The Colour of Gold

by Oliver T Spedding

  "Where do you come from?" Julia asked.

  "Rustenburg." Catherine said "I left because there is no work there."

  "Are you married?" Bogdan asked, knowing that married domestic workers often created problems when their husband's, who usually lived far away, came to visit them.

  "No, baas." Catherine replied. "But I do have a child, a little boy who lives with my mother in Rustenburg."

  "I understand that the going rate for full-time domestic workers is fifteen Rand a week plus tea or coffee, sugar and milk and a meal at midday." Bogdan said. "And the hours are from eight o'clock in the morning to three o'clock in the afternoon from Monday to Friday. Is that okay?"

  "Yes, baas." Catherine said.

  "Okay." Bogdan said. "Wait outside. The madam and I want to talk."

  Catherine left the house and waited on the veranda in front of the house.

  "I don't like the two with the ash on their faces." Bogdan said to Julia. "They looked clean enough but they obviously still have some of the bush in them. The other woman looks surly to me and this could be a problem. What do you think?"

  "Yes, I agree with you." Julia replied. "Catherine seems to be just what we're looking for. She's clean and neat, seems pleasant and courteous and obviously has had some schooling as she speaks quite well. But perhaps we should employ her on a trial basis."

  "Yes, that's a good idea." Bogdan said. "But, as she's not allowed to live and work on the Reef we can fire her at any time if we're not happy with her work. Basically she's just a casual worker. We don't have a contract with her and if she causes any trouble we can always threaten to call the police."

  Bogdan walked to the veranda.

  "Okay, Catherine." he said. "We've decided to employ you. You can start tomorrow."

  ***

  The white Toyota drove through the gateway of the alley leading from the courtyard at the back of the bank as it did every Friday morning at this time. It paused until there was a gap in the chain of passing vehicles and then accelerated into the bustle of the mid-town traffic. The driver, a white middle-aged man wearing a cream safari suit drove defensively, taking care not to get too close to the cars in front of him and constantly watching the vehicles ahead and behind him. In the front passenger’s seat sat a young white woman with short, blonde hair and wearing a dark blue bank security guard uniform. Alone in the back seat, another middle-aged white man, also wearing a safari suit idly watched the surrounding traffic. In the boot of the car lay a small steel trunk containing fifteen thousand Rand in cash that was destined for the small bank branch in the black township of Dobsonville, seven kilometres away to the South-west. The branch had no safe as it was considered to be a real risk to keep cash anywhere in a township where not even the bank’s security personnel could be trusted.

  Although the driver of the bank car thought that he was monitoring the traffic in front and behind him effectively he had no training in this type of surveillance. Unnoticed by any of the three bank officials, a white BMW driven by a large black man, kept pace with them four or five cars ahead and as they progressed through the business centre the officials failed to notice another car, this time a dark grey Ford sedan with four black men in it, that pulled into the traffic and keep pace with them about half a block back.

  “Don’t get too close to them.” Shadow said to Moses, the driver of the Ford. “Once we get into Main Reef Road we can move up on them. The traffic will be a lot thinner and we’ll almost be at the turn-off to Dobsonville. The timing has to be just right. We don’t want anyone between us and the whities. When they get to the robot we have to be right behind them. Chris will be right in front of them and with a little luck the robot will be red. If not Chris will either have to wait for a gap in the oncoming traffic or he’ll stall the BMW. That’s when we’ll hit them from behind. After that you know what to do.”

  The three vehicles moved out of the busy business centre and onto the main road towards Johannesburg. As Shadow had predicted the traffic thinned markedly and the three black men could see their accomplice, Chris, in the BMW immediately in front of their quarry. The turn-off to Dobsonville came into view. The black gang was in luck. As the BMW reached the turn-off the robot turned red. The BMW braked to a stop with the bank car behind it. The Ford closed in on the two vehicles.

  “Okay!” Shadow said. “Hit them now!”

