by James Steel
The Rwandans are not interested in the boys and young men, most of whom were not even born in 1994, and put them on ferries over the lake to the new camp. Many of them have committed rapes and murders in Kivu but the Rwandans aren’t bothered about that; they committed enough of their own crimes in Kivu and don’t want to even start raising that issue.
Since then, the numbers of prisoners in the cells have been increasing as more are flown in from the KDF raids every day. The older ones are sent straight on to Rwanda so the group of over three hundred currently sitting in rows on the floor are all young men.
‘Hey, someone’s coming.’ Simon nudges him and Joseph stops playing with his manacles.
An armed guard from the KDF walks alongside the wire with a young-looking Congolese man in a new suit carrying a briefcase. Joseph and Simon scan his face for clues as to what might be about to happen to them. He is a squat, ugly-looking man but he has a friendly expression and Joseph feels less worried.
The man is let into the locked enclosure. He stands in front of them and begins talking in Swahili. ‘Good morning, gentlemen, my name is Mr Gabriel Mwamba. I am a representative from the youth wing of the Kivu People’s Party. I am here to talk to you today about the opportunities for training that this party can bring you as we all struggle to build a new Kivu.’
The tired faces look at Gabriel in confusion but he’s enjoying his new role and wants to motivate the young men with the passion he feels about the new opportunity that Kivu has.
‘All of you here have been in the FDLR. As you know, the new army of the republic of Kivu, the Kivu Defence Force, is fighting a successful war against the militias. You know this, or you would not be here otherwise.’ Gabriel’s tone is generally positive but he pauses to make sure the boys get the message about who is boss.
‘Now, you are sitting on your backsides in this cage all day thinking what will happen to me? Will I be prosecuted for war crimes? Will they get the International Criminal Court on me? You all know the cases from the Congo like Jean-Pierre Bemba of the MLC and Thomas Lubanga of the UPC militias.
‘Even if we do not decide to hand you over to these people then we could set up our own courts here in Kivu and try you. The great President Rukuba has said that he wants justice to reign in his new land!’
Gabriel holds up a finger and glares at them. ‘You have all committed crimes and done terrible things!’
Joseph looks down. He knows he has – the dreams continue every night of the woman’s screaming face and him covered in mud that he cannot remove.
Gabriel relents a little. ‘Well, I can tell you that President Rukuba wants to see justice done but he also wants peace. So he will be more likely to overlook your cases if you are prepared to renounce your evil ways and show willing to help in establishing our great new country of Kivu.
‘The President has signed an executive order and I am here to offer you the chance to join the new youth wing of the builder of this new country, the Kivu People’s Party. If you join then I can get special preference for you in training and early release from this prison. Now who thinks that that sounds like a good idea?’
Alex managed to steer Sophie and the others round the rest of the base without further controversy. Col has been tactfully silent, and now they are sitting on folding chairs on a bright green grassy slope going down to a small cove. The lake is looking as pristine as ever, it’s a balmy sunny morning, they are drinking tea from green army mugs and all appears well with the world.
However, Sophie does not share the relaxed mood.
With a first in politics from Oxford, an MSc from SOAS and a career in development, she is not going to let Fang get away with his throwaway comment.
She looks at him sitting across the semicircle of chairs from her. ‘Mr Wu, what exactly did you mean by saying that the West has had its day and that only China can rebuild Africa?’
Alex groans internally but at the same time he wants to hear what is said. This is a big issue that is weighing on his mind at the moment.
Fang is pumped up on the success of his vision so far and barely pauses for breath. ‘In China we do not see Africa as the West does, as an object of charity to feel sorry for. Africans are not victims. When I look at Africa I don’t see starvation and wars, I see opportunity, I see money. We give investment not charity.
‘Does anyone in the West have that vision? No. What can the West offer? Pop stars.’ He laughs contemptuously. ‘You organise a concert or send Bono along or maybe Madonna will adopt some more babies. It is a joke. I am offering managed capitalism and prosperity, not democracy.’
Sophie is glowering at him but he continues blithely. ‘Western ideas about democracy just don’t work in developing states. Democracy is about a lot more than voting. It works in rich societies but it doesn’t work in poor countries.’
Sophie shoots back. ‘But there are plenty of democracies in Africa now.’
‘Yes, but most of them are sham democracies – the ruling parties just manipulate the results and the country divides along ethnic lines. Look at what happened in the Kenyan election in 2007, it nearly pulled the country apart.’
Fang leans forward in his chair towards her.
‘Democracy is about a lot more than just voting. The West needs to understand this and then get the sequence of developing a nation right. Before democracy you need prosperity and before prosperity you need security. What is the point of actually working and producing wealth if a man with a gun just comes along and steals it? I mean, your organisation will be retraining the prisoners to give them jobs so they don’t need to join the militias. But you can only do that because of the security that we are providing.’ He gestures with satisfaction to Alex and the military base around them. ‘We are establishing the mandate of heaven. That must be the first step in building a new state, not democracy.’
