Warlord

by James Steel

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Eve Mapendo. I am eighteen years old and I come from the village of Kato in Mukurawa Commune in South Kivu, although this village was attacked by militias and abandoned and my family and I all now live in an IDP camp called Ikozi.’

  The contrast between the formal, factual tone of the speech and her humble origins emphasises them and the audience will her on through the painful process.

  ‘A few months ago our camp was attacked by a militia called the Kudu Noir and my young baby was stolen and killed. I was raped by a gang of four men and they also used the barrel of a rifle on me. Apart from the trauma of the rape I also suffered a vaginal fistula and leak urine constantly. Like many rape victims I was stigmatised by the event and have experienced rejection from many members of my community.

  ‘As you can see I have suffered much because of the chronic political instability that affects my homeland. But far more important than my personal story is the bigger picture of what is happening now to Kivu. As you know, the region suffers thousands of rapes and deaths every year because of political violence and lawlessness. The United Nations and the Congolese government have struggled valiantly since 2003 to end this but their efforts have not been effective.

  ‘I have come here today to say that I fully support and endorse the actions of our new President Dieudonné Rukuba as he takes a stand against this endemic violence, and of the brave soldiers of the Kivu Defence Force. As I speak, they are on active operations to bring the conflict to an end and their actions have already dealt greater blows to the FDLR than years of effort by previous forces.

  ‘I will shortly have another operation that I hope will heal me for good. In the same way, I hope and pray for the healing work that President Rukuba is doing, that it will establish the mandate of heaven and bring law and order. We hope this will lead to lasting peace and prosperity for our beautiful but tragic land.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to the first press conference of the new government of the Republic of Kivu today. God bless the Republic of Kivu and God bless you, President Rukuba.’

  As she ends the speech, Mr Nguy is so overwhelmed with emotion that he jumps up from his seat at the side of the hall and shouts, ‘Dieu-donn-é!’

  The other KPP workers around the hall were equally ecstatic and yell the response to his chant, ‘Don de dieu!’

  Rukuba smiles at their enthusiasm and rises from his seat at the table next to the podium, crossing over to Eve and putting his arm around her. She is still in a numb state as she is led away by her friend Miriam and the KPP stewards.

  Rukuba steps up to the microphone, smiling quietly as he pulls it back up to his height. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, can we give Eve a round of applause for her brave speech? Then I invite you to join me for a buffet lunch on the terrace.’

  The audience of experienced foreign policy workers claps in a loud but reflective way, devoid of the enthusiasm of the KPP workers. They are thinking about how they have just had an object lesson in learning that what is foreign policy for them is very domestic policy for Eve.

  Lake Kivu sparkles a delightful blue under a sky spotted with small white clouds. The guests spill out of the high doors from the dining room onto the terrace and the lawn running down to the lake.

  The manager of the hotel trained in Brussels and takes his catering very seriously. He is used to doing big wedding receptions for comptoirs and local businessmen and has pulled out all the stops: waiters in bow ties circulate with champagne and canapés and the guests tuck in, feeling in need of something after Eve’s understated but powerful speech. Stewards from the KPP politely ask TV crews and press photographers not to bring their cameras out: ‘Private lunch please.’

  Rukuba and Fang are standing in the middle of the terrace with KPP party workers around them as well as Major Zacheus Bizimani and two other Unit 17 soldiers in suits and wraparound shades who scrutinise the crowd constantly.

  Both the politicians have champagne glasses and are laughing and chatting with journalists, enjoying their charm offensive. It is as vital a part of the process of building the new country as the military campaign that is going on alongside it. Despite his rhetoric Rukuba knows he will need help from the UN and other big donors like USAID and DfID. Fang is equally adept in this diplomatic milieu, chatting away happily with a Ugandan diplomat about trade relations.