  The Ford crashed into the back of the white bank vehicle with a solid crunch and a tinkle of falling glass. As quickly as he could, the black driver, Moses, slammed the car into reverse and pulled back slightly and, before the bank officials could react, the four black men jumped out of their car. Peter, one of the other occupants who had been in the Ford, reached the driver’s window of the Toyota in three long steps. He had already drawn his 9mm automatic and he held it against the closed window of the car inches from the white driver’s head. The man sat motionless, his eyes wide with fear. The man in the back seat raised his hands in the air to show that he wasn’t armed. The fourth black robber, Ernest, rushed to the window where the woman passenger was sitting and pointed his automatic at her. She sat transfixed, unable to look away from the lethal instrument inches from her head.

  In the meantime Shadow slipped into the gap between the two cars and blasted the lock of the bank car to smithereens with a single shot from his 9mm automatic. The lid of the boot sprang open and he grabbed the small steel box containing the cash.

  “Okay!” Shadow shouted. “Let’s go!”

  As Moses, Peter and Ernest raced to the waiting BMW ahead of them they each fired a shot at the tyres of the Toyota. There were three dull explosions and the front of the car sagged sideways. The two men opened the back doors of the getaway car. As Shadow drew level with the woman in the stricken car he thought he saw her pulling a small pistol from the purse on her lap. He shot her in the head through the window. As he reached the BMW Peter grabbed the cash box from him, threw it into the back of the car and climbed in. Shadow climbed into the front passenger seat while Ernest and Moses also climbed into the back seat. Chris stepped on the accelerator and the powerful car leaped forward. Again luck favoured the four men. There were no approaching cars and Chris powered the BMW into the road leading to the black township. Within seconds the car was lost in the maize of uneven roads that twisted and turned between the mass of closely packed houses and shacks.

  The robbery had taken less than two minutes.

  ***

  On his first day in Hillbrow Isaiah stopped and spoke to as many people as he could, enquiring about accommodation and employment. Before long he had found a place in a room on the top of a fourteen-storey block of apartments which he shared with five other black men. Each inhabitant had a small area to sleep in and the use of the old kitchen table and the communal hotplate. Cold water came from a single tap next to the toilet outside the room. Each man had his own utensils and wires had been strung just above head-height on which the inhabitants could hang their clothes. A single electric light hung from the smoke-stained ceiling. The man in charge of collecting the rentals warned Isaiah to be extremely careful with any valuables as theft was rife.

  With his accommodation resolved Isaiah began to search for work. The only work available revolved around manual labour such as loading and offloading crates of vegetable, liquor and groceries but the problem was that workers needed to be available immediately but could also not be seen to be loitering in the hope of obtaining work as this indicated to the police that these men were unemployed and thus not allowed to be in Hillbrow. A system of notification between the shop owners and those seeking work soon developed and Isaiah quickly learnt where work could be found even though there was great competition and very little reward. The only thing that kept Isaiah from giving up was the possibility that his enthusiasm and willingness to work would be noticed by the shop owners and eventually lead to a more permanent job.

  Isaiah worked hard and in the first week made even more than he would have earned on the mine. He planne
d to send back as much money as he could to his mother which he assumed would satisfy her that he was working at the mine. He knew that she would be very worried if she knew that he was illegally in Johannesburg and at risk of being arrested and jailed. To add to his income Isaiah was not averse to stealing some of the items that he loaded and off-loaded from the myriad trucks that provided work for him and his fellow “illegals”. He was very careful not to steal from the same employer twice though, and several times he saw other workers caught stealing because they stole too often and were trapped by their employers. The items that Isaiah stole were small items such as a pack of cigarettes, a can of beer, sweets, the odd vegetable and single cans of food. These he easily sold to the other inhabitants in the room where he lived or used himself, and nobody asked any questions.

  After Isaiah had been working in Hillbrow for almost two weeks one of his fellow “illegals” named Steve approached as he walked home one evening.

  “Isaiah,” Steve said, “would you be interested in making some extra money? I have an idea but I can’t do it on my own. I need an accomplice. There’s some risk attached but if we are careful we won’t be caught. It’s worth at least a hundred Rand to each of us.”

