Corona Crisis, Nature Strikes Back, Coltan Congo's Curse - Chapter 6
As
with all plans, they usually appear easier in one’s head than executed in real
life. Marc and Luc were on their way through Tanzania, while Serge and I
started the long trek along the trail that was as crowded as if we were driving
on the M25 through London during rush hour. Bearers, transporters on foot, some
carrying more than their own weight in minerals on their heads or shoulders,
soldiers, groups of women offering food, boys, men and animals walked along the
trail in droves, while oncoming traffic often needed to halt to let others pass
because the path was quite narrow.
It
was hot and humid. My clothes stuck to my skin. I wore a hat and boots that
were supposed to be guaranteed waterproof, but after a few kilometres, my feet
were soaked from the muddy track. I felt like an ant following a stream of
other ants through the bush. My backpack was quite heavy as I needed to carry
the remainder of the cash myself. If others had known I was carrying so much
money, I wouldn’t have got very far. I would have already lost my head during
the first mile. But because nobody expected that someone would be stupid enough
to carry a large amount of cash in a backpack, no one bothered us. We were
protected by a psychological phenomenon, because even if I had told them that
we were transporting about a million dollars, nobody would have believed us
because no one would ever be that crazy. But just in case, Aldabi had supplied
me with a sharp combat knife and a machete.
Serge
led the way. He walked in front of me with bare feet. He was used to that, and
I had noticed that many other locals walked barefooted as well. I tapped on
Serge’s shoulder. He stopped, looked at me and I asked, ‘How far to go?’
He
used his fingers. ‘Seven.’
‘Seven
what?’
He
pointed to my digital watch and tapped on the hour indicator.
‘Okay,
I understand. We’ll be arriving after dark then.’
He
shook his head. He again touched my watch, but now pointing to the date; he meant
tomorrow.
I
understood that we had to spend the night in the bush and by the time we
reached a clearing where hundreds of other travellers stopped to rest, I was
exhausted. We were about halfway and had walked all day to cover about 30
kilometres. It had rained constantly. We were soaked to the bone. We ate some
of our supplies and crashed from exhaustion. That evening, being in the bush
together with the Congolese gave me a sincere sense of belonging. These people,
no matter how difficult their lives were, were still much more connected to Mother
Earth than we in the West. We heard people telling stories in Swahili, which I
could not understand, but somehow these anecdotes created a natural cohesion
between them. No matter what their individual tasks were, they shared this
drive to survive and used symbols, magic and an incredible spiritual belief in
life without fear of death. No matter how hard it was for them, they just got
up every morning and tried again with a smile on their faces. They could not
plan for a pension at 65. All they thought about was how to survive from sunup
to sundown, one day at a time. I felt I belonged there more than in posh Geneva
where cynical materialism had replaced humanism a long time ago. Here, at the
camp, for at least one night, they all helped each other, sharing food or
sharing a place near the fire so they could warm and dry themselves. They sang
songs, and some of them even had a bit of energy left to dance.
After
everyone in the makeshift camp had eaten whatever they were carrying, it became
very quiet. We heard raindrops dripping on our tent and on bark and leaves
above us. Not many whites had made this journey I was told. The UN peacekeepers
stayed in Walikale. They did not dare enter the bush or travel to the mines.
They weren’t allowed to shoot at the rebels. They claimed it was not in their
mandate. That reminded me of Rwanda, when a similar inhumane mandate prevented
the UN from protecting people’s lives, allowing them to be slaughtered in the
streets out of some kind of “political motivation”. My mates weren’t even armed
when they were captured and killed. Life was expendable. Life was cheaper than
a kilo of coltan, perhaps even cheaper than a pound. The Congolese knew this
since the reign of terror had started with the Conference of Berlin of 1885,
which declared Congo to be the private possession of King Leopold II. Fifteen
European nations and the US divided Africa between themselves, allowing them
all to have an equal share. More cynical it could not have been. This
incredible deal is the principal cause of massive immigration into Europe
today. Back then, they already decided that Africa was not owned by black
Africans, but by white politicians and their corporate friends. The people
walking this trail were a sorry reminder of that era because nothing had really
changed since then, only the product they carried had changed from rubber to coltan.
Next
morning, we ate some bread and I opened a tin of spam. We packed up our tent
and decided to wear the same damp clothes because more rain was expected later
on that day. We saved our dry change of clothes for when we arrived. Serge had
explained to me that we’d have to walk five more hours before we reached the
mining zone. Along the way he repeatedly drew my attention to hasty graves
filled with conflict victims, buried without a name.
‘I
have seen these before, Serge,’ I said. ‘All John Does who will never return
home.’
His
eyes spoke, confirming my observation.
