“They’re spreading fake news that this is not a diamond, because they don’t want people to go and dig the diamonds there.” “I don’t believe the government,” Khazi said when reached by phone after the announcement. And some still aren’t sold on the government’s announcement. But the prospectors aren’t giving up so easily - some are now digging in fields in nearby communities. The digging at KwaHlathi ended this past week after officials got those who remained to leave.
Government officials threw a damper on the enterprise about a week after the rush began: Tests, they said, showed that the stones were quartz crystals, not diamonds. Madlala responded to his employee’s truancy as many bosses would: He got a shovel and went to dig. The next day, his security guard apologized for skipping work, showed him a stone and told him that diamonds had been discovered nearby. Madlala recalled being puzzled on a Thursday in early June when barely any of his employees showed up for work.
Occupancy at the town’s only hotel, the James Ilenge Lodge, increased to about 80% from 30% - mostly with journalists, but also some diamond seekers, according to Excellent Madlala, the owner. Within a week, amateur miners had flooded the field Their secret leaked the first weekend in June when the other herdsman, Happy Mthabela, showed some of the stones to guests at a wedding. The only other person who knew was a fellow herdsman, he said. Liau Masekotole, a shepherd, said he had first found clear stones in the field a year ago and quietly stashed them to take to his family in Lesotho. Mhayise rolled the stones between his fingers and held them up in the fading sunlight. His job prospects are bleak, he said, because no one wants to hire someone his age.Ī boy approached Khazi and his friend, Thiza Mhayise, with two stones to sell - one for 80 rand and the other for 100. Khazi lost his job of 26 years at a transportation company in December because of the pandemic. “These fat cats, these old crooks, what are they doing? Each and every day you’ll hear about millions stolen.” He added: “The government can’t tell us what to do in this, our ancestors’ land.” “The government can’t tell us anything,” said Lucky Khazi, 61, standing next to a hole where his friends dug. Many snickered at the pleas of government officials, jaded by a history of corruption and colonialism that has seen foreign entities extract lucrative mineral resources from communities, with only a handful of elites in the country benefiting. They also said the informal digging was bad for the environment, destroying vital grazing land.ĭespite the warnings, people kept coming. Government leaders asked people to stop digging and leave, citing concerns about the coronavirus, with South Africa reeling from a third wave of infections. Just days after the rush began, officials visited the site and took samples for testing. “Diamonds! Diamonds!” some people yelled. And there was no shortage of merchants looking to cash in on their newly extracted finds, which they insisted were precious stones.
#DIAMOND RUSH BORN DISTRUST CRACKED#
Music blasted from cars while some people cracked jokes and sipped beer. Vendors sold biscuits, sweet corn kernels and kota - a South African street food of white bread, fries and bologna. Many diamond seekers wrapped themselves in blankets and slept in the holes they dug. They also help explain the long-shot appeal of KwaHlathi and its purported diamonds.Ī satellite village of sorts sprouted here. Those statistics translate into all manner of odd jobs - and risky ones, like venturing into abandoned mines, that have proved deadly. Among young people, the situation is even more dire: About three of every four South African youths are without a job. Unemployment in South Africa is at 32.6%, the highest level recorded since the government began producing quarterly labor force reports in 2008. “As the man of the house, it makes me feel less than,” he said of the difficulty of providing for his three children. Staples like beef, milk and butter were luxuries he could no longer afford. With his job search hitting dead ends, he has been subsisting on social grants totaling less than 1,100 rand ($77) a month, a quarter of what he had earned at the factory. He had been without a job since October when the textile factory where he worked as a supervisor burned down.
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