Legend says the town of Kolmanskop (Afrikaans for “Coleman’s head”) was named in memory of transport driver Johnny Coleman. A member of the Nama tribe, his ox-cart became mired on a nearby hilltop during a sandstorm and some say he died of thirst.

In the early 1900s, the railroad leading to the coastal settlement of Luderitz in German South West Africa (as it was then known) was perpetually assaulted by the sands of the Namib Desert. Workers constantly had to shovel sand drifts off the rails. In April, 1908, a Black railroad worker named Zacharias Lewala found a perfectly clear stone. As instructed by the crew foreman, August Stauch, Lewala dutifully handed over the rock. It was the first of the diamonds which would within four short years become millions of carats of harvested there annually.

At the start of what became a chaotic rush, one could simply bend over and pick up diamonds off the desert floor. At night, they sparkled in the light of the moon. Although Lewala was never rewarded for his discovery, Strauch became one of the richest men in Africa.

Soon, the powers-that-be (mostly the colonial government) reined in the rush for riches by declaring the region “Sperrgebiet” (“the forbidden zone”). No one, Black or White, could enter without a permit. (This rule is still in effect today.) By 1912, the harvest amounted to more than 11 percent of the world’s total diamond production.

The boomtown settlement of Kolmanskop rose up from the desolate terrain to become a fashionable and well-appointed place—for the Germans. Within just a few years, there were grand German-style stone mansions, a community center, a hospital, a 50-student school, a bowling alley, a butcher and baker and general store. An electric substation provided power. An ice factory kept resident iceboxes filled, using fresh water that was shipped in by rail. The hospital boasted the first X-ray machine in southern Africa.

A typical boom/bust story, the area was soon depleted. In 1929, diamond fever propelled people further south, where the richest diamond fields ever known had been discovered. The last resident of Kolmanskop persisted until 1956, but the place was mostly abandoned for decades. The desert came to visit, and gradually, the opulent houses and buildings have filled with sand to become crumbling reminders of the impermanence of mankind’s grand designs. The idea to make it a tourist attraction came along in 2002 and now Kolmanskop has become one of the must-see places on a tour of the modern country of Namibia. Upwards of 35,000 people a year stop by.

Kolmanskop is just eight miles southeast of the seaside German colonial town of Luderitz. I visited it without much study or preparation, on a hot winter morning in August. I browsed old photos and information in the museum at the community center until the 11a.m. English language tour. My local guide was an officious man from South Africa, complete with brushy moustache and swagger stick that evoked a credible colonial vibe. Distant and unfriendly, he herded our small group around the main attractions and then was done with us, whereupon I wandered, taking in the silence. It was like an abandoned movie set in the middle of the vastness and bland emptiness of sand. I circled the drowning edifices from another era, camera in hand, wondering who had lived there and what it had been like. My time alone was a sober chance for reflection about the layers of reality in that unlikely scene. To write of Kolmanskop is to journey not only to a physical location but into a historical constellation of greed and entitlement for some and heartache for many more.

Although the sight of this once-thriving town is fascinating in a way, I found myself put off by so much of what Kolmanskop represented. My experience was impacted by knowing how those in power treated others so unfairly and unjustly. Of course, the tribal people who lived within the Sperrgebiet area were kicked off their traditional lands. Of course, Lewala never made a rand or mark or dime for finding the first diamond. Of course, that fancy X-ray was used primarily to catch mine workers who had swallowed diamonds.

Maybe it didn’t help that, the day before, on our way to Luderitz, we had to drive 20 miles out of the way for fuel. In the small town, the signs and attitudes made it uncomfortably clear that the shadow of apartheid is still real. My friend and guide (and driver), Ian, who is Black, was clearly unnerved (despite contemporary law in his favor). After all, we were far into the backcountry, and it looked like we’d be on the road into the deep twilight. And although my host is a highly-educated, urbane man, in the eyes of the rough-looking guys at the filling station he was just “colored.” As a white person, I was “safe”, but then, as a woman, who really knows? Anyway, we got out of there, missing the chance to preview Kolmanskop on the way by. It was too dark.

Kolmanskop may have once been a glorious town to some people, but while I was there, my eyes kept being drawn across the valley, to where the Black laborers lived in far reduced circumstances. Completely abandoned for more than 65 years, the whole area is now a stark and dwindling ruin. It is gradually drowning in sand. Maybe that is for the best, after all.

[Source: www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/eerie-fascinating-pictures-kolmanskop-desert-diamond-ghost-town]