Death at the Slag Dumps!

Editors note: Submitted for publication in October

They were sound asleep in one of the corridors within the central business district shielding themselves from the blistering wind with cardboards when they became aware of heavy boots tapping them.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” guttural voices echoed in their ears, frantically.

Their immediate instinct was to jump up and run for their lives; obviously assuming it was the cops in their usual routine of rounding up urchins and whisking them away to orphanages or detention facilities depending on their age groups, of course. Reading their thoughts perhaps; a voice added quickly, “the commander wants to have a word with you….” It was a band of the dreaded gang – the Jerabos! They were known to instill dread and fear in the community for their dastardly deeds.

The commander was slouched in the back seat of his impressive Toyota Landcruiser, double cab. The dimly lit interior light revealed glittering rings adorned on all of his fingers while his neck was yoked in bulky gold chains with massive pendants which seemed to weigh him down.

“Ba guy…….do you wish to make some quick bucks?”

The lads exchanged glances, surreptitiously. The commander didn’t even bother looking up. He seemed preoccupied with his Rubik’s Cube which he twisted and turned, dexterously.

“Come with us if you do…….moreover, you’ll get to enjoy succulent meals,”

It was a command rather than a request. The driver reversed the SUV and whipped it onto the main road. In no time, the truck was cruising north west of the city of Kitwe. There were 10 abductees altogether. The truck raced at a breakneck speed which made their hearts get extracted from their chest cavities and deposited into their throats! They had to hold tight to the fenders to avoid being jettisoned.

It was therefore such a relief when the truck drew to a screeching halt at what looked like a slag dump. They found a couple of other street kids from whom they gleaned information they were actually in Chingola; a mining town home to the second largest open pit mine in the world. A creepy and eerie stillness pervaded the atmosphere. Owls could be heard howling and making mournful sounds from a distance.

The new arrivals and the other street kids were invited to a meal. They huddled on a tarpaulin for what they considered a feast……well, nshima, chicken stew and vegetables! They were hardly done with their food when a sharp voice pierced into the quiet night.

“Get cracking chaps; we aren’t here for a picnic!”

Oddly, the tone of their voices had changed, suddenly. While the other kids promptly gathered their sacks and darted off into the tunnels, the new arrivals had to be subjected to screening and a pep talk of some kind. The much older kids were separated from the younger ones and ordered to join those already crouching in the tunnels extracting the copper ore. On the other hand, the younger ones were assigned the task of hauling the bags of ore to the waiting tipper trucks outside the mine dumps. The daily rate for those taking the risk of going underground to “mine copper” is K150 while those shifting it get K50…..there’s no room for negotiations!

Those delving deep into the bowels of the earth to find copper were further divided into groups of two and had to share a flash light between them to enhance visibility. As they hoisted the bags of ore to the fore, the other group promptly got hold of it as one of the Jerabos standing akimbo on a heap of stones kept shouting instructions and egging them on.

“We catch you lazing about,” he bellowed. “You don’t get paid!”

The kids had to run back and forth unceasingly, like headless chickens, gasping for breath, as they attempted to haul as much load as possible to satisfaction of the Jerabos! As the intermittent cockcrows came alive, yonder, announcing the break of dawn, the commander systematically blew a whistle. They took a 30 minutes break to replenish their energy.

No sooner had they resumed work than a patrol vehicle swung-by and packed at a distance. The commander promptly walked to the vehicle. After briefly liaising with the officers, he fished-out a thick envelope from one of the inner pockets of his coat and handed it to the man sitting behind the wheel.

The first few days went according to plan…..well, without any incidents. As misfortune would have it though; one night, they were engaged in the usual activity when disaster struck!

They had just offloaded the ore onto the truck and were trying to outrun each other when they felt the ground begin to shift. It was moving slowly initially, and suddenly increased speed. Before long, the slag was curving in furiously! A couple of kids managed to come out unscathed. Unfortunately, about 3 of them couldn’t make it…….they had been buried in the tunnel!

At this point in time, the commander was busy making phone calls as he paced about. After a while, he ordered everyone to pack their belongings and decamp from the place.

Prince Bill M Kaping’a
Political/Social Analyst