IN A SMALL, dark room in the depths of the rainforest, the atmosphere has turned nasty.

We've been questioning a Colombian gold trader about how much gold he sells to the English market. In the shadows behind him, two of his colleagues are watching us silently, their arms folded.

We ask the trader for the name of his boss and how we might contact him. The tension suddenly rises. The trader is pale and sweating. He starts asking for our names, addresses, phone numbers. We stall, not giving him the information. He speaks louder, gestures in the air, getting more and more irate. The interpreter's eyes widen. She talks quickly to him, trying to pacify what she feels is a rapidly escalating situation. Her eyes dart in our direction and the message is clear: time to leave.

We try to look casual. We smile as we shake hands with the trader and force ourselves to walk slowly down the street. Behind us, the two men emerge from the shadows.

The reality of the danger is sudden and shocking. Everyone has spoken about it, but to see it and be threatened by it is very different. It's not as if we weren't warned.

Ten days before we were due to fly, the word had come from the rainforest. The Colombian army had moved in on the mines, the guerrillas were fighting back, the paramilitaries too. There were guns everywhere. It was too dangerous now, came the word from the forest. No guide will take you. Too dangerous to look at where gold comes from.

It's the dirtiest secret in the mining industry.

Simply put, no one knows where they get their gold. From the mine to the trader to the jeweller, there is no traceability. No documentation. No paper trail. There is a question mark over the origin of some of the gold sold on the Irish market.

It's the same situation that existed in the diamond industry in the 1990s. That was before someone coined the phrase 'blood diamond' and the world went mad.

WEALTH AND DEATH In Colombia, we were expecting to see environmental damage. We were not so prepared for the largescale human exploitation, child labour, child soldiers, drug cartels, drug barons, illegal arms and illegal mining - all inextricably tied to the gold-mining industry there. We were not expecting to speak with a gold trader who exports from this conflict area directly to England, where the metal is disseminated into the larger market - including Ireland. Nor were we expecting to be threatened, followed and warned to stop asking questions.

With the Colombian army and the paramilitaries in a stand-off around the gold mines, it was regretfully confirmed that no foreigners could be brought into the area of Condoto and Tado. Instead, some of the miners agreed to meet us a short distance away, in the small town of Quibdo, also nestled deep in the rainforest.

The region is called the Choco, one of the richest biodiversity hotspots in the world. Beneath a vast canopy of towering trees, the earth is rich with gold and platinum. And yet the streets in Quibdo are cracked and broken, the buildings battered and peeling. The week we arrive, the newspapers lead with a story of three children from the town who died of malnutrition. The wealth of the land has no impact on the poverty of the people.

That's what a group of smallscale miners, with the help of UK jeweller Greg Valerio, are trying to change. They have formed a tiny movement comprising 194 workers. Their aim: produce 'Green Gold' - metal mined in such a way that the land is not useless afterwards, sold in such a way that none of the proceeds pays for drugs or guns. This gold, traced from source to seller, will be the first of its kind. And in one week, it's coming to Ireland.

In Quibdo, the air is heavy on your shoulders.

A storm is coming. We meet the miners in a community centre, where three electric fans are whizzing impotently in the corner and malaria-ridden mosquitoes skim over our skin.

The miners are shy, nervous, friendly. And tired. It's an arduous journey from Condoto and Tado, through thick rainforest in the oppressive humidity. But their land, their gold, is being stolen from them. They have a story to tell.

Luis Americo Mosquera sits strategically near one of the electric fans, his bright green T-shirt bearing a picture of the Virgin Mary and the logo 'Immaculate Conception'. Everyone calls him Americo, he says, his brilliant grin a startling white against his skin.

Americo's mine in Tado is one of the forerunners in the Green Gold project and he listens intently as Cristina Echavarr�a, the secretary general of the Association for Responsible Mining (Arm), speaks to us about the problems facing the miners.

THE HARD WAY "Day to day, the economic situation is becoming more desperate, " says Americo, his white smile fading as Cristina talks about how drug money is being laundered by people who pay a higher price than anyone else for gold - a quick and easy way to wash money. "Employment continues to fall.

People are looking for the easy option. It is easier to grow illegal crops, easier to give your land to the illegal miners, easier to join the paramilitaries or to sell your gold to the highest bidder even if the money is coming from drugs. Anything seems easier than working all day in the mine, and still being poor."

Americo is a small-scale miner. He doesn't use the machines, known as frontloaders, which would allow him to dig deep, dig quickly and extract the most amount of gold in the least amount of time. These machines, though effective, are devastating. In their wake, they leave gaping holes in the earth. Machine-mined land is left dead and useless for years afterwards. Though it's tempting as a short-term money solution, no miner wants their land subjected to frontloaders.

Unless they're given no choice.

"You can wake up one morning, and they're there, the illegal miners on your land, mining your gold, " says Americo. A few of the other miners nod in agreement. "They come with their machines and you can't fight them because there are dangerous people around them."

At the mere mention of 'dangerous people', there is a tangible shift amongst the miners. The atmosphere in the hot room becomes awkward.