  Alex, Col and Yamba keep a low profile, standing on the lawn at the edge of the crowd, sipping their drinks and surveying the scene as Rukuba holds court on the terrace. Alex was wary of coming to the event but Rukuba insisted. They have agreed that he and the other mercenaries will keep out of sight as much as possible or they will get into problems both with the politically correct donor community and African leaders still banging the anti-imperialist drum.

  ‘I thought that went OK?’ Alex looks at Col and Yamba and they nod. ‘That Sophie Cecil-Black character’ – where has he heard that name before – ‘gave him a hard time about the identity of the Kivu Defence Force but I think otherwise he got through it pretty well.’

  ‘Yes, I think he will have them eating out of his hand soon, you know.’ Yamba nods towards Rukuba.

  ‘Yer, they’re all a bit wary like now but I think they’ll warm up,’ Col agrees.

  Alex nods. ‘Yes, it’s been a long old road but it feels bloody good to be here, doesn’t it?’

  He smiles hopefully and the others do likewise. It’s about as optimistic as they ever see Alex getting. He’s feeling pleased with where they have got to but is always looking for the next obstacle to overcome. ‘Will I ever be at peace?’ he wonders.

  He drains his glass and waves to a passing waiter for another. ‘I needed that, been far too long. Think we might relax the dry rule on base.’

  They chat on, savouring the sunshine and the chance to relax for an hour, with no one in uniform and no life or death decisions to make for a while. That can wait for the raids going out tonight.

  ‘I’m gonna get a beer, can’t stand champagne,’ Col says. ‘You want one?’

  ‘No, I’m OK.’

  Col walks back up onto the terrace and sees the tall NGO girl who asked the question about mercs. After a couple of drinks he can’t resist going over and taking the piss.

  ‘Oh no …’ Yamba sees him talking to her and nudges Alex, who groans and closes his eyes.

  The exchange looks awkward: they can see that Col is being overly friendly in a facetious manner and that she is looking down at him disdainfully and doesn’t seem to know why he is talking to her.

  After a while the short mercenary cheerfully says goodbye, gets himself a beer and saunters back over to them with a smirk on his face.

  Alex looks at him in exasperation. ‘Did you have to do that?’

  Col carries on grinning.

  Yamba asks, ‘What’s she like then?’

  Col shakes his head. ‘Nah, no tits.’

  His reputation as a tit-man is well established.

  ‘Anything else to report?’ says Yamba, his eyes sparkling with suppressed humour.

  ‘Well, she’s a bit like a cross between a giraffe and rhino really, you need a step-ladder to get near her …’

  ‘You would.’

  ‘Yer, but did you see her bloody nose, like this.’

  ‘Well, sounds like a nice girl,’ Yamba says.

  ‘Gotta fooking great rod up her arse, I tell ya.’ Col continues. ‘Took one look at me and stuck her nose in the air.’

  Yamba shrugs, as if to say that that is not an unreasonable course of action.

  Alex watches the exchange sceptically with his arms folded but says nothing.

  Zacheus slips through the crowd and walks over to them. Alex smiles and says, ‘Major Bizimani, very good to see you.’ He’s been impressed with the man’s military professionalism and the way that he is running Unit 17 with very little need for supervision. The intelligence network that he has established is excellent with contacts all over the province.r />
  ‘Very good to see you too, Colonel Devereux.’ As ever he keeps his eyes down and speaks quietly. ‘President Rukuba would like you to come over and see him, please.’

  ‘Sure.’

  They thread through the crowd and up the steps. As they get nearer to the gaggle around the President, Alex sees that he is in animated discussion with Sophie.

  ‘Ah!’ Rukuba looks up in joyful surprise as Zacheus taps his arm. ‘Yes, this is the person that I wanted you meet, Colonel Devereux.’

  Alex takes in the tall striking woman in front of him. Despite the jeans and tee shirt there’s something about the erect posture of her head and her rather beaky nose that gives her an unmistakably aristocratic look.

  He pushes aside the recent discussion of her and switches into professional mode, straightening his shoulders and putting out a hand. ‘Hi, Alex Devereux, pleased to meet you.’

