Cuba is famous for its cars, those wonderful and absurd American monsters which have provided the transport in Cuba for many many years after their counterparts in the US had been thrown onto the scrap heap. History, for Cuba, stood still.
It has been isolation of a different kind in the Congo: the isolation of warfare, maladministration and poverty which combined put urban development into stagnation. As a result many parts of the smaller towns have hardly changed at all for forty years. Curiously dated but immensely interesting examples of architecture survive relatively unscathed. Kinshasa is a slightly different case, and there are quite a few new buildings, though they jostle, in the disjointed streetscape, with some classic 1930s and 1950s buildings.
Bukavu was spared this modernisation. Built on a number of hills at the south end of Lake Kivu it was obviously a place of importance in colonial times. While never a metropolis it was clearly a thriving market town. I imagine it was in the late 40s and early fifties that it was really booming, and the products of that era are with us still. Sometimes really dilapidated and disused, but for the most part still serving the purpose for which they were built, are amazing colonial buildings.
By far the most important of these was the Hotel Residence, a stern 1930s style four storey building right at the centre of town. It survives intact, complete with its original colonial retro dining room. Its beautiful heavy glass and brass doors lead into a dark stained oak bar area that, even when it first opened in (I think) 1951 must have had that escapist ambience which would have appealed to the mercantile colonialists that were its main customers. From the bar there is a similarly gloomy wood panelled restaurant, and only at the extreme end is there any natural daylight in the form of large windows overlooking the lake.
The hotel’s entrance hall has a similar feel, with the original stubby Bauhaus lettering over the reception desk and a dry cleaning (“Pressing”) desk, long since abandoned. The centrepiece of the lobby is the magnificent lift, glass and wrought iron, with all its original fittings. Around the lift is the grand staircase with decorations somewhat reminiscent of Art Nouveau.
Art Nouveau is even more in evidence at two 3 storey government office buildings. The central staircase has a fancy handrail and delightful plasterwork which though completely understated, strike a playful note. But architecture cannot stand alone, and the valiant efforts of the architects have been largely subsumed by the neglect and decay of decades. Broken windows, original light fittings replaced by a hanging bulb, washbasins removed, leaving only the bare pipes – these are the predominant features inside. But that, as they say, is not all. There is no electricity for much of the day, and people sit in a deep gloom. Worst of all, no one sweeps the floor which is literally thick with dirt. It is hard to see how conditions can be allowed to get as bad as they are, and one can only assume that they reflect the misery of the civil service which survives remarkably well even though salaries are a tiny $40-$60 a month, and often paid very late. If they cannot be bothered to pay me, why should I work? Is that the reason? I don’t know.
There are other offices in a semi-basement, which has its own entrance. These are clean and well-loved. Maybe their occupants have a sense that these are personal spaces in which they can take pride.
And it is pride which dominates the third building. A single storey L shaped place with white walls and brightly painted green woodwork which houses the provincial agricultural services. No sooner do you enter than you feel a different force at work: everything is spotless. The conference room is the star of the show. The tables are covered by brightly coloured tablecloths, and around the walls is an extensive library of technical books and departmental archives. They are neatly classified by subject and by language – yes, books in English, French, Dutch and German. But . . . the last time a new book was put on those shelves was 1961. There it is, the pride and joy of a long forgotten colonial servant, petrified in history.
How come this is so different from the other buildings, which, incidentally housed the parent Ministry of Agriculture, as well as the Ministries of Education and Health? Could it lie in the personality of the Director of Agricultural Services, a small quiet man, dressed in a grey safari suit with a thick brass cross hanging round his neck? He, we are told, goes to mass every day: indeed he is considered almost as a priest. Maybe this provides the clue: the stern precepts of the mission fathers, cleanliness is next to godliness, survive in his world which he manages with the same authority as the fathers manage the schools and the churches.
How is it that you never see any photographs of these wonderful buildings, whether Bauhaus strict, or stupid and playful Art Deco? Apart from the fact that the DRC is off the tourist circuit, so gets far less attention than it deserves, there’s another reason. Taking photographs is illegal, and even if you get a permit for $25 or whatever, you’re liable to be arrested. I’ve heard no reasonable explanation for this ban – maybe it was Mobutu in a fit of paranoia – but people take it very seriously. It gives the police a nice excuse to demand a bribe.
So one day, a little project of mine will be to outwit these controls and take pictures of the buildings before they are demolished in the name of “progress”.
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