We
walked on and on, sometimes across easy terrain, but mostly along difficult
trails. Thankfully, a nicely warming early morning sun started to dry our
clothes so we felt a lot better when suddenly, we bumped into the first mine.
An opening in the forest. Brown-coloured open country with hundreds of man-made
holes in it appeared in front of us. It looked like a pin cushion. From the
holes, people’s heads were sticking out. Miners stopped doing what they were
doing right away, laying down their pickaxes or torches, surprised but also
pleased to see a Western white guy, who had made the journey. Immediately they
started to smile and show us their findings, rocks and mud. Perhaps they
expected us to tell the West their story. It certainly looked that way.
I
asked them in French how many miners there were working and in how many mines. They
confirmed the estimated number Aldabi gave me. About 6,000 workers in ten mines
scattered around the area were producing mainly cassiterite and coltan. Also,
the mineral tungsten was found which was used to make mobile phones vibrate. They
were digging into red rock and brown soil. Some of them were very dirty and
probably had not been able to wash themselves for days. If they were lucky,
they found enough minerals to make five dollars a day. But what happened often
was that these diggers were robbed at gunpoint from their day’s production by
the soldiers who were supposed to protect them. Those soldiers were then
attacked by the militia rebels who robbed them forming a circular economy, but
one in which only the meanest of the mean reigned until they too were killed. Killers
were killing the killers and anyone standing in the way was killed as well. One
of the diggers told me a story about how he had to smuggle the minerals out of
range to be able to sell the stuff to the traders back in Walikale. Sometimes he
had to hide in the jungle for days to survive attacks. When I asked them who the
perpetrators were, he answered, ‘Everybody, we can’t trust anyone. This is coltan
and worth a lot more than our lives. Our lives are worth shit down here, but we
have a family to support. That’s why we are working here. There are no jobs in
Congo, and there’s ninety percent unemployment. These mines are all we have, monsieur.’
***
Marc
and Luc made it over the border from Tanzania into Burundi and eventually into
Congo. Equipped with the goods from the shopping list, they drove the second-hand
Toyota pickup they had bought in the direction of the mining area. They realised
that they would not be able to drive far enough, because their car could be
noticed by the rebels or Congolese army. So just to be sure, they decided to
hide the car under bushes and continued on foot, carrying large backpacks and Belgian
made Minimis, light machine guns with enough ammunition. They reckoned it would
be about a day’s march to meet up with Erik. Guided by a portable GPS, they
followed the track they had mapped out earlier. ‘About 35 clicks, Luc,’ said
Marc. ‘You lead, let me know when you see a sign of life’
‘Sure,
will do. Apparently, our angle of approach should be quite safe, but we won’t
know who we meet until we meet them will we?’
‘Right,
keep your eyes and ears open. We don’t want to stumble upon them. Especially child
soldiers can be dangerously hyped, will probably be doped and are highly unpredictable.
They shoot first and start asking questions later. The closer we get to our
destination, the more rebel patrols we ‘ll encounter and if needed, will have
to deal with. Best is to stay unnoticed at all times. Only when we must, we’ll
fight. No one needs to know we are here.’
A
flock of birds flew over their heads. Sounds of animal life surrounded them.
‘No human movement or chatter yet.’
‘Ssst,
from now on we mustn’t talk aloud any more. We’ll use sign language
only or lip-reading . You do remember
how, don’t you, Luc?’ Luc nodded affirmatively. He had worked hard, although he
had less time than he’d expected to prepare. During the days before this
mission, they worked together on skills and tactics, some of them were at the
ready, because maybe his brain did not remember everything, but his muscles
did. His reflexes were still good enough, he hoped. They rehearsed their
original survival training in the Belgian Ardennes, where they spent two days
using only their hands, a knife and their skills to live off the land, while
covering a pre-set distance through rough terrain. They realised that the
chances of not being detected were slim, but a slim chance was better than no
chance. They had to rely on each other and reaching the BCA mine was their
objective. They trusted Erik to succeed as well and expected him to wait for
them at an agreed coordinate, the next day.
They
were walking through a high grass area now, so they could not be seen. Slowly
they continued their way towards the jungle that came ever closer. Suddenly,
they heard an engine. A jeep was cutting through the grass at high speed not
far from them. Instantly they laid flat on their stomachs, breathing, waiting
until the car had passed them. ‘No speaking aloud,’ Marc talked by moving his
lips. ‘That was close, we must be getting warm.’
Luc
nodded. ‘Be careful. I think it is better we wait for darkness.’ He looked at
the sky. ‘And better put our wet gear on. It is going to rain any moment now.’
Not
a minute later, the evening sky was lit up by lightning followed about six
seconds later by a thunderclap. ‘About two kilometres away.’ Luc calculated the
distance by the speed of sound. ‘In about half an hour, it will be dark enough
to move on.’
