Introduction
This article uses everyday experiences in the lives and operations of unregulated gold miners, working in disused and functioning mines in post-apartheid South Africa, to explore their actual world that is beyond the state’s realm. Such activities fall outside the parameters of the country’s mining legislation (the Minerals and Petroleum Resources Development Act of 2002, hereafter 2002 Mining Act), and the miners are known as zama-zamas, a Zulu word which means ‘try and try again’ (UCT News 2018 ). The mining and sale of minerals, particularly gold and diamonds, outside the ambit of the state or ‘official’ company channels is not a recent phenomenon in South Africa. Davenport (2013) tells us of the prevalence of this practice in the late nineteenth century and demonstrates that even some of the big mining magnates were once involved in such activities before they regularised their operations. In the post-1994 period, activities of these so-called illegal miners have been brought to the fore in numerous media reports, especially reports on deaths and crime related to this work. Although such incidents do happen, their extent has been exaggerated by media reports which emphasise the ‘illegal’ tag imposed on these miners by government. I deploy the concept of ‘the everyday’ or ‘the quotidian’ to demonstrate that, despite these (mis)representations by the state and some parts of the media, zama-zama operations are an organised and lucrative venture which makes a significant contribution to the livelihoods of thousands of people in South Africa and the subregion.
Unregulated mining is not confined to South Africa but is also prevalent in other African countries such as Ghana, where it is called galamsey, and in Zimbabwe where the miners are called makorokoza or magweja, among other terms. Literature on unregulated gold mining in Sub-Saharan Africa has, overall, demonstrated that the activity is deep rooted and that attempts by the state to eradicate this enterprise face a very limited success rate. This study contributes to the burgeoning body of literature on artisanal and small-scale mining (ASM) in Africa, most of which broaches themes on livelihoods, informality and ASM conflicts with large-scale mining (a manifestation of states’ bias towards large-scale mining companies and marginalisation of ASM). Scholarship has convincingly demonstrated that states’ policies promote large-scale mining while neglecting ASM, and this has engendered antagonism between the two (Sauerwein 2020; Nyamunda, Mukwambo and Nyandoro 2012; Saunders 2017; Saunders and Nyamunda 2017; Maringira and Nyamunda 2017; Okoh 2014; Teschner 2013; Hilson and Yakovleva 2007; Luning 2014). Most scholars on ASM generally concur that the main driving forces behind this activity are poverty and unemployment, and that the sector makes an immense contribution to livelihoods (Buss and Rutherford 2020; Hilson 2010; Maconachie 2014; Persaud et al. 2017; Hilson 2016; Banchirigah 2008; Boadi et al. 2016; Andrews 2015; Hilson and Potter 2003; Mawowa 2013; Mabhena 2012; Nyamunda, Mukwambo and Nyandoro 2012). A realisation of this dimension by most Sub-Saharan countries has prompted a drive towards regularisation of the sector. Hilson, Goumandakoye and Diallo (2019) note that by the mid 1990s about 36 African countries had made a commitment to the formalisation of ASM activities through various policy frameworks. However, most of these policies have perpetuated the informality of artisanal and small-scale miners (ASMs) because they are rigid and out of tune with the reality on the ground. The ‘formalisation’ process is arduous, and most ASMs are not prepared to endure the red tape and paperwork linked to permit systems (Hilson et al. 2017; Siwale and Siwale 2017; Huggins, Buss and Rutherford 2017; Buss et al. 2019; Banchirigah 2008; Andrews 2015).
There is a dearth of scholarly work on the subject in South Africa and most of the coverage that has shaped the scant available literature appears in media reports and a few documents from Minerals Council South Africa, formerly the Chamber of Mines (a mining industry employers’ organisation, hereafter referred to as the Minerals Council). Claire Berry’s (2010) paper on illegal mining in South Africa highlights implications of the 2002 Mining Act on unregulated mining. Her arguments, in sync with the position of government and mining capital, are that unregulated mining should be eradicated, since it is depriving the state billions of rand in potential revenues (see also Williams 2019). Such views have been supported by Nhlengetwa and Hein (2015), who attempt to distinguish between illegal mining and other forms of regulated ASM ventures and conclude that zama-zamas should be regularised. In addition to defining and attempting to distinguish between illegal mining and regular ASM activities, the main thrust of most of the existing studies on the subject centres around the debate on the ‘formality’ and ‘illegality’ of ASM activities (see Ndlazi 2021; Northover 2019; Ledwaba 2017; Ledwaba and Nhlengetwa 2015; Mutemeri and Petersen 2002). There are, however, a few studies which argue that unregulated mining activities are justified because they are a source of livelihood in an economic environment characterised by poverty and high unemployment levels. This kind of literature is epitomised by Robert Thornton, who argues that zama-zamas ‘are comprehensively misrepresented by the public press and misunderstood by the government’ (2014, 127). My study contributes to this growing body of knowledge and uses the concept of ‘the everyday’ to demonstrate that, although unregulated mining activities at disused gold mines are outside the state’s regulatory framework, they do have proper governance structures, are generally orderly and are not always as violent as presented by the media.
