Chief of Station, Congo by Lawrence Devlin

Author:Lawrence Devlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublicAffairs
Published: 2011-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

12

MY WIFE AND I GENERALLY GAVE a dinner for ten or twelve people once or twice a week. It was a way to maintain social contact with those I had recruited or who were collaborators, and the dinners provided an opportunity to assess potential agents who I was developing. We rarely gave a dinner that was not operationally oriented.

Mobutu, Bomboko, and Nendaka were our most frequent guests, and it was business for them as well since they invariably accepted for themselves and regretted for their wives. Mobutu—early to bed and early to rise at that period of his life—always arrived on time and managed to leave fairly early. He was an ideal guest, extremely personable, invariably polite, and a treasure trove of interesting stories.

Bomboko, on the other hand, was a wild card for dinner parties. He was one of the most charming and intelligent men I have ever met, full of stories—humorous or serious—always ready to comment on political developments in the Congo or abroad, and a great source of information on tribalism. He was also a notorious ladies’ man about town. My wife learned never to serve a soufflé when Bomboko was to be a guest, for we never knew when, or if, he would arrive. If he did turn up, the only sure thing was that he would be late.

After several dinners delayed by Bomboko’s tardiness, Colette made it clear that the meal would begin promptly at nine. Monsieur Bomboko would be welcome at any time, but he would have to sit down and eat whatever course was being served. Bomboko, always the gentleman and always gracious, assured her that this procedure would be just fine.

Over the 1961 Easter holidays, I took my family to visit Luanda, the capital of Angola and then under Portuguese control, where we feasted on all the fine seafood and shellfish that was unobtainable in Leopoldville. Several American families from the embassy applied for visas to visit Luanda during the holidays, but strangely my wife, daughter, and I were the only ones to get them. The Portuguese were quite resentful, understandably, over American criticism of their colonial policy. I was surprised at being given the visas and wondered if the Portuguese security service had identified me. A few days after having been told that my visa requests had been granted, I ran into the man I suspected of being my Portuguese counterpart. After a brief conversation, I casually asked how I happened to have obtained a visa when all the other Americans were refused.

“Because you are a nice spy,” he replied. “You are the only American who has invited me to his house for dinner, and the only one who has not lectured me on how we handle our colonies.”

“But I thought all visas had to be approved in Lisbon,” I said.

“True,” he said, “but my clerk erred and failed to send your request to Lisbon before issuing the visa. Needless to say, he has been severely reprimanded.”

Before we parted, he said: “Just

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.