To reach the set of rural communities known as APL (Aldeia, Pascoal and Limoeiro), which houses many of the resettled after the construction of the Sobradinho dam in the Sertão Bahia, it is necessary to travel a dirt road from the headquarters of the municipality of Sento Sé, one of the four cities rebuilt from scratch after disappearing under the artificial lake inaugurated in 1982 by the São Francisco Hydro Electric Company (Chesf).
On the way, the land of a gas station has turned into parking for dozens of trailers that accuse the impact of another growing economic activity in the region: the extraction of iron ore that, since 2020, affects rural communities, such as the APL set, around the Serra da Bicuda.
The farmer Carlos Branco has lived in the APL, precisely in the community of Limoeiro, since 1977 – when the works of the Sobradinho dam led his family to leave the territory of the same name where they initially lived. He says that the movement of cargo from Australian mining company Tombador Iron began about 7 years ago. “They came, they marked everything, they mapped. They never acted as if they had an owner here, and the landowners also saw everything sitting at the door of the house, without moving,” he says.
“I had a mansaw, corn, pumpkin, rope beans. We planted a lot. But the water took everything, the whole plantation. I couldn’t get back everything I lost, but I had the chance to start planting again,” says Carlos Branco, a farmer from Sento Sé.
In addition to Limoeiro, 11 other communities are impacted by the company’s activities, an Australian transnational that seeks iron ore in the region. The map of the conflicts of Fiocruz, which catalogues clashes in the countryside, has a page dedicated to the conflict between Tombador Iron and the surrounding communities, which for four years question the legality of the operation. The mining project in the Serra da Bicuda – 100% owned by the transnational company – had the mining surveys failed three times by the National Mining Agency (ANM): in 2011, 2014 and 2018, finally being approved in 2020, at the height of the pandemic.
Residents, however, criticized the lack of dialogue with traditional communities and little transparency about how the work would be carried out. “In addition to being traditionally used by communities for the creation of animals, the mountain also houses river springs, essential for the water supply of the community, caves and archaeological remains, being part of the history and survival of the local residents,” points out the text of the Fiocruz research.

In September 2023, a protest at the headquarters of Sento Sé mobilized rural workers who, like Carlos Branco, were doubly hit by large enterprises in the region, drawing attention to the damage caused by mining. Similar actions have been recorded before. In January of the same year, the company’s activities were interrupted in Brazil after roadblocks that “impolite the logistics” of the company.

