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g g THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 13
California Hepcr
MEDKORD MAIL TRIBUNE, MEDFORD, OREGON
ter
'escribes Peru Hjne Conditions
Editor's note:
Despite such endeavors as
the Alliance for Progress and
the force of post World War II
industrialization, few places
In the world today have been
more untouched by progress
than some parts of Latin
America. What is life really
like in the back country of a
turbulent hemisphere? Deep
inside an old mine in Peru,
a reporter for the Chico, Calif.,
Enterprise-Record found some
of the answers.
By NICHOLAS ELLENA
Written for
United Press International
TOMALAMANO, Peru (UPI)
To those of us who visited the
Tomalamano mine high on the
crest of the Andes, Miguelito is a
boy without a face.
He is the sound of a pick
chinking rhythmically in the
depths of a dark pit. He is the
curt signal for the raising of a
sackful of ore, uttered in a
muffled voice unbroken yet by
manhood. He is the tiny flame
flickering in the darkness of the
mountain s bowels.
Most of all he is the symbol
of a life of unbroken toil, lived
today as it was 300 years ago,
with little prospect of change
for tomorrow and whose re
wards amount to some 20 or 30
cents a day.
The rich ores silver, iron,
tin, copper, lead that made
Peru a prize for the rapacious
conquistadores continue to flow
from its mountains. Large mod
ern mines, operated mostly by
foreign interests, range up and
down the rugged Andes and con
stitute Peru's second largest in
dustry behind agriculture.
Date Back to Incas
But there are also many
mines like Tomalamano (Take
my hand), hundreds of them,
small worm holes lost in the
mighty flanks of the Cordil
lera, where a man has to
stoop to enter. They are carv
ed out laboriously by means
of hand tools and a rare stick
of dynamite. Their origin
dates back to Inca times.
They are operated sporadical
ly, when the market price of
the metal they yield makes
operation profitable for the
dueno (owner) who, more
.often than not, lives in rela
tive comfort in a distant city.
For the workers at Tomala
mano, comfort Is a very, very
relative term.
Our interest was drawn to the
mine during the 25-mile hike by
our mountaineering party up the
Quebrada (canyon) Honda that
pierces the heart of the Cordil
lera blanca 3itu nines norinwesi
of Lima.
The mine was shown on our
maps as a symbol of two cross
ed picks. We could see it from
camp in the ytiebraaa as a
spiralling column of smoke near
the top of cliffs crowned by the
hanging glaciers of the Copap
plateau, which, as far as was
known, was as yet untrodden
by man.
Get Close Look
Several of us, including 17-year-old
Jane Wyss of Austin,
Texas, whose attributes in ad
dition to a head of honey-colored
hair and a beguiling man
ner, included some workable
high school Spanish, climbed the
trail for a close look. The zig
zag path led steeply through
sparse grass and clumps of lu
pine to a cluster of adobe huts
perched percariously on the
slopes at an altitude of about
15,500 feet.
Beyond the first huts the
trail broadened slightly and
formed a sort of balcony be
tween two other huts connect
ed by a low wall. A figure sat
on a crude bench. He might
have been a beggar or a ban
dit. Remnants of a tattered
poncho hung from his shoul
ders. A piece of rope held up
pants that once were brown.
Feel caked with dirt protruded
from ragged shoes. A lial that
had seen many better days
was pushed down over his
head which was wrapped in
a piece of woolen cloth. He
watched us with sullen, dis
trustful eyes as we approached
but at our "bucnos dins," his
face beamed into a smile.
"Buenos dias, senor," his
greeting, like those of most of
the Quechua Indians we met in
the back country, was warm and
sincere. He looked at us. We
shifted our feet and looked at
him.
Snow Peaks Viewed
"It's very beautiful," Jane
said finally, sweeping her arm
toward the triumvirate of great
snow peaks across the valley.
"Si, Senorita."
"You work here?"
"Si, Senorita."
Yes, he worked here, he said.
He was now a supervisor. He
struck the rusted triangle hang
ing outside his hut. Ihe tones
signalled the start and the end
of work for the day. Six days
a week. He had worked in the
mine too, for a long time. He
talked. He was anxious to talk.
White visitors were rare. Few
people came this far up the
Quebrada. His name was Iler-ardo.
We took some cans from our
packs and had lunch, sitting
around Herardo like courtiers.
The attention pleased him. He
accepted a can of tuna and a
chocolate bar, thanking us court
eously. Then he accepted our
empty cans, saying he would
make use of them.
The fish is "muy bueno" (very
good), he said. What docs he
usually eat? "Patata" (potato).
How about meat? He shrugged
and laughed. Not often. Once,
twice a month perhaps.
Likes to Work
Did he have a family? "Ah,
Si." He smiled broadly. "I have
a wife and four sons." Where
were they? He pointed to Ihe
west and mentioned the name of
a town. When does he see them?
