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Robert Mukondiwa, Correspondent

THE southern sun in Matabeleland South threatens to pierce the belligerent sky that doesn’t seem too keen to let go of the evening. But daybreak is inevitable.

This is Gwanda, 120 kilometres south-east of Zimbabwe’s second largest city, Bulawayo.

As the rest of the country and economy starts to wake, word is, the economy deep in the belly of Gwanda, hardly went to sleep.

A gold mining town predominantly, it is places like this that have kept communities, provinces and the nation fed as they diligently continued to work against all odds to produce and  earn revenue for the national purse.

I head towards one of these mines that have valiantly served the nation to experience what effort and sacrifice it takes to keep a national economy afloat first-hand through the eyes of the men, and women, at the frontline.

The miners.

The mine lies along a meandering road that rolls down valleys and uphills lined with thorn bushes, mopane trees and beautiful yet stubborn enviable varied breeds of cattle that just will not get out of the way, with the onus upon me to ensure my bakkie makes way for these obstinate pieces of pedigree.

The meandering strip of tar leads to Vumbachikwe, a gold mine that has held its own over the years regardless of the odds.

A dirt road peters out away from the tar.

It dashes heading away from the clutches of wait-a-bit thorn bushes and powdery chocolate and oft caramel-coloured dust at the hem of the tar delivering you to the gates of Vumbachikwe.

Belittled by a large dome-like hill, the main shaft lies in the shadow of a hill named Vumbachikwe, thought to be a corruption of the Nyanja words for hippopotamus of rock, which is what the beholders saw the hill to resemble.

After rigorous Covid-19-related safety protocols, we finally check in for our shift, my assistant Tafadzwa dutifully beside me as we report for duty.

This, for me — for us — is uncharted territory.

And the challenge is made all the more intense by the fact that of the three main producing shafts that lie across Vumbachikwe Mine, we are about to conquer the toughest and deepest of them all, The AT Main shaft.

It is a 4AM shift, but my suspicions were confirmed.

“There are underground workers down there some of whom have entered as early as 2AM in the morning,” the Vumbachikwe or ‘‘Vuba’’ as it is affectionately known, SHE (Safety, Health, Environment and Quality) Czar Munashe Chineka explains to us as we get dressed for the challenge.

Boyish looks and charm, his appearance deceives the man beneath the veneer. Munashe is tenacious in pursuing the safety of his co-workers and has successfully cut accidents at this mine by half in the last year as he prepares for a new target he set this year; cutting accidents by a further half for the year 2022.

The passion he has for safety on one hand and raising production on the other is almost palpable.

Having such a man as a leader of my expedition going into the shaft gives a sense of relief because you know he has your back as spelt out by the Vuba 2022 theme; Be A Brother’s Keeper; Together We Can Achieve Zero Harm, which effectively puts the health and safety of the next person in your hands.

Sliding into the branded overalls, and gumboots, we get free advice.

“It’s going to be hot down there. Very hot where we are going. So I would advise that you wear as little as possible under your overalls,” says Munashe.

It would prove to be one ‘‘brother’s keeper’’ moment that we would be grateful for!

In nothing but boxers and underpants under our overalls, we straddle in our wellies like penguins.

You get the feeling that everyone beholding you knows you’re naked under the overalls.

With helmet, overalls, torch and all gear ready, we wait to be taken down into the shaft.

One rule of thumb.

Underground, keep your torch on at all times!

This shift is a men’s affair and a couple of dozen wait with us.

With the various communication bells sounding, we get to know that these bells have sequences that communicate different messages effectively making it a ‘‘language’’ of bells.

It is a Babel Tower moment for me as I have no clue what the bells mean and tour leader Munashe, the mine captain Sydney Hamadi and SHE officer Gideon Nyoni have to decipher for us the meanings and make sure we are informed.

Soon, we line into a cage — it is the pod which hoists and takes people down.

Much like an elevator, this is however, far from glamorous.

In it, 10 men stand in two rows one immediately behind the other packed like sardines in a tin.

This time, we go down as just eight.

“Previously before Covid we would have 10 men on each trip but reduced it to eight in order to minimise close contact,” Munashe explains.

As the cage descends, one cannot help but take in the scents of damp earth in the beginning, the distinct smell of water which we hardly appreciate in ordinary times as well as the licks of cold breezes that hit the neck.

“Lights on gentlemen” captain Hamadi instructs. Soon we all look like glow-worms with lit foreheads.

The chatter is social and oft naughty and mischievous.

But when you are descending into the belly of the earth way beyond realms where your ancestors lie, then perhaps what you need is light-hearted talk and banter to calm the soul.

