the devil´s miners

(a little out of order...updates on la paz and sucre to come soon!)

in the 16th century, potosi was the richest city in the world, lining it´s streets with the silver extracted from their famous mines. now, far from it´s heyday, nearly all the plata is gone, but men still go deep into the mountains every day, working horrendous conditions for little pay, most dying by the age of 35.

they work 10, 12, 14 sometimes 24 hours a day. the mines never close, the mines never sleep. it´s a cooperative, not privately owned, so the longer the men work, the more money they can make. no regulations, no labor laws, no safety. golf-ball size lumps protrude from each cheek, a wad of coca leaves slowly being chewed. they go through an entire bag, 25 grams, of coca a day, the leaves staving off hunger, bringing energy, lubricating the throat from the dryness of the dust. they don´t eat inside the mines, the toxins will be ingested with the food. children as young as 12 enter the mountain, forgoing school for work. they say they will only work one or two years, most never leave.

labor is hard, dangerous, back-breaking, dragging 2 ton carts through rickety tunnels, blowing up the volcanic rock with sticks of dynamite, shoveling ore, resting only to chew more coca, laugh and talk. it´s like going back in time. medieval times. they say the strongest miner is the one with the best sense of humor. when conditions are that tough, you need to laugh. nearly 8 million have been killed since the mines opened. they call it ¨the mountain that eats men alive.¨

bolivia may be catholic country, but in the depths of cerro rico, they worship their own god, tio, the devil. the mountain is hell. sacrifices of alcohol, cigarettes and llama blood are made, praying for a good vien, praying for safety, praying that tio doesn´t show his anger in an explosion.

ex-miners take travelers down into the working mines, and i went along for the ride. we first visited the miners market to pick up gifts for the workers--bags of coca leaves (which we all began chewing, stuffing wads of coca into the sides of our cheeks like cows chewing cud), soda pop and sticks of dynamite. then, up the mountain we drove and into the mines we went. the dust was thick, the air thin, we are up at 4090m after all, potosi being the highest city in the world. our group scrambled through mine shafts, sometimes crawling on our hands and knees, pressing ourselves against the rocky wall when a cart loaded with ore was pulled by. even though we had scarves to cover our mouths, the altitude made it difficult to breath, so we went without, inhaling the dust as we tried to suck in air. lose lose situation, i guess. eyes watery, throat burning, we pressed on, down the first, the second, the third level. it was an eerie feeling, knowing you are deep inside a mining mountain with only one way out. not for the claustrophobic, not for the faint-hearted. ventilation tubes hissed, wagons rumbled by, but sometimes it was quiet, dark, but not peaceful. as it was a functioning mine, not a closed one, we constantly passed men, some young, some old, 120 men in a single mine, 5000 in the mountain every day. we handed out our gifts, a bag of coca here, a stick of dynamite there, when i ran out i wish i had more to give.

we came out the way we came in, and climbing up the shafts was even harded than sliding down. some tunnels weren´t more than a foot high. head bumping against rafters, hands grasping rock and dust and ore, only light from my headlamp leading the way. a couple of moments, ¨just get me out of here!¨and then, at last, the light--literally--at the end of the tunnel. fresh air never felt so sweet. some men work what´s called la dobla-- a double shift, a 24 hour shift during which they come out once at night for dinner. after 1 hour, i was dying to get out.

our guide fixed us up some dynamite, because who doesn´t like to blow things up for fun? once lit, the bomb was tossed from traveler to traveler, a crazed sort of hot potato, so everyone can get a photo, ¨look mom, live dynamite!¨ the fuse is only a minute long, every second counts. then, he is running, running, running, he buries it, gives it space, just in time as the ground explodes. a mini-mushroom cloud spirals to the sky. power. wow, i HELD that 30 seconds ago?

this was by far one of the more eye-opening experiences of this trip. husbands, sons, uncles, kids, working in some of the most awful conditions i´ve seen. sacrificing their lives for their wives, daughters, aunts, children. fiercely proud, they are family, they are friends, they are miners. this is the real potosi.