by David Nees
“Plus, a share in the mines?”
Zhang smiled at Dieu. He had nerve, if not style. “It is important to not get greedy, not overestimate one’s position. I have to take care of the mine owners and others who protect the mines from the ADF and other warlords. It doesn’t leave me with much extra money.”
Bakasa looked disappointed.
“But,” Zhang quickly added, “I can make sure you have a share of the government mine when you and I work out how to get it under my control. I’m going to make it a showpiece to the world and it will make you even more wealthy.”
Bakasa brightened at this, but then looked doubtful. “If I become too wealthy, too prominent, my rivals in Kinshasa will undermine me.”
Zhang got up to pour both himself and Dieu more wine.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said as he sat down. “You let me know who to watch for in Kinshasa, I’ll make sure they’re taken care of and know how helpful you are being. If they make money from the venture, they’ll support us.”
This last he emphasized. He needed Dieu to think they were partners. Until the time came when he could work directly with Kinshasa. Then Dieu would be recalled, discredited as a man taking bribes to cheat the local miners, and thrown out of the civil service.
With Dieu agreeing to Zhang’s plan, they finished their lunch and Zhang had the assistant deputy minister driven back to his, much less grand, offices to contemplate his coming wealth and all the wives and mistresses he could acquire with it.
Chapter 11
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T he road from Tshikapa to Mbuji-Mayi was rough in the best of weather. However, it was raining when Dan and the others departed. The maps showed parts of the road labeled “dirt”, and parts designated “earth track”, which seemed to be a fancy designation for an unimproved, ungraded, two-track trail. In some places the road had been scooped out so much, Dan guessed from years of digging out vehicles, that it sank five feet below the surrounding ground. Once entered, a vehicle had to continue through the trench to its end. Now these low places were filling with water from the rain, turning the fine silt into entrapping mud.
“We go into some of these low spots, we ain’t getting out,” Marcus said. They were slogging along, the windshield wipers rhythmically flapping back and forth. “What the hell do you call them? They’re like miniature lakes, not potholes.”
“We don’t have a special name for them,” Santu said. “Just call them mud holes.”
“I’m going to drive around most of these, even if I have to bushwhack through the brush a bit.”
“Better to scratch the car then lose it in the mud,” Marcus said.
The hours rolled by as the road became harder to traverse with the rain. The three men had to get out repeatedly to push. They were muddy from the knees down and the inside of the Toyota got dirtier with each slow-passing mile.
“You’re still hogging the driving and making us push,” Roland said to Dan. His voice held a note of complaint in it.
“Damn right. I’ve still got the only clean seat in the car. Plus, I’m the ranking member of the group. Ask Santu, it’s unbecoming for a chief to do the dirty work. That’s why he has subjects.”
“I don’t care what Santu says,” Roland replied. Besides, we’re not subjects. We’re men on a mission—”
“Careful. A business mission,” Dan said.
“Sorry. A mission nonetheless. And that chief crap doesn’t work with me.”
“Please leave me out of your internal arguments,” Santu said. “I’m just a hired hand. Your fixer who also pushes without complaining about it.”
“You’re quite the noble person, aren’t you?” Roland said, giving Santu a gentle shove.
“And you are the giant who fusses too much.”
“You go Santu,” Marcus said with some enthusiasm.
As they approached Kananga, the road improved. While still dirt, it was better graded and had fewer sink holes. Finally, pavement returned. They drove straight through Kananga without stopping, eager to eat up the miles while the road was paved. Beyond Kananga, the pavement gave out, but the road remained reasonably well graded and so they were able to continue with fewer episodes of getting bogged down. There were moments of slipping and spinning their wheels in the increasing mud, but the men got very adept at jumping out and pushing before the Toyota spun to a stop.
Finally, they rolled into Mbuji-Mayi at nine pm, having taken twelve hours to cover the four hundred and thirty kilometers. Santu had researched hotels while in Tshikapa and directed them to the Hôtel de Luxe Kaba, just off the N1. The four dragged themselves to their rooms where they found working bathrooms and bathtubs.
An hour later they regrouped in the lobby and, now relatively clean and energized, set out for a meal. Six blocks down the N1, at the corner of the road and Boulevard L.B. Kabila, was the New Number One restaurant. It had a covered outside dining area, safe from the rain, where one could eat and watch the pedestrian traffic. The floor was flagstones outside, concrete inside. The walls were white stucco plastered over concrete blocks. The screening walls outside gave a sense of privacy to the tables on what could be called a veranda. They were made of corrugated galvanized metal. There was a sliding iron gate that could be pulled closed when the restaurant was not open.
Inside one could pick out a meal from the assortment laid out under a butcher shop glass enclosed showcase.
“This makes it easier,” Marcus said.
“Except that I don’t know what the hell I’m looking at,” Roland said.
Santu turned to Roland. “Do you know what Mbuji-Mayi means?”
Roland laughed. “You know the answer to that. No fucking clue.”
“It means Goat Water. This is a region full of goats. If you want to try goat, get this meal.” He pointed to one of the samples.
“I’m game,” Roland said.
