Annals Of Underdevelopment - An African Dump With Oil, Foie Gras, And A Fulani Mistress

Fulani women are prized in Africa, for they come from Egypto-Syrian stock and share all the Caucasian traits of those ethnic groups.  As such they are far from the traditional Bantus, the predominate ethnicity of Africa.  Amina Diallo was a Fulani and one of the most beautiful women that Antoine M'bele, President-for-Life had ever seen.  He had paid thousands for her, promised her untold riches and the privileges of a queen, and established her as queen of his renowned harem. 

M'bele was president of a sub-Saharan African country with oil, emeralds, and rare earths, one whose favor was sought after by America and every important European and Asian nation.  The Chinese had promised to rebuild all of M'bele's country's infrastructure for a guaranteed, permanent below market rate for oil, and the Americans had pledged to look the other way at his famous financial siphon into which were poured millions of unaccountable dollars and flowed out into his many Aruban bank accounts. 

'Ours is a dump with oil', M'bele said with a loud, barking guffaw at a colloquy of international donor agencies gathered in the luxurious forest resort he had built with Swedish assistance.  He was proud of this epithet heard in the corridors of the World Bank and the US State Department.  

He knew that he was untouchable and in great demand.  The world's economic powers, hungry for energy and the minerals necessary for cell phones and computers, had always given him a free pass when it came to the bottom line.  As long as they could pump oil and mine Neodymium and Dysprosium, they looked the other way at his governance, off-shore bank accounts, and secret police. 

Harrison Fitch was a Loan Officer for an international development bank in charge of a multi-million dollar 'investment' in improving the country's health infrastructure.  His bank, a close ally of the administration in Washington, agreed to be the non-partisan representative of American interests in the country.  His bank loans would be the cover for the 'cash transfers' enabled by the US State Department.

In other words, the American Treasury would finance the international bank with the resources to be 'loaned' to M'bele.  M'bele was never expected to repay the loan, the bank would renegotiate and reconfigure the loan in a public gesture of international and national accountability, but the money would still exit the country into M'bele's private accounts - all for guaranteed rights to mine rare earths in his eastern provinces. 

Now, Fitch was no fool, and saw ways to benefit from his financial wizardry. He was less interested in the same kind of cash transfers enabled by his bank and the Americans, but wanted to enjoy the same perks as M'bele, or at least share in those riches. 

M'bele, who saw in Fitch a willing and important ally.  Although Fitch was merely an international civil servant, a lackey of the powers that be, he could still muddy the waters with inconvenient truths.  Similarly, with proper encouragement, he might write reports more favorable to the regime than were merited, pave the way for bi-lateral agreements and long-term accords.  

Fitch had to do no work in the country given the nature of his assignment.  He merely had to sign off on the receipt of funds by M'bele, their transfer to the Ministry of Health, and onward distribution to regional hospitals and local clinics.   This signature was only a formality, for neither one of the partners actually expected any health return on the investment; so for the three weeks he would spend in country he would be treated with the hospitality due to royalty, most importantly the company of the beautiful Amina Diallo, Fulani princess. 

As much as Amina was prized by M'bele, she was neither wife nor love interest.  She had been bought for a handsome sum from Egyptian traders and was property to be used, bartered, loaned, and traded as M'bele saw fit.  

This was not slavery nor servitude, but a consensual arrangement.  In turn for her service, her extended family in Mali would be well-taken care of and would never have to worry. Her brothers would be educated and even sent to France for university, her father was able to buy up a thousand acres of World Bank-financed irrigated lands along the river, and her mother secure and happy assisted by a bevy of servants. 

M'bele was a considerate and practiced lover.  While Amina felt nothing but duty and financial responsibility when he politely knocked on the door, she was herself a practiced actress, and the President always left very pleased indeed.  

'I want you to meet Amina', the President said to Fitch on their first meeting of his tour of the country. 'I think you will enjoy her company', and so it was that the beautiful Fulani and the banker spent many pleasurable nights in a suite at the five-star hotel M'bele had built thanks to Norwegian generosity.  

It was an idyll made in heaven, and nothing could have been more perfect.  For an acknowledging signature here and there, a desultory look at a health center or two, and a live-and-let-live complaisance when it came to any bottom line, Fitch could live in the lap of luxury. 

Now, this happy accommodation was not the exception, nor the rule, but a circumstance not overlooked by many in the business.  It was not the moral affair of those sent out to African countries to investigate, discover, and report questionable activities. Moral responsibility, if that term can even be applied anywhere in Africa, was the matter of those in bank headquarters and the President's office.  To those in charge Fitch and his colleagues were errand boys, sent to deliver groceries, and return to the store. 

The errand boys, however demeaning the assignments might sound, clambered for work.  What could be better than a sojourn in a five-star hotel with a beautiful mistress, and treated to Moet-Chandon, foie gras, and the finest food west of Suez?

 

These 'arrangements', of course, were at the very top of the development chain. The international banks were well-known for their influence, status, and first-class travel; but there were hundreds of other government-financed NGOs who sent out consultants to oversee projects in health, education, and welfare - projects which sponsors knew would have little chance of success but showed the world that rich, white nations cared about the black man. 

Money went in one door and out the other, but there was at least some actual enterprise - a teacher training workshop, a few clean syringes, a community loan operation.  These projects never amounted to much and were never expected to, but had enough visibility to ensure positive reports back to Congress and the American taxpayer who wanted their dollars to be doing good. 

These consultants never enjoyed the pleasures of beautiful Fulani women, but were not denied creature comforts - a decent per diem and hotel allowances, business class travel, all expenses paid European stopovers, etc. They were all in on the scam - for that was what international development was - and never gave it a second thought. 

When Donald Trump got rid of USAID, only these consultants were sorry, for the sinecure was now over.  However African leaders like M'bele were not put out of work.  They simply did their business directly with Exxon Mobil, Microsoft, and Apple.

'The halcyon years', said Fitch from his retirement home on Hilton Head.  'The best, the absolute best', and so they were, those idyllic nights and days, the pleasures, the indolence, the perfection of it all. 

'We were lucky', Fitch said to a brother-in-arms, a colleague from a sister bank who had enjoyed the same happy, sybaritic life as Fitch.  'Very lucky indeed.'