NationStates Jolt Archive

To: Prime Secretary Nuriyah bint Rashad Khadhim
From: President Mobutu Sese Seko


Dear Prime Secretary,

We have never had the privilege of meeting one another, but doubtless you have heard of me. I am Marshal Mobutu Sese Seko, Founder-President of the Republic of Zaire, President of the MPR, and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of Zaire. As a fellow head of state, I realize you are a very busy woman, so I shall come straight to the point. Recently, there has been some...friction between our two nations, and some harsh words were exchanged, and I threw around a few unsubstantiated accusations which I now wish I could retract. Anyway, I am the type of man to whom the act of making amends comes easily. I therefore am inviting you to a private dinner, just the two of us, at my palace in Gbadolite, to discuss relations between our two countries, including trade and possible cultural exchanges, in addition to any matters you would like to discuss. We can also discuss the progress of the Ariddian Red Star, whose heroism has been duly noted and appreciated by the Zairian people and myself. I hope you accept my invitation, but if you do not, I will bear no grudge, as I am a very understanding man. I hope we can overlook our past difficulties and forge a cooperative, friendly relationship.


Warmest regards,
Marshal Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga
Founder-President of the Republic of Zaire
http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/images/Coat_of_arms_of_Zaire.PNG

"He's playing games. He's trying to get you to play along."

There was a frown on the face of Secretary for External Affairs Ulo Ho. Most of the Council of Secretaries had gathered, but everyone was focusing their quiet attention on Ho and Khadhim.

"It's a catch-22, Comrade Secretary," Ho went on. "If you go, some will accuse you of being friendly towards a brutal dictator. This is a meeting of heads of State. It has huge symbolic importance. You'd be treating Mobutu's government as... a country with important diplomatic relations with us. But if you don't go, we may lose any future opportunity for constructive dialogue."

"And that's an avenue we must keep open," Natasha Jones, Secretary for Health, put in. "As long as we can keep on helping the people in Zaire. The rest is politics. It's secondary."

"There's also the fact that, if you say no, Mobutu will be able to say he's the one who wants good relations, and we're the ones who don't," Ho went on.

Khadhim nodded.
"Yes. I've