On a remote, jagged beach in Cape Verde, two women named Maria and Vania rush to fill their buckets with black sand the moment the ocean waves pull back, before carrying the heavy loads on their heads to a hidden stockpile.
The workers struggle to maintain their footing against the powerful Atlantic surf while balancing loads that weigh dozens of kilograms.
This coastline is far from the picture-postcard images usually associated with the West African archipelago. Before stepping into the treacherous waters of Charco Beach, near the town of Ribeira da Barca on the main island of Santiago, Vania Tavares stops to make the sign of the cross.
Known locally as sand thieves, the women have performed this back-breaking and illegal task almost every day for more than fifteen years. It is their only means of survival in one of the poorest areas of the island nation.
Maria Eleonore Monteiro, whose slender frame bends under the immense weight of her bucket, makes the exhausting climb to dry land to empty the sand beside a dozen large mounds. These stockpiles are eventually sold to construction contractors and black-market resellers.
Builders pay around 140 US dollars for a full lorryload of sea sand, which often takes weeks to collect. The price remains significantly cheaper for developers than purchasing legally extracted material from inland quarries.
Maria Eleonore Monteiro explained that this job is her only alternative as there are no other jobs available. Her legs bear deep scars from frequent falls on the sharp rocks. She noted that she has been gathering sand for so long that she suffers from severe back pain, which sometimes leaves her bedridden for days.
Unlike the idyllic white or volcanic black sand beaches that attract global tourists to other Cape Verdean islands, this stretch of coastline draws no holidaymakers. For decades, these beaches have been treated as open-pit mines, leaving behind a ruined landscape of exposed stones and deep craters.
The actual beach at Charco has almost entirely vanished due to over-extraction. This forces the local women to scoop the remaining sand directly out of the breaking waves, even though many of them cannot swim.
Sand mining was officially banned in Cape Verde under a series of laws passed between 1997 and 2017, carrying penalties of heavy fines or prison sentences. However, the illicit trade continues because local authorities frequently turn a blind eye, recognising that the practice is driven by absolute desperation.
The natural resource fuelled a major construction boom in the 1980s and 1990s. Environmental groups note that most of the capital city, Praia, was quite literally built using stolen beach sand.
To reach the remote shore, the women must walk for half an hour from an impoverished settlement that lacks running water. Vania Tavares, who lives in the community, was forced to drop out of school at the age of thirteen to work. She has spent the last sixteen years harvesting sand to feed her family, cooking over an acrid wood fire because she cannot afford bottled gas.
The trade is one of the very few options available to single mothers in the area, including Vania's sister, Vanilda, who supports three children entirely on her own without any financial help from their fathers.
Increased police crackdowns and public awareness campaigns have managed to slow the illegal trade in recent years, meaning the women sometimes have to wait a month to sell a single lorryload.
Decades of relentless harvesting have also caused severe environmental damage further up the coast at Praia de Areia Grande. Local agricultural experts warn that the destruction of the beach has had disastrous consequences for farming.
With the natural coastal barrier completely destroyed, seawater has pushed deep inland. The surrounding soil has suffered severe degradation due to salinisation, making it impossible to grow crops.
Behind the ruined beach, productive farmland has vanished, replaced by wild acacia trees. Nearly one hundred local farmers have been forced to completely abandon their fields in this single district.
Government officials have praised recent prevention schemes for reducing the overall scale of the harvesting. However, local non-governmental organisations remain highly critical of state inaction, calling for a proper economic plan to help these marginalised women return to mainstream society.
Supported by charity initiatives, a few dozen former harvesters have successfully transitioned to rearing livestock like pigs and sheep over the past two years.
Reflecting on the changing landscape, Maria Eleonore Monteiro admitted that when officials first warned them the beach would disappear, the community did not believe them. She expressed deep sadness at seeing her home environment permanently scarred by a practice she contributed to, stating that if she could only find financial help, she would never collect sand again.