  “A hundred Rand!” Isaiah exclaimed. “I’m very interested. Tell me more.”

  “Okay.” Steve said. “We often have to load trucks with boxes of liquor from the liquor storeroom in Catherine Street which is right next to that alley that is often filled with empty boxes and other rubbish. What we need to do is get an empty Black Label Whisky box in good condition from one of the hotels and twelve empty whisky bottles. We then fill the bottles with water, put them into the Black Label box and carefully seal the box. We then hide the box under another empty box in the alley next to the storeroom and while we are loading boxes of Black Label onto the truck one of us causes a disturbance and while everyone’s attention is focused on the disruption the other person quickly swaps a box of Black Label with the box hidden in the alley. Nobody will find out about the bottles of water for weeks and there will be no way that it can be traced back to us.”

  “It might just work.” Isaiah said. “I’ll think about it.”

  Two days later, having taken a closer look at the alley next to the liquor storeroom Isaiah agreed to help Steve carry out his plan. They toured the bottle stores and hotels and eventually found a Black Label box in good condition and twelve empty whisky bottles. They filled the bottles with water, carefully sealed them and with the correct type of sealing tape, sealed the box. When the area was deserted the two men practiced switching two boxes so that when the time came they would be able to carry out the manoeuvre quickly.

  “Nobody can possibly see that that box is not a genuine box of Black Label whisky.” Steve said to Isaiah as they admired their handiwork.

  “You’re right.” Isaiah replied.

  Steve hid the fake box of whisky until word spread that a truck was to be loaded from the liquor storeroom the following day. That night Steve and Isaiah stealthily hid their box under a larger empty box in the alley right next to the doorway to the storeroom.

  “While we’re loading the boxes tomorrow I’ll pretend to faint when I see you coming out of the storeroom with a box of Black Label. Then, when everyone rushes to help me, you quickly swap the box you’re carrying with the one hidden in the alley. Nobody will see you as they’ll all be looking at me. It’s as easy as that!” Steve said.

  Isaiah nodded enthusiastically.

  The following morning Steve and Isaiah were amongst the group of workers hired to load the liquor. The work began and, as planned, Steve suddenly collapsed onto the pavement just as Isaiah approached the doorway of the storeroom carrying a box of Black Label. Everyone rushed to help Steve and Isaiah moved swiftly to the large box in the alley, lifted it and swapped the box he had been carrying with the fake box hidden there. He turned with the fake box in his hands, seeing that all the other workers were crowded around Steve lying on the pavement. He began to move out of the alley. A sixth sense made him look towards the door of the storeroom. Standing in the doorway and staring at Isaiah with a grim smile on his face was the owner of the storeroom.

  “What are you doing, my boy?” the man said as he walked towards Isaiah. “Let me look at that box.”

  Isaiah’s shoulders sagged. The storeroom owner called one of his assistants.

  “Open the box that this boy’s holding.” he instructed the man and then lifted the large empty box lying in the alley. Everyone’s attention was now focused on what was taking place in the alley and they gasped as they saw the box of Black Label hidden there.

  The assistant took the box from Isaiah and placed it on the pavement. He tore open the lid and took out one of the bottles filled with water. Out of the corner of his eye Isaiah saw Steve quietly stand up and walk away. Nobody else noticed.

  “So!” the storeroom owner said. “You were trying to steal a box of my Black Label whisky and replace it with a case of bottles filled with water! Very clever, but not clever enough! I’ve been in this game for too long to be caught by an old trick like that.”

  The storeroom owner turned to his assistant.

  “Call the police.” he said.

  Isaiah knew that he had to do something. In desperation he pointed towards the group of workers standing staring at him.

  “What about him?” Isaiah said and the storeroom owner turned to look at the men behind him. The instant the man’s head turned away, Isaiah pivoted and raced away along the pavement, dodging desperately through the throng of pedestrians.

