As if on cue, a group of men and women appeared up the track, walking unhurriedly towards us. Each of them was carrying something. The guy in the lead had a spade over his shoulder, the one next to him was lugging a load of hessian sacks rolled up under his arm, and the skinny woman bringing up the rear of this first team was carrying a pickaxe. Another couple of shovels followed in the next knot of men. Also a crowbar slung from a rope. More bags on the back of a guy with torn, dirt-smeared shorts. Everyone’s clothes were filthy in fact. Holey T-shirts, mismatched gumboots, bare feet. a boy there who looked not much older than me had a Make America Great Again cap on, its stained brim angled comically to the sky. Where had he got that from? None of these guys were wasting breath talking to one another, and they didn’t say anything to us either. They already looked exhausted. When they reached the junction we’d parked at they simply turned downhill, one or two of them eyeing the Land Cruiser uncertainly. I took a photograph of the group before a bend in the track folded them out of sight. As the last of the men rounded it I had an absurd urge to whistle the tune the seven dwarfs sing when they say goodbye to Snow White and head off to work. If Xander had been there I’d probably have followed through. He would have understood.

‘What do we do now?’ I said instead.

‘Nous les suivons,’ said Marcel, dusting himself down.

‘How far is it?’ asked Amelia.

As another gaggle of men appeared up the track, Caleb said, ‘The mine’s close, a short walk. Some of these guys will have trekked for a couple of hours in the dark to get here this morning.’

We fell in behind this group. The path was well worn, steep in places, a yellow scar cut through the undergrowth. It wasn’t the only route down to the mine. We’d been walking just fifteen minutes when another path joined ours, and when the great gash of the mine opened up ahead of us it was obvious you could come in from the other side too.