When I told him of my intention to go to the front in a few days, Massengo refused and repeatedly invoked the excuse of my personal safety. I attacked him head-on, asking if he distrusted me in some way because the reasons he gave were not valid. I demanded that he should treat me with greater frankness and say if he had any misgivings about me. The blow was too direct and he gave way; it was left that we would make the trip together in five or six days’ time, when a report would come from some inspectors he had sent to those places.
In reality, there were problems for the simple reason that neither Kabila nor Massengo had set foot on the various fronts for a very long time and the combatants were bitterly critical of them for this; the fact that the head of the Cuban expeditionary force could go and take part in life at the front, while those in charge of the war did not do the same, might have given them fresh reason to feel censorious. I was aware of this, but—apart from my concern to make a direct assessment of the situation—I also calculated that the Congolese leaders might feel forced to tour the fronts, and thus get to know and try to solve problems relating to the supply of food, clothing, medicine and ammunition.
To familiarize ourselves with every aspect of the area in preparation for our planned trip, we went with the chief of staff to Kazima, 27 kilometers north of Kibamba. There, too, we found the scenes of indiscipline that have been a recurrent theme in this account, although Massengo was able to take some correct measures such as the replacement of a commander who spent the day sheltering in nearby mountains (because he was terrified of aircraft) with the lieutenant who had been his deputy. Our own men, four machine gunners, were laid low with malaria, and we took them to Kibamba for treatment.
We had advanced deep into the political territory of General Moulana, and the reserve toward Massengo was reflected in the attitude of the local population and the combatants, who only reluctantly accepted what was meant to be a central authority.
We continued on to a place called Karamba. There we found one of the most original “barriers,” staffed by a group of Rwandans who were independent of Mundandi and had political-ideological differences with him that I would not know how to describe. They had set up a recoilless 75 mm. cannon on a hill—a pointless deployment because it had no strategic importance and all the artillery could do was sink a boat that might pass nearby. It had, of course, already fired some volleys without hitting the target because the artillerymen did not know how to handle it and, in any case, the boats kept away a sufficient distance to remain out of range. This was yet another piece of wasted equipment. I recommended its immediate transfer to Kibamba, where there were no artillery pieces and some men were being trained in how to use them; but this advice, as was so often the case, fell on deaf ears. It was not that Massengo did not understand such matters, but simply that he did not have the authority. He did not feel that he had sufficient force to impose decisions that went contrary to the established norms. A weapon that came into the hands of a group of combatants was held sacred, and the only ones who could snatch it away (rather easily, in fact) were the enemy.
Massengo wanted to turn the tide of events through offensive operations, and raised with me the idea of an attack on Uvira. I had to object to this because inspections of that area had revealed the same general conditions, the same basic unfamiliarity with military methods, and a total lack of combat readiness. The scouts in that area had instructions to cross enemy lines and investigate the possibility of laying ambushes on the other side of the little town of Uvira, at the tip of Lake Tanganyika where the roads from Bukavu, and from Bujumbura in Burundi, come to an end. The idea, then, was to cross to the other side of Uvira and break the enemy’s communications. Given the vast expanse of the Congo, it is quite easy to carry out such incursions. But not only was no one available to take our men across the lines, they were even being refused permission to go themselves, on the grounds that an attack was being prepared and they might alert the enemy.
While all these events were taking place, we received news from Dar es-Salaam—some of it good. A ship had arrived from Cuba with a cargo of weapons, provisions and 17,000 rounds of ammunition for our FAL rifles; it would be sent by road very soon. I learned that news of the Cubans killed in the Congo had appeared in all the newspapers, and that the ambassador had persuaded the Congolese formally to deny our presence there. This did not seem to me to be very wise because such things cannot be kept hidden and the only correct thing to do was to remain silent. I expressed my views to Pablo Rivalta.
Taking the letter for the ambassador and some other reports, two compañeros departed (Ottu, who had been ill for some time, and Sitaini, whose bilateral hernia had become a medical case). I now had the opportunity to release him and to end the annoying situation that his reluctance to be there with us had brought about; I found this painful, but it was the best solution. Those who “cracked” and were forced to remain against their will tried to justify themselves by making negative remarks, which found a ready echo among the other compañeros. In this case, Sitaini’s illness justified his withdrawal, and that is why I allowed him to flee.
My Swahili teacher, Ernest Ilunga, whom I had come to regard as a younger brother, was also due to leave in a few days’ time. He had had some epileptic-like seizures and the doctors suspected that a tumor was developing in his upper nervous system. Massengo disagreed and explained to me that it was a fairly simple matter of evil spirits and the local doctors would cure him in Kigoma. So that is where he went, rather than Dar es-Salaam, where he had been advised to go for a cure, or at least for a diagnosis.
Following instructions, Moja visited Calixte’s front and sent me a report which I have included here because it sheds light on a number of issues:
Tatu:
I am writing to you from the Kozolelo-Makungu front, where a group of 10 men were sent. I reached them yesterday, having learned that a Congolese patrol had arrested a civilian with a Tshombe identity card in a settlement on the plain.
