In spite of all danger

As rescue hopes fade for 181 Chinese miners trapped underground by flooding, Jonathan Watts visits a pit near Yongchang to meet those risking their lives in the world's deadliest coal industry

A warm breeze whispers across the green scrub and orange loose earth of central Gansu as Ma Baeker - a farmer's son - naps on a quiet, remote hillside.

Then, suddenly, the idyll is broken. A generator cranks noisily to life, Ma jumps to his feet and a thick steel cable lifts taut above some rusty rails.

The rails lead down into a black hole cut into the slope, from which a clanking sound grows steadily louder until a single iron boxcar is winched into view.

It is piled high with large, glistening chunks of coal that shake as the boxcar jolts to a halt. Ma unclips the winch cable, puts his shoulder to the iron and first pushes, then drags the load to the middle of a rickety wooden pier that juts out perilously above an eight-metre high coal heap.

Once it stops, he shovels out the load and a cloud of black dust billows back up into the air, covering his unmasked face and clothes. He then drags the empty car back along the pier, reconnecting the cable and letting it roll back into the pit.

This action - repeated every seven minutes, around 100 times a day - is the sum total of Ma's job. It is tiring, monotonous and hazardous, but by the appalling standards of China's coal industry, Ma has it lucky.

Working 12-hour shifts with only three days off in a month, he can earn 2,000 yuan (£132) - a better than average wage for a migrant worker from the countryside. And though there are risks, he is far safer above ground than his father and uncles, who work at the coalface below.

Dependent on coal for 70% of its energy needs, China is ramping up production to fuel its fast-growing economy. Many colliery bosses cut corners. Despite government campaigns to improve safety, this has meant a heavy cost in lives. Last year 4,746 miners were killed in 2,845 accidents, not including the countless deaths that go unreported in small illegal collieries.

Like most of the country's 5-7 million miners, Ma was born a farmer. The 21-year-old is from the Hui Muslim ethnic minority in Qinghai province. He spent two years in a madrasa studying Islam and plans one day to become a mullah. But the pressures and temptations of industrialisation have driven him from his land and from his community.

Most of his family's property was taken by the state for reforestation projects. Now they make their money under the land rather than on it. "We couldn't make a living as farmers so we became miners," he explains.

They live - with 30 other workers - in three small, redbrick homes on the opposite hillside from the pit. Ma's mother joined them to work as a cook, but she has since returned to tend what is left of their land.

Ma wakes at 7am. Before breakfast, he likes to walk around the hills and breathe the fresh air. The first meal of the day is usually potatoes and noodles, then at 8am, he begins work. During a normal 12-hour shift, he will push and dump more than 100 tonnes of coal.

It is exhausting and dirty work. After the winter snows, it is also freezing. At that time, he says, most workers would rather labour underground where it is warmer. At the end of the day, he has little energy left for anything other than a bath, before sinking down in front of satellite television with his friends. Some of the others play cards or chess, but he rarely joins in. They usually go to bed at 10-11pm.

There are no fixed holidays. The workers can take a day off if they feel tired, but that means a loss of income - which most consider unacceptable. "I usually take just three days off a month. I don't like to stop because I want to help my dad earn money," says Ma.

On those rare free days, he goes into the county town of Yongchang - an hour's drive away - to wander around the shops and play billiards or basketball.

As is typical in China, the managers are all from the dominant Han ethnic group, while the workers are all minority Hui.

Ma points in the direction of Mecca. "I try to pray five times a day. It's not possible when I am at work, but I am very punctual when I am back home."

We leave Ma, wander past the coal heap and up to the worker's dormitory and canteen. The halal cook is carving up the carcass of a lamb. One miner plays with a chicken in a cage, others chat over a game of Chinese chess.

Ma's father, Bula, is the leader of the work group. He tells me he found the job through a friend's introduction: "They told me this was a good mine." His definition of good appears to have more to do with salary than safety. The Gansu mine pays almost twice the salary as the one where Ma used to work in Qinghai.

The mineowner, who gave only his surname, Wang, says everyone is aware of the risks, but the money is more important.

"Safety is a worry. That is a fact," says Wang. "There is no mine in China that is free of accidents. It is impossible to prevent them completely because mining is extremely dangerous," he says. "But a lot of people want to become miners because you can earn more than in other jobs."

He boasts that his record is better than most. In the past 10 years, two miners have died and there have been injuries from rock falls and tunnel collapses.

If a worker dies, Wang has to pay out up to 60,000 yuan (£3,960) in compensation, plus substantial penalties. The amount is determined by provincial guidelines that take into account the worker's age, number of dependants and the living standards in their home provinces. He says the victim's families also get an insurance payout, worth almost 90,000 yuan.

"I also have to fork out tens of thousands for the funeral, including the food, travel and accommodation for every relative who comes to attend," says Wang.

But there are still good profits to be made. For every tonne of coal, the miners are paid 20 yuan, while the owner gets 140 yuan. Such markups have made many mineowners extremely wealthy. Wang says the business is getting tougher now there is more emphasis on safety.

"Since I started the mine 10 years ago, the central government has made more and more regulations. There is a lot more concern about safety so we have to invest in new equipment."

He says he now buys stronger wood for the struts that prop up the tunnel. It may be an improvement on the past, but many of the logs outside the mouth of the shaft look rotten.

New regulations do not always mean safety improvements. Dang Xinglong, the owner of a fluorite mine in the area, says the situation got worse last year since the Sunan county government tried to forcibly consolidate nine small mines, including his. Price controls were introduced and new safety rules issued, but the result was far from that which was intended.

"The new regulations were supposed to improve safety, but the opposite happened," says Dang. "The new group that is supposed to oversee our operations is only interested in making money. They invested nothing and paid us a lower price for our product. We now have less to spend on safety measures than before."

The stand-off between the two sides may have contributed to the death of a miner last June. Qin You Xie was killed after a boxcar crushed him. His boss says he could have been saved if the township government had not blocked the nearby roads in an effort to impose discipline on the mine owners.

"There were no cars to take the injured man so workers had to run 3km for help. By the time they got back, it was too late," says Dang. The county government has refused repeated invitations by The Guardian to respond to these allegations.

So far, Ma's coal mine has avoided the consolidation or closure of smaller mines, as its production is a little above the cut-off point of 90,000 tonnes per year.

The miners there say things are getting better. Salaries have been raised this year and conditions are improving. "The safety here is quite good. In the four months I have worked here there haven't been any accidents. The inspectors came just five days ago," says Ma, as the owner hovers in the background.

Despite such reassurances, the young miner said his father will not allow him to work down the shaft. "He loves me too much."

Next month, he will go home to Qinghai to celebrate the end of Ramadan and to find a bride. "I have never had a girlfriend. I have been too busy working to meet anyone. But our community has a tradition of matchmaking. It takes less than a month from the first meeting to the wedding. I hope to marry in September."

Will he return to the mine? "Probably. I will leave my wife behind with my mother. Life here is too tough for women. But Allah will decide my future. I will follow his orders."

· In pictures: Jonathan Watts on the life of a Chinese miner