Blood Gold in the Congo

by Peter Ralph

  It was just before midnight when they reached the Kempinski Hotel. Screaming young women surrounded the entrance, and the bellboys had to fight their way through to the Range Rover. Joseph got out, and the soldiers formed up on either side of him, and pushed their way through the crowd.

  “You’re like a rock star. What’s it feel like?” One of the soldiers grinned.

  “Terrible.”

  The foyer was even worse. The hotel had cordoned the women off, but they continued to push forward, screaming, “Joseph, Joseph, Joseph!”

  The hotel manager directed the soldiers to the elevators and handed Joseph a key, saying, “We upgraded you to a suite, Mr. Muamba.”

  As the doors started to close, Joseph heard a woman cry out in Swahili-French, the dialect of his village, and a nickname he hadn’t heard in fourteen years.

  “Boss, Boss, don’t you remember me?”

  Joseph turned around, putting his hands out to stop the doors from closing, and saw a stunning young woman with tints of blonde in her long, dark, cascading hair. She was wearing a sleeveless, multicolored knee-length floral dress cinched at the waist and jeweled sandals.

  “Maya!” he said. “Maya, is it really you?”

  “Yes, Boss,” she said, flashing gleaming white teeth while her big brown eyes sparkled.

  “Let her through,” Joseph said.

  Maya pushed her way through the noisy crowd with the help of the soldiers.

  “You look stunning,” he said.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Let’s go up to my room,” Joseph said, holding the elevator doors open.

  The soldiers smiled, and one winked before saying, “Goodnight.”

  CHAPTER 12

  ..................

  ONE OF THE BELLBOYS HELD the door open to the suite on the twenty-second level, and Joseph thought he heard Maya gasp. There was a sofa, television, dining table, a coffee table and two recliners in the living area. Maya walked over to the desk positioned next to the window and said, “You can still see lights on the Congo River. It will be a beautiful view in the daytime.”

  “Would you like me to unpack, sir?” a bellboy asked.

  “Thank you, no,” Joseph replied, pulling out his wallet and tipping him generously.

  After both bellboys left, Maya said, “I’ve never been in such a luxurious room.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Thank you. Mineral water, please. What does it feel like to return as the country’s all-conquering hero?”

  “Surreal. Do you speak English?”

  Maya laughed. “Have you forgotten Swahili? It sounds funny spoken with an American accent. Half of Kinshasa speaks English. Of course I do, but you wouldn’t have noticed me had I not spoke in Swahili.”

  “Sis is all grown up. How come you’re in Kinshasa? When did you leave the village?”

  “Please don’t call me that. I’m not your sister.”

  “And I’m not your boss. Now tell me about yourself.”

  For the next ten minutes, Maya related what had happened to her and how she had been adopted.

  “My God, I can still remember you saying your parents would never sell you. We met the same fate.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Maya said. “My adoptive parents were looking for a slave. I cleaned their house, washed and ironed their clothes, did the shopping and cooking, and looked after the garden. There was no love. The only good thing they did was to ensure I got a good education. However, when I wanted to study medicine, they told me poor black girls didn’t become doctors. They were nothing like your adoptive parents.”

  Joseph looked puzzled. “I don’t understand. You don’t know my parents.”

  “No, but I saw them on television after you won in Beijing. They love you, and I could see how much you loved them. You got lucky.”

  “I would have been dead by now had I stayed in the village, and yes, I got lucky with my adoptive parents. They are kind, generous, and loving. I’ve only been here a day, and I already miss them. When did you return?”

  “As soon as I turned eighteen, I left my adoptive parents in South Africa, and I’ll never go back. I studied nursing for two years in Johannesburg before returning. I’ve been back for nearly five years and have a good job at Kinshasa Mercy Hospital.”

  “Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Do you typically ask such personal questions?” Maya said, her eyes dancing. “No, I’m like you. I’m single.”

  “And how do you know I’m single?” Joseph replied, drawing his chair closer.

  “I know everything there is to know about you. I’ve read all of the articles on the Internet. The all-American boy, successful at college, successful on the track, successful in business. Your voice sounds so strange. You talk like all the other Americans. Why isn’t such a famous man married? Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

  “I just haven’t met Miss Right,” Joseph said, and then paused. “Do you believe God put us here for a greater calling?”

  “Oh, you’ve become religious. So many American sports stars are. No, I deal with death every day. Not just from disease, from childbirth, bashings, assaults, and murder. I don’t have the luxury of thinking about greater callings in life. When you live here, you focus on survival.”

  “Then why did you come back?”

  “The Congo is my home. You’re an American boy. Why didn’t you compete for the U.S. in Beijing?”

  “I don’t know. I told myself it was because I’d get greater recognition and be helping the country where I was born. That’s untrue. I’ve been asking myself the same question. Maya, if you knew so much, why didn’t you call or email me?”

  Maya smiled. Her moist lips were full, and her perfect teeth glistened. “I did. I presume my emails went to junk, and you never returned my calls. I might just as well have called President Obama.”

  “I’m sorry. I never got your messages.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You probably receive thousands of calls that your secretary thinks are of no account. Like mine.”

