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Michael
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
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Published in South Africa by
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© Michael Williams 2015
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
First published 2015
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Diamond Boy
ISBN 978 0 19 904904 2 (print)
ISBN 978 0 19 907800 4 (epub)
First impression 2014
Typeset in Adobe Caslon Pro 11.5 pt on 14 pt
Printed on [insert paper quality e.g. acid-free paper]
Acknowledgements
Publishing Manager: Megan Hall
Publisher: Helga Schaberg
Managing Editor: Marzanne Janse van Rensburg
Editor: Nicola Rijsdijk
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Cover Designer: Judith Cross
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Typesetter: Swift ProSys Pvt Ltd
Printed and bound by: XYZ Printing Company
The authors and publisher gratefully acknowledge permission to reproduce copyright
material in this book.
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have been made, the publisher would be grateful for information that would enable any omissions or
errors to be corrected in subsequent impressions.
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referenced in this work.
Contents
How this book works ........................................................................................4
Diamond Boy ..................................................................................................6
Journey .................................................................................................................. 7
Chapters 1–7
Mining .................................................................................................................57
Chapters 8–15
Soldiers ..............................................................................................................113
Chapters 16–21
Patson’s game .....................................................................................................157
Chapters 22–28
Grace..................................................................................................................203
Chapters 29–34
Author’s note ............................................................................................... 240
Acknowledgements ..................................................................................... 241
Additional information ............................................................................... 242
The diamond fields of Marange
Landmines
Studying the novel ....................................................................................... 245
Before reading the novel ................................................................................... 245
Answering short questions ................................................................................ 246
Exploring the novel further ............................................................................... 253
Talking about it ................................................................................................. 255
Writing about it ................................................................................................ 256
4
How this book works
This book is specially designed to help you understand the story.
These three diamonds show a section break in the
story. A section break shows that some time has
passed, or that the focus in the story has changed.
Characterisation
Why does Patson already
trust Boubacar?
Style
Is this a literal or a
figurative explosion?
“He speaks funny.”
“That’s because he speaks French. He’ll look after us. He
knows where he’s going.”
The violent crack of a rifle frightened a flock of herons from a
nearby tree. They launched themselves from their perches,
exploding in a shower of white feathers.
We fell to the ground.
“We must move,” urged Boubacar. “Come on! Get up!”
The terrain was uneven and difficult to navigate in the
dark. I stumbled forward with Grace on my back. Another
round of gunfire crackled through the night. Grace’s grip
tightened around my neck but I ran on. Glancing over my
shoulder, I saw lights from a vehicle scudding through
the bushes, closing in on us. Loud voices. Suddenly, from
my right, someone broke cover and ran across my path,
followed by two more people, their frightened faces lit up by
headlights.
“Run! Leave your bags – leave everything!” ordered
Boubacar as he swept Grace off my back, running with her in
his arms.
My father clung to his briefcase, pulling the Wife by the
hand. When she would not leave her suitcase, he gathered
it up and pushed her in front of him. Dropping my own
suitcase, I swung my backpack higher onto my shoulders and
followed Boubacar. While my stomach knotted in fear, a new
power surged in my legs.
Gunshots boomed across the bush, as the lights from the
vehicle grew brighter.
The wail of a baby hurriedly silenced; the scream of a woman
in pain.
For hours we had not seen anyone. Now, flushed out by
guns and beams of light, people were running all around
The notes in the margin will highlight features of
the novel that you should think about while you
are reading the story.
Footnotes at the bottom of the page help you
understand difficult words or new terms. If a
word is not in the footnotes, you can often use
clues in the story to work out what it means.
Style
Which sense is appealed
to most here, sight or
sound?
5 terrain: ground
6 navigate: walk over
7 scudding: moving quickly and straight
There are activities on the novel on pages 245–256. They will guide you to a deeper
understanding and exploration of the plot, characters, themes and style of the novel.
Contextual questions, essay questions for Home Language and answers are available
on the website: www.oxford.co.za/9780199049042.
5
6
H
ow did you get here, Patson?
Sometimes the simple questions are the hardest to
answer.