Conceptual framework
This study engages with James Scott’s 1998 work, Seeing like a state, in exploring the world of zama-zamas that exists on the margins of state power. In his quest to comprehend conflicts between governing authorities and mobile groups of people such as nomads, pastoralists, hunter-gatherers, vagrants and homeless people, as well as the state’s perennial failure in its efforts to settle them, Scott discovered attempts by the state to make society more ‘legible’, i.e. more decipherable (Scott 1998, 1–25). This entailed a redepiction of society ‘in ways that simplified the classic state functions of taxation, conscription and prevention of rebellion’, and, for Scott, such attempts at legibility constitute the central problem of statecraft (1998, 2). The resultant state simplifications create a template that does not fully represent the actual hustle and bustle of society that it should depict; rather, it merely portrays the state’s point of view, which is a ‘legible and administratively more convenient format’ (ibid.). The way in which the South African government perceives the zama-zamas is akin to Scott’s concept. A perusal of most reports and position papers of the Minerals Council reveals the government’s perspective in relation to the zama-zamas. The zama-zamas do not see their work as illegal; to them, their operations are a source of livelihood that should be supported by government. Yet the government reduces them to ciphers and statistics (see Sheringham 2006, 16), focusing on how much revenue the government has lost in uncollected taxes and quantifying losses made by gold-mining companies due to unregulated gold-mining activities.
I also deploy the concept of ‘the everyday’ or ‘the quotidian’ to explore the actual world of the zama-zamas. Several scholars have elaborated on the use of the ‘everyday’ to analyse society (see for instance Msindo and Nyachega 2019; de Certeau 1984). Alf Ludtke (1989) emphasised the need to create a new platform for the writing of history which gives agency to the previously unexamined elements of society, particularly the ordinary man and his everyday experiences. Experiences that shape the everyday life of zama-zamas provide a lens through which their real world, alongside the dangerous and violent enterprise presented by the state, can be explored. Everyday work and leisure routines inside and outside the mineshafts, such as group leadership, communalism and friendship, daily relations, beer drinking and sexuality, as well as religious beliefs, shed more light on zama-zama activities and how they negotiate and survive their ‘unofficial’ status. For Ludtke, a complete historical narrative is one which is not confined to the ‘deeds and misdeeds and pageantry of the great, the masters of church and state’, but one which takes on board such details as ‘housing and homelessness, clothing and nakedness, eating habits and hunger, people’s loves and hates, their quarrels and co-operation, memories, anxieties and hopes for the future’ (Ludtke 1989, 3). This gives new actors such as slaves, outlaws, maids, porters and zama-zamas a prominent role on the historiographical stage (Eckert and Jones 2002, 7). Eckert and Jones, however, caution scholars to avoid replacing great men in the writing of history ‘by another cliché, that of smart and crafty rebels, who mastered their everyday life’ and arrogate to them ‘nearly unlimited power and autonomy’ (Eckert and Jones 2002, 8). My study uses existing secondary literature on illegal mining activities in South Africa and other African countries and corroborates that with various government mining reports. Most of the data were acquired from various news platforms and television documentaries on unregulated mining activities, as well as from informal conversations and interviews with people who are close to the practice.
ASM and zama-zama activities in post-apartheid South Africa
Licensing of ASMs
The South African mining industry has always been dominated by multinational mining companies engaged in large-scale extraction of the country’s rich mineral deposits (see Ledwaba and Nhlengetwa 2015). The advent of democracy in 1994 did not bring fundamental changes to the political economy of mining in South Africa: the relationship between the state and mining capital remained intact, while overall working conditions remained generally unchanged, notwithstanding the newly enacted ‘progressive’ labour legislation (Macmillan 2017). However, there was a noticeable decline in the contribution of the mining sector to the country’s gross domestic product (GDP), which fell from 20% in 1980 to 8% in 2014 (Bowman 2018, 289). Although ASM in South Africa predates large-scale mining, it was not recognised by the colonial government. It was formally made part of the socio-economic development agenda in 1994 as the new government aspired to open up opportunities for the Historically Disadvantaged Black South Africans (HDBSA) in all economic sectors.
