Middle Congo, a French colony in west-central Africa, achieved independence in 1960 and named itself the Republic of Congo. Its first democratically elected president, Pascal Lissouba, came to power in 1992. In October 1997 the former military ruler Denis Sassou-Nguesso seized power with the help of Angolan troops. A civil war ensued; more than 10,000 died in Brazzaville alone.
After the war, conflict continued between elements of the Congolese military and paramilitary groups, particularly in the Pool region, southwest of Brazzaville.
In August 1998 militiamen loyal to Pascal Lissouba and his prime minister, Bernard Kolelas, launched a new guerrilla campaign against Sassou-Nguesso. Although a peace agreement was reached in March 2003, the Pool region remains unstable and insecure.
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The civil war in my home country, the Republic of Congo, caused my wife, six children and I to flee our home in the Pool region, southwest of Brazzaville,in 1998. We went from Linzolo to Mbanaza-Ndounga to Kibouma (Ngouma), my fathers village. Finally we ended up in Kinkala, where I had bought some land when I was a student.
This is an edited version of an interview conducted by Trevor Mostyn, a member of English PENs Writers in Prison Committee.
At Kinkala a humanitarian corridor had been opened up. People were told that the road was open and safe for them to return to Brazzaville. There were, in fact, two corridors, both culminating at Brazzaville beach: one from villages in the Pool region, and another from Kinshasa beach across the River Congo (in the Democratic Republic of Congo, formerly Zaire).
We arrived at the humanitarian corridor where organisations like the International Red Cross and the United Nations Development Programme were stationed. Vehicles were there to escort people to the food and assembly centres. Those who were malnourished were taken to the food centres. We went with the Red Cross to the food centre and then to our house.
I had joined the Red Cross over fifteen years earlier as a pro-bono aid worker, and it was my duty now to join them for work. The war had spread into three districts south of Brazzaville, from Nganga-Lingolo to Brazzaville beach. There were dead bodies everywhere. It was my job, with other aid workers, to bury these victims of the militias and disinfect the area.
Around this time a Red Cross delegation arrived from Kinshasa with 400-500 people. We were waiting inside big lorries ready to accept the children. The security services and the police were all over the place.
The women and children arrived, crying. Exhausted men arrived. They, too, were weeping. But most of the men perhaps 400 had been kept back. We were behind a wall so we couldnt see what was happening. We took in all those who had been freed. It was a terrible thing to witness: children, old men, women, all weeping their eyes out.
The men were never heard of again. I was told that they had been pushed into containers, dropped into the Congo river and left to drown. Ten were taken for interrogation to the presidential palace; seven were shot. Three escaped and are now in France where they have given evidence about the massacre.
Brazzaville dungeon
My own troubles started after I was arrested in Brazzaville and taken to the central police station for interrogation. There was no mistreatment then, but they questioned me over my play, Le Chef dEtat. They kept asking: What does your play mean? While I was there, the security forces came to my house and questioned my wife about me. It was moral torture. After three days I was released.
In July 2001 I was called in again for interrogation about Le Chef dEtat over an entire day. Two of my other manuscripts were seized. On 24 December, I was once more summoned, and ordered to attend a hearing of the tribunal on 12 January.
I had nothing to feel guilty about at the tribunal. The judge asked me three or four questions. I showed him my diplomas to prove that I had worked for the Red Cross.
Nevertheless, I was charged with defamation, trafficking information and murder. They accused me of their own crimes. The government was frightened because relations of those massacred in 1999 had taken their case to the high court in Paris.
I was never convicted, yet I spent fourteen months in prison. During the first ten days, they beat and tortured me with electrodes to my bad leg (which had been damaged at birth). Conditions in prison were very bad. There were four people to a cell. The food was terrible.
Visits were allowed between 11 am and 6 pm. My family brought me food. My wife and two children visited me, but I wouldnt allow my smallest child, who was 4 at the time, to see me in prison.