Sophie is not going to accept this lying down. ‘Well, I think you are being very sweeping about the West’s engagement with Africa. We do actually do a lot of good.’
Fang shrugs in a disinterested way. ‘No one in the West actually bothers to think about the long-term causes of African poverty. Most of the poverty here is man-made because of poor African leadership. You have been giving aid money to Africa for fifty years and it is poorer in many areas than it was at independence fifty years ago. Why? Because it is so badly run.’
‘Well, there is the legacy of dysfunctional colonial borders!’
‘Yes, but that is only half of the equation, and it is the half you cannot change. What do you want, an African world war to redraw all the borders? The West must stop feeling guilty about the colonial legacy, it must stop using past failings to excuse present wrongs!’
Fang glares at Sophie, who cannot think of an answer and looks across for support at Yamba, who is sitting next to Fang. She assumes that as an African he will be on her side. He has been listening carefully to the discussion but keeps his expression neutral.
Unfortunately, she has picked the wrong person to be soft on poor performance.
Yamba clears his throat and nods gravely. ‘Have you ever tried setting up a health clinic in rural Angola? The corruption and bureaucracy is unbelievable. Fang is right; Africa is undergoverned and over-bureaucratised. We should not be making excuses for that fifty years after independence. Southeast Asia was in a very similar state of development fifty years ago but they are much more advanced now than Africa. We have to stop blaming colonialism and start taking responsibility ourselves as Africans.’
Fang nods enthusiastically as Yamba says this and launches into another tirade.
‘What Africa needs to get out of poverty is a sustainable capitalist revolution. Where will that come from? BandAid? No, Africa needs Chinese capital and skills to come in and build infrastructure before it can develop. A democratic political system is too divisive to do this but managed capitalism means that the resources of the state can be organised and directed to achieve this, just like you British developed I
ndia under a dictatorship. It is the only way forward.’
He bangs his fist repeatedly on his palm. ‘No discussion! No talk! People want action! Action that will bring them peace and jobs!’
Alex is looking backwards and forwards between the two of them as the discussion goes on, thinking about Ciacola’s demands for democracy and what it would do to the KDF if they are not met.
Fang seems to be getting the upper hand at the moment and concludes contemptuously. ‘Most of the West’s charitable efforts in Africa are more about making themselves feel better than really trying to do anything to solve the long-term structural problems.’
Sophie has been glowering at him as he speaks. She knows a lot of what he has said is true but is thinking hard how to counter it.
In the end she just comes out with a sour-sounding, ‘Well, I think what you are talking about sounds like a licence for dictatorship and tyranny. I mean, who is going to make sure that the managers of this managed capitalist paradise behave themselves? Who guards the guardians?’
Fang just shrugs, ignores her comment and sips his tea.
Alex looks out across the water at the beautiful green hills of Kivu rising up steeply from the lakeshore.
Sophie glances across at him for support and sees he is thinking hard.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alex looks at Rukuba across the table from him.
‘Right, so, we could put the Rwandans here then?’
‘No, that’s next to the FJPC, they hate each other.’
‘OK, well …’ He scans the map of the area around Rukuba’s farm at Mukungu, looking at the camps that the Chinese have built for the delegates coming to the peace conference in early June. It’s 28th May and over the last two weeks the different militia groups and national delegations have been accepting invitations to the talks. They are now moving little cards around the sites, trying to fit in all the various groups.
Fang butts in. ‘We’re building a big site here. They will have to go there – that way they will be isolated, they’ve got one of the biggest delegations.’ He points out a hilltop half a mile away from Rukuba’s farm. ‘It’s a big compound on a hill, they’ll feel safe there.’
‘Hmm,’ Alex grunts agreement; he’s very twitchy about security for the conference. Rukuba refused to have it in Goma or Bukavu and insisted it be held in his new village capital, which has advantages and disadvantages. On the upside it is away from the main towns and therefore any popular protests and the risk of troops getting involved in riot situations, but it does mean a huge amount of infrastructure has to be built.
Fang has his work gangs hard at it with road graders, cement lorries, diggers and bulldozers, digging drains, putting in water tanks, erecting tents and prefab buildings all over the area. A new network of roads winds through the previously pristine green upland meadows linking the sites together.
The war against the FDLR is still going on and some murderous attacks have been carried out on civilians. However, nearly thirty different militias have seen the pounding the FDLR has taken and agreed to come to the table, along with other interested parties like the UN, USA, EU, Rwanda, DRC, Uganda and Burundi. There are also a lot of local Kivu politicians: mayors, police chiefs, FARDC commanders, bishops and comptoirs who all want to have their say on what sort of new government structure will emerge from the talks. Sophie and other NGO groups will also be in attendance, helping to sort out the demilitarisation process. A media centre has been built to accommodate the many journalists covering the event.
Rukuba is hosting the talks and is very particular about who he wants where. ‘Write them in for Site 18,’ he says to Gabriel, who writes a card and puts it over the site. Gabriel has been working flat out with the KPP organisers to get all the logistics in place. He loves the work and is getting on well with Rukuba, whom he hero-worships.
