Chapter 6

She calculated that she was 18 years of age and still a virgin in every orifice. That meant a great deal to her. She was hoping Jacques would treasure her gift forever. Her loins were burning and aching for him, especially since he had uttered the magic words, ”rule me with your body". He had given her a choice. Perhaps it was an illusion, but he cared enough to play the illusionist’s game. She decided she would not be coy; in any case, she could not stop the desire flowing out of her vulva.

They made love in the stream, undulating and gyrating. Nothing about this unique creature surprised him. She was an assassin, just like him. She had killed to avoid being killed and to save the lives of her brothers – her gene pool. Her maidenhead was intact and pure, as the crystalline waters running over their bodies. He was curious to know how she had managed that, but he knew better than to ask her and she would never, never tell. Jacques was gentle and did not enter her all the way. He ejaculated twice. There was an endless supply of him just for her. She could not tell which was her liquid and which was the water. Both cleansed them. Her vaginal juices, their heat and his copious saliva, on her engorged butterfly, eased the pain of that first penetration and copulation.

Thus, was born the joint venture operation of the Congolese Revolutionary Liberation Front. The CRLF for short. De la Rue knew the exact location of a diamond mine, forgotten long ago, because it had changed hands so often, no one could agree on anything. In the end, after years of fighting and killing, there were no survivors.

Ebony voices and velvety voices, families of drums-bangoma, played with naked hands on the skin heads, spread stories about Heart of Diamonds. In Kinshasa, a city of four million people, perhaps five, or six? Congolese, Afro- Cuban and Belgian jazz musicians composed a variety of arrangements, with Heart of Diamonds as their Muse. The Congolese called these arrangements rumba ndombolo. The dizzying rhythms reminded the people of sex, and its power of regeneration.

"The rumba ndombolo is the sexiest music in the world," pronounced Miles Davis, the trumpet player and composer, the coolest cat in the planet.

This was two generations ago. Patrice Lumumba, the only true Father the Congo has ever had, inflamed the ancestors of the present musicians, minstrels, performers and griots, to create the rumba ndombolo. At that time the Congo had a collective hope and faith. That was no more. Now they endured, as did their diamonds.

"The raw diamonds in our mines are more plentiful than those in the Kalahari Desert, a tributary of the Congo River runs through it, you see," Jacques de la Rue eagerly explained to Diamanthe.

They called the mine The D and J Mining Company. It stood for Diamanthe and Jacques. Once word spread about the union of Jacques and Heart of Diamonds curiosity and mystery did the rest.

"Who is she, where did she come from?"

Expert cutters and cleavers sought them out. Jacques created the most professional army in the Congo. They could pay for the best men and armaments, for there was an endless supply of diamonds. The best part was that no one knew their source.

They discovered there were diamond merchants who were ready, willing and able to transact business with them, rather than with Mobutu’s people. First of all, they were undercutting their enemies and competitors by 20%,

"Let’s not be too greedy," suggested Diamanthe.

The buyers were avid, as they knew they would be. Therefore, the buyers kept their transactions with D and J Mining, a secret. It was mutually beneficial to do so.

Diamanthe and Jacques built up an enormous liquidity, which went into banks in Hong Kong and Luxembourg, where banking secrecy was still sacred. Many of their clients came from China, India, Japan, and Thailand. They were delighted to oblige them since they were all banking with the same bank, which had branches in their respective countries – The Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation.

In addition, Diamanthe had her court of miracles, the maimed, burnt, crippled, mutilated child - soldiers who had no one to turn to, because they had been taken at such a young age. Most hadn’t a clue as to their true identities, their real names or where they had been seized. They began creating little pieces of jewelry and objet d’art, which turned out to be valued highly in the posh ateliers of Europe She discovered she could mark the goods up to 500%. This was the decision behind her opening a series of high-end shops through out France and Belgium. "Heart of Diamonds" The flagship was in Lyon, because Madame Charmaine, who was her trusted manager, liked living there. It was within driving distance to Paris, which was useful, as she could look into the Paris shop frequently.

Charmaine had grabbed Diamante’s offer. General Mundavi removed her by force from her parent’s house in Bunia, in the northwest part of the Congo and given her as a birthday present to Mobutu, when she was twelve years old. It was believed that virgins restored sexual vigor. Virgins were supposed to cure men of AIDS as well. There was just one small inconvenience. As part of his new image as the Father of his country, Mobutu had converted to Catholicism and had made a very public display of his monogamy and fidelity to his one wife. She was herself a Catholic and clearly, not a minor.

Cardinal Primate of Kinshasa Frederic Bamungwabi would have rebuked him in public, had he known that Mobutu was secretly keeping a harem of little girls and boys. Indeed, Mobutu went one further. His lawfully wedded wife had an identical twin, a deep secret except to a select few, which included several prelates in the Vatican Curia. Mobutu always slept with both twins in his massive bed. On official state and religious occasions, those in the know engaged in a guessing game as to which twin was playing the part of "the one and only wife"

True to form, Charmaine had changed her name, and fled the Congo, the minute Mobutu entered into a coma, never to wake up in this world again. She was following a script millions of human beings had done over thousands of years.

Get a new name, and a new life, and then you must become that new person.