Today, the 19th [of July], I met Commander Calixte, who personally interrogated the prisoner; he is kept locked up in a house away from the front, and has not seen any of the Cubans.
According to Calixte, the prisoner told him that he had been under arrest in [Front de] Force at the time of the attack and that four officers had been killed there, with another two in Katenga, as well as a number of soldiers; he said he did not know the dead officers by name, but had been able to see their ranks and that the prisoner’s identity card was not an army card but the kind issued to everyone going to Albertville; he also said that in Nyangi there were 25 guardsmen, a mortar and a cannon located on the road to Makungu; that the prison where they had gathered the attacking revolutionaries was a kilometer from [Front de] Force in the direction of Albertville; that the guardsmen had taken some of their watches and shoes, and that they had had to be buried by civilians.
Commander Calixte agrees that some men should be trained in the use of mortars, cannon and antiaircraft weapons, although he has none of these, and so we are waiting for the return of Captain Zakarias (Mundandi’s replacement) to take these men to the [Front de] Force front.1 Today, the compañeros at the Makungu front began to give classes to the rest of Commander Calixte’s force. About Faume, I cannot yet tell you anything.2 In a few days I’ll send you more details about the situation—with a Cuban, as is natural for such details, and in a sealed envelope.
Moja
Soon afterwards, we got the best news of this period: the slight breeze. The ambush had gone off quite successfully: 25 Rwandans and 25 Cubans, led respectively by Captain Zakarias and Mbili, but in reality under the latter’s leadership, had carried out the engagement, if it can be called that.
Azi’s inspection had shown that the trucks passed there in single file, without protection. The 50 men attacked a truck with five soldiers. A bazooka round from Sultán opened the proceedings, and for a few minutes the vehicle and the mercenaries (all of them black) were riddled with bullets. Only one was
carrying a weapon as the truck was transporting food, cigarettes and drinks. From the point of view of a gradual preparation for large-scale actions, the prize couldn’t have been better—but a number of accidents marred the achievement.
When the shooting began, the Rwandans ran backwards firing their weapons. This put our men in danger, and in fact Compañero Arobaini lost a finger when a bullet crushed the metacarpus of one hand.
Two examples give some idea of the primitive mentality that still holds sway in the Congo. When Captain Zakarias learned of the wound caused by the FM fire, he examined it and decreed that the guilty man should lose two of his fingers, in accordance with the principle of an eye for an eye; he took out his knife there and then and would have cut off the poor man’s fingers if Mbili had not very tactfully persuaded him to forgive the man. The other example is of a Rwandan soldier who started to run away as soon as he heard gunfire (our own fire, as there was no combat); since each Rwandan was accompanied by a Cuban, our man in question caught him by the arm to hold him back, and the terrified kid, in order to shake off an attacker who was stopping him from protecting himself, gave the Cuban a tremendous bite on the hand.
These were two indications of the long road we would have had to travel to make an army out of this shapeless mass of men. Unfortunately, the tragicomedy of this ambush did not end there. After the first moments of stupor, the brilliant victors realized that the greatest prize was on top of the truck: bottles of beer and whiskey. Mbili tried to load the food and destroy the alcohol, but this proved impossible. Within a few hours all the combatants were drunk, under the astonished and disapproving gaze of our men who were not allowed any of the alcohol. Later they held a meeting and decided they would not return to the plain for the other actions, as had been planned, but would return to base—they had done enough already. In a diplomatic attempt to avoid being left with only the Cubans, Mbili accepted the decision. On the way back, a drunken Captain Zakarias ran into a peasant and finished him off with a few shots, claiming that he had been a spy.
Most curiously, when I explained to Massengo how dangerous it was to behave in this way with the peasants, he tried to defend Zakarias on the grounds that the tribe living in this region was hostile to the revolution. It is worth noting that people were not seen as individuals, but rather in terms of their tribe— a concept from which it was very difficult to escape; when a tribe was friendly, all its members were friendly; and vice versa when it was hostile. Apart from not helping the revolution to develop, such schemas were also clearly dangerous because—as we saw later—some members of the friendly tribes were enemy informers, and in the end nearly all of them became our enemies.
We had had our first taste of victory, and it was as if it had rid us of some of the previous bad taste. But the problems posed by the things I have described were accumulating in such a way that I was beginning to change my time frame. If everything depended on the development of these armed groups into a fully fledged Liberation Army, then five years was a very optimistic target for the Congolese revolution to reach a victorious conclusion, unless something changed in the way the war was conducted. But that possibility seemed more remote with every passing day.
1. Che’s note: Captain Zakarias refused to accept Congolese at his front because he said they stole things in his camp.
2. Che’s note: We heard that, due to some friction between them, Commander Faume had split away from Calixte and was on the plain with a lot of weapons. At the time, we were seeking capable leaders among the Congolese.
