The second round of the presidential elections in the DRC (formerly Zaire; prior to that the Belgian Congo; prior to that the Heart of Darkness) should be held soon. The first round was in July. Now incumbent Joseph Kabila is battling it out with a guy called Jean-Pierre Bemba.

I was chatting with John the other day about the Congo: about the country’s past, its huge natural resources, its lack of infrastructure, its numerous militant groups, and so forth. John is much more knowledgeable about such things than, I assume, the average Ugandan cleaner-gardener would be. His home village, in fact, is not far from the Congolese border.

So there was some talk about the elections, and John was trying to remember the opposition candidate’s name.

You mean Bemba?

Yes, that’s it, Bemba. The man who used to live in this house.

In this house? Bemba?

Yes, Bemba.

The man who might soon be elected president of the Congo has lived in our house?

Yes. Bemba. For about six months.

It turned out that some time in the last millennium (who cares about the exact dates?) Bemba had lived in Kampala for a while and stayed in our house, using the very bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen that we now use. After about half a year, hostilities had broken out between Uganda and Rwanda, and Bemba, who came from the general direction of Rwanda, was asked to leave. So he packed his bags and vanished. Fast forward fifteen years or so, and he is running for president in the country that could be one of the richest in the world (if only and so forth).

Remember talk show host Conan O’Brien’s recent obsession on Finland and especially the fact that he looks like Tarja Halonen? He repeatedly said he had no idea what Halonen stood for, and whether she is a good president – he just enjoyed looking like a foreign head of state. He even came to Finland with his crew and got fifteen minutes of Tarja’s time. I feel something similar. Despite his challenger status and the fact that I don’t know anything about him, I hope Bemba wins the elections, since I think I would enjoy having lived in the same house as a foreign head of state. 08:41

A story from Monday's Daily Monitor.

It such a pity that Kafka never had the chance to visit Uganda. But I'm glad the ambitious minister at least has plans and policies, if not any means to work on them. 09:27

I’m studying French. By now, I have about ten hours behind me on this slowly progressing beginners’ course offered by the Alliance Française. It’s extremely refreshing to start studying something from scratch after spending several years on a somewhat more advanced project. My ultimate aim may be to read Foucault (and Barthes, Bourdieu, Levi-Strauss, and Bachelard; and Rousseau, Pascal, and Montaigne; and others) in the original language, but for now I’m mostly repeating simple phrases aloud. This is the method we’re following, and it does make sense.

Having studied not so many different languages (two domestic + now three foreign ones + elementary Latin) but language in general quite a bit, I am interested in principles – the langue behind the parole, to use Saussurean terms. Whenever I spot something surprising, even at this elementary level, I have questions popping up in my mind. For now, I’m trying to repress most of them. Our teacher is a very practical guy, and I don’t think he’d be interested in explaining the systematic rules behind a particular phonetic assimilation.

To begin with, we had about five students in the group, all of different nationalities. The teacher is Rwandese. The other day, the number suddenly exploded. This was after several full lessons. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden there were new beginners walking in through all doors. I mean that literally. We switched into this larger room that has several doors: two leading outside, and another two into other rooms in the building. After the class started, there was someone knocking on a door every once in a while, requesting to join the group. And funnily enough, it was never the same door twice in a row. It was almost as if someone had distributed the people behind the doors at given moments, according to a premeditated plan. I think the lesson ended with twelve students.

The same building houses a Ugandan-German cultural society, and yesterday a couple of guys entered the classroom to take pictures for a brochure they’re making about the association. Someone wiped out the board and filled it with simple German expressions (Guten Tag, eins zwei drei, achtung, ich heisse Frank, etc.). Then we pretended to be students on a German course. A Ugandan member of our French group was posing as the teacher (he happened to be wearing a tie). It was quite funny actually: he didn’t know a word of German, and actually I wonder how many African guys there are in the world who teach German in an international setting. But he did well, looking very authoritative, I’m sure, in the still photographs.

