Endangered species

Pandas, tigers, frogs, polar bears? . . . no none of those. Plumbers and electricians. In the Congo.

I often feel guilty about the fact that I write too much critical stuff about the Congo, and it may sound as if I just want to run it down but I can, hand-on-the-heart state that that’s not my intention.

Make no mistake, there are big problems here. Everyone agrees about that, including the government, the President and his people.

Get a Congolese aside for a few minutes and the complaints are endless. Justifiably. But when I write critical stuff it’s not supposed to be the “you must try harder” type of criticism, but rather to illustrate the difficulties which its Government, President and people face.

So here goes – another comment which could be seen as criticism, though, taking a historical perspective one could say it is the result of a Darwinian selection system, a classic case of endangered species.

We all know how species survive: it is through reproduction, and if the conditions are wrong for reproduction then the species is doomed. E.g Pandas and Tigers, especially in zoos. If you also have the problem of nasty predators, as Tigers do, then the chances are not good.

Enough about Tigers – what about the plumbers and electricians (P&Es for short?

Long ago the economy of the Congo was collapsing. There was hardly any money for public employees, no one was investing in new building and the outlook was bleak. At that time, the publicly funded Trade schools, which were supposed to be training the said P&Es virtually stopped functioning: they had few tools and no materials with which students could learn their trade. As times got harder and harder, the schools demanded ever larger financial contributions from the students, while giving less and less in terms of tuition. At the same time, construction came to a halt, so there was no way of learning on the job. And then came the two pillages, the mass lootings, which systematically destroyed all factories, most offices and many private houses and finished off the already fragile economy under Mobutu. It takes a long time to recover from that damage, especially when there is, in effect, no working government. So even when Kabila’s father came to power there was nothing more than a tentative stirring of economic activity.

That’s all changed, so now there’s a lot of building, and people are demanding higher standards for their water and electricity. So the few P&Es that are still alive from the period when Trade schools were operational are now working for high wages for high powered construction companies. Where does that leave the rest of us? Without.

So there you are: reproduction impossible because no one teaches anyone how to do it any more, and the high powered predators that take the best out of the system.

That’s why, dear reader, when I go to Kalemie and my room has no light, and the bathroom no water – even when, the Manager says, they were both working yesterday – the Manager can complain with justification that there aren’t any P&Es in Kalemie. Another hotel in the same town was almost as bad, and I’ve realised he wasn’t just telling a story – he was correct. Likasi, the same: to get someone to mend a leak in a water pipe serving a basin was, according to the Hotel Manager, practically impossible. Our own experience in our flat with P&Es is much the same.

Everywhere you go you see the results of incompetence by would-be P&Es, people who maybe have a few weeks of working alongside an expert, but who neither have the tools nor the skills to do the job properly. But so desperate are people for some help, they’ll employ anyone, no matter how useless they are. The results are all too clear, and sad.

I recently read that there is a world-wide shortage of welders, but not P&Es.  So, why don’t some of them come here and teach the young Congolese how to do it? That would be real development.

Back from the hols

It’s always reassuring when you’ve been away to come back to familiar ground, and sure enough some things in Kinshasa are still the same. The army of street sweepers, whom everyone predicted would vanish after a few weeks, or months at the most, are still there, vainly trying to find something to sweep up when each has little more than a 100 metre stretch of road. The electricity is still going off with regularity, and the police are still looking hungry for something.

But other things have changed. For example there was a Christmas tree in the arrivals hall at the airport: a small one, admittedly, no more than one metre high, but a Christmas tree all the same. Well, a plastic Christmas tree.

Shoprite, a South African supermarket that opened its doors with much fanfare earlier last year, has a massive glut of mince pies and Christmas cakes – having overlooked the fact that such delicacies are not on the diet of their Congolese customers.

The Minister responsible for the sector under which we work has had a press conference to launch his new web-site. “This,” he proudly proclaimed, “will provide all the data anyone needs to know on the sectors for which my ministry is responsible.” I looked at the site. It’s very smart: most pages are headed by pull-down menus below which are pictures of the Minister at public events. But there’s not much below the pictures. On one page there are copies of two speeches he has made; on another there are the names of key staff. On a third there’s a policy statement that’s more than a year old. What is missing is, unfortunately, any link with the official web-site of one of his sections (prepared with input from us), which contains all relevant legislation, data giving the population, area and a mass of other details of all local government units in the country, training guides and much much more. But then he wouldn’t refer to that, would he?  It’s financed by foreigners.