  Sophie looks at the tall dark-haired man; he has a good-looking but serious face and radiates an air of disciplined efficiency. His voice has the unmistakably deep patrician timbre of the British ruling class. It is the tone used by generals, cabinet ministers and bishops throughout the ages. It speaks of politeness, respectability and authority. It is everything she has come to Africa to get away from. Involuntarily her neck stiffens and she draws up her head.

  However, she is also a product of that class and by conditioned reflex she extends her hand to shake. His is large and the grip crushing. His eyes look to make contact with hers but she averts them, acknowledging his presence but not his person.

  ‘Sophie Cecil-Black, pleased to meet you,’ she says in a tone that implies she is anything but.

  A flicker of recognition goes across Alex’s face; he holds her hand for a moment longer then frowns. ‘Do you have family in Shropshire?’

  ‘Yes, cousins, why?’ she says defensively.

  ‘Oh, we used to shoot with them. They’re …’ he tries to think how to put it diplomatically ‘…slightly eccentric but great people when you get to know them.’

  His father used to describe them as ‘mad as a bag of badgers’.

  Sophie nods, acknowledging what they both know. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

  ‘Alex Devereux.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She cringes internally, not wanting to have anything to do with her background. ‘Yes, I thought I knew the name,’ she says in a distant way and a polite shutter goes down over her often animated face.

  Rukuba misses the strained social nuances. ‘Oh, well, that is great. Colonel Devereux, I want you to start working with Miss Cecil-Black. We have just been discussing her large training facility for street children near here and I am interested in funding it further for reintegrating former militia soldiers. What do you think?’

  Alex recovers from the awkwardness and nods. ‘Yes, that would be tremendous.’ He’s aware he already has a lot of prisoners building up in a makeshift detention facility and he wants to get them off his hands. ‘We’ll definitely make arrangements to do that.’

  Gabriel and Eve hold hands at arm’s length and she cries quietly, sometimes wiping her eyes with the flat of her hand. It’s 8th May, the day after the press conference announcing the new state.

  He just sits and gazes at her. Traditional Kivu village society is very conservative so they don’t embrace or kiss even though they are alone in the gardens at Panzi.

  ‘He has done marvellous things,’ she sobs again. ‘He is an amazing man,’

  Gabriel nods, ‘He has done marvellous things in our sight.’

  Neither of them can believe how good President Rukuba has been to them.

  Gabriel has seen the Kivu Defence Force at work at first hand. The assault on the Gorilla Brigade was brutal but it was also impressive to see them tear down the FDLR barracks in fifteen minutes, that symbol of authority that had hung over his head.

  He bought a new radio when he was at the mine and listened with awe to Rukuba’s first big speech on Radio Okapi. It was in Swahili, the language of the common people of the east, rather than French, the traditional language of the educated classes. In villages, streets and crowded bars all across the province, people hunched around their sets to hear this man who said he was their new President and that they now lived in a new country – they felt confused and fearful.

  However, it was another masterpiece of communication from Rukuba. He was calm and spoke with a deep, authoritative voice, listing the problems of lawlessness and poverty that they all knew so well and asking when would it ever get sorted out with the current methods?

  When he told them that his forces had already killed General Musoni, the leader of the FDLR, there were sharp intakes of breath and nods of assent. The man obviously meant business. Film of the general’s broken body was released on YouTube to prove it and posters distributed to villages by KPP workers. He also repeated his offer of a two-week period for other militia groups to decide to enter peace talks before being targeted as well.

  When he told them that he had big plans for investment in the province to create new jobs, there were smiles of hope. When he said that they would all soon be wealthy enough to be able to buy TVs and even cars, there were broad grins.

  He ended by saying, ‘People of Kivu, I will speak to you at the same time every week. I will be your guiding father and I will hold your hand in this time of uncertainty. I will keep you updated with news of developments as we ensure security throughout the province. Contact representatives of the Kivu People’s Party with any information of militia movements and together we will build a peaceful and prosperous Kivu.

