Bzzz. Bzz. Bzzzzz.

We were sitting at the breakfast table on a Thursday morning when Toussaint received a call from his niece Sika, who lives in the capital, 500 kilometers (311 miles) away. She had been informed that Jeffrey, the oldest son of her brother, Antoine, had been struck by lightning the night before.

Nobody was able to contact Antoine. Since the accident had happened not too far from Natitingou, Sika asked Toussaint if he could go and get more information. All she knew was that Jeffrey, who was on a break from academy, had joined his cousin, who was digging for gold in the hope of making some quick money. Lightning had struck a tree behind their tent, leaving two of the 14 men sleeping inside dead and burning or otherwise hurting others.

Toussaint asked David, another relative, to travel with him, since David had been to the mining location before and could guide him. Toussaint had never seen where and how the miners lived, and when they finally arrived at the site, he was shocked. No houses, just huts covered with plastic sheets on top of a bare mountain. Toussaint later said it reminded him of pictures from refugee camps: no water, no toilets, only some ladies who sold prepared food and bottled or canned drinks. There were also plenty of cigarettes and drugs.

Toussaint looked into the holes that serve as mine entrances and was told that some are as deep as 35 meters (115 feet). People descend on ropes before entering tunnels. Gold mining, common in many African countries, is often illegal and rarely involves safety measures. Mines frequently collapse and bury people alive, or diggers drown when they are underground and surprised by heavy rains.

Toussaint and David found the cousin with whom Jeffrey had been mining for gold. He showed them their tent, where lay the dead bodies of Jeffrey and another man. Toussaint then called his niece, Sika, to break the sad news.

Getting Jeffrey’s body out of the encampment proved challenging. Four-wheeled vehicles could not climb up the mountain to the mine, even our motorcycle had barely made it up the rugged trail. Together with the family of the second victim, Toussaint and David found a driver of a three-wheeler who was willing to take the two corpses down to the road to where an ambulance from the closest hospital would meet them.

As they stood next to the dead bodies, they made arrangements for their return trip, while others continued to descend into the mine as if nothing had happened.
In the late afternoon, the ambulance finally arrived at our hometown of Natitingou, and the corpses were delivered to the morgue. By now, someone from the family had been able to contact Antoine, but as a policeman, he was not able to leave his post right away. It would be another 24 hours before he could get to Natitingou. Sika, on the other hand, would be here the next morning.

Early Friday morning, Toussaint met with Sika to organize the funeral. Young people and victims of accidents are usually buried within a day or two without any ceremony, regardless of whether the parents can be present or not. Toussaint asked some young men from our neighborhood to help dig the grave. By 3:00 p.m., the funeral was over. A few hours later, Antoine arrived, and the family got together to visit and mourn. Sika had to leave the next evening, but Antoine was able to spend a few days before he had to return to his service post.

In this animistic culture, lightning strikes are generally thought to be sent by the spirits, through the imploring of spiritual intermediaries, to punish thieves. Therefore, some of the animists from their tent underwent a nine-day spiritual cleansing ceremony—drinking and showering with an elixir.

We know several young men who work at the “land of gold,” as it is called. We had heard of the bad conditions, but seeing them with his own eyes was a different story for Toussaint. He had nightmares and a tight stomach for over a week, not so much from dealing with the dead bodies, but more from what he had witnessed on top of that mountain. We later learned that a day after the lightning strike, a hole collapsed, and nobody knew how many diggers were buried alive in the mine. The stench from the unrecoverable decaying corpses was unbearable. For a time afterward, the place became almost deserted.

I cannot stop thinking about these young men who risk their lives daily just for some money. Did Jesus have them in mind when he told the story of the hidden treasure? How much would they be willing to risk to dig up that treasure? Has anybody told them about this treasure that is incomparably more precious than any gold?

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