Chapter 5

Special Forces and white mercenaries ambushed them. The fighting was savage and pitiless. It took no prisoners. The Kariya who had been - positioned herself high atop a thick acacia tree. She picked off the tough commandos one by one. As the days stretched into nights, she vowed never to close her eyes.

"No dolls, white or brown sugar, palm wine or other shit for me."

Her rage kept her awake and alert. Out of love for her family, she had allowed Mobutu’s soldiers to turn her into an iconic sniper. She hated the mercenaries who constrained her to kill them, thus giving Mobutu’s commandos a better advantage. She shot at any human who moved or stirred. They could not triangulate her position, because she kept jumping from tree to tree. That was when she overheard an officer exclaim in French.

"Hey! You up there and every where. You are not human. You are a demon who has diamonds for a heart."

Kariya, who was no more, had at last found the name she was looking for. Diamanthe - Heart of Diamonds! It was a beautiful name. It conjured up images of hardness, for diamonds were the hardest substances on earth; of beauty, for diamonds dazzled you; of radiance for they protected you; of light for they surrounded you with it. That was enough in those dark times to keep the spark lit in her soul.

The motto of De Beers declared "Diamonds are forever" but she was unaware of that, deep in the jungles and rainforests of the Congo. She knew from her science class that diamonds were made of carbon minerals, which were millions of years old. Only a diamond could cut another. Thus, a diamond was eternal.

Heart of Diamonds was born!

“That will be my new birth date. My new Life,” she decided.

Henceforth all the people in the Congo would hear her name and cherish it for it represented their Pride and their Majesty. Most of all, it stood for their heart, the most vital organ in the human body. What was the Congo without a Heart of Diamonds figuratively and literally?

They had beaten back the onslaught of the mercenaries. She had time, at last, to recite the Our Father for her parents and her two dead brothers. After her prayers, she heard a familiar voice, the officer who had unwittingly inspired her name.

"Listen. My lady of the diamond heart! I need to talk to you. I have stayed behind with my men. I’ll come out into the clearing. You can remain unseen, wherever you are. Keep me within sight of your Kalashnikov, just give me your word you won’t kill me, and listen to what I have to say. Ca va."

She replied to his question with another question. "How come you know who I am and what I am doing? I know nothing about you or your men."

"Aaah," he sighed loudly. "You are Black Amazon. I think Heart of Diamonds suits you better. The Congo has many amazons and warriors. There is no one like you. We have been in skirmishes before. I know what I am talking about."

"Ca VA. I agree. It’s a deal,” she stated.

That was the first time she had set eyes on the most handsome and elegant Congolese she had ever seen. He was covered in grime, filth, sweat, and stank of urine and feces, as did she, as did they all. But this man stood tall and proud. She swung herself down.

His eyes were on fire at the sight of her.

"Heart of Diamonds," he murmured, acknowledging her presence with a slight bow of his head.

"I am Jacque de la Rue. A dilemma has developed. You see, most of your people, those hated soldiers of Mobutu - your captors, are all dead; I killed them. You, on the other hand, from your wooded tower up there have eliminated all of my masters. We are the only ones left, give or take a few of our followers."

He studied her reaction. She remained silent and impassive. Only her eyes glittered at the thought of calling the shots from now on.

"We can be stupid and exterminate one another. Why would we do that? I love my pitiful and pitiless country. So do you,” stated de la Rue

She made no attempt to repress neither a smile nor a series of chuckles. Not only had he given her a beautiful new name, Diamanthe, Heart of Diamonds, he was proposing an alliance.

"Who will be the boss?" she asked suddenly, gazing boldly into his dark eyes.

It was his turn to smile showing small even pearly white teeth.

"I won’t make a strategic or tactical decision without consulting you first, but this is still a patriarchal society and you will give me, at least the appearance and the lip service that I am in command."

She did not speak, but her eyes were smoldering embers. It was the best choice she had been offered since the night her father had vanished and her mama was murdered. That was fine with her. She would give him Face. All would be lost without it.

Let him appear to be the Boss, Le Patronne. Jacques is giving me a great deal of space in which to maneuver.

"One very important thing. I want you as my woman. You decide the time and the place, if ever. In that regard, you will rule over me,” he told her ardently.

"Let us wash and purify each other’s bodies in the stream nearby, then we can explore our bodies and pleasure ourselves,” suggested Diamanthe to seal their agreement.

Chapter 4:

Around the same time, Medecin sans Frontieres, a volunteer organization, which means Doctors without Borders, was providing emergency medical aid and performing near miraculous operations. They were acting under the most arduous conditions in their clinic in Kinshasa. MSF as it is sometimes called had come to Kinshasa since nineteen eighty-five, at least five years before Kariya was born.

"We must be in the deadliest city on the planet. No one needs us more than the people of the Congo."

Immediately, the doctors were inundated with the wounded, the mutilated, and the diseases that were an inevitable consequence of constant war. The most horrifying thing about these savage wars was the fact that children, hundreds of thousands of them were slaughtering other children without a pang of mercy and remorse. Leprosy returned with a vengeance, as did the tsetse fly, which gave them the deadly sleeping sickness. Tuberculosis ravaged lungs in a few months. Malaria killed them like flies, so did dengue fever, another virulent disease brought by mosquitoes who, unlike the malaria/anopheles which only sucked its victims blood at night, feasted on humans at all hours of the day and night. HIV/AIDS was particularly deadly. The Ebola virus for which there was no cure and no medicine lurked close by.

