Fred’s voice broke into his almost hypnotic trance.
‘Come on now … Let’s be having a bit of space. Let the dog see the rabbit.’ He strained to lift a bar of gold onto a low wooden stool. ‘Now’s your chance.’ He grinned wildly at Colin and pointed at the gleaming ingot. ‘Go on,’ Fred insisted. ‘Have a go.’
Colin looked round at the faces of the others, seeing only eyes widened in expectancy. There was a movement at his back and a grinning Gareth squeezed in beside them.
‘Pick it up with one hand and it’s yours,’ Fred told him.
‘What?’ Face screwed up in perplexity, Colin looked into Fred’s staring eyes. Maybe the man is mad! The thought leapt into his mind, but it was Gareth who helped him out.
‘It’s an old custom,’ he told Colin. ‘Everyone gets a chance at being rich. If you can pick up the gold with one hand, you can keep it.’
‘Really? Keep it?’ His every syllable dripped doubt.
The two Africans grinned widely at him, both nodding in concert. Gareth nodded too, trying to keep his face straight as Fred clapped his hands impatiently and pointed to the gleaming bar. ‘Come on then. Give it a go.’
Colin looked at the gleaming ingot thinking: Lift it and it’s mine? Must be a catch in it somewhere. He studied the bar more closely. Doesn’t look too heavy. What was its weight again? Four hundred ounces, they had said. His brain worked on the problem while the others looked on silently.
‘If I lift it, I can keep it?’
‘Lift it – it’s yours!’ Fred’s reply was emphatic.
‘Right.’ Colin blew on his hand and flexed his fingers. ‘I know there must be a catch in it, but I’ll have a go anyway.’ He stood astride the stool and adjusted his position until the gold was directly under his face. Rubbing his right hand dry on his thigh in a final nervous movement, he held it over the golden treasure, seeing it flush his palm yellow, like a buttercup held against a child’s chin. He took a deep breath and with as much strength as he could muster closed his fingers on the ingot.
At first Colin thought he had a good grip and the bar was actually lifting, but as he slowly raised his hand he found that the gold sat solidly on the stool. He tried again. Trying to force his fingers hard under the bottom edge – but no. Again his hand slipped over the silken surface. The steep taper of the ingot’s sides, coupled with the smooth, oily sheen of the gold, meant that the harder he squeezed, the easier his fingers slid over the gleaming surface. Frustrated, he watched helplessly as 400 ounces of pure Ashanti gold literally slipped through his fingers.
‘Can’t be done!’ He breathed harshly, stepping back from the stool. ‘It’s impossible. The harder you grip the easier it slides. It can’t be done.’
‘And if anyone ever does manage the impossible …’ A cold, humourless voice hacked like sharp ice into the joviality of the moment, ‘… they still have me to pass before they can enjoy their good fortune.’
Colin felt nervous, as if he had been caught with his hands in the till. He turned to see who had spoken. An army officer, a major, stared unnervingly at him, eyes as black as the deepest pit peering out from a narrow, sharp-featured face. He was a blend of cruel jungle and sophisticated coastal native, and his face showed it. High cheekbones framed a thin, aquiline nose above narrow lips that looked scarcely capable of smiling. Right now they were parted in a devil’s grimace as his left forefinger lightly stroked on a deep scar just over his left eye. At the same time his free hand brushed against the heavy automatic weapon hanging from his belt, drawing everyone’s attention.
‘Only a game, Major Akaba,’ Fred was the only one not intimidated by the major’s sinister presence. ‘Got to amuse the visitors, you know how it is?’
‘Yes, Mister O’Hara.’ The thin lips moved only slightly. ‘It is only a game. But be sure it remains only a game.’ He stared bleakly at each individual in the vault, as if imprinting their images in his mind, before turning to go.
‘Should’ve known,’ Colin grunted, removing his eyes from the malevolent figure. ‘There’s no way anyone is going to get walking out of here with a bar of gold. I should have known better. I must have been off my head.’
‘Not the first time gold’s done that, boyo,’ Gareth observed. ‘And not the last time either. Get people near raw gold and they can become very irrational. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a perfectly respectable visitor trying to snaffle a gold bar out of here. The sight of the gold seems to drive their principles clean away.’
