The madness of King Louis 1 of Bronkhorstspruit

Vrye Weekblad’s Ali van Wyk tries to unravel how accused fraudster Louis Liebenberg allegedly channelled R4bn through his businesses, and wonders what the ultimate plan was.
6 mins read

I sometimes sit in a restaurant and try to work out the “boeresom” of the place – the kind of calculation you do on the back of a 30-pack of cigarettes, like farmers at a livestock auction.

I look at the number of tables and the average price of a meal. I consider how many people typically sit at a table, take into account the day of the week and so on. I estimate how many times each table is occupied per day. I imagine a profit margin, what I think the rent would be and the wages – everything I can think of. And then I almost always reach the point where I decide never to start a restaurant or even invest in one.

Then there’s South Africa’s diamond king Louis Liebenberg. For the past few years, I’ve been watching him throw money around with growing amazement. Only, I couldn’t do a boeresom of his enterprise; too much of it has taken place in the shadows. Even after the National Prosecuting Authority froze his business Tariomix’s R100m bank account in 2021, the flamboyant kingpin handed out cash like Monopoly money.

When it was said that he gave former president Jacob Zuma R500,000 to finance his court case against prosecutor Billy Downer and journalist Karyn Maughan, he responded like a veritable Donald Trump: “It was closer to R2m! It was closer to R2m!”

Around the same time, he married the third love of his life – a blonde estate agent from Bloemfontein named Dezzi van Schalkwyk – in lavish style. Pretoria’s flashiest playboy cult pastor, Xandré Strydom, was there to preach; Rejoice Zuma, Carl Niehaus and Zulu king Misuzulu kaZwelithini were also in attendance. Social development minister Lindiwe Zulu was reportedly there, as were various sports stars, and the couple was serenaded by singer Rudi Claase (don’t worry, I also had to google). In fact, the only person who doesn’t seem to have been there was Louis I of Bronkhorstspruit’s mother; it was his third wedding, he explained, and she only has two dresses.

All told, the wedding is said to have cost Liebenberg about R6m. And he didn’t stop there. Even after Tariomix was liquidated, he reportedly showed up at art auctions, bought paintings at four times their value, and paid for fallen singers’ addiction rehabilitation, according to You magazine and Rapport.

Sums that make the eyes bulge

The point is, I couldn’t figure out where Liebenberg got so much cash from when authorities had frozen so many of his bank accounts. That mystery disappeared somewhat with his and his eight co-accused’s court appearance on October 24, when a bit more detail about the charges was revealed. These number 42, and include fraud, alternatively theft, racketeering, money laundering, and various violations of the Companies Act.

What made my eyes bulge was the amount of money involved. It’s alleged that Tariomix took R4bn in “investments” from people over the years. To put that in perspective, it’s about R1bn less than the value of diesel Eskom must burn this year to keep the lights on.

What do we learn from this? That Louis Liebenberg deserves an A+ for fundraising.

A few more of the estimated figures are similarly eye-watering. Liebenberg and his eight accomplices allegedly pocketed R326m “for their personal use”. Dezzi is said to have spent R350,000 on bedroom renovations and rented a house for R504,000 a year. It’s alleged that R100m was deposited into the trust account of Walter Niedinger – Liebenberg’s former legal representative – R40m of which was apparently spent on diamond mine West Coast Resources and the other R60 million, well, who knows? Perhaps part of it was used to pay for Liebenberg and Dezzi’s luxury honeymoon in Greece.

The question that stays with me is this: if true, how the devil would someone pull off something like this – let alone under the nose of ordinary people, the financial regulator, the banks and the police?

Well, to answer that, I’ve put together a 10-point game plan for aspiring kingpins.