They
waited in the rain, both wearing a poncho. Luc smiled. He felt more alive than
he had in a long time and was glad that Erik had been able to find him. He
watched Colonel Marc, a man he deeply respected for what he had meant to the
Commando team in Rwanda all those years before.
He
remembered him saying after they found the mutilated bodies of their fellow
soldiers that he’d be back one day. That day had come. Luc and Marc were able
to use the moon as a lamp to guide them through the dense forest, of course
also assisted by modern technology.
They
had not yet encountered armed patrols, but the closer to the mines they got,
the scarier it could become.
‘Let’s
move on, Luc, we need to be in time.’
Marc
nodded and they both continued their path into the unknown.
***
It
was Sunday, almost a week since I landed in Kigali. Rumours of killings and
random raping of women and girls reached us here in the bush, not by the internet,
but from stories told. I pretended to be a writer who’d come to Congo to do
research for a book. They were all that perhaps now people in the West would
read their story and would come to help them. I told them that the West was not
very interested in helping, but only in the wealth the Congolese earth
provided. I told them that many reports had been written, that films and
documentaries were shown, and several journalists told their stories, but that
no action could be expected soon. I explained that atrocities committed were
denied, ignored ever since the King of Belgium initiated terror to squeeze the
country dry. We said goodbye. What struck me is that these exploited people
still produced smiles, not just acting, but genuine expressions of happiness as
their spark of life could be stopped by no one. It amazed me and therefore I
felt enormously lucky, despite the atrocities, of being African too. I felt I
belonged. We were mates!
Serge
and I moved on and walked towards the BCA mine. Checkpoints were everywhere. I
showed them my passport and usually a few dollars hidden between the pages
helped us pass. I had hidden the money in a double bottom and lining section of
my backpack which I had had specially made in Goma before I left, just in case
it would be checked. Timing was the key. I hoped that Luc and Marc were able to
make their way as smoothly as we did, but I had no way of knowing due to the
strict radio silence. We would meet at an agreed place according to map
coordinates, somewhere in the middle of the mining area, which would be closely
guarded by army and rebels. The intel Aldabi had given me spoke of about ten top
leaders running the mines. They controlled their army of coerced volunteers who
had chosen to fight rather than to live like many refugees who had been
forcefully removed from the mining area that once belonged to their
forefathers.
Serge
and I had stopped to drink from a spring he said produced potable water. It was
a serene place right in the middle of conflict. I listened to the water flowing
on its way to Lake Kivu where it probably would end up. Serge looked around and
pointed me to a black rock that seemed comfortable to sit on and rest a while.
I took out my map and found our meeting point planned for that night at zero hours.
Serge told me that it would take about four hours more to reach it. ‘Let’s go
then,’ I suggested. ‘Are you OK?’
He
nodded, filled his canteen and mine, and started in the direction of our meeting
point. Somehow, he did not need a map. Amazing. He reminded me of the
Australian aborigines who could “think” their way. I was sure Serge was like
that too. We in the West had forgotten life-saving skills like that a long time
ago. We seemed blind, or perhaps we did not like what we saw, so we refused to
look. That would be a more appropriate explanation.
***
‘Shit,
I can hear voices,’ Luc whispered. ‘Stop, stand still.’ Marc nodded, he had
heard them too. The sound was heading their way. Marc did not speak but he
lifted his hand forming the number “two” with his fingers. Luc nodded and read
the lips of Marc. ‘Let’s hide, perhaps they ‘ll pass without noticing us.’
They
both stepped away from the trail they were following through the bush, where
they covered themselves with branches and leaves. The darkness covered the
rest. Not more than 20 seconds later, two soldiers passed where they had been
standing. Luc sighed deeply; a large beetle was walking down his neck, tickling
him with fast feet. But he couldn’t risk moving and being detected, so he
mentally ignored the itch, which was extremely difficult. He managed just about
long enough and caught the beetle just before it entered his t-shirt collar.
The patrol had passed. They waited a few more minutes and decided it was safe
enough to continue. ‘Better start wearing
our night goggles. It is completely dark now,’ Marc suggested. ‘We can see them
coming from afar.’
‘Let’s
assume they are wearing them too,’ Luc warned.
‘Yes,
let’s be careful. The only advantage we have is that no one is expecting us, so
let’s use that to our benefit.’
A
couple of miles further, they heard a truck approaching. They jumped into the
bush and watched a Nissan pickup with about eight armed men in bush fatigues in
the cargo area, some of them perhaps not older than fifteen, passing near them.
They were laughing, talking and singing.
‘Child
soldiers,’ said Marc when they got up and continued their trek.
Luc
nodded. ‘I’ll bet we’ll be seeing a lot more of them, brainwashed killers, the
lot of them.’
‘Yes,
we must be getting closer to our destination, so stay alert.’