The most important change is to see the drawn, but victorious, faces of so many Congolese people. Like most of us, of course, they knew that the world was going to end on 21^st December. As if to confirm all the predictions, the previous day started with massive rainstorms. As the streets flooded, so did the determination of the ordinary people to stop the apocalypse by going to church and praying. They prayed all that night, and all the next day. It was all worth it: as dawn broke on the 22^nd they were able to experience the thrill and relief of knowing that God had listened to their prayers and decided not to end the world this time.

Sounds absurd? It’s true - really.

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

A captivating tale

When the notorious M23 rebels were about to capture Goma, the guards at its Munzenze prison decided to get out while the going was good. From what we understand their last act was to hand the keys to one of the prisoners so that their captives could follow their example, which they did.  All 1,175 of them.

The prison was built by the Belgians at least 60 years ago to accommodate 150 prisoners. It had been allowed to get into such a bad state that it received the attention of the American Bar Association which went so far as to provide funds to improve it. The UN peace-keeping force had also made some additions. But in spite of that its reputation was nothing short of grisly.

To return to the story. Prison guards are generally considered to be OK types, so after their “escape” they could mingle freely with the townsfolk and quickly vanish. For the prisoners it was a different story. For many members of the public the idea of having thieves, rapists and murderers wandering around their streets was too much, especially when they were unsure whether the M23 was friend or foe. This created, according to the news reports, a state of psychosis as well as an opportunity for revenge, so the hapless prisoners’ freedom was marred by being beaten up. Eight were lynched to the extent of being killed.

Meanwhile, the opportunistic public, always on the lookout for something free, looted the prison, taking bedding, doors, windows, fittings and furniture. By the time the M23 left the town the prison resembled the aftermath of a massive bombing raid.

The prisoners were mortified. They had lost their home and their restaurant service, but they appealed to the authorities to allow them back. This “patriotic” gesture was warmly welcomed by the Governor of the Province who provided them with mattresses, blankets and food. However, many still remain unaccounted for, so he has promised a reduction in the sentences of those who come back home soon.

Isn’t that sweet?

Doing business

The latest “Ease of Doing Business” study has been published by the World Bank. Not surprisingly the Congo is 178 in the world, 5 from the bottom. The documents shows that in the DRC’s case the total value of taxes payable adds up to 339.7% of profit (compared to, for example, the UK where it is 37.3%), and will take 336 hours to manage per year. Importing a container takes on average 63 days at the port of entry, and costs $3,285. (It’s 6 days in the UK).

It was a nice surprise to meet an aid worker who’s here to try and improve the business climate. He’s not expecting to revolutionise things in one go, but hopes that by the time he leaves, the DRC will at least be better in some respects. He’s lucky to have job that can make a discernable difference, and good luck to him.

Meanwhile, you can’t help thinking that if life’s so tough for business why does anyone come here?

But they do. Last year we boggled, with incredulity, at a shiny new billboard on the main road into town:

“Welcome to the new Kinshasa” it said. “Announcing the Cité du Fleuve, a new exclusive island in the middle of the Congo River.”

And to prove that they weren’t lying there was an artist’s impression of a Dubai style island development, right in the middle of the mighty river. What wishful thinking!!

But little by little news trickled out that work had actually begun. Huge dredgers were creating the island by pumping vast quantities of sand just to the north of the main city. Someone said it was being funded by a British hedge fund, which put a totally new perspective on it.

And then, this invitation arrived in our email boxes. “Enjoy fabulous pizzas at the Cité du Fleuve” complete with a photo to prove that it existed.

So, one Saturday, off we go. The journey takes one through some rough areas which makes one wonder whether they’ll ever attract the sort of client they need, but suddenly you are driving on a causeway onto the island which already has tarred roads, street lights and other symbols of modern development.

The pizza place is not much more than a small kiosk, but it serves attractive tables under large umbrellas at the water’s edge. As you sit you can watch regular traffic of dug-out canoes bringing supplies to Kinshasa. On the inland side of the road they are building the new houses.

As if to prove a point about the problems of working here, the developer has opted for steel pre-fabricated houses. There’s one completed already and several more are going up. They’re very nice, middle income type houses – not as fancy as the billboard suggested.

Their logic is that although importing stuff is slow and expensive, it’s less hassle than dealing with endless unreliable suppliers. But what a wasted opportunity for developing local skills and manufacturers! I wonder if the business climate were better whether they would have taken that decision.

One day

Here are a few incidents to provide a flavour of life here.

(source for most of the stories, staff reports)

·  In Goma, where all the fighting is taking place: teachers are challenging the M23 rebels to pay them, as the M23 won’t allow government staff to enter the city. Meanwhile a band of ten policemen, not impressed by the fact that the 10,000 strong Congolese Army, already mobilized in the region, cannot retake the city, enters Goma secretly by boat from Lake Kivu to re-establish the power of the government in the city.

