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By Nima Omar

She moves with the city, almost as if she is part of it. We walk through narrow alleyways, past apartment buildings and abandoned sites, her sharp eyes scanning the ground, quick and precise. As we step onto the main road, the pulse of Addis Ababa quickens with cars honking, crowds moving in all directions. Her movements shift, fluid, instinctive. She weaves through traffic, sidestepping cars and obstacles with ease. It is fast but never rushed. She knows exactly where to look, what to pick, and what she can sell.

This moment was just one of many during my month-long fieldwork in Addis Ababa, where I observed and interviewed informal female waste pickers as part of my master’s thesis in sociology. But this is not just the reality of a few individuals. It is the story of millions. An estimated 15–20 million people worldwide work as informal waste pickers, though some estimates suggest the number could be even higher. This group includes men, women, and children, some as young as six years old, as I saw during my time in the field.

The income of these female waste pickers depends on collecting, sorting, and selling recyclable materials such as plastic, cardboard and metal. They collect these from streets, open dumpsites, public and private buildings, and rivers. Unlike municipal or private waste workers, informal waste pickers operate in an unregulated and precarious economy, where work conditions are unpredictable, pay is unstable, and risks are high. This became evident in one of the women’s descriptions of how she searches for waste in sacs discarded by households and businesses:

“When searching for valuable items in the sacks, I came across sharp objects like blades and broken glass, which cut my hands and fingers. It was very difficult (…) Now I will first hit the sacks to hear if it gives a sound”

This small adjustment is one of many ways waste pickers adapt to the risks they face daily. While the city of Addis Ababa has made strides in improving waste management, informal waste pickers remain largely invisible in waste policies, unprotected by labour laws and excluded from social security systems. One of the major changes in the city’s waste management system was the introduction of the Reppie Waste-to-Energy incinerator, meant to reduce landfill waste while generating electricity. But for the waste pickers I spoke to in this area, this change has led to increased competition for recyclable materials, making it even harder to earn a living. One resident living in the area described the situation, pointing to the birds flying overhead and remarked: “Even they are competing with them”.

Although waste pickers remain largely invisible in local policies, their role has received growing attention in international research. These studies highlight the important role they play in both urban economies and environmental sustainability. Their work helps keep cities clean, making urban areas healthier and more liveable. At the same time, they reduce the amount of waste sent to landfills and prevent waste from being dumped in rivers and drains, which helps reduce water contamination and air pollution. They also support the circular economy by increasing recycling.

Yet, while research often focuses on their broader contributions, the women I spoke to highlighted something different. When I asked these women what they were most proud of, nearly all gave the same answer: “That I can support my family”. Their response was clear and telling. While their work has a broad impact, waste picking is both a means of survival and a way to sustain their loved ones in a system that offers them few alternatives. And while they take pride in their ability to provide for themselves and their families, the conditions under which they work are shaped by larger market forces far beyond their influence.

Buyers, who act as intermediaries between waste pickers and recycling factories, offer prices for collected materials based on what the factories are willing to pay. Some of these materials remain in Ethiopia, while others are processed and exported. A significant portion of recycled materials, especially plastics, are exported from Addis Ababa. These plastics are turned into raw materials used to produce various products such as bottles, textiles and construction materials. Many of these products are then sold on global markets.

As I walked alongside one of the women during her work, she bent down and picked up a plastic lid. Holding it up, she explained that for one kilogram of plastic lids, she would earn 40 Birr (0.30 USD). At such low prices, collecting enough to make a living means carrying heavy loads and covering long distances every day. With large sacks slung over their shoulders, waste pickers navigate streets, dumpsites, and alleyways, searching for anything of value. Despite their essential role in this system, waste pickers have little control over pricing and remain largely unrecognised in the market that depends on their labour.

This experience made me reflect, as global consumption and waste generation continue to rise, who truly benefits from recycling and who carries the burden? Around the world, recycling is widely promoted as a key solution to environmental challenges, but how often do we consider the people who make it possible? Sitting here, writing this blog, I cannot help but wonder how many of the recycled products I use or see around me have passed through the hands of a waste picker in Addis Ababa?

How can we rethink recycling in a way that considers not only the materials but also recognises the people who depend on it for survival? Maybe it starts with something as simple as sharing their stories, acknowledging their role, and supporting local initiatives that work to improve their conditions. These women play a crucial role in waste management, yet their contributions often go unrecognised. What would it take, both locally and globally, to ensure they are seen, valued, and supported?

 

I am deeply grateful to the women who shared their experiences, to my colleague Alelign for his invaluable translation support, and to Eskedar from Ecojustice Ethiopia for his guidance and support throughout my fieldwork. I also appreciate Ecojustice Ethiopia’s support in helping me navigate the research process, from translation assistance to insights that enriched my understanding of the field. Conducting this research has been an incredibly meaningful experience, and I hold the complexities of this journey with care.

For those interested in learning more about the realities of waste pickers in Addis Ababa, I highly recommend watching Ecojustice Ethiopia’s documentary on plastic pollution and informal waste workers: watch here.  

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