A new mining law, the Mining Act, was enacted in 2002. It had the overall effect of dismantling the dual system of mineral rights and it transferred ownership of all minerals to the people, under the custodianship of the state (see Ledwaba 2017, 36; Ledwaba and Nhlengetwa 2015; Mutemeri and Petersen 2002). The Mining Act recognised all forms of mining, including ASM, on condition that the small miners acquired permits from the government. This new permit system, however, made official entry into the sector more difficult since most small-scale miners could not – and still cannot – afford the steep financial obligations attached to these permits (Ledwaba 2017). Very few ASMs succeeded in obtaining permits after the Mining Act became operational and only 103 and 141 permits were issued in 2005 and 2006 respectively, with a total of 1000 permits being issued in the period between 2004 and 2010 (Ledwaba 2017, 34–35). These numbers represented just a tiny proportion of the total number of ASMs operating in the country. The majority of this class of miner continued to operate outside the regulatory framework, engaging in various mining methods such as open-pit, underground excavations while others reopened old mines to access ore that was left by big mining companies (Mutemeri and Petersen 2002, 287). These miners are referred to (by the government) as ‘illegal miners’, but in this study I refer to them as unregulated miners (zama-zamas). As a result of the legislative barrier, there now exist ‘official’ and ‘non-official’ ASMs. The South African government has, however, noticed the contribution of unregulated mining activities in creating employment opportunities and sustaining livelihoods, and it issued more mining permits to unregulated diamond miners in Northern Cape province in 2018. Extension of this reprieve to unregulated gold miners working in decommissioned mines is going to be difficult. The deputy mines minister at the time, Michael Oliphant, was unequivocal in stating that such permits would not be granted to this class of miner because of what he referred to as their ‘dangerous’ working environment (Mail and Guardian 2018, Engineering News 2018 ).
Drivers of informality
The fall of fortunes for the gold-mining sector in South Africa was triggered by a combination of factors ranging from rising production costs to declining gold ore grades. Over the years, the sector benefited immensely from engaging (cheaper) migrant labourers from the subregion (Paton 1995). The labour migration system, developed in the 1890s, thrived until about 1990, when production constraints and diminishing profits forced many gold-mining companies to scale down operations and cut down labour forces, and to abandon some mines completely and decommission some shafts at working mines (see Bowman 2018; Robinson 2016). From around 1990, such abandoned mines and decommissioned shafts became a source of survival for retrenched South African and immigrant mine workers and undocumented immigrants from the subregion (mainly Lesotho, Zimbabwe, Mozambique and Malawi) seeking work opportunities in South Africa. For instance, the Minerals Council reported that of all the arrested zama-zamas from 1994 to 2019, 70% were illegal immigrants (Minerals Council 2019). Decommissioned mines have become a subject of intense contestation after their reopening. I concur with most zama-zamas and scholars who argue that the reasons why big mining capital decommissioned shafts and abandoned some mines are not necessarily applicable to the case of zama-zamas (Nyoni 2107; Thornton 2014). Pointing to traces of gold ore in a mineshaft, one zama-zama told film-makers for a documentary that ‘[t]hey left it because it was not worth much and went for the one with higher deposits [sic]. When they finished this one, in their minds they were done, but for us black people this is money’ (Checkpoint 2017). The government and mining companies argue that these miners are stealing gold, a position that has been vehemently challenged by the zama-zamas themselves and other scholars who argue that the 2002 Mining Act does not have specific clauses which criminalise this kind of mining. Other zama-zamas enter operating gold mines and extract gold in decommissioned and sometimes operating shafts. This is common in the Welkom gold mines, and several such cases have been reported in the news (see Bell 2014).
