As night falls in Gabon’s capital Libreville, 13-year-old Arthur Goma stakes his patch for scraping out an existence in a country torn apart by devastating wealth inequality.
”It’s my patch here, every boss has his own territory, to advance into someone else’s, that means setting off a world war,” says Arthur, his frail body huddled inside a delicate blanket. Arthur watches eagle-eyed outside a chemist’s shop, waiting to beg a few cents off well-heeled Librevillians on the pretext of looking after their parked cars.
”Madam, it’s me who has guarded your car,” he yells at a passing woman, eyes flashing at the idea of grabbing a few coins. For the street children of Libreville, survival is a nocturnal struggle of begging and gangland battles in a west African country which was once considered as one of the richest in Africa.
But in Gabon, what wealth the country now possesses is shared in an alarmingly unequal fashion. A mere two percent of the population benefits from 90% of the country’s dwindling supply of wealth, according to the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund.
In the 1970s, Gabon’s economy had built itself up to a relative boom, thanks to the country’s oil reserves and wealth in other raw materials.
But with the oil reserves now running low, the country is now paying the price for its failure to diversify during the good times. In 1997, Gabon’s gross national income per head amounted $4 400, but in 2001 this had dwindled to only $3 160.
The ensuing poverty has spawned a secret underworld of destitute boys between 12 and 14, which coexists with the big sea-view hotels, casinos and glitz of this notoriously expensive city. For Arthur, dilapidated boxes serve as his bed. ”Help yourself and God will help you,” reads a paraphrased psalm above his resting place.
The young gangland boss also involves himself in money-lending. He musters up the money and then ”is reimbursed four or five days later with 50% interest.”
The police no longer interfere with the children’s seemingly lawless underworld. ”Before, the police came to us every evening,” says a member of Arthur’s gang, Herve Omer Otouang. ”But they don’t do it any more as every policeman has a junior who looks after his shopping and gives him packets of cigarettes.”
Meanwhile, Herve, serving as a look-out, has spotted a rival street boy claiming a wealthy looking passer-by as his own prey. ”He’s mine, it’s me who looked after his car when he went into the pharmacy,” Herve screams.
But their quarry, an immaculately groomed man, eludes them both. He dives nervously into his jeep and throws a scornful scare at the children.
”You think I am your father?” the man asks. His four-wheel drive vanishes in a cloud of dust.
”He is a thug, ignore him,” spits Vincent Okawe, another child of Libreville’s night, as he watches the car disappear into the shadows.
The boys are eking out a precarious existence on the edge of poverty, but they see themselves as free spirits roaming a world where they are the only masters.
Olivier Ougouindou, warmed by a faded sweater, says: ”Here there is nobody to make you do what you don’t want to. You are master of yourself, master of the world.”
They light up some crumpled cigarettes. ”To smoke is to be free. Here, you make yourself in charge,” intones the deep voice of Anicet Mba, who is the main leader of the group of boys.
But the intoxication provided by such freedom is not enough to counter the stifling economic problems of Gabon. According to the pro-government L’Union newspaper, unemployment has reached a level of some 40% among young people, who make up half of the country’s population of 1,3 -million.
”We are in our empire, we have our parents to thank for that. There is going to be no more money to spend on us,” says Daniel Obame, a fatalistic boy with handicapped feet. – Sapa-AFP