Fingers are crossed for the outcome of the talks in Pretoria on the future of the Congo. At time of going to press, there were rumours that a final document was ready for signature by the parties gathered at the presidential guest house, but no one was clear exactly what was in that document. And of course we have been there before: a document has been presented, but one or other or several of the parties simultaneously take issue with one or other of its clauses. Such is the Congo.
In the meantime things remain tense and unstable on the ground. Small groups of United Nations sponsored peacekeeping forces are hardly able to make much impact across the vast reaches of the country, further hampered by an almost non-existent infrastructure where movement between districts and regions has most often to be conducted by aircraft.
This means that the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of militias, large and small, are able to operate with impunity, as they always have, in the densely forested and often mountainous regions of the country. While the biggest belligerents point heavy weapons at each other across huge expanses of territory, smaller groups, many of them part of a shadowy and unconnected network of maquis known as the Mai Mai, get up close and personal, nibbling away at the outskirts of provincial towns, terrorising small defenceless rural populations and engaging in occasional skirmishes with government or opposition forces.
Until the withdrawal of foreign troops (notably those of Uganda and Rwanda) few people had a clear profile of what these Mai Mai groups were about, or who was leading them. In the vacuum caused by the temporary withdrawal of those foreign armies, the Mai Mai groups grew bolder, taking up positions near cities like Bukavu and Uvira and making their presence felt. Their leaders took on faces and names, and began to hold court as players in their own right in the shifting game of power.
But this does not mean they laid down their weapons and entered the political fray instead. To keep the stakes high, they continued to terrorise local populations. New massacres were recorded by isolated communities, amplified by local and international humanitarian groups, to little avail. Women were, and continue to be, abducted, raped and held captive to serve the urges of the men of the militias.
In conditions like these it is impossible to talk about a peace process unfolding. The war on the ground is as intense as it has ever been. Even where there have been glimmers of hope in the past few months, these tiny flames have been extinguished almost as soon as they have appeared, bringing on further pessimism and despondency in the civilian population.
One such flicker of hope had burst into life in the north-eastern province of Ituri, which had been wracked by armed conflict between rival ethnic and political factions for as long as anyone could remember.
Then, as sometimes happens, a miraculous individual appeared.
His name was Joseph Eneko. He was as deeply involved in Congolese politics as anyone else, being a leading member of the splinter faction of the Rally for Congolese Democracy (RCD) led by Professor Ernest Wamba dia Wamba. In fact Dia Wamba, a participant in the Pretoria negotiations but very much a peripheral player these days, described Eneko as a close and trusted lieutenant.
Eneko was an exceptional individual because, in spite of his clear loyalty to Dia Wamba’s RCD, he had gained the trust of widely divergent political and military groups in the province. He was a natural populist, travelling throughout the region and touching even the smallest and most insignificant communities to bring a sense of openness to the political dialogue that everyone could partake in.
His openness brought him such popularity that he was nominated by a rival political faction, the ethnic-based Union of Congolese Patriots, to be the governor of the province, a gesture that was supported by almost all other groups, and certainly by the hard-pressed population.
On November 21 Eneko was travelling in a convoy of two vehicles towards the provincial capital of Bunia, where he was to be installed as governor. In typical fashion, he chose to travel by road, rather than taking advantage of the helicopters or light aircraft that would have been at his disposal. He wanted to be able to stop along the way to continue his open debate with the ordinary people.
Sometime after dusk had fallen, near the rural town of Muhagi, his convoy came under fire from an armed group lying in ambush at the roadside. Eneko was travelling in the first vehicle with 10 companions, including his personal secretary, his bodyguards and some administrative officers. His driver was hit by the first volley of bullets and lost control of the vehicle, which swerved and crashed. As Eneko tried to climb out of the damaged vehicle to see what was going on, he was cut down by a further volley of shots. He and eight of his companions were killed on the spot.
Some of the survivors later identified the attackers as belonging to yet another RCD splinter faction. This militia also gave some veiled indication that it was indeed behind the assassination.
But it hardly matters who was behind it. Another flame of hope had been extinguished in the tortured breast of the Congo. The Ituri region has degenerated into distrust and loathing once again, with well-founded fears of revenge attacks.
And no one can avoid the fact that none of these tiny groups waging unrestrained war in the heart of the country is represented at the Pretoria peace talks. Even if an agreement is signed, who is going to make sure that it sticks?
John Matshikiza is a fellow of the Wits Institute for Social and Economic Research
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