"We need help now. We need doctors and nurses. Mon Dieu, we need more volunteers," declared Doctor Bernard Kouchner, one of its founders. In a short time, he would become a legend.

God must have listened, for Cuba, France, Italy and India sent doctors and nurses to the Congo.

Like war, death and disease: the music went on relentlessly. So too did the drums. In the rain forests pregnant with orchids, in their boats as they sailed down the great Congo River, in the jungles, tracking down an enemy militia, or ferreting the white mercenaries.

Even the rat- AZ – tat of the Kalashnikov rifles came with strangely pitched ululations "Ayiiii…yu… yi…ya…yay."

They sang in the wards of the clinics, on the streets, by the burial pits, the cemeteries, and by their infant’s cradles. They chanted laments while massaging special oils on the corpses of their loved ones so that they would not become "konono" a poetic way of describing rigor mortis. They danced and rejoiced during Christmas, the New Year, and a victory of one rebel guerilla group over another.

The Congo did not need the Associated Press or any other news group. What did they know? The Congo understood what interested the people and they sang it throughout the two million square miles that was their Congo. Fifty–eight million and perhaps sixty million souls employed their voices for pain and suffering. Tears? The music told them everything they wished to know. Friend and foe alike listened and understood.

In the jungles, forests and rivers, two of Kariya’s brothers were killed, quickly and thankfully. One-stepped on a black mamba, as they moved noiselessly in the jungle night. He was dead within seconds. A land mine blew five years old Akua to bits. There was nothing left of him, except pieces of his little fingers as they floated past a stunned Kariya and her band of brothers, on the mighty Congo River.

They had been inside the horror for so long tears or cries of sorrow would not ensue from their lips.

Once we were nine in the family, now we are five, mourned the girl deep in her heart, she who had once been Kariya.

Kono, the minstrel composed a song about the valor of Black Amazon and her small brave brothers, scantily clad and barefoot in the jungle.

"That is something to be thankful for, one brother dead in a few seconds, after meeting up with Black Mamba. I suppose he never realized what happened to him. Little Akua reduced to a few fingers. I am grateful to the Congo River for showing me that he did not suffer at all.”

The explosion, which killed her youngest brother Akua, marked the beginning of an ambush by Belgian and South African mercenaries. It would be several days of ferocious fighting before Black Amazon found the time to recite the Lord’s Prayer silently for her brothers.

“No more tristesse for today,” decided Diamanthe. "The past and the present live in an uneasy symbiosis inside my body. That’s the way I want it, high drama just a hairbreadth away from tragedy or comedy. Everything in life could always go either way. You must be prepared to change, modify and adapt. I will never forget the past, even if all I have is the Now to attempt to build a future where many odds are against me,” she ruminated. Her memories traveled very far.

If I ever forget where I came from, I will never know where I am going.

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

In Kinshasa, Kariya Kailane, a willowy black girl, whom many described as a Black Panther because of her sinuous and imperious demeanor, luxuriated in the fact that she had studied and worked at being named class Valedictorian at the all girls Catholic School of the Holy Spirit.

"Congratulations Kariya. All that beauty and brains too. Your parents will be able to fetch a huge dowry from whoever desires to wed you and bed you," declared Major Oron who was the father of her best friend Vele.

Kariya disliked and distrusted the man and she could not explain to herself why she had these suspicions. In fact, she felt guilty about them.

"I value Vele’s friendship. I wonder if he is a good father to her and to her brothers. He has a disrespectful attitude towards me. It is unseemly to feel this way about my best friend’s father. Major Oron is also my father’s friend."

She put all disagreeable thoughts out of her mind the moment she espied her father at the wheel of their pickup truck. He always came after school was over to collect her and her brothers and drive them home.

"At thirteen, you are the youngest girl to ever be chosen Valedictorian, your fourteenth birthday is not until August, almost four months away," her father greeted her with pride in his voice.

"Cher Papa. I am happy that you and Maman are pleased and proud of me," she replied, planting a warm kiss on his cheek.

Her father Mawanga taught history and mathematics at the exclusive boy’s school Saint John’s which her six younger brothers attended. Mawanga Kailane was a white elephant in the Congo, for he refused to be corrupted. He kept refusing bribes, which were offered to him by the high-ranking officers serving in the army of President Mobutu Sese Seko.

"Come. Come. Kailane. We need good, new blood in the Armed Forces. Some of those school boys might even turn out to be excellent spies, dispenser of justice, and informers and enforcers for the CIA and the Sdece (the French Secret Service)."

"I have yet to see a white man turn away from thrusting their cocks and tongues into our girls and women. They are also crazy about our beardless boys and girls so young they still have no pubic hair," remarked Colonel Riko so casually that it struck a chill in Kailane’s spine.

"Colonel Riko is right. You are being unreasonably stubborn. You will be richly rewarded. This is the Congo. Even if we blacks appear as its leaders, the white men run it and they do whatever comes to their greedy and grasping minds. To ensure our good behavior towards their lust, their likes and dislikes, they have a constant supply of CIA, MI6 and SDECE agents at our ribs. Now that you know the score, just hand over a list of the brightest and most promising pupils in your school. You know Kailane the most trainable ones for the Armed Forces,” said Major Oron forcefully.

"Don’t forget the virgin vulvas. The whites will be soaked with semen if they know our black swans are educated in Christian schools," declared Rico with indifference and ease.

