“Mulok Women” — The Untold Story of Luneta and Antamok’s Fearless Women Gold Miners
High in the misty mountains of Itogon, Benguet, the earth is laced with veins of gold. For generations, these rugged highlands have been home to small-scale miners, families whose lives are shaped by the promise and peril of gold. Theirs is a world of deep tunnels, timber supports, and the ever-present scent of earth and sweat. For as long as anyone can remember, mining here was a man’s world. But in the sitio of Luneta, Antamok, a quiet revolution has taken root — led by the mulok women.
A Changing Tradition
I was born into a miner’s household. My earliest memories are of my father lacing up his boots before dawn, my mother handing him barako coffee and a bag with his lunch and spotlight. She would wait for his return, ready with warm food and coffee. That was the rhythm: the men dug, the women kept the home.
But in Luneta and the surrounding sitios, the old ways have shifted. Now, husband and wife wake together before sunrise, donning worn work clothes and boots caked with mud. They pack their lunch side by side, sharing a laugh over pancakes or boiled kamote, then walk together to the mine.
At the mining portal, their paths diverge. The men descend into the tunnels, hacking at the earth for sacks of naba (gold ore) and mulok (rejects). The rejects, though, are not as worthless as they seem. In the rush and dimness of the mine, tiny flecks of gold are often left behind. This is where the mulok women step in.
The Work of the Mulok Women
Waiting at the tunnel’s mouth, the mulok women — mothers, daughters, grandmothers — shoulder the heavy sacks of rejects. There are no machines here, no shortcuts. Just backs bent under the weight of hope and necessity. They haul the mulok to the hillside, working under the harsh sun or drenching rain, painstakingly picking through the rubble for the faintest glimmer of gold.
Their eyes, trained by experience and need, know which stones to keep. The selected ore is then carried to the ball mill. Here, with patience and strength, the rocks are crushed, and the gold is coaxed out — a shimmer of reward from the heart of the mountains.
The Rewards and Risks
How much do they earn? Some days, only a few hundred pesos. On lucky days, ₱1,000 or even ₱5,000 — more than many salaried workers in the country. But the reward is never certain. The work is punishing. The sun burns, the rains chill, the sacks grow heavier with every step. Some women eventually give up, worn down by exhaustion, aching backs, or heartbreak when their efforts yield nothing.
My own mother is one of them. She is old now, and we beg her to stop. We tell her she’s done enough, that we can provide. But she smiles and says, “I’m used to it. It’s better than doing nothing.” For these women, mining is not just a job — it is a way of life, a testament to their resilience.
A Community of Strength
The women are not alone. Their husbands, brothers, and sons often help, sometimes intentionally letting gold slip into the mulok so the women have a better chance. They help carry sacks, share snacks, and laugh together at their struggles. The mine owner, too, is kind — allowing women to work and sometimes handing out snacks as he passes by.
This is Luneta, Antamok: a place where the work is hard, but the community is harder to break. Here, women do not simply wait at home. They rise, lift, dig, and fight alongside their men. Mining is not just about survival, but about unity, dignity, and helping each other carry the weight.
The Silent Gold Warriors
The mulok women are the silent warriors of the mountains. Their labor is often unseen, their stories rarely told. Yet, they are the backbone of their community — embodying strength, perseverance, and hope. In every fleck of gold they find, there is a story of sacrifice and solidarity.
This is the story of the mulok women of Luneta, Antamok. In the land of golden opportunities, they are the true treasures — shining quietly, but no less brilliantly, than the gold they seek.