The course might prove to be useful regarding my current identity problem. I’ve been wondering what to write in the “occupation” slot in the immigration card (whenever traveling in East Africa, one has to keep filling out these cards continuously). Recently I’ve been fluctuating between “student” and “researcher,” but I’m really properly neither. A published dissertation and a blog hardly constitute the grounds for calling myself a “writer,” although writing is what I do every day. Often for a full working day. But in the French course, with my current level of skills, it’s extremely easy to answer this question unequivocally. Quelle est votre occupation? Je suis étudiant. Je suis dans le cours de français. 11:19

Uganda has 333 MPs. I’d say it’s a pretty high number considering the relatively modest role they play in daily politics (everything is up to the president). But it’s nothing compared to the whopping number of ministers: 69. There are so many ministers that it took the daily papers a couple of days to settle on the truthful number after the latest elections.

The MPs at least are elected by their constituents. The ministers are hand-picked by the president. Of course he has a number of factors to consider (tribal sentiments and district balance, for example), but ultimately it’s his personal choice how many ministers he appoints and who they are. There seems to be a lot of flexibility as to the size of the Cabinet – before the elections different presidential candidates presented there plans on how many ministers THEY would have if they won.

Those who don’t know how things work might perhaps argue that ministers’ and MPs’ posts are positions of responsibility, whose occupiers should humbly serve the best interests of the people. Hell no. These posts, especially cabinet portfolios, are considered personal rewards from the president, and they can therefore legitimately be used for personal gain. The former health minister Jim Muhwezi is a fine example. He apparently stole millions from the Global Fund and other sources. When questioned on how he could use his position like that, he answered “I fought,” meaning that he was M7’s buddy more than twenty years ago when both were rebels in the bush fighting against Obote’s second government. There are at least two ways to explain this mentality: 1. everything is OK if M7 is your buddy, and 2. if one engages in armed struggle against a corrupt government, one simultaneously earns the right to be part of the next corrupt government. From the viewpoint of power, everything is justifiable. The former NRA leaders openly admit they robbed banks and shops during their own rebellion. It’s a tale about clever inventiveness, not a warning example. They needed money to buy food, and they finally made it to ruling positions, so the robberies were legitimate. It’s as simple as that.

After elections five years ago, Museveni’s brother Salim Saleh started complaining about how rudely he had been treated. He hadn’t received a minister’s portfolio. He’s an army officer with no educational qualifications. “Is it my fate to die without becoming a minister?” Saleh moaned. Well, this time he was rewarded. He is the microfinance minister (a new post, no doubt) and enjoying the perks, no doubt, as if there was no tomorrow. There are others like him. There’s usually some kind of third agriculture minister who once a year kindly instructs everyone to grow more pigs. And there’s some low-ranking minister of the roads department whose job, twice a year, is to say “Oh, sorry for that pothole. I’m working on it. First thing tomorrow”.

Because the parlamentarians are chosen by the people, the president has to use other means to make sure they are on his side. When necessary, he opens the government coffer, half of whose contents come from foreign donors. It’s not too long ago that he paid all MPs quite a bit to change the constitution to allow him a third term. Now there’s a new parliament, and new legal (read: presidential) perks for the MPs. Recently a plan was introduced to purchase luxurious 4WD vehicles to everyone. The benefit would be worth at least $40,000 per head (a primary school teacher here would make that amount, if working continuously with current-level pay, in about forty years). When the Daily Monitor asked the MPs what they thought about the plan, their faces were glowing with pleasure. Some had the decency to admit the people might not like the idea. However, they felt, after careful consideration of all factors involved, that the plan was wholly legitimate and ultimately greatly beneficial. 93 per cent are going to take the money regardless of what people think. And, by the way, Museveni is a hell of a president.

Bonna bagaggawale, as the current slogan of the ruling party goes. Wealth for all. 15:43