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Chapter 14
Without getting too much into the history of this cut and open war zone that is Congo, I will tell you what you need to know. The Democratic Republic of Congo is hardly that, democratic. There is a government whose jurisdiction is mainly situated in and around the capital of Kinshasa. Over on the eastern side of Congo, power resides with those who possess arms and artillery. The Rwandan rebels only add fuel to the seemingly apocalyptic rubbish fires lit in every corner of the war stricken town of Goma. As I landed on the soil of this cursed land of natural blessings, a dangerous question popped up. How would we fly down to the epicenter of conflict: the Mai Mai, when all we had was a fixer upper plane from the Congo Eastern Airlines threatening to crash any minute.
Rishabh, after having left it all behind, insisted there was nothing to fear. He was wrong. I have never felt so connected with God almighty in my two and a half decades of existence. He was all too amused with my variety of expressions on a usually numb face.
"You just reminded me why I loved you in the first place".
He smiled and went back to chowing down a Congolese delicacy: boiled rice and beats. A special covering called the niqaab was prepared for me by a UNIFEM worker. I agreed like a hypocrite as we stepped foot into the territory of the infamously named rapists. Yes, this was the mix of rebel groups and local child led armies using women's bodies as victory trophies. The battle was for a priced mineral hidden inside every cellphone, tablet and computer known to man: coltan.
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Speaking of coltan, I managed to smuggle in a solar powered blackberry to keep in touch with the upheaval back home. And boy was there a lot to tell.
Roger Fernandez was back in Jayte and had proclaimed a sharp fall of the Green Party. Madhubala Malik was painted a west manipulated wh**e who slept around enough to forget who she was pointing fingers at. Bittuji had stepped down as president of Jayte for two whole days until his supporters fasted and begged him to come back. Now his statements consisted of praising the dignity of a "bhartiye naari" and how he would never look at a well dressed woman with anything but respect. The key word being well dressed. Marie and Radhaji were dangerously out of the public spotlight. Some anonymous sources had reported Mrs. Fernandez returning back to Rwanda for good.
As I was about to break the news to a dizzy green Madhubala, we arrived at the end point of UN jurisdicted area in the city of Goma.
A friendly Indian soldier greeted us with, admittedly, worried looks painted on his face. We walked six hours in the dark deep woods of the Congolese mountains being occasionally stopped by teenage rebels. I remember this one particular incident that did not sit well with Madhubala.
To be continued……..
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Jhanak
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