Mining in Sierra Leone: two young lives that ended in the search for gold

There is a sense of disbelief in this village in Sierra Leone as people cry over the bodies of two teenagers wrapped in white cloth.

The day before, Mohamed Bangura, 16, and Yayah Jenneh, 17, left their homes in Nyimbadu, in the country’s eastern province, hoping to earn some extra money for their families.

They had gone in search of gold but never returned. The makeshift well they were digging collapsed on top of them.

This was the third fatal mine accident, leaving a total of at least five children dead, in the last four years in this region.

Mohamed and Yayah were part of a phenomenon that has seen increasing numbers of children skipping school in some parts of Sierra Leone to mine for the precious metal in potentially lethal pits, according to directors and community activists.

The Eastern Province has historically been known for diamond mining. But in recent years informal – or artisanal – gold mining has expanded as diamond reserves have been depleted.

Mining sites appear wherever local people find deposits in this wealth-laden land: on farmland, in ancient cemeteries and along river beds.

There are few formal mining companies operating here, but in areas that are not considered profitable, the landscape is dotted with unregulated pits that can be up to 4 meters deep.

Similar, and equally dangerous, mines can be found in many African countries, and there are often reports of deadly cave-ins.

Most families in Nyimbadu depend on small-scale farming and petty trade to earn a living. Alternative employment is scarce, so the opportunity to earn some extra money is very attractive.

But the town community gathered at the local funeral home knows that the work also has a price: the loss of two young lives full of promise.

Yayah’s mother, Namina Jenneh, is a widow and depended on her young son to help support her five other children.

As someone who worked in the pits, he acknowledges that he introduced Yayah to mining, but says, “He didn’t tell me he was going there; if I had known, I would have stopped him.”

When he heard about the collapse, he says he begged someone to “call the excavator driver.”

“When he arrived, he removed the debris that had buried the children.”

But it was too late to save them.

Mrs. Jenneh speaks with deep pain. On a mobile phone with a broken screen, she flips through photographs of her son, a bright-eyed boy who supported her.

Sahr Ansumana, a local child protection activist, takes me to the collapsed well.

“If you ask some parents, they will tell you that there is no other alternative. They are poor, they are widows, they are single parents,” he says.

“They have to take care of the children. They themselves encourage the children to go get mine. We are struggling and we need help. It is worrying and it is getting out of hand.”

But the warning is not heard: the loss of Yayah and Mohamed has not emptied the wells.

The day after their funerals, miners, including children, return to work, their hands sifting riverside sand or inspecting manually excavated earth for glimmers of gold.

In one place I met Komba Sesay, 17, who wants to be a lawyer, but spends his daytime hours here to support his mother.

“There is no money,” he says. “That’s what we’re trying to find. I’m working on being able to register and sit [high school] exams. I want to go back to school. “I’m not happy here.”

Komba’s earnings are slim. Most weeks he earns around $3.50 (£2.65), less than half the country’s minimum wage. But he perseveres in the hope of becoming rich. On some very rare good days, he found enough ore to make $35.

Of course, you know the job is risky. Komba has friends who have been injured in well collapses. But he feels that mining is the only way to make some money.

And it’s not just students who drop out of schools.

Roosevelt Bundo, principal of Gbogboafeh Aladura Secondary School in Nyimbadu, says that “teachers also leave classes to go to the mines, where they mine together with the students.”

Their government salary cannot compete with what they could earn from gold mining.

There are also broader signs of change around mining centres. What were once small camps have become cities in the last two years.

The government says it is addressing the problem.

Information Minister Chernor Bah tells the BBC that the government remains committed to education, but adds that the state recognizes the many challenges people face.

“We spend about 8.9% of our GDP, the highest of any other country in this subregion, on education,” he says, adding that the funds go to teachers, school feeding programs and subsidies aimed at keeping children in classrooms.

But on the ground, reality bites. Immediate survival often trumps politics.

Local charities and activists are trying to get children out of the pits and back to school, but without reliable income alternatives, the pits are too attractive.

Back in Nyimbado, the families of the two dead children seem exhausted and empty.

The loss is not just that of two young lives. It is the constant erosion of possibilities over a generation.

“We need help,” says activist Ansumana. “Not prayers. Not promises. Help.”