BOLIVIA, Potosi, Wednesday 17th October

Once upon a time, there was a big hill that was full of silver. The Incas named it a sacred place, extracted the silver and paid homage to Pachamama (Mother Earth) appeasing her with sacrifices of lamas (and the occasional virgin) but generally living a peaceful existence. Then the Spanish arrived. They soon sniffed out the silver and began to mine it forcing the Indians into slavery. The missionaries flooded in and informed the Indians that they were evil to worship Pachamama and the only way they could save themselves from eternal damnation was to work in the silver mines. To avoid confusion as to who was boss, the Spanish put up a large, ugly church on top of the hill.
By the 18th Century Potosi was one of the richest towns in the world. The Spanish built according to their wealth, throwing up elegant mansions, grand churches and pretty plazas on the money they were making off the backs of the Indians.
Millions of Indians died in the silver mines and during the transportation of silver and other toxic minerals. Imported African slaves were also put to work but soon died of altitude and the cold.
An African slave was the most expensive commodity; a horse second; a lama third and an Indian fourth, being free. They were forced to hand over 35% of their local population for use in the mines, under pain of death. But that's ok, everyone knows that Indians don't have souls anyway right?
No Spanish man would enter the mines, the fumes and frequency of accidents being a little off-putting to a cultured gentleman. So, in order to keep them in check, they invented Tio. Tio was the Indians' pronunciation of Dios: God, but also translated into Uncle. The Spanish invented a God that would watch over the miners and kill any who were not working hard enough, attributing any accidents to the laziness of the miners and the anger of Tio.
The greed of the Spanish was such that, inevitably, they killed the Goose that Laid the Golden Eggs and the mine was emptied of silver.

Today the mine is still being worked by the Indians and, tragically, their conditions are little improved. They are self employed and pay the owners of the mine $25 a month for the privilege of mining. There is no pure silver anymore but minerals such as zinc, copper, tin, and some that can be separated to make silver. They have to buy all their own equipment such as boots, helmets, lamps and dynamite and if they wish to use the digging machines they have to pay the mine owners a further $10 for every 2 hours of use. This means that most of the digging is still done by hand as it was in the colonial times. The miners work an average of 15 hours a day from 7pm to 12pm, more if they are not finding enough minerals. They send the minerals to the owners of the mine who also own the labs that test the quality of the minerals and therefore dictate how much they should pay the miners. Once they've bought the minerals from the miners they separate them and sell them on for a tidy profit.
Miners still die from the toxic gasses in the mine and the irreparable damage done to their lungs by the dust from drilling. There is no compensation and no allowance for ill health.

Dressed in bright yellow boiler suits and armed with dynamite, coca leaves and cigarettes for the miners we cheerfully made our way up to the mine, giggling at our outfits and posing for photos with dynamite. We were soon sobered, however, by the enclosed darkness of the mine and the shadowy figures of the miners, working tirelessly in the gloom, their cheeks puffed out with coca leaves, accepting our gifts with a nod and back to work. They live on a diet of coca leaves, 95% alcohol and cigarettes while they are down in the mines. They still make offerings to Pachamama and Tio to keep them safe and yield the minerals they are looking for.
It was a relief to return to the sunlight, I can not imagine what it would be like to spend 15 hours a day down there.
We were a silent group descending the mountain and returning back to the elegant, colonial side of town where our hotel was. Back in our 4 star hotel I washed off the dust and reflected on the injustice of it all. What decides that I can return to such comfort when people are living in such crippling poverty, forced to work under such conditions?

So that was Potosi. We arrived yesterday from Uyuni and pottered around the centre of town, which still reflects the slendor of the 'glory days' during the Spanish occupation. The parts of town that were reserved for the Indian slaves are no-go areas still.
We had an entertaining evening drinking jugs of Carpirinha. As a group we get on pretty well but I shall miss Martin and Flo, who are leaving us in La Paz. Jo is prone to moan about things and I still haven't forgiven John after an argument we had over pisco sours about the 'white picket fence' and how I was young and foolish not to know that it is the only existence worth persuing. Hmmmm. Daniel, however, has improved hugely on closer aquanitance once I was able to attribute his creepiness with shyness and eccentricity. Carla continues to be brilliant. So, funny group of missmatches we are, we make our way up to La Paz tomorrow and pick up a few more people before heading off to Lake Titicaca and Peru. How time flies.