The people who stay awake on the streets

Youth fades away with the sound of the broom at night.

By chance, when I stopped by the roadside late that night to chat with the diligent street cleaner sweeping Le Hong Phong Street, I recognized Tuyet when she removed her sweat-soaked mask. Ms. Nguyen Thi Tuyet had briefly appeared in my article six years ago. And for the past six years, she has continued doing this job, on this very street. She impressed me, both because of the thoughts about street sweeping that I quoted above, and also because she is a woman from the North who married into a family in Vinh.

Tuyết is from Hai Duong province. She met her husband while they were both working in the rubber plantations of the Central Highlands. The hardships and distance led them to decide to return to their hometown (for Tuyết, it was her husband's hometown) in Dong Vinh ward, Vinh city. She felt very fortunate; after a period of doing odd jobs at the market, she got a job as a street cleaner (more accurately, an environmental worker) at the Nghe An Urban Environment Company Limited (now Nghe An Urban Joint Stock Company). That was good fortune, but it also brought many tears. Because it wasn't easy with a job that involved working late into the night. 26 working days a month meant only 4 dinners a month with her family, 4 evenings spent talking to her children and watching them sleep. On other days, she would leave home around 5:30 PM to start work at 6 PM on her assigned route, having quickly eaten a bowl of rice or a quick sandwich beforehand. And they returned after midnight, when everyone, in every house, had fallen asleep.

The hardest time is during Tet (Lunar New Year). Like many of her colleagues, she always celebrates New Year's Eve on the streets. While everyone else is warmly gathered together in their families during this sacred moment, somewhere on a street corner, packages of traditional cakes are being opened, New Year's greetings are exchanged, radiant smiles light up from behind the removed face masks, and the broom falls silent, lying abandoned on the sidewalk.

“But some people burst into tears, especially many young people, those who are new to the job,” Ms. Tuyet recalled memories of New Year's Eve on the streets, then added, “Many young women working as street cleaners find it difficult to get married. Because few people understand, sympathize with, or share the burden of a wife and mother who works all night. The saying that youth is wasted with the sound of the broom at night is true. Perhaps that’s why marrying someone in the same profession is considered fortunate. In our company, there are love stories that blossomed on the streets at night like that, a girl from the sweeping team married a guy from the parking lot. The love of street cleaners is not flowery, just quiet and silent sharing.”

Simple happiness every morning

When I asked Tuyet about her most memorable experience in her job, she added that, for her, it wasn't New Year's Eve, but her first day on the job that she remembered most. That time, she received the broom, the cart, the protective gear, and began her first sweeps. She realized how wide the sidewalks were, how long the nights were, and how vast and frightening the space was. As she was using all her strength to push the garbage cart, a voice called out, "Hey, garbage!" and right behind her, a plastic bag fell, scattering garbage everywhere. "Was it humiliating? It was very humiliating, but I still don't understand why people don't call out, 'Excuse me, ma'am,' but instead call out, 'Garbage!'"

And then, after more than 7 years on those deserted streets at night, she, like Hoa, Luu, Gai, Hieu, Giang… has become accustomed to the indifference, carelessness, and sometimes even contempt of many people. The hurt from thoughtless words and actions, coupled with the dangers and occupational diseases lurking around them, has caused many to abandon the profession or lose their love for it. But Tuyet and many other workers among the hundreds on the streets each night have admitted that they also love their job. "Loving my job sweeping the streets and pushing garbage carts – it sounds illogical, doesn't it? But it's true. It's not just because it's my livelihood; it's become a habit, it gives me feelings about life that only those who stay awake on the streets at night can experience. Besides, if I didn't love my job, how could I do it well, how could I receive such rewards? You'll be the happiest person if you walk down this bright morning street and realize that it's all thanks to your diligent sweeping the night before."

Tuyết also told me about the times she encountered drug addicts who harassed her late at night, about last year when a drunk driver hit her with his car and she had to be hospitalized, about the risk of developing scoliosis from pushing the cart, and even the constant risk of allergies… But none of that discouraged her as much as returning home each night to the quiet house, with only the dim light from the bedroom, and seeing her children sleeping soundly in their father's or grandparents' arms, murmuring "Mom" in their sleep, which brought tears to her eyes. "But I'm not the only one," she said, adding that there are over 300 people doing the same job as her on the streets, including 13 night shifts with 26 garbage truck drivers, working on 9 routes, collecting hundreds of tons of garbage from hundreds of large sites every day.

Tuyết told me that since our last meeting, she's had another child. So now she has three daughters. Her eldest is in 11th grade this year, the second is in 6th grade, and the youngest is only two and a half years old. "Six years, so much has changed, only my salary hasn't, it's still around 4 million dong," Tuyết said with a smile. I couldn't understand how she could be so radiant and cheerful when talking about her hardships. I believe her love for her profession is genuine, and it has endured through the years of her life…

Also on that late-night street, I met Cao Sy Thien (33 years old), from Hung Nguyen, who works in the trucking team (working shifts from around 7:20 PM to 2 or 3 AM), and Ngo Tri Hung (22 years old), from Nghi Loc, who works shifts until 1 or 2 AM. When I asked Hung if he had a girlfriend, he laughed: "I wonder if any girl would be willing to love a 'street worker' who always smells like me." He said that jokingly, but for Hung, "everyone has their own job in society. I and the other workers here are doing a job that brings beauty to this city, and we feel happy and secretly proud of ourselves." Only then did I understand why some sanitation workers have remained loyal to this job for 10, even more than 20 years of their lives.

I walked slowly down the street that day, trying to experience, like Tuyet, like Hung, like Thien… the “nightlife” of Vinh city. A place where, in the bright daylight, people, the streets, and the trees seemed to have donned a different kind of light on their faces and souls. I counted how many people had chosen the sidewalks to make a living: the late-night vendors selling sticky rice, rice noodles, and pho with their wrinkled, sleepy faces. The old man in his worn-out army uniform sitting and smoking his pipe with a tattered inner tube propped up against a fire hydrant on Tran Phu Street. He had also chosen this street corner to repair bicycle tires for years. The migrant street vendors, huddled under their mosquito nets on the sidewalks seeking a place to sleep. The street singers and bread sellers also clattered their feet rhythmically on the late-night streets… Ah, it turns out, there is a rhythm of life under the yellowish streetlights, and for people like Tuyet, like Thien, like Hung, it feels like a shared experience.

And suddenly, the paving stones, the steps of the houses, every stretch of road I passed seemed to whisper and stir. It wasn't simply the echo of the street sweeper. It was because I realized that each step, whoever it belonged to, carried the weight of their life's joys and sorrows. Moreover, beneath each silent layer of dust, sand, stone, and asphalt, drops of sweat had fallen night after night. So that each morning, walking through the streets, I would look down at my feet with gratitude…