On Zambia's Copperbelt, towns are forged in the fiery veins of copper, with Black Mountains - vast copper slag dumps - looming like slumbering beasts. Their jagged slopes whisper of both wealth and ruin. Theophilus Ngoma, a small-scale mining magnate, held an iron grip that throttled the region's most lucrative resource. His enemies spat "Jerabo," a slur for subsistence miners, while his allies hailed him "Commander One." Politicians, depending on their needs, skillfully bestowed titles to coax favours from him.
There were some rumours that some politicians actually engaged him to do much of their bidding, and some police officers were on his payroll.
No one dared work the copper slag dumps of the Black Mountains without his nod.
Theophilus's tactics, raw violence without any cloaked, kept
smaller cooperatives and independent prospectors trembling. Like a mafia don,
he enforced his rules with fists and fear, guarding his territory against
rivals.
His every decision sent tremors through Kitwe’s markets and the lives tethered to them. Yet, after the government changed in August 2021, Theophilus grew eerily quiet. His company’s pace slowed, and whispers hinted he was chasing ventures across the border in the DRC.
This is because, in 2018, the government had ceded a 10% stake in the Black Mountain, once held by ZCCM-IH, to Jerabos. They called it youth empowerment and claimed that this decision had an opportunity to employ many youths who already relied on the dumpsite. However, it mainly fortified men like Theophilus, legitimizing what was once illegal.
Since this was viewed as a politically motivated move, there was uncertainty when the political party in government changed.
Enter Lloyd Mukuka, a skilled but stubborn prospector who felt the shift as opportunity. Wherever he has worked, he traced the mine’s layout in a battered notebook, a habit learned from his father.
His small crew had scratched out a living on modest claims, but rumors of a rich vein beneath the old Chingola slag heaps ignited his ambition. At their cramped home, his wife, Julia, clutched his arm, her eyes wet with dread.
“Theophilus Ngoma’s silence isn’t retreat, Lloyd,” she warned, her voice low. “My cousin crossed him years ago. They found him murdered in a ditch. This is a trap. The perpetrators have never been caught, but there's no doubt who was responsible."
Lloyd set the ore down, his hands unsteady. “This vein could free us, Julia.”
Lloyd, fueled by a new drilling technique and memories of his father’s lost claims to Theophilus' empire, shook her off.
“This vein could change everything for us,” he said, his voice firm but his hands trembling. “Theophilus is distracted. I won’t let fear steal our future. My father lost everything due to fear of taking chances. I won’t let fear steal our chance.”
She shook her head in disagreement, her braid casting a show on the wall. “It’s not fear, it’s survival.”
Ignoring Julia’s pleas, he led his crew to a contested edge of Chingola, near Chililabombwe, where the Black Mountain’s shadow stretched long. Kunda Mapushi, a junior geologist from the Ministry of Mines and Mineral Development, had tipped him off about the vein. Lloyd had met Kunda at a mining meeting, where the young man’s sharp mind was overshadowed by his bitterness of wanting to have a share of Theophilus's cake.
Days into drilling, the air thick with copper dust and the whine of machinery, Lloyd noticed signs of trouble: a slashed tire on their truck, footprints near the rig at dawn. He brushed them off, focusing on the glint of ore in his samples. His crew worked fast, their drills unearthing traces of the vein he’d dreamed of. But at dusk, engines rumbled beyond the ridge. A black Toyota Landcruiser idled, its tinted windows glinting like a predator’s eyes.
Theophilus emerged, flanked by a security detail, their rifles catching the fading light. His polished military-styled boots crunched the slag, a stark contrast to the dust-covered miners. Among them stood Chanda, a former employee Lloyd had fired for skimming funds. Betrayal hung heavy in the air.
“Ba Mukuka,” Theophilus said, his voice smooth but sharp, “you’re digging in my mountain.”
Lloyd squared his shoulders, sweat beading his brow. “This
is my find, Commander.”
Theophilus stepped closer, his presence heavy as the slag around them. “Join my operation, and I’ll let you keep a sliver. Refuse, and you’ll lose more than dirt.”
A spanner clattered as one of Theophilus’s men shifted, a warning. Lloyd’s heart pounded, Julia’s words echoing: It’s a trap. He glanced at Chanda, whose smirk confirmed the betrayal.
“This claim is mine,” Lloyd said, his voice steady despite the fear.
Theophilus’s eyes narrowed. “This mountain buries the bold.”
His men surged forward, seizing the rig in a swift, merciless sweep. Lloyd resisted, but a rifle butt struck his temple. He crumpled, and the crew scattered into the dusk. The next morning, Julia searched the site, finding only Lloyd’s broken drill bit, its edge stained with blood. He was never seen again.
Theophilus, unable to integrate Lloyd’s specialized equipment immediately, summoned Kunda Mapushi to his office overlooking President Avenue. The air was thick with cigar smoke. “Oversee this acquisition,” Theophilus ordered. “Ensure a smooth transfer. I’ll reward you when I return from Likasi.”
Kunda nodded, but his eyes glinted with mischief. He’d long resented Theophilus and he also felt that his expertise was undervalued at the Ministry. At the Kalulushi site, he spotted small pockets of copper ore, too minor for Ngoma Mining’s sprawl but lucrative for a side deal. Late at night, he loaded a few tons into a truck, his pulse racing as a guard’s flashlight swept the yard. He delivered the ore to a Chinese buyer, pocketing the cash but glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting Theophilus’s enforcers.
When Theophilus returned, he noticed a shortfall in the output reports. His roar shook the office. “I think I have been robbed. Who dared tamper with my acquisitions?” he demanded, pinning Kunda with a stare.
Kunda, quick-witted, replied, “The Chingola deposits were overhyped, Commander. Ask the local prospectors, they’ll tell you the vein was weak.”
Theophilus sent men to The Space Platinum, where miners gathered to mourn Lloyd. An elderly prospector, his face weathered by dust and sun, spoke. “Lloyd was brave but foolish. The copper was small, not worth the risk.”
Kunda, standing beside Theophilus, shrugged smugly. “See? I told you—those pockets were nothing.” Theophilus nodded, but his jaw tightened, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Weeks later, a young prospector arrived at the Black Mountain after getting a loan from the CEEC, his tools gleaming with naive ambition. Theophilus’s men watched from a ridge in an idling Ford Ranger. At a community meeting in Wusakile, Julia listened as a politician praised “Black Mountain Youth Empowerment Programme,” promising more stakes for people if they vote for him. The room was silent, people exchanging wary glances. Julia clutched Lloyd’s notebook, its sketches a reminder of dreams crushed under the mountain’s shadow.
Epilogue
Unbridled power that most Jerabos have, often bolstered by corruption, has crushed many individual ambition and justice. Despite initial appearances of opportunity, challenging an entrenched, ruthless Jerabos has led many to ruin. Furthermore, seemingly beneficial political moves, like "youth empowerment," can be co-opted to legitimize and strengthen existing illicit power structures, highlighting how easily systems can be manipulated to serve the powerful rather than the people