Africa descending

I’m not normally prone to depression, but the hotels of Africa can be very depressing. I’ve written about the experience before, so don’t want to be a bore, but what is truly sad is that so much money goes into building them, but then . . . nothing. Even in remote areas there are marble floors, elaborate ceilings, fancy curtains, and up to the minute sanitary fittings.

I was staying in one such hotel in Goma, only to have my guest experience dulled by the fact that even though the bathroom sported the latest sanitary ware and Hans Grohe taps (very expensive German ones) there was no seat (it had obviously been broken by an earlier guest), neither the basin nor the bath had a plug, and the curtains had pulled away from the hooks and were sagging helplessly. In another one, in Bukavu, the opening to the en suite bathroom was an inch narrower at the bottom than the top so naturally the door had no chance of closing.

It’s a bit similar when it comes to breakfast. We all know that supplies can be difficult, but I’m not sure whether that’s the problem. One day bread, the next day none. Once a week there’s margarine, and never butter. Pawpaws and melons grow like weeds, but one day there’s fruit, the next day nothing.

Then I realise what’s happening. The unfortunate staff are working on their own. They get no support from the big boss who owns the place. Any expenditure has to be justified to him or her in detail and only grudgingly paid after many days. These are not doss houses: they charge between $75 and $100 a night. But that doesn’t matter. Someone up there thinks that the establishment will run itself.

The total absence of middle management has its impact on morale and performance. No one checks up to see when the room has been cleaned or whether all the towels are in place. No one checks to see whether the lights are working (many of them aren’t). No one checks to see whether the little safe in the room is working.

Meanwhile in the kitchen the cooks struggle to cook a menu they neither understand nor like. The hotel in Goma had a five page menu which looked very impressive, but the results bore no relation to the dish’s name. Goujonettes de Tilapia, which should be small fish fingers in bread crumbs was a sloppy mess of fish and mushrooms in white sauce. Pizza was some cheese, olives and ham on a sweet pastry base. Escalope Viennoise looked like a Wiener Schnitzel, but was cooked until it was rock hard.

Lack of management is a problem, but there’s another one: that making repairs is something that should be done tomorrow. I remember visiting a school in South Africa where one classroom was out of use because it was used to store broken wooden desks, cupboards and chairs. Any competent carpenter could have repaired them with nothing more than some glue and a few nails in a matter of days.

For readers who are squirming about this apparently racist labelling of Africa as being incapable of good maintenance I need to point out that it is now a mantra among Africans throughout the continent. “Why don’t we, or can’t we, maintain things?”

In Ghana we met a Ghanaian, who had spent time in the US and had come back to a senior position to oversee the property portfolio of the national insurance fund (SNIT). The hotel we were staying in was one of their properties. Near a palm fringed beach in the tourist resort of Cape Coast. It was relatively new. We were sitting outside and as he looked at the rotting timber fascia, at the cracking and damp stained plaster, and a cracked window pane, and he said: “What’s wrong with us? We Africans just screw everything up.”

Thwarted!

We’ve got a very pushy woman in the office. Large in width and large in personality, she’ll always have something to say. When she puts her hand up to say something in office meetings, eyebrows raise and there’s a silent groan, but she’s not deterred. I tease her gently about her constant need to speak, whether it’s relevant or not.

About two weeks ago she came to see me, very excited. Breathlessly she tells me that she had been invited by UN Women to participate in an important “Forum” to discuss peace and reconciliation in the three Kasai provinces, to be held in the capital of Kasai Centrale, Kananga.

Some background. In August last year the traditional Chief in the Province of Kasai Centrale died. A well established procedure exists to choose a replacement, and the members of the tribe made their selection. But before he could be officially installed, the Government intervened, and installed an outsider who is a supporter of the Kabila regime.

That was an outrage. The tribe established a militia named after the late Chief, and government targets were attacked. In response, the army went on a killing, raping and property burning spree, and killed the man who had been nominated by the tribe as the next Chief. 

Since then, at least 400 people have been killed and the UN reports that about 1.3 million people have been displaced, many of whom have taken refuge in Angola. Mass graves have been found, and two UN investigators were murdered, almost certainly by agents of the state. The conflict has spread over a wider area, and now engulfs a population of millions.

When our protagonist made her request, the Forum was going to start in two days and she was expected to fly to Kananga the next day. All expenses would be paid by the UN – the organisers. I didn’t bother to ask why the organisation has been left so late – it’s so normal as to be not worth discussing – and gave her permission to attend. She was thrilled and left in a hurry to get ready.

Her bearing on her return was very different. The Forum had been packed with uninvited members of President Kabila’s party, and the organisers were powerless to prevent it. The proceedings were hijacked by Kabila loyalists, and the promised outcomes – resolutions that would be submitted to the Security Council in New York – never materialised. What was worse, the delegates could not even walk around the town. There were more than 20 road blocks, and they were constantly harassed. Their UN accreditation was no protection.

As it happens, we are supposed to be working in the province most affected by this violence, Kasai Centrale. Although Kananga is relatively safe, it is too dangerous to go into rural areas. So, for us it is wait and see.