The mining operation is owned by a conglomerate of companies based in wealthier nations. They pay the nation a 1% tax on the land where the mine is based and 1% in royalties. They also employ many local people who might otherwise be unemployed.
The mining operation has a residential programme for expat families. These families live in a pristine world behind a concrete wall protected by armed guards, razor wire and electric fencing. Behind the wall, streets are paved and immaculate. Tropical gardens flourish. Lawns are mowed. Pet dogs and cats are well loved. There are beautiful swimming pools, a well equipped gym, an international school, a medical clinic and tennis courts.
Inside the neat as a pin bungalows of the residential village you will find 54 inch flat screen TVs, microwaves, new large fridges, washers and dryers and silent and efficient air conditioning units, modern furniture and all the creature comforts. By Canadian standards, normal, pleasant homes. By the standards of this nation, unimaginable paradise. Residents have gardeners and drivers and housekeepers who come in once or twice a week-or every day should they so choose. All of it behind steel roll shutters that are locked every night and whenever they leave the building.
It's a lovely compound. The walls keep the outside world at bay.
Just steps outside the gate is a gorgeous deserted wild beach that stretches for miles. We are told it is unsafe for foreigners to walk on without being mugged. After walking a few km down this beach to a near deserted beach bar at a floundering local "resort" we watch the blue green waves crash on the beach. Apart from a couple of fishermen and three or four kids, there is no one.
Next to the camp is the massive modern plant, fully illuminated by night. Reportedly, effluent from the plant flows into the nearby rivers and the ocean. We are told the foreign workers can trust no one. Theft is constant and a cultural norm. The prevailing attitude is that if something is there you want, you should take it. God left it for you. Considering the pittance the mining corporation pays the nation in royalties, maybe the multinationals feel the same way.
The expats go to foreign owned guarded grocery stores where they buy imported goods. They eat at select restaurants where delicious cuisine cooked by foreign trained chefs. They go to the artisan market with their drivers who watch out for them. They visit the chocolate shop and the fish market and the export quality spice store.
|Produce at the market|
The contrast between the world behind the wall and the world outside the wall is startling. Inside the compound, the world is controlled and organized and clean. Outside, chaos. The company has brought money to this town and the country where there is little foreign investment. There are natural resources in abundance in this nation but the multinationals fear unrest.
I am here as a tourist. As a tourist in the developing world you can stay in nice hotels and eat at decent restaurants and hire taxis for next to nothing. And you know you can do so because you live in a wealthy developed nation where you have a good job. You hope some of your money trickles down to the people and that is how you justify the disparity to yourself- if you feel you need to justify such a thing. Mostly you know there is no justice in this global economy. You know you are not rich because you work harder than an African miner. You are not rich because you are smarter than a third world maid. You are not rich because you deserve to be.
I don't much like this country. There are elements of beauty. There are kind and decent people. But it bothered me to see such disparity. I don't know if I could live here as the expats do, in a world so separated from the people. The foreigners live so well, yet right beside them are hardworking people who live with nothing. And as much as the expats are safe, they are also imprisoned. The walls that keep the world away isolate them from everyone except each other.
Here in North America we live in our own little paradise, behind our own walls, separated from the majority of the world's people who live on next to nothing while we live in relative luxury. How often do we think of the grass shacks where the people who grow our rice and coffee and cocoa live? Do we ever think that it is likely a child who hauls our produce to market on his back? It's just easier for us to ignore the poverty that fuels our luxury because we don't see it every day.