In the early morning light of Emalahleni, where the soil seems forever grey and the air tastes of coal, a different kind of extraction unfolds each day. Here, the blackened earth tells stories of centuries of labour and aspiration, just as the people who live upon it carry tales of risk and resilience. In the quiet margins of this landscape, another narrative breathes — one of young girls disappearing into abandoned shafts and unlawful settlements, and of a few determined individuals laboring, often unnoticed, to guide them back.
Emalahleni, whose name means “place of coal,” stands in South Africa’s Mpumalanga province — an area shaped by the refuse of a once‑booming mining industry. The abandoned pits and tunnels left behind have become informal sites of extraction, drawing illegal miners known locally as zama zamas, and with them, a host of social challenges. In these unregulated zones, communities confront entrenched poverty, limited opportunities, and — beneath that struggle — an unsettling vulnerability that often ensnares children and young women.
Within this complex reality, Catholic sisters walk a careful line between service and silence. Their work is not loud, nor always visible; instead it resembles a gentle pull on a frayed thread, a patient search for a name in a crowded room. These sisters, accompanied by priests and local partners, carry out rescues — helping girls leave perilous settlements tied to illegal mining activities, where coercion, exploitation, and survival sex are tragically common.
The sisters’ mission unfolds mostly out of public view — in discreet safe houses, counseling centers, and informal community spaces. They meet girls after harm has occurred, providing shelter and trauma support while working to ensure these early wounds do not define their futures. In doing so, they traverse a landscape where authority is fragmented, and both criminal groups and inadequately performing state institutions contribute to a climate of fear and distrust.
In these mining settlements, the work of the Catholic sisters becomes a quiet testament to presence over power. They walk with survivors, offering care and accompaniment — a concept central to their pastoral approach, known as the Emmaus Project. For many girls, escape from exploitation begins not with a headline or official intervention, but with someone acknowledging that hunger, desperation, and marginalization are not choices but conditions of circumstance.
As they navigate the neglected terrain of abandoned mines and informal settlements, the sisters also carry the psychological weight of witnessing normalized suffering: young teens arriving alone, early “marriages” born of need rather than choice, and families caught between fear of authorities and fear of criminal syndicates. Theirs is a ministry of accompaniment — refusing to look away, even when systems designed to protect have not been effective.
Still, the sisters themselves face risks. Police checkpoints questioning their presence and warnings of arrest underscore the fraught landscape in which their work takes place — a reminder that simply standing in the middle of these communities can carry consequences.
In Emalahleni, where coal continues to fuel power stations and global demand for minerals remains high, the sisters’ work speaks to a deeper ledger of human cost — not measured in tons or profits, but in childhoods saved and the fragile persistence of hope.
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Sources • National Catholic Reporter / Global Sisters Report • Global Sisters Report (reporter’s notebook) • World News Report (media aggregator)