‘Truckloads
full of butchers,’ Marc remarked. ‘It ‘s like being back in Kigali watching
Interahamwe drive by. Indeed, you and I have at last come home again.’
***
Serge
and I walked on through the dark night. I brought out the night goggles and now
led the way with Serge following the coordinates we had fixed as our meeting
point. Without internet access, I had not been able to follow our blog, but I
was sure that my old mates would not let me down. All I could do was keep faith
in this awkward mission whose possible outcome could not be anticipated. But I
felt we had to give it a try at least. Twenty years of instability was bad for
business. I looked at minerals trading differently than Didier, because I
believed in the long-term value of sustainable business relations rather than
opportunistic looting which resulted in short-term profits at most, plus the
inevitable collateral damage which caused a permanent destabilising effect. Opportunism
was preferred by short-sighted politicians and hubristic CEOs, who only thought
of bonuses and stock-options and cared about nothing else. They’d do anything
to make money, forgetting that after all, they were only human too.
Unexpectedly,
a monkey of some kind made a lot of noise when we passed. There had been sightings
of chimpanzees who, like people, could sometimes be quite violent. Other
animals were also abundant in these parts: leopards, venomous snakes, but the
worse living things were a lot smaller: mosquitos. They were bothering us big
time, sucking our blood, leaving itchy bumps in our necks, faces and on our
hands. Sure we sprayed, but somehow, they were so hungry and attacked us
anyway. I hoped it would not take much longer to reach our destination so I
could attend to the bites and at least stop that awful itching. This was malaria
country. Pauline had told me that this terrible disease was the main killer, according
to their Congolese health program, and had given me Malarone which I was taking
daily.
Suddenly,
I had to smile when I thought that I could have been in bed with Pauline making
love. I sighed deeply but erased that vision from my brain immediately. I had
come here with a purpose and truly believed that it had been my destiny, ever
since my days in Rwanda.
***
Aldabi
couldn’t sleep. He lay awake, tossing and turning. He sweated. His sheets were
damp. Thinking about Erik was all he was able to do that night. Time was
ticking towards the hour of truth. He had so many questions; had they made it?
Did the others succeed in arriving on time? The odds were against them, but
Aldabi believed that this crazy plan could be a game changer. Obviously not all
factors could be controlled. Much could go wrong. But he felt that luck was on
their side. It was not only them who deserved change, but the population. Not
just the Congolese, but citizens of other affected nations too deserved a
chance for a happier life, because wasn’t happiness everyone’s dream and
purpose?
He
thought about what he had told Erik about the leaders in charge of the militia
and other rebel groups. ‘Many of them are drug addicts,’ he had told Erik, ‘therefore
they will not listen to or understand reason. You have either to kill them,
because they killed many others, or to capture them. I’d recommend you finish
them off as an example.’
He
had perhaps not liked Erik’s answer. ‘We will try not to kill anybody, because
if we too kill everyone standing in our way, we have become just like them and
that is not the man I choose to be. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if
I’d become one of them, never!’
***
Six
thousand kilometres north, Pauline was watching the evening news. Sunday night,
alone on the couch. She hadn’t heard from Erik since Friday and despite her not
wanting to worry, she gradually started anyway. She had tried his mobile
several times, but it seemed to be disconnected as it didn’t even produce a
busy signal or ringtone.
She
stood up and poured herself a glass of Mondavi Zinfandel, her favourite wine.
Sipping and slowly walking back to the couch, she remembered telling him to be
careful. She remembered telling him that perhaps he should reconsider going on
such a dangerous mission into a crazy area full of desperate people who’d kill
you for a pair of shoes. She tried to convince him that they already had a good
life, enough money to take an early retirement and live for love and nature,
just like they had always talked about. Their dream was to buy a small house in
Valais, grow vegetables, keep chickens for eggs, perhaps a dog to walk with
through the mountains. She told him that they didn’t need a Maserati. She
suggested that they could sell it and just drive a Subaru 4-wheel drive like
everyone else. But he would not listen.
He told her that it was important that he go. A solution had to be found to
re-establish a more secure form of trading. He said that people depended on him
and contracts needed to be honoured.
