JOEL GRIFFETT

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Cerro Rico is a godless place. The indigenous Andeans knew, so did the Spanish. What happens when God won’t set foot in the mine? You invent a new deity for the miners to worship.

His name is Uncle George, and the pious miner blesses him every day before his shift begins. On Friday, he is showered (literally) with gifts, the very same ones that we brought to the miners. The guide looked on at me in horror in the market before we entered hell, thinking I wanted to try the cigarettes they smoke. I didn’t. Not really.

The tour finished in some far off corner with El Tio, or as she referred to him ‘my sexy uncle George.’ The four of us sat there as she disclosed the philosophy of the mine:

‘El Tio is the husband, Pachamama is the wife. You bless one, you bless the other. The Spanish were intelligent; they knew that God didn’t live in the mine and that the miners needed to believe in something to keep them afloat. If you don’t live for God you must live for the devil. They built a statue in many corners of the mine and said ‘this is your God now, if you don’t work you die.’ The devil lives within. The Spanish say ‘dios dios dios,’ but we say ‘tius tius tius.’’

When we bless El Tio, we bless him four times.

First, the head, to keep the miners alert and concentrated while they work. Second, the arms, so we can push fast and push strong all day. Third, the feet, to keep steady climbing up and down the tunnels.

‘Why does he have such a big chorizo?’ I interjected before she tapped his schlong.
She giggled, ‘this is the most important part: fertility. Strong men need to make strong children.’
‘We are men,’ she continued, ‘Powerful. Macho.’
She’s not wrong. I’m not sure if you can tell from the photo but he is rocking some sizable meat.

All the while she told his this story, ominous and spooking rumblings echoed and vibrated through this enormous and depraved block of Swiss cheese. In a world entirely devoid of sense, logic and reason, the miners must rely on these arcane mystical and spiritual practices to stay relatively sane.

She picked up one of the miniature bleach bottles that contained the 96% alcohol and took a sip without even flinching before splashing a drop or two on each four parts of El Tio. She took another sip and exhaled satisfactorily.
‘If I offer pure alcohol, my minerals will be pure. Once we offer, we drink,’ she said, taking another sip, ‘Ahhhh,’ she exhaled again.
This is the only reaction, nothing else is okay. Why? To demonstrate you are a real man. You don’t like it, then you’re gay. We say Chica, Elena, Rosita,’ she cackled.

She thrust the bottle into the middle of the circle. Everyone else was reluctant so I took the first swig, being the Alpha that I am. Lord. That stuff will get your motor running like nothing else. I could still feel it coating my throat after we emerged into the grey light of the late afternoon.

I handed it to the man sat next to me, who panicked and finally caved after the guide called him gay and laughed in his face. His manhood threatened, he took a sip and recoiled in horror. Similar reactions began like a Mexican wave, before it was passed back to the guide, who took another sip and we left El Tio in peace.

When we got back to the office and back into normal clothes I bade everyone farewell and she shook my hand, ‘you are my favourite today,’ she said, and I left with a strange, melancholic sense of pride.