"It sounds as if he is used to uttering these obscene comments about our youth,” pondered Kailane sadly.

He turned towards them with disdain in his eyes and contempt in his voice.

"How many times must I repeat my reply? We are talking about girls and boys, ages ten to fourteen. They are adolescents, little more than children. They should be holding fountain pens, not AK – 47s. The answer is no, as always," Kailane countered in indignation, as always.

That golden moonlit night, soldiers smashed into Kariya’s house with the butts of their rifles. She and her family had been enjoying a purple colored cassava pudding for dessert.

The lieutenant tramped towards their well-appointed table and wordlessly brought the barrel of his Magnum down on her stunned father’s face with such force the silverware, the purple cassava pudding as well as their faces were spurted with their father’s blood. He continued striking him with the Magnum. Their father’s nose and mouth disappeared. Slivers of his brains splattered the white linen tablecloth. Pieces of bones from his forehead, cheeks and jaw struck them with such force that Kariya screamed a series of long blood curdling screams.

"Aaaaaaaaa! Please. Please. Please. Noooooo!

The soldiers dragged what was left of their dead father outside. Kailane was brutally thrown into the black van, never to be seen or heard from again.

Kariya’s mother Marena, screamed. pleaded and yelled. She ran after the sinister black van. Marena was in shock. She did not realize that her husband was dead.

"What has he done? He is a good man. Let him go! Come back. Return him to his family," she begged them collapsed on her knees.

In frustration and retaliation, they turned on Marena, who was Kailane’s only wife for they were Christians. Dozens of soldiers crazed with amphetamines, cocaine and heroin, and armed with machetes, jungle knives and hatchets, brutally raped her.

Others stuffed guns into the mouths of Kariya and her six brothers so that they could not cry out They would then know the fear of the powerless for they made them watch in numbed horror.

For some grim reason, which still remains a mystery to me, I had stopped counting the jackals that tore at my mother’s breasts, intimate parts and intestines, at number thirty-seven. Only God knew how long it would take for her to die!

Marena begged the only soldier who had not participated in the mass rape to kill her and end her suffering. In her heart she was thinking more of her children than of herself. A slow agony would be worse torture for them than a quick death.

The children could not understand a word their mother said – all her teeth were gone, her tongue was swollen three times its size. Every bone in her body was reduced to gristle and pulp. Kariya sensed her mother did not wish to wait for death to come.

"If you are a Christian, I implore you, show mercy and shoot me."

The Tutsi youth, from Rwanda did not speak Lingala Congolese, but was sensitive enough to understand that their situation was hopeless.

"The poor woman is begging me to kill her? I must end her suffering," he said in a quivering voice.

He placed his gun directly on her eyeball. He was holding a 22.calibre Beretta; the best weapon for a close and accurate kill. He shut his eyes and blew off the back of Marena’s head.

Diamanthe surveyed the soldier, imprinting every feature into her mind where it would remain forever. He was devoid of expression, an eighteen-year-old walking dead man.

"The woman asked me to do it. It was the best way to end her suffering,” he repeated in toneless and passable French.

She threw herself upon her mother’s mutilated body, shrieking, sobbing and screaming.

"The woman as you called her was our mother, Marena Kailane. Do you hear?”

She whirled several times in grief. And yet … and yet … she never lost her self-possession.

"I must not show these monsters that I am in deepest despair even if it is so. They will surely finish us off. Oh my God, help me," she prayed silently.

She had not lost her powers of observation. The main street and the side street were empty. All their neighbors were cowering and defecating in terror inside their homes. The shutters and the louvres were shut. Except for her stifled sobs and the loud ones from her brothers, there was nothing but silence coming from the closed houses.

"I understand what you are telling me. I can expect no help or quarter from any of you. May you all rot in hell," she yelled and cursed with such desolation that her vocal chords became strained and she realized that her voice was suddenly raucous.

"Girl, we are sorry. We can do nothing except survive. You must do the same," inner voices crackled inside her heart.

"Answer me soldier. Did you hear? The dead woman was our mother, she was somebody," screeched Kariya. By now her voice had disappeared and only a croak ensued from her mouth.

The young soldier tugged at her white sleeve now horribly scarlet with her mother’s blood.

"Quelle dommage pour votre mere." I am sorry about your maman Marena Kailane. But you must stop screaming now. There is no choice. Girl, they will kill you too, unless you come quietly. If you don’t, they will sell all your pretty brothers to pedophiles and pederasts in the West as sexual pets, or cut their throats and sell off their body parts. Decide."

The word pretty lacerated her. It was a kind of chilling code the Tutsi soldier used to reveal to her the horror that was to come if she did not comply with the human beasts that held power over her.

"I will bow my head and bend at the knee in order not to lose my spirit. I will do anything to keep my family together," she swore silently.

Heart of Diamonds name, when she was captured and allowed the Army of President Mobutu Sese Sekou to turn her into a child soldier and killer before her fourteenth birthday, had been Kariya.

"On the same day that Mawanga and Marena Kailane, mother and father of Kariya and six brothers died their savage deaths, I, Kariya no longer existed."

In order to save her six brothers and keep what was left of her family together, she volunteered to become a sniper for the Army of Mobutu. Even at that age, she was a skillful negotiator.