  ‘Good night and God bless you all. I remain your faithful President, Dieudonné Rukuba.’

  ‘He really cares about us.’ Gabriel nods, unused to having a politician who took the time to do regular broadcasts to the ordinary people and not only that, one who seemed to be able to deliver real change after so many years of war.

  ‘I can’t believe he paid for my operation. This time it’s holding.’ She glances down at herself and Gabriel nods; he came to Panzi with the stack of cash he had earned but found that all her bills had been paid.

  ‘Well, we will get married soon,’ he says with a pragmatic certainty, and she bows her head.

  He gets out a wodge of dollar bills. ‘Go back to Ikozi and make the arrangements. There is something I have to do first and I will join you in a week.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sophie points Alex towards the large grass field just inside the perimeter fence.

  ‘We’ve got a big football tournament on today. We use it as an outreach technique to bring the kids onto the site and reassure them that we’re OK.’

  It’s two days after the press conference on 9th May and her team of local NGO workers wearing fluorescent Hope Street waistcoats are trying to sort out a crowd of a hundred barefoot and ragged street children from Goma that they have bussed onto their site two miles outside the town.

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to bring those in here.’ She points to the assault rifles held by the four soldiers of Alex’s close protection team, and then points to the large ‘no weapons’ sign by the gate through the fence.

  ‘Right.’ Alex considers the problem for a moment. The situation in the province is still very much a war zone and his troops are on active operations that day. However, they are near Goma where the situation is stable and he is now able openly to wear his KDF uniform with his colonel’s shoulder tabs on his shirt and a beret.

  They arrived by Mi-17 and he can always get his bodyguards to him quickly and get out if any trouble kicks off.

  ‘I’ll take the radio,’ Col says helpfully.

  ‘OK, you two stay with the chopper and the rifles and you two come with us.’ Alex also unbuckles his gunbelt and hands over his 9mm Glock to the soldiers.

  ‘Right, I think we’re ready.’ He faces Sophie and smiles; despite their slightly awkward start he is determined to be professional and pleasant. He didn’t really mind her disdainful
manner when they first met although he did comment un favourably to Col on the fact that she has a tattoo in the small of her back – he’d spotted it poking out from under her short tee shirt when she had turned round and left.

  ‘And what’s wrong with tattoos?’

  ‘Squaddies have tattoos, not birds.’ Despite his difficulties with his own class Alex still has straightforward views on women’s appearance.

  Col has come along today to help him make an assessment of the facility and to see if they think they can release any prisoners to Sophie’s organisation. Yamba is holding the fort back at their new base, Camp Heaven; they have been shipping troops and equipment across Lake Kivu from Camp Purgatory for the last week. Now that the news blackout is over and the project has gone public, they need to be seen to be operating from a base inside Kivu in order to distance themselves publicly from Rwandan support.

  The group walks through the gate towards the football pitches. ‘So are you a footie fan then, ma’am?’ Col asks politely. He’s also decided he will be thoroughly professional today and realises he has some ground to make up after his initially facetious manner at the press conference.

  She looks at him cautiously but knows they have all got to get on. Despite her initial reserve about Rukuba she was impressed by his speech. She realises that he offers the best hope for the province and he has been talking about a huge injection of funding for her work.

  ‘Umm, not really, netball was more my thing. But all the kids want to be Didier Drogba or Michael Essien and play for Chelsea or something.’

  Col sucks his teeth in disgust. ‘Oh dear.’

  Alex rolls his eyes; Col’s hatred of Chelsea is well established.

  ‘They should play for a proper football team like Blackburn.’ He bares his forearm tattoo to Sophie, who nods politely.

  They walk over to the pitches where the local workers and foreign staff are sorting the kids by size; the boys often don’t know their own age. They wear torn shorts and tee shirts and are skinny, with scabby knees, snotty noses and bright quick smiles.