Chapter Seven
As the 1960’s yielded to the ’70’s, and then to the ’80’s, changes in both my personal and public life seemed to accelerate. If I had passed these years in the rich world, I might have attributed the quickening of time to a crise de la quarantaine [mid-life crisis]. Although I was just twenty-three in 1960, and did not reach my forties until 1977, during those seventeen years, the expected life span for a male ngongien actually declined from forty-seven to forty-four. In east-central Africa, the concept of “a mid-life crisis” was a joke among those evolue’ who even happened to be familiar with the term.
At any rate, time passed, and things happened. As early as the 1960’s and ’70’s, on the international front, most of our neighboring states became entrenched dictatorships, or fell victim to military coups and/or civil wars. Depending on your point of view, either the ills of colonialism, or its aftermath, caused massive chaos and suffering. The region was so unstable, and its leaders such kleptocrats and/or psychopaths, that Ngongo might have looked like a small oasis of tranquility —at least, from a distance. But I had a front-row seat!
In Ngongo, the process of deterioration was slow, but steady. Thanks to continuing rises in the price of copper, our economy, on the whole, held steady. We continued to transship the ore to Angola, which process becoming somewhat less problematical after their belated Independence, in 1975.
Other sectors were less robust. President Batakoudou kept promising land reform, but vested interests around him kept his promises from being fulfilled. From 1960 to 1985, the lot of our peasantry remained as dire as ever. By the late ’70's, the disaffection of the rural population had spread to the urban masses, many of whom were the same people who had fled the farms.
In cities such as Fort Chaltin and Mindouli, begging became so ubiquitous that the President diverted much-needed moneys from the army to the “security service” (i.e. secret police), the terrifying Force NKN. In reality, La Force … was a band of licensed urban brigands. The head of this outfit, which took orders directly from the President, was an eastern European brute named Mihajlo Horvat. The rank-and-file were unemployed thugs, many of whom had either been rejected for military service, or démis de ses fonctions de manière déshonorante [dishonorably discharged]. My numerous attempts to persuade Batakoudou to bring La Force under my command, or at least to coordinate their work with the army’s counter-terrorism operations, tombé dans l'oreille d'un sourd [fell on deaf ears].
In late 1983, by which time it was probably too late, I made this suggestion for the nth time. We were in the President’s office, where an emergency meeting of my officers with his Ministers had just ended. “Mike” Horvat had not been invited to this meeting, because it was really about him. The main topic had been the continued failure of La Force to cope with the epidemic of beggary. As usual, Batakoudou had stonewalled everyone, so the meeting failed to reach any resolution. After the others had left, I remained behind.
“Excellency,” I pleaded, “La Force cannot deal with this problem. It is too widespread, and they are too few.” He shrugged. I gave him a moment to speak, but he seemed frozen. It occurred to me that there might be no point continuing, because to do so would risk his lashing out at me. Still, I felt that, having said this much, I should press on. “As I keep saying, Excellency, growing anarchy in the streets of our cities and towns can only be addressed by the army. If you do not…”
A murderous look ended the discussion, and I vowed to stop sticking my neck out. Although I had made the same vow on several previous occasions, this time I kept it, because I had finally realized that Batakoudou’s obduracy about La Force… was part of a very ominous trend.
In 1966, when his first term had expired, Fons had duly ordered new elections, in which he “won” over 97% of the vote. However, since voter turnout was so light (only 23% of those eligible to vote bothered to do so), in 1971, he rammed a new law through the Legislature that made voting mandatory. In 1972, he garnered a paltry 95% (of the 98% who voted). In 1977, further legislation obviated the need for these electoral charades, by making him President-for-Life.
My reading of these developments was that, the longer he was in office, the more aware Alphonse Batakoudou became of his unsuitability; in short, over the years. his inferiority complex blossomed.22 This complex manifested itself in other ways, as well.
For instance, during the early 70’s (72’ or ‘73, I think), he started adding titles. These became increasingly grandiose and difficult to remember. As I recall, by the end of his regime, in 1985, he was styling himself, “Docteur-Generale Alphonse Batakoudou, A’bii [Father] of the Nation, President-for-Life, Lord High Admiral of la marine de guerre ngongienne [the Naval Forces—even though we were landlocked], Inventor of Electricity, Creator of the Complete Works of Homer, Shakespeare, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin,” etc., etc. (I forget whether he included “Lord High Executioner.”)23 In short, my old schoolfellow had turned into a raving maniac.