There are various reasons why people resort to the so-called illegal gold mining. It is not a simple case of zama-zamas being driven by greed or of them being manipulated by crime syndicates, as has been reported by some in the media. Ledwaba cites the main causes of ‘illegal’ mining (particularly in the gold sector) as ‘mine closures, mineworker retrenchments, high unemployment rates, high levels of poverty, declining gold price, immigration and narrowing channels of entry’ (Ledwaba 2017, 35). The deteriorating economic situation in African countries and the resultant poverty feature prominently in most scholarly debates on the causes of ‘illegal’ mining. Writing on unregulated gold mining in Ghana, Andrews (2015, 4) argued that galamsey activities have ‘become an expression of local people’s hardships and a response to the socio-economic conditions in which they live’. He also advanced the concept of ‘digging for survival and digging for justice’ (ibid., 5) whereby the suffering local people seek survival through engaging in unregulated gold mining while simultaneously expressing their entitlement to the mineral and land resources which they inherited from their ancestors. This is similar to the South African and Zimbabwean cases where economic exclusion that breeds inequalities has also engendered this feeling of entitlement which results in unregulated mining activities (Munakamwe 2017; Nyoni 2017). However, it should be noted that this concept does not apply to foreign nationals who engage in the practice, where their motive is to sustain families in view of economic hardships in their home countries.
Everyday life in the zama-zama world
Code of conduct regulating zama-zamas
Reality prevailing in the zama-zama world is not congruent with media and state depictions that portray the sector as largely criminalised and anarchic (Persaud et al. 2017, 981). Although they are not regulated by state structures and cannot use state apparatus to enforce order, zama-zamas, just like other ASMs from other parts of the continent, have created their own internal governance systems which regulate their everyday mining operations and living patterns. Among ASMs in the Democratic Republic of Congo for instance, the title holder appoints a Président directeur général responsible for the day-to-day management of the mine. Diggers have a paternalistic relationship with the title holder ‘like sons to a father’ and they pay a premium for the father’s protection (Buss et al. 2019, 1108). In Rwanda the title holder manages the mine and is aided by selected labourers. There are other authority relationships elsewhere: for example, in Sierra Leone there are layers of authority whereby the supporter, the landowner, the claim owner, state mining authorities and chiefs play different roles (Huggins, Buss and Rutherford 2017). Parallels can be drawn with how other unregulated institutions manage to create functional governance structures regardless of their illegal status. Peter Leeson’s (2007) study on the laws and economics of pirate organisations is a classic example. Leeson argues that ‘pirates are known for raucousness, recklessness and chaotic rapine. Pirate reality, however, is quite another picture’ (2007, 1050). Pirates created a system which ensures checks and balances to prevent predation by the captain, and they also use democratic constitutions to minimise conflicts and maintain pirate law and order.
Representation of zama-zama activities as ‘illegal’ mining ‘which is often organised and conducted by crime syndicates’ (Minerals Council 2019) erroneously undermines these workers’ capacity to organise their daily activities. Agency is given to gold-buying syndicate bosses, while the zama-zamas who conduct the actual mining exercise are represented as mere pawns. However, beyond this narrative, there are norms, practices and processes which constitute the daily lives of these zama-zamas and are part and parcel of their mining operations. An important element among these is the private governance system that ensures order and adherence to set rules and regulations. Zama-zamas are regulated by a code of conduct that is superintended by senior zama-zamas (usually those who went into the business first). This code of conduct is the equivalent of a constitution in their underground world, in the same manner that countries the world over use constitutions as their supreme laws (Malume, personal communication, 25 July 2018). These laws were instituted long in the past and cannot be flouted by newcomers. For example, one cannot take a fellow miner’s working tools without the owner’s permission. A miner cannot invade someone’s working spot without reaching an agreement with the one already working there (Tindo, personal communication, 5 October 2020). Such laws are intended to promote order and mutual understanding among fellow miners and minimise conflicts as far as possible.
There are assigned leaders (usually senior zama-zamas) who preside over disputes, while all members of the group concerned also participate in the hearings in an open and democratic manner. If the accused person is convicted, he is liable to a fine. One of the most popular penalties is one where the guilty party pays a prescribed amount of money, which is usually used to buy food. That food is then shared among all group members present and consumed while they relax (Malume, personal communication, 25 July 2018). This system does not concentrate power on the leader but ensures that every group member contributes their views, and this significantly minimises the possibility of dictatorship and predation by leaders, while promoting mutual respect among group members.
