Zimbabwe's scrap metal hunters are quietly fighting climate change one piece at a time

HARARE, Zimbabwe (AP) — “Any gold in there today?” Ezekiel Mabhiza called to a man hunched over a mound of trash, hoe in hand, rummaging through one of the many illegal dumpsites that scar Zimbabwe’s capital.

Mabhiza joined in. For the next several hours, he scoured the sites around Harare, using a stick or his bare hands to sift through piles of filth, from discarded diapers to broken appliances. By midday, his pushcart was full. Springs from old mattresses, car parts, tin cans — it all added up to 66 kilograms (145 pounds) of salvaged metal.

The haul earned him $8. It’s enough to feed his five children for the day, maybe even cover a utility bill in a country where the majority of people survive through informal work.

“I have given up looking for a formal job,” the 36-year-old said. “You walk the industrial areas all day and come back with nothing. This is my job now. I pay rent, my children eat and go to school.”

Across Harare, thousands like Mabhiza live off scrap metal. Quietly, they are helping to sustain a cleaner environment and combat climate change.

Making steel relies heavily on burning highly polluting coal, and the industry accounts for nearly 8% of the carbon dioxide emissions that come from the energy sector and contribute to Earth’s warming, according to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, or OECD. It takes less energy to turn scrap metal into new steel, so the pickers are helping reduce carbon emissions with their work in addition to cleaning up metals that would otherwise pollute the city.

Harare generates about 1,000 tons of waste every day, most of which goes uncollected, according to the city council. People and companies frustrated with erratic collection dump trash on roadsides and open spaces. They sometimes burn it. Once-pristine neighborhoods have become polluted eyesores.

Recently, the city council partnered with a green energy waste management company to improve collection amid contested accusations of corruption. But for now, informal pickers like Mabhiza remain indispensable.

“It’s a dirty job, yes, but people rarely understand how important it is,” said Fungai Mataga, who runs a scrap metal collection center where Mabhiza and others sell their finds. “They are society’s cleaning crew. Every piece of metal they bring here is one less item polluting our land.”

Globally, this kind of scrap metal is vital to the steel industry, accounting for roughly a third of metallic raw materials used in steel production, according to the OECD.

With growing concerns over the environmental impact of mining and rising interest in circular economies, demand for recycled materials is increasing.

Informal pickers are the “unsung heroes,” said Joyce Machiri, head of the mining and extractives program at the Zimbabwe Environmental Lawyers Association.

“When you look at scrap, no one would actually say, ‘Wow, this a good job.’ But look at it this way, these are some of the green jobs we are talking about,” Machiri said.

Many steelmakers cannot afford to invest in new, cleaner technologies. That makes scrap recycling a critical — and accessible — alternative.

The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency estimates that recycling steel and tin cans saves 60% to 74% of the energy required to produce them from raw materials.

Although there are no official statistics on the number of scrap metal collectors in Zimbabwe due to the informal nature of their work, they are unmistakable.

In Hopley, a poor township in Harare, they streamed into a dusty open lot where they sell their scrap. Some pushed carts. Others carried sacks on their heads. One woman brought a small plastic bag with just enough metal to earn a few cents to buy vegetables for dinner.

Inside the yard, heaps of junk like old fridges, microwaves, cups, water heater tanks, generators and car engines were weighed on a giant old scale. Workers handed out cash and loaded the metal onto a 30-ton truck destined for a steelmaker that will buy it for between $220 and $260 a ton.

Factories in the southern African country of 16 million people consume about 600,000 tons of scrap metal annually, all locally collected, said Dosman Mangisi, chief operations officer of the Zimbabwe Institute of Foundries, an association of metal casting businesses.

The job of hunting scrap metal is grueling and hazardous. Hunters rise before dawn, walking kilometers to scavenge from landfills, industrial zones, homes and roadside dumps. Some sleep near illegal dumpsites, waiting for trucks that unload waste overnight to avoid arrest.

“I have been lucky not to fall sick,” said Lovemore Sibanda, a security guard who collects scrap on his days off. “But I am always worried. I hope I can afford gloves one day.”

Metal hunters such as Mabhiza and Sibanda have seen it all, from medical waste such as syringes and expired medicines to rotting carcasses of pets such as dogs and cats thrown away by their owners.

“At first, I would lose my appetite for days after seeing things like that,” said Sibanda. “Now, I am used to it. This is my office. This is where the money is.”

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Workers rearrange scrap metal at a collection center in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

Scrap metal collectors move a piece in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

Scrap metal collectors weigh a piece at a site in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

A scrap metal collector holds nails as they work in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

Ezekiel Mabhiza takes a break while collecting scrap metal in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

Men scrounge for scrap metal in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

Fungai Mataga, who runs a scrap metal collection center, poses at the site in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

Workers load scrap metal onto a waiting truck to recycle at a collection site in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

A man rearranges scrap metal at a collection site in Harare, Zimbabwe, Sunday, June 8, 2025. (AP Photo/Aaron Ufumeli)

A group of Buddhist monks and their rescue dog are striding single file down country roads and highways across the South, captivating Americans nationwide and inspiring droves of locals to greet them along their route.

In their flowing saffron and ocher robes, the men are walking for peace. It's a meditative tradition more common in South Asian countries, and it's resonating now in the U.S., seemingly as a welcome respite from the conflict, trauma and politics dividing the nation.

Their journey began Oct. 26, 2025, at a Vietnamese Buddhist temple in Texas, and is scheduled to end in mid-February in Washington, D.C., where they will ask Congress to recognize Buddha’s day of birth and enlightenment as a federal holiday. Beyond promoting peace, their highest priority is connecting with people along the way.