  “Have you been back to the village?”

  “Yes, every year since I returned. It’s hard to get time off from the hospital, and it takes four days to get to the village.”

  “It only took a day fourteen years ago. How can it take four days?”

  “The road from Lubumbashi is closed. Only the New Dawn mine, police, and military are allowed to use it. The mine’s management has enormous influence. If our people get sick, they usually die before making it to Lubumbashi.”

  “The country’s gone backward. Do you still have family here?”

  “My parents are dead, but I have a brother and sister in the village.” Maya smiled sadly.

  “Are any of my family still there?”

  “No, Anatole fled with the last of your family to Tanzania.”

  “What do you mean? Anatole was only six when I left.”

  “He was fifteen when soldiers attacked the village and killed your mother and Safi. He was the eldest living member of your family.”

  “No! No!” Joseph exclaimed, hanging his head before looking up. “My mother wasn’t killed. She died of TB.”

  “Is that what they told you?” Maya frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  Joseph stood and paced around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. “No! That’s not true. How do you know? You weren’t there.”

  “No, but Yannick was, and he told me. He saw it all.”

  “Yannick is still in the village?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Not that much detail. He hid in the bush and watched. He’s still ashamed of himself. I comforted him and said he shouldn’t be. If he had tried to intervene, they would’ve shot him. They killed more than fifty of our people.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I believe Yannick. I pressed him for details, but he blames himself. He told me he was a coward and then c
lammed up.”

  “I feel sick.”

  Maya rested her hand on Joseph’s forearm. “I’m sorry you had to hear it from me. I didn’t know the government had told you lies.”

  “I was with some senior military people tonight. I’ll find out what happened.”

  “You’re going to ask them?”

  “I am. I have to find out.”

  “For someone’s who’s supposed to be smart, you’re naïve. They know I’m with you, Joseph. When you ask them, they’ll know I told you. They’ll torture and perhaps even kill me. You can’t breathe a word. You’re not in Los Angeles now.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “It is.”

  “How is Yannick?”

  “He’s the same height as you but half the weight. It’s easy to detect those who are corrupt here – they look well-fed. Yannick walks with a hunch, probably caused from working in the mine. He looks twenty years older than you.”

  “I don’t understand. The mine was meant to bring prosperity.”

  “It’s brought nothing but misery. Workers are paid three dollars for a twelve-hour shift without breaks. If they get sick or injured, they don’t get paid. And then there are the deaths. Around one a week, and the company pays the widow or parents $100. That’s what life is worth. $100!”

  “Why does Yannick continue to work there?”

  “What else can he do? The country is barren, and there are no fish in the river to catch.”

  “How can that be?”

  “The mining company built a holding pond and − ”

  “Yes, all gold-mining companies do. It’s used to store waste cyanide and residual metals.”

  “I know,” Maya said. “Yannick told me. Please let me finish.”

  “Sorry.”

  “When the torrential rains came, they breached the holding pond’s walls, and the waste covered thousands of acres of land before seeping into the river. It killed every fish for fifty miles and all of the foliage abutting the river. Animals and birds died in the thousands.”

  “There was nothing reported. Nothing on the Internet.”

  “The mine is in the middle of nowhere, and it’s the Congo. What did you expect? An exposé in Time magazine? It’s not California, you know. A tailings dam burst at another mine a hundred miles north of the village. Somehow Greenpeace found out and sent two of their people to snoop around. They disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  “It’s worse than when Mobutu ruled.”

  “Yes. Yannick said the people are sick of it, but they’re scared. He’s been agitating for change, but he’s fearful the others won’t follow him. He says he’s not a leader, and the Afrikaner supervisors and guards are brutal.”

  “I’m shocked,” Joseph said.

  “Are you going to visit the village?”

  “I was, but now I know my family’s not there, I’m not sure. Probably not.”

  Maya curled her bottom lip in disgust, and her eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to see Yannick after all these years. You don’t want to ask him what happened to your mother and sister. I guess I’m privileged to be in Kinshasa, or you wouldn’t have seen me. I lived in South Africa but never left the Congo. You’re a shallow, soft American boy. I shouldn’t have expected more.”

  “Hang on,” Joseph said.

  “No, you hang on,” Maya said, jotting something on a piece of paper before standing up. “It’s nearly two o’clock. I have to go. Here’s my phone number. If you like, you can call me, but I won’t hold my breath.”

  As they reached the door, Maya turned around and kissed him on the cheek. “I always dreamed of kissing you,” she said. “I know I may not see you again.”

  Joseph had been exhausted before, but now he was wide awake. Talking to Maya had been like talking to a stranger. She was a beautiful young woman, but the past fourteen years of their lives had been vastly different. It was only natural they would not connect. Was the information about his mother and sister factual? Why was life at the New Dawn mine so cheap?

  The hotel had Wi-Fi, but Joseph didn’t know how fast or secure it was. He connected his laptop to his cellphone and Googled the New Dawn Mining Gold Company. There were a few pictures taken from outside the fence on the website, plus the usual public relations rubbish. The mine produced three hundred thousand ounces per annum for the benefit of Katanga and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. According to the website, hundreds of Congolese were prospering as a result of being employed by the mine. The name of the mine’s manager was Marc Boucher, but there was virtually no information about him.