The others picked out their meals and then went back to their table on the veranda with beers in hand. The rain had let up and left behind wet pavement, mud, and thick humidity. After eating, they headed out to find a place with more beer and music. People were still on the streets, even though it was getting late. Finally, they came upon what looked like a bar with people spilling out onto the sidewalk. They could hear music playing inside.
“Looks a bit shaky,” Marcus said.
“Don’t disagree, but we don’t have many choices if we want to have a beer and listen to music,” Dan replied.
“This doesn’t look like a friendly spot,” Santu said.
“What’s wrong?” Roland asked. “You sensing something I’m not? I’m pretty good at protecting.”
“I’m afraid I may have to protect you,” Santu responded.
Dan got out. “Since you two want a drink, let’s give it a look. If we don’t like it, we leave. No confrontations…got it?” This last directed at Roland.
They went across the street and worked their way into the crowd with Santu leading. Some people addressed him in Swahili, which none of the others could understand. Dan caught a few words such as “strangers” “white men”, “why are you here”. He could sense the general, non-festive air well enough and didn’t need any clear translation to confirm the unfriendly atmosphere. At the bar, they all ordered a beer and, after drinking them down with little conversation, they worked their way back out to the Toyota.
“That was definitely unfriendly, without being quite hostile,” Marcus said.
Mbuji-Mayi is not the friendliest of cities,” Santu said. “It is especially not good for female foreigners. Not recommended.”
“I’ve had enough for the day anyway,” Marcus said. “I’m ready for bed.”
They drove back to the hotel in silence.
The next morning saw the sun out and everything drying again.
“It will probably rain again tonight. It is the beginning of the dry season, which means it rains mostly in the evening,” Santu said.
He dir
ected Dan to a bank where he could change his dollars into Congolese Francs or CR notes.
“Don’t get anything smaller than 100 CF notes only. The others are too small.”
“What’s a 100 CF worth,” Roland asked.
“A little over five cents in US money.”
Dan exchanged five hundred US dollars for a large assortment of 100, 200, 500, 1,000, and 5,000 CF notes. He took the large pile of bills and put them into a plastic bag. The bank charged him a hefty ten percent fee for the transaction, and the banker smiled at his good fortune that morning.
“You must sort that out later into smaller packets. For kids, boys that help us along the road, you pay 100 CF. Someone who helps us, gives us important advice, an adult, you pay 500 CF, and the police, you pay a thousand or more depending on the seriousness of the situation.”
“And how will I know that?” Dan asked.
“You should be able to figure it out. But if you can’t, that’s why you have me along. I understand these things, even being far from Kinshasa. Things are just as corrupt here, but the price is lower.” He gave Dan a smile.
Chapter 12
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F rom the bank, they went to a small restaurant to get some fried bananas and rice. After eating, Marcus said he needed to walk around a bit before they got back into the Toyota. The four men walked the side streets of Mbuji-Mayi for ten blocks before circling back to the SUV. Dan noticed Santu’s long face.
“Santu, why so sad looking? We’re gassed up, fed, got some local money and ready for the last leg.”
Santu shook his head and looked down at his feet.
“Hey Little Buddy,” Roland said. “Don’t be like that. We’re a team. If you’re down, we’re all down. After all, you are the crocodile man of the group.” He gently clapped Santu on the back.
“It’s nothing,” Santu replied.
“Tell us,” Dan said.
Santu stopped and turned to Dan. His face now looked more angry than sad.
“Do you see the poverty around us?” He waved an arm in a half circle. “It is everywhere in this town.”
“It’s everywhere in this country,” Dan said.
“True. But do you realize that underneath where we are standing,” he stamped his foot on the dirt, “underneath here there are diamonds?”
Dan didn’t answer but just kept looking at Santu.
“You dig down, ten or twenty feet and you’ll find diamonds. The whole town is sitting on a diamond field. The mines go underneath the town. The local miners dig holes all around the town. They bring out diamonds, but does it improve life here?” Again, he swept his arm around. “No. It makes the foreigners rich, along with our politicians, our big men in power.”
“But isn’t that the way it’s always been?” Dan asked.
“Maybe. But it’s gone on too long.”
“Ah, Santu,” Roland said, putting his arm around the man, “you can’t do anything about it. Just make your own way. That’s all you can do.”
Santu pulled away and looked at Roland, towering over him.
“It is easy for you to say. You come from a country that has laws that people follow. You don’t have corrupt dictators and government officials.”
“Yes, we do. But I admit, not as many as you.”
“Let’s get on with the trip. We can’t solve this problem,” Dan said.
They continued to the vehicle, climbed in, and set out. On the way out of town, Santu had them stop at a store to stock up on water and soft drinks.
Roland bought a cola. “I sure wish I could get this in a large cup with ice.”
“No, you don’t,” Santu replied.
Roland gave him a quizzical look.
“You’d be drinking the ice, which comes from the tap water. It would give you another round of diarrhea.”
Roland shook his head. “You’re right. Don’t want that again.”
“Oh, you’ll get it again, never mind. But you don’t have to invite it. It will take you some time to get your stomach strong like mine.”
