From the first few days of our stay, we also had the opportunity to see some cases of alcohol poisoning caused by the famous pombe. This is a spirit distilled from fermented corn and cassava flour, which is not so high in alcohol content but the distilled liquor has terrible effects. Presumably these arise not so much from the concentration of the alcohol itself as from the amount of impurities contained in the liquor due to the rudimentary method of its production. There were days when the camp was awash with pombe, leaving behind a trail of brawling, drunkenness, indiscipline, etc.
Peasants from the surrounding area began to visit the clinic after hearing on “Radio Bemba” [word of mouth] that there were doctors in the area. Our supply of medicines was poor, but a Soviet medical consignment came to our aid. It had not been selected with a civilian population in mind, but naturally to meet the needs of an army in the field—and even then, it did not contain an adequate range of medicines. Such imbalances were to be a constant feature of our time in the Congo. The shipments of very valuable weapons and equipment were sent in such a way that they always turned out to be incomplete. Shipments inevitably featured cannon and machine guns without ammunition or essential components; rifles arrived with the wrong ammunition, mines without detonators—this was the inevitable character of supplies arriving from Kigoma.
In my opinion, although I have not been able to confirm this in detail, all these failures were due to the disorganized state of the Congolese Liberation Army, and to the shortage of cadres with a minimal capacity to check equipment as it arrived. The same occurred with medical supplies, with the additional factor that they were stored in one gigantic mess in La Playa, where the reserves of food and weapons were piled in total chaos. I tried several times to obtain permission for us to organize the warehouse, and I suggested that some types of ammunition—such as bazooka or mortar shells—should be moved out of there. But nothing happened until much later.
Contradictory news arrived from Kigoma every day. Occasionally an item was repeated so often that at some point it became true, for example, that a group of Cubans was waiting for a boat, an engine or something to get through; or that Mitoudidi would cross the lake tomorrow or the day after, and then—when the day after tomorrow arrived—that he would be crossing the following day, etc.
Around this time, we heard news of the conference in Cairo4 from Emmanuel on one of his frequent trips to Kigoma and back. The result had been a complete triumph for the revolutionary line. Kabila would stay for a while to make sure that the agreement was implemented, then he would go somewhere to have an operation on a cyst—not very serious but bothersome—and this would delay him a little longer.
We had to find something to do to avoid total idleness, so we organized lessons in French and Swahili, as well as general education classes, which were desperately needed by our troop. Given the nature of the classes and the teachers, this could not contribute much to the compañeros’ education, but it did have the important function of passing the time. Our morale remained high although complaints were starting to be heard among the compañeros as they watched the days pass unproductively. Also hovering over us was the specter of malaria and the other tropical fevers that struck nearly everyone in one form or another; these often responded to malaria drugs, but left behind troublesome aftereffects, such as general debility or lack of appetite, which added to the incipient pessimism creeping into the troop’s morale.
As the days went by, the picture of organizational chaos became more evident. I myself took part in the distribution of Soviet medical supplies and this resembled a gypsy marketplace; each representative of the armed groups produced figures, and cited facts and reasons why he should have access to a greater amount of medicine. There were several conflicts as I tried to stop some medicine or special equipment being unnecessarily carried off to the front lines, but everyone wanted everything. They started to claim incredible numbers of combatants in their group: one declared 4,000, another 2,000, etc. These were inventions, which had no objective basis except in the number of peasants living near the army and potentially becoming a source of future combatants. But, in reality, the real number of soldiers or armed men in the base camps was significantly less.
During these days, the various fronts were almost completely passive and if people had gunshot wounds to be attended, these were the result of accidents. Since hardly anyone had the faintest idea about firearms, they tended to go off when they were played with or treated carelessly.
On May 8, 18 Cubans led by Aly finally arrived along with Mitoudidi, the head of the General Staff, but he had to return immediately to Kigoma to search for guns and ammunition. We had an amicable conversation, and he left me with an agreeable impression of reliability, seriousness and organization. Kabila sent word that I should be very reserved about my identity and so I remained incognito as I acted in my apparent role as doctor and translator.
We agreed with Mitoudidi that the move to Upper Base would take place the next day. This happened, but we left behind Moja, Nane and Tano, who had come down with fever, and the doctor Kumi to take care of the hospital. I was sent to the base as doctor and translator. There were scarcely 20 Congolese there, looking bored, lonely and uncomfortable. The struggle began to break this inertia; we started with classes in Swahili, given by the political commissar at the base, and in French, assigned to another compañero. We also started building shelters as protection against the freezing temperatures. We were at 1,700 meters above sea level and 1,000 meters above the level of the lake, in an area where trade winds from the Indian Ocean condense causing continuous rainfall. We immediately commenced the task of building shelters, and we soon had blazing fires to ward off the nocturnal cold.
1. Che’s note: According to the latest reports, he has been promoted to general.
2. In an autobiographical short story Doubt, Che offers an extraordinary analysis of this question of dawa, interspersed with philosophical reflection from a human and cultural perspective on this mystical-religious belief among the Congolese combatants. See: Self-Portrait: A Photographic and Literary Memoir, by Ernesto Che Guevara (Ocean Press).
3. Today Kinshasa.
4. The conference of the National Liberation Council (CNL) was held between late May and early April 1965 where the Supreme Council of the Congolese Revolution was constituted.
Near the Upper Base, some four hours on foot (the only possible means of locomotion), a group of hamlets, each numbering no more than 10 huts, lies scattered over a huge area of natural grazing land. The cluster of settlements, known by the generic name of Nganja, is populated by a tribe that originally came from Rwanda, and which, despite living in the Congo for several generations, retains the ineradicable spirit of its homeland. Their life is pastoral, though not nomadic. Cattle are at the center of their economy, providing them with both food and money. We heard frequently of the troubles of a Rwandan soldier, who lacked the number of cows required by the father of the woman of his dreams. Moreover, women too are bought, and to have several is a sign of economic power—quite apart from the fact that it is they who do all the work in agriculture and in the home.
During the course of the war, this proximity enabled us from time to time to enjoy the precious beef that is a cure even for homesickness—almost.
The Rwandans and the different Congolese tribes regard each other as enemies, and the borders between ethnic groups are clearly defined. This makes it very difficult to carry out political work that aims toward regional union—a phenomenon common throughout the length and breadth of the Congo.
In my first few days at the Upper Base, I paid tribute to the climate of the Congo by coming down with a very high, though short-lived,