·  In Bukavu, a non-government organisation has decided to go into pastures new by founding a University. For their campus they have chose a large house that used to be their office. They promise to deliver bachelor’s degrees in three years (as opposed to four years at the state universities) in subjects as unusual as choreography and music as well as conventional ones such as law and education. This accelerated and novel curriculum has excited the attention of many students. But their joy may be short-lived: the Minister of Education has pointed out that they have neither requested nor received accreditation and might be closed down.

·  In Bandundu, a newly elected Governor of the Province decides to make his mark by ordering that all schools within the town of Bandundu must be cleaned. He gives the staff and children three days in which to complete the job. It is not clear when they will next be cleaned, or why it takes an order from on high to get someone to clean them.

·  In Katanga, teachers from one of the rural parts of the province have not been paid since 2010. They “are considering” going on strike.

·  In another part of Katanga, efforts by the UN Peace Keepers to disarm some well-establish bandits failed when the UN contingent from Benin, who were supposed to be leading the action, decided it was too dangerous and left in haste.

·  In Kinshasa, an unusual disaster struck. The high profile politician, Kengo wa Dondo, (who is President of the Senate, and is best known for being hospitalised for a week after being attacked at the Gare du Nord in Paris by Congolese dissidents shortly after the DRC Elections in November), was taking his usual evening constitutional along the river. To compensate for his somewhat effeminate bearing, and his unpopularity, he surrounds himself with five bodyguards with whom he has nothing in common except proximity.

But today was to be different. Their walk was interrupted by a deafening crash: his bodyguards went into close formation and his normal dour expression was replaced by sheer fright.

Fortunately the crash was nothing more than a massive branch breaking off a tree. Much to his relief the car underneath was not his. (see picture)

(Note: the owner of the car returned about 15 minutes after the event. He organised the many bystanders to lift up the branches to allow him to drive out, and within minutes he and his somewhat dented car were gone – he laughing at life’s absurdities.)

Success stories

If you are not in the mood for cynicism, read no further. But if, like me, you share not only exasperation about the failure of the Congo to pull itself from poverty, warfare, corruption and chaos, but also a sense of helplessness, read on.

What is one to do with a country where the General leading a campaign to defeat an armed rebellion chooses to sell arms to the enemy? What is one to do with a country that is so dependent on international aid that it has basically surrendered all responsibility for its own services?

This thought was triggered by a realisation that international donors are so desperate to claim results that they clutch at the tiniest response from the recipients of their aid as “a success”.

We have a nice example. As part of the gender sensitive principles of our donor, we thought it would be a good idea to help a group of women in the public service to become advocates for equality and non-discrimination. This in a country where women members of parliament are a rarity, and those in high public office can be counted on one hand. So it’s pretty obvious there’s work to be done.

The initiative went down well: a group of women from five provinces decided there’s definitely need for something of this sort. After a three day workshop, broken at regular intervals for refreshments, they adopted hopeful resolutions and elected a committee to draft a constitution and finalise the planning of the first year’s activities.

Hold your breath – this is a big one: the committee met more than once WITHOUT asking us to pay for their transport or refreshments. Now that is what we call SUCCESS. Not what they did, but the fact that they didn’t ask us for money.

Like all good donors, ours looks over its shoulder at the electorate back home. There is a big PR job to be done to demonstrate that the millions being spent are making a difference, and anything that can be called a success must be written up and made available to the general public.

So, without any ado we get down to writing a one page summary of how this remarkable event occurred and without any shame classify it as a SUCCESS STORY, one of a regular stream of similar flimsy claims. The donor loves it.

Looking at the whole situation from the point of view of the Congo and its peoples, one cannot help asking whether their heavy reliance on donor funding is not a product of the well-intentioned efforts of the international aid community. For example, we fall over ourselves to support the health and education systems, to the extent that if anything is wrong with them we feel that it is our fault, and more money must be spent to rectify it. Naturally enough, the Congolese soon pick this up and if they encounter any social or economic problem their first thought is to ask themselves which donor they can ask to fix it.

A Congolese friend recently was asking herself the same question. Is this international aid creating a nation of helpless beggars, a client state that has neither the will nor the means to stand on its own feet? Is aid, in fact, truly helping? Did the United States get aid to develop?

The Congo is widely recognised as having massive wealth in terms of its minerals, forests and agricultural potential; not to mention its potential to supply electricity to the whole of Africa if a planned hydro-electric power station goes ahead. So why can’t it, like the USA of old, use those resources to stand on its own feet and develop itself without depending on other people for its development?

Good question.