Illustration by Barly Baruti
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Original Title: “Oncle Nico (II)”
By RICH NGAPI
Translated from the French by Alex Engwete
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Vocabulary:1) Giant eucalyptus: Kinshasa “nganda” (sidewalk bars) are often set up under the shade of trees.2) Quartier 1 (Quartier Un) = Administrative quarter of the densely-populated N’Djili Commune, near the airport.3) “Parlementaire debout” = untranslatable Congolese French political expression = literally, “parliamentarians standing on their own feet” = usually, unemployed wannabe-politicians who hang around squares and street corners to discuss politics and spread rumors. They are also the “anchors” and “reporters” of Radio-Trottoir, the Congolese grapevine.
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Promises are made to be kept. We now continue our account of the political adventures of Uncle Nico, perpetual but unsuccessful candidate to multiple government cabinets, from Gizenga I and II, down to Muzito I and II, and soon, III. Very reassured, at long last, about his prospects for making his entry into the future government of the “last chance,” Uncle Nico ended up disenchanted. For a seasoned politician of his caliber, the response given by the contact-recruiter of the Presidential Majority was too curt to be taken sitting down.
And so, the old reflex to oppose everything, wherever and anywhere resurfaces from Uncle Nico’s inmost depths. The man had already been disappointed when told that prospective ministers were bound to disclose their assets before and after their tenure. Well, he could let that pass. What displeased Uncle Nico the most in the new setting was that one had to be content with one’s own salary. Just imagine: with a salary—solely. Bet it a minister’s salary.
This proposition, though fair and ethically sound for others, couldn’t sit well with an old politician, newly converted to the opposition, and who’s bracing for the third age. Nico knows how to negotiate his deals by raising the bar high up from the outset. “An old politician,” he mumbled and muttered to himself, “a patriarch of an old political party, has he not made a jackpot of his seventy years of age by only spending a few months as the head of a coalition government?”
Ultimately, Uncle Nico was confused, embarrassed. He can no longer make sense of what’s befalling him. He wondered whether it was the country that was out of luck or was it he, Uncle Nico, who had run out of luck with this new generation in charge. He, the man, who, like a magnet, used to attract a throng under the giant eucalyptus of Quartier Un, at N’Djili! They would come from the four corners of Kin-la-Belle, some in the morning, others at about noon-ish and one-ish, those “parlementaires debout” who hung on every single word Uncle Nico spoke… till nightfall.
Who would then pretend not to know about the feats of Uncle Nico? It is he who first spoke of convening in ex-Zaire the forum of truth known as the “Sovereign National Conference” that made it possible to switch from an arbitrary state to the rule of law and democracy.
Oh no! Uncle Nico is disgruntled. A political class that only shares the pieces of the pie among dinosaurs of the same breed makes him want to puke. He could measure the length of time of the wait he had to endure then, with the secret hope that the dawn of democracy would find him in still such good shape. Living and kicking. Standing. But alas! the new race of politicos has disappointed him.
(to be continued)
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