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Mining is a dirty business. This can be read in both a metaphorical sense and in a literal sense. It is well documented that industrial mining underpinned the socio-economic order of southern Africa, an order built upon the exploitation of cheap African labour[1]. At the same time mineworkers toiled deep underground, digging shafts and blasting through rock to carve out tunnels. Covered in dust, dirt and sweat, the men moved back and forth along dim passages and climbed up and down narrow shafts. A ubiquitous sight in a mine complex were and still is men covered in dust, wearing dirty overalls, carrying shovels and pick axes. But the phenomenon of dust lasts far longer than the working day. Men would take dust home with them, it could be found on their boots, caked in their hair, and in their lungs. Nor can it be said that the phenomenon lasted only for the life cycle of a mine itself. In fact, as my recent month of fieldwork in the lead-zinc mining town of Kabwe has revealed, the residues of industrial mining continue to shape the lives of those in the town in the present. In this blog post I reflect on my experiences with dust during a month spent doing fieldwork in Kabwe. Noting how those experiences have enhanced my understanding of the historical lives of humans and animals in and around the town.
The first feeling I had when stepping out of the car at the mine complex was of panic. As soon as my foot landed on the ground a cloud of dust rose up to my knees covering my jeans in a layer of brown and grey residue. With that cloud of dust a rush of fears came flooding into my mind. For months I had been reading about the toxicity of the former lead-zinc mine. International news reports have labelled Kabwe as “the world’s most toxic town” whilst more recently Human Rights Watch have published a report detailing the toxic effects of lead contaminated dust from the waste dumps on the population of neighbouring townships[2]. This lead contaminated dust is ingested every day by thousands of people and animals in and around the town leading to widespread lead poisoning[3]. Children in particular have been affected with over 95% in the most affected townships having high levels of lead in their blood leading to impaired cognitive development, abdominal pain and even death[4]. These facts swirled through my mind as I arrived in the town with JB, Maaike and our driver Trust Malawo in early July 2025. I was there to do a month’s worth of fieldwork in the town and its environs as part of my research into the multi-species history of mining. The centre of socio-economic life in the town was the Broken Hill Mine. This industrial area lies to the southwest of the town centre and it was there that I stepped out of the car and was confronted by the toxic residues of the past.
Leaving the car, I joined the others in exploring the mine complex. This industrial area is mostly closed to visitors but there are sections where you can walk freely especially between the main complex and the opencast pits to the northwest. It was on a stretch of road bifurcating these two parts of the Broken Hill Mine that we first stood. All around us were the remains of the mining operation: in the distance beyond the road and line of trees stood the two remaining head-gears of the Main Ore Shaft and Davis Shaft[5]. The former being the shaft where lead and zinc ore was brought to the surface. The latter being a shaft sunk for the purposes of building a pumping station designed to pump the vast quantities of groundwater from the tunnels and shafts of the underground mining operation[6]. Beyond the tall iron structures and out of view behind a line of trees were the lakes of the former opencast diggings of No.1 Opencast, No.5/6 Opencast and No 3/4 Opencast[7]. These had been the first kopjes that had caught the attention of the Australian mining engineer Thomas Davey in 1902. Davey pegged out claims on the first of these kopjes and mining operations began two years later[8]. What had been isolated outcrops of oxidised lead and zinc ore jutting out of the dolomitic landscape were now lakes lined by trees, bushes and turnover mounds of waste material. [9]
Behind us were corrugated iron warehouses with the faded signs of “Carpentry and Joinery Shop” and “Machinery Shop” adorning their doors. These had been the workshops of the mine most likely built in the 1920s as new capital was injected into the until then floundering mining operations[10]. Beyond the warehouses, fenced off from pedestrians, was the centre of the mine works. Tall iron structures, corrugated iron roofs and smoke stacks indicated that the buildings were the smelting and leaching plants of the mine. In the past this area would have been a hive of activity as managers, engineers, labourers and security personnel went about their daily business. The daily rhythms of life would have been punctuated by the sound of machines, firing furnaces and the roar of truck engines [11]. Today, as the area remains under the ownership of a mining company, those activities and sounds persist. On subsequent visits to this spot I was practically deafened by passing trucks, the roar of blast furnaces and the siren that sounded at 14:00 every day. The siren announces the beginning of lunch time, a sound that can be heard over 3km away at the Diggers Inn Restaurant[12]. Standing there however I was not focusing on the sounds of the mine. Rather I was focusing on how everything was covered in a cloud of dust. Dust that was now stinging my eyes, filling my nostrils and covering my clothes, a testament to the near ubiquity of the toxic residues of an industrial mining operation.
