka slung it over his shoulder.
Then he picked up a pair of sandals.
One of the straps was almost broken.
He tied it again.
Sari stood up.
"Are we taking the northern route?"
Raka nodded.
"The trucks from the housing complex come in at six."
"The same ones as yesterday?"
"No."
"Which ones?"
"The ones that usually have lots of cardboard."
Sari nodded.
She had memorized the truck schedules almost as well as Raka.
They had never learned about transportation schedules at school.
They learned them out of necessity.
If they misjudged the time, they could go home empty-handed.
If they arrived too late, someone else would have already taken the good cardboard.
If they stood too close to a truck, they could be hit.
If they took something from the wrong place, they could be chased away.
If they took something someone considered theirs, they could be accused of stealing.
That was the school they had never entered.
Garbage Mountain School.
And every day, they were its students.
They left when the sky began to change from black to deep blue.
The Bantar Mayang settlement was not truly awake yet.
Some adults had already left for work.
Some pushed carts.
Some carried sacks.
Some started up old motorcycles.
Exhaust smoke mixed with the thin mist.
In front of one house, a woman was sweeping the yard.
She saw the five children pass.
"Don't take anything from inside the fence!"
Raka stopped.
"Yes, ma'am."
They kept walking.
Jali whispered,
"Like we wanted to."
Sari glanced at him.
"Have you ever?"
"No."
"You have."
"A little."
Raka turned around.
Jali raised both hands.
"Once."
"Twice."
"Twice still counts as once repeated."
Sari laughed.
Raka shook his head.
The five children walked toward the landfill.
From a distance, Garbage Mountain began to come into view.
It wasn't a mountain in the true sense of the word.
There were no pine trees.
No white mist.
No boulders.
There was plastic.
Cardboard.
Bottles.
Leftover food.
Pieces of wood.
Broken glass.
Metal.
And everything humans had once decided they no longer needed.
The mound kept growing.
Every day.
Every hour.
Every time the trucks arrived.
Raka had once asked Ms. Laras how much garbage Mayangkara produced each day.
Ms. Laras had answered with a number too large for him to imagine.
"A whole lot."
Raka thought it was the most reasonable answer.
Because in front of Garbage Mountain, any number sounded small.
They had just reached the slope when they heard the sound of engines.
Raka stopped.
Listening.
One truck.
Then another.
"Two," he said.
Sari nodded.
"From the north?"
"The first one."
"Then we go left."
They moved quickly.
Bimo walked at the very back.
He spotted a broken television.
He stopped.
Picked it up.
Jali turned around.
"What for?"
"It can still be used."
"As a television?"
Bimo shook his head.
"Don't know yet."
Jali laughed.
"If you found a dead body, you'd probably say it could still be used."
Bimo gave him a flat look.
"Not funny."
"Exactly."
Ucup laughed the loudest.
They reached the spot before the first truck dumped its load.
Raka gave the signal.
"Don't get too close."
They spread out.
As soon as the cargo bed opened, garbage spilled out.
Cardboard.
Bottles.
Plastic.
Leftover food.
They moved quickly.
Raka picked up bottles.
Sari picked up cardboard.
Jali found a can.
Bimo searched for cables.
Ucup found something red.
"Bang!"
"What?"
"This!"
He held up a plastic toy car.
One of its wheels was missing.
Jali looked at it.
"Sell it."
Ucup hugged it.
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's good."
"It's missing a wheel."
"It can move."
Ucup set the car on the ground.
He pushed it.
The car moved crookedly.
Then it bumped into Jali's foot.
Jali looked down.
"He's right."
Ucup grinned.
"See?"
Raka smiled.
"Bring it."
Ucup put it in his sack.
Little things like that were why Ucup often got scolded.
He was too quick to keep things he thought could still be used.
A doll without hands.
A book without a cover.
A car without a wheel.
A cup without a handle.
Bimo never thought it was strange.
Maybe because he was the same way.
Around seven, the sun began to make itself felt.
Raka wiped his sweat with his sleeve.
His sack was starting to feel heavy.
He had found some copper wire.
Not bad.
Copper fetched a decent price.
He looked toward Sari.
Her sack was starting to fill up too.
"Done?"
"Not yet."
"Don't fill it too much."
"I know."
Raka smiled.
Sari always knew.
She was always counting, too.
How many bottles.
How many kilos of cardboard.
How much wire.
About how much money they would get.
Sari could remember the price of almost every kind of item.
To Raka, that ability felt like a miracle.
Sari herself never thought it was anything special.
"If you want to go to school, you have to know how to count," she said.
Raka turned to her.
