A guided tour

A guided tour

We promise to help a commune to develop its facilities. (This commune is one of nine into which the City of Lubumbashi is divided, giving it a population of about half a million). Communes share responsibility for providing services with the City. They are led by a bourgmestre, while the city is headed by a Mayor. Both men are appointed by the President.

At the first meeting the bourgmestre is dressed in a short sleeved short and jeans. His only symbol of authority is a pair of extremely long, sharply pointed black shoes. His style is relaxed and friendly; he is full of smiles, and is clearly not interested in the niceties of protocol. But when he brings in the heads of his divisions they only speak when spoken to, which suggests that his management style is a rougher than his demeanour with international donors would suggest.

They have two proposals – to rehabilitate a multi-purpose hall behind the town hall, and construct a modern market. It is agreed we will come back on Saturday morning to look at the existing market. “But make it early,” he says, “as I have a wedding to conduct at 10.”

Saturday morning arrives and we are annoyed with our driver because he doesn’t collect us until 8.45. But even when we arrive fifteen minutes later there’s no sign of the chief. We are sat down to wait in the “Secretariat” (one of their four offices). It has three desks on one of which is a typewriter, now being used with blue carbon paper to complete an official form. The tap tap brings back strange memories. When was the last time I saw a typewriter being used? I can’t even remember.

At about 9.15 the big man emerges from his office. He’s transformed himself by dressing in a striking khaki suit with brass buttons. On his shoulders there are epaulettes on which he has sewn silk flashes in the national colours. To add to the effect he has a national tie in the same colours (predominantly pale blue) and a dark blue shirt.

As soon as we are at the market it is clear why he has adopted such striking clothing. He is recognised instantly, and women burst into ululations and little dances. Even some school boys do the same. We pick our way through the mud, and are introduced to the market manager who has a tiny office in a small mud hut at the edge of the compound. On his desk is a tablecloth on which is embroidered in English Home Sweet Home. A shame it is upside down so you cannot read the motto.

Next we are taken to see another market which is roofed, has concrete floors and fixed concrete stalls as a model of what they want. It is little different from markets throughout Africa, but one thing was really striking. There were many second-hand clothing stalls offering garments for as little as 10 US cents each. Even then the clientele were very picky about what they bought.

We were shown around by the woman manager, and then, as a highlight, were taken to the toilet block. Memories of the stinks and filth of similar places elsewhere made me drag my feet, but that was totally misplaced. It was spotlessly clean. She said the women of the market had saved the cash to build the toilets and the takings went to the market committee. A large plaque on the side of the building advertised her role in conceptualising and organising the construction.

Afterwards we sat in her little office, and asked her about the economics of the market: how many traders were there on a typical day, how many stalls, how much did they pay? As our line of questioning became more obvious she became increasingly uneasy. Then in response to our punch line – “What are your takings per typical day?” she became very evasive. She pretended to have no idea, then produced a figure far higher than anything that could be generated from the data she had given us. It seemed a shame that the cloud of suspicion should hover over someone who seemed such a good model at first.

All this had taken time, as you would expect. We are becoming very aware of the fact that ten o’clock has long since passed and ask about the wedding M. Le Bourgmestre was supposed to conduct at that hour. As he takes us to another part of his empire in no hurry – wetlands in use for rice cultivation – he shrugs his shoulders. “You only get married once. Do you think they’ll give up and leave just because I am late?”