Somewhere far off the coast of Saadiyat Island, a ship’s container must have gone overboard, because every day for the last two weeks hundreds of the bright-yellow packets of Banana chewing gum have been washing up in front of the St Regis resort and for miles beyond.
Just another day in Abu Dhabi? Perhaps. But this is headline news in my world because I pick up rubbish from the beach, much to the bemusement of many who seem to think I’m, well, bananas. Not as my day job, as some onlookers have mistakenly assumed, but as a hobby. And not for benefit of the sunbathers – their swathe of beach is well-cleared by hotel staff – but for the wildlife that persists on the less-trodden parts of ‘my’ island.
One of the unlikely joys this brings is taking note of the tracks in the sand; I’m guessing they’re from herons, gazelles, hawksbill turtles, hares, snakes and some type of large rodent. At least something with rodent-like tracks has tried to hoard the gum, carrying it to its hiding hole above the shoreline before shredding it, possibly in disgust. I picked up my trash-picking habit from my stepfather, who clears the parks and mountain trails on his dog walks back in Canada. Once, while I was back home, he presented me with a garbage-picker, and I joined in with him at first reluctantly, while he mused about the patterns of littering and the “broken-window” theory – the less rubbish there is, the less people will feel like they have permission to litter. Then I too got hooked: our walks took on a new sense of purpose as we left behind pristine turf.
Venturing out on my own with my bright-orange, long-handled pincers on Saadiyat, I’ve developed a particular kind of mindfulness, not only of nature’s rhythms but also of the consequences of human consumption. If you’ve ever wondered what lies under our deep blue sea, picking up rubbish along the tideline is a good start. I used to think the litter was left behind by beachgoers, but I’m now sure the bulk of it washes up. Why? Because I can spend more than an hour cleaning up in one direction, and when I turn around, there’ll be a fresh haul waiting for my return. Afterwards, I can spend two days of my weekend proud of the patch I’ve cleared, and when I return the next week, there’ll always be more. If you knew how much rubbish the ocean coughed up, it might ruin your swim for good.
Most of what I find is utterly mundane, the vast majority of it plastic bags and refuse from eating and drinking: plastic water bottles (and their caps), soda cans, styrofoam and plastic cups, forks and spoons, milk cartons, juice boxes (and their straws), deli containers and junk-food packaging, namely crisp bags and sweet wrappers.
Then, there are subcategories. From smokers: their butts, boxes, plastic wraps and discarded lighters. From children: discarded plastic beach toys and deflated helium balloons with their ribbons still attached. From fishermen: broken nets, lines and floats. From construction sites: the odd glove, boot or pair of overalls. From the grooming industry: bottles of shampoo, perfume and aftershave, toothbrushes and make-up containers. From the nearby golf course: mainly just the odd golf ball. There’s the dangerous: broken glass, bent-wire hangers, boards with protruding rusty nails, containers of paint thinner and lighter fluid, razors and a few syringes. And there’s the thought-provoking: I once found a life jacket (I’m hoping it fell off a boat and not a person) and a video-game controller (thrown overboard perhaps in a fit of frustration?).
But nothing in my year of beachcombing has been as strangely fascinating as the Banana gum. I even looked up the brand, Orion. It’s a South Korean company that also has Choco Pie to its credits and has factories in Vietnam, Russia and China. Whatever its route here, it has made its unpredictable and ubiquitous arrival on Saadiyat Beach.
Most people strolling on the beach seem oblivious to the yellow packets tangled up in the seaweed underfoot; understandably they’re more interested in the seashells. But my garbage-picking never fails to escape their attention; it’s a conversation-starter like none other.
Some approach me just to thank me, somewhat guiltily. A few have even offered to help, like the construction worker who, after staring at me for a long while from his work, offered up an armful of plastic bottles. But most people are incredulous. They ask what I’m looking for or whether I’m collecting for something. When I tell them I’m just picking up rubbish, their most common refrain is “we have people to do that”, to which I shrug and answer, there will never be enough.
And so I carry on, doing my small part to keep the beach clean, one plastic bottle and pack of Banana gum at a time.
Mo Gannon is an assistant editor at The National.