She
had known Erik for over ten years now. She felt he had acted strangely. There was something in his eyes that
she ‘d never noticed before. She couldn’t put her finger on it but suddenly,
she understood; she had seen sadness, yes, that was it, remorse. They didn’t have
any children as she had decided that living a life as an MSF project manager
was not compatible with bringing them up. On top of that, she didn’t believe
that she even wanted to be a mother, as she had seen too many children dying of
hunger, disease, landmines or exhaustion in Angola during the civil war, which was
also basically fought over natural resources: diamonds and oil. She was
travelling quite a lot when they had met and had only recently starting doing a
nine-to-five job at the Geneva office. She just sensed that he was not
confiding in her or telling her everything. And now that she was alone,
questions started to pop up in her mind, questions she had wanted to ask him
but hadn’t. ‘Where are you, darling?’ she asked aloud. ‘Please send me some
kind of telepathic message confirming that you are safe’
***
We
reached our destination, but we couldn’t proceed because just then, two trucks
full of militants who spoke English arrived at an empty spot in the jungle,
where a large fire was burning. Around the fire, people were dancing, laughing
and drinking beer. A ghetto blaster produced a wall of sound. Serge and I
watched the party evolve from a safe distance lying flat on our stomachs. I
used my night vision scope, but the flames were preventing clear vision, so I
put the scope back into my backpack.
I
glanced at my Mudman G-Shock military watch and pushed a button to light up the
green LED. Half past one. We made it in time. Nobody had expected that this
open area would be used as a party ground precisely when we had planned our encounter,
but I was quite aware that thousands of other factors could not be foreseen or
controlled. We had to go with the flow and adapt to unfolding situations. In
economics, they called this a situation of radical uncertainty.
***
Luc
and Marc were also nearby and made use of the flames too. They arrived half an
hour later, around two o’clock, but were unable to search for Erik and his
guide yet. ‘We’ll have to wait until these crazy people are either too drunk or gone, and
by the looks of that fire, that could be a while,’ concluded Marc. ‘Let’s cover
ourselves and try to catch some sleep. It ‘s been two days, almost three since
we had some uninterrupted rest.’
‘Good
plan,’ answered Luc, who could see the flames rising above the bush where they
were hiding. ‘Look at them, they ‘re excited. Listen, they’re talking in
English. We’ve hit the jackpot; these are no Congolese, they’re the reason why
we’re here: Interahamwe.’
‘I
think you’re right. We saw them in Kigali; they’re Hutu Butchers. Look at them,
they are youngsters trained to act as judges, juries and executioners. Just them,
most of them probably hadn’t even been born in 1994.’
‘Dangerous
people, especially when they are drunk or high.’
‘Let’s
try to sleep a little, but with all this racket, it won’t be easy.’
‘Lay
yourself down and at least get the load off your feet. We have come a long way,
Luc.’
***
Suddenly
Serge woke me up. I must have been in a deep sleep, drifting somewhere far away
in my exhaustion. I could hardly open my eyes.
He
used his own version of sign language to explain that the party had ended.
‘They ‘ve gone,’ he said. ‘Now we can start to look for the others.’
I
yawned and took a minute to come back to life again. My bones ached from the wetness
and the rough forest floor. I was bitten all over and felt nauseous from the
damp fumes rising from the sodden soil. He offered me some water which I drank
gratefully. Then I stood up, got my backpack and threw it over my shoulders.
‘Come on, let’s go.’
We
passed the still smouldering fire, its red glowing embers warming us a bit. It
felt good. And then, as if we were being watched from somewhere in the bush, a
man walked towards us. I could not have been more relieved. It was Marc,
shortly followed by Luc. ‘Thank God, you guys made it.’
‘And
so have you, old friend,’ Marc answered softly. We hugged as if our lives
depended on it. Our bond had been strong all those years ago, but this
adventure had made it a thousand times stronger. Now we really felt like the
three or four Musketeers. They both thanked Serge for having guided me in the
right direction, as I realised that I couldn’t have done that by myself.
Luc
and Marc had served in the army for a much longer time; they were familiar with
finding their way through dangerous and unknown territory. ‘We made it all in
one piece,’ I cheered and still couldn’t believe that the first part of the
plan had worked exactly as I foresaw it back in Geneva.
‘We
are very lucky, Erik,’ Marc remarked.
‘Why?’
‘Well,
because we couldn’t have come here at a better time. Most of them are drunk or
stoned, so what are we waiting for? Time to pay the piper.’
‘I
agree,’ said Luc, ‘better pay the price right now than too late. We have the
advantages of a few hours of darkness, having rested, them being pissed out of
their skulls, and of surprise. Let’s do it like this. We’ll follow their tyre
tracks. They can’t be far. Their compound should be near.’
Luc
opened his backpack, grabbed a loaded Minimi and handed it to me. ‘Gear up,
here is your equipment.’
Serge
interrupted and showed us that the camp was situated within a kilometre. Marc
put on his night goggles and so did Luc and I. We were walking cautiously,
following the path the trucks had driven and within ten minutes reached a first
control post that seemed abandoned.
I
could read Marc’s lips. ‘They’re asleep, no one is expecting us. I ‘ll go into the shack and out whoever is snoring.’
‘I
‘ll follow as your back-up,’ confirmed Luc. ‘Don’t use bullets, just your hands
or knife. Erik and Serge, you wait here.’