People look at the floor. They are distinctly uncomfortable talking to a stranger about the renegade forces that terrorise their communities.

There are two illegal groups operating in the Choco region: the paramilitaries and the guerrillas.

There was a time when both forces had an ideological reason for wanting to fight. But those reasons have long since paled beneath the shadow of gold money and drug money, and power over the ordinary people. Now the two armies fight each other to gain control of territory. And the people are caught in the middle.

Later - on condition of remaining anonymous - one of the community leaders talks quietly about the reality. "In Condoto, it's straightforward, " he says. "If you buy gold that is mined with big machines, you are funding illegal activities. It is conflict gold."

DRUG-MONEY LAUNDERING "All mining done with big machinery is illegal mining. The illegal miners are funded by the illegal groups. The illegal groups are moving large amounts of money through the gold industry, laundering drug money and getting funds for their weapons. They bring in thugs and hitmen to enforce their own laws. When it happens, the community can't do anything but sit back and try to stay out of the way."

In some cases, says the community leader, the paramilitaries will pay off the local government in exchange for their support. "In one area, Itsmina, not far from Condoto, the paramilitaries have an actual office in the town, " he says.

"The authorities look the other way while the paramilitaries decide which members of the community has the rights to mine which land. They have totally taken over the area. They are the law.

Except they charge money for settling any disputes that arise."

In the Choco region, illegal mining happens more often than not. Largescale miners account for 85% of the mining. Artisanal miners like Americo make up the other 15%. By right, by law, that statistic should be reversed. In 1993, the Colombian government passed 'Law 70', which says that Afro-Colombians - like Americo and his fellow workers - collectively own the land on which they live and have the right to say what happens to it.

A noble piece of legislation that the government never bothered to enforce. A mere nod in the direction of human rights.

Through any means possible, the illegal miners get onto the land and take the gold. Sometimes they make a deal with the government without consulting the community. Sometimes they target a member of a family who has moved away from the area and doesn't need the land to survive - one person's permission is all that's necessary.

Sometimes they just use old-fashioned intimidation. For miner Luis Antonio Lozano, it was a mixture of reasons.

"We were having a lot of money problems, " he says, brushing a handkerchief over the beads of sweat on his forehead. "We couldn't afford to educate our children. I wanted to set up my own business but no bank would give me a loan.

Mining myself, I could get 10-15 metres down. The gold was deeper than that. All my neighbours were letting the frontloaders in. There was pressure" Asked if he was intimidated into allowing the machines on his land, Antonio looks away. The hot air bristles. "He doesn't like to talk about it, " says the interpreter. Antonio squeezes his handkerchief in his hand. "It didn't happen to me but it happened to a friend of mine, " he says. "They put a lot of pressure on my friend."

There's a short silence. "I made the decision because of my economic situation, " says Antonio.

"Ten years ago, the money was a blessing but I have been sorry ever since. They were only there for seven months but they stripped my land. It was totally degraded. Before, I had something of value.

Now it's just wasteland. I'm still trying to recover it. I want to grow oak trees but nothing will grow.

They gave us 20% of the money from the gold and it quickly ran out. It was my wife's work as a seamstress that kept us alive. It was very hard. I am very sorry now that it happened."

There's another short silence. Antonio looks worried. He speaks quickly to the interpreter.

"Antonio wants to stress that this didn't happen to him, it happened to a friend of his, " says the interpreter. "Not him, a friend."

We nod and Antonio relaxes a little on his hard wooden chair. One of the female miners, Maria Velarmina Mosquera, sits beside him.

While Velarmina works her own mine in Tado alongside her children - "lots of girls", she says with a proud smile - she also works in the wake of the frontloaders, as do most of the miners in the community.

When an illegal miner moves onto the community land, the machine collects the majority of the gold. But, as the machine drives on, it leaves behind piles of earth that are speckled with traces of the precious metal. They call it the 'tailings'.

Cheated out of the right to mine the gold on their land, the communities are left scrabbling behind the frontloaders, competing with each other for the scraps that are left behind.

LAW OF THE STRONGEST "There are fights, " says Velarmina. "There are no rules. You fight to be the first in line. It is the law of the strongest survives. You come out and you are all bruised and cut. It's very hard. It finishes you.

There have been a lot of accidents. People get caught under the machines, in their rush to be the first to the gold. They get lifted up and dumped into the lorry with the minerals. Or sometimes, if you get to the front of the line, everyone is pushing from behind. And you are at the bottom of the cliff and if rocks start to fall, you can't get out of the way.

There is nowhere to go. And the rocks hit you. Or there might be a landslide. People are buried alive."

Such a tragedy had been narrowly avoided just the previous day, says Cristina Echavarr�a. There is a silence around the table, as Cristina says that yesterday there was a landfall in one of the mines.

A young boy was buried up to his neck. He was lucky because he could still breathe. "That is why we encourage them to work in pairs, or more, " says Cristina. "So they can help each other when things go wrong."

Cristina says these sorts of accidents often happen. Workers are buried alive. Normally, it's the women and children because they are the people running behind the frontloaders, 'panning', desperately collecting the leftovers.

