For ten days now the two presidential candidates have been under UN mediation; each side has set up commissions of inquiry into the 20-22 August fighting. The idea is that they will agree guidelines to ensure a peaceful second round. Last evening’s events – if they really happened – could easily have sparked another round of fighting. In fact, it’s astonishing that they didn’t. It could be evidence that the UN mediation is working. And that both candidates actually have control over their men. Insh’Allah.
Meanwhile everyone awaits the Supreme Court verdict on the final, official results of the presidential first round. They were meant to be announced earlier this week, but first the Supreme Court has to decide whether holding the second round at the end of October (as per the electoral calendar) is unconstitutional: the new Constitution says fifteen days after the official results are announced. Which is logistically impossible. Unless the Supreme Court holds off announcing the official results until 15 October. Which is politically impossible.
There have also been delays in publishing the provisional results of the legislative election. They were meant to be published last Monday, but instead 10 officials were detained on suspicion of cheating in favour of RCD, the party of one of the Vice-presidents, who did pretty poorly in the presidential election. So instead the provisional results will be announced today. We think.
Luckily, the Congolese are used to waiting and have the patience of saints.
Every time I go to the bank, I threaten to have a full-blown nervous breakdown. No matter how much time I spend here, I cannot get used to or tolerate to be kept waiting for over 2 hours. Especially when all I want to do is draw some cash from a bank that charges astronomical fees for the privilege (1.18% per withdrawal, $25 per cheque regardless of the amount, $5 commission for every transaction, not to mention the taxes…). After 30 minutes in an unmoving queue I start to fidget and complain out loud. After 1 hour I ask to speak to the manager. An hour later I am yelling and shouting and fighting back tears of exasperation. This routine is unshakable. So I visit the bank as seldom as possible.
Not so with the Congolese in the queue who watch me bemused, or is it amused. A few will come to my rescue and confirm to the irate bank manager (whom I’ve dragged over forcibly from his desk) that only 3 people have been served in the last hour and a half. But generally they wouldn’t complain. It always astounds me because usually they are so vocal. Even when some local big shot storms in and unapologetically cuts right to the front of the queue that we have all been standing in for 2 hours, I am the only one to say anything. Of course, the man ignores me, mumbles some excuse about having waited in the queue earlier in the day, and stands his ground. I briefly picture myself biting him viciously, but instead stomp around like a caged animal, swallowing back all this unnecessary anger.
Deep breath. “Weeds only grow when we dislike them”; “This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self”. Zen sayings from an old calendar come back to me reluctantly. I used to pride myself that I could discreetly meditate my way out of most stressful situations and emerge with a big grin on my face. I would think of a tree and picture every intricate detail of its bark, or I would imagine cold water flowing inside me. Small, clever tricks for a more harmonious life. I’m not sure they’re a match against Congo though, but the truth is I haven’t honestly tried. I’ve got the “I’m-too-busy-to-relax” syndrome.
So this is my challenge for Congo: next time I have to wait 2 hours in a queue I will come out feeling peaceful and rejuvenated. If Bemba and Kabila can chill out for a while, surely I can too!
Mongolia, August 2004
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