My next visits to the mine area only confirmed the striking pervasiveness of dust. In approaching the mine along the main road that leads to the town centre, I saw clouds of brown and grey dust above the trees and buildings. These were caused by the endless stream of open-topped trucks that were transporting toxic materials from the mine dumps and tailings dams of the Broken Hill Mine.[13] These trucks travelled at high speeds across a road that was strewn with potholes which meant that every bump caused a cloud of dust to fall to the ground getting into the eyes, nostrils and mouths of passing pedestrians.[14] The mine dumps and tailings dams of the Broken Hill Mine lie to the south of the main mine complex. When viewed on Google Earth this space appears to consist of large slabs of blackened earth and cream coloured pools of water. The former are the so-called “black mountain” mine dumps. These mounds consist of black slag produced during the smelting of lead and zinc concentrates which form hard black sand and pebbles which are tightly packed together.[15] The latter are the tailings dams which consist of the waste produced during an earlier phase of mineral processing. The dams consist of fine material of grounded rock mixed with water and chemicals.[16] These constitute the most visible signs of the wastage produced by decades of mining at Kabwe. The trucks that thundered past me were carrying these materials northwards away from the mining area but in doing so were responsible for spreading the lead contaminated dust even further.[17]
On one visit to the mine area I walked along the fence that cordons off the mine dumps from the main road leading into town. Much of this area has been excavated but some of the plateaus of the mine dumps and tailings dams remain. Walking along the boundary of the fence I examined these mounds of broken earth and sludge. The tailings dams are about 5 metres high with sprouts of vegetation sticking out of their walls. Alongside the dams are the mine dumps where each gust of wind flew the black soil onto the road.[18] I looked to my left, away from the fence, towards the residential area on the opposite side of the road and saw an example of how the town has earned its reputation as a hazardous place for its inhabitants. 50 metres from the fence was a line of small brick houses many of them in states of disrepair. In front of one of these homes was family where the children were getting ready for school. The children were wearing their school uniforms and waving goodbye to their mother who was standing in the doorway of their home. The door opened straight onto the dirt track and the fenced boundary of the mine dumps. Every day the family are exposed to the dust blown from the top and sides of the dams and dumps. This was an especially windy day in the middle of the dry southern African winter which meant that as they were standing there they were encased in a cloud of dust.[19] This family, like many others in Kabwe, live daily amidst the ruins of the mine and its past.
This sight, along with many others during the course of my fieldwork, has given me a greater sense of what it was like to live and work in the mining town. The dust that formed clumps in my hair and made my eyes water are an important reminder of the visceral quality of life in a mining centre. In the past labourers would have trooped off to work in the mine, walking through dust covered streets, to toil all day in the open pits or underground tunnels of the Broken Hill Mine.[20] For hours on end men would have worked in tunnels, ingesting dust, coughing and spluttering as the lead contaminated soil entered their mouths and throats. Prolonged exposure would have led to a wide range of illnesses with perhaps the most debilitating being lead poisoning itself. Understanding these and other features of daily life in the town will form an important part of my research into the environmental history of Kabwe. Though as I will demonstrate, dust was not just a part of human life in the town. It was also a feature of life for other species brought into the service and contribute to the mining economy of Kabwe.
Animals in the vicinity of the mine would have also been exposed to lead contaminated dust. In 2024 an international team of researchers, most of whom specialise in veterinarian medicine conducted research amongst stray dogs in Kabwe. During my visit I observed a dozen dogs wandering through the townships in the vicinity of the mine[21]. The researchers concluded that there was “an approximately 10 times increase in accumulation of toxic metals, specifically Cd [cadmium] and Pb [lead], in several tissues of dogs living close to the mine compared to dogs living farther away.”[22] Amongst a host of other toxic substances the researchers noted that stray dogs suffered from dangerous levels of lead poisoning which led to gastrointestinal issues and neurological problems.[23] Further research has been carried out on other animals in the environment of Kabwe. In 2011 researchers found that rats in the town had significantly higher concentrations of lead in their livers and kidneys compared to elsewhere in Zambia, resulting in weight loss and renal issues.[24] More recently studies on lead contamination in cow milk in the rural-urban fringe of the town have illustrated that cattle reared in the area are regularly exposed to lead contaminated dust.[25] Humans then are not the only species exposed to the hazards of lead poisoning in Kabwe. A fact that I was mindful of when walking the town’s streets when, on occasion, I would see the tail of a dog strolling along the dust covered paths.
The animals of Kabwe also have a past worth exploring. Just as I was able to try to imagine the daily routine of mineworkers so too could I try to imagine the historical experiences of animals in and around the mine. Of particular interest to me are the historical lives of cattle in Kabwe. Observations and discussions with local residents and farmers revealed to me that the town has long relied on local cattle for supplies of meat and milk.[26] This is a pattern that owes its origins to the development of the mine and town in the first decades of the twentieth century. Mineworkers and townsfolk came to rely on cattle imported from elsewhere in the southern African region who came to the town on the Cape-to-Cairo railway. These animals were either slaughtered in the urban centre or reared on neighbouring farms.[27] Throughout their time living in the tailings of the Broken Hill Mine these animals, like the people living and working in the town, would have ingested the toxic fumes from the smelters and the lead laced dust of the mine. Their historical experiences along with that of other animals will form a central part of my research going forward as I seek to understand the multi-species environmental history of Kabwe.
The purpose of my fieldwork in and around Kabwe is to gain a greater understanding of how industrial mining has transformed the environment of the town. My first visit to the former lead and zinc mine was enormously fruitful as I developed an appreciation of how the physical landscape of this otherwise featureless plain of savannah grassland and Miombo woodland was, due to an accident of geology and geography, turned into an industrial and urban centre. A place where thousands of people and animals came to live and work. What had once been tall isolated kopjes have now been replaced by large man-made lakes. What had once been an empty savannah plain is now strewn with the rusting remains of warehouses, office buildings, mine headgears and furnaces. But perhaps the most tangible example of how mining has transformed the environment of Kabwe are the ubiquitous clouds of dust, blowing from the tops of massive mine dumps and tailings dams into the eyes, noses and lungs of humans and animals nearby. On the final day of my visit to the mine area, whilst walking up the railway line connecting Kabwe with the Copperbelt to the North and South Africa to the south, I turned my head and saw several kilometres in the distance a dust tornado ripping across the landscape. Kilometres away this dust devil was not directly affecting the town or mine but a more fitting encapsulation to the presence of dust in the lives of all that live in Kabwe, I could not think of. [28]