I’m off to Ghana for a few weeks working on a gold mining project. Before I leave I sit in my cafe in London and read reports.
One is about the Galamsey, the men who pay off guards, descend down into shafts for days, chip away at bits of rock, and then turn around hauling bags of ore on their backs. They are often injured, sometimes die, are always trapped in a web of bribes, debt, desperation, hope that one day they’ll hit a good gold vein. My job is to help figure out how to improve the situation..
I drink sweet Turkish coffee and eat tabouleh bitter with lemon. I still don’t understand much about the world.