When the ground gave way in Zambia’s Chingola region on May 21, 2024, the red earth did more than bury 11 miners alive—it exposed the deeper, unresolved fault lines of Africa’s extractive economies. The accident, which occurred at the open-pit Konkola Copper Mine, dominated local news and prompted a wave of mourning. But while the nation grieves, few in government or industry appear ready to confront the structural rot that made such a disaster not only possible, but predictable.
Zambia is the second-largest copper producer in Africa, and mining accounts for more than 70% of its export earnings. The country’s economy, like many of its neighbors, is shackled to the boom-bust cycle of global commodities markets. And in this volatile marriage of resource dependency and under-regulation, safety often comes dead last. The victims of Chingola—most of them informal miners—were operating under conditions so dangerous they might as well have been digging their own tombs.
These miners, known colloquially as “Jerabos”, are part of a massive informal mining workforce in Zambia. Often dismissed as “illegal,” they work in abandoned shafts or unstable areas of large-scale industrial sites, scavenging copper ore to sell on the black market. They’re not rebels or saboteurs. They’re unemployed youth, displaced farmers, and struggling breadwinners in a country where formal employment opportunities are shrinking.
The irony is bitter: Zambia’s copper once made foreign investors rich. It built railroads for colonizers and lined the vaults of imperial treasuries in Europe. Today, the metal still feeds the electric car boom in Europe and Asia. Yet in Chingola and Kitwe, the communities that sit atop billion-dollar reserves often live without basic electricity, clean water, or even functioning clinics.
The tragic landslide followed weeks of heavy rains and multiple warnings from local activists about unstable conditions in the mining zone. But those warnings fell on deaf ears. Mining companies, both state-run and private, often turn a blind eye to what they term “trespassing,” despite being fully aware of the informal networks that mine and trade copper in their abandoned or inactive zones.
Zambia’s government quickly promised a full investigation, but trust is thin. Previous accidents—including a fatal underground collapse in 2019—produced headlines and official condolences, but few systemic changes. Industry watchdogs note that corruption, weak regulatory oversight, and political patronage have created an environment where mining safety is compromised in the name of output.
But this is not just a Zambian story.
Across sub-Saharan Africa, mining continues to reflect the unequal logic of colonialism: extract resources, export wealth, and import misery. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, children mine cobalt for smartphones. In South Africa, silicosis continues to haunt the lungs of former gold miners. In Ghana, mercury poisoning plagues rivers near artisanal gold sites. The profit may be repackaged as “foreign direct investment,” but the cost is always local—paid in bodies and poisoned land.
Why does this continue in 2025?
One reason is the race for green technology, which ironically relies heavily on metals like copper, cobalt, and lithium. As the Global North pivots to electric vehicles and renewable energy, Africa finds itself once again caught in a resource rush, with little say in the rules. Countries like Zambia are encouraged to boost mining output to stay “competitive”—even if it means loosening regulations, turning a blind eye to environmental degradation, or outsourcing operations to private foreign companies with opaque safety records.
But there’s also the matter of sovereignty—or the lack of it. While African leaders regularly proclaim “resource nationalism,” most mining contracts remain shrouded in secrecy, and taxation systems are notoriously vulnerable to manipulation. Corporations use complex legal structures and tax havens to shift profits abroad, while local communities fight for basic compensation when disasters strike.
Chingola’s landslide is not just a tragedy—it is an indictment. An indictment of a global economic model that regards African resources as open veins, not sovereign assets. An indictment of governments that pledge reform while cutting deals behind closed doors. An indictment of mining firms that invoke “zero harm” safety slogans even as they abandon dangerous pits for informal miners to scavenge.
For the families of the 11 dead, there will be no quick justice. There will be promises of memorials, perhaps small cash compensations, and certainly no shortage of press releases about future vigilance. But the cycle—dig, collapse, bury, forget—will continue unless radical change takes root.
That change must start with transparency and accountability. African governments must publish all mining contracts and establish independent oversight with real enforcement powers. Informal miners must be brought into the legal fold and given protection, not chased out like criminals. And foreign investors must be held to international labor and safety standards, not just extract-and-go strategies disguised as development.
Until then, every new mine in Africa might as well come with its own cemetery.
