Building Bridges

Building Bridges

By Kendra Lachniet

Prologue: 1993

My traveling companion and fellow Peace Corps volunteer, Mary, and I had completed the first half of our Bolivian adventure, touring the cities of Santa Cruz, Cochabamba, La Paz, and Copacabana (I will pause for a moment while you hum the Barry Manilow hit single). We had hiked through the Valley of the Moon, climbed Cerro Calvario (Calvary Hill) overlooking gorgeous Lake Titicaca (I’ll pause a moment while my male readers snicker for a bit), and survived a harrowing ride through the Andes mountains where our bus nearly took a tumble down a rocky cliffside. We had come to the town of Potosí, a silver mining town, where we had heard we could tour the cooperative mines.

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12 sticks of dynamite

detonators

2 bags of coca leaves



         "Is that everything? Okay, let's pay for this stuff and get going!"

         Our guide, Rafael, led us from the miners’ store to the jeep with our purchases for the short trip up to the silver mines of Potosi, Bolivia. Two German girls had joined Mary and me for the tour. The provisions were for the miners who would share their stories and show us what they do every day. We decided that our tour should be in Spanish since it was the only language we all spoke with a degree of fluency.

         Rafael brought three young boys along for our tour. Pedro, Jorge, and Adolfo were the sons of the miners, and they knew the passages within the mountain by heart The boys ranged in age from about eight to ten years old. They would soon follow the family tradition and work in the mine for whatever meager finds it offered. Our helmets came equipped with carbide lanterns like the ones I had seen displayed in a copper mining museum in northern Michigan. None of those unreliable flashlights for us! A piece of carbide was placed in a holder in the helmets. Water was placed in a contained that slowly dripped onto the rock, creating the acetylene gas, which we ignited.

         Carrying little fires on our heads and wiping the dripping, stinky liquid from our brows, we entered the complete darkness of a mine that had produced enough silver to build a bridge to Europe. It had also killed enough men to build two more bridges with their bones, Rafael explained.

         At the beginning of the tour we stopped to pay our respects to two of the little clay statues, called the "uncles" of the mine. These tios looked a little more like devils to me with their pointy horns. We laid out a blanket of coca leaves at their feet and placed cigarettes between their clay lips. Unfortunately, we forgot to bring a lighter or matches. Our three small escorts made a trip back to the entrance to get a lighter Mary left in the Jeep. The boys had no need of lanterns. They raced back, moving quickly without the hindrance of us tall gringas checking every step and constantly smacking our heads off the low roof of the tunnels. Soon the boys returned and the tios were “smoking” their Camels.

         Rafael explained how all of the equipment in the mine worked. When he showed us the contraption that sent rocks bouncing off the sides of a shaft to a cart below, the sounds of bouncing faded before the rocks reached their final destination. Since the cart was near the entrance, I realized we had been climbing into the mountain, not descending as I assumed. The feeling of all that ground between us and the exit gave me a pang of claustrophobia.

         We stopped at several spots where miners were working. We offered coca leaves, which serve to stave off hunger. We even tried some ourselves, stuffing a wad into our cheeks and chewing it until it was juicy and sour. Coca leaves are also good for altitude sickness, which was our excuse to try some, but the taste kept us from attaining the large wad necessary for the desired effect.

         One group of miners was preparing to blow out a piece of the wall just as we arrived. We provided the dynamite and detonators and were treated to a demonstration. I was a little nervous as the miners pounded the dynamite into a crack and positioned the detonators. They sent us down the corridor for the actual event. We plugged our ears in anticipation. We heard the explosion followed by a whoosh of rushing air and dust that blew out our lanterns!

         "Okay. That was way-cool, but who has the lighter?"

         "I do. Here." Mary's voice sounded muted in the darkness. A flicker of light pierced the darkness. Rafael took each helmet and attempted to light the lanterns.

         "No hay agua." I've heard that far too many times since arriving in Latin America. Why did we come on a half-day tour without water?

         "It's okay. We'll go get some." Our saviors, the three boys each grabbed our helmets and took off down the corridor. The tios sure weren't taking care of us, but these boys took up the slack.

         Within only a few minutes, the boys returned, lanterns once again dripping and ready to light.

         "How did you get the water so fast? Are we near the entrance?" we asked as Rafael lit the carbide and we placed the helmets back on our heads.