Those titles may sound humorous now, but at the time, they were anything but. For, as my boss went off the rails, my job became more and more impossible. I have already mentioned the security implications of the spillover from unstable neighbors, the President’s personalization of domestic security, and the alienation of large segments of the populace. As those ripples became waves, my control over the armed forces —over my own people!— was seriously jeopardized. Grumbling turned into acts of overt disobedience.
Finally, in 1985, acting without my knowledge, a group of officers staged a coup, of sorts. That is, they took over key offices, including the telephone exchange. Their ringleader was a disgruntled officier subalterne [junior officer] named Oscar Odhon’g, who would later become my own nemesis. This Odhon’g was a very dangerous fellow, both because he was hugely ambitious, and because, as an Acholi, he was able to mobilize a significant sector of the army, including a number of low-to-mid-ranking officers.
Not that I disagreed with the aims of the coup: Batakoudou and his minions had to go, or else Ngongo would “go” —that is, sink to the level of an État défaillant [failed state], with the anarchy and terror that term implies. But, following their initial success, what did the rebels do?
After taking over several principal military bases, they established tribunals, which immediately started issuing what they called décrets judiciaires [judicial decrees]. After hasty proceedings in tribunaux de kangourou [kangaroo courts], they shot Batakoudou dead, together with several of his sycophantic ministers and a score, or so, of the businessmen who they claimed had battened on the country’s wealth.
There followed weeks of intense palaver over who should be named successor to the dead President. Two names surfaced: Oscar Odhon’g’s and my own. His claim to the Presidency was based mainly on leadership of the coup. But he was so young, and of such inferior rank, that the second candidate prevailed.
Apparently, too, I had kept a low enough profile, over the years, not to be tainted by association with the dead tyrant. My professionalism, honesty in the face of pervading corruption, and the fact that I was more than two decades older than my competitor (forty-eight, as opposed to Odhon’g’s twenty-five), may also have tipped the balance.
There was one further consideration that must have influenced the coup-makers’ decision: they apparently realized that L’Union Miniere would continue to require experienced leadership. Of the Company’s six major Ngongien shareholders, three had been shot. The three who were spared had come up through Company ranks and were also, perhaps coincidentally, the three whose peculations seemed least flagrant.
That my dad was one of the three spared shareholders may also have been a factor in the decision to name his useful and honest son the second President of la Republique d’Ngongo. Of course, I would also be retaining my military rank of Generale d’armee’, or Commander-in-Chief. But, as I would soon learn, “Weary the head… .” And wearier the head that wears both the crown and the red, blue, and gold kepi [General’s headgear]!
As I recall from my school days, it was one of Shakespeare's villains who complained, “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions,” or, as our teacher translated, “Les malheurs n'arrivent jamais seuls, en éclaireurs isolés, mais par bataillons.”24 In this case, the “battalions” were the dire conditions leading to the coup; and the outcome of the coup, my elevation to the Presidency, can be characterized as having set me adrift on a sea of sorrows. But before I get to these, the woes of my long reign, I will once again pause to limn my private “sorrows.”
Note 22: According to Julius Nkwema, this “diagnosis” can be regarded as psychological projection on his father’s part.
Note 23: Echoes of Mobutu and Idi Amin.
Note 24: The villain in question is Claudius; the play, Hamlet.
(Attempting to confirm the details of FN’s account of the 1985 coup, I reached out to several soldiers whom Julius informed me had participated. One of these was Soldat de Premiere Classe David Ennni Dalfovo, who replied to my request, as follows:
“Actually, the coup was conceived and directed by Festus Nkwema, who personally executed his predecessor. The role of Oscar Odhon’g was subordinate to that of Nkwema. It was only later that these two became bitter enemies.
“Nkwema’s account of the “reasons” for which he was named Alphonse Batakudou’s successor are equally specious. Quite simply, he controlled the guns!
“Speaking of guns, in the aftermath of Batakoudou’s death, a persistent rumor circulated to the effect that AB’s own Director of Security, Mike Horvat, had conspired with Nkwema about how best to remove AB. Horvat recommended a method commonly employed in Africa to murder political opponents: poison, followed by strangulation. But FN overruled him, on the grounds that Mike’s method would be too messy, and would give rise to endless rumor and recrimination.
“After the discussion, FN led a contingent (which included Major Odhon’g) to the cell in which AB was being held and, as previously mentioned, he (FN) shot AB dead, possibly using Major Odhon’g’s sidearm. The main argument against using a firing squad was that not every participant in the coup agreed that AB should be executed. There were those who thought a dignified exile would have been more appropriate.”
(Several other junior officers who replied to my query essentially confirmed D.E. Dalfovo’s account. But, as I have come to understand that, in such matters, “The truth may lie somewhere between.” —RS)
To be continued...
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