"You need a good sniper more than you need a whore. Let no one lay a finger on me or on my brothers. If you take my six brothers, the youngest of whom is five, you will not regret it."

She had sworn out of desperation. She did not know the first thing about guns and firearms but she was a strong-willed and determined young woman.

"I will not be crushed, and neither will I allow my six brothers to be trampled underfoot." This became her motto, which she would repeat endlessly.

"Do you want a good whore or the best killer? Don’t lay a finger on me or on any of my brothers. Whores are plentiful. Super snipers are not."

She became the best sniper in the Congo. Each time she had a man in the cross hairs, white or black, she kept her brothers in mind. They lived and breathed because of her. By then, the Congolese Army of President Mobutu referred to her as the "Black Warrior".

A legend in her own time: The Africans called her Simba – which meant lion in Swahili. To the white and black mercenaries who served various warlords, mostly American, Belgian, English and French; who fought on any side provided they were paid in gold South African rand; she was the "Black Amazon".

The musicians and troubadours, and the brutalized people of the Congo, for many of them their country was just a figment in their souls, roamed the villages and forests chanting and reciting the exploits of the She Simba. They exalted her. Above all, the people sang. Music kept the Congo alive.

Kariya and her brothers were forced to march with the wicked soldiers of Mobutu and take part in shootouts with rebels and rival government forces.

“Someday, at the right opportunity, I will cut as many of you as I can into pieces,” she vowed to the dead spirits of Marena and Kailane, her unforgotten parents.

Revised versions of Ch 1 and Ch 2

CHAPTER ONE

Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo
December 2004

"That’s her! That is Heart of Diamonds.There’s no one in the world like her. She is as unique as a scarlet diamond and tougher than steel to negotiate with," remarked a Belgian diamond merchant, in an undertone, to his colleague, a trader from Dubai.

She glided past them and made a slight acknowledgement of their presence. The folds of her white silk robe swished softly in the wind. The handle of her white leather handbag, which was studded with small F grade diamonds, glittered in the morning sun. She was shod in brilliant white leather sandals; its high heels carved in ebony wood, encrusted with gold dust here and there. Her sculpted head was turbaned in white with a large fancy pink gem adorning its center.

"Heart of Diamonds is a fitting name for the young woman. Diamonds are the hardest substances on our planet,” murmured the Arab jeweler.

"She is spellbinding just the same," whispered the Belgian.

“In the Arab world our poets compare her to the Queen of Sheba,” added the trader from Dubai.

Diamanthe was her name, and she always dressed in white. She was aware of the effect it had on people, especially men. For Diamanthe was as black as the darkest night in blackest Africa – the Congo.

To quote Lord Byron, the mad, bad, and dangerous to know English poet, "She walked in beauty like the night."

Diamanthe was like a giant polished trunk of an ebony tree. She was proud of her Negritude.”

"I have often been told that I have an exquisitely sculpted head. I believe it. No wigs or any of that rubbish to straighten my hair. Jamais! Never. I think I will either go bareheaded with diamonds stuck here and there in my Afro- bob or wear white turbans studded with fancy diamonds."

Naked she was one meter and eighty-two inches in height. Round, wide shoulders, small and delicate bones with a tiny waist that glided softly into well-proportioned buttocks and a high derriere. Her fine bosom and cleavage was always adorned with tear shaped diamonds. She possessed a long torso and legs that never seemed to end. Intense hazel eyes, which appeared yellow against her black skin, reminded her friends and foes alike of a coiled serpent poised to strike when you least expected it.

"Only diamonds for me, ma Cher,” she always declared to anyone who listened.

Her tapered nails, painted in silver and white nail polish, contained the tiniest of diamond crusts. The Pythoness Mangana, who lived in Malemba Nkulu, hundreds of miles away from Kinshasa created the polish just for Diamanthe. It was said to contain incantations and omens. The diamonds gave of tiny lights detected only by Heart of Diamonds.

Whenever she was with clients the lights told her if she had someone truly interested in acquiring diamonds and gems or if they were just bluffing and fishing. More importantly, their phosphorescent light warned her if the individual before her had a good or mal-intentioned heart.

I know that I am the best publicity and advertisement for all diamonds. I am in a position to show off the most fabulous gems, on my fingers, neck, wrists, waist, ankles and toes. The mortal men, who are privileged to see my nearly naked body by my swimming pool, will swear that I wear a twenty-five carat blue diamond on my cleavage. A slim belt encircles my waist studded with baguettes. An inverted pendant of D flawless diamonds reposes majestically on my mound of Venus.

"If you truly wish to see the phosphorescence of a D flawless blue diamond, place it against gorgeous black velvet skin," thus spoke Baron Etienne Duvalier, over two hundred years ago.

Duvalier, a ruthless maven, represented all the interests of His Majesty, King Leopold ll of Belgium. Its absolute Master, the King, in the person of his minions, had the power of instant death. His rapacity for blood and gore, were outmatched only by his lust for diamonds, gold, emeralds, sapphires…anything and everything that the Belgian Congo, as it was then known, possessed. Legend has it that Baron Duvalier wore a belt buckle studded with D flawless square cut diamonds, which formed the letter P – for Plunder.

"Most of all, my formidable nose for "les affaires" centered on the business of ebony. As you know my dear colleagues," Duvalier wrote to the British guilds," the word ebony is a double entendre for the rare, precious wood, which abounds in the rain forests and jungles and the slave labor, which always outruns the fertility of their soil."