I particularly am beside myself with anxiety.

I am claustrophobic.

Remarkably so.

And I cannot stand heights.

My biggest fear is being buried alive.

I’m not confident of my respiratory prowess.

And I am not particularly interested in dying.

It is just an extracurricular activity I’d rather not do.

And yet today, I am confronting elements that speak to all that and a little bit more.

In my bravery, or perhaps splendid stupidity.

Some miners alight at different levels.

But we soldier on.

We are headed to the lowest levels. Level 38 in particular.

By the time we are done we will have descended over 1,5 kilometres into the earth and walked a further half-a-kilometre to-and-fro.

Add to that climbing ladders one level up from level 38 to the deposit of gold being picked through at level 37 sub-level A known as a stope.

Almost 1,2 kilometres into the belly of the earth, we alight and are taken through the motions.

Here, non-chalant of our presence, gangs of diligent miners from various fields of expertise are assiduously at work.

The level of commitment is palpable and so is the spirit.

There is a reason for all of this added fervour.

The mining industry has been hit by the same challenges as the rest of the economy in Zimbabwe.

As a result, a couple of months had passed with these workers facing uncertainty and salaries coming in staccato rather than flow.

A series of ongoing changes in administration to plug holes, improve efficiency, encourage transparency and collective ownership of the mining operations has seen Vumbachikwe rise.

This has meant that the wage flow has returned bringing cautious optimism, a wage that has responded to the raise negotiated by the NEC being paid out and making the ‘‘men in the mine” regain the spring in their step.

In these arteries and veins of mother earth that these miners massage every day extracting the wealth of the land lies the answer to an economy with ambitious set targets.

The Government has set targets to grow the economy with all hands on deck.

Vuba is evidently playing ball with its 1 050 plus workforce ensuring the pursuit of a middle-income economy status for Zimbabwe becomes a reality with the benefits serving all.

As I walk through, he motions working with one team and another, I am told we have to descend to where the men are actually operating from, digging the belly of the earth, the stopes, to extract ore that will ultimately stand the various tests in order to eventually lead up to precious ounces of gold.

Along the long tunnels, my body has somewhat forgotten it is claustrophobic, perhaps because of the well-lit tunnels which also happen to be well-ventilated.

With every section we pass, Munashe is not just a guide, but near-paranoid as he is about safety, a man who keeps checking how ‘‘safe’’ equipment and workstations are.

The wagon operators, journeymen repairing wagons underground and men shovelling ore into the trolleys work at breakneck pace.

You can hardly believe that some of these men have been here since just past midnight.

They take me through the paces, as I begin to appreciate the intricacies of the various facets of gold mining in a serious concern such as Vuba.

Then a meeting is convened. I have to get deeper into the mine where a cage can take me down, but I have to then get to an area accessible only with the ladders to see the actual stomping process at the mine face.

They look at me.

Pretty face.

Chubby cheeks, beer belly.

The whiff of cologne.

Am I ready for this at all?

They seem to be thinking.

Should we slaughter this sheep?

But I interject.

What use is the mine experience if I do not go the whole nine yards?

And so it is settled.

We take one cage five levels down to level 38.

It carries three at a time.

“Don’t look down,” I’m told as that is a bad idea for my fear of heights.

Soon I am there, the moment of truth.

Looking up as ladders that are between seven and 10 metres high stuck to a carved out wet wall stand belittling me.

They invite me darkly, with any slip meaning I would meet those of the Nhari Unendoro Nyamasvisva totem.

Becoming an ancestor in my own right.

Would my fear of heights allow that?

Similarly, I would then not only climb to a height but the tunnel would get more closed up challenging my fear of heights and legendary claustrophobia at the same time.

It didn’t help that my nightmares usually have me falling from high places.

Yet I tell myself there were many who conquered their fears in order to pursue the noble profession that is mining.

That I have been faced with darker adversaries who have sought to destroy me but I stood firm.

What greater challenge is claustrophobia and a fear of heights, both of which have no pulse and do not breathe?

And up I went.

It was a convergence of two worlds.

They say here in the belly of the earth is where Hades, the home of Lucifer lies, in all its heat with fire and burning brimstone.

Perhaps they were right.

The temperatures started to rise and terribly so.

But here too I would occasionally feel a cool breeze like the breath of angels.

Surely nothing as beautiful as gold could be put in a bosom near the devil without some divinity protecting it!

The walls became grimy.

Right behind me on the ladder was Gideon.

Ordinarily, one person goes up the ladder at a time before calling upon the next to ascend when they have cleared it.

