Wandering along Congo River
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By Nam Sang-so
Aisle seats on aircraft have two advantages; you can access the toilet without jumping over someone’s legs, and easily attract the attention of flight stewards.
I once sat in an aisle seat aboard a Swiss Air plane about to leave Geneva for Kinshasa, Zaire, when an Asian man hurriedly approached and said, “Excusez-moi.” I retracted my legs and he crossed over to take his window seat.
When the plane was flying over the Libyan Desert we were served French cuisine, and while enjoying the food, we introduced ourselves. He was a Japanese textile sales representative stationed in Kinshasa and Brazzaville and showed me bundles of sample fabrics full of bright reds, blues and greens.
He said in French and Japanese that he liked African cities and showed me his family photos. His wife was a handsome Congolese woman and they had a beautiful baby girl. I envied his cosmopolitan life style.
I told him I was invited by President Mobutu Sese Seco to conduct a feasibility study regarding the construction of a plywood factory and dozens of local hospitals in towns near the equator such as Kananga, Kisangani, and Matadi.
I was employed by a group of financiers stationed in Brussels. He whispered to me grinning; “The Mobutu government may not last long, Monsieur,” and gave me a hint on how to keep some dishonest decision makers sweet.
Korean Embassy staffs met me at N’djili Airport. While having a dinner at the Intercontinental Hotel with our Ambassador who was giving me survival instructions especially on risk of abduction by North Korean agents, two indigenous girls introduced themselves in French.
They were my bodyguards assigned by the presidential security office for round the clock protection. They followed me everywhere like my own shadow. I began to worry about my wallet as they chose expensive food and ate a great deal.
There was a thud every time they put their handbags on the dining table. As there was no space to hide arms in their tight dresses, I said, “So, it’s there.” “Evidemment, Monsieur,” said the two as they each pulled out a compact semi automatic Smith & Wesson from their bags.
They rode in my rented Renault to field surveys along the Congo River, walking in their high heels. It was round clock security all right as they wanted to take showers in my hotel bathroom and sleep on the sofa alternatively. My sleep was ruined dreaming about the two beautiful yet armed women in my room.
Late one evening, someone knocked hard on the door. One of the security women went to open it and a huge dark man filled the door way, followed by two more men who looked like guerilla warriors. They said something in their language to my girls and the poor guards were frozen, useless.
The big man spoke in French. “We apologize for our intrusion, Monsieur, but we are coalition members of Alliance des Forces Democratiques pour la Liberation du Congo-Zaire (AFDL). We’ll take over our country soon and you shouldn’t make any contract with Mobutu, but with us.”I nodded and said, “I’ll include your words in my report, Monsieur.” I gave them three wrist watches.
President Mobutu visited Seoul later that year. He became known as the most corrupt leader in Africa, and fled Zaire in May 1997. The AFDL renamed the country the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Writer is a retired architect/project analyst. His email address is sangsonam@gmail.com.