Editor’s Note
This article examines the complex reality behind Madagascar’s sapphire boom, where soaring global demand fuels an informal mining sector rife with exploitation. It explores the stark contrast between the stones’ status as luxury assets and the often-dangerous conditions faced by those who extract them.
Madagascar is the fifth poorest country in the world, yet it accounts for almost 40 per cent of global production of one of the most sought-after precious stones: sapphire. Several deposits discovered in 1998 in the south of the country continue to attract miners and buyers. These stones are prized by investors as “safe haven” assets, and the emergence of the middle classes in China and India has sent the prices soaring.
The mines in the south of the island are the scene of outdated working conditions and proven cases of child labour, and violent crime is plaguing the region. French journalists Lola Fourmy and Martin Huré take us on a journey to the heart of dreams of economic emancipation that, for many Malagasy people, has turned into a nightmare.
It takes more than half a day by minibus taxi from the capital, Antananarivo, to reach the town of Ilakaka in the arid southern region of the island. “Welcome to Ilakaka, enjoy our sapphires”, says a sign at the entrance to the town. Sapphires are the only attraction on this road. Until 30 years ago, all that could be found here was arid land and local wildlife.
The town was founded in 1998, a few months after the chance discovery of sapphire deposits. It now has over 30,000 inhabitants, many of whom came to join the sapphire rush.
Mohammed Kone is one of the market’s pioneers. This Guinean businessman, who arrived in 1999, manages the mines and the showroom of a Swiss entrepreneur. He lives in a luxury villa behind the boutique of Colorline, the company he runs.
After being mined for 25 years, the 250 kilometre long and 50 kilometre wide vein is drying up. But it still attracts poor people who dream of great wealth, at the risk of their lives. Every morning at dawn, an astonishing procession starts making its way through the streets of Ilakaka. Men, hoodies over their heads, pickaxes in hand, branch off into the side streets to reach the mines. The mines are split according to their owners. At the Colorline mine, six men were busy working that day.
They climb out of a 15-metre-deep hole with small sacks of earth, which they then sift through in the reservoir in search of the precious stone. They are paid 10,000 ariary a day, the equivalent of €2. They have to hand over their entire haul to the company and “woe betide anyone found hiding sapphires in their mouth,” one of the miners explains.
When asked about the dangerous working conditions, Kone sidesteps the safety issues:
A few kilometres away, dozens of families work in small-scale wells that fall far short of the minimum safety requirements. Every family has its own well, and the land around the village of Antsohamadiro is riddled with holes.
Like any other morning, Alex crosses the valley with his father Jacques, his mother Vosi and his wife Cela, aged just 15. Together, the family set to work around a 12-metre-deep hole. The father, thin and frail, slips into the shaft leading to the bottom of the hole where he sometimes spends over two hours. His voice rises up to the surface in a faint trickle, hinting at the lack of air down below.
Above ground, the women sift the soil, dreaming of the stone that will change their lives. Cela left school when she got married.
The girls in this region are often married before the age of 18, despite this practice being legally prohibited in the country and a breach of human rights. In urban areas, girls are encouraged to go to school, but in the countryside, where customs are more deeply entrenched, their families still see them as a source of income.
Alex says that they have no choice but to work as miners, because of the poverty mainly caused by the drought, and that while some days they find nothing, others are very lucrative.
That’s around €200, or almost half the annual salary in Madagascar.
On the other side of the river, a number of children are pulling themselves out of the wells or helping older men up from the depths. They all claim to be 15 years old, the legal age set by the law and International Labour Organization (ILO) Convention 138 on child labour, but their childlike appearance suggests otherwise.