Ruaridh Nicoll in Kinshasa reports on the return of President Mobutu Sese Seko after months of convalescence in France
EMERGING on to the steps of his chartered plane, Mobutu Sese Seko, in a leopard-skin hat, looked out happily on the country he has pillaged for 30 years. He was greeted by an enormous roar.
Thousands of Zaireans rushed under the jet that had flown him to the capital, Kinshasa, this week from exile in France as if they wanted to carry the plane on their shoulders. After nearly a year their ‘marshal’ had come home. Now the people moved like a dark sea under the silver wings. Two men held up a banner that read ‘Mobutu equals solution’.
Mobutu (66) declared he had defied doctors’ orders to return and promised not to flinch from the crisis facing the country in the wake of a rebel uprising in the east. ‘Each time that Zaire has been threatened in the past, I have never pulled back. I will never pull back.’
The returning exile was followed by a fleet of planes loaded with washing machines, television sets and video-recorders bought during his convalescence on the French Riviera.
Behind the public show of affection there is a vast land seething with resentment and unrest after three decades of corruption, misrule and now armed rebellion.
Gaetan Kakudji, spokesman for Laurent Kabila, president of the rebel Alliance of Democratic Forces, said Mobutu’s return changed nothing. ‘We know he is preparing a counter-attack, but we are confident and prepared to respond. The regime of Mr Mobutu is a sick regime,’ he said speaking by telephone from Brussels. ‘We need a new man to reconstruct the country.’
Zairean state radio had broadcast appeals for residents of Kinshasa to turn out in huge numbers to greet the president ‘ and they responded in style.
Neglect does not breed contempt in this country and thousands waited to welcome him home and they streamed on to the tarmac of Africa’s most notoriously corrupt airport without hindrance from officials.
‘Look how poor these people are,’ a foreign businessman in transit said, pointing out that Mobutu is reputed to be the richest man in Africa. ‘They have been paid to come here for sure.’
‘It’s happiness, total happiness,’ said Wabasa Gerembo (38) from Kinshasa, as he waited for the plane. ‘We know he is living and walking and the joy is shared by all Africans. For 30 years he has won wars, he has always won and he has kept the country together.
‘What has happened in the east has happened because he’s absent and now the enemy are in retreat.’
Gerembo did not look as if he wanted contradiction on Africa’s joy. One thing was obvious. The troops that now formed to protect Mobutu were not of the same kind as those who retreated in front of the rebels.
They were the presidential guard, smartly dressed, well armed and highly disciplined.
When the president’s plane sank through the equatorial haze on to the tarmac, the army pushed back the hordes from the ramp in front of the VIP lounge. Pictures of the president had been re-hung on the incongruously well-painted walls.
Brass bands pounded their way through the thick wall of humanity, happily screaming children crushed against the fences. The joy was real in the warm, summer-damp air.
Mobutu was met at the bottom of the ramp by two girls waiting with elaborate bouquets of flowers. Wearing a flower-patterned tunic, black trousers and a smile, the president stepped on to the red carpet and made his way to a podium where he raised a black, silver-tipped cane above his head.
Angel Nzenze (20) was beside herself. Her husband was fighting in the east, although she had heard from him the week before. ‘I came to welcome the president,’ she said. ‘He has become back because his health has improved and he’s going to bring peace.’
The murmurings of a potential coup were nowhere to be heard. Although later, a young man, surrounded by friends, said quietly: ‘He is a great man, a great man for the army, but a terrible president.’
The Zaireans may see what they believe to be a competent soldier back in their midst. He had returned complaining that his recuperation had been interrupted, but promising damage to the rebels in the east. ‘I have decided to interrupt my stay in France,’ he said.
On the other side of the airport terminal, a Mercedes shunted into position with armoured cars bristling with anti-aircraft guns.
Whatever anyone might say about paid crowds, it could not be repeated on the 30km drive into the centre of the city. Thousands of people lined the road, singing and shouting at the people driving by.
Beautifully and stylishly dressed people mingled with the poor in the run-down city.
Finally the convoy ground into a bottleneck at the gates of Camp Colonel Tshatshi, an army station where the president has one of his many mansions. For the lucky people let through by the army, a vast buffet had been laid on beside the glorious rapids of the Congo River. There Mobutu stood on the patio and made a 10-minute speech to his people.
The people’s gravest fear, it seemed, was the rebels and their leader aimed his message directly at it. ‘I’m not going to disappoint you. I know your expectations and your hopes,’ he said. ‘Every time our country has been threatened in the past I have never retreated and this time again I will not retreat.’
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