Velarmina listens and nods. "I suppose it is our fault, the fault of the people, " she says. "The desperation to get to the gold is so strong that you put yourself in a dangerous situation. And at the end, the gold we get, it is just enough to subsist."

For Velarmina, this is why the Green Gold project is so important to her. As well as supporting her own mining activities, the programme encourages the miners to develop other sources of income.

"They help us diversify our economy, so we are not relying solely on the mines, " she says. "This means that we don't have to go and compete every day.

Also, the work in the mine is very hard. You have back pain, everything hurts. All day, you are bent from the waist, working in the water under the hot sun. It's hard on your body."

Despite the physical hardship involved in the mining, Velarmina says that most children in the community also work in the mines. "They are in a cr�che until they are seven, then they come to the mine, " she says. Again, there is an awkwardness in the room. The miners are aware that outsiders don't approve of child labour but Velarmina and Americo explain that the mine is a family business and everyone from the family gets involved. "They are very happy to come to the mine, " she says. "It is how the family works together. Everyone does something."

Sitting beside the river that evening, drinking a cold beer and watching lightning flash through the heavy sky, Americo talks quietly of another reason why it is so important his children work in the mine.

"If they don't learn that they can make a living from honest work, they will turn to the paramilitaries, " he says. "We have to motivate them. They are not forced to do it but if we do not teach them to work then they will maybe go out and do other bad things. All the time, they are approached. They are offered a salary, a weapon, power and protection.

It sounds like a good option to a poor child. A much easier option than being bent from the waist, every day, every hour, every week. It is a constant struggle to keep them out of the paramilitaries and away from illegal crops."

CHILD WARRIORS THAT struggle failed in the case of one neighbourhood. One of the community leaders says that, just recently, three 14-year-old boys were recruited into the paramilitaries. They are walking around with guns now and with the entire guerrilla legion out to kill them for joining the wrong side. Their guns were bought with gold money, or bought with drug money that has been laundered through the sale of gold. Guns and gold are linked, no matter how you spin it. A precious metal that leaves 14-year-old boys with a price on their heads.

Sometimes the community takes a stand. The last time this was tried, the paramilitaries responded by barricading the entire area. "No products were allowed in, no people allowed out, " says a community leader. "It didn't last long."

But most of the time, the town can't afford to be seen to be opposing the armed forces. "These are the people with the money, " says the community leader. "Any small business needs to keep them onside so that they will spend money with them.

They have a stranglehold over the local economy.

It's like trying to deal with a rattlesnake, trying to deal with them."

The storm is loud and fierce. The raindrops sound like pebbles bouncing off the window. It rages for most of the night, giving a brief respite from the close humidity. The next morning, the sun is hotter, the air clearer. On one of the cracked street corners, a jeep full of heavily armed soldiers is searching a group of moped riders. Everyone else hurries past, eyes to the ground.

A few doors up, a gold-trader has opened for business. A smiling employee agrees to talk to us about how the business works. "We buy from everyone, " he says. "Mostly the big miners but some small miners too."

Asked where the gold is sold, the employee points straight at the name of the business. Incorporated into the logo are the letters 'col' and 'en'.

"They stand for Colombia and England, " he says.

"My boss sells directly to England." We ask again, to be sure. The gold from this area is being exported into the English market? "Yes, " he says, pointing to the sign again. He gives us the name of his boss and hands over a few bottles of water to help with the heat. We go down the street to another trader, wondering how many more gold traders are exporting to England.

The next trader is considerably less forthcoming. We ask to which countries he is exporting gold.

He walks slowly around the jail-like bars that are installed in all gold trading shops, for protection.

Two other men remain in the shadows, watching us silently, their arms folded.

The trader shrugs. "We sell everywhere, " he says.

"We buy everywhere. We sell different amounts, it varies according to the season. I don't do direct business with England but I have partners who do."

SIMPLE INTIMIDATION It's then that we ask for names. It's then that the atmosphere turns nasty. In the bright tropical sunshine, we walk through the town of Quibdo with the two men keeping pace behind us. The interpreter - who has lived through the worst of the drug wars in the notoriously dangerous city of Medell�n - is shaking.

At a corner shop, we stop. We pretend to talk amongst ourselves. The men walk by, and walk away. The danger fades but the threat remains.

Simple intimidation but highly effective. We ask no more questions in Quibdo and that afternoon we get a flight back to Medell�n.

Still rattled from the encounter, we resolve to go down one final avenue of questioning. We arrange to speak with one of the city's main gold refiners, Jaime Ignacio Gutierrez. We give him one of the names we got from the trader. Immediately his friendly, relaxed demeanour changes.

"You do not want to be asking questions about him, " he says. "He is a dodgy character. It is not just a question of where he spends the money he gets from the gold he sells, it's also about where he gets the money to buy the gold in the first place. You do not want to be asking questions about him. It is better for you not to."

It seems to be the right time to start listening to the warnings. We ask no more questions while in Colombia. Better for us not to.