Security systems in the zama-zama world
In addition to the elaborate governance system, security is an important factor in the everyday life and work of the zama-zamas working at disused mines. Several security arrangements complement the governance structures in minimising conflicts amid the ubiquitous potential for misunderstandings and in protecting the miners against intruders. Besides isolated incidents of turf wars that have been reported by mainstream media, zama-zamas working at disused mines are also a prime target for criminals, since they deal with a precious metal (gold) and money. However, such media reports tend to overstretch the magnitude of such incidents and make them out to be a permanent feature of the zama-zama world. It is common knowledge that anyone moving around with cash faces the risk of being robbed, therefore zama-zama activities cannot be blamed entirely for robberies that target these miners. They are just some of the dangers associated with zama-zama work.
Zama-zamas hire security guards to protect themselves from criminals and rival groups of miners who may have intentions of taking over a particular shaft (Checkpoint 2017). These security guards also look after miners’ personal belongings while they work underground. At most of these disused mines, zama-zamas have an arrangement in place where everyone pays a security fee of 50 or 100 rand before entering the mineshaft, and upon exiting the mine they give part of the gold ore (known as plate) to the security guards on duty as a form of payment. This is how the security guards make their money (Checkpoint 2017). In addition, entry into the mineshaft is closely monitored and tightly controlled ‘to ensure that all those who enter a particular shaft are legit and registered and would have undertaken all pre-entry procedures’ (Nyoni 2017, 141). This ensures ‘a fair rotation of the shaft exploitation by different groups as well as to [prevent] the zama-zamas who do not belong to the group [from] claiming the shaft’ (ibid.). This significantly minimises the incidence of turf wars and robberies by keeping away criminals and rival gangs. Pre-entry body searches are also conducted by the security guards to prevent miners from taking dangerous weapons underground. Although incidents of violence and robberies cannot be entirely ruled out, all these security measures demonstrate that zama-zamas are conscious of the need for security.
It is rather ironic that there are other zama-zamas who use different covert and sometime overt tactics to compromise security systems at operating mines in order to gain access to mineshafts, a manifestation of the antagonism between ASMs and large-scale mining companies in South Africa. This is common at gold mines in Welkom, where arrests of zama-zamas have been reported on several occasions: for example, about 70 unregulated miners (all foreigners) were arrested at the Eland shaft mine in 2016 and charged with trespassing (eNews Africa 2016; see also Bell 2014). Gold-mining companies such as AngloGold Ashanti, Harmony Gold, Pan African Resources and Sibanye-Stillwater have complained about this practice. Gleaning information from Minerals Council reports, one could easily conclude that zama-zamas gain access to operating mines through violent means only; the organisation’s 2019 fact sheet on illegal mining notes that zama-zamas ‘are often heavily armed and, when trespassing on operating mines, set ambushes and booby traps for employees, security and rival groups of artisanal informal miners’ (Minerals Council 2019). Although such incidents of violent skirmishes happen, they are not as frequent as represented by the Minerals Council. Rather, zama-zamas usually gain access to these mines and survive underground more by utilising available opportunities such as forging relations with security personnel and mine workers, as I demonstrate below.
Development of social networks
Survival and work operations of zama-zamas at both disused and working mines are anchored on a series of relations and networks among the zama-zamas themselves, and with other members of the community and regular mine workers. Usually, zama-zamas do not work as individuals, as they derive more benefits by operating in small groups of not more than eight people. In most instances, these groups are constituted along ethnic lines since the zama-zamas come from different ethnic groups and nationalities (see Nyoni 2017). In addition to having ‘home boys’ working in the same group, friendship also constitutes ‘an important social means shaping the communal patterns’ (Grätz 2004, 96) within mining communities. Zama-zamas are free to join or leave a particular group whenever they want. This ‘strategic cultivation and maintenance of networks enhances conviviality in significant ways, especially in cosmopolitan settings where migrants from different backgrounds and origins are compelled to adapt to fit in, flourish or survive in their incompleteness’ (Nyamnjoh 2017, 264). This group arrangement is thus an important coping mechanism for migrant zama-zamas working in a foreign environment under unregulated and sometimes dangerous conditions. By working in groups, zama-zamas also enjoy the benefits of division of labour, as a group of five people can drill for more gold ore and easily carry the ore as well as all the necessary working tools.