  “Catch that man!” the storeroom owner shouted but to Isaiah’s surprise nobody tried to stop him. He dashed across the street causing traffic the swerve and stop. Hooters blared but Isaiah raced on, bumping into people and almost falling several times.

  After he had run two city blocks Isaiah slowed and looked back. Nobody appeared to be following him. He gasped for breath and leant against the wall of a building, sweat pouring down his face. Nobody took any notice of him. Gradually he calmed himself and when he felt that he had regained his composure he walked off towards the building where he had been living.

  As Isaiah walked he realised that he had to get out of Hillbrow. The police would probably be looking for him and he was too well known by his fellow “illegals”. If the police offered a reward for his capture it would be a matter of hours before someone told them of his whereabouts. His only option was to go to Soweto where he could easily hide until he decided what to do next. He hurried to the room he’d been renting, stuffed his belongings into a large plastic shopping bag. As his rent was paid for the rest of the week he didn't feel bad about leaving without giving notice. He hurried down the fire escape and into the busy street. As he walked towards Park Station with the intention of going to hide in Soweto, he saw the young newspaper seller who had helped him when he first arrived in Johannesburg. Isaiah hurried to where the young business was standing selling his newspaper on the street corner.

  "Hello." he said. "Do you remember me?"

  "Of course." the young boy replied. "I gave you some advice when you arrived here from Natal a few weeks ago. You look worried. What's the problem?"

  "I'm in trouble with the police." Isaiah replied. "I'm sure that they're looking for me right now. I'm thinking of going to Soweto to hide. Will I be safe there?"

  "Whenever someone gets into trouble with the police, the first place they think of going to, to hide, is Soweto." the boy said. "The police know this so whenever they want to catch someone they go to Park Station and wait there. You should rather go to the "no-man's land" between Jo'burg and Soweto. You'll be much safer there until the police stop looking for you. You might even be able to find work with the illegal miners who work in the abandoned mines there."

  Isaiah's eyes opened wider and he nodded.

  "I've heard of that place and the miners who work there." he said.

  It wasn't long after Isaiah had moved into his accommodation at the t
op of the apartment building that he had begun to hear stories about illegal gold miners who searched for gold in the hundreds of abandoned gold mines scattered across the gold-bearing reef known as the Witwatersrand Reef that stretched for over three hundred and fifty kilometres and averaged one hundred and fifty kilometres in width. Although most of these abandoned mines had been sealed with walls of concrete, illegal miners found ways to bypass these barriers and search for the gold left by the inefficient mining methods of the past. More efficient methods of extracting the gold from the ore also encouraged these men to turn to this unlawful form of mining.

  One of his roommates, Johnson, appeared to have a sound knowledge of these illegitimate miners.

  "Most of the abandoned mines are in the buffer zone between the white towns and cities and the black townships." Johnson said in response to Isaiah's enquiries. "This huge wasteland is covered with gum trees and bush and has hundreds of dumps of white sand that has been extracted from the now-abandoned mines and treated to remove the gold."

  "Do these men make a good living?" Isaiah asked.

  "No." Johnson replied. "If they did there would be no workers working on the legitimate mines. They would all be working in the abandoned mines. The reason these men work the abandoned mines is the hope of striking a rich vein and making a fortune. I have never heard of anyone doing this though. Most of these men only make enough to survive and as these are difficult times, any work is better than none. The only men that make money are the dealers who sell explosives that are stolen from the big mines and the men who buy the illegal gold."

  "Is it as dangerous as working in a legitimate mine?" Isaiah asked.

  "It's possibly even more dangerous." Johnson said. "Apart from the rock falls, deadly gasses and other accidents there's also the constant danger from rival illegal mining gangs who often murder miners and steal their gold. There is also no back-up so if miners are trapped by a rock fall there is nobody to rescue them even if there predicament becomes known. Then there is also the possibility of being caught by the police and sent to jail. The mines employ security forces to hunt down illegal miners or inform on them. Extracting the gold from the rock is also very dangerous as the miners use a method that involved heating mercury and the fumes from this process are highly dangerous."