My tongue lies like a chisel in my mouth; my eyes are
leaden . I swim from a place of no feeling, moving steadily
upward into a world of sensation. To the dark, throbbing
pain that lives in my leg. My old companion has not left me
in this new place; it waits for me as I drift to the surface,
sharpening its teeth.
“Patson, how did you get here?”
Is it the voice of my father? I feel his hand resting on my arm.
My father, who talks till your head spins. Until, when you are
exhausted from the journey of his words, you get the answer
you need. Like a small cut diamond, sparkling with clarity .
But here, in this room, there are too many shades of white.
The bed is too high off the floor, the sheets starch-stiff, the
pillows too big.
Even so, I am grateful to be alive.
I rest my head against the oversized pillow and turn to the
window. The enormous flat-topped mountain looms over the
city. A huge cloud rides the faraway cliffs, racing down the
grey rock face as if driven by an invisible force.
“Where’s Jesus?” I mumble. “And Grace? I must look to
Grace.” I struggle to rise but I am too weak. My head is
heavy. My body pressed into the bed.
“You’re safe, Patson.”
Can’t it be easier, Baba ? Isn’t there a shortcut I can take?
You have to tell everything, son. You have to tell it all. The story
you tell makes you who you are.
“Shh. Rest. We’ll speak again later.”
Yes, rest now, son. That’s the most sensible thing to do in these
circumstances. The body needs time to recover. You will be strong
again, but first you must rest.
You are right, Baba. You were always right.
Narrator
How do you know this is a
first person narrator?
Setting
Which South African city
is famous for having a
flat-topped mountain?
Plot
Why might Patson be
looking for Jesus and
Grace?
Characterisation
What clues do we have
about Patson’s relationship
with his father from this
prologue?
1
2
3
4
chisel: hand tool
leaden: heavy
clarity: clearness
Baba: Father (Shona)
7
Journey
Shin
e
8
1
“W
ake up, Patson,” Grace whispered into my ear.
“The diamond fields are close now. Just over that
elephant-head mountain.”
My eyelids were prised open and my sister’s face came
into focus.
For a brief moment I saw hints of my mother in her eyes.
But then it was all Grace, gently poking my cheek with her
finger, her breath warm and soft on my skin.
I must have been asleep for a couple of hours; I remembered
only closing my eyes and wishing we had never left home,
angry with my father for having no money, hating the Wife
for her power over him. Now the sun was resting just above
the thorn trees and the air was filled with amber dust.
And then my head slammed against the window as the driver
swerved to avoid one pothole only to hit another. Here in
Zimbabwe, we say that a man who drives straight must be
drunk.
I longed to get out of the cramped car. We had driven
for fourteen hours across the dry plains of Matabeleland,
over the Runde and Munyati rivers and through the hills of
Masvingo Province.
My father always said that a journey should change your
life in some way. Well, I suppose that when you have nothing,
a journey promises everything. As long as we arrived at a
place better than the one we had left, I would be happy. I had
known for some time that my family was heading downhill. I
could see it in the drawn face of my father as yet another day
passed with no food in the house. I could hear it in the shrill
voice of the Wife, who ranted hysterically and wept as she
hid from the neighbours. And I could feel it when I hugged
my little sister, her bones so fragile .
Setting
Where is this part of the
story set?
Style
Why is this statement
about drunk drivers ironic?
1 prised: forced
2 amber: orange
3 fragile: delicate
9
“Grace is right, son. We’re almost at Marange.” My father
leant over from the front seat and handed me a water bottle.
But before I had a chance to drink, the Wife snatched it
away.
“I’m thirsty,” she said. “Joseph, my legs are stiff and my back’s
in a knot. I want to pee. Tell the driver to stop right now.”
“Sylvia, I don’t think –”
“I mean it, Joseph. Now.”
The driver looked at my father’s wife in the rear-view mirror
and shook his head. “We can’t stop here. In another thirty
minutes we stop.”
“You stop now. Or I mess in your car.”
The driver was no match for the Wife. When my father
turned to him and shrugged his shoulders, the driver
understood.
“Just two minutes. Okay? It’s dangerous here,” he warned,
checking the highway behind him before pulling off. “The
police check every car that stops.”
On the side of the road, the Wife insisted he open the boot
of the car.
