Holy Potosi

Potosi, arguably the world´s highest city. Famous for it´s altitude, but more so for the disheartening way in which people make their living. Life in Potosi is hard. There is not much industry, the climate is harsh and the people (largely of Quechua decent), struggle to get by. The city, once one of the richest in south america (the world?) has since had it´s mountain sucked dry of silver, leaving a huge proportion of the population working in the mines with hopes of finding other valuable minerals. At any given time, as many as 15,000 men are inside one of 400 mines, 10% of the population of the entire city. If you take the population, subtract the woman, children, elderly and unfit to work, a staggering proportion of the men (and teenage boys) spend their days inside a dark hell. The conditions in the mines are archaic. The air quality is dispicable and a surprising proportion of the men die young due to various lung complications and mining-related accidents. They worship Tio (literally 'uncle'), or a Quechua version of the devil, often depicted with red eyes and a grotesquely erect penis. They work upto 16 hour days, 6 days a week. Eat three plates of food for breakfast, and subsist through the day by chewing coca leaves, a Bolivian tradition. The leaves act both to deter hunger and to keep their throats lubricated. The men belong to a co-operative. They get paid on what they find. They work in groups, from 8-20, usually families, working the same section of the mine from generation to generation. Inside the mine, they can earn 2-3 times as much as any other job in the city, somewhere in the range of $2000-3000 Bolivianos a month (approx. $280-400). They eat from the mine and the mine eats them. For a traveler there is much debate about going to see this first hand. These are people´s lives, their livelihoods, their hardships. Do we do them a disservice by going in and gawking at them? Is something somehow better by us seeing how they live? Debates aside, I chose to go into the mines. I chose to see.

A day´s visit to the mine starts with a visit to a house where you receive all necessary gear to go down under. Rubber pants, boots and coat, a helmet with a light and a battery to be worn around your waist. Then the group is shuttled off to 'the miner's market' where it is customary to buy gifts for the mines. Coca leaves, soft drinks, dynamite. Yup dynamite! Not only is it completely legal, but it is customary for wives and children to procure it on behalf of their father´s, husbands and sons. So, for the first time in my life (and likely last), I purchased dynamite. We then crammed back onto the mini-bus. It appeared as if I was the only one who was the least bit concerned about the amount of explosives on the bus. Just another day in Potosi. Our tour started with a visit to a refining factory, where we got to see the process whereby the minerals and separated from the rocks. Then off to the mine. The minute one walks into the mountain, you are immediately confronted by the poor quality of the air. Not only are you at incredible altitude, but you are now inside a mountain filled with dust and mineral particals. Ten steps in this oppressive space leaves you winded, but still you press on. Coca helps. A natural solution, illegal in most parts of the world for its chemically refined (and largely different) cousin. Nonetheless, it takes no time at all to sense that you are climbing into hell. As we walked along the rails of the first level, we hit a roadblock of carts waiting to be transported one way or another. Three groups of 6-8 tourists, were then instructed to simply climb over these carts, full of rocks, all the while, trying hard not to touch the wires up top (don´t want anyone electrocuted). After the carts, the groups split up and headed down different tunnels. The spaces to move are small. The air is thick and dusty and oppresive feeling accompanies you as you move onwards. Our group began the decent to the first level below ground by crawling through small tunnels towards a rickety ladder. It´s incredible how fast one gets winded. At the bottom of the ladder, we meet a group of miners shoveling rocks into a bucket to be lifted through a hole up to the first level. One of the men is 55 years old has been working in the mines for over 35 years. His face is full of lines of age and what I may or may not imagine to be sorrow. It is unimaginable to think what it must be like to spend one´s days (life) in hell. We give them soft drinks and dynamite. Pittance in relation to the reality of their days. We descend further, to the third level below ground. This is as low as our group will go. I cannot imagine wanting to go any deeper. Not after tasting the air and feeling the oppression in my chest. We come upon another group of 11 working together. Two men are shoveling. We move out of the way to let two other men arrive with a cart full of rocks. This cart weighs 1 ton when empty and 2 tons full. It is full. One of the men (boys) pushing is only 15 years old. The cart goes off track. We stand there amazed, holding our breath, as we watch these men struggle and strain to push this cart. Their strength amazes us. Bolivians are typically shorter and stalkier and North Americans/Europeans. When passing them in the street, it is hard to imagine how powerful they are. The cart is back on track and life in the mine goes on. Our visit is now nearing completion. Our guide, a former and sometimes miner still, prepares us for ascent to fresh air. It cannot come fast enough. We begin to climb. Without air, it is excruciating. Frequently we stop to catch our breath. Miners who began their shift at 3am that morning, power past us. They climb with relative ease next to our struggles. We are informed that the morning is the best time of the day for air quality. The miners explode dynamite and drill in the evening in preparation for the next day. Here the air is so thick that it is sometimes difficult to see directly in front of you. Most miners don´t bother with masks in the morning. We are gasping for air. We continue to climb and suddenly things start to look familiar. The tunnel widens. It is easier to breath. Then, finally, like a new morning or a rebirth, I can see the light. Emerging out of darkness into light cannot come soon enough. I am elated to leave the mine behind. I simply cannot imagine the life of those for whom this is a daily reality. On the outside an old man asks me if I liked the mine. Simply and honestly I told him that it is a hard thing to like. Important, but difficult.

On the outside, we are once again tourists. Our guide prepares an extra dynamite that we have purchased as a group. We take pictures with the explosive in hand. I am photographed holding the bomb with a smoking end (2-3 minutes to go). Our guide runs off to a safe distance, deposits the explosive and continues to run. We all prepare our cameras to capture the moment of explosion.