  1. Develop an obsession with cash. Without a blinding obsession and singular focus on an obscenely strong cash flow, R4bn will remain a mirage on the horizon.
  2. Choose a country where the system is compromised. With raw materials, there are industries like the diamond trade where massive amounts of cash are generated in a Wild West environment. If you own several legitimate mines, it solves your problem of getting funds into the banking system. The police and regulatory bodies are probably so overwhelmed that any wannabe Namaqualand diamond cowboy may slip under the radar.
  3. Get your story straight. People won’t give you money if you don’t give them a chance to internalise the story you plant. Kubus king Adriaan Niewoudt, for example, turned sour milk into cosmetic products – and made it sound like a Mozart symphony. If people believe that nonsense, why wouldn’t they think they can partner with a seasoned diamond trader who can legally buy diamond parcels cheaply from miners and sell them at a considerable profit on world markets? That sounds quite plausible.
  4. Promise an attractive return, but not paradise. As far as I understand, King Louis promised anything between a 10% and 30% return. This is a genius way to get around the “if it sounds too good to be true, it is” warning. A 30% return is too good to be true. But 10% sounds good too – and you make at least something. And what if we do hit 30%?
  5. Create a marketing network. From what I can tell, Liebenberg perfectly exploited the intersection of the internet and social networks. Of course, if you create a few instant millionaires, stories about good returns start circulating – and nothing markets your story quite like success. Liebenberg spared no effort to recruit investors. He met a person in a coffee shop over a R2,000 investment, he ran a poetry group on Facebook (yes, you’re reading that right), he pulled out his lay preacher talents from his charismatic church background to access vast evangelical church networks, he built WhatsApp groups … you get the picture.
  6. Create an inner circle of fanatical loyalists. This is probably obvious, but it helps if you’re a charming speaker and entertainer.
  7. Make sure you have enough bank accounts and companies. If the charges against Liebenberg are to be believed, operations like his depend on breaking up large sums of money and moving them around so as to stay under the radar of tax authorities, investigators and upset investors. Besides Tariomix (trading as Forever Diamonds and Gold), it’s been reported that he’s allegedly associated with Tariopart, Marauder House, Forever Zircon, Nama Stones, Anolascore, Forever Brilliance, Telgowell, Nastotorque, Enziwave and Petratel. And I’m sure I missed a few …
  8. Become a media magnate. Think big and believe you can control the narrative. Start an online publication called Die Waarheid (The Truth) (!), hire a seasoned but popular broadcaster like Niekie van den Berg and an experienced editor like Dirk Lotriet, and let it rip. All in true Trump and Elon Musk style.
  9. Develop celebrity status. Several prominent celebrities are said to have invested in Liebenberg’s scheme, including popular Namibian singer Juanita du Plessis and her husband, Doepie. He would also dramatically intervene in the lives of fallen celebrities. Take former Loftus Versfeld fly-half Derick Hougaard, for whom Liebenberg claimed to have arranged alcohol rehab, even taking him into his home.
  10. Develop political affiliations. One doesn’t know what dividends Liebenberg’s loose connection with the supposed state capture gang and later the MK Party, Zuma, Ace Magashule and Carl Niehaus brought him, but he tried. After Rapport released a video in 2022 of him going on a racist rant, he decided to sanitise his image by forming connections with high-profile people of colour. I reckon the Zuma circle was the best he could do because, there, money speaks a clear language. He worked hard to revive the old myth of a kind of blood connection between the Zulu and Afrikaner nations, but few people saw him as a legitimate Afrikaner leader. Liebenberg’s own adventure in politics – he stood as an independent candidate in the general election – gave birth to a pitiful mouse. Despite all his bravado and scandalous revelations about other politicians, he could barely muster 1,500 votes.

What’s the point of the madness?

One aspect of King Louis 1 of Bronkhorstspruit that I could never figure out is that he constantly posted the most absurd monologues on social media, where he launched into tirades from his toilet or shower against people with plots against him and where he took a turn through insanity. Whether this is real or affected madness is difficult to say.

But a good journalist friend, who got to know Liebenberg reasonably well, says everyone misunderstands him. He says people think Liebenberg is after money, but that’s not true; it’s more about the fame, attention, adrenaline, and the whole experience of the dangerous trip.

He says Liebenberg knew from the beginning where the kind of activity he’s involved in ends, and that he may now eventually get a substantial prison sentence. But, he says, Liebenberg doesn’t care, because, with his mouth and skills, he’ll be able to maintain a decent lifestyle even in prison. And if he gets time off his sentence for good behaviour, well, before you know it, the old Liebenberg will be somewhere in a small town telling a new story of hope and investment. It still beats working.

The question I want answered is this. Say Liebenberg listed his company with 10 diamond mines on the JSE in 2016, sold a few hundred million rand worth of shares (he can clearly sell anything) and manoeuvred himself into the position of chair of the board of directors, or CEO, with a salary of R5m a month. Then, even if his company went into debt administration in 2024, he would still surely have been better off with the money he could have set aside. He could even have afforded a retirement cottage in Koingnaas.

Ali van Wyk

Ali van Wyk is content editor of Vrye Weekblad.

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