Friday 1 February 2019

Games people play

Social circles in Kinshasa have a strange feeling of unreality – at least the ones that we belong to. There’s such a sense of passing through, that no one has any real connection to the town they’re living in. Talk is more about how one is managing, how long we are there, and how long we will be staying. There are two distinct groups: the diplomats, who drive around in cars with special number plates and exude an air of casual superiority. And there are the aid workers.

Both sides have their pecking order. For the diplomats, Belgium is (or used to be – now it is in the dog house because it imposed sanctions on Kabila and his cronies) up at the top because of its historical connections. Alongside Belgium there are the obvious ones, the Unites States, Britain and Germany, the big aid-givers who have large staff and are deeply involved. There are so many staff in these embassies that they tend to hand together but occasionally you meet them. Lower in the pecking order are, obviously, India, Greece, Turkey, Brazil and the multiple UN agencies. They’re much more approachable and you bump into them quite often. Indeed, we were at lunch one day (see earlier episode) with the ambassadors of India, Brazil and Switzerland.

And then there are the real –  as they would see it – aid workers, the Red Cross, Save the Children, CARE, Oxfam and, of course, Médecins sans Frontières. They have the uniform of the egalitarian: jeans and t-shirts; beards on the men and long lanky hair on the women. Sandals are the footwear of choice. They have a weary reluctance to talk about their work, like soldiers coming from a terrible battle. What they will talk about is trips they’ve made which we weakling mortals would find dangerous or simply too difficult, like going up the river to Kisangani in a local boat, a two week epic of chaos and vibrant life; taking the train to the port of Matadi, or exploring ancient religious sites near Kinshasa. But once in Kinshasa, they are going to have fun. They keep the nightclubs going and are happy to burn the candle at both ends while they can.

But I’ve forgotten to mention the old-timers. There’s a small band of people who came in the days of Mobutu and who have never left. They’ve been through the terrible and dangerous times of the pillages, when the troops, and later the ordinary people, took it upon themselves to steal everything. With Mobutu’s connivance they ruined every single factory and expatriate home, not just stealing but also smashing everything that couldn’t be removed. This happened not once but twice and the tales of terror that people experienced are truly chilling. But they stayed, and now they are reaping the rewards. Kinshasa is back to working more or less like a normal city, and the economy still needs supplies. So, for those with the ability to manage the system (read bribe the right people for survival) the pickings are rich.  Their stories are fascinating, but what is most striking is that they don’t see anything particularly unusual, let alone heroic, in their experiences.

It’s only their nouveau-riche talk that sometimes gets nauseating. Private jets, apartments in Paris and New York, children at Swiss schools, etc etc. But, to be fair, most still see themselves as ordinary, and don’t use their wealth as a social tool.

But money creates enmity, and from time to time the Government (read President) decides to take down someone. The speed at which this can be done is terrifying. Banks are closed at a day’s notice; assets are frozen, people are jailed. A process that could take years in most countries is achieved in days. This was a trick that (now ex-president) Kabila learned from Mobutu.

The most feared people are the tax collectors. They have sweeping powers, and they are not afraid of using them. Neither side has any illusion about the game that they play. It is to intimidate the tax payer by cooking up a massive demand, and then inviting a compromise that will include a relatively small sum paid to the tax office and a relatively large one paid to the tax collector him- or herself. To avoid regular confrontations, businesses typically cultivate a symbiotic relationship with the tax collectors in which the bribe and official components are matters of routine that do not need to be negotiated.

This puts businesses that are under international scrutiny, and cannot pay bribes, in a bind. The tax collectors see this intransigence as a front to avoid paying anything, so the tax bill is inflated by way of revenge. If they don’t pay, their bank accounts can be frozen at the stroke of a pen. That happens: the managing director of a new mine near Lubumbashi told me that the tax collector had produced a tax demand based on the amount of his investment, not profit. Obviously, since there had been no income there was no tax to pay, but the tax collector was adamant and closed the bank account without any notice, because he couldn’t (or didn’t want to) understand that the mine was still in the development phase and had not started production. The mine was forced to close down until the situation could be resolved. His case was the worst I have heard.


Back to happier things. Yes Kinshasa is an island in which we are forced by circumstances to meet many people that we would not normally expect to call friends. And yes, it is both interesting and, at times, fun.