The Devil in the Rubaya Dust: The Man Mining the World’s Fortune in an "Open Cemetery"
RUBAYA, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO — Julien Kakesa is 51 years old, but in the serrated hills of the Masisi Territory, age is measured not in years, but in the amount of red earth one has moved by hand. For Julien, a father of five, every gram of coltan extracted from the slopes of Rubaya is a bitter paradox: he handles the minerals that power the world’s high-tech future, yet he lives in a primitive, terrifying past.
Since 2014, Julien has toiled in this global hub, a site responsible for nearly 30% of the world’s coltan. While tech giants in San Francisco and Seoul thrive on this ore, Julien’s reality is defined by the Rwandan-backed M23 rebels, illegal extraction, and the constant threat of the earth swallowing him whole.
"I hardly make ends meet with my small family," Julien says, his voice raspy from a decade of inhaling mineral dust. "I know I am giving all I can to help exploit minerals worth a fortune, but for us, there is only hunger."
The Saturday the Devil Arrived
The memory that haunts him most dates back to a Saturday afternoon in June last year. The shift was nearing its end; the miners were "damn tired," their bodies aching for the relative safety of their huts.
"That was the day I met Willy Ngoma in person," Julien recalls. Ngoma, the feared spokesperson for the M23, arrived not with a message of liberation, but with a wall of "uniform men" bristling with weapons. "It was like meeting the devil in the flesh. He showed no pity. All he wanted was for us to work until we were completely exhausted."
When one miner, Theodore, collapsed from illness and begged for medical attention, the supervisor, Davin Mushaga, did not offer water or rest. He reported the "insubordination" to Ngoma.
"Theodore was beaten by many uniform men on the spot," Julien says, his eyes fixed on the ground. "He was bleeding. We were all afraid to death. Theodore was taken to an unknown destination. We never saw him again."
Living in an Open Cemetery
"The fear of death has already gone," Julien says with a chilling numbness. "We know death can find you anywhere here."
For Julien’s five children, the future is as dark as the mine shafts. They do not attend school. In a landscape where "uniform men" are omnipresent and threatening, the walk to a classroom is a gamble no parent wants to take. Exactions and rapes have become the background noise of daily life.
"You speak out, you are dead," Julien whispers. "We live in an open cemetery."
The Ghost of the Oppressor
On February 24, 2026, a strange silence fell over the pits. Julien huddled around his small, battered radio, tuned to Radio France Internationale (RFI). The news was jarring: Willy Ngoma was dead.
"I could hardly believe it," Julien says. "His presence at the mining site was so frightening, so absolute, that it felt like he could never die."
Yet, Ngoma’s death has
brought no liberation. The occupation remains. The supervisor, Davin Mushaga,
still enforces the code of silence. "The plight we face must remain a secret,"
Mushaga tells the men daily.
As the world continues its insatiable crawl toward the next gadget, the men of Rubaya remain trapped in a cycle of exploitation and grief. For Julien, the minerals he digs are not components of a smartphone; they are the stones used to build his own prison.
A Blood-Stained Connection
The coltan in your pocket likely passed through the calloused, trembling hands of men like Julien Kakesa. As the international community debates mineral diplomacy and regional security, the "open cemetery" of Rubaya continues to expand. Until the global supply chain accounts for the blood in the Masisi dust, the world’s progress will continue to be built on the systematic destruction of fathers, children, and the very earth they call home.
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