Marc
and Luc quietly slid under a branch of a tree that was functioning as a road
fence. As silently as possible, they circumnavigated the shack and were able to
look in. Marc stuck up his fingers: two. Luc understood and managed to open the
wooden door. It creaked dangerously but did not wake up the guards. Luc took
one, whilst Marc ended the other without a whisper. They both came out carrying
the limp bodies over their shoulders and walked into the forest to hide them.
Without
talking, they came back and summoned us to follow them to the next guardhouse
or defence mechanism. It was eerily quiet. A dark night, the moon had gone
behind the clouds, but we could make out a camp. On the left, there was a shack;
in the middle of the compound stood a one-storey wooden villa with one wing on
the left. Three 4x4 pickup vehicles, one of them armed called a Technical, were
parked in front of it. ‘Let’s demobilise them first,’ suggested Luc, and he
managed to open the bonnets of two of the cars quietly, cutting their battery
cables in two. Then he disabled the machine gun fastened on the Technical.
I
suggested that we might need one car ourselves in case we had to make a run for
it, so he left the third one as it was.
I
told Serge to wait in the bush near the guard shack at the entrance until we’d
come back for him. He followed my orders instantly and walked away.
‘We’ll
attack from three sides,’ Marc commanded, ‘One from the front, you Erik, one
from the back, Luc, and me entering the wing on the left. I know you said not
to kill anyone, but we really have no other choice. If we don’t kill them, they
will kill us, it’s that simple. I don’t know how many there are here, but
whatever happens, we have to survive.’
‘Don’t
kill them unless you have to. As agreed, we’ll use the gas to make sure they’re
all incapacitated. Then we can capture them and tie them up.’
I
realised that this was war and I had come to end it. These people would not
listen to reason. They were programmed to destroy, kill or slaughter anyone
that came near to their purpose which was insatiable greed. Their sense of
morality had died the moment they attacked their first victim either to maim or
rape. But I had made myself a promise not to kill anyone without being
threatened. Marc found the incapacitating agent in his backpack and gave us all
one canister. ‘Put on your gas masks,’ he instructed, ‘we’ll roll the gas
grenades into the house from three different angles and wait about five minutes
before we enter.’
I
sighed and accepted the task ahead. ‘Okay, let’s go for it .’
We
all drew our knives in one hand and held tie wraps in the other. ‘Remember, no
shooting unless absolutely imperative,’ Marc added.
Marc
walked away to the left part of the villa, whilst I walked towards the main
door. I saw Luc disappear to the right of the house into the gardens. We all
released the gas simultaneously inside the house and waited until we went in.
After
five minutes, I decisively entered the front door which was not even locked.
This truly portrayed their arrogance as they were enabled and even protected
geopolitically to continue their reign of terror uninterrupted since 1996.
Suddenly,
I heard a muffled sound. I almost fell over a couch in the middle of the main
room on which a soldier was sleeping. To test the effect of the gas, I tried to
wake him, but he was non-responsive. Luc came in through the kitchen and found
two elderly people, a woman and a man sleeping in a bed, probably the house
servants. He tied and gagged them both.
Marc
found a man in his forties in a larger bedroom. It looked like the master
bedroom, so he decided to tie this one extra tight, because he could have been
a leader. Just to make sure he was out, he knocked against his throat with the
back of his hand and stuffed his mouth with a piece of bed sheet . There was
one more room. I entered it and found a young girl with a puppet, sleeping in a
small bed. She must have been no older than fourteen. She was unconscious, but
she represented a security threat to all of us, because if she woke up, she’d
be crying or screaming her head off. So, I quietly cut off a piece of her sheet
and wrapped it over her mouth. I also tied her hands just to be sure. I tied
her legs to her bed and walked back to the living room where we reconvened.
‘It
seems that the garrison is sleeping in the other shack. At the party, we
counted about sixteen of them, so there will be at least a dozen or so to silence.’
‘I
have two more gas grenades that will do the trick.’ Luc found them in his
backpack and walked in the direction of the shack. In front of a window which
was not closed, he pulled out the pins and rolled the canisters inside like a
bowler.
Just
in case someone woke up, Luc was standing by with his automatic weapon to
finish off anyone who might still crawl out of there. He waited a few minutes, but
no one came.
When
we entered the shed a couple of minutes later, we found ten soldiers in a deep
sleep. We bound, gagged and tied them all to their beds.
‘Gentlemen,’
he said when he came back to the house, ‘we have ourselves a mine, a leader and
a child.’
I
could not be happy with the result despite our successful strike. It was only
the beginning.
‘Where
is their communication room?’ I asked.
‘It’s
over there.’ Marc pointed. ‘There in that room, I found a radio transmitter, a
laptop and a satellite phone. Perhaps we can call the last dialled number to
find who’s behind all this.’
