Bolivian Miner

I think that the world should know about uneasy life and hard labor of Bolivian
miners. Yes, I am a miner, and I am proud about it. After a colleague of mine
detonated himself inside the Bolivian parliament building, and two police officers
negotiating with him were killed along with him, and ten more people were
injured, the world finally started talking about miners’ problems since there was
no trace of terrorism in that act. Unemployed miner got depressed and pushed both
himself and the people around way too far.

Since the times of Spanish rule when silver-field was discovered in these
mountains, cheap Indian labor was in popular demand. Spaniards would get big
money and Sucre city yielded no Old World cities with its beautiful buildings and
its richness. Potosi of that epoch gave up to 90% of the world’s silver output. For
only hundred years of extraction of that precious metal in 17th century more than
16 tons of it was sent to Europe not to mention smuggled silver. But, time passed
silver mines ran low and the city slowly fell into decay. Now only owners of the
factories and governmental officials have money and as for us, miners, we are still
working hard in horrible conditions at a height of 4000 meters, under the ground
where the temperature can reach 104 F. Everyone can tell you that life of a miner
is hard and very short. My co-workers live ten years at the most, then they either
get hurt and become handicapped, or die because of an accident or from silicosis
(professional miners’ lung disease), so my future was not very bright. After seven
years of low-paid drudgery my health got very weak. That’s why every time when
going deep underground I would ask El Tio for just some health. El Tio is an “Old
man”, the keeper of the entrails, the master of Serro-Rico Mountain. Every sane
miner always leaves something for El Tio, be it a cigar-butt, some coke or cheap
vodka. It’s not allowed to encroach on these gifts otherwise you can get lost
forever in the mines’ labyrinths, die from some unknown illness or get into an
accident. It’s unclear what caused these legends, maybe horrible conditions of the
silver-diggers, maybe mysterious sights in the darkness of the vaults. I asked for
health but apparently my gifts were too poor so I got sick despite the fact I had to
take care of my family. The miners’ union couldn’t help me or my family because
of the poor state protection system, that’s why all I could do was to either die or to
receive medical treatment. The illness wore me up and from a healthy young guy I
turned into a shrunken old man. I was trying everything; I complied with all the
doctors’ orders, visited sorcerers and picked the herbs up in the mountains. I
became an expert in medicine after frequent visits to hospice having no idea about
it a few years before. Although I managed to cure from the lung disease, still it
seemed impossible to gain my weight back. In the hospice a young male nurse
suggested that I get a preparation called Trenabol. This anabolic is well-respected
among the athletes for almost no side effects. Thanks to Trenabol my muscles cells
started growing very rapidly.

After just the first course of injections it was easy to see that the muscle bulk got
bigger in such a small time. Besides, Trebanol can suppress the production of dead

testosterone in the body which for me personally had a good effect of taking away
the spasm of respiratory tract. Thanks to that course I finally was able to eat more
and as a result my metabolism became faster. By the end of the course of injections
I was able to get back to normal life. No, I couldn’t get back to the mines, and
frankly speaking, I was not that willing to. I gave my best years to that job and
even though now I think that it’s a hard ungrateful dirty work, those were my best
years of youth and health. Now I sing in the church choir and sometimes think of
those times with some sadness.

Buy trenabol without  prescription in the Sucre-city , Bolivia