Surviving Between Mountains

The entrance to the cave makes it look smaller, as if the walls were shrinking into a spiral and everything was absorbed by a black hole. Red and brown mud covers the plastic boots that take blind steps into the darkness.
Wilfredo advances rapidly inside the mine. The large amount of coca leaves in his cheek rounds it like a tennis ball. This, though, does not keep him from telling us the history of the place. As we move forward, the light from the entrance becomes weaker, until it looks like a small medallion that shines with the sun.
Minerals stand out in small green, yellow and red stalactites. Claustrophobia begins to invade our bodies as we pass through rustic wooden structures that hold the weight of the entire mountain over our heads.
About three hundred meters from the entrance, I see the devil for the first time. Sitting comfortably, his red skin and his eyes made of round glass shine with our flashlights. The creature has bull horns and proudly shows his gigantic penis. Over his body and in the surroundings are piles of coca leaves and small empty bottles of a liquor that numbs the lips with just a sip. These are the remains of the miner’s rituals, performed for good luck.
Wilfredo makes us sit around the devil. For several years he has been working as a guide in this silver mine located in Potosi, Bolivia. When he was 11 years old, he started as a miner and even now, when he is not guiding, he helps his relatives search for minerals in this mountain exploited since the Spanish have arrived in America.
The Uncle, as the devil is known in the mines, begins to come to life. While praying in Quechua, Wilfredo place piles of coca on the devil's body and on the soil, the Pachamama, how the Mother Earth is known. If he did not do it, nobody would protect us inside the mine. Then he opens a bottle of liquor and drinks it without changing the expression in his face. The prayer continues for several minutes, until he lights an unfiltered cigarette and places it in the mouth of The Uncle, for him to enjoy.
“To escape from the whips of the Spaniards, the Indians had to sympathize with the devil”, Wilfredo says.
We continue along improvised passages, where we can see miners in their over 12 hour work shift. On our way out, the small exit the size of a medallion begins to grow, a heavenly escape from the underworld. While I try to open my eyes to the strong white light that seems to cover the mountain, I thank The Uncle for his protection.