‘It’s
perhaps better if we wait for them to call,’ I suggested. ‘I don’t know if
there is any security protocol here. There‘s a lot we don’t know. What time is it?’
‘Almost
dawn. We can expect the nightshift to return to rest here soon. If they start
noticing that no one is coming to relieve them at the mines, they’ll either
stay there or they’ll come here to find out what happened. Luc, show your
expertise and protect this camp from being entered; booby trap the place.’
‘At
your orders, Erik.’
‘Now,
let’s wake up that man who was allowed to sleep in a double bed and ask him
politely what his plans are for today.’
‘That
will take some time,’ said Luc. ‘He is out cold, I made sure of that.’
‘Marc,
come with me, I want to show you something.’
He
followed me to the room where I had found the girl, but what I had not noticed earlier
was that she already had been tied to the bed with a leather belt around her
neck. Marc looked at me and I looked at him, and we instantly understood what
it meant. ‘The fucking bastards,’ Marc cursed. ‘They are keeping her as a sex
slave, feeding her to stay alive just enough to open her legs on command.’
I
cut the dog leash immediately but decided to keep her tied and gagged for as
long as was necessary, because a screaming girl would not be helpful at all.
‘What
day is it today?’
‘Monday,’
I answered.
‘Well,
a good day to start the week. And by the looks of it, this could be a very long
one.’
‘If
all goes well, we’ll be out of here soon enough. A UN helicopter will land here
shortly to protect and secure the area, at least that was promised to me in
Geneva. They didn’t want to do the dirty
work, so we had to, but now this part of the mine is secure, we can continue
with plan B, which is giving every miner a hundred dollars.’
‘And
what about the other mines? There may be thousands of rebels guarding the
area.’
‘Yes,
I know, but the UN will take over command by using UN soldiers to secure the
mining areas. We were just the trigger, they will have to complete the job.’
‘it
sounds almost too good to be true. Can you
really trust a UN official?’ Marc asked, and I couldn’t argue about the validity of his remark.
‘Time
will tell.’
Marc
asked, ‘What if this helicopter doesn’t land, did you think about an exit
strategy?’
‘Yes,
we ‘ll rig the mines, negotiate a free passage and fly away into the sunset,’ I
joked.
‘So
yes and no; well, to be honest, I really don’t know what will happen now. We
are sitting ducks. If the US sends an armed drone, we’ll be toast.’
‘But
the US needs the minerals, the Chinese too. Can’t they come and help?’
‘They
only work through proxies. Rwanda’s militia is one of those, directly supported
by Washington to secure access to Congo’s wealth.’
‘And
we stopped at least a small part of it today, hooray,’ he sounded sarcastic.
‘I
know, Marc, but let’s just be rational and practical right now. We’ll contact
the world and tell them that a Metalore employee took things into his own hands
and is running his own coltan mine as from today. Imagine how the markets will
react this morning? Our little operation is going global, believe me. I’ve
already written the news broadcast and tweets for Twitter.’
I
looked at my watch. ‘In about half an hour I shall email pictures of us here in
this rebel camp and tell the world that this resources war is over. I’ll tell
them that fifteen years of bloodshed has come to an end and that the miners are
invited to pick up their hundred dollars from here, which they can take to Goma
to receive 400 more, courtesy of Metalore. Then we’ll tell the world that we’ll
operate the mines in a socially responsible manner, upgrade health, safety and
environmental standards to guarantee and comply with the UN sustainable
development goals and OECD*
guidelines.’
‘You
were a dreamer then and you’re a dreamer now, Erik. The vested international
interests will kill
you, and then murder you[AR1] . You know as well
as I do that politics is just a game to gain power over this whole damn planet.
They’ll never stop looking for you, so you’d better order some plastic surgery
and disappear.’
‘Sure,
Marc, I know, but what is a man without a dream? The night shift will be
wondering what happened. So, let’s wait for Luc to come back and prepare
ourselves. But first I must eat. I’m so hungry. When Luc gets back, we’ll interrogate
our lost leader. Can you go and check on him?’
‘Yes,
on my way.’
I
walked to the communications room, was able to go online without too much trouble
and made a call to Aldabi. ‘We are in, please start broadcasting.’
‘Incredible,
you made it?’
‘Yes,
my old friend. Now it’s up to you. Use the radio frequencies AM/FM. We are the
new Interahamwe, but instead of calling to kill everyone, we will urge them to
drop their pickaxes and join the revolt, walk away and pick up their reward.
Are you ready?’
‘Yes,
we’ll start now.’ Aldabi took out his mobile phone and gave instructions to
start broadcasting on radio, TV and the internet using social media such as
Facebook and Twitter. Immediately, Filimbi and LUCHA supporters picked up the
news and started to share it massively, reaching thousands within minutes. He
even started to believe that Erik’s crazy plan could actually work.
