Forty kilometres off the M1, deep in the rural expanse of Kasungu lie Gogodi and Chimbiya, once thriving farming communities now scarred by the gold rush.
Desperation has driven people in the area of Traditional Authority Chitantha-Mapiri underground, risking life and limb in search of gold.
What began as survival has become a slow descent into environmental ruin, health hazards and social collapse.
Poverty has turned farming families into miners. With fertiliser unaffordable and crops failing, residents now descend into crude tunnels with iron bars and torches strapped to their heads.
“We do this for a living,” says 31-year-old Chalosi Wiske, standing beside a crater that was once a maize field.
The landscape resembles a battlefield. Pits stretch across land four times the size of a football pitch.
During a visit in June, men were seen crawling into narrow shafts. By September, one pit had collapsed.
“It only buried the gold,” recalls Happy Mhinje. “We escaped.”
However, the tragedy has not deterred them.
| Suzgo Chitete
“This is the only way to survive,” Mhinje added, eyes fixed on the soil that both feeds and threatens them.
On another visit, one of the pits had collapsed. Dealer Harold Bisalomu confirmed that only one man was seriously injured.
At several sites teenage boys and girls can be seen working alongside adults hauling water, pounding rocks and rinsing soil in search of elusive specks of gold.
Barefoot, without gloves or masks, the miners wade into the same pits digging. Others are assisting their parents scavenging through discarded soil that carry mercury and other toxic residues from crude processing mills.
For them, mining is not a choice, but a family obligation for survival in a community where the farm is gone and school feels distant.
One afternoon at Gogodi, The Nation found a 14-year-old girl bending over a bucket, pouring slurry into a plastic tub while hoses pumped muddy water nearby.
“She is 13 and not young as you think,” said the mother when we raised a question of child abuse.
Today, the farmland is pockmarked by heaps of soil dug from underground tunnels that stretch up to 20 metres in length and descend as deep as 10 metres—mined with no engineering guidance, safety protocols, or protective gear.
Four other sites visited in the same traditional authority exhibit similar environmental degradation.
Trees have been cleared without replacement, and land rendered agriculturally useless—an apparent breach of the Environmental Management Act (2017), which under sections 32 and 33 obliges the State to monitor and regulate environmentally hazardous activities.
Village head Siliuka, whose jurisdiction includes the Gogodi site, is increasingly alarmed by the long-term cost of the short-term gains.
“My worry is that children growing up now will not have anywhere to grow crops. And how do we expect them to survive?” she asks.
She and T/A Chitantha-Mapiri have attempted to engage residents on the dangers of selling land to miners, many of whom are outsiders, but their warnings largely fall on deaf ears.
At least five major illegal mining operations are currently active in Siliuka Village. None are licensed. None have environmental management plans. Milling machines have been set up along riverbanks, where mud and wastewater mixed with mercury—a highly toxic chemical used to extract gold—are released directly into surrounding water bodies.
Bisalomu, the gold dealer who has settled in the area, admits to using mercury, but dismisses concerns.
“Sometimes we crush two or three tonnes, and there’s nothing. But the costs must still be paid to people involved,” he says, adding that he learnt the business from Zimbabwean miners.
Kamuzu University of Health Sciences professor of public health Adamson Muula, in a written response to a questionnaire, warned that mercury is among the most dangerous substances to human, animal and plant life.
“People exposed to mercury may exhibit skin and eye irritations, breathing problems and lethargy. Mercury affects nearly every human organ system. I doubt there is adequate awareness among miners that they expose themselves and others to great risk if there is no due care. Regulation of artisanal mining is critical,” he stated.
The dangers go beyond chemical exposure. Underground mining here is physically brutal and extremely risky. Tunnels are narrow, unreinforced, and pitch dark. Diggers strap torches to makeshift headgear, wielding iron bars weighing up to 20 kg to smash through rock. No helmets. No boots. No respirators.
Despite the hazards, miners like Chalosi continue the work. He and his colleagues earn K2 000 each for filling a one-tonne lorry with gold-laced soil. On a good day, they can load three tonnes—just K6 000 for hours of perilous labour.
Braxton Banda, chairperson for the Civil Society Network in Kasungu, says local authorities have failed to act decisively.
The government appears to be taking note. The 2025/26 National Budget identifies gold miners as a key group in its formalisation drive.
In a written statement, Centre for Environmental Policy and Advocacy (Cepa) executive director Herbert Mwalukomo said the process must be expedited.
He said: “All stakeholders must support the formalisation of small-scale mining so that Malawians benefit from mineral resources while ensuring health, safety, and environmental sustainability.”
Federation of Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining in Malawi president Percy Maleta admits most artisanal miners lack expertise and work in unsafe conditions. However, he says efforts are underway.
“Currently, the Ministry of Mining and the Mining and Mineral Resources Authority [MMRA] are establishing and training mining cooperatives across the country,” he said.
While the law requires licence holders to conduct Environmental Impact Assessments and plan for mine closures, enforcement in the informal sector remains weak.
