Amna Siddiqui
As a tourist, while returning from Shimshal Valley, I met a senior citizen who pointed toward a narrow trail opposite the road our van was travelling on. He explained that before the construction of the current vehicle route, people had to walk for three days along that path. At one point, they had to cross a ravine by wading or swimming through it, regardless of the weather. Considering Shimshal’s harsh winters, this was no easy journey.
Travelling to town was not a matter of convenience. It was often a necessity for buying food supplies, seeking medical treatment, or accessing other basic services.
Fast forward to today, many people from remote villages have migrated to Gilgit, a growing city that, according to a former Chief Engineer, was once little more than dust and rocks. However, as urbanization continues, many young people are becoming increasingly disconnected from the hardships, resilience, and dignity associated with the lives of their ancestors who survived in these challenging mountain environments.
During one visit, I passed by a small toy shop where a young man threw an empty Olper’s milk carton into a rain puddle outside his shop. There were no customers inside. I entered the shop and pointed toward a yellow waste bin located only a few steps away. From his expression, I could tell that he had no intention of picking up the carton. I simply requested that he be more careful next time.
As I walked away, I wondered: who do people think will eventually clean up after them? Do they believe it is the responsibility of children who, due to difficult circumstances, collect plastic waste and sell it to kabardkhannas (scrap dealers)?
Or is it the responsibility of the Waste Management Department to constantly clear blocked drains filled with organic and inorganic waste? How much additional burden is being placed on sanitation workers when their actual responsibility should simply be collecting and managing properly disposed garbage?
In many residential areas of Gilgit, Waste Management staff visit homes almost every day to collect waste. In many developed countries, garbage collection usually happens once a week. Organic waste is placed in covered bins, recyclable materials are separated, and residents follow strict disposal guidelines. Waste that does not meet recycling requirements may be rejected, and penalties can apply for repeated violations.
In Gilgit, because women are often uncomfortable interacting with male sanitation workers, children frequently hand over household garbage. Yet despite this system, the riverbank near Chinar Bagh’s twin bridges is often covered with diapers, milk cartons, and other household waste, suggesting that some residents continue to dispose of garbage irresponsibly.
On the opposite side of the riverbank, organic waste can also be found alongside restaurant and hotel waste, including discarded table tags. These habits contribute directly to the growing stray dog problem.
Dogs are omnivores, meaning they can survive on both meat and plant-based organic waste. Restaurants, meat shops, and careless household waste disposal all contribute to creating a reliable food source for stray dogs.
Just because someone eventually collects your garbage does not mean that rats and dogs have not already fed on it, or that bacteria and diseases have not spread through contamination.
While shooting or poisoning stray dogs may appear to be an immediate solution to attacks on children, such measures do not address the root cause of the problem. People must understand that careless disposal of food waste and garbage unintentionally supports the growth of stray dog populations.
Government authorities have a responsibility to educate citizens and enforce penalties against those who repeatedly litter or leave garbage exposed for long periods before collection. Waste should only be placed outside in properly covered containers shortly before collection times.
Strict enforcement, combined with public awareness campaigns, is necessary to maintain a clean and safe urban environment.
Amna Siddiqui is a Canadian of Pakistani origin, a University of Toronto graduate in English, and an editor, educator, and environmental advocate. She has contributed to ocean clean-ups, coral conservation, and waste management initiatives in China, Thailand, and Gilgit. She first visited Gilgit-Baltistan while pursuing her second degree in Biology and Environmental Geography.
