On this day 42 years ago, 470 miners, all men, woke up very early in the morning to work as was their custom. The married kissed their wives good bye and promised to pass through the grocery shops to bring them goodies in the evening. They waved at the gate to their little sons and daughter for whom they had great plans, promising to come back with little gifts for them in the evening. The little children nodded in agreement and went back into the houses, some to school. Daddy would come back. The bachelors simply slipped out of their blankets and went out to work. Some probably had promised their girlfriends a good weekend, everyone was just excited. Arriving at work in a jovial mood, they quickly changed into their work regalia and went deep into the mine tunnels. They never came back! As the happy miners went through their paces, conversing in loud voices to beat the huge sounds of coal drilling machines, tragedy struck. A ball of fire suddenly came up and rapidly spread through the tunnels. Pandemonium hit them as they tried to scramble to safety. Then, there was a huge explosion, one that had never been witnessed before. It reverberated through the entire Hwange, then Wankie community, sending everyone scampering helter-skelter for cover. It shook the walls of the coal studded tunnels which responded by collapsing onto the workers, crushing them. A huge fire followed, burning the fleeing workers. Poison gas came out, chocking the rest. All 470 workers perished therein! Firefighter and rescuers were called to the scene, some from as far away as South Africa but nothing helped. Not a single soul was rescued and the tunnel was declared their grave. Today, their remains lie deep under, their widowed wives and orphaned children wallow in poverty. Hwange Colliery Company, which used to supply monthly benefits to the families has just but collapsed and is seeking to retrench the majority of workers. My first visit to Kamandama memorial site in Hwange, was in August 2009. The site is strategically located at the former entrance to the tunnel through which the miners had disappeared and were expected to emerge at the end of their shift. That particular section of the mine has never been used since then but as you arrive at the place, e feeling engulfs you, the feeling of sadness and sorrow. It is a somber atmosphere. Inside a fenced area next to what used to be the entrance is a huge symbolic tombstone with names of all the miners that perished inscribed thereon. This is not a place for the faint hearted, for if tears can well in the eyes of such a hard hearted villager as I, then someone else can find themselves sobbing going through the list of names. The place, then, was manned by a single guard employed by Hwange, tall, stern, quiet. I wondered what he felt to spend all his day at such a place if a momentary visitor like me could be so much affected. I have lost the photographs I was shot standing at the place. I would have loved to share them. As we go through our paces today, friends, let us take a pause and reflect on this tragedy that has remained, for four decades, the single largest work related disaster in the history of our beautiful country. Spare a thought for the widow left behind, spare a though for the orphan whose future was thrown into jeopardy in an instant. Let us all take a pause and reflect!
Posted on: Fri, 06 Jun 2014 08:10:27 +0000
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