The Good Old Days

When people talk about the good old days they usually forget all the bad and exaggerate all the good aspects of those times. But I recently had a vision which suggests, that for all the horrors of the Mobutu era, it truly was the good old days for a lot of people. Rose tinted spectacles and filtering of the recollections really weren’t necessary.

We are on tour in the mining province of Katanga, driving to the offices of a commune on the outskirts of a large town. Quite abruptly the landscape opens up and we had a view of rolling lush green hills, on the top of one of which is a massive red-brick church. As we drive down the hill into the centre of the township we notice a dramatic change. The houses, though small, are all well maintained and surrounded by large green hedges. They are set alongside attractive streets in which children are playing. As we turn the corner we come across a school built on three sides of a square of fresh green grass: as fine a view as any child at Eton would have. (This is a time for poetic licence, not to be taken too seriously). And behind the school we now get a close view of the magnificent Romanesque church – more of a cathedral than a parish church in scale. My French colleague mutters: “Paradise”.

We are in a town built by the mine for its employees. The mining company concerned was Gecamines, a company that had its roots in the Belgian Congo, but was nationalised and took over all mining activities under Mobutu. This allowed him to surreptitiously siphon off much of the massive income for himself. This did not stop him forcing Gecamines to provide cradle to grave welfare services to its employees who were important voters: he was desperately anxious to demonstrate that Katanga did not need to secede. This charming garden city was the result, just one of hundreds of such settlements built at huge (and financially crippling) cost.

In retrospect, I realise it wasn’t the quiet streets or the neat houses, or even the splendid school and church that attracted me, but the sense of order. The mine may have gone under, but the residents still care for their environment. In the Congo that is a rare commodity, and just to have the sense that someone was in charge, was managing, the settlement, was - as they say - paradise.