Back to present day Kinshasa, at the Atelier “Heart of Diamonds”, Diamanthe would slowly and in a low pitched voice, tell her greedy clients,” You realize mon cher clients that you cannot hide your anxiety from me. You wish to buy the best diamonds but at rock bottom prices.”

She was facing Belgian and Arab dealers who were attempting to haggle over each and every gem endlessly. They had been doing it for a quarter of a century and they were skillfull in the art of bargaining.They hoped to tire her out. Never!

"Unless I take a decisive course of action, the meeting will run into the next one. My timetable and earnings will surely be affected, to say nothing of my image."

At this point of the meeting, Diamanthe would rise slowly from her straight backed gilded chair, like a majestic Venus from the diamond studded mines deep in the bowels of the earth.

"I am aware of my country’s bloody history and the plunder which continues to this day. You see before you, a smart black woman, lady, and cookie, whatever you wish. I know all the mark ups, and the tricks. The best crooks and criminals were my teachers. That is not a secret. So, you know and I know that we are both getting a good deal. If you are not convinced, I believe the expression is “take it or leave it."

Heart of Diamonds would not wait for the shocked clients’ reply; she would be on her way out of her austere atelier. She made them run after her.

"Bien Sure. Certainly. We accept!”

I feel a sense of poetic justice that the mzungis / rich foreigners – white, yellow, brown, and mixed color pallette, depend on the good graces and the smart ethical moves of a black woman, to obtain the best cut and uncut gems in the African continent, she mused contentedly.

Yes indeed! Diamanthe - Heart of Diamonds was a shining young black woman who by sheer force of will became the most successful dealer of cut and uncut diamonds as well as of other gems in Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The Congo is the heart of Africa. It has ever been thus.

Most certainly, in good and bad times Diamanthe used her acute and creative intelligence judiciously. She loved her brothers and sisters without measure, which, was also a driving force towards success. She was endowed with an uncanny knack for choosing the right lover, protector and partner. Loyalty in an extremely volatile and duplicitous business carried great financial rewards. Heart of Diamonds cultivated her clients with care and charmed them with an almost brutal candor.

"Heart of Diamonds had zenze,” pronounced the ancient members of the Baluba tribe.

Long before the Romans as the first white men in recorded history ever-set foot in Africa; the Baluba roamed the continent at will, conquerors, visionaries, and miners of diamonds, seers, magicians and sorcerers all. After many wars and expeditions they chose the Congo as their special region. The magicians and sorcerers had seen the whole continent of Africa in a series of visions.

"This is where we shall live and settle down, in the heart of our continent, where the heart would be if the land were human. That is how the Congo will come to be."

"Zenze meant that in addition to positive attributes which outshone your negative ones, all living creatures had the capacity to endure whatever the fates brought you. If you endured, you had zenze and emerged victorious. If you lacked zenze the Congo swallowed and re-absorbed you," so stated the Baluba.

CHAPTER TWO
Marcel de Merode, a wealthy Belgian mercenary, sold Zizu de Merode, a ten-year-old enchanting beauty, endowed with turquoise eyes, for 20,000 Pounds Sterling without so much as a qualm or a twitch of conscience; She thought he might have been her father. He knew otherwise. Flora her mother was one of his concubines, but he could never rein her in. She had always enjoyed numerous lovers.
Hours after his return to Kinshasa, from a six months absence, Flora had told him boldly, "I am expecting a child by another man. I will never reveal the name of my child’s father and plan to take the secret to my grave. I have enough money from him so that you need never humiliate me about monetary expenses. I am just six weeks along so your precious face and male pride will be spared any chinks in it."
Marcel had been part of an expeditionary and mercenary force, led by General de Clerk into Sierra Leone. Their principal motive was plunder. The orders had come from their Pay Master, Gerard Reiserman, a Belgian businessman who crisscrossed New York, Antwerp and Africa in his private Bombardier. He was a gems dealer, collector, and confidante of Presidents Johnson of Sierra Leone, Taylor of Liberia, and more importantly of Laurent Kabila, President of the Congo.
It was murmured in fear and in reverence, that not a hand moved in the diamond and sapphire mines without Reiserman’s blessing. He wanted a large stockpile of diamonds and sapphires removed from Sierra Leone and taken to the Congo. Reiserman knew he could trust Marcel de Merode more than the other mercenaries. He never stooped so low as to pilfer diamonds because his instincts told him his mangled corpse would be fed to the ravenous crocodiles that endlessly cruised the Congo River in search of human meat. "I am a professional killer and thief, of the highest caliber. De Merode does not rob chickens."
When Flora, was diagnosed with full-blown AIDS, de Merode sent her away to a clinic to die. It had been ten years since he last bedded Flora, when she had gleefully informed him she was pregnant and not by him. Her ferocious and atavistic sexuality terrified de Merode; he was relieved not to couple with her ever again. He showed his dislike bordering on disdain of Zizu, fruit of her pregnancy by ignoring her on his good days and being rude if not cruel to her on his dark days.
He hastened to sell Zizu to a representative of Prince Naim bin Nayef of Saudi Arabia. His Royal Highness was desperate for new blood. He needed it quickly to re-invigorate his mentally defective, deranged and disease ridden in bred line. He was not alone. All the so-called royal houses in the Persian/Arabian Gulf had piss poor protoplasm – in other words a depleted gene pool.
"My sons and daughters are coupling with their cousins. I realize we need to cement alliances with the tribes; I myself have done so, but I think it’s time to rethink this policy of mating only among our select group of relatives. We don’t breed our horses, falcons and camels in the same incestuous way we produce our families and clans … it is reckless. We know better."

