People staying up on the street

Youth wears away with the sound of the broom at night

Coincidentally, when I stopped by the side of the road that late at night to ask a sanitation worker who was diligently sweeping the broom on Le Hong Phong Street, I recognized Tuyet when she removed the sweat-soaked mask from her face. Ms. Nguyen Thi Tuyet had briefly appeared in my article 6 years ago. And for the past 6 years, she has been doing this job, on this street. She impressed me, because of the thoughts about the street sweeping profession that I quoted above, and secondly, she is a woman from the North who came to Vinh to be a daughter-in-law.

Tuyet is from Hai Duong, met her husband when they were both working in the rubber forests in the Central Highlands. The hardship and distance made them decide to return to their hometown (Tuyet's hometown is her husband's hometown) in Dong Vinh ward, Vinh city. And she felt very lucky, after a period of running a small market, she got a job as a "garbage collector" (more correctly called an environmental worker) at Nghe An Urban Environment One Member Co., Ltd. (now Nghe An Urban Joint Stock Company). That was lucky, but also many tears. Because, it is not easy with the job of "making friends with the late night", a month has 26 working days, which means only 4 dinners a month to eat with family, 4 nights to chat and watch the children sleep. On other days, she leaves home at around 5:30 pm to start working on the assigned route at 6 pm, before that she hastily eats a bowl of rice, or a sandwich. And returned after 12 o'clock, when everyone, every house was asleep.

The hardest part is every Tet holiday. She, like many other colleagues, always welcomed the New Year's Eve on the streets. When everyone, every family warmly gathered together in a sacred moment, on a street corner, packages of cakes were opened, greetings were sent to each other, bright smiles lit up behind the newly removed masks, and brooms suddenly fell silent and lay on the sidewalk.

“But there were people who burst into tears, especially many young people, those who were new to the profession” - Ms. Tuyet recalled the memories of New Year’s Eve on the street, then confided, “Working as a janitor, many girls find it difficult to get married. Because few people understand, sympathize, and share with the wife and mother who work all night. It is true that someone said that youth wears away with the sound of the broom at night. Perhaps that is why getting married to a husband or wife in the same profession is also a blessing. In my company, there are such love affairs that bloom on the night streets, there is a girl from the sweeping team who marries a boy from the parking team. The love of a janitor has few flowery words, it is just quietly shared.”

Simple happiness every morning

When I asked Tuyet about the most memorable memory of her career, Tuyet also added that, for her, it was not New Year's Eve, but the first time she received the job that she remembered the most. That time, she received the broom, the cart, the protective gear, and she began her first sweeps. She saw how wide the sidewalk was, how long the night was, how vast the space was, and how scary it was. While she was using all her strength to push the garbage cart, she heard someone calling out, "Hey, trash!" and right behind her was the sound of a plastic bag falling, scattering trash behind her. "Isn't it embarrassing? It's very embarrassing, but I still don't understand why people don't call out, "Hey, miss, miss," but instead call out, "Hey, trash?"

And then, after more than 7 years on the deserted late-night streets, she, as well as Ms. Hoa, Ms. Luu, Ms. Gai, Mr. Hieu, Ms. Giang... have become accustomed to the indifference, carelessness, and sometimes even contempt from many people. The injuries, from unconscious words and actions, combined with the many dangers and occupational diseases that lurk, have caused many people to quit their jobs or lose their love for their jobs. However, Ms. Tuyet and many other brothers and sisters among the hundreds of workers on the streets every night have confessed that they also love their jobs. “Loving the job of sweeping the streets and pushing the garbage cart – it sounds absurd, right? But it’s true. Not only because it’s a job to make a living, but because it’s a habit, it gives you feelings about life that only people who stay up all night on the streets can feel. Besides, if you don’t love your job, how can you do it well, how can you be rewarded? You will be the happiest person if you walk on this bright morning road and realize that it’s because you diligently swept every broom last night.”

Tuyet also told me about the times she met drug addicts and drug addicts who "bullied" her on the street late at night, about the time last year when a drunk man hit her with his car and had to be hospitalized, about the risk of getting scoliosis from pushing a cart, or even the constant risk of allergies... But none of that made her feel as downhearted as every night when she returned home, in a quiet house, with only a dim light coming from the bedroom, seeing her children sleeping in their father's arms, or in their grandparents' arms, talking in their sleep calling for their mother made her want to cry. "But I'm not the only one", there are more than 300 people doing the same job as her on the streets, including 13 night shifts with 26 garbage truck drivers, on 9 routes, collecting hundreds of large garbage points with hundreds of tons every day.

Tuyet told me that from the last time I met her until this time, she had another child. So now Tuyet has 3 daughters. The first one is in 11th grade this year, the second one is in 6th grade and the youngest is only 2 and a half years old. "6 years, so many changes, except for the salary, still around 4 million" - Tuyet said with a smile. I don't understand why she is so radiant and cheerful when talking about her hardships. I believe that her love for her job is real, and it has lingered through many 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 truck team (working from 7:20 pm to 2:00 or 3:00 am), Ngo Tri Hung (22 years old), from Nghi Loc, who works until 1 or 2:00 am. When asked if Hung had a girlfriend, Hung smiled: "I wonder if any girl would love a "road worker" who always smells like me." He said that for fun, but for Hung, "in society, each person has their own job, and you and the others here are happy and secretly proud to be able to do a job that brings beauty to this city." I understand why some cleaners have been loyal to this job for 10, even more than 20 years of their lives.

I walked back on the street that day, slowly, to try to feel like Tuyet, like Hung, like Thien… a “nightlife” of Vinh street. Where in the bright daylight, people and the whole street, the trees seemed to have put on their faces and souls a different light. I counted how many people had chosen the sidewalk to make a living: these sticky rice, wet rice cakes, and late night pho noodle stalls with wrinkled, sleepy faces. This old man in old army uniform sat smoking tobacco with a torn inner tube propped up on a fire pump on Tran Phu street. He also chose this street corner to work as a tire repairman for many years. These wandering street vendors, covering their mosquito nets on the sidewalk in search of a nap. Street singers and street bread vendors also clatter their feet on the late night streets… Ah, it turns out, there is a rhythm of life under the yellow street lights, and for people like Tuyet, Thien, and Hung, it is like sharing with us.

And suddenly, the paving bricks, the house steps, every stretch of road I passed, seemed to whisper. It was not simply the echo of the broom sweeping the street. But also because, I realized, every footstep, no matter who it was, carried the sadness and joy of their life, moreover, under every fold of dust, sand, stone, and silent asphalt, there were drops of sweat falling every night. So that every morning, walking on the street, I know how to look down at my feet, with gratitude...