“Yafa Mari! Yafa Mari!” shouted one of the miners.
“What is he saying?”
“We, who have nothing, have uncovered a diamond, now money will surely follow,” answered Jamu. “It is the call every miner loves to make but hates to hear.”
A few people huddled around the miner as word of his discovery spread. Everyone else within earshot looked enviously in his direction, and then, one by one, returned to their sifting, sifting, sifting.
“Is it really as easy as that?”
“No, it’s not. Your shavi must be happy with you and it’s very hard work. You have to be lucky and you can never stop looking,” said Jamu.
“Have you ever found one?”
“One day I will,” he said. “One day.”
“How long have you been looking?”
“Six months,” he said, and then as if reading my mind, he continued. “Yah, I know you’re thinking that’s a long time to not find anything. But once you start you can’t stop searching, because if you do, someone else might find what was meant for you. I’m still looking for that pile of mud that will make my father happy.”
“I know this place. This is exactly where we were when we first met Musi,” I said, recognizing the shape of a large crater. “How did it get so deep?”
“That’s the eye of the mine. When the diggers come to a rock too big to break, they light fires on it to crack it open and the eye grows bigger. Come on, Patson, follow me.”
We scampered down the side of the crater and gravel fell onto the men working below. They cursed and shouted at us but Jamu ignored them. Crouching on his heels, he slid down to the men digging at the center of the eye. I followed cautiously, trying not to dislodge any more loose gravel. At the bottom of the pit, five men with iron rods gouged at the earth. Women scooped up the soil and packed it into baskets that were passed, hand to hand, along a long line, until they were dumped into heaps at the surface. Then an endless stream of empty baskets made their way in reverse back into the pit.
The women sang as they worked:
Mother and father, do not cry that I am gone,
I chose to come to these fields,
And with your spirit watching over me
I’ll find the girazi that shines,
that brings food to our table.
“Who are all these people and where do they come from?” I asked as I scanned their faces.
“Nurses, bus drivers, farmworkers, goat herders, and teachers with big dreams. They come from everywhere.”
“But where do they live? Where do they sleep?”
“In the hills, in the bush, or in camps hidden in the forest. Anywhere close to water.” He paused and clicked his tongue. “It’s becoming a problem. My father says there must be ten thousand people working these mines, and that many people attracts attention. Sooner or later, the wrong kind of attention,” he added.
“You sound a lot like your father, Jamu.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? Look at them. Ten thousand people looking for diamonds. It can’t go on forever.”
What chance would I have to find any diamonds with all these people working the mines? It would take a special sort of luck, magic even, for me to find a diamond. I didn’t have the strength to do this donkey work, or the patience to sift through piles of gravel. I would have to think of another way—a smarter way—to find my girazi.
“Come on, Prince Sort-Of,” Jamu said. “This place is for losers. I’ve saved the best place for last. Tomorrow we’ll go to Banda Hill.”
By the time we got back to Kondozi Farm, the Moyo family had been moved out of the house into empty tobacco-drying sheds at the back of the farm. The house wasn’t big enough for all of us, Prisca had explained, and once we became part of the Banda syndicate, we were no longer honored guests. She said the matter had been discussed and everyone had agreed. I found it hard to believe that we had spent only one full night with our new family before they evicted us, but this was decided while I was learning about the mines from Jamu.
“Jamu, take Patson to the sheds,” Prisca ordered, and a little dazed, I went to Jamu’s room to collect my bag only to find the Wife busily placing her clothes into the cupboard.
“Did Uncle James tell you of the new sleeping arrangements, Patson?”
“No, Auntie Prisca did.”
The Wife had taken over Jamu’s room and had packed all of his stuff into an old cardboard box. The desk was now cluttered with her pots of creams, makeup, hair extensions, brushes, and a large mirror. The suitcases abandoned in the baobab tree were on the bed, next to a heap of shopping bags. Once again the Wife had gotten exactly what she wanted.
“Jamu, dear, your clothes are in your mother’s room. Here you go, Patson, I think this is yours,” she said, handing me my backpack.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of saying thank you or asking where my father would sleep. I simply stared at her with all the loathing and scorn I could manage.
“You don’t expect me to live in a tobacco shed, do you?” she asked in mock horror. “My brother’s looking after me now. Once your father has found us better accommodation, well, who knows? But for now this just makes so much more sense.”
“And Jamu? Where will he sleep?”
“With his mother, of course. She’s so sweet. I think Prisca gives her a hard time, doesn’t she, Jamu?” She lowered her voice and slipped her arm around Jamu’s shoulders. “But we know who the favorite wife is. Right?” She hugged him in a way that made Jamu squirm out of her embrace before he picked up his box.
“I’ll see you outside,” he said to me, and hurriedly left the room.
“I’m sure you’ll be comfortable,” I said to the Wife as dryly as I could manage.
“Oh, I’m very comfortable, thank you, Patson,” she replied. “Now run along, I’m a little busy. I don’t know how I’m going to fit these new clothes into this tiny cupboard.”
As I left the house, I passed Prisca and Kuda working in the kitchen.
