THE Platinum Belt is a wasteland. The land, once fertile, now breathes in choked whispers, its lungs clogged with dust from the mines, its rivers coursing with acid runoff, its earth gouged open, left to rot under a brutal sun. The bones of dispossession are scattered here, buried in the abandoned shafts, in the poisoned wells, in the silence of villages where nothing grows but the memory of what was stolen.
And now, as if summoned by the ghosts of their own destruction, they return. Not the miners who razed the earth – not the engineers, the executives, the white industrialists who looted these hills for their platinum riches. No, they have already taken their profits and are poised to flee. The ones who return are their partners in plunder,…
