Weigh out of order

Trash. It's a dirty business. That's the conclusion of Ng Kwai-ho, who runs Wah Kee, a third-generation scrap merchant and metals dealer just off Plover Cove Road in Tai Po. 'Everybody is trying to take advantage of everybody else,' Ng says. 'The old ladies wet the cardboard to make it heavier, and then the shops rig the scales.'

Recycling is big business in Hong Kong, which exported HK$5.8 billion in materials last year, the bulk of it to the mainland.

'We call it stock, not trash,' Ng says. 'It turns into money for us.'

The culture of deception has led to a crackdown on rigged scales at scrap merchants this year. The Customs and Excise Department, which is responsible for enforcing how scales and weights are used in the city, has already prosecuted a record 60 cases from January through September, the most current figures available. That's almost double the 38 cases it prosecuted over the whole of last year - and a huge jump from just four prosecutions in 2008.

Fraud involving scrap merchants has soared with the advent of electronic scales. They are easier to rig than mechanical ones, with the crooked operator simply setting the conversion rate between, say, kilograms and pounds, at an incorrect value.

'All completed prosecution cases relating to scrap traders involved the use of inaccurate scales using an electronic platform with a remote control,' says Calvin Lee Yuen-kai, a spokesman for the Customs and Excise Department.

'Unscrupulous scrap traders change the readings by pressing the remote control to make the weight of the scrap shown by the scales less than the actual weight by 10 per cent to 38 per cent.'

Besides scrap dealers, the department has also stepped up its monitoring of what's dubbed 'short weighting' at stalls selling seafood, fruit, vegetables and meat. The number of rigged-scale investigations has been high over the last two years, with the department looking into 171 cases in the first nine months of this year, and a high-water mark of 292 in 2009. By contrast, there were only 81 investigations in 2008.

But the penalties are typically small - fines range from HK$500 to HK$10,000. It amounts to a slap on the wrist, recyclers say, and isn't enough to discourage cheating since the gains from rigging the scales far outweigh the fine.

At Wah Kee, Ng and her family hope to see stiffer penalties and more prosecutions. 'I'm not scared because we never cheat,' Ng says. 'I hate the behaviour of some shops. The penalty is not effective, just a small fine, and they take away the scales. But they are still in business, and still cheating people.'

The margins are thin, which makes short weighting a serious temptation. A truckload of metals and other recyclables is worth around HK$3,000, which the scrap merchants receive from centralised collection points. But a fair share of that goes out in payments to the 'customers', who receive HK$1.50 per kilo for iron and other valuable metals, or 10 cents for a can.

Newer operators skip the cost of having a physical storefront for their operation, and simply use a truck that they load up on the street. That makes it tougher for companies with a physical address to compete.

It is also back-breaking, dirty work, involving lugging around heavy cabling, bulky discarded computers, sharp-edged construction waste. The heat and smell in the summer can be hard to bear. Ng says she has tried to give up the lease on her shop once already, but keeps being sucked back into the business both for the money and at the request of their customers.

'I want to stop and retire and just farm,' Ng says outside her crowded shop. She already has a lot in Lam Tsuen where she's preparing to grow vegetables. 'But as long as people keep bringing us stuff, we'll stay open.'

She works in the store with her brother, Ng Chun-yip, and her son, Lau Chun-man. Both in their 30s, they're the next generation to take over from Ng, now 52. The heavy metal gates at Wah Kee clatter open at 8am, six days a week, and it's a flurry of activity until 6.45pm.

Ng and her family say they have seen a change in the way scrap merchants are perceived. Despite the problems over weighted scales, many Hongkongers have become more appreciative of the importance of recycling. It's an important role - Hong Kong recycles 49 per cent of the 17,700 tonnes in waste it produces each day.

'Ten years ago, our work wasn't appreciated,' Lau says. 'In the old days, parents would tell the kids, 'If you don't work hard you will end up like them, collecting trash.' But now children feel recycling contributes to society, and their parents teach them to recycle and sometimes bring them here after school.'

The red paint of the characters above the shop front has long since faded, but Wah Kee has a loyal client base that seeks the company out. A steady stream of customers bring all manner of scavenged, found and thrown-out items. Many of the customers are cleaning ladies who supplement meagre incomes by salvaging pots and pans and other metal items in the rubbish that they take out at housing estates.

'I come here regularly,' Mak Ying-kam, a 66-year-old in a sun-bleached blue anorak, says after she pushes her cart to the store. 'They are honest with the prices.' She brings scrap metal and old clothes about once a month. An aluminium door frame she has taken out of her home - she's installing a new door - earns her HK$60.

She used to bring cardboard and paper, too. But Wah Kee has stopped accepting those goods, because of problems with people watering it to bulk up the weight. The scrap merchants also worry that the wet paper is a prime breeding ground for germs and infections.

'It's a large weight for a little amount,' Ng says. 'So we get injured lifting the goods.'

A little later, two cleaners drag their shopping carts to the store. They bring out an urn that's worthy of an antique store - and, perhaps more importantly, very heavy. It draws shouts of approval from the scrap merchants. With a few other metal items, the pair earn HK$850, cash they'll split four ways with two cleaners who work at their estate.

'That's not the most we've made, but sometimes it's just HK$100,' Cheng Siu-mui says. The four cleaners take turns to come by several times a month, whenever they have collected enough to make the trip worthwhile. 'We have very low salaries, only HK$5,000 per month, so we want to make some extra on the side.'

That sideline is less common as larger housing estates outsource their cleaning to big companies, which often don't allow the cleaners to rifle through the trash.

Ng hopes her farming will be the sideline that helps her ease into retirement, and out of the scrap business. The money she has squirreled away to buy her lot should help her leave the scrap business to a younger generation.

'The profit on this business is not enough to have a happy retirement, so we need to use the money to invest,' Ng says. 'I would like to grow whatever I like to eat - sweet potatoes, strawberries, perhaps. That would make me happy.'