         "No, we're a long way from the entrance now. But pee works too!" They laughed as we wiped the drips from our faces. Wasn't that just precious?

         Tired, dirty, partially deaf, and having seen what we came to see, we urged our guide to start leading us back. Rafael wanted to show us a few things first, though. We reached a shaft with just a short drop to another level of corridors. Rafael led the way and helped me down. The shaft was a little snug and flakes of rock scraped loose, dusting me as I dropped to the floor below. Mary and the German girls looked down, conferred a bit, and decided they were not going to follow. They were tired. They wanted to go back to the hotel. After several hours underground they had had enough. Seriously? They couldn’t have said that before we went down?

         Rafael was unperturbed. "Okay. I'll take Kendra and Pedro. Adolfo and Jorge will take you to a place where you can meet us on the way out of the mine."

That sounded okay to me. The German girls seemed a little troubled that our guide would be leaving them, but they complied. I tramped along behind Rafael to yet another shaft. This one led up. I felt a bit of anxiety since this shaft looked even smaller than the one we had previously negotiated. Pedro had no trouble getting through, and having just recovered from a two-month visit from parasites, I actually had little trouble squishing my bones through the hole. Rafael stood alone in the corridor below us, looking doubtfully up at us.

         "I can't get through this one. It's too small. I'll meet you at a different spot. You go with Pedro. You'll be fine." Rafael handed Pedro a lantern and disappeared from sight. Oh. What would happen if the next shaft were only big enough for a small child? What if I sprain my ankle on a loose rock? What if our lanterns go out and we’re too dehydrated to pee? Then I saw Pedro with a concerned expression, like he was anticipating an explosion of a personal nature. Thinking of the hot springs where Mary and I would soak later this evening, I took a deep breath.

         I smiled and said, "Okay, Pedro. Try not to lose me."

         I followed my little guide with confidence. He didn't seem malicious despite the pee episode. I didn't believe he'd ditch me in the darkness. He turned and checked on my progress frequently. What a gentleman!

Uh-oh. We reached a point where there was a large mine shaft spanning the width of the corridor and no alternate route.

         "Long way down, Pedro. What now?"

         "No problema." He jumped across the gap like a little rock-hopping llama.

         I contemplated the jump with growing anxiety. I grabbed a rock and tossed it down the shaft, trying to make it bounce off the sides as it descended. I counted. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...up to eight Mississippi before my body would splat at the bottom. And three more bridges could be built with the bones of the tourists…..

         There stood Pedro with his hand outstretched, looking expectant. Yeah, right.

         "Pedro. How much do you think I weigh?"

         "I don't know."

         "Enough to drag your puny little body to the bottom of the shaft with me if you try to catch me. Don't even think about it."

         "Jump. You'll make it."

         "Pedro. I want you to picture this. I run. I jump. I go up. My head hits that dangerously low ceiling. I go straight down the mine shaft. You hear 'splat'."

         "Oh. No, you'll make it. Just jump more forward, not so much up.”

         "Yeah, that's me--long jump champion.” I placed fourth in that event on field day ten years ago.

         “Just jump. I'll catch you. Promise." Like many kids his age, Pedro cannot fathom the consequences.

         I started doing a little geometric figuring. Spatial relationships are one of my strengths. I never took physics, though. Who'd have thought it'd come in handy here? Okay, I could run diagonally down the corridor, aim for the wall next to the shaft, and ricochet towards Pedro. Excellent plan! I spotted a tiny ledge where I could try to push off with my foot if I got enough momentum.

         "Okay, Pedro. This is it! Are you ready?"

         "Yes."

         "Get out of the way."

         "No, I'll catch you."

         "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

         I backed up as far as I could and sprinted for the shaft. My left foot hit the ledge and I launched myself forward, bashing into Pedro on the other side.

         Lying on the floor, covered in dust, Pedro looked up at me so sweetly.

         "See? I told you I'd catch you!"

         "That you did. Thank you."

         "No problema."

         We did eventually meet up with Rafael and the rest. I thoroughly enjoyed the tour. We thanked our guide and escorts, wiped the pee from our faces, and headed back to town. Maybe the miners believe the tíos really protect them in the mine, but I believe it was my guardian angel. His name is Pedro.