Oh, once a month he goes home.
What was he paid? Ten soles
a day. (A sol is worth four
cents). Who owned the mine?
The Dueno in Huaraz. He has
much money. Do you like to
work here? Si. The dueno is a
good man.
One could not help but think
that during the lives of Her
ardo's ancestors under the In
cas, miners were rotated every
four months, or that their wives
were located with their men nt
the mines or that sick and ail
ing miners were taken off (lie
job and cared for by the stale.
"Are you happy with your I
life?" Jane asked timidly. He
shrugged.
"It gets a bit dull sometimes."
Then Herardo questioned us.
Ho looked at our fancy climbing
boots. How much? About $:)5.
We explained what this was in
soles.
"Whew," he whistled. "And
in America, do they have
mines?"
"Yes, many of them."
"Big mines, with compressors
and motors and machines?"
"Yes, in almost all of them."
He nodded. "And how much do
miners make in America?"
We didn't know. We guessed
about $25 a day, roughly 025
soles.
Whew. I would like to visit
your America."
"How many are working in me
mine?" Jane asked.
Boy Works in Mine
"We are five. Oh, five and the
boy."
"The boy?"
"Yes. He works here."
"How old is he?"
-rKfc?-r? "71
CIIILDREN LABOR HERE - In rural areas of Peru, children
grow up quickly. They arc given adult responsibilities and en
gage in hard labor. Here one little girl from Taena, totes a
sister, little younger than herself, in traditional Indian method
of pick-a-back in a blnkt on l-a-'k knotted in f on' st'IMi
'.Miguelito? He is 14.
"Where is he now?"
"In the mine."
"Can we see him?"
"You wish to enter the mine?"
We looked around at each
other uncertainly. There were
nods.
"Yes. Is it possible?"
He got up and pushed open
the door to his hut. The head of
a small deer hung on the wall
just inside.
"Hunters came," he said in
answer to a question. "Once
there were many of these. Now
there are no more."
He came out with a small
carbide lamp and lit it. A thin
flame pushed out from the cen
ter of the dirty reflector. We
followed Herardo up the trail,
across a little stream that flow
ed from the mouth of a shaft
sunk horizontally into the cliff
and stopped at a low, long
structure with thatched roof and
no front wall. It was divided
into compartments.
Visit Dark Mine
He led us Into the shaft and
we were soon stumbling in vir
tual darkness, trying to see
where to place our feet by the
feeble, dancing light of Her
ardo's lamp. Finally we grab
bed each other's belts. We
plunged deeper into the moun
tain,' winding from one side
shaft into another.
Herardo shone the light on the
roof at a low place. We ducked
under and emerged into a nar
row cavern. The dust hung
thickly and only after a few sec
onds did we notice a pit gaping
at our feet and another Indian
standing on the far side of a
windlass made of undressed
logs. A thick rope led down into
the pit. The sound of metal
striking on rock reverberated
from the darkness. Herardo
pointed down.
"Miguelito?" Jane asked in
credulously. "Down there?"
"Si."
A voice called something from
the pit. The Indian who was al
most in darkness turned the
creaking windlass. A small piece
of sacking filled with ore rose
up and was emptied into a
wheelbarrow. The empty sack
was sent down again.
"What a way to make a liv
ing," someone said.
The pick sounded again.
"Ask him if they can send
the boy up," I asked Jane
(thinking of a picture). No, he
could not come up until 5 p.m.
when work was stopped. What
about lunch? There was no
lunch. There were two ten-minute
rest periods during the day,
however. What time did work
start? At seven. There was a
cough in the pit and it started
a chain reaction of coughing
among us.
"Why must a young boy work
in a place like this?" Jane ask
ed. "A boy must eat as well as a
man," Herardo answered.
"How long will Miguelito be
here at the mine?"
"Ah, who knows? A man
works until he dies."
"Let's go," someone said.
It was a relief to step outside
into the pure air. The sun shone
brightly and small clouds were
wrapping themselves around the
summit of mighty Palcaraju
across the valley.
We thanked Herardo and start
ed down the trail. He stood for
a long time watching us go
down, a monkish looking fig
ure in his getup. The last hut
in the viallage had no door and
it was newly white-washed in
side. On a rough stone pedestal
wae a urnndon cross carlanded
with fresh flowers. Flowers grew
outside in prolusion.
LENDS HELPING HAND
LOS ANGELES (UPI) -The
police force had help Wednesday
from the consul of Bolivia, Duke
C. Banks. He directed traffic at
a busy intersection for one hour.
Banks explained that he found
the signal lights at the intersec
tion jammed and traffic backed
up just as children were being
dismissed from a nearby school.
"Nobody seemed to be doing
anything about them, so I did
something," he said.
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