Survival of the Fittest

Till recently there was very little that I knew about Zaire. Apart from having studied about it in Geography class years ago (I hated the teacher who taught it), I saw it mentioned in obscure little news stories.

Then my cousins decided to go there and work. My uncle had gone there years earlier and he had generously decided to take on two of my cousins as well. So they went on to work and make some money.

After that, we saw them once in two years arriving with presents and apparent signs of success. And none of us asked too many questions about life there because we simply assumed it was good. Before their arrival, we had actually seen pictures of a huge fancy house, with a pool, a cook and a security official. So it did seem like they were leading a rather enviable lifestyle.

Recently, however, some of us sat down and enquired about how life was in Kinshasa, the capital of Zaire. And I was quite shocked at all that I heard.

The climate of Kinshasa is like that of India, I was told. The locals are simple and friendly, and the language spoken there is mainly French. My cousins had trouble with the food habits and because of that each time they come to India they go back armed with kilos of different cooking powders. Apart from these cooking ingredients, they also take utensils and clothes. So each time they come, they come with three or four empty suitcases that they can fill up with things for Zaire.

According to my cousin, the biggest shock comes right at the airport. No different from our Chennai Central, on reaching the airport you are faced with porters who quarrel over who will carry your luggage. The influential few walk out without having to deal with the ordeal of a "security check." The rest follow the widely accepted rules of showing their passports and getting their luggage checked. Sometimes the officials vanish into the crowd with your passport, but you can be assured that the luggage and passport will follow you to your destination later. Of course, after you have fretted over what was happening in the country.

Life can be terribly boring if you can't speak French or if you aren't lucky enough to get Indian neighbors. On television, don't expect to see any programs in English or Hindi either. And in the evening if you decide to entertain yourself with a movie or an outing, there is nowhere to go. There are no movie theatres or amusement parks. People there live in fear of the army.

Life in Zaire changes according to the kind of person the dictator is. And for us Indians after having tasted democracy this can come as a rude shock. Apparently when the military officers realize they are short on cash, simply walk into homes and begin looting. They prefer money and jewellery, but there have even been cases of looting doorknobs!

Apart from fearing the military, the inhabitants fear the mosquitoes. So if someone gets sick with fever, he immediately gets his blood tested for cerebral malaria. If you are lucky, the medicines will help. Otherwise, like several other locals, you also die an obscure death. The uncle who took my cousins to Zaire wasn't very lucky. Malaria that was mistaken for the flu ended his life. And since then, my cousins have been ultra careful about getting their blood tested when they get sick.

Just across where my cousin lives is a doctor. So when the baby is sick, my cousin's wife is forced to take him there. They realised that after much thought, the doctor supposedly prescribed the same medicines each time. So having learnt their lesson, now they even return from India armed with several medicines.

But despite the living conditions there are quite a few Indians there. They meet up during parties or during badminton games to catch up on what is happening in their lives. Otherwise all these families live in the confines of their house, seldom venturing out for a walk alone. The women always walk around in pairs even while buying simple necessities like vegetables.

The education system isn't very good either. An entire school might have only sixty students who are either disinterested in studies or indifferent to the teachers. There are a few Indian schools that are a better choice, but you couldn't take the risk of having your child study there for years.

Closed to the developments in the outside world, the locals seem quite content in believing that the God they believe in will rescue them. And I am surprised they continue living with this faith despite having loved ones put in the Kinshasa jails for years. There have been no trials and because of the lack of money, many of these prisoners are often forgotten.

But then again living in a place like this for a few years can be quite an experience. Perhaps it teaches you to appreciate most things that you otherwise take for granted. But most of all you realize that despite the money that you can make in other countries, sometimes it is better to stick around in your own.

This is no essay that screams "Mera Bharat Mahaan." But I believe that despite all the faults in your own country, at least you are on familiar and safer ground. But then I suppose a better lifestyle is a great need for some people. So man will continue to venture into green pastures (at least with regard to the finances) and return to his homeland only when he has achieved all that he initially set out to achieve.