The everyday life of zama-zamas working in operating mines is also characterised by a series of other interactions and relationships. For instance, they develop good relations with mine security guards whom they pay to be allowed to enter the mine (Kodza, personal communication, 26 July 2018). Usually, arrangements are made for the zama-zamas to enter the mineshaft disguised as regular mine workers (see Bell 2014; Eliseev 2006). Once they are underground, it is difficult to go out regularly to buy food, yet they need to eat while working. Zama-zamas thus rely on regular mine workers who smuggle food and other supplies from outside for a fee (Engineering News 2018). These mine employees either sell the food directly to the zama-zamas or give it to their ‘point person’ (among the zama-zamas) who then sells the food on their behalf. This enables zama-zamas to stay underground for longer periods and minimise the risk of being detected by mine management while sneaking out to buy food. Once this connection is discontinued, for whatever reason, zama-zamas may have to leave the mineshaft prematurely.
Zama-zamas have narrated different stories of how their lives underground can become unbearable once the food supply has been terminated (Tindo, personal communication, 5 October 2020). This can be demonstrated using the example of a zama-zama who came from Mozambique and was working at Harmony’s Masimong Shaft 5 but had to exit the mine after working underground for 59 days, chiefly because the regular miner who used to smuggle food for him had been changed. He said, ‘I was hungry, so I decided to come out’ (Eliseev 2006). These linkages and relationships are used not only to smuggle food into the mine, but also serve as communication channels. Since they stay underground for long periods, extending even up to three years, zama-zamas maintain contact with the outside world by conveying messages to different people (including their families and gold buyers) through the regular mine employees, who also receive a payment for providing this service (Kodza, personal communication, 25 July 2018). They send out their gold to be sold outside through the regular workers, together with instructions on how the proceeds should be used, usually to pay their children’s school fees or to buy properties such as houses and cars (Mudhara, personal communication, 26 July 2018). Such relationships and connections are based on a high level of trust. The regular miners also supply tools and equipment used by zama-zamas for a fee. The Mozambican miner (mentioned above) said that ‘[e]verything is already there … the mercury and the equipment. You just go to people and hire things. The (corrupt) legal workers leave their wires, tools and explosives where they work [sic]’ (Eliseev 2006).
The zama-zama economy and contribution to livelihoods
The narrative of zama-zamas is different to how the government views them. They do not see themselves as mere numerical figures; rather, they are more concerned with their livelihood matters, especially with providing an answer to the question of when and where the next meal will come from. Government and mining companies underplay the contribution of zama-zama activities to livelihoods, and argue that ‘these zama zamas continue risking their lives, and the lives of others, even though the real economic value of their efforts is not realised’ (Minerals Council 2019). This view, which presents gold buyers and dealers as the major beneficiaries of ‘unofficial’ gold-mining and selling activities, tallies with my earlier point on how the government has consistently undermined the ability of zama-zamas to operate in an orderly manner, and it is not entirely true. Evidence derived from various testimonies by zama-zamas shows that unregulated gold miners derive livelihoods from this venture and most of them recognise and appreciate the huge difference made by income from their business, no matter how small or big it might be. Take an illegal immigrant who, for instance, is failing to get a job because he or she does not have the requisite immigration papers. Regardless of this prevailing condition, his or her family still needs to be fed. Under such circumstances, some people resort to zama-zama activities in order to make ends meet.
Thornton argues that
Unlike government that merely promises jobs or industry that sheds jobs annually, each of these miners creates not just their own jobs, but also provides employment or subsistence to probably 10 to 20 other people in their community. (Thornton 2014, 127)
Besides the money realised through direct gold mining, zama-zama activities tend to trigger the emergence of ancillary businesses at both abandoned and functional mines. Zama-zamas spend longer stretches of time underground searching for the elusive fortune and usually emerge after making a substantial amount of money; others give up quickly and leave empty handed, only to return later to try their luck again (Malume, personal communication, 6 October 2020). Such a scenario has presented an opportunity that has been grabbed by other members of surrounding communities and regular mine workers who make money by selling food, beer, clothes and other supplies to zama-zamas during their stay underground. This ability to identify windows of opportunity has, however, been criticised by the government and described as ‘a lucrative secondary informal syndicate market’ (Minerals Council 2019). A 2017 eNews Africa Checkpoint documentary on zama-zamas featured a good example of an individual who capitalised on such an opportunity, Jabulani Nkosi, a businessman who operates a spaza shop (convenience store) underground at one of the disused Johannesburg mines. Longer periods of time spent underground by zama-zamas at disused mines mean there is a need for food reserves to be replenished regularly. This poses a major risk of the miners being arrested while ducking in and out of the mineshaft to buy food, in addition to interrupting their work regime. Jabulani thus specialises in selling basic supplies only, particularly food, to those zama-zamas who spend more than two weeks working underground (Checkpoint 2017). He stays underground, together with the miners, selling his wares and leaves the shaft only to restock.
