It is safe to say that only a small amount of people have experienced being inside a small and humid mine. Working at a mine is hard work, tough labor, there’s no doubt about it. When that is the only life a person knows, anything physically demanding or suffering may no longer feel as challenging.

I was one of those fortunate kids that get to experience gambling their life to be inside a dark, wet and cramped mines. And as a reward… gold. Gold that is small, almost of no value but occassionally, just enough to make it worthwhile.

Interested? If so, then better strap your belt that holds the battery to your headlamp and let’s push through into the darkness of the mines.

The Teens That Needed Work

Being a teenager, I felt like I can conquer everything. I rode motorcycles, did tricks on them, skateboards, wave boards, bikes, even heelies, anything that had wheels on them, I’ll ride with no sense of danger. I’ve had multiple slips on my motorcycle at such a young age, and by the grace of God, I never sustained any long-term injuries.

I got a lot of bruises and wounds from slipping up riding my bikes or attempting to execute jumps on a motorcycle. I would simply dust myself off, grab some rubbing alcohol and applied it to where the wound was (Now that I am older, rubbing alcohol directly to the wound is not really helpful). At the time, we thought we were tough and brave but looking back now, all I see is a sheer naivety.

Growing up poor, my friends and I would constantly have odd jobs. Some worked at a convenience store, some sell anything they could get their hands on, and some did manual labor on construction sites. I for one was lucky enough to be at a mine since my father was a miner.

The mines chose me

In the mines, the only “ride” was the mine cart, and you can’t make tricks on those, the mine cart would barely fit through the narrow entrance of the mine and weighing twice as much as I did when empty. My job specifically was to push mine cart in and out of the tunnel, pushing it empty going in was already a back breaking endeavor, even now, I can’t comprehend how I was able to push it out loaded with rocks and unload the heavy load on a steep terrain.

To save time and effort, other miners would fill the cart exceeding the brim and it was my job to figure out a way to push the cart out. To paint a vivid picture, the tunnels were not straight; they twisted and zigzagged, some sections had a bit of elevation and other sections were descending.

On the sections that twisted with a descending slope, were the most painful part. Since I was not that strong, the loaded cart would accelerate quickly. I had to lean my body diagonally to steer the cart while using my legs to brake just to make the turn. This often would cause my body to slam against the sharp, rocky walls of the tunnel, hence, explaining why I still have scars on my shoulders.

Once I got the mine cart out of the tunnel, I was only halfway done, I still had to pour out the rocks by lifting the one end of the cart. The cart has a mechanism that opens the opposite end, so only one side needs to be lifted. This is where body mechanics becomes crucial, because using only my upper body to lift one end of the cart off the ground would destroy my back and my scrawny arms, I had to squat low, grab the makeshift handles of the cart and lift with my whole body. The rocks would fall out of the other end of the cart. In one day, I would repeat this routine around 20 times. The accumulating rocks would create a gorge that if I was not careful, could be something I could easily fall into.

Falling off the Gorge

I will never forget the day I fell into the gorge, I was following my usual routine of pouring rocks out off the mine cart. As an exhausted teenager who had been doing this grueling work all day, I could no longer do it properly and had to rely solely on willpower to lift the cart. My legs were shaking as I lifted the mine cart off the ground and saw the rocks slide out and fall into the gorge, the wheels of the mine cart had no brakes and without proper strength to hold the cart in place, the wheels rolled off along with the entire cart—and me , along with it.

The cart was heavy, and I did not let go on time. I literally rolled and tumbled with it, I got bruises all over my body, thankfully, my head was unharmed. I was bleeding as I watched the cart roll further in the distance.

As usual, when I attempt trick on a skateboard or a bike and slip up, I dust myself off and check if I’ve broken any bones. By the grace of God, no broken bones that day. Just some ripped working jeans, scratches from the sharp rocks, and bruises I got from tumbling down the loose sharp rocks of the gorge

Summoning my remaining strength, I checked on the cart for any damages. Fortunately, the cart was fine and so was I, relatively. The challenge now was ascending the steep slope covered in loose pointed rocks with the cart. I have attempted to push it, but even turning the cart to face the incline using my trembling and exhausted body proved difficult.

The Ascend

As I gazed up to the edge of the gorge where the cart and I had to reach. I admired the blue sky and the clouds that seemed to be waving at the poor soul at the bottom of the gorge (me).

I was alone and desperate. Climbing alone was already a challenge, how much more if I have to carry a cart that’s twice my weight. I sat on the slope, searching my brain for a solution, but every idea that I thought of demanded more strength that I did not have.

Then a shadow towered over me, I turned and it was another miner who was passing by. He was tall and muscular, covered in dried mud just like me. He hoisted the cart over his shoulders without saying a word and ascended slowly. He put the cart down on the peak of the gorge with grace and pointed the cart towards the entrance of the narrow tunnel. He came back for me down at the bottom of the gorge, lifted me up by the hand, and said “Go again, the others inside the tunnel are waiting”.

I slowly crawled my way up the gorge and once I reached the top, I checked my pockets to find the pack of cigarettes I was carrying. Only three remained—the two were damaged, and torn in half but thankfully, there was still one intact. I lit the last fresh cigarette from the pack, took a slow drag, I looked up at the sky and whispered, “Thank you…”