Why do you get up so early every day? It’s really not necessary… You know the warehouse door only opens at eight. My wife has been asking this question for some time. I don’t really have an answer… Then I realize… The power of habit… Getting up at half-past four in the morning for work is part of my existence. Adapting to my new life is still something I have to process… The years-long profession as a miner has left its mark…

 

Get your ass in gear before you miss the ‘cage’. You know they won’t wait for you… My hard hat is still half crooked on my head as I attach the heavy battery of the caplamp to my mine belt… Quickly draw my Wolf safety lamp… My little helper is already waiting to help me with the bags of ‘ignitercord’ and ‘fuses’… The sun is just starting to break through… The cage is packed again… Old Matokwan (nickname meaning marijuana, because he probably smoked it at times or smelled of it) smells bad from the rum as he breathes on me… A prayer murmur as we’re about to descend… the Banksman rings the bells and the cage starts moving… Faster into the depths… I hear the wind whistle through the lattice-like shaft… Every bunton passed creates a whirlwind inside… I hang almost like a bird on the rail bars of the top deck of the cage… Somewhere a shot is fired… Those fat fingers of Uncle Faan have found their mark in the dark… Matokwan collapses on the floor… He curses and swears… A bunch of men laugh… another one kicks like a mule into thin air as someone pinches him at the back of the thigh… I hope your woman packed enough sandwiches for both of us… My wife is angry at me again… I hear old Skébol (nickname meaning short length drill rod/steel probably because he a short fella, or he is less endowed) ask… Probably drank too much last night… comes an answer…

 

The cage comes to a halt on our level with a jerk… We swing up and down in the shaft for a few seconds before the onsetter can climb out… The station is full of nightshift workers waiting to depart… I quickly ask my ‘nightshift cleaner’ if there were any problems… There was a hanging wall incident… The panel is not clean… No ‘rig’ holes… a few packs have also been blown out… Now I’m swearing in foreign languages…

 

The click-clack of the four-wheel ‘bicycle’ on the tracks is rhythmic in my ears… I take out a cigarette from my ‘skwam’ (rubber pouch attached to waist belt), a Gunston (unfiltered toasted and rough tasting cigarette) for you Makrap? (nickname meaning he’s always scratching)…. You know I don’t smoke your cigarettes… Lexington (a cigarette that smelled like old underground workings and which was difficult to detect when smelling, as it was illegal to smoke underground in fiery mines) is the best… A hundred thousand miners can’t be wrong….

 

At the waiting area my workers are already waiting for me… Some as early as four o’clock… Josias and the other Team leaders have already marked time and attendance on their gang cards… for present workers’ and each individuals punch card have also already been collected and locked away… I quickly read the night shift communication report… This one marked with an X… Unsafe hanging wall… Will first go investigate there… Josias… get the men ready. We have to replace pipes in panel four today. John… arrange for mat packs in your panel… You’ve blown out again… Wedge that stuff properly ffs!! Those men of yours have soft porridge or shit in their hands… The Fanakalo (african mining language) rolls off my tongue… have also learned a whole bunch of swear words in from them in their languages (Zulu, Xhosa, Sesotho, Setswana)…

 

The early inspection goes smoothly. The big rocks have already been finely blasted or hammered down to pass through the grizzly bars ontop of the tips feeding the boxholes. The scrapers are already busy and the Sullivan double drum and Pillman compressed air winches are humming away… the gullies are empty, except for the broken ore piled in them, with the scraper ropes now whiplashing against the hanging wall as the winch pulls tight on them while dragging the scraper. This panel must get cleaned… must blast it. Mataliaan (nickname for boss) is visiting me today. Wimpie has already sworn me to death. You’re not getting out of this hole (mine) today until this panel is blasted… from a beloved but also strict shift boss on the mine… A block of a man with a heart of gold… He has already won an award after he saved a man’s life from certain death…

 

I’m already busy getting my “fuses” ready for the blast when I hear Mataliaan’s roaring voice… I hope all your machines are drilling.. I want to take a little look at your drill hole marking work and spacings… Then I see the cans of spray paint in his hands.. I want to see how this stuff works he says.. That fat crayon you guys have been using till now is going to disappear.. No more sneaky barbecues with this stuff on Saturdays… I hope your places are up to standard and clean, you know what happens when I get water in my boots.. It’s time again for you to be charged and to donate a few Rands to welfare again…

The ‘pinchbar’ in my hand shakes as I ‘bar’ down the rock.. My first ‘charge’ for the day… You want to kill people.. I hear that thunderous voice.. Why is this packing line so skewed? Can’t you draw a straight line first… Why isn’t this ‘socket’ plugged.. Why is this panel running so skewed? Wimpie (person’s name) writes everything in his notebook… Today is not my day…

 

Josias!!… Have you made sure that ‘stay-a-lite’ is burning… also set the other panels on fire.. We are late!! I hope Mataliaan is already home or maybe with a few men at the Club… The first shots are already booming while I climb down the ‘Traveling way’.. Shock waves and a gust of wind pluck at my sweat-soaked denim.. I am bare chested and my ribs are almost sticking out.. But I am proud.. I have blasted.. I am part of an elite guard… I am a miner!!!

Go wash your arse so you can get home.. Your wife has been waiting for you for a long time.. Will look at all the charges against you tomorrow. . My logbook is almost full… Wimpie closes his logbook.. I just have enough time to see that there is only one charge (fine for breach of regulations)… The little remains of the sun is already turning red on the horizon… Tomorrow a new day….

André Viktor. ©