“Good-bye,” I said.
“Good-bye, Patson,” answered Kuda, frying a delicious meal of onions and meat that I assumed I would not be eating tonight. Prisca was kneading dough and ignored me as I left the farmhouse.
I checked my phone.
Found any yet? X-country team misses u. We lost today against Sec High. And hours of homework. When u rich, don’t forget me!!
How could I forget Sheena? Her hands on her hips, grinning at me as she challenged me to run ahead of her up Uggy’s Hill. We always ran together, the length of our steps perfectly matched. She was a good running partner; she never spoke when we ran. All I heard was her steady breathing at my elbow, and our feet tapping in rhythm with each other. I missed her and the comfortable sameness of our ordinary days at Milton High.
I will never forget u >!< Working the mines. for everyone! It’s ama-Zing here. Found lots of small ! Easy. Life is good.
How could I tell the truth about this strange world? I didn’t know what else to say. And if she wanted to forget what happened in her bedroom, then there was nothing I could do about that either. We were alone in her house, the afternoon was hot, and I was leaving in two days. It happened so fast: One moment we were only looking at each other and the next we were pressed together and kissing as if we would never see each other again. But the next day at school we both pretended that nothing had happened. I was fine with that but it was all very confusing.
Missing u. U ok? I’ll never forget that last afternoon…
I read the text. My thumb hovered over the Send button but then I deleted it. If she wasn’t going to bring it up, then neither would I.
Outside, Jamu was waiting by the gate. He didn’t look very upset at losing his room, but somehow I still felt responsible for the Wife’s behavior. “I’m sorry, Jamu, if it wasn’t for us you would still—”
“It’s not your fault,” he cut me off. “Anyway, my mother doesn’t sleep in her room much. So it will still be like having
my own room.”
We walked on in silence while I pondered the sleeping arrangements of the Banda adults. “Does Prisca have her own room?”
“Oh yes. My father doesn’t sleep with her anymore. He hasn’t done so in a long time. Would you want to sleep with Auntie Prisca?”
“No.” I laughed. “I’d rather sleep with a buffalo.”
“I’d rather sleep with a warthog.”
Our laughter took the edge off my anger and we walked the rest of the way, listing animals that were preferable in shape and size to Auntie Prisca. But at the rusty gate with an old KONDOZI TOBACCO sign hanging off it, Jamu stopped.
“The sheds are over there.” He pointed to four squat cinder-block sheds standing next to one another in the tall grass. “Some of the other miners live there, too.”
“See you tomorrow, then,” I said.
“Yes, Banda Hill. The best for last.”
I watched him run back the way we came, half hoping he’d stop and invite me to share his room with him. But he ran on without looking back and I clamped down my disappointment. He’s a strange one, I thought.
Children were playing in a clearing and looked up as I approached. I heard a yell of delight as Grace recognized me.
“Patson!” she called, running to greet me. She was trailed by four children. “Look at all my new friends. This is Lovely and Maka and No Matter and Sidi,” she said, lightly touching each of the children’s heads. “We are playing scouts and Girl Guides. And look what our scoutmaster gave me!” She pointed at a green scarf around her neck.
The children grinned shyly as Grace took my hand in hers and explained that I was her big brother, and how happy she was to be out of “that old stinky farmhouse with the dead animals on the walls,” and that this was a much better place, and that Baba was happy, and that moving to Marange was the best thing in her life. Her enthusiasm was infectious and I could only laugh as she rattled on as we walked up to our new home.
The four cinder-block buildings shared a flat corrugated roof and each shed had a pair of large metal doors, which opened onto a long, narrow, dark interior. We walked past the entrance of the first block, numbered one and two, where a woman was chopping up tomatoes on a table. Next to her an old man was sitting on a stool watching a small black-and-white television. I greeted them but they ignored me. In the next block a woman was plaiting another’s hair and next to her a man was sleeping on a mattress near the entrance of the shed. We passed a woman carrying a table loaded with pots and plates. She glared at me as I greeted her and mumbled something about strangers taking what does not belong to them.
“That lady doesn’t like us,” whispered Grace. “Uncle James’s men told her that she had to make way for the Moyo family. She was not happy even when Baba offered to help her move. All she said was, ‘Go back to Bulawayo.’”
At the entrance of the last shed my father was energetically washing himself over a basin of water.
“Baba, Patson is here,” called Grace, pulling me forward. “We are in number six shed.” The children hung back.
“Hello, son. I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, squinting at me through the soap suds still on his face.
I walked past him and stepped into a shed that was no more than two meters wide and ten meters long. Metal crossbars, once used to hang drying tobacco leaves, laced through the hot air rising to the ceiling. There were no windows, no source of any ventilation, and the stale smell of tobacco leaves made me cough. Three thin mattresses were laid out head to toe down the length of the shed, and Grace’s collection of soft toys hung from hooks on the wall, like Disney characters in an abattoir. Boubacar’s tie hung over one of the mattresses, presumably the one Grace had chosen. Laid out on the ground near the entrance were three plates, mugs, and spoons, a large container of water, potatoes, onions, and a box with cornmeal. Water was bubbling in a pot on a small gas stove.
