Times past

Here’s the shortest ever - a Christmas special.

You are in the offices of a commune with a population of 260,000 – a subdivision of the City of Lubumbashi, probably the most prosperous city per head of any in the DRC. The commune is responsible for a huge range of different matters such as providing markets and community centres, ensuring the provision of education and health services, social welfare and the like.

There are four offices: that of the Bourgmestre (the boss) and just three others, all opening out onto a narrow access veranda.

The accountant (for there is only one) is asleep at his desk, because there’s no money either coming in or going out.

To one side of the accountant’s office is the office of civil registries. Beside the entrance door is a poster: Register your birth here: IT IS FREE! There is a steady stream of people waiting. They are unusually quiet and respectful because there should be no noisy quarrelling at such an important occasion. The events are lovingly entered into massive tomes provided by UNICEF.

The accountant’s slumber is interrupted by an insistent tapping. It is coming from the office on the opposite side – that of the Commune Secretary who is writing a letter. For this he has hauled out his ancient typewriter, and is banging out the words, letter by letter, his fingers hovering, ever so slowly, over each letter before pecking it fiercely. The typewriter itself, like the steam engines on the railways, the post offices throughout the country and much else that we see daily, is a much depredated survival of the Belgian past. It is virtually the only machine in the whole office. There are no computers, no air conditioners, often no power, and indeed not even any filing cabinets (everything lies on rickety shelves).

It is no surprise that the letter, so kindly written on our behalf, is exactly like those fake examples of old typewriters much loved by advertising agents and movie makers, where the letters are purposely out of alignment thus giving the page “character”.

I’d love to reproduce the resulting letter we received, but cannot for obvious reasons of confidentiality. But to give you an idea of what it’s like, here’s a part of it.

Happy Christmas