BREAKING LOOSE
As was my usual habit, I made an analysis of the previous month (July) in my field diary:
A slight improvement on what has occurred to date. Kabila came, stayed for five days, and departed, which exacerbated the rumors about him. He doesn’t like my presence, but he seems to have accepted it for the moment. So far, nothing makes me think he is the man for the situation. He lets the days go by without concerning himself with anything other than political squabbles, and appears to be too addicted to drink and women.
At the military level, since the disaster at Front de Force and the near-disaster at Katenga, there have been some small successes worth noting: two minor engagements at Kabimba, the ambush at Front de Force, the other one at Katenga where a bridge was set on fire. At the same time, some training has begun and a search is on for men of a higher caliber at the other fronts. The appalling method continues of throwing weapons all over the place, without any order or coordination. My impression is that progress can be made, though at a slower pace and there is a chance Kabila might let me do something. For the moment, I’m still the scholarship boy.
We got news of an ambush at Katenga. The men stayed there for four days and withdrew because the guardsmen did not come along the road. Before leaving, they burnt and destroyed a bridge. My monthly analysis [above] refers to this action.
The terrible thing is that the same situation of indiscipline and lack of fighting spirit were observed in this area.
Azi arrived from Front de Force with 14 men, all Cubans, to find the food necessary for the laying of another, slightly more ambitious ambush. Given the conditions in the area, they needed to take some food with them. The supply of provisions had been one of the sore points for the soldiers in the field. In the area where they had their permanent camps, it was possible to find some meat and cassava (the staple food), but the major plantations of this root are located on the plain, where the peasants who grew it lived. It was only the depredations of enemy soldiers that forced them to leave and take refuge in the less hospitable highlands. To find cassava, it was necessary to make long and somewhat dangerous incursions down to the plain and it was the Cubans who started these raids because the Rwandans systematically refused, arguing that the high command had a duty to supply them with food. There were even days when there wasn’t enough food, and then they refused to attend the classes on heavy weapons or do any kind of preparatory work, such as antiaircraft defense or trench-digging. The phrase they used—another of the clichés we had to suffer during our time in the Congo—was “Hapana chakula, hapana travaille,” meaning something like, “No food, no work”.
Three new compañeros, Sita, Saba and Bahati, asked to return to Cuba. I was extremely hard on them, refusing point-blank to consider their transfer but ordering them to remain in the base for supply duties.
On August 6, we heard that Gbenyé had been removed by Soumialot. Two days later, Massengo came to tell me that he had been summoned by Kabila to Kigoma and would return the next day. We discussed all the external problems of the movement, and I mentioned I knew Gbenyé had been removed by the Revolutionary Council. He said that, in his view, Soumialot did not have the authority to decree such a measure, but he would discuss all these things with Kabila and he would give me a better explanation of what had happened.
Massengo left, and the next day the group that was undergoing training at the Lake [Base] was dissolved. This was the same group that had suffered great losses in numbers and morale on the day after Kabila’s departure; work had stopped, the trenches had been left half-dug, and we had acknowledged their spirit of combat and organization when the appearance of a small enemy boat raised the alarm. It had been impossible to form a second line of defense, as planned, because there were no combatants to do it, while in the first line a number of the platoon leaders were absent. A precarious line had been formed with some volunteers who came forward, in the half-dug and already half-collapsed trenches. Now, with Massengo gone, the group vanished into the pandemonium of Kibamba.
Arguments broke out again because no one recognized the authority of the substitute officers. It occasionally came to blows, or guns or knives would be flashed for a while. In one disgraceful incident, an officer in charge sought refuge in the Cubans’ house because a soldier had asked him for rice and, when refused, had threatened him with a cocked gun and sent him running to the “temple” of the (fortunately respected) Cubans. I think the soldier got his
rice, and in any case there was no disciplinary sanction. Such was the demoralization that spread as soon as the top leaders left the headquarters of the General Staff.
To avoid contamination, I removed the useful Cubans out of the camp and left only those who had asked to return to Cuba, along with the lakeside machine-gunners, the sick and some instructors. I planned to wait a few days and, if nothing happened during that time, to head straight for the front without begging for further authorization.
From the tone of some notes and various conversations with compañeros, I began to suspect the meaning behind certain phrases. In the reports on some military or reconnaissance activity, after the failure of the operation was registered, the explanation appeared: “The Congolese refused to go”; “The Congolese refused to fight”; “The Congolese, etc.” In analyzing this, as well as the tension between those who planned to abandon the struggle and those who remained, I drafted a “Message to the Combatants,” to be read at the fronts where we had troops. The maelstrom of the following months, and the instability of my situation, having to go from one place to another, prevented me from issuing any other messages, although I don’t know if my words had any effect. I will transcribe here the only one that was read and which gives an idea of the situation up to that point and my views about the problems we were facing.
Message to the Combatants
The African Dream Page 9