Zizu was fortunate. The aged Prince Naim welcomed his beautiful slave and investment kindly. One glimpse of her eyes and he declared,” Henceforth you shall be called Turkhasa, like the gem we call Turkhas (turquoise) He had his best and brightest son Karim aged thirteen, in mind for her, once her blood began its flow (her menses)

In the meantime, she would attend the madrassah for girls, and learn the holy Qu’ran in classical Arabic. Prince Naim had gifted her with a necklace of the largest turquoise spheres money could buy. His agents had scoured all of Iran for months to find them. It was a country the size of Germany, France and the United Kingdom combined.

She was allowed to keep the cross of rough blue and white diamonds, which her Mama had given her, provided she kept it out of sight. This singled her out as someone unique, and nurtured envy, jealousy and hate among her classmates and the future wives of Prince Karim bin Naim bin Nayef.

"Inshallah, she will make a good fourth wife for Karim. The other three wives would still come from the same gene pool," he sighed deeply and with regret.

This is very stupid politics for in the end our heirs are unfit and inept to govern. They are only good at copying the vices of the west, like gambling, womanizing, drinking, snorting cocaine, stuffing their veins with morphine and corrupting their lungs with tobacco.

Prince Naim was aware that his eldest son Salim, who would celebrate his seventeenth birthday soon, was being broken into the ways and mores of coupling in the west.

"I agreed to what I consider perverse acts, we are forbidden to seek out pleasure with women other than our own wives. But Salim’s women have complained to their mothers that his sexual sword is too big and painful to accommodate them. Salim has a cruel streak; I have always feared that. The harlot, I cannot bring myself to say her odious name, (Candy) is under orders from her Western Master to train him in techniques, which I hope will induce his wives to receive his organ with less tension and more serenity."

He pondered that this was the principal reason why he gave the entrancing Congolese Zizu, henceforth to be known as Turkasa to his son Karim.
Karim has a good- sized piece of procreative flesh and he is gentle with his wives, so I have heard.

"It is a small step I have taken with Turkhasa. She is as fertile as the Nile and the Congo Rivers. Bright. Wise. Kind. Brave. Loving. She will give us many sons and daughters who will be extraordinary in every way. Inshallah," he told his son Karim.

He gazed at him for a long time. Father and son spoke through their eyes. Sometimes what is not said carries more value than words. Silence can be a potent language.

“Our society is polluted and contaminated. Our leaders are venal, debauched and depraved. Am I nothing but an old wishful dreamer out of step with all the rest? Bribable, corrupt and dishonorable men govern our country. It was easy for the Anglo-Americans monsters that call the shots to turn many of them into wicked and immoral people.

“The fault lies with us. We had a choice, once, nearly 110 years ago. We decided on Sin,” mused Karim. I am a youth possessed of idealism. Will it be of any use?”

Prince Nayef broke the silence. “She cost me the equivalent of a luxurious car like a BMW. Mind it’s not the price we must think of but also the value. Therefore, learn to cherish Turkhasa, my beloved son.”

“Yes Babba, I shall love her.”

For centuries, the Al Nayef clan had been prosperous merchant Bedouins. The Prince’s grandfather had come from Yemen at the urging of his blood cousin, Abdel Aziz Ibn-Saud who needed support in his fight for control of the vast country of Arabia. With the unending financial and military assistance from the British bankers and secret agents, he had defeated all his enemies, most of whom were clansmen. Then, in a gesture fraught with destiny and blood, he had ensured that his country would henceforth be known as Saudi Arabia. That was his name - Abdel Aziz Ibn-Saud (son of Saud). Of such stuff are dynasties created.

Truth Spoken by a Teenager

An important aspect of Heart of Diamonds is that the youth are the ones lobbying hardest for environmental changes. Enclosed is a wonderful video called

The Girl Who Made the World Silent for Five Minutes

www.youtube.com/watch?v=eg8MsAx3TVE&feature=email


She is another girl with a heart of diamonds.

