Seen One Slum, Seen Them All - An Operatic Libretto, Or Annals Of African Development

Bradford Perrine was an economic development consultant with a resume filled with assignments in some of the most difficult and challenging places in the world.  These were places that no one but the international banker, oil prospector, or non-profit volunteer would go - pestilential places from arrival hall to departure lounge and everywhere in between.

Perrine had a sinecure with the World Bank - first class air travel, two-day stopovers in Europe, five star hotels at his destination and a no-limit expense account.  These were compensations for having to work in desperate, malarial, crime-ridden, corrupt places. 

The Hotel Independence was his favorite, built by Joshua N'dogo, President of a central African country with vast mineral deposits and newly discovered rare earths.  N'dogo spared no expense to make the Europeans and Americans who came courting happy, and the Independence was as fine a hotel as one would find in Paris, Rome, or London.  

Pierre Gramont, formerly of Le Lion Farouche, a Paris  restaurant which had, thanks to him earned its third Michelin star, was the chef.  N'dogo's offer was too generous to refuse - far more money in hard currency than he had ever dreamed of, a penthouse apartment at the Independence, a new Mercedes, and his choice of Fulani women.  

The luxury of the hotel was a necessity after long days of visiting Bonneville, the festering slum on the river which was the home to 100,000 residents.  It was among the nastiest of Africa, long left to rot by the President whose interests lay in beryllium not the souls of the slum. His wealth was legendary, the Presidential palace magnificent, and his harem of beautiful women from the four corners of the continent was admired by Big Men everywhere. 

The World Bank, the executing agency for a United Nations project to improve environmental sanitation, had provided a multi-million dollar soft loan to N'dogo to invest in providing waste disposal in Bonneville - low cost sanitary latrines in particular.  Bank engineers assured beneficiaries that the latrines were the latest in structural design and would revolutionize slum development. 

Of course the President had no use for toilets or slums, siphoned off most of the Bank money, dug a few desultory pits and sent bulldozers on a one-time visit to move the trash from choked gutters to large, rat-infested mounds, took photos and videos of the operation and signed on for an extension to the loan. 

Perrine had found every reason to avoid visiting Bonneville, for as callous and unfeeling as it might sound, 'seen one slum, seen them all' was the meme. The factors producing abject poverty and miserable living conditions were universal; and in the case of Africa, they influenced countries as a whole. 

Rural populations tempted by the promise of big city opportunities but still tribal in outlook had neither the will, the education, nor the cultural ethos to make anything of the city except one vast, pestilential slum. 

Every city was more slum than residence. Tribal mentality, government indifference, the venal opportunism of post-colonial regimes, and some kind of animist loyalty turned one urban area after another into a stinking pit. 

N'dogo of course knew which side of his bread was buttered, and he made sure that at least one part of every major city looked modern, enclaves of faux prosperity more theatrical staging than anything, and development bankers chose to see these areas as signs of hopefulness not the charade they were. 

Bonneville was disgusting, but no more than any slum Perrine had visited in Kinshasa, Lagos, Luanda, or Maputo. Open air defecation, rutted, potholed roads, wooden huts on stilts perched over stinking, human waste-carrying, trash-clogged canals, naked children, cheap whores, indolence, and grime. 

Which was why Perrine had deferred his visit. What was the point?  He could write his report without having to set foot in the place.  He knew where the Bank money went - to offshore accounts and not to Bonneville - and N'dogo knew that he knew but the rare earth contract was all that mattered. 

A drive-through perhaps with a Bank photographer in tow - Perrine With Native Children...Perrine Observing Excavation...Perrine Beside Local Authorities - was the least he could do, so in the Presidential limousine, dark tinted windows rolled up, chilling air-conditioning on full blast, and single-malt whisky in the teak cabinet before him, Perrine did an 'on-site' visit. 

Finally back at the Independence, sitting by the pool with Emriye al-Maghrebi, Fulani princess and his Presidentially approved consort, sipping a sundowner, he lay back watched the evening swallows do their aerobatics, and smiled.  Life in Africa wasn't all that bad. 

The next morning he was invited to the Presidential palace for an audience with the President.  The entrance hall was magnificent - Carrera marble floors, Venetian sconces, Baccarat chandeliers, and caparisoned Republican Guards - and the long walk through equally well-appointed corridors only confirmed the majesty of presidential power. 

'How was the trip over?', asked the President.  Were Perrine's accommodations comfortable?  Had he tried Pierre Gramont’s pheasant-under-glass? 

The meeting was a formality of course.  The President had not an iota of interest in the project in Bonneville and was only interested in the Bank's upcoming geological mission - an evaluation of the rare earth deposits in Bolo Province, the first step to opening the area to private investment. 'Soon, Mr. President, soon'; and with that, Perrine was ushered to his waiting limousine to complete his mission. 

The First Class cabin of Emirates was offering a tasting of the best California and Bordeaux wines - a friendly competition for those Americana and European patrons of the airline.  The wine flowed, the mood was jovial, and time passed quickly. 

 

Perrine's department chief, a Dutch engineer with a commitment to low cost sanitation and a lifelong dedication to alleviating African suffering, wanted details.  Perrine, used to his boss's ardency was well- prepared, and shared with him the engineering report prepared by N'dogo's Minister of Public Works, a man known to Rietveld thanks to his many trips to Washington.  

The report was fiction, of course, but prepared in the most meticulous engineering language complete with dimensions, static head calculations, temperatures, and plumb lines. 

'Good', said Rietveld, 'very good indeed', and with that Perrine returned to his office to begin the paperwork on the new, extended loan. 

Perrine saw no irony in all this, no moral crossroads, no ethical dilemmas.  This was the way the world worked - a mutual back-scratching, quid pro quo arrangement that had taken place ever since African independence when Cold War powers did everything to win the allegiance of the new continental governments.  

Money had poured down the sluice without a second thought in those days.  Nothing had changed. It was no longer a matter of political rivalry but economic competition.  Chinese and American interests were anxious to secure African natural resources, and would look the other way when it came to accountability.

Given this larger geopolitical context, issues of moral probity or ethical posture were irrelevant. Generous loans would be given, eyes turned the other way when money showed up in Aruba or Bimini, fictious reports of 'development' taken as gospel and used as the basis for more soft loans, and the dance of consultants like Perrine perfectly choreographed in time with the music. 

So Perrine slept well and looked forward to his next trip to Africa. By now even the pro forma trips to the beneficiary slums were unnecessary, so unerringly similar they all were, and so predictable were the projects designed for them.  A sojourn at the Independence or the Internationale or the Majestic, good food and wine, a friendly camaraderie with the President's men, and lovely, languorous nights with dark-eyed lovers was all one needed to know about Africa.