Uncle James had moved us to a foul-smelling tobacco-drying shed. No wonder Jamu acted so strangely. He must have known. So much for my new family, I thought bitterly. Well, we were not going to be staying here for long. I would find diamonds and get my family out of here as quickly as I could.
My father dried his face and grinned at me as I stepped back out into the fresh air. “It’s temporary, Patson, don’t look so sad. This is all temporary. We have to work hard and soon we’ll move somewhere else.”
“How could you let them do this to us? And your wife has left you too.” I couldn’t hide the resentment in my voice.
“No, no,” he said, laughing. “Sylvia can’t live here. It makes sense that she stays in the big house. Once we have a proper place, we’ll all be together again. There’s no room for all of us in the farmhouse, Patson, and we can’t expect Uncle James to feed four extra mouths.”
“You said they would look after us, Baba. You said we would have a schoolteacher’s house. We can’t live here. Look at this place.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, son. You know better.” He turned away from me, and put on his shirt. “Sometimes you have to make sacrifices that are painful but necessary.”
Grace scattered the children and took my hand, pulling me toward my father. I wanted to jerk away, but she held on to my hand tightly.
“Auntie Kuda gave us a stove and all these things. She was very kind, Patson. I saw her slip some chocolate in the box. She told me what I should do about making food. We’ve got potatoes, onions, and goat’s meat. Are you hungry, Baba?”
She took my father’s hand and he turned around to face us both: the circle of my family, Grace connecting us.
“Like a lion,” he said.
“And you, Patson?”
Grace squeezed my hand and I couldn’t stay cross in the face of her enthusiasm. “I could eat a horse,” I replied.
“Good.” She laughed. “I will make a feast for all of us.” She dropped our hands now that peace had been restored and left the two of us together. My father studied me silently and then took out a package from his briefcase.
“I bought you something. I expect your old one’s nearly full,” he said, giving me the package and leaving the shed.
I unfolded the wrapping paper, which revealed a leather-bound diary. I flicked through the blank pages and came across the inscription written in my father’s neat handwriting:
For my son
Write your way into another life.
Your father
He must have carried this in his briefcase all the way from Bulawayo. It was a typical gift from my father. Always, as a young boy, I was initially disappointed with his presents and only after all the other toys broke or had lost their appeal would I appreciate the value of his gifts, the ones I had slighted. Last year he gave me a black moleskin book for my fourteenth birthday and taught me how to write a diary. “Writing in your diary is a way of interpreting the things that happen to you, more than just a record of your day,” he had told me. “You could write and then I went to school and then I came home and then I had porridge, but it’s much more interesting to write how you felt about school, what it meant to go to school, and why the porridge tasted good.” For the first six months I didn’t know what to do with all the empty pages, but soon I learned to write a paragraph, then a page, and before long I had finished the book and wanted another one.
I got my old diary from my backpack and went outside to sit down next to my father. Without saying a word I flipped through the pages until I found the section I was looking for and then started reading aloud:
“Today Baba made a decision that will change all our lives. We are to go to Marange to stay with the Banda family. I think this is a good idea, because we need to change our situation. I am excited and scared at the same time. Excited to go to a new place. Scared because I don’t know what it will be like. But I trust my father. He knows what is good for us.”
I closed my diary. “Thank you for my new diary, Baba, and I’m sorry. I was wrong to blame you. It’s not your fault that we landed u
p here.”
My father put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “I am excited and scared, too, Patson,” he said. “Excited because I think being here can change our lives, and scared because it might not. I don’t want to be a miner, son, but if it’s going to help our family, well, I will do it gladly.”
“I can help, too, Baba.”
“I know, Patson, and I will allow you to be a miner during the day, but during the night you are to be a scholar. Can we agree on that?”
“Yes, Baba, and we can start with the lessons tonight, right after supper.”
He laughed. “That’s good to hear. It will be a pleasure to have you and Grace as my pupils.”
Sitting next to my father, at the end of the day, the Wife gone, Grace preparing the food, I realized how little time I actually spent alone with him. Here in Marange, learning had no value; his profession was scoffed at. The Banda family did not understand him. It must have been hard for him to realize that all the values of his Shona tradition were ignored in a place where all that mattered was the discovery of diamonds. Perhaps living away from the Banda family would be a good thing after all, but not in these smelly tobacco sheds. I was going to become a diamond miner and get us out of here as soon as possible. The Moyo family will not live in a shed forever.
“And I have a feeling we won’t fail as miners, Baba,” I said. “The Moyo shavi will look after us. I know the ancestors are happy with you.”
“I haven’t thought of my ancestors for a long time,” he said. “I suppose now would be a good time to address them.”
“They’ll help us find the stones. I know they will.”
“And then we’ll go back to my university town and I will get work there, in Harare. We should work the fields for only one term. If we are lucky we should have enough money by then to start over. You and Grace are both good students. You’ll easily make up the lost time in school,” he said.
Diamond Boy Page 7