‘Alright,
Erik, we’re on our way.’
‘One
word of caution though, not everyone is happy with what you are doing. Please
be careful. There are many greedy people without a sense of humour. They are
serious types and can be quite nasty when it comes to losing money. I am sure
the ANR* will be knocking at your door.’
‘I
am aware that not everyone will see this coup as positive,’ he answered, ‘but
isn’t it great that we are provoking the sleeping lions? I can just imagine the
look on their faces.’
‘Just
be careful, Aldabi. This is just the beginning. Much worse is to be expected.’
I hung up and tuned in on the agreed FM frequency, like in the old days in
Kigali. A news reader started to speak:
‘Dear
people of Congo. Did you hear about the coup? We, the people who suffered, took
over the mining control centre and the leader of the militia. Your task is to
stop working as a slave. You are entitled to receive five hundred dollars if
you drop your tools and stop digging, hauling, transporting or smuggling coltan,
cassiterite, cobalt, tungsten or any other mineral.’
This
message was repeated all the time. Aldabi started to notice its effects on the
people arriving to his place of business that morning. They all talked about it
and shared the news through social media.
It
worked like a sudden sand storm, grains of sand in the form of information
penetrating everything, everywhere and everybody. He heard singing in the
streets nearby. A sense of triumph took over the city. But had they already
won? This easily? He did not believe it and agreed with Erik that the worst was
yet to come, so he had better be prepared.
Back
at the command centre, I called and asked Serge to go to the BCA mine and tell
the people there to come to the compound and collect their hundred-dollar
bills. I had written it down on a piece of paper for him, so he could ask
others to read it aloud.
Marc
and Luc were back. The compound was rigged with explosives now. Entering from
the outside would be just about impossible. The only access was by road through
the gate we came in ourselves.
We
ate what we found in the refrigerator which was well stocked. These rebels
lived well; we found ham, eggs, bread, milk and orange juice, and an assortment
of tropical fruits.
After
breakfast, we woke up the apparent
leader, tied him to a chair and started to ask questions. ‘Marc, you have to
use your mobile phone camera to record this,’ I instructed.
The
man looked scared; his eyes were rolling around in its sockets.
‘Who
is your immediate contact and or supervisor?’
‘Who
is in charge back in Kigali?’
‘Who
is the girl we found and what did you do to her?’
The
skinny man, still in his undies, shook his head. He was not going to speak.
‘What
do you guys do to people if you want them to talk?’ Marc asked, but he already
knew, so he asked, ‘Would you want us to do that to you?’
This
mind game began to work. Reluctantly, he was looking at us, obviously
frightened, because he knew damn well how the Interahamwe tactics worked.
Marc
took out his machete and put the blunt side on the man’s knee. ‘Something like
this?’
We
noticed that he was starting to sweat, despite it being kind of chilly that
morning.
‘Do
you want me to turn it around, use the sharp side instead?’
He
looked at us one by one, and slowly shook his head and gave in. ‘I will tell
you everything all. We haven’t been paid for five months. Let me help you end
this war. I just want to go home to my family.’
‘What’s
your name?’
‘Nsokala.’
‘Where
are you from?’
‘A
small village near Kigali.’
‘So,
you are Rwandese? How long have you been here?’
He
looked at me and was calculating. ‘About nine years, sir.’
‘Have
you molested the girl?’
His
eyes turned away as if he was ashamed. He paused. Luc got impatient. ‘Well,
answer the goddamn question, Nsokala!’
‘
Er, yes, we all, um, used her.’
‘All
of you? You espèce de merde,’ Luc shouted, ‘I should cut off your balls
right here.’
‘How
many militias or rebel groups like you are there?
‘I
am not sure, about fifteen to twenty.’
‘Are
you FDLR*?’
He
nodded slowly. ‘Some people of the FARDC**
joined us because they weren’t getting paid.’
‘Do
they all work for the same, er, owners,
bosses, superiors?’
‘No,
we work for the Kigali government. We just make sure that our shipments are
protected and that the products reach their destinations intact.’
‘So,
where are these destinations? What are the names of your receivers?’
At
the end he gave us everything: names, phone numbers and secret shipping
locations, and even took us to a hidden shed in the jungle behind the house
where tons of minerals were stored to be shipped out.
We
filmed that too. As a matter of fact, we filmed everything we found. The
tortured girl, the compound, the tied soldiers, the weapons they used, the
armed 4x4, everything.
‘Make
sure this film is saved. I will load it onto my YouTube account right away.’
Back
at their computer, I tried to use their satellite connection to upload the
film, but no matter how I tried, I was unable to. Perhaps the file size was too
large? I didn’t know, so I made copies of the files on two flash drives I’d
brought, just to have one extra as a back-up.
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