Like many young Guyanese men, my tall, handsome teenage brother bravely headed off into the bush to seek his fickle fortune labouring with ambitious friends on a private mining dredge.
Only paid a percentage if the team produced, he was away for months at a time, as they arduously searched for flecks of alluvial diamonds and later flashes of gold, often going weeks without a decent find. In that turbulent time of the 1980s, when there were no cell phones, we would anxiously await word in Georgetown, through the intermittent bush telegraph, praying and hoping all was okay, and that he was not going to come home in a body bag or a box. Subject to factors like weather, equipment, food, luck and security, Raymond would eventually emerge from the interior, often ravaged by an umpteenth battle with mosquitoes, influenza or typhoid, and in a weary mess, gaunt and gloomy-eyed, unable to walk and carrying more malaria and malaise, than money.
In the unwritten code of the industry, his worried workmates waiting for their own inevitable brush with death, disease and destruction, would hurriedly transport him by speedboat to the main landing, to be lifted into whichever vehicle was available and able to make it out in days of unpredictable travelling along rough roads that were really a miserable morass of mud.
Delirious with severe fever and aches, shivering and sweating, he would arrive at the hospital and then home slumped, to violently convulse and vomit, unable to eat, as my mother cried and agonised over him. Eventually with tablets, time and tenacity, it would pass, and the patient would convalesce, slowly gathering strength for the next foray and mosquito attack, while hoping he had not already lost his place in the ever-competitive work gang.
A former Boy’s scout with a perpetual love of adventure and the outdoors, he was a natural leader who would remember to bring me precious tokens from early excursions into the interior, knowing my love of nature. Perhaps, a few pieces of tinted quartz and rugged red sandstone or a mysterious handful of perfect glazed brown balls of some unknown metallic element. In the early morning mists, he learnt to ignore the steady shivering, and deep dive into the cold waters of Guyana’s rivers and tributaries within the ancient Roraima formation, relating when the characteristic “cherry burst” on his first plunge. Inexperienced and unaware of having to equalise the sinuses and middle ear, he suffered the barotrauma of blood vessels in the lining of the nose suddenly rupturing and spilling because of trapped air and differences in pressure.
We heard about the craggy hillside with scores of sunning snakes, and close encounters with the shy bushmaster and its fierce egg-laying mate, the venomous pit viper species known as South America’s “silent bringer of death.” The bushmaster’s tail ends with a horny spine which it sometimes vibrates when disturbed, leading to its reputation as a mute, hence mutus/muta, Latin for dumb. The generic name “Lachesis muta” refers to one of the Three Fates in Greek mythology. Lachesis, the “allotter,” was the second of the white-robed incarnations of destiny, and she determined the length of the thread of life woven on her sister’s spindle, measuring with her divine rod. In mythology, she appears with Clotho, the “spinner” and Atropos, the “inflexible” death shearer, within three days of a baby’s birth to decide how much time is to be allowed.
Some days, rations ran short, or the cook was stricken with illness, necessitating a desperate hunt for food whether fish or fowl. Injuries and accidents were common. One man succumbed after being struck and caught by the boat propeller, others died when vital air lines ruptured or in terrestrial mining pit collapses. Some were felled by trees as rainforests were cleared in preparation for soil blasting with massive water hoses. A few were murdered during alcohol-induced violence, and overnight raids. Equally dangerous were the shakedowns and ubiquitous “perai” or omnivorous sharp-teethed piranhas of the red and black piscine variety, that lurked in the water, and on land as prostitutes with plenty of propositions, probably indecent.
Output and therefore pay would vary if the finds were disappointing as often happened in persistently bad weather or on a poor claim. The size of diamonds was said to be reduced according to the mine’s distance from the rich Roraima Plateau gorges.
Most of the diamonds were small but neat, with less than an estimated five percent above half of a carat. While about two thirds would be gem quality, infrequently we would hear of a legendary stone. Strange diamonds with brown veneers, enigmatic black beauties, the coveted “bottle greens” and the intense blue greens. Natural fancy green diamonds are extremely rare, especially those with no secondary tones. Most greens have either grey, brown, blue, orange or yellow modifiers. Just once in a tough career of years, was there confidential whispers of a huge, flawless, breathtaking masterpiece that surfaced in a rival operation, only to immediately disappear into the murky, underground market destined to be smuggled, sold and cut quietly as an anonymous, unique gem in New York or Amsterdam.
Guyanese diamonds have almost all the faces, edges and corners rounded, with the eight-sided version, the octahedrals frequently white or colourless, while the dodecahedrons, or 12-sided specimens vary on the green-blue spectrum. Among the prestigious fancy-colour diamonds, naturally pure green stones with saturated hues are still among the rarest and most sought after. Tinted by structural defects caused by exposure to certain radioactive minerals and fluids in the earth’s crust over millions of years, such stones are simply intriguing.
Radiation produced by the decay of isotopes of elements like uranium and thorium are believed to have physically damaged the diamond structure by removing carbon atoms to create vacant positions. These cause the diamond to absorb the blue and red parts of visible light, allowing primarily green light to be seen. Areas of radiation damage may vary from green to brownish spots caused by direct contact with radioactive minerals, to zones of green to brown hued “skin” on the surface or within fractures.
Challenging gemologists, it is still difficult to tell the difference between a natural green diamond and an artificially irradiated one created in a laboratory. Through years of trial and error, and sifting through tonnes of stones, my brother would take a single look, hold the piece up to the sunlight, and discern the fake from the genuine. He would grasp a piece of jewellery in his hand, or a tiny raw nugget, and recognise from the weight, colour and appearance which was the real deal.
After he had carefully saved and slowly invested his hard-won earnings, Raymond would finally leave the perils, pits and pitfalls of active mining behind. Starting with difficult years on America Street he took up the serious responsibility of caring for our still young family and smaller siblings when Dad died. Having survived everything from mercury spills, and stabbings to sickness, he seemed indestructible, certainly indefatigable. I would get the unforgettable call, an early Tuesday evening in February 2009. By then a faithful churchgoer and teetotaler, he had just launched into his daily workout at the gym. At just 40, a year younger than me, his fragile thread of life suddenly snapped due to a massive and unexpected heart attack.
ID finds some comfort in her slim wedding band of Guyana diamonds and gold designed by her spirited brother, but she still misses him, home and the stories.