“A dynamic that happens very similarly in all traditional communities coveted by large enterprises, whether wind, mining, hydroelectric... is the mischaracterization of traditional communities as an attempt to vulner make that place vulnerable. They say that this place does not have development, it can not maintain itself and then present companies as saviors of a place that until then lived well”, comments Carivaldo dos Santos, agent of the Pastoral Commission of the Earth in Bahia.
Among the complaints of residents of the communities closest to the Serra da Bicuda are discomfort caused by the noise of the operation of the machines, health problems related to the constant dust caused by both the mineral activity and the flow of trucks and, especially, the constant concern with the pollution of the São Francisco River and the Serra itself, which maintains different species of the caating and is part of the identity of the territory.
Tombador Iron did not submit a position on the matter until the closure of this report.
In addition to mining, communities live even longer with the presence of large wind farms. The municipality is among the three with the highest number of wind farms operating in Bahia. According to data released by the Chamber of Commercialization of Electric Energy (CCEE) last year, there are 58 plants in operation spread throughout the territory.
The first complex, Sento Sé I, operates since 2013 and belongs to a consortium formed by Brennand Energia, Brennand Energia Eólica S.A. and, once again, Chesf — the same company responsible for the construction of the Sobradinho hydroelectric dam.
The area most explored by wind farms, however, is distinct from the region where there is mineral exploration. This time, the concern is departing from the riverside areas and the edge of the Sobradinho lake and goes to the preservation of the Environmental Protection Area (APA) Boqueirão da Onça, which covers 835,000 hectares in four municipalities of the state, among which Sento Sé. Boqueirão da Onça was recognized by the federal decree No. 9,336 in 2018, when at least seven wind companies had already carried out feasibility studies in the region, according to a report by Portal Eco in 2011.
Life before and after the Sobradinho dam
The coexistence with mining on land near his home is not the first experience of the farmer Carlos Branco with the impacts of large enterprises. In 1977, he was one of 72,000 people removed by the São Francisco Hydroelectric Company (Chesf) for arrival at the dam. “The coming here involved a lot of promise that was not fulfilled. Chesf said it was going to give ground, but it didn't overten any ground. He promised a salary and I don’t think anyone got it, at least not here.”
He says his family was one of the groups that was slow to believe the veracity that the water would come. “We were one of the last to leave. I only smordled my foot when I saw that there was no way else,” he says. According to him, some objects were lost inside the house, where water quickly reached the ceiling. “When I left there, the water was already covering. In the same week, from one day to the next, the water was getting closer to home. We started to see fish jumping on the edge, something that wouldn’t happen if it was normal,” he recalls.
“A compadre of mine had a lot of cattle before the dam. After a few days of water rising, he rented a boat and we went there, by the river, to take the creation. It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen in life, because oxen had nowhere to go. They were left island. Many died, the water ate the meat of those animals,” says Carlos Branco, farmer of Sento Sé.
Despite the irreparable damages, Carlos considers himself a “happy” from the indemnity point of view. As he owned some swiddens and plantations, the farmer got a payment shortly after moving to the APL, which he recognizes as a privilege compared to most of the neighbors. “I had a mandow, corn, pumpkin, rope bean. We planted a lot. But the water took it all, the whole plantation,” he says. “I couldn’t get back everything I lost, but I had the chance to start planting again.”
Despite this, the rural worker does not forget the illegalities to which the traditional riverine peoples were subjected at the time of the arrival of the dam, still discussed by the Brazilian Justice. “They made things very difficult for the poor. I didn't have a prosecutor, I didn't have a lawyer who explained things to us. It was the employees of the company themselves who said everything,” he recalls. “A man presented himself as a lawyer at that time. Everyone believed him because he had a study. Only a long time later did we find out that he worked for Chesf.”
In addition to the material damage, Carlos speaks sadly about the social impact that change has had on community life. “When we arrived here in Aldeia, many people from other places also came. At that time, the fights began. There was a lot of crime and a lot of fighting among people who didn’t know each other. A lot of people started drinking at that time, because they had lost everything. They killed people, even,” he says. “The community we lived in had not so much development, so to speak, but we lived happily because there was something that money does not pay: our peace.”

“Water covered dirt, covered bug”
In the backyard of the house, proudly displayed by the farmer, an adult hose is one of the trophies he has managed to accumulate since he arrived in the community where he lives. Of all the memories that Carlos Branco shares with the report, it is when talking about animals and plantations that he cries.
“A compadre of mine had a lot of cattle, farm, before the dam. If even people had to leave home in a hurry, imagine the animals. After a few days of water rising, he rented a boat and we went there, by the river, to take the creation. It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen in life, because oxen had nowhere to go. They were left island. Many died, the water ate the meat of those animals,” he says. The rural worker says the mission of rescuing the animals lasted more than a month working daily.
“It was a big plague. It was sorry because the water covered land, covered bug. Of those we brought, we released by the river and many fell without getting up more, without force. It was all brave cattle, raised in the bush,” laments the farmer. “This compadre, soon after it became decadent. He lost everything, lost his taste for life,” he says.
Today the farmer says that he sees in politics and access to education the chance not to repeat stories such as the tragedy that affected his family and community after the arrival of Sobradinho, but is hopeless about the possibility of getting justice for what has already passed. “We only know what we saw at that time. Young people today do not believe it, but it destroyed everything, it is over.”