Death stalks a field of gems

At dawn that same day, he had been in the diamond field filling bags with dirt to carry off and later sieve. "We heard a gunshot. It was very close. Then everybody, including myself, started to run, carrying our bags of soil. We were running and running. . . . We were more than 50 and they were firing shots at us."

They scattered, but Ronald didn't want to drop his sack, thinking he might have a gigantic diamond. Finally, exhausted, he ditched it to save himself.

"That was the day I thought, 'Maybe this is the end of my life.' " Yet he went back in.

It is filthy, back-breaking work, a shock after his peaceful insurance job and black-market money dealing. The hastily dug tunnels can be deep, and they often collapse, burying prospectors alive.

Opinions differ on the significance of the Marange field. Some put its worth in billions of dollars annually; others estimate this at under $50 million.

Local industry figures say that in the last 12 months, high-quality diamonds have increasingly been turning up. The Reserve Bank chief, Gideon Gono, said last month that more than 500 syndicates were operating in Marange, and estimated that the government was losing $1.2 billion in diamond revenue every month.

But a Belgian-based diamond expert scoffed at the figure -- equivalent to global diamond production -- and said 90% of the gems were low-quality industrial diamonds.

'Dangerous'

Brilliant flame trees line the streets of Mutare, like dawdling women bearing scarlet parasols. Intelligence men are everywhere. Foreigners brag loudly and flirt with local women in restaurants and bars. A car draws up and a plump fellow nods hello.

"Ah, things are tough, eh? Things are dangerous," he says, grinning slyly. Pause. "You wanna buy dah-mons?"

It's a place of treachery and swirling rumor: People talk of a $5-million diamond found here recently, or the woman who made her fortune trading cabbages for diamonds.

When the rush started, miners were loath to leave their diggings even for water: It was common for them to swap a diamond for a bottle of water, or so the story goes.

Industry sources whisper the names of notorious international diamond dealers said to have fingers in the Marange pie.

The fenced area in Marange operated by the Zimbabwe Mining Development Corp. is known locally as "Mai Mujuru's Breast," meaning the breast of Mama Mujuru, a reference to the country's corpulent vice president, Joyce Mujuru. You need just a short time there, people tell you breathlessly, and you'll have a diamond the size of a bird's egg.