“My hope is, when this walk ends, the people we met will continue practicing mindfulness and find peace,” said the Venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara, the group’s soft-spoken leader who is making the trek barefoot. He teaches about mindfulness, forgiveness and healing at every stop.

Preferring to sleep each night in tents pitched outdoors, the monks have been surprised to see their message transcend ideologies, drawing huge crowds into churchyards, city halls and town squares across six states. Documenting their journey on social media, they — and their dog, Aloka — have racked up millions of followers online. On Saturday, thousands thronged in Columbia, South Carolina, where the monks chanted on the steps of the State House and received a proclamation from the city's mayor, Daniel Rickenmann.

At their stop Thursday in Saluda, South Carolina, Audrie Pearce joined the crowd lining Main Street. She had driven four hours from her village of Little River, and teared up as Pannakara handed her a flower.

“There’s something traumatic and heart-wrenching happening in our country every day,” said Pearce, who describes herself as spiritual, but not religious. “I looked into their eyes and I saw peace. They’re putting their bodies through such physical torture and yet they radiate peace.”

Hailing from Theravada Buddhist monasteries across the globe, the 19 monks began their 2,300 mile (3,700 kilometer) trek at the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth.

Their journey has not been without peril. On Nov. 19, as the monks were walking along U.S. Highway 90 near Dayton, Texas, their escort vehicle was hit by a distracted truck driver, injuring two monks. One of them lost his leg, reducing the group to 18.

This is Pannakara's first trek in the U.S., but he's walked across several South Asian countries, including a 112-day journey across India in 2022 where he first encountered Aloka, an Indian Pariah dog whose name means divine light in Sanskrit.

Then a stray, the dog followed him and other monks from Kolkata in eastern India all the way to the Nepal border. At one point, he fell critically ill and Pannakara scooped him up in his arms and cared for him until he recovered. Now, Aloka inspires him to keep going when he feels like giving up.

“I named him light because I want him to find the light of wisdom,” Pannakara said.

The monk's feet are now heavily bandaged because he's stepped on rocks, nails and glass along the way. His practice of mindfulness keeps him joyful despite the pain from these injuries, he said.

Still, traversing the southeast United States has presented unique challenges, and pounding pavement day after day has been brutal.

“In India, we can do shortcuts through paddy fields and farms, but we can’t do that here because there are a lot of private properties,” Pannakara said. “But what’s made it beautiful is how people have welcomed and hosted us in spite of not knowing who we are and what we believe.”

In Opelika, Alabama, the Rev. Patrick Hitchman-Craig hosted the monks on Christmas night at his United Methodist congregation.

He expected to see a small crowd, but about 1,000 people showed up, creating the feel of a block party. The monks seemed like the Magi, he said, appearing on Christ’s birthday.

“Anyone who is working for peace in the world in a way that is public and sacrificial is standing close to the heart of Jesus, whether or not they share our tradition,” said Hitchman-Craig. “I was blown away by the number of people and the diversity of who showed up.”

After their night on the church lawn, the monks arrived the next afternoon at the Collins Farm in Cusseta, Alabama. Judy Collins Allen, whose father and brother run the farm, said about 200 people came to meet the monks — the biggest gathering she’s ever witnessed there.

“There was a calm, warmth and sense of community among people who had not met each other before and that was so special,” she said.

Long Si Dong, a spokesperson for the Fort Worth temple, said the monks, when they arrive in Washington, plan to seek recognition of Vesak, the day which marks the birth and enlightenment of the Buddha, as a national holiday.

“Doing so would acknowledge Vesak as a day of reflection, compassion and unity for all people regardless of faith,” he said.

But Pannakara emphasized that their main goal is to help people achieve peace in their lives. The trek is also a separate endeavor from a $200 million campaign to build towering monuments on the temple’s 14-acre property to house the Buddha’s teachings engraved in stone, according to Dong.

The monks practice and teach Vipassana meditation, an ancient Indian technique taught by the Buddha himself as core for attaining enlightenment. It focuses on the mind-body connection — observing breath and physical sensations to understand reality, impermanence and suffering. Some of the monks, including Pannakara, walk barefoot to feel the ground directly and be present in the moment.

Pannakara has told the gathered crowds that they don't aim to convert people to Buddhism.

Brooke Schedneck, professor of religion at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee, said the tradition of a peace walk in Theravada Buddhism began in the 1990s when the Venerable Maha Ghosananda, a Cambodian monk, led marches across war-torn areas riddled with landmines to foster national healing after civil war and genocide in his country.

“These walks really inspire people and inspire faith,” Schedneck said. “The core intention is to have others watch and be inspired, not so much through words, but through how they are willing to make this sacrifice by walking and being visible.”

On Thursday, Becki Gable drove nearly 400 miles (about 640 kilometers) from Cullman, Alabama, to catch up with them in Saluda. Raised Methodist, Gable said she wanted some release from the pain of losing her daughter and parents.

“I just felt in my heart that this would help me have peace,” she said. “Maybe I could move a little bit forward in my life.”

Gable says she has already taken one of Pannakara’s teachings to heart. She’s promised herself that each morning, as soon as she awakes, she’d take a piece of paper and write five words on it, just as the monk prescribed.

“Today is my peaceful day.”

Freelance photojournalist Allison Joyce contributed to this report.

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," get lunch Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Aloka rests with Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

A sign is seen greeting the Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Supporters pray with Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Supporters watch Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

A Buddhist monk ties a prayer bracelet around the wrist of Josey Lee, 2-months-old, during the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Bhikkhu Pannakara, a spiritual leader, speaks to supporters during the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks participate in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks participate in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Bhikkhu Pannakara leads other buddhist monks in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Audrie Pearce greets Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Bhikkhu Pannakara, a spiritual leader, speaks to supporters during the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," arrive in Saluda, Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," are seen with their dog, Aloka, Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)