A Study in Contrasts

We are in the flat of an elderly Greek couple. He is 82 and she about ten years younger, but to look at them you would place them at little more than 65 or 70. This evening is, for them, something of a social coup. Among seven guests five different nationalities are represented and there are three ambassadors – Greece, Italy and Egypt. The tone is delightfully formal and respectful, but without any attempt to ingratiate.

They have been in the Congo since 1946, have made lots of money; and three times lost lots of money. The first was when Mobutu announced his indigenisation programme under which all foreign owned businesses were seized and given to Zaire nationals. In their case they have several businesses and substantial assets including 17 lorries. The owner, Basil, went to the president, whom he knew quite well (whom he refers to as M. Le Maréchal), and begged him to change his mind. He won a promise to consider his case, but the junior enforcers of the policy harassed him from morning until night, so he knew that, in the end there was no hope and he fled the country with wife and five children.

Within less than a year the policy was totally discredited. Most of the new owners of the businesses had simply spent all the income, and looted the assets, as a result of which they were little more than shells. Basil decided to take the bull by the horns and flew back to Kinshasa. He went to see M. Le Maréchal again and used the argument of his children’s future, asking Mobutu, who had many children, how he would feel if his children had no future. This argument worked, so five of his businesses were restored to him, one for each child.

Then came the two pillages in the early 1990s during which the masses took the law into their own hands and simply looted all the businesses. The second one was worse than the first. They systematically removed everything, even to plumbing pipes, electrical conduit and suchlike, leaving Kinshasa and most other towns in a state of total dereliction.

But Basil and his wife stayed through it all, and are still here. He has a grocery shop in the heart of what used to be the known as the African town, but has seen his turnover decline steadily, partly due to increased prices and decreased incomes, and partly due to increasingly fierce competition from the big supermarkets.

His story is not unique, and the once powerful Greek community has been reduced to practically nothing. In the good old days they built a beautiful orthodox church, a school and two blocks of flats and offices, and a club – all in a compound in the centre of town. The buildings are still there, but the church is now 100% black, and the school has only nine pupils (with a staff of five!). They can only survive thanks to the rents which they can charge. A bank and UNICEF are their main tenants. The club is still operating as a restaurant, and serves very good Greek food. The Greek community has published a beautiful, fully illustrated book entitled “The unknown pioneers” which traces the history of Greek entrepreneurs in the Congo from the early 1800s, but from 5,000 or more it has now declined to less than 100.

As we listen to these stories one cannot help but contrast their lives with our own. They have stuck with it, through thick and thin, while we flit from flower to flower, pretending to engage with the country, but knowing that we can leave at any time. We have no real need to deal with the fundamental flaws which, to this day, pull this country down. By contrast he feels the situation deeply and can fully share the distress of others trying to make ends meet. He talked of what had happened that morning: the police had mounted a raid to “clean up” the city in the area where he has his shop. It is an area near the main market, packed with little stalls. These were the target of the raid. He watched while the police broke down the shacks, and took all the goods. Owners who were not quick enough to run away were beaten up by the police, and their mobile phones and money stolen.

We shake our heads sympathetically and make noises of disapproval (in French, the lingua franca of the evening) and disgust. But what do we really know?