I was released suddenly, at 6 in the morning. They said: Prepare your bags. We are taking you somewhere. I was frightened. I asked: Where to? Are you going to kill me? A guard replied: These are the only instructions I have. I dont know where they are taking you. But you must get ready, wash, prepare your things.
I couldnt wash. I gathered all the papers I had written in prison. They told me I was being released. I thought they were trying to frighten me or else mocking me. I went to the reception to find out for certain and they confirmed that I was now free. I asked them to give me a document confirming it but they just said: Go. You are free.
I was given money for a taxi and I went home. But I did not stay in my house. It wasnt safe for my family. They would have been threatened and targeted by the police. My whole family wanted me to flee. Even my priest said to me: If you have the means, the best thing is to leave the country.
I went to Benin, then the Central African Republic and the Ivory Coast. For five days I wandered from country to country. I couldnt go back to Brazzaville: to return would be to accept failure. I decided I had to leave Africa. With the help of friends and the church I raised enough money for a flight to London.
London detention
I arrived at Heathrow airport with only £20 and $20 in my pocket. I explained everything to the immigration services and asked for asylum immediately. They said that I must have a special interrogation and sent me to Oakington detention centre.
I was given no reason when they refused me asylum. Perhaps it was because I had nowhere to stay. I spent three days at Oakington, and then came my great calvary at Harmondsworth detention centre. The inmates burnt down part of the building. At the time, I was finishing my play LActe de Naissance and my health was bad.
Then I was sent to Belmarsh. That was the worst thing I have ever experienced. I was treated like a criminal, a thief, a terrorist. From Belmarsh I was sent to Dover where I spent two months. There, I chose a cell for two. I couldnt bear to be alone, it would have reminded me too much of Belmarsh.
We were locked in all the time two of us, with one toilet. I always had nice cellmates. They pitied me. There was no one else in my situation.
A few months, after a brief spell back in Harmondsworth, I was sent to Campsfield. I found conditions there a little more tolerable. I had good relations with officials, detainees, the manager, with English and International PEN, and with Trevor Mostyn from PEN Writers in Prison Committee. Trevor encouraged me to write my story.
In suspension
The authorities have tried to deport me four times. The first was on 15 May 2004. I suffered unacceptable treatment at Heathrow that day. They pinioned my hands behind me. They beat me like a thief because I didnt want to leave, because I resisted. I had to resist, simply by refusing to leave, because I was in danger. I still have pains in my shoulder.
The second time was in August 2004. They again took me to the airport, and again I resisted. This time they were not violent. The same thing happened in October and November.
By the time of this fourth attempt to deport me, I had switched lawyers to the Refugee Legal Centre. My new lawyer, Tim Ottevenger, managed at the last minute to prevent me being put on a flight to Brazzaville. He was the first proper lawyer I had. The others were adventurers and did nothing for me. They just wanted money.
My play The Cries of the Cricket was performed in the London Eye. That is something close to a real victory because it is my autobiography. It is also a victory for PEN Writers in Prison Committee and Trevor Mostyn, who encouraged me so much to write this play.
I have also addressed Unesco and the Red Cross. I read my poem LInsomnie and told them my story.
The influences on my work have been purely African. The main one is Guy Menga Bikouta, a journalist (also director-general of Congo radio and television) who fled Congo in 1974. Others are Tchicaya Utansi; Sony-Labou-Tansi, who died in 1995; Ahmadou Hampaté Ba, in particular his novel Wangrin. The work of the Cameroonian writer Guillaume Oyono Mbia, and the famous Nigerian author Wole Soyinka also impressed me.
At present, I have serious insomnia. I am very worried about my wife and six children. They have recently fled virtual starvation in the war-torn region of Pool to make their way towards the Democratic Republic of Congo. I have tried to arrange for a friend to help them but I can make no contact with them myself.
About my future, I am both pessimist and optimistic. What I have done is not in vain. I have never deviated from what I have said. What I say to you today is what I said yesterday. These words will triumph.
