Meeting Kinshasa's 'district of thieves'
By Hans Pienaar
Kinshasa - I have made acquaintance with the denizens of Kinshasa's "district of thieves".
I escaped a few hundred dollars lighter, but my driver was less lucky. He had to get six stitches in his head after being attacked by a crazed mob.
The day started off with expectations of trouble. A march by supporters of opposition leader Etienne Tshisekedi and his UDPS party had been advertised on Monday in the press and on radio.
It was to begin in the impoverished districts of Masani and Kingasani, because here the people were fearless, it was said.
All along the expected route, also the main road to the airport, police in riot shields and Robocop-like plastic harnesses were discreetly waiting under trees.
In Masani, about 20km from the city centre, an overcrowded district of shacks and derelict buildings, my guide and I instructed the driver to park in a side street and follow us as we approached the burning remains of a petrol bomb.
Suddenly we were surrounded by a crowd, who pointed at their mouths and mimed with their fingers, saying, "Talk, talk".
It was while I was fiddling with my tape recorder that a grab was made for my bag, which I was keeping tightly under my arm.
I was able to save my camera, recorder and cellphone, but not my wallet.
The crowd broke up, and when my guide tried to get my wallet back they shouted: "We are the thieves! If you come here, we'll steal your things! Kabila has stolen everything from us, so we'll steal from you!"
We decided it was wiser to join a convoy of police vehicles and United Nations observers. An order came for a phalanx of riot police to form across the wide avenue.
We watched as teargas was fired, but fortunately the wind blew it away from us. Then we saw a unit of policemen being dropped off their vehicle in the rear. We realised we were surrounded.
For the next half hour the police intermittently fired teargas in all directions.
The crowds taunted them, but it was clear they were trying hard to follow the UN's instructions not to incite protesters by beating them, as they had during a previous march in the city centre.
Youngsters brought transitional president Joseph Kabila's huge poster to the avenue to be burnt in front of the police, who responded with more teargas.
The crowds starting moving in closer from side streets and in front of and behind the police lines.
Fearing they and the handful of media people and observers would be trapped, the national guard were called in.
The national guard are feared for their reputation of shooting to kill, so this move pacified the crowd and I and my guide started moving out on foot behind the expanding cordon of soldiers.
"Kill the white man!" the protesters shouted.
When my guide shouted back that we were media people, they responded that because I was a foreigner I was part of Kabila's plot to milk the country dry.
We were joined by a local man who said we had better stay with him.
By that time, whistles had sounded, which was code in the area for the demonstrators to prepare for "battle".
Police officers and soldiers came staggering past for medical attention after they had been hit by stones.
Smoke from petrol bombs and teargas mixed with the dusty air.
We made it to a "police station", just a tin shack under a pedestrian bridge burnt down in previous years. A UN vehicle came past and we made a dash for it, but before we could reach it, it drove off at high speed.
Some more vehicles with media people hanging on came past.
I was instructed to wait in the overheated tin shack. The commander looked calm and unconcerned. We learnt by cellphone that our driver had been attacked in his car, and had fled.
Just then a clapped out minibus taxi came past, and the police chief shouted, "Allez, vite, vite!" (Go, quick, quick). We wasted no time.
We were dropped off at a central crossing, where the riot police had set up a kind of field headquarters under some bluegum trees.
When we found our driver, his shirt was covered in blood and he had a deep gash in the back of his head, where a piece of tar torn from the road had hit him.
I took him to a clinic, where his wound was stitched. Doctor Andre Nkfula said: "It's not even the day of the elections, and this is already happening."
My guide, a veteran of wars and campaigns since the '90s, ranked the day's events as "middle of the road" in terms of severity. - Independent Foreign Service
- This article was originally published on page 13 of The Star on July 27, 2006
Published on the Web by IOL on 2006-07-27 06:26:00
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