At midday we met Azima on his return from the reconnoiter. He had gone along the road as far as a village we called Lulimba, without encountering any guardsmen. The road runs parallel to the positions occupied by the rebels in the mountains, up to the point where it joins the highway from Front de Force and heads straight toward the hills, ascending at the lowest and most negotiable point.
Azima told us how he had scouted a kilometer beyond the junction, along the apparently more important road to the Kimbi River, but found no trace of human presence. They also explored the place known as the Mission, a former Protestant church that is now abandoned; as they crossed this no-man’s-land, they were spotted by look-outs on the ridges six kilometers away who fired at them with 17 artillery rounds, a number of mortar shells and some other arms he could not specify. Their aim was accurate enough, but it would have been a titanic feat to score a parabolic hit on six men marching along a road; the result was an outrageous waste of projectiles, fired by chance in an area that should have had outposts all over the place.
With all this ahead of us, we decided to halt and get some sleep, for there was still a long way to go, and it was exhausting to attempt it in one day. We had to send someone ahead to tell the General Staff at Lubondja that we were coming by the road across the plain. The next day, we made contact with advance parties which, on our advice, had been sent to accompany us to the Lulimba barrier in the mountains.
As we traveled, we could see the large number of peasant settlements in the forest at the foot of the mountains, two, three or four kilometers from the main road, in places where there was some water. The peasants had built primitive houses, and those willing to run the risk of an encounter with the enemy provided for themselves from new or old fields close to the road as well as from a little game-hunting. We spoke for a long time with the peasants; as we had no medicines with us, I asked Makungu to send a doctor to attend to some sick people and I promised that a doctor would drop by every fortnight on scheduled rounds.
Lieutenant-Colonel Lambert’s barrier was a cluster of little huts (complete with lice) built of straw or zinc by the side of the road, with no vegetation to conceal them, with no trenches or shelters of any kind, and with the scant protection of a couple of antiaircraft machine guns. When aircraft appeared, the soldiers defended themselves by running and hiding in a nearby gully. But although the position was very visible, there had not been any major air attacks. There were no fortifications at the first defensive line either, only a few bazookas and look-outs. (Trenches were always a headache because, due to some superstition or other, the Congolese soldiers refused to go into holes they had dug in the ground and failed to construct any solid defenses against attack.) The strength of the position was the height from which it overlooked the road winding among the hills; this made it easy to attack troops coming up toward them, as long as they came only by road. If infantry were sent to advance at the edges, there would be no one to cut them off and they could take the position with virtually no casualties.
There were very few people at the barrier and no officers. We thought of marching straight on to Lubondja, but they sent word that a commander would come up to meet with us. When he arrived the next day, he told us that Lieutenant-Colonel Lambert was in Fizi because of a sick daughter; he had been at the Lake [Base] before that, and it was now a month and a half since he last set foot in the camp. The man in charge of the troop spent his time in Lubondja, which was classified as the General Staff, and only a lower-ranking officer remained at the barrier (which made no difference because no one had any authority over the men). Food was provided by the peasants, who had to walk some 15 kilometers to the camp from the area around Lubondja and occasionally they did some hunting nearby where there is plenty of game.
When the food arrived (basically cassava root), they began the work of grinding it individually to make bukali, as there was no tradition of communal meals. Each person had to prepare his own portion with what he had managed to obtain, so that the camp became a huge multi-kitchen where even the look-outs participated in the general disorder.
They asked me to address the troop, a group of less than 100 who were not all armed, and I fired off my usual “volley.” Armed men, I said, are not soldiers but simply armed men; a revolutionary soldier is formed in combat, and there was no sign of combat around there. I asked them to come down from the hills, so that Cubans and Congolese shared the same conditions as we had come to endure the hardships of the struggle together. The war would be hard and peace would not come soon; victory could not be expected without great sacrifices. I also explained that dawa is not always effective against modern weapons, and that death would be common in battle. All this was said in my elementary French, which Charles Bemba then translated into Kibembe, the native dialect in that region.
The commander was willing to come down with his troop, but would not attack unless he received orders from his superiors. We would achieve nothing by bringing this motley little group down to the plain if there was no order to attack Lulimba. I decided to go to Fizi and try to convince Lambert. We went first to Lubondja on the great Fizi plain, some 15 kilometers along the main road from the outpost. The peasants gave us a fine reception, which took material shape in food. The whole atmosphere was one of peace and security, as it had been a long time since the guardsmen last made a raid into the mountains, and the whole group enjoyed the relative well-being characterized by a variety of foods such as potatoes and onions and a more stable life. We left the next day and had traveled 10 kilometers when a truck carrying troops to Lubondja appeared and, on its way back, took us to Fizi. Inside the vehicle was an individual with all the signs of alcohol poisoning, including dreadful vomiting. I found out the next day that he had died in Fizi’s hospital—or receptacle would be a better word, because it had no doctors or medical assistance of any kind.