"You still want to go to school?"
Sari stopped.
"Why?"
"No reason."
"I do."
"Why?"
Sari looked at the mound of garbage in front of them.
"Because I want to know about the world outside this place."
Raka didn't answer.
He wanted to know, too.
It was just that he had never dared say so.
A sudden shout rang out.
"HEY!"
All five children turned.
A security guard from the housing complex near the landfill was standing below.
He pointed at them.
"YOU!"
Jali pointed at himself.
"Me?"
"Don't pretend!"
The security guard walked closer.
"Something went missing earlier."
Raka stood up.
"What?"
"You don't need to know."
"We didn't take anything."
"They all say that."
Several adults began to watch.
Raka felt heat not only from the sun.
Sari stood beside him.
Jali fell silent.
Bimo put the cables into his sack.
Ucup moved closer to Raka.
The security guard pointed at their sacks.
"Open them."
Raka stared at him.
Then he opened his sack.
Bottles.
Cardboard.
Cans.
Cables.
A toy car missing one wheel.
There was nothing valuable.
The security guard rummaged through it.
"Nothing."
Raka said,
"Can we go?"
The security guard stared at him.
"Go."
They left.
Once they were far enough away, Jali let out a breath.
"That was lucky."
"Lucky how?"
"He didn't find Ucup's car."
Ucup glared at him.
"It's mine."
"That's why I said it was lucky."
Raka laughed.
But before they had taken ten steps, they heard barking.
A dog appeared from behind the fence.
Ucup froze.
"Bang."
Raka knew immediately.
Ucup was afraid of dogs.
"Don't run."
The dog barked again.
Louder.
Ucup grabbed Sari's hand.
"Bang Raka..."
"Don't run."
The dog moved.
Jali backed away.
"Bang."
"I know."
The dog suddenly charged.
"RUN!"
They all ran.
Their sacks swung back and forth.
Ucup cried.
Jali yelled.
Sari pulled Ucup along.
Bimo nearly fell.
Raka turned and pulled him up.
They ran past piles of garbage, down the slope, then into a narrow passage between two containers.
The dog stopped outside.
They crouched down.
Panting.
Jali laughed while clutching his chest.
"I almost died."
Sari looked at him.
"You say that every day."
"Because my life is full of challenges."
Ucup was still crying.
Raka patted his head.
"It's okay."
"I hate dogs."
"I know."
"Dogs hate me too."
"How do you know?"
"It chased me."
Jali nodded seriously.
"Makes sense."
Ucup finally laughed.
They sat there for a few minutes.
No one said anything.
Then Raka stood up.
"Let's keep going."
Jali sighed.
"We're not done yet?"
"Not yet."
"Then I protest."
"What are you protesting?"
"Why do city people have so much garbage, but we're the ones who have to do all the work?"
Raka didn't answer.
Because he didn't know the answer.
As noon approached, they went back along the eastern side of Garbage Mountain.
It was quieter there.
There weren't as many trucks as there had been that morning.
Raka walked at the front.
He saw a pile of black plastic.
Then some cardboard.
Then a bag.
Black.
Not very big.
Wedged between two garbage bags.
Raka stopped.
He pulled it out.
It was heavy.
Jali came over.
"What's inside?"
"Don't know."
"Open it."
Raka looked around.
"Not here."
Sari came closer.
"Why?"
"What if it belongs to someone?"
Bimo nodded.
"Take it to Ms. Laras."
Ucup held the bag.
"What if there's food inside?"
Jali looked at him.
"Let's hope so."
Raka put the bag into his sack.
They didn't yet know what was inside.
They didn't yet know who it belonged to.
They didn't yet know that from that second on, their lives would never truly be the same again.
They knew only one thing:
They had found a bag.
And because the five children were used to searching for things that still had value among the objects people threw away, they never imagined that this time what they had found was more than just an item.
They had found a secret.
A secret that would make adults chase them.
Make them lose their homes.
Force the city of Mayangkara to hear their voices.
And in the end, make them understand that no one's life is ever determined by the place where they were born.
Raka hoisted the sack.
"Let's go home."
They walked away from Garbage Mountain.
Behind them, a truck arrived.
A new load of garbage was dumped.
The pile shifted slowly.
Among the plastic and cardboard that had just fallen, a sheet of white paper slipped out of a bag.
The paper was wet.
Part of the writing had run.
But one line was still clearly legible:
SPECIAL WASTE — BM-07 — DO NOT OPEN.
None of the five children saw it.
Not yet.
They continued walking toward Ms. Laras's reading center.
Toward a black bag.
Toward a secret.
Toward a life they had never planned at all.