Eventually they decide where to put everyone, allocating some of the most unpopular groups to stay in hotels outside Goma. They will be flown up every day by helicopters.
Alex looks at Rukuba and nods. ‘Right, I think that is all in place then?’ He has hardly seen the President since the start of the military campaign because they have both been frantically busy in separate locations. Alex is watching him closely now, trying to discern how power has affected him, but he retains his intrinsic trust in the man.
Rukuba looks carefully at the plan, nods and smiles. ‘Yes, we are ready for them. The Republic of Kivu will be proud of me!’
On 1st June Alex watches delegates arrive at the farmstead on the first day of the peace conference. They go through a sandbagged security checkpoint at the bottom of the hill. He’s hired a commercial event management firm from South Africa to do this bit, and smartly dressed black female staff greet guests with a smile and guide them through metal detectors before they are photographed and issued with security passes. They walk on through the gatehouse and up the tarmac road to the farm.
He’s got two companies of soldiers on standby around the different sites in the area but they are kept out of sight as much as possible. As far as the press and the delegates are concerned, this is an event run by the new Republic of Kivu and the flag of the country flies proudly from a large flagstaff over his head on the lawn outside Rukuba’s house. The Heron drone circles overhead scanning for any hostile forces approaching them and he has his two gunships on five-minute standby to scramble up here from Heaven if he needs them.
White Land Cruisers arrive from the outlying accommodation stations and park on the tarmac area that used to be the meadow. Alex nods to John Ciacola as he enters with his large US delegation and they shake hands cordially.
‘Good to see you, Colonel.’
‘And you.’
‘This looks like a good setup you have here.’
A smile. ‘We do our best.’
‘The Secretary of State has asked me to give you her best wishes; she is very pleased that peace seems to be coming to the region at last.’
‘Well, that’s very kind of her, I appreciate that. I’ll see you in there later on.’
‘You’ll be at the table?’
‘Yes, I’ll be advising on the technicalities of the demilitarisation process, but …’ he looks pointedly at Ciacola ‘…I do the military stuff and I don’t have much sway over what sort of political framework will emerge after that.’
‘Hmm.’ Ciacola looks disappointed.
‘You’ll have to slog that out with Rukuba and the Chinese.’
The Americans go through into the secure conference area and Alex stands back and watches the different militia delegations come through the entrance. They are a mixed bag. Some are wealthy and sophisticated from the proceeds of the mines that they run, used to travelling to Europe and expensively dressed. They swagger through the security eyeing up the hostesses and revelling in getting to play the big power game. Others are the real bush mai-mai groups. They wear old, badly-fitting suits and tatty uniforms. Out of their home element and with no weapons, they are scared and glare around them with furious suspicion.
Alex eyes them with concern. How the hell are we going to get these guys to reach an agreement?
The conference drags on for a week. Groups come and go up the hill to the large tented village erected outside Rukuba’s farmhouse. On the first day a brawl breaks out in the queue for lunch between members of two militia groups with a long-standing hatred of each other. Six men end up grappling and punching each other on the floor. KPP stewards and Unit 17 soldiers in suits rush in and separate the men, dragging them out of different sides of the tent complex to calm down. Order is restored, tables and chairs put upright again and the conference resumes.
Over the week a more settled atmosphere replaces the edginess of the first days. The delegates get used to each other and the idea of actually cooperating peacefully.
Rukuba plays his role masterfully, acting with great dignity and stature as if he had ruled Kivu for decades. Much of this is because he has the big stick
of the KDF to wave at any groups that get above themselves and refuse to cooperate or hand over their weapons or control of their mines. There is a lot of grumbling and complaint but the Chinese and other big donors step in and smooth the process with inducements of cash for development projects in the areas controlled by groups.
Fang is hard at work with Sophie, other NGOs and his Chinese engineers and project managers working out how many of the forty thousand soldiers in the province are in need of work and how he can fit them into the infrastructure and agricultural projects that he is planning.
Gradually, through much arm-twisting and cajoling, a framework deal is thrashed out and one by one the different groups sign up to it. Rukuba closes the conference with aplomb at the end of the long final day; he stands on the stage at the front of the main tent packed with rows of weary delegates and members of the press.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for working so hard this week. We have all come on a great journey together for the good of this beautiful land.’ He pauses and looks out through the open sides of the tent at the shadows slipping like a silk shawl across the shoulder of the nearby hill. ‘It has been an extraordinary time for us all but I am sure that now through your efforts we will have peace in this land. From now on I will pursue a policy of Kivu nationalism to overcome the tribal and political differences that have kept us fighting each other for so long. From now on there will not be Hunde and Nande, there will not be Shi and Nyanga, originaires and Banyamulenge, there will only be Kivuans! And then I will have peace in Kivu … my Kivu!’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alex looks at Rukuba reclining in his hammock in front of the view down the valley. ‘So you’re pleased with the way it went, then?’
It’s the 8th June, the day after the peace conference closed, and teams of Chinese workers are dismantling the tents behind the house. Alex can see trucks inching down the hill laden with gear and driving off across the empty car parks.
