Potosí, Bolivia - “There are four main ways people die in the mines,” explained Marcos (not his real name): “being caught in a dynamite explosion, getting trapped in a cave-in, suffocation, and falling into an open pit or passage.” Marcos, my guide for the day, is 18 and has been working in the mine for over five years. As he told me about the gruesome ways one could perish in the mine, I was starting to regret agreeing to go inside, but we had already been walking in the mine for about ten minutes, and I was too ashamed to tell the young man who had been going into the mine daily since his childhood that I was scared. The ceiling was so low that even the generally short Bolivians were forced to continually duck to avoid hitting their heads. At 6 foot 3, I was practically doubled over. As we walked deeper into the mine, we had to step several times off the thin path to allow a cart full of minerals to pass us. Several minutes later, the cart would return, empty and ready for another load.

In colonial times, Potosí had a population greater than that of Paris, and it was the wealthiest city in the Americas. The wealth came from the enormous quantities of silver found in the mountain outside the city—the same mountain that I was now deep inside. I had read that the amount of silver extracted from this mountain could have built a bridge of pure silver from Potosí to Madrid. When I mentioned this to Marcos, he agreed, but added that another bridge could have been built with the bones of the indigenous people who died to extract the silver.

Now there is little silver left to extract, but the presence of other useful minerals—such as zinc and tin—ensure that the mines of Potosí remain active. In the last 400 years, the science behind mining has changed significantly, but the life of miners in Potosí has improved relatively little. Marcos told me that there is at least one accident a day, ranging from a broken leg or arm to a death, and that few miners live past their 40s—if an accident doesn’t take them, then cancer or respiratory ailments will.

Marcos works full-time in the mine, but he also attends high school in the morning. When he graduates, he wants to study English so he can stop working in the mine and become a professional tour guide. Marcos is an active member of Centro para el Desarrollo Regional (Center for Regional Development), a GFC grantee partner in Potosí that serves the children of miners, many of whom, like Marcos, already work in the mine themselves. At CDR, Marcos has a place to do his homework—there is little room for study in the one-room home he shares with his mother and younger sister near the mine entrance—and he can also receive help from a professor, a full-time CDR staff member made available to the students.

Apart from daily homework help, CDR offers workshops on various issues, including health, children’s and workers’ rights, and community development. The organization also operates a small greenhouse, giving youth accustomed to the gray and pink sands of the mine the opportunity to experience nature and learn useful agricultural skills. The greenhouse also serves as an important source of healthy vegetables—currently lettuce, spinach, and radishes—for the children and their families. And most famously, according to the children I spoke with, the program also organizes community parties during Christmas, Mother’s Day, Carnival (the days before Lent), and other holidays. All events are organized by a youth council, whose members are elected by program participants to work closely with staff to help plan and run CDR’s various activities.

The next day, I took a taxi to the city of Sucre to catch a flight back to La Paz. As I ducked to board the plane, I felt suddenly claustrophobic, reminded of crouching low to walk through the mine with Marcos. With support from CDR, Marcos will, I hope, be able to continue his education and escape a life, and death, in the mine.