Of mines and men

Inside the bocamina, there exists a darkness beyond the lack of sunlight. Workers face the threat of deadly stumbles, accidental explosions, and falling rocks. Lung-shrinking carbon monoxide and temperatures that range from boiling hot to freezing cold punish their bodies as they work for hours without rest or food.

Light and dark, night and day, life and death. Reality in the mines is ruled by extreme juxtapositions. Inside the mountain live two deities: Pachamama, or Mother Earth; and Tio, her “husband-to-be”. Tio knows many forms, and many faces. According to Antonio, our miner-turned-tour-guide, in every mine there can be ‘three, four, five, more,’ statuettes that embody this figure. Once the miners descend into the dark, these dualistic deities determine their fate.

As we approach the mouth of the mine, Gustavo, the younger of our tour guides, explains that every job involving the mine has its dangers and its consequences. The miners take from the mines, just as the mine takes from them. ‘That's why we ask permission,’ he explains, as he drips 98% pure alcohol from a tiny bottle onto the ground at the entrance. This act, known as a Ch'alla, is a request to enter the mine and exit alive. Once for Pachamama, once for Tio, and once for the god above.

Slowly, boot by boot, we climb down long wooden ladders into the dark, following Antonio and Gustavo. Upon our descent, the world outside – its skies, its clouds, its sunshine – disappears. The low, rocky ceiling of the mine quickly consumes all light besides that of our headlamps. Our lungs writhe in the dusty, stale air. Blades of light catch the craggy, enormous rocks below.

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