During the 40 or more kilometers on the road, we were able to observe a number of features of the region: first, the large number of armed men wandering about all the villages we passed, each with an officer who spent his time either in his own or in a friendly house, clean, well fed and well supplied with drink; second, the fact that the soldiers appeared to have a lot of freedom and to be quite happy with the situation, always walking around with a rifle on their shoulder; and third, the great distance between Lambert’s men and Moulana’s, who regarded each other like cats and dogs. They immediately recognized Charles, Massengo’s inspector, and the atmosphere froze.
Fizi is a small town, but still the largest I saw in the Congo. It has two clearly defined sectors: a small one with masonry houses, some very modern; and an African quarter with the usual huts, impoverished and lacking water and hygienic facilities, the latter being the more populous of the two, and had a lot of refugees from other regions; the big shots and army personnel lived in the other, smaller sector.
Fizi is situated at the top of the elevation that rises from the lake, 37 kilometers from Baraka in a prairie that has little vegetation. Its only defense was a single antiaircraft machine gun, operated by a Greek mercenary who had been taken prisoner in fighting around Lulimba; but they were quite satisfied with such a precarious defense. General Moulana gave me a very cool reception as he knew the purpose of my visit and, given the tension between Lambert and himself, he thought it opportune to make his disgust obvious. I was in a strange situation: housed by General Moulana, a polite but frosty host, and courted by an exuberant and extremely friendly Lambert, I was an undeclared battlefield. As a result, we were given two meals: one by the general, one by Lambert. They treated each other with respect, and Lambert would come to attention masterfully in front of the general.
In a brief meeting I informed the major-general [sic] of the work we had accomplished at the front, and of my intention to discuss with Lambert whether he could do anything in the Lulimba area without making too much of a commitment. The general listened to me in silence, and then gave orders in Swahili to his adjutant (he did not speak French
), whereupon the latter began to describe the major battles at Mwenga, a town about 200 kilometers to the north that they had just captured. The booty was a flag and a shotgun, which they had taken from a Belgian priest. Apparently, they had been unable to advance any further and capture other villages because of a shortage of weapons and ammunition. They had taken two prisoners, but (to quote their own words): “You know, discipline is not very good and they were killed before reaching here.” The patriotic forces had lost three men. Now they wanted to reinforce Mwenga with heavy weapons and had sent someone to ask for them at the Lake [Base], along with more ammunition. Then they would begin a push toward Bukavu, through an area where they had some 300 weapons at their disposal. I didn’t want to ask too many questions because irony and distrust was visible on his face. I therefore let him talk, although it did not seem very logical that 300 men, having taken the position after a raging battle, should have won no other trophies than a flag and the village priest’s shotgun.
That night the general’s adviser, along with a colonel from the Kasengo area, explained to me the special features of their vast territority. They referred to Uvira as a sector in their zone, although its commander, Colonel Bidalila, did not take orders directly from them; the colonel from Kasengo, on the other hand, was a loyal subordinate of the general’s. Both complained that there were not enough weapons; the man from Kasengo had been waiting some time for equipment to arrive. I asked him why he had not made a trip to Kibamba, and he replied that he could expect the requested material to reach Baraka, from where he and his men would take it to Kasengo and begin the offensive.
Both General Moulana and the colonel from Kasengo were veterans who had begun the struggle alongside Patrice Lumumba; they did not say so explicitly, but the “adviser” took it upon himself to explain that they had actually initiated the struggle and were genuine revolutionaries, whereas Massengo and Kabila had joined later and now wanted to capitalize on everything. He made a direct attack on these compañeros, accusing them of sabotaging his actions. In his view, as Kabila and Massengo were from northern Katanga, they were sending arms and provisions there and keeping this area, which was loyal to Soumialot, completely starved of supplies; the same was happening in Kasengo. Moreover, he had no respect for the command hierarchy. There was a general here, and yet Lieutenant-Colonel Lambert—the brigade commander—was completely independent and settled matters directly with Kabila and Massengo, obtaining weapons and ammunition that they did not receive and thereby undermining discipline and hindering the advance of the revolution.
The people from Kasengo and from Fizi both asked me for Cubans.
I explained that I was trying to concentrate my scant forces and did not want to scatter them across the extensive front and that one or two Cubans would not change the situation. I asked them to go to the Lake [Base], where our compañeros could instruct them in the handling of machine guns, artillery and mortars, so that their own people would be able to use these weapons instead of having to rely on a mercenary, as they were doing in Fizi. They were not convinced in the slightest by this argument.
The general invited me to go to Baraka and to his own village, Mbolo. I accepted diplomatically, but said that we would have to return the same day as we were due to go back to the Lulimba area. Before we left, they took me around Fizi and I had an opportunity to examine a wounded man from Kasengo. The bullet had gone through muscle, and the untreated wound had become infected and was emitting a nauseating smell (he had spent a fortnight like this). I recommended that he should be sent without delay to Kibamba for treatment by the doctors there, and suggested we could take advantage of our own trip to take him right away as far as Baraka. They considered it was more important to put a large escort on the truck and to leave the wounded man in Fizi; I heard no more about him, but I imagine he didn’t do so well.
