In southern Mozambique, in the heart of Maputo and just a few meters from the airport of the capital, is the dump of Huléne. Mother of many stories, home of many renegades and maintenance of many more. It?s hard to achieve any kind of judgment, when incredulity upheaves any soul or intellectual perception.The limits of the trash, a cut south for a makeshift entrance, a massive hole in the wall of cement, concrete and rough, exceed even the common sensitivity - and even the perspicuity of the look - and not even the walls that imprison her, can hide such nasty scenario.
There converge all sorts of needs and purposes. Constant movement of trucks and people make up a complex interplay of colors and sensations that awaken us to the doorstep of the poor and insensitive. There are many characters, but very few differences.
The "garbage collectors" are the ones who shake their horizons. They are the pawns of a few businesses, and perhaps more profitable, they can still flourish among the deepest and most desperate filthiness - recycling. Desperate, they try to frantically stick the roads of garbage in search of some utility. Because that utility there, and to them, can later be worth a little more bread and milk.