  Joseph then Googled “New Dawn Gold Mining Company + ownership” and discovered that Liberty Investments, incorporated in Mauritania, was the holding company. Liberty’s directors and shareholders were lawyers resident in Mauritania. It was evident the lawyers were holding the shares in trust for the beneficial owners, whoever they might be – most likely foreign investors or corporations.

  Googling Marc Boucher also proved fruitless. The only times he was mentioned were all related to New Dawn. The beneficial owners had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure they were well-hidden. It would be nearly impossible to find out who they were. Despite this, Joseph emailed Ron Patterson and asked him to find out all he could about New Dawn, Liberty Investments, and Marc Boucher. Capel & Lambert’s tentacles were long, and perhaps Ron would come up with something.

  CHAPTER 13

  ..................

  JOSEPH HAD GOTTEN LESS THAN four hours of sleep, but the adrenaline kicked in, and he felt refreshed and alert. When he entered the hotel’s Riviera restaurant at 7:30 a.m., he saw George Faraday and the two State Department officials at a table near the window. They looked seedy, there was no food in front of them, only cups of coffee. Faraday finished talking to the group at an adjoining table as Joseph sat down.

  “You were smart leaving when you did,” he said. “We were still drinking malt whiskey at two o’clock. I can’t remember how we got back to the hotel.”

  “They wanted us to stay at the palace,” Jack Costigan said, “but we declined. They brought us back by motorcade. I’m surprised you didn’t hear us.”

  “You know who’s at the table behind me?” Faraday said. “A delegation from BHP – you know, the world’s biggest miner. They want to use my services.”

  “George, I know who BHP is. Who doesn’t? I’m going to get something to eat from the buffet. Is anyone else eating?”

  “We’ll stick to coffee,” Costigan said.

  When Joseph got back to the table, the two officials had gone.

  “They aren’t seasoned drinkers and couldn’t stand the sight of food,” Faraday said.

  “It’s good,” Joseph said, putting a forkful of egg, tomato, and steak into his mouth. “You should have some. What have we got planned today?”

  “The guys from Greenmount Mining, a private consortium, are presenting to General Zamenka at ten o’clock. It’s a copper project in northern Katanga with a capital investment of $800 million to get it off the ground. It’s not huge, but could be a nice little earner,” Faraday said, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll be there for moral support and to tidy up any loose ends after the Greenmount people leave.”

  “To work out the size of the bribes,” Joseph said bitterly.

  “Jesus! Don’t mention bribes, especially not in front of those guys from the State Department. They’ll have a fit. Anyhow, they’re not bribes, they’re government charges.”

  “Paid into numbered accounts in Hong Kong, the Virgin Islands, or Liechtenstein?”

  “Don’t get all moral. These deals are good for the Congo and the people. They create jobs, prosperity, and a better country.”

  “And they’re good for you, George.”

  “Good for us,” Faraday said. “After all, you’re the principal man.”

  Joseph’s face clouded over. He didn’t want to be responsible for putting dirty deals together and robbing the Congolese people. He took a sip
of coffee and then, looking directly into Faraday’s eyes, said, “When I was a little boy, I remember you helping to peg out a gold mine near the village. What happened to it?”

  Faraday dropped his eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

  “You spent a lot of time at the site. Surely you didn’t do it for nothing. Who paid you?”

  “I recall it was a four-million-ounce resource with a fifteen-year life, but I couldn’t get anyone interested because of the rebels. Everyone I pitched to wanted the government to guarantee the rebels wouldn’t disrupt operations. It was impossible to get.”

  “That’s not such a bad memory, George.” Joseph frowned. “At today’s prices, the resource is worth $7 billion. You must have been angry when you didn’t get anything for your work.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I got paid. I had some valuable government approvals. I sold them to a group of investors who were prepared to gamble on the army eventually clearing the rebels out.”

  “Do you remember who the investors were?”

  “No. Jesus! What is this? Why are you so interested in something I did so long ago? I can barely remember it.”

  “Does the name Liberty Investments ring a bell?”

  Again Faraday dropped his eyes. “No.”

  Joseph knew he was lying but didn’t understand why. “Have you heard of a dude named Marc Boucher?”

  “No. Look, what’s this about?”

  “It’s nothing,” Joseph said. “How are we getting to the palace?”

  “We’re getting picked up at 9:45. I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

  Later that morning, when their three-vehicle motorcade complete with motorcycles sped through the streets of Kinshasa, Joseph noticed some sharp contrasts with the prior day’s spectators.

  Around fifty human rights protestors holding placards marched in a circle at the front of the palace gates. They made no attempt to block the motorcade, and the demonstration was peaceful. One man who was slightly taller than the others caught Joseph’s attention. He had a jutting jaw, pronounced cheekbones, and a goatee. He stared at Joseph through bloodshot eyes and slowly shook his head. The sign he was carrying said, “Stop the army murdering innocents.”