‘And bring all their vices to the surface,’ Fred intoned, leaning forward to lift the gold in both hands and replace it on the shelf.
As they left the security area the lounging soldiers rose to their feet and moved towards them. Gareth stepped forward, holding his hands out from his sides to allow a perfunctory rub-down. Memories of prison searches vivid in his mind, Colin stepped in front of the soldier and slipped naturally into the ‘rub-down’ position, receiving a more intensive search than the familiar Gareth had. In the short passage beyond the door the sound of squabbling drew his attention, and he caught a glimpse of more uniformed soldiers noisily playing cards in a side room. Then he was past and stepping out into the heat of the sun.
‘Are the soldiers here all the time?’ he asked Gareth as they walked uphill towards the administration buildings.
‘Twenty-four hours a day,’ Gareth agreed. ‘It’s all part of the new security arrangements. The gold is under heavy guard from the moment it’s poured until they lock it away in the treasury vaults in Accra.’
‘And how do they get it down to Accra from here?’ Colin asked casually. ‘There’s hardly a road worth talking about.’
‘Oh, the army boyos have it all sorted out. Once a week they lay on an armed convoy to Kumasi and it gets flown down from there; they’ve been doing it for years.’ He stopped and looked at his watch. ‘Well, you’ve seen all that’s worth seeing. What say we both go for a shower and have a pint in the clubhouse later on?’
‘That’ll be fine,’ Colin gave a relieved sigh. ‘I’m just about knackered anyway.’
*
His Uncle George and John Ogilvie were waiting for him in the bar of the social club.
‘Well?’ Ogilvie’s dark eyebrows rose questioningly. ‘Did you get your chance at the gold, laddie? Are we looking at a wealthy man?’
Colin waved in dismissal. ‘Chance at the gold!’ he scoffed. ‘You’d need to be built like King Kong to lift that gold.’
‘Aye,’ the grinning Ogilvie admitted. ‘We’re no’ as daft as we look, eh? Anyway … did you enjoy your tour?’
‘It was … eh … different from what I had expected,’ he admitted. ‘I always thought a goldmine had seams of gold running through it.’
‘In some countries you can find gold in seams and nuggets, but not out here. It’s the way it was originally deposited that makes the difference.’ Ogilvie seemed ready to deliver a lecture on gold deposits when George interrupted.
‘We’re teeing-off at two o’clock, John. I think it’s time we had our lunch; the course will be busy today.’
‘Aye. You’re right enough.’ Ogilvie turned back to Colin.
‘You play, I take it?’
‘Plays at it, is more like it!’ George sniffed. ‘ “Just a game”, he says.’
A look of alarm filled Ogilvie’s eyes. ‘Oh! “Just a game”, m’lad, is it? Well,’ he humphed. ‘I sincerely hope ye’re no planning tae interfere wi’ oor game the day, laddie?’ His eyebrows bristled like thistles, as thick and Scottish as his accent.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Colin assured the relieved man. ‘I’ll just wander about here; probably take a dip in the pool. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a quick knock-round.’
‘My heavens!’ Ogilvie’s voice despaired. ‘A quick knock-round! What kind of Scot are they breeding nowadays?’
*
Diamond fields … Goldmines … ‘H’mph!’ Colin snorted, nursing a cold beer on the club’s shaded ve
randah. He looked down on the smelting shed, scowling at the squat security block attached to it like a greedy suckling pig, and watched a squad of soldiers arrive by truck. Mentally ticking off their numbers he counted twelve men, a full platoon; plus Akaba in a skipped cap, giving out orders. Eventually things settled down and the truck lumbered away with the off-duty guard platoon, leaving two men on view outside the bank-like building.
He shook his head: No chance! The gold was as safe here as it would be in the Bank of England. He felt a pang of disappointment; there was no gold here for him; no chance of earning. Time now to settle down and get on with his holiday. Concentrate on having a bit of fun. His thoughts turned to Lesley – maybe it was time to try and get closer to her.
8
Two weeks after his disappointing visit to the goldmine, Colin was sitting on the verandah having his usual evening ‘sundowner’ drink with George when he broached a subject he had been turning over in his mind for the past few days.
