Mining 60,000 Metric Tons Of Salt In A Dangerous Pink Lake That's Saltier Than The Dead Sea

This pink lake in Senegal is saltier than the Dead Sea. And miners, like Ousmane Dembele, scoop out thousands of tons of salt from it every year. But plunging into Lake Retba, or La Crosse as locals call it, is a lot more dangerous than it seems. It's very salty. I've seen it in the water, but I've never seen it here. I've never seen it like this before. Still, Senegal is West Africa's leading salt producer, with ponds scattered across the country. Thousands of people depend on the industry. But some ecologists worry that La Crosse, and its signature pink hue, are in danger of disappearing. Because of rapid urbanization and climate change. So what's being done to protect one of Africa's most lucrative lakes? As well as the miners who break their backs working here every day. Ousmane Dembele, also known as Baba, has been diving into La Crosse for 20 years. Before heading out, he applies shea butter, which creates a protective layer over his skin. And he covers his legs the best he can with these socks, secured with bits of nylon. Baba then pushes out this wooden canoe that he bought for nearly $360. But it's a lifelong investment. He steers it to shallow parts of the lake, where water evaporates faster, leaving behind salt crusts. Baba and his brother, who taught him the trade, can afford very few tools. Like these long shovels, with which they reach the lake bed. They also use their feet to feel for the salt. But that can be risky. He can't go underwater to look for the crust. because he doesn't have goggles. And the high salinity can damage his eyes. Baba usually spends four to five hours doing this. Over and over again. Extracting the salt is actually beneficial for the lake, which would fill up if the deposits aren't removed. In some parts, La Crosse is 10 times saltier than normal ocean water. That's because it's separated from the Atlantic by a strip of sand dunes that formed thousands of years ago. While the salt water seeps in from the ocean, there's no outlet for La Crosse. And as the sun evaporates surface water faster than it comes in, it leaves behind high concentrations of salt and other minerals. At its peak, salinity can be as high as 40 percent, even more than the Dead Sea. As for its signature pink color, that comes from a type of algae called Dunaliella salina, which flourishes in saltwater. It produces an orange-red pigment when it absorbs sunlight. That's why La Crosse glows brightest in the dry season between November and June. Once full, these baskets can weigh about 55 pounds each. On a good day, Baba and his brother fill about 60 of these. That's as much as the canoe can carry without capsizing. So harvesters add these sticks as markers to come back and collect more salt later. The hard work isn't over yet. Kurosaw is one of many workers whose job is transporting the salt from the canoe into piles along the lake's banks, where it dries off. Kuro makes about 20 trips back and forth every day. For every canoe she unloads, she makes about 1,000 West African francs, or 2,000 francs a day. That can buy her a few loaves of bread in Senegal. But the more basins she collects, the more money she makes. So she fights through the pain. The job has also taken a toll on Baba's body, which is covered in sores. So he applies duct tape on his wounds. This tape is the only protection that Baba can afford. He makes just $5 to $10 a day based on the amount of salt he harvests. Still, he is thankful for it. Workers like him are the backbone of Senegal's salt industry, harvesting nearly 60,000 metric tons from the lake per year. Artisanal extraction started to thrive in the early 70s, when the Senegalese government officially classified lacrosse as a mine and allowed locals to harvest salt without official permits or paying royalties. These days, wholesalers buy it directly from people like Baba for up to 80 cents per basket. But they often sell it for double that price. Salt is also collected in other parts of Senegal. Here in the Palmaran region, locals have dug up hundreds of small salt wells that naturally collect saline water from the sea. Women spend up to eight hours a day scooping it up and leaving it out to dry. Women are also taking charge in the nearby salt flats of Fakou. When I arrived two, three, or four months ago, I saw that men were working in the salt production site to extract saline water, and that was their job. I asked myself, why are men not in Fakou? I was brave enough to say that I would succeed. One reason why her salt sells fast is because she mixes in iodine. Adding the mineral is required in most African countries, but isn't enforced. A 2021 survey found that iodine deficiency rates in sub-Saharan Africa are twice as high as the global average. Contributing to health problems like swelling, fatigue, and issues during pregnancy. While Senegal is the largest salt producer in West Africa, generating about half a million tons a year, globally, it doesn't rank among the top 10. China is the biggest manufacturer, producing 53 million tons of salt a year, followed by the US and India, which generates 30 million tons of salt annually. About a third of it comes from this dry seabed called Little Ronde of Kach, and it ends up in soaps, detergents, and table salt. But miners say collecting it in this scorching heat causes boils and skin diseases. And just like Senegal, the miners don't make much, earning a meager wage of $4 a ton. Another spot that's known for its therapeutic salt is the Dead Sea, which lies landlocked between Israel and Jordan. For centuries, tourists have visited, seeking cures for skin diseases. But the Dead Sea is also teeming with other minerals, like magnesium and potash, which is a type of potassium-rich salt often used as a fertilizer. The process for harvesting these minerals is mechanized, as companies use techniques like dredging, and modern plants refine millions of tons every year. Meanwhile, here at La Crosse, miners are facing obstacles to growing their business. The climate crisis is bringing more rain to the region every year. Salt collectors were hit hardest in 2022, when flooding breached the lake's banks. Water started streaming in from new channels, diluting the lake's salinity and its signature pink color. We first visited the lake in 2024, two years after the floods, when it still looked muddy. We went back in 2025, and it had finally regained its pink color. That's what attracts visitors from all around the world. But tourism has been a blessing and a curse to this lake. Removal of nearby dunes to make way for hotels and vacation homes has caused the lake to erode. Many of these developments don't have a proper sewage system, so they dump untreated waste in here. That's elevating nitrate levels in the water, sometimes even contaminating the salt. Scientists worry that if these salt crusts become unusable and aren't extracted, they could fill up this depression. And within a few years, La Crosse could disappear. While there are virtually no living creatures inside the lake, it's still important for surrounding ecosystems and birds. Now, environmentalists are pushing for it to be designated as a UNESCO Heritage Site to protect its biodiversity. While La Crosse is still around, Baba continues to work here day in and day out. His family lives in the neighboring country of Mali, which is where he's from. But he's found community among the local families that live nearby. Spending time with them is his only outlet after a long day's work.