“Joseph, I asked you to pack toilet paper,” she berated my
father, hands on her hips. “I should have done it myself – I
can’t trust you to do anything. This bag is a mess.”
I got out of the car and left them to fuss.
“I’ll help you, Amai . I know where it is.” Grace had come
to the rescue.
My sister seemed to have a built-in early-warning system
when it came to the Wife’s moods. She would appear,
sometimes magically, to smooth out an awkward moment or
distract the Wife from turning on my father, always able to
restore the peace. As she did now by pulling out a small bag
from the boot, quickly finding the toilet paper, and handing it
to the Wife with a smile.
The driver swore under his breath, anxiously glancing down
the road, while my father fussed and fretted, trying to keep
his wife happy.
4 berated: criticised
5 Amai: Mother (Shona)
Characterisation
Do you like the Wife?
Why or why not?
10
Grace’s elephant-head mountain was really only a mass
of boulders which rose above the surrounding smaller hills
and towered over the distant flat-topped fever trees. Inviting
wisps of cool clouds hung below its highest point. I imagined
taking a heart-pumping run to the top to look out over the
bush: east to Mozambique, south to South Africa and back
to Bulawayo in the west.
In the grass on the other side of the road, something
moved.
An impala? But then, cautiously, three boys emerged,
staring straight through me. In the fading light their legs and
arms, and even their faces, appeared to be dusted a light grey.
We stared silently at each other, the tarred ribbon of the
road between us. Then one of the boys lifted both his hands
and slowly moved them together until his index fingers and
thumbs met in front of his face, forming a diamond.
Was it a signal? I could not read his expression in the tight
space framed by his fingers. He nodded abruptly . Then the
boy to his right with a grey, ghost smile pulled something out
of his pocket, offering it as he gently tapped his outstretched
palm with two fingers. The third boy stepped back a little,
glanced around furtively . His eyes pleading.
“No! Get back in the car. Now! ” The driver grabbed my arm,
pulled me back to the car, shoved me inside and slammed the
door. He scooted Grace into the back seat and shouted at the
boys across the road. But they had gone, disappeared into the
tall yellow grass.
“Who are they?” I asked as the driver pulled away in a cloud
of dust.
“They are mailashas – smugglers – signing their death
warrants by sticking their necks out. They’ll be dead in a
week.” He drove straight over the potholes, fleeing this place
of grey ghost-boys.
“What did they want?”
“Money. Money for diamonds.” He lifted his hands from
the wheel to make the diamond shape with his thumbs and
Style
The short sentences with
exclamations and italics,
and the sharp actions
create suspense. Is this
effective?
Style
Is the colour grey generally
a happy or a sad colour?
6 abruptly: suddenly
7 furtively: nervously
11
index fingers. “Now is the safest time of day for them to sell
their stones – army patrols are blinded by the setting sun.”
“But they were just boys,” said my father.
The driver nodded. “Gwejana. Children diamond miners
gambling with their lives by becoming thieves and smugglers.
This road is littered with their bones.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t see anything. Why
doesn’t anyone ever tell me what’s going on?” complained the
Wife.
I opened the window and her words were lost as I leant out
to study the bush flitting past, the sky’s orange glow sinking
slowly behind the distant hills.
The driver continued, talking quickly and strangling the
steering wheel.
“The closer we get to the mining fields, the purer the
stones become and the more danger we are in,” he said.
“Those mailashas are trying to sell their diamonds outside
their syndicate . They think they can take the money for
themselves. But there are spies everywhere and if those boys
are reported to the syndicate bosses, or if the police catch
them selling diamonds ... Well, I’ve heard terrible things.”
“My brother, James, says there are diamonds for everyone,”
said the Wife. “And he runs the best mine in Marange, so he
should know. I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“James Banda hates mailashas,” muttered the driver, glaring
at me in his rear-view mirror. “You don’t talk to those boys.
Ever. You understand?”
2
D
iamonds for everyone.
Those were the exact words that had drip-dripped like a
leaking tap into my father’s ear at breakfast, after school, late
at night when the lights were out and I could hear the Wife’s
8 syndicate: organisation
Style
How do we know that the
driver is tense?