PROLOGUE

‘It’s so hard to trust a deviant like him.’ That was the rea-
son Charity Zulu gave for why she did not want to meet
with Bhambatha Ngwenya alone. She had asked Lucky
Dube to sit in on the meeting and he had agreed. Now
Dube was leaning against the living-room wall in the Zulu
household, watching Charity and Bhambatha, who sat in
armchairs facing each other.
As the wife of the deceased Bantu Zulu, Charity was
dressed all in black. Her hands were locked together in her
lap.
Bhambatha, who had been Bantu’s best friend, was sit-
ting back in his chair, his long legs crossed. He had trav-
elled over five hundred kilometres to be here, missed the
funeral, but made it to this meeting. Charity had insisted
on it.
‘We both have long journeys before us. Can we do this
now?’ Charity asked.
Dube looked at Bhambatha. His eyes brightened up like
he was about to smile, but he didn’t. ‘Charity,’ he said.

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 ‘You don’t have to go to some place you don’t know. You
can just come with me to Emanzini. My family will protect
you.’
Dube wasn’t surprised. Neither was Charity, judging by
the look on her face.
Lately, everyone was warm towards her. They all
thought they stood to benefit something from it. Such is
the woe of a dowager.
‘Like you protected my husband, right?’ she asked.
When Bantu had died the first time but had come back,
he’d stayed at Emanzini with Bhambatha and his family for
about five years while his wife was in Johannesburg with
their three sons, mourning him. A part of Charity would
never forgive that.
‘Hey, hey . . .’ Bhambatha raised his index finger. ‘Now
you know that’s unfair.’ He put his hand down. ‘Our two
families are tied by blood. My ancestors are as much mine
as they were Bantu’s. As much as they’re yours as well.
What do you think will happen when you turn your back
on us? When you try to break the ties?’
‘My sons will live normal lives, father children and
grow old,’ Charity said.
‘I should have seen that one coming,’ Bhambatha re-
plied. ‘Do your children want to have kids of their own
that bad?’
‘They’re too young to know what they want, but I do
want to have grandchildren someday.’
‘Well, in that case, a sacrifice must be made. Jama only

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 takes that which you value the most. I could take Bantu’s
red diamonds. Only red stones can substitute blood.’
Of course, Dube thought. A few months before Bantu’s
demise, word had leaked that he possessed some red dia-
monds. No one knew exactly where he kept them, or
where he had found them. But knowing Bantu, most prob-
ably he had stolen them from someone he had worked for.
Dube had a feeling that these diamonds had something
to do with Bantu’s death. In fact, both deaths.
Charity chuckled. ‘So, you’re no different from all oth-
er men, after all? All you want is those diamonds!’
All men are predictable, Dube thought. Young men just
want a crotch to dive in, nose first. Older men distract
themselves from lamenting the loss of their virility through
tepid humour. They want young women to laugh at their
jokes as a form of comfort. But Bhambatha was different.
He was a man of power; his kind desired one thing only.
Namely, more power.
‘You’d be surprised,’ Bhambatha said. ‘I really don’t
give a shit about these diamonds. Bantu had them the en-
tire time he stayed with my family, and I never once tried
to take them from him. But I know that they can appease
my ancestors, and that’s the only reason I’m willing to take
them now.’
‘Well, I’ll be honest with you, Bhambatha,’ Charity
said. ‘I have no idea where they are. I look at all these men
surrounding me now and pretending to be my friends, and
I think: if only they knew.’

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 That was the danger Dube feared the most. Some am-
bitious extremist might soon torture Charity for the stones.
And Dube believed her when she said that she didn’t know
where they were.
‘Charity, we will find them,’ he said.
He and Bantu had been closer than most people knew.
Bantu had once told him that he planned to bury his dia-
monds and would leave a map behind that only his wife
could decipher. The great Bantu DaDon had known that
he would die soon. Dube hoped he’d had enough time to
draw his map before the end.
Charity turned to him. ‘But how, Dube?’
‘I don’t know yet, but we will.’ Dube strongly believed
that the map would surface at the right time.
Surely the diamonds wanted to be found as well. Bantu
had said that they would buy his freedom someday. They
had done no such thing. So far they’d only managed to get
him killed. Twice! Surely they had not fulfilled their desti-
ny. Right?
‘Thank you, old friend,’ Charity said. ‘I hope you’re
right.’
Bhambatha cleared his throat. ‘And you will come find
me when you’ve found them.’ Then, addressing him:
‘Lucky Dube . . .’
He nodded. Although that was not his real name. He
was simply a fan of the musician.
‘Bantu trusted you so much.’ Bhambatha looked at
Charity. ‘Now I see that he wasn’t the only one.’

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 Before Dube could think of a response, Charity said,
‘Please leave my friend alone.’ And to Dube: ‘Please check
on the men in the club. Tell them we’ll be leaving shortly.’
‘Of course.’ He walked out.
Charity was leaving Sotobe Township for a while. The
whole neighbourhood was in such a frenzy over diamonds.
It endangered Charity and her family.
Dube crossed Main Road. TheZulu Club was on the
other side. He used the back entrance.
There were about twenty men in the spacious office.
Three of them wore suits, and the rest were dressed in
army camouflage. Dube recognised the three in suits. They
were Mayor Ndlovu, the mining magnate, Moses Xaba,
and the neighbourhood preacher, Pastor Des. The pastor
was the only man who looked at him with candid eyes.
The rest only saw an imposter, like he was on a quest for
subtle treasure clues as well, just like the rest of them. He
saw it on their faces, but he didn’t care. He was here for
Charity’s sake and no one else’s.
Dube had experience of being unbothered. After all, he
had once been married . . . for a fortnight.
He went to the far wall and leaned against it without
greeting anyone.
One man whispered to another, ‘Who’s he?’
‘Lucky Dube,’ a second voice responded.
The tension was thick in the room, but it was not be-
cause of him. Bantu Zulu had died in this very club three
days ago. Bantu DaDon had built this club in just over a

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