John Simpson - Change of Course

‘It’ll be a nice quick test then,’ I said. ‘Only one truck … We might as well tip it straight into the feed hopper. That way we won’t get any contamination from the stockpile through double-handling.’

‘Good thinking.’ Lodge nodded enthusiastically. I was bemused; I was more nervous than he seemed to be, yet it was his reputation not mine that was about to be tested.

‘We’ll send the gravel to the concentrator,’ I continued, ‘and run it through as a batch tomorrow morning. Then we’ll batch-treat the concentrate at the sort house. We should have a result by close of play tomorrow.’

‘It takes a while but I guess that’s normal,’ he said. ‘Expecting any problems?’

‘There are always problems. Every ore’s different. Some have too many big rocks, some – too much clay, too much sand, not enough stones to break up the clays in the scrubber… the list’s endless. I’m guessing that today’s little challenge will be sand.’

We both laughed.

When we arrived at Cambunda, Armando was with the fitter checking the conveyor belts and screens, ensuring they were in good mechanical order. He gave a thumbs-up to indicate that all was well, and I gestured that we should get started. The loader went to a pile of waste material and began loading it into the feed hopper to begin the sterilisation. Lodge took over the monitor gun from the operator for a few minutes. He was like a child with a toy. He appeared fascinated by the power of the high-pressure water jet; how it could shift huge rocks and break up sticky clods of clay before blasting it all through the protective screen, the ‘grizzly’, into the scrubber below. I think he saw it like accelerated geology.

When we had treated about fifty cubic metres Lodge radioed the mine to tell them we would be ready for the test material in twenty to thirty minutes.

Half an hour later a dump truck slowly grumbled into the feed area of the plant. Armando held up his hand to stop the driver, and then climbed up to speak to him. The truck manoeuvred so that it could tip directly into the hopper where Lodge and I were watching with interest. The tipper slowly raised; the load was sand. There were some large rocks, and I could see some smaller stones, but I was left with an impression of sand.

I looked at Lodge, then chose my words carefully. ‘This looks bad for the pumps. Everything’ll go straight through with the water. We’ll have to treat it very carefully or the pipes will block.’ I looked for Armando, but he was already waving at the monitor gun operator to control the feeding.

Armando and I left Lodge at the hopper and we climbed down the steps, from the top of the plant to its processing levels, to check how much gravel was coming through. The pre-treatment of diamond-bearing river material is a simple process using vibrating screens, giant sieves, to separate the gravel from big rocks and from sand. I was fascinated by screens; I had always found them mesmerising. Stones and rocks bounce around in seemingly random ways before either disappearing through the mesh or going onto one of the gravel conveyors. I always tried to spot a diamond, but I never had. The sheer volume of stones, the mist from the water sprays and the constant up, down and forward movement made it very difficult.

Suddenly, the noise changed. The conveyors lost momentum and stopped. The regular rhythm of the screens changed to malarial convulsions before giving a final agonized jerk and coming to rest. Armando was shouting and getting information. A tell-tale wisp of smoke wafted up from the motor of the main conveyor belt and the electrical interlocks had stopped everything else.

I took a last glance at the screen before going to look at the problem. The shock was like a punch to the solar plexus. I struggled to breathe properly, and Armando just gawped. After what felt like an age, I regained some control and tapped Armando on the shoulder. ‘Armando. Nobody’s to go near that conveyor belt until we have security in place.’ He nodded then shouted and waved his workers away from the conveyor.

I looked around for Lodge – he was still up by the feed hopper. I waved furiously for him to come down. He placed his hands on the handrails of the steps and slid gracefully down to where Armando and I were struggling to come to terms with what we were seeing. To see one diamond on a screen was rare, but here there were tens of them, mainly small, but some larger ones. Lodge grinned broadly; his hair blazed in the bright morning sun. I stared at him. ‘You’re not even surprised,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘you knew.’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know. I couldn’t. But yes, I expected something.’

We called over two extra security men and we devised a plan to get the conveyor motor changed with the maximum possible speed and security.

When everything was arranged, I climbed back to the top of the plant where I knew I would be able to get a decent signal on my walkie-talkie. I called Morgan, Carlos Pereira and Thys Gerber, and asked them to come to the Cambunda plant as there was an issue that required their attention.

We never referred to diamonds on the radio, but everyone knew what Lodge and I were doing at Cambunda that morning. No one would be in any doubt that the diversion material was the ‘issue’.

Morgan was livid when he arrived; his face was distorted with restrained anger – ready to explode. He stumbled down the steps then stopped to get his breath back; his finger pointing at Lodge, the focus of his rage.

I stepped between them and deflected Morgan’s eyes towards the screen. His anger dissipated in an instant. After staring in awe for a good half-minute or so, he turned to Lodge and said, ‘You, Jim, are a fucking genius,’ with a huge grin on his face.

Lodge said nothing.

Morgan turned to me and asked, ‘So, Boyo, what’s the issue then?’

‘Issues, plural,’ I said. ‘The first’s in hand; the motor repair, but I need to know what to do with the gravel and I would imagine there are security issues at the diversion itself.’

‘What’s the problem with the gravel?’

‘I think we should send it straight to the sort house as it looks a lot richer than any concentrate I’ve ever seen from the concentrator. Dryden’ll never authorise it though if it’s my suggestion.’

‘Just do it,’ Morgan said. ‘Never mind Kevin, I’ll clear it with him. Do what you think’s right.’ Morgan had his faults, but he was decisive and would trust the judgement of others and offer his backing. He would rant and rave if you got it wrong, but if you had him on your side, he was your best ally.

***

‘So, my father was right.’ Sophie hit my arm with a playful punch. ‘You could have told me at the start. You’ve been toying with me, making me doubt him; making me think he screwed up.’

‘Not really. It’s just how everyone who saw the river diversion assessed it. You went along with it. You kept saying he was wrong. You never questioned it, and you’re his daughter.’

‘Very funny.’ Her face told a different story.

‘Sorry. It’s not a joke, but I did want you to see how easy it is to get hooked into a point of view with the potential to destroy a reputation.’

‘But you only gave me the one side …’

‘The same side everyone had. When they saw or heard about all that sand everyone forgot about his record, his successes.’

‘So, it was a winner?’

‘Oh yes. First impressions of Txicaca were soon forgotten. It was a tiny deposit, but it was so rich we only mined it sparingly to sweeten production at the end of each month. We did that for the rest of the time I was there and, I would guess, for a long time after that.’

Sophie was smiling broadly now, ecstatic that her father was still a hero. ‘That still doesn’t tell me much about the friendship between the two of you though.’