He smiled, his ebullient mood seeming to have returned.
The pavement soon ended, and they were on the “earth track” again. This was interspersed with graded dirt sections that didn’t always allow an increase in pace. These sections had some severe potholes that forced Dan to drive at almost a walking pace to not tear the SUV apart. It squeaked and groaned as it lurched over, into, or around these depressions, sometimes up to three feet deep.
Dan could feel the anticipation from everyone; the frustration at having to go so slow.
“Will we make it to Kasongo today?” Dan asked.
Santu shrugged. “If the rain doesn’t come early and you can go faster, maybe.”
“Now that’s putting yourself on the line,” Marcus said, turning in the front seat to look back at Santu. “No making excuses. You almost sound like a politician”
Santu shrugged. After some moments he spoke up. “Mister Dan. You are the boss, right?”
Dan nodded as he maneuvered the Toyota around and deeper holes in the road.
“But your two bodyguards here, Roland and Marcus, they don’t act like bodyguards. They treat you like a comrade, not a boss.”
Dan was quiet for a moment. “They are different.”
“It is like you have been on missions before. There’s a familiarity between the three of you. Most bosses keep their bodyguards in their place. They act above them. After all, they are the important men. That is why they have bodyguards. But you’re not like that. These men are like your brothers.”
“We’ve been together on other jobs, missions, adventures, whatever you want to call them.”
“For this mining company? They must send you to unusual places. You are not like a mining engineer.”
“And how would you know?” Roland asked.
Santu turned to him. “I am an educated man. I have two years of college. I have met many important business people…and their bodyguards.” He turned back to Dan, “And Roland here calls me ‘Little Brother’, as if I’m a junior member of this brotherhood.”
“You should be proud,” Marcus said from the front seat. “Roland doesn’t confer such status lightly.” He now turned almost fully around to face Santu. “You’re very perceptive. That’s an important skill. Roland and I have been together for many years. We served together in the military. When we went to work for the mining company, we were lucky to be assigned to work with Dan and be able to remain a team. And, yes, after many adventures together, we have become like brothers.”
Santu gave Marcus a thoughtful look. “Your company must send you to many dangerous places. A brotherhood doesn’t form when one visits the capitals of the world. At least not like what I perceive here.”
“Mining,” Dan said, “is not done in the world’s capitals. We go to where it is happening. That is what my company wants of me. Others go to the capitals.”
About half way to Kasongo, they came to a small river crossing. The ferry consisted of three metal barges with planks bolted across them, driven by two outboard engines and held against the current by an overhead cable which didn’t look to be fully up to the task.
Two overloaded trucks were already on the barge when Dan drove up. Attendants waved him down the bank and to one side. Two more trucks followed on board. Dan noticed a list to one side. The weight was not distributed evenly.
“This is pretty sketchy,” Marcus said. “I’m getting out. If things go sideways, I can swim, but I don’t want to drown in the truck.”
Many people on foot crowded aboard along with the loads they carried. Finally, the barge set off with the two outboards roaring to push the ungainly craft forward. The current immediately took hold of the barge and pushed it downstream. The cable connecting the barge to the overhead wire pulled taut, but held. There was a rusty pulley on the overhead cable which squealed as it moved along the wire. It could be heard even over the outboards.
B
etween the roar of the outboards and the squeal of the pulley, the cacophony of noise was deafening. But the barge steadily advanced towards the other shore without drifting downstream. After four tense minutes, they ground against the dirt bank. Workers quickly laid down metal planks to guide the vehicles onto the shore.
“Glad that’s over,” Roland said as they drove up the bank and followed the lumbering trucks down the path that sufficed for a road.
An hour later they came upon a traffic jam. Three trucks were in different stages of being stuck in a low area. Dan stopped uphill of the obstruction. The trucks in front of them had pulled to one side to watch the scene. There was a path to the left that went off from the road onto the grass. The vehicles going around the bogged-down trucks had smashed the vegetation into a muddy trail.
“Looks like this mess has been here a while,” Marcus said.
“I’m going to attempt to go around to the left. Looks like others have done that.”
“You sure?” Marcus asked. “Looks a bit soft to me.”
“Me too. But I don’t see another way. Why don’t you go forward and guide me?”
Marcus gave him a dirty look but got out of the SUV. He walked down to the bottom of the hill and, after looking at the detour tracks, waved Dan forward. The driver and passengers of the waiting trucks all watched to see how Dan’s efforts would play out.
Dan eased the Toyota to the side and rolled onto the newly formed tracks. He gently pressed the throttle, trying to avoid wheel spin. The truck crept forward and then dropped into a depression. The wheels began to spin. Dan stopped and tried to reverse, but the Toyota wouldn’t go back. There was a tree ahead, so Dan got out and unwound the winch cable.
Roland and Santu got out at this point. Dan and Marcus wrestled the cable around the tree and went back to the Land Cruiser. Marcus operated the winch with a remote while Dan applied the throttle. With the winch’s help, the Toyota moved forward and pulled itself out of the hole. They rolled the cable back up on the winch and drove off up the hill.