Chapter 2

Marcel de Merode, a wealthy Belgian mercenary, sells Zizu de Merode, a ten-year-old enchanting beauty, endowed with turquoise eyes, for 20,000 Pounds Sterling without so much as a qualm or a twitch of conscience; She thought he might have been her father. He knew otherwise. Flora her mother was one of his concubines, but he could never rein her in. She had always enjoyed numerous lovers.
Hours after his return to Kinshasa, from a six months absence, Flora had told him boldly, "I am expecting a child by another man. I will never reveal the name of my child’s father and plan to take the secret to my grave. I have enough money from him so that you need never humiliate me about monetary expenses. I am just six weeks along so your precious face and male pride will be spared any chinks in it."
Marcel had been part of an expeditionary and mercenary force, led by General de Clerk into Sierra Leone. Their principal motive was plunder. The orders had come from their Pay Master, Gerard Reiserman, a Belgian businessman who crisscrossed New York, Antwerp and Africa in his private Bombardier. He was a gems dealer, collector, and confidante of Presidents Johnson of Sierra Leone, Taylor of Liberia, and more importantly of Laurent Kabila, President of the Congo.
It was murmured in fear and in reverence, that not a hand moved in the diamond and sapphire mines without Reiserman’s blessing. He wanted a large stockpile of diamonds and sapphires removed from Sierra Leone and taken to the Congo. Reiserman knew he could trust Marcel de Merode more than the other mercenaries. He never stooped so low as to pilfer diamonds because his instincts told him his mangled corpse would be fed to the ravenous crocodiles that endlessly cruised the Congo River in search of human meat. "I am a professional killer and thief, of the highest caliber. De Merode does not rob chickens."
When Flora, was diagnosed with full-blown AIDS, de Merode sent her away to a clinic to die. It had been ten years since he last bedded Flora, when she had gleefully informed him she was pregnant and not by him. Her ferocious and atavistic sexuality terrified de Merode; he was relieved not to couple with her ever again. He showed his dislike bordering on disdain of Zizu, fruit of her pregnancy by ignoring her on his good days and being rude if not cruel to her on his dark days.
He hastened to sell Zizu to a representative of Prince Naim bin Nayef of Saudi Arabia. His Royal Highness was desperate for new blood. He needed it quickly to re-invigorate his mentally defective, deranged and disease ridden in bred line. He was not alone. All the so-called royal houses in the Persian/Arabian Gulf had piss poor protoplasm – in other words a depleted gene pool.
"My sons and daughters are coupling with their cousins. I realize we need to cement alliances with the tribes; I myself have done so, but I think it’s time to rethink this policy of mating only among our select group of relatives. We don’t breed our horses, falcons and camels in the same incestuous way we produce our families and clans … it is reckless. We know better."

Zizu was fortunate. The aged Prince Naim welcomed his beautiful slave and investment kindly. One glimpse of her eyes and he declared,” Henceforth you shall be called Turkhasa, like the gem we call Turkhas (turquoise) He had his best and brightest son Karim aged thirteen, in mind for her, once her blood began its flow (her menses)

In the meantime, she would attend the madrassah for girls, and learn the holy Qu’ran in classical Arabic. Prince Naim had gifted her with a necklace of the largest turquoise spheres money could buy. His agents had scoured all of Iran for months to find them. It was a country the size of Germany, France and the United Kingdom combined.

She was allowed to keep the cross of rough blue and white diamonds, which her Mama had given her, provided she kept it out of sight. This singled her out as someone unique, and nurtured envy, jealousy and hate among her classmates and the future wives of Prince Karim bin Naim bin Nayef.

"Inshallah, she will make a good fourth wife for Karim. The other three wives would still come from the same gene pool," he sighed deeply and with regret.

This is very stupid politics for in the end our heirs are unfit and inept to govern. They are only good at copying the vices of the west, like gambling, womanizing, drinking, snorting cocaine, stuffing their veins with morphine and corrupting their lungs with tobacco.

Prince Naim was aware his eldest son Salim, who would celebrate his seventeenth birthday soon, was being broken into the ways and mores of coupling in the west.

"I agreed to what I consider perverse acts, we are forbidden to seek out pleasure with women other than our own wives. But Salim’s women have complained to their mothers that his sexual sword is too big and painful to accommodate. Salim has a cruel streak; I have always feared that. The harlot, I cannot bring myself to say her odious name, (Candy) is under orders from her Western Master to train him in techniques, which I hope will induce his wives to receive his organ with less tension and more serenity."

He pondered that this was the principal reason why he gave the entrancing Congolese Zizu, henceforth to be known as Turkasa to his son Karim.
Karim has a good- sized piece of procreative flesh and he is gentle with his wives, so I have heard.

"It is a small step I have taken with Turkhasa. She is as fertile as the Nile and the Congo Rivers. Bright. Wise. Kind. Brave. Loving. She will give us many sons and daughters who will be extraordinary in every way. Inshallah," he told his son Karim.

He gazed at him for a long time. Father and son spoke through their eyes. Sometimes what is not said carries more value than words. Silence can be a potent language.

“Our society is polluted and contaminated. Our leaders are venal, debauched and depraved. Am I nothing but an old wishful dreamer out of step with all the rest? Bribable, corrupt and dishonorable men govern our country. It was easy for the Anglo-Americans monsters that call the shots to turn many of them into wicked and immoral people.

“The fault lies with us. We had a choice, once, nearly 110 years ago. We decided on Sin. I am a youth possessed of idealism. Will it be of any use?”

Prince Nayef broke the silence. “She cost me the equivalent of a luxurious car like a BMW. Mind it’s not the price we must think of but also the value. Therefore, learn to cherish Turkhasa, my beloved son.”

“Yes Babba, I shall love her.”

For centuries, the Al Nayef clan had been prosperous merchant Bedouins. The Prince’s grandfather had come from Yemen at the urging of his blood cousin, Abdel Aziz Ibn-Saud who needed support in his fight for control of the vast country of Arabia. With the unending financial and military assistance from the British bankers and secret agents, he had defeated all his enemies, most of whom were clansmen. Then, in a gesture fraught with destiny and blood, he had ensured that his country would henceforth be known as Saudi Arabia. That was his name - Abdel Aziz Ibn-Saud (son of Saud). Of such stuff are dynasties created.