12 October 2009

The political temperature had gone up sharpely the day before, when news spread that the previous evening someone had been killed in the streets by bandits. We were warned not to be out late. We thought nothing of it: after all people get killed all over the world, and why would anyone want to kill us. Nevertheless, we did as we were told and ate early to be back at the hotel by eight.

The next day we were horrified to see the place crawling with riot police. Crawling may be an exaggeration – but in front of the Town Hall there must have been at least fifteen, in full kit including special armour, shields and machine guns. As we drove to our appointment at the offices of the commune we saw a church surrounded by riot police – that was even more creepy. “What’s going on?” we asked. “Oh, it’s the funeral of the boy who was killed two days ago, they’re afraid of trouble.”

It all seemed somewhat over the top to an outsider. OK bandits are not a good thing, but do you need riot police for a funeral?

That question was answered when we arrived at the offices. Two once quite grand buildings stood completely gutted – buildings that proudly carried the name “Commune de Kikula”. Behind them were two smaller buildings had been similarly vandalised.

To get to see the bourgmestre we had to push through another phalanx of riot police. They showed no interest in us, which was a relief, but one cannot get close to such people without feeling intimidated. The room in which we waited to see him was occupied by three clerks. They were making lists on loose pieces of paper, carefully drawing lines with rulers, just like school children doing a school exam, and then carefully writing details of who knows what in the columns.

The Bourgmestre apologised for the terrible office accommodation: basically all their services had to be provided from three tiny rooms, the temporary offices after their premises were destroyed. The trigger for that destruction has been that a student had been killed by a taxi. Apparently this was the last straw (we were not told exactly why). The people blamed the local administration, and rose up as a man to destroy the offices which to them represented corruption, negligence and indifference. On the day of the funeral, 12 October 2009, the crowd marched on the town hall. The staff sensibly fled and within three hours the buildings were nothing but shells. Everything had been stripped: roofs, windows, doors, the lot, leaving nothing at all behind. What was not stolen or destroyed was burned.

You can repair buildings, but the worst part was that all the records such as birth, marriage and death certificates had been destroyed. No copies existed anywhere else so someone needing to prove their identity or civil status has nothing to fall back on. Similarly, the books of accounts were all lost, so they have no idea of what was received or spent during the years preceding the event.

“Today,” said the Bourgmestre, “the family of the slain boy is blaming us for his death. They have threatened mass demonstrations. So we must be careful. What is worse,” he added, “the same thing happened in 1990”.

Coincidentally making the point was the Commune’s register of births which lay on the desk in front of us. This is a magnificent bound volume, supplied as a gift of UNICEF, in which all births are registered. Behind him, on the bookshelf was another volume – no longer in use because it is full.

Twice they have lost all their records. Today there is a real possibility that it might be the third time. One can’t help thinking about the vulnerability of the record books. Obviously they should be kept in a fire-proof cabinet? Or maybe some central archive? Why not make digital copies? No? The book lies there, on the desk, like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

Once is an accident, twice is careless, three times???