But in this instance they had to make sure that this novice “miner” was covered should anything go wrong, like secret service ought to jump and take the bullet should the president’s life be threatened.

Except, when you are climbing challenging ladders, the narrative is not that glamorous.

Ascending second after a pro, my breathing had to be measured.

The bottles of water we had been advised to carry suddenly made sense.

Soon I was breathing in hot air at the various interval platforms we were getting to and briefly stopping at, as we conquered the next stage of ladders.

“We have one more set of ladders to go before we reach the place where the boys are digging,” said the man in front, Thompson Nyoni.

After we climbed to the next platform, things went awry. He had misread his mentals.

There were two more to climb!

My heart skipped a beat before level 37 top and panic set in.

Suddenly we were in an enclosed area, with severe heat, and I saw flashed across my now wet dripping face.

My breathing was now subdued and I was taking half breaths.

I felt I might pass out. My pulse was racing.

“Take a longer break,” said Gideon noticing that I was in serious struggle. I declined.

The reason for my panic, I guessed, was that this particular area was more enclosed than the previous areas and hence my claustrophobia had set in as had my anxiety.

A thyroid diagnosis a decade before which had been unattended looked me in the face and said “I told you to fix me!”
I ascended the next set of ladders telling myself to calm down.

That if I needed this gold I should conquer with calmness as I always conquer that which seeks to destroy me. I saw shadows.

Was that me about to pass out?

Were those my shadows on the wall?

Or were they those of my ancestors setting the table for a welcome party?

‘I love parties,’ I told myself, ‘but I’m not attending this one today!’

Tapiwa Moyo, one of the men on the trek assists with his dark humour, “I need to climb more ladders,” he suggests.

It strengthens me.

Finally getting to where the men were hard at work, the business end of mining, I sat soaked in my sweat, pouring mineral water over myself while recalibrating my breathing.

The heat was immense. My legs were shaking from ascending tens of metres on upright ladders with varied rungs.

My heart was beating fast.

Dissatisfied with being beneath my chest, it seemed to have unilaterally moved to the area where my Adam’s apple previously used to reside.

But nothing beats calm.

Here the noise was excruciatingly loud.

The drilling so intense it shook one’s lungs, liver, heart, your entire being and innards rearranging them!

The stope is the home of the glory and the gold.

The men drilling dutifully and soaked in sweat.

Determined to get the glow beneath the land.

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the land, but the meek do not inherit the wealth beneath the land.

That is inherited by the tenacious and diligent yet combatant miners that stand before me drilling the earth mercilessly.

Once the stope face has been established and the gold reef exposed, drilling begins in preparation for blasting of the reef.

After the stope has been blasted, as was now the case, the rock broken in the blast (bearing gold ore) is collected in a process known as sweeping and vamping — then transported to the shaft via conveyors often and underground locomotives as in the Vuba case then hoisted to the ground at level 35; the trimming and haulage level.

It is then hoisted to the surface for crushing, milling and extraction of the gold from the rocks then begins.

After being taken through the motions and hit with a strong wave of cold wind from the ventilator pipe that keeps the workers breathing and the pressure present in a game that is largely about water and pressure, it was time to descend yet again, thankfully.

Descending was a less painful task on the stamina, but relentless on the wobbly knees and stretched thighs and calves, it was the thought of being finally free that kept me motivated to take each step as it came and keep calm.

In no time at all we had signed out from the level, taken back to level 35 and then sat, Gideon, Munashe, Tafadzwa and I waiting for the shift to end and go upwards back to civilisation.

Here, dozens of men sat waiting for the trip up as well.

There was the smell of sweat and hard labour, honest work and tenacity.

There was the smell of achievement. And then there was the smell of testosterone.

More of it than could ever be found in Adam, the prototype.

Because it takes a lot of character to be one of these men, and indeed women.

As we lie in bed or celebrate the growing economy; as we slip that gold ring on or adorn that 24-carat necklace around our necks; as we celebrate the beauty that mother nature has allowed us to extract from her rich yet treacherously precarious-to-reach veins — let us remember that it is these men and women going up the cage with me wearing serious faces that make it happen.

As the cage slowly ascends, they are curiously quiet as opposed to the trip down.

Perhaps, like me, they are worn out.

The skin on their foreheads wrinkled as they stare intently before them; boring into the back of the man in front of them.

Their minds are visibly in another world.

Reunited on the farm compound with their wives and children perhaps?

Contemplating a cold rewarding beer possibly?

Or maybe simply waiting for the next shift as they continue this gallant economy building calling of being a dedicated chivalrous Zimbabwean miner!