A similar scenario, albeit on a bigger scale, is also prevalent at some abandoned and some functioning gold mines in Welkom. Underground spaza shops here sell an assortment of basics such as braaied meat, bread, tinned beef, cool drinks, beer, cigarettes, whisky and Amarula to the zama-zamas. Roberto, another spaza shop owner at the Welkom mines had this to say about his business environment:
If it wasn’t for them [illegal miners], I would have been long gone, living in Joburg. They [the government and mine management] say that the mines are dead but it’s rubbish. These guys come with cash. They rock up with R100,000. (Hosken and Bornman 2017)
Conviviality
There are convivial spaces and platforms underground where socialisation of different kinds takes place. This aspect demonstrates how conviviality mediates the day-to-day social and working life of the zama-zamas in a micro-environment that is deemed illegal by governing authorities. Such convivial spaces in some disused and operating mines are usually referred to as madala sites which are ‘areas in disused mining shafts that serve as mini villages and rest sites’ (Hosken and Bornman 2017). At some mines, with different set-ups to those discussed earlier, once the food is brought down it is taken to madala sites. When the zama-zamas are not working, usually during weekends, mine security guards at some Welkom mines have reported regularly hearing loud music played underground as zama-zamas party and drink beer. Beer drinking is an important element of their everyday social life while working underground. Scholars have produced literature which seeks ‘to highlight the sociability and institutions that drinking engenders’ (Lobnibe 2018, 227; see also Akyeampong 2002).
Madala sites thus act as zones of relaxation where miners can entertain themselves and temporarily forget about the stresses of their work as they participate in various other activities that take place during these drinking and partying sessions. Other zama-zamas drink beer because it helps them to cope with their hard work and dangerous life underground as noted by Freedom and Prince, two young zama-zamas from Zimbabwe, who said that beer gives them the courage to face any difficult situation that they might encounter underground (Unreported World 2018). There is a brand of opaque beer called Super (which is smuggled into South Africa from Zimbabwe) which is popular among migrant zama-zamas from Zimbabwe. Besides providing them with ‘a sweet memory of home’ (Keletso 2017), the description given by one of the immigrant miners points to the significance of beer in the everyday life of zama-zamas. He said: ‘[i]ts taste is fluffy and smooth. Give me ten bottles of this beer and I can work under a gold mine for a week without thinking much of cooking meals’ (ibid.). Besides the full-blown madala site parties and beer drinking, other zama-zamas usually take breaks in between their tiring work sessions to relax, cook food, eat together, listen to the radio and share jokes. All this gives a semblance of normal life and significantly eases an otherwise difficult underground life (Checkpoint 2017). There are some women, mainly regular mine employees, who sell sexual services to the miners (usually during their shift breaks) and they charge a lot of money, ranging from R2500 for protected sex to about R4000 for unprotected sex (Malume, personal communication, 25 July 2018). All this happens at the madala sites.
Conclusion
Unregulated gold-mining activities at disused gold mines and in decommissioned mineshafts at operating gold mines in post-apartheid South Africa are not covered by the country’s mining laws and are therefore classified as gold theft. They are considered dangerous by the government and big mining companies. Although there are isolated violent incidents and criminal activities associated with these mining activities, this study has used the everyday living and work experiences of the zama-zamas to demonstrate that their activities are orderly and make a significant contribution to livelihoods. The need to promote an orderly and secure working environment prompts the zama-zamas to devise elaborate private governance and security arrangements that significantly minimise the incidence of conflicts and promote mutual understanding and respect among the miners. Zama-zamas do not always resort to violence to get things done but make use of any available opportunities to navigate their illegal status. The world of the zama-zamas is not always dull and dangerous as presented by the state: instead, the article has shown that there exist convivial spaces and various convivial activities underground which mediate the daily working routines of the zama-zamas. An acknowledgement, by policy makers, of the issues that have been raised in this paper can go a long way towards transforming unregulated gold mining in South Africa. Once the zama-zamas are recognised and not simply dismissed as illegal, but accommodated within the existing mining framework, thousands of livelihoods that rely on the enterprise will be saved. This will also make a significant contribution towards peacebuilding in South Africa, since it will minimise or curtail violent skirmishes between the zama-zamas and security agents, and among zama-zamas themselves.