What was important was to put on a show. General Moulana put on his combat gear, consisting of a motorcycle helmet with a leopard skin on top, making him look pretty ridiculous and causing Tumaini to call him “the cosmonaut.” Walking very slowly and stopping every few paces, we eventually reached Baraka, a small town on the shores of the lake, where we again saw the disorganization which I have described frequently before.
Baraka displayed evidence of a former relative prosperity, including a cotton-baling factory, but everyone had been ruined by the war and the little factory had been bombed. Mbolo lies on the lake some 30 kilometers to the north, accessible by a very bad road that runs parallel to the shore. Nearly every thousand meters we came across what they called a “barrier,” a stop signal as solid as the couple of poles and nondescript string from which it had been improvised, where travelers were required to show their documents. The shortage of gasoline meant that the only people traveling were functionaries of one kind or another, so that the effect of these groups was to disperse their forces instead of concentrating them. At Mbolo there was a change of personnel, the soldiers in the escort truck replacing three who were due to go to Fizi on leave; they organized a military parade that culminated in a speech by General Moulana. There the ridiculous achieved Chaplinesque dimensions; I felt I was watching a bad comedy, bored and hungry, while the officers uttered shouts, stamped on the ground and did imposing about-turns, and the poor soldiers came and went, vanished and reappeared, in the performance of their maneuvers. The man in charge of the detachment was a former non-commissioned officer in the Belgian army. Any soldier who fell into the hands of one of these NCOs had to learn the whole complicated liturgy of barracks discipline, with all its local nuances, which was all very well for organizing a parade whenever a fly moved in the area, but never got beyond that. The worst of it was that the soldiers were more receptive to all this nonsense than to lessons in tactics.
Eventually, they all left in different directions, while the general, in a friendly manner, took us to his home to recover from the day’s exertions. That night we returned to Fizi and told Lambert that we wanted to leave immediately. Apart from the general hostility, the frostiness that dominated our relations, so different from the general attitude of the Congolese toward us, there were so many signs of disorder and decay that it was obviously necessary to take serious measures to change things. I said as much to Lambert when I saw him and he modestly replied that General Moulana was like that but, as I had seen, such things did not happen in his sector.
We departed the next day in a jeep, but we soon ran out of gasoline and were left on the road to continue on foot.
In the afternoon we stopped to rest at the house of one of Lambert’s friends who sold pombe. The colonel said he was going to see if any hunting was possible around there and it wasn’t long before some quarry materialized—a piece of meat that we ate with our usual appetite—but Lambert himself turned up much later, showing signs that he had had plenty of pombe although he kept his wits about him (his voice certainly had a pleasant quality). We ran into a group of 15 or 20 of Lambert’s recruits, who had decided to leave because they had not been given any weapons. He gave them a good tongue lashing, speaking with exaggerated emphasis because his state of euphoria had made him verbose, and they gathered up our equipment and accompanied us to Lubondja. I thought they were going to return to the front, but in fact they were simply enlisted as porters and then allowed to go free.
Later we discussed future plans with Lambert. He proposed leaving the General Staff in Lubondja, but I argued that it was nearly 25 kilometers from the enemy. A force easily numbering 350 men could not have its General Staff so far away; the impedimenta could be left here, but we ourselves had to be with our combatants at the front. He accepted this rather grudgingly, and we agreed to leave the next day. He took us to see his arsenal, at a well-concealed spot some five kilometers from Lubondja. It was quite considerable given the conditions of the Congo at the time: a large quantity of weapons and ammunition, including some they had captured in the past when the enemy had been weaker; a 60 mm. mortar with its shells, US-type Belgian bazook
as, also with some shells, and 50-caliber machine guns. It was much better supplied than the weapons store at Fizi, giving some weight to what the other people had been arguing.
Our plan was to go straight down to the plain to meet Lambert’s troops, those at Kalonda-Kibuyu and Calixte’s troops, leaving only a few ambushes to intercept reinforcements. We would mount an elastic encirclement of Lulimba and use the men from Kalonda-Kibuyu for the dual purpose of attacking on the road and preventing the arrival of reinforcements; in reserve we would have the men from the barrier on the Lulimba-Kabambare road who were also under Lambert’s command.
We set out with all these good intentions, but we had not left the village of Lubondja (after the respective assemblies and the dawa ceremonies) when two T-28s and two B-26s appeared and started strafing the village systematically. After 45 minutes, two people had been slightly wounded, six houses destroyed and some vehicles hit by shrapnel. A commander explained to me that this demonstrated the strength of dawa: only two slightly wounded. I thought it best in this case not to start a discussion about the relative efficacy of aircraft and dawa, and so we left it at that.
The prevarication began when we reached the barrier, until finally Lambert explained to me that for various reasons it was not possible to go down: he had only 67 rifles and his 350 men had scattered among the various groups of dwellings in the nearby area; he did not have the forces to carry out a proper attack; he would immediately go and search for those on vacation and impose the necessary discipline, etc.
I persuaded him to send a group of men down to reconnoiter the plain and to continue with our advance; I would go with them. The next morning he left with the first group of men, telling me that he would accompany them a short distance and then go on to the Kabambare barrier to get more people; we would meet again down below.
The African Dream Page 13
