Like all the other residents of Manshiyet Nasr’s zabaleen district, Hanna Fathi is surrounded by trash. Unlike his neighbors–or most of his fellow countrymen–the 26-year-old will routinely pick up trash off the street, take it back home, and feed it to a machine that converts it into something much more useful: gas.
“Here, try this,” Fathi says, holding out a steaming glass of tea. “Look how hot it is, and it took less than a minute to boil the water.”
If Fathi seems disproportionately proud of having made a cup of tea, it is only because for him the warm beverage is not just a typical gesture of hospitality, but the result of a far more elaborate effort, as hinted at by the hose running from the portable stove on his kitchen counter out through the front door of his apartment, and up the stairwell.
On the roof of his building, Fathi stands between two of his creations, the first of which is the starting point for the hose. Consisting of two large black plastic containers stacked on top of each other, the “conversion system,” as Fathi likes to call it, is propelled by basic biology rather than mechanics.
“There is no power or electricity required,” Fathi says as he paces around the contraption, making inspections and minor adjustments. “All it needs to work is trash, which, as you can see, is in no short supply around here.”
Organic waste–abundant in the zabaleen’s mountain range of trash and regularly produced by any household kitchen–is placed in a tube that juts out of the side of the conversion system, taking it into the lower tank where it is decomposed by bacteria, specially cultivated by Fathi over a period of 40 days. The resulting methane rises and collects at the top of the tank. As the methane cloud thickens, the upper tank is pushed upwards. When it reaches a certain level, Fathi knows that it is full. The hose running down to the kitchen supplies the gas to Fathi and his family who can then use it to make tea, among other things.
“Most of our cooking is done with the gas provided by this,” says Fathi, placing a hand on the middle tank. “We can usually get two hours’ worth a day and the pressure is better than what you get from the government-issued canisters. Our flames are much stronger.” He smiles. “Not to mention cheaper.”
According to Fathi, the decomposed waste from which the methane rises can also be used as fertilizer. Pumped out of the conversion system into a bucket, its efficiency as fertilizer can be seen further to the back of the roof, where Fathi has set aside a corner for a compost heap, as well as a miniature garden, enhanced by the plants he regularly finds in the trash.
“I found these two in a dumpster outside a shawarma restaurant downtown,” he says, pointing out the two largest pots. As he waters his blossoming tomatoes, Fathi complains about the “total lack of respect” that people seem to have for plants. “Everyone here thinks plants are only good for decorating. People like to look at flowers, and then throw them in the trash when they’re not pretty anymore. Beyond that, plants don’t mean a thing.”
In addition to the conversion system, Fathi has also built a solar-powered water heater, using nothing but recycled material. “I found all the pieces in the trash,” he explains, walking toward three long solar panels attached to a plastic tank big enough to hold 200 liters of water, which, according to Fathi, “is good for seven or eight showers.” At its peak performance, the homemade apparatus can heat water up to 75 degrees celcius. “But it only works half as well during winter,” he admits.
Although pleased with his accomplishments, Fathi is the first to point out that he has not actually invented anything new. “They use these all over India,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean it can only work in India. It’s a good idea that, if applied here, might solve a lot of problems.”
Fathi, who is a graduate of Ain Shams University’s faculty of agriculture and who has had a strong interest in electronics since childhood, is well aware of the opportunities literally rotting away in the streets of his neighborhood. “Look at all that trash,” he says, gazing out at the adjacent rooftop, where several goats munch on a mound of garbage as it slowly spills over the edge.
“All that trash, all these problems that need to be solved. That trash can be used properly. It doesn’t have to just pile up there and attract rats and diseases.”
Instead of waiting for his neighbors to come to the same realization, Fathi has taken the initiative on their behalf, building over thirty conversion systems that he has distributed to homes across Manshiyet Nasr and Darb el-Ahmar, as well as to a school in Dokki. The project, on which Fathi is collaborating with Thomas Culhane, an American urban planner, has provided its services free of charge for the most part, only occasionally asking for a small payment.
“It doesn’t cost much to make the systems,” says Fathi. “But if people pay for this–even a small fee–they get a sense of ownership and they end up caring a little bit more about it because of that.”
Later in the afternoon, as he fiddles with a miniature solar panel attached to a palm-sized radio, Hanna Fathi moves away from the topic of technology and begins to talk a little about politics. “No, I didn’t even think of going to the Egyptian government with this,” he says matter-of-factly. “I didn’t ever imagine they’d be interested or would offer funding of any kind.”
Fathi’s statement is surprising given that he and Culhane are currently awaiting funding from an American organization they have applied to. “From what I hear, our government is interested in nuclear power, and anything else is just a threat to all their nuclear plans.”
Moments later it starts to rain, and with a final hiss of static, the solar-powered radio goes silent. Fathi sets it down on a table and picks up his eight-month-old child instead. “Besides,” he continues cheerfully, as he swings the giggling infant around the room, “if you have something they want, they’ll take it.”