‘When you mentioned the goldmine, George …’ he said, keeping his voice casual. ‘Remember? When I first arrived? You said something about diamond mines as well, and you said I would be able to see them.’
‘Aye,’ George nodded absently. ‘Aye, that’s right, or half right anyway,’ he chuckled. ‘There’s the goldmine all right, but there are no diamond mines in Ghana. It’s diamond fields out here – surface diamonds. Alluvial diamonds, to give them their proper title. The natives dig for them in the ground. Oh, they might dig a fairly deep hole or two, but mostly it’s just shallow digging and hard sifting for the stones.’
‘What? They just dig about and find diamonds?’ Colin straightened unconsciously in his seat.
‘Well, it’s a wee bit more sophisticated than that,’ George admitted. ‘There’s a lot of mechanisation in the diamond fields nowadays. But basically, that’s it. You just go out and dig.’
‘Can anyone do it? Could I have a go?’
‘No, no, no,’ laughed George. ‘It’s all government-controlled – part of national resources. Anyway, they’re not diamonds you’d recognise. They don’t sparkle and shine, if that’s what you think.’
‘But I can go and see all this?’
‘Certainly you can see it. The nearest fields are up Tarkwa way, about forty miles north of here. Mind you, the road is a bit rough once you get away from the coast, so it’s not just as handy as it sounds.’
Colin could barely contain his excitement, but he kept his voice casual. ‘You know, I’d really like to see these diamond fields, George. D’you think I could get there on my own?’
‘Och! You’re a big laddie, Colin – you’d manage fine. Why don’t you make a day of it? Get Sam to pack you a meal and a few bottles of beer.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Colin spoke quietly, his mind already considering the tantalising possibilities. Sure, the goldmine hadn’t played out, but diamonds – industrial or otherwise – just lying about! Surely there had to be an earner there for him.
9
Colin hummed to himself as he drove past the outlying houses of Takoradi, heading north. No bother! He smiled to himself, almost quivering with anticipation. Lovely weather, good road, car running well and diamond fields just forty miles away. What a life! The only faint cloud on his horizon was his relationship with Lesley. True, he had managed a drink or two with her, but only in the club under the watchful eye of her father. Not that he blamed him for being protective; attractive, single white girls were in very short supply out here and Lesley, with her lithe, beautifully tanned figure, sun-bleached hair and eyes the colour of tropical seas, was always the centre of attraction. He sighed out loud, wishing he could find a way to get to know her better.
The car’s nearside wheel thumped into a deep pothole, almost wrenching the steering wheel from his hands. He had been driving automatically, lost in his reverie. Now Colin looked ahead and was surprised to see how narrow the road had become. He was barely a mile from Takoradi and already the township’s tarmac had given way to the ubiquitous red dust of the bush. Another huge crater made him jerk in his seat, forcing him to ease off the pedal. With his speed reduced to less than fifteen miles an hour, he realised what George had meant about it being a long trip.
It was almost noon before a straggling line of tin-roofed huts told Colin that he had finally reached his destination. He came to a halt and looked around for a watering place where he could stop for some refreshment and find out where the diamond fields were.
‘Good!’ He spoke the word aloud on seeing the familiar sight of a Coca-Cola sign and pulled up behind the first private car he had seen in more than twenty dust-tossed miles. He was pleased to see the car, assuming it must belong to one of the local Europeans and hoping he would be able to get directions to the diamond fields.
He entered the cool interior of the bar, the shadowy dimness a welcome relief after driving in glaring sunlight for three hours or more. At first he thought he had misjudged the ownership of the car when he spotted a dark-skinned man sitting at a zinc-topped table. But a closer look identified distinctive Caucasian features, sunburned almost to the point of blackness. The man raised his tumbler to Colin and shoved a chair out with his foot.
‘Thanks,’ Colin accepted the invitation and sat down with a grateful sigh. ‘I’m dying for a pint,’ he said. ‘You ready for another one yourself?’ he offered, raising his hand to the barman.
‘Just get one and we’ll split it. They get less time to warm up that way,’ he was advised in a strong Lancashire accent. ‘By the way, I’m Walter Ellis. Watty to my drinking pals.’ He smiled crookedly and extended a bony, work-worn hand. ‘Haven’t seen you around before?’ He cocked his head, waiting for a reply.
