GLESTER Martin has found independence in garbage.

For more than a decade, he has earned his living from the Retirement city dump in St James where he finds himself, most days, knee-deep in waste.

“Me cyan take too much of a boss-boss thing,” he tells the Sunday Observer, so he became a ‘sorter’, an occupation that used to be referred to as scavenging.

But, however you describe the task – this wading through other people’s refuse to identify items for recyclables, such as glass bottles, which are potential money-makers – it is one that has elevated Martin, a simple countryman, to the position of entrepreneur.

He is also skilled tractor operator and truck driver, but those are jobs he takes on a contracted basis when offered.

“Me is a operator and skilful youth, but me cyan take too much of a boss-boss ting. So me jus a gwaan do a ting fi miself now,” said Martin, who speaks only Jamaican Patois.

The English translation: “I am a skilled machinery operator, but I don’t like being bossed around, so I do my own thing.”

Martin has his regular customers who seek him out for recyclables, and he also sells stuff to companies, like local drink bottles which are bought back by the bottling plant.

His pickings at Retirement, a dump struggling to become a landfill, has enabled the 29-year-old to provide financially for his daughter and acquire personal assets.

“A jus so the life set up. The other day me all buy me car, and it all lick,” said the sorter, with some satisfaction, as if the vehicle’s involvement in an accident is itself a validation of his ownership.

“A yah so me buy it from, and a yah so mi a get it back from,” said Martin, referring to the earnings from his occupation that financed the acquisition of the car, and how he plans to fund its repair.

Work at the dump, however, is no picnic. The recyclables are coveted, and the competition for the best pickings is fierce.

There have been fights between sorters, who rush to take their pick of the garbage brought to Retirement by the truckload, but the physical danger is also compounded by exposed sharp edges from glass and rusty metal that could lead to septic cuts and injuries.

The public health danger is equally apparent as the sorters wade through rotting refuse, with no protective gear, exposing themselves to bacteria and infections.

But Martin takes it all in stride. It’s his job, one he does six days a week but on his own clock, spending nine hours at the dump per week, sometimes a little more.

But he understands the urge to compete, saying philosophically that it’s all wrapped up in an instinct to survive.

“Everybody haffi get fi dem lickle as to how dem de here,” said Marvin, a resident of the small St James district of Crichton, who speaks only Jamaican Patois.

The English translation: “Everyone has to get their share, no matter how small; that’s why they are here at the dump.”

Marvin combines his work at Retirement with his trade as a tractor and truck operator to maximise his income. His work outside the dump, however, is determined by his mood. “Me go out go work when a man call me, and when me feel a mind,” he said.

Three unidentified ‘sorters’ sift through a mound of garbage that includes corroded metal and other dangerous substances, in search of recyclable material, at the Retirement Dump in St James. The dump is the holding area for garbage from several western Jamaica parishes. (Photo: Horace Hines) 3c-retire