In Costa Rica, unrestrained real estate development along the coasts feeds largely on massive amounts of alluvial materials derived from the rivers. Central to this is the Tempisque River in Guanacaste province, which now relies on mining concessions to extract its sands along almost its entire course. Consider that construction for residential and commercial purposes in the same province has led to increases of 90 per cent and 60 per cent, respectively, of hectares built between 2022 and 2023 alone. At the same time, households in extreme poverty in the ‘area increased from 7.9 per cent to 10.5 per cent. Unfortunately, it is not news that the more a sector leads, the faster the race of big investors to appropriate its raw materials becomes. This is what is also happening in the Tempisque River where, in recent years, mechanized companies have become owners of several kilometers of sand mining concessions, which well meet market demand according to well-accepted principles of profit maximization.
Here, wedged between the meters granted to the mechanical arms, an association of artisanal sand harvesters tries to resist. This is the story of the areneros who have lived by and for the river for generations, extracting its precious resources with their bare hands, accompanied by buckets and shovels on small boats pulled by oxen, in harmony with the ecosystem and its survival.
A life tied to the river
For over a century, the association has managed to provide a living for the families of its members, who count locals as much as migrants, mostly Nicaraguans, who currently form a large part of the workforce in the country, being one-fifth of its population. Generations mingle, working side by side, immersed in the river’s calm waters from the first light of dawn. The youngest is not yet 15 years old, while the oldest is over 80, 40 of them spent in the Tempisque waters. Earnings are made by the day based on the amount of sand extracted. The yardstick is small boats holding about one cubic meter of sand worth about $15 each. An experienced worker can fill about four ships in a workday with just the strength of his arms.
Their lives are intimately tied to the river, in whose banks small, dilapidated shacks house 2 and 3 areneros for the duration of the working season, and some all year round. It is hard work, but the real harassment does not come from the day’s labours but rather from the not-so-distant possibility that such labour will no longer be afforded them. Areneros have had to fight to have their mining permits denied to them for more than 2 years between 2013 and 2015, renewed while the floodgates were opened to the efficiency of mechanical arms. While the latter are already beginning to erode the river’s water table, the areneros undergo assiduous monitoring for the risk of contamination their oxen could cause. This is why their permits last half as long as the mechanized companies’ 10-year concessions. The association’s president, not without a good dose of rancour, explains it well: “La leyes son para Los pobres“-the laws are for the poor.
An uncertain future
Today, the artisanal areneros represented by the association are reduced to just over 20, whose spillovers remain substantial when compared with those of the 4-5 workers who accompany the machines of the mechanized companies that are increasingly dominant in the sector.
This is yet another story of another reality destined to disappear along with its protagonists and their values and modus operandi, which are as much in harmony with the environment as they are inefficient and, for this reason, not attractive even to the much-vaunted market of sustainable development.