‘Colin Grant.’ Colin gripped the outstretched hand, immediately conscious of work-hardened callouses. ‘I’ve just come up from Takoradi to see the place,’ he explained.
‘A tourist!’ Watty exclaimed, jerking upright in genuine astonishment. ‘A fucking tourist! For Christ’s sake! I mean … well …’ He was stuck for words.
‘I suppose you could call me a kind of tourist,’ Colin admitted. ‘I’m on an extended holiday, staying with an uncle in Takoradi. I just fancied seeing this place; it looked quite interesting on the map.’
His explanation was accepted with a calculating nod.
‘I guess it’s all right down on the coast for a bit of a holiday. You’ve got the sports club there; golf, tennis courts, even horse-riding. You won’t find anything like that here. As for being interesting … Well, that’s a new one on me.’
‘What do you do yourself? Out here, I mean?’
‘Plant engineer.’ Watty gave a wry grin. ‘Glorified mechanic would be a more accurate description, I suppose.’
‘There’s surely not a lot of motors out here?’ Colin said, faintly puzzled.
‘Oh aye,’ Watty assured him. ‘There’s the lorries and the dump-trucks at the diamond fields. Then there’s the plant itself – conveyer belts, riddler and all the other bits and pieces; they’re always needing attention. Even the hand tools, shovels and the like.’
‘You work at the diamond fields?’ Colin kept his voice casual and hid his excitement at Watty’s offhand nod. ‘I’ve heard about the diamond fields,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact it’s one of the reasons I decided to come here. D’you think I might be able to get a look at them?’
‘You want to see the diamond fields?’ Watty looked surprised, then he laughed. ‘Imagine coming all the way up here just to see a bunch of black fellas digging holes.’ He slapped his thigh in appreciation. ‘I’ll buy you another beer for that one.’
‘But I can see them?’ Colin persisted.
‘Take you out there myself,’ Watty looked at his watch. ‘I’m due back at the workshop about now anyway. You can come along with me and I’ll show you round the diggings. Your car will be safe enough outside here, providing you dash one of the local lads to mind it.’ He rose to his feet and showed himself inches taller tha
n Colin; a long, lean-faced man, wiry arms showing every muscle and tendon where hard work in the sweating, hothouse conditions of the Equator had burned off any superfluous fat.
*
Watty’s car bumped and rattled its way along a rough track, heading deep into the bush. After a mile of bone-shaking travel a tall, wire-mesh fence appeared alongside the track. Beyond the fence Colin could see yellow dump trucks in the distance, bright against the dark, rough-textured earth which had replaced the usual arid, red laterite soil.
‘The diggings!’ Watty spoke in jerks as the helter-skelter surface tortured the car’s suspension. ‘They fence … off … the area … Jesus Christ!’ The front wheels plunged into a deep depression. ‘I forgot about that bugger.’ It was impossible to carry on a proper conversation, but despite the car’s erratic progress and Watty’s jerky commentary, Colin managed to piece together the set-up.
As each area was worked out, the security fence was extended on to fresh ground and the necessary equipment moved into place. Workers would bulldoze the diamond-bearing soil then scoop it into dump trucks that tipped it on to a seemingly endless conveyer belt. From there it was carried to the processing centre where the diamonds were extracted, graded, weighed and locked away in the diamond company’s safe before being taken to the trade centre in Accra. It all seemed very simple and straightforward to Colin as they walked alongside the rattling line of a conveyer belt that seemed to stretch for miles. He felt Watty pulling on his arm and they stopped a few feet away from a raised inspection platform. ‘Snakes,’ Watty warned him. ‘They often sun themselves on the metal treads.’
‘Snakes!’ Colin grimaced and took an involuntary step backwards. ‘I hate the fucking things!’
‘They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them,’ Watty said nonchalantly, checking the stairs and underneath the platform. ‘But they are deadly poisonous and don’t like people invading their space, so we don’t want to go treading on one of them, do we?’ He grinned at Colin’s horrified expression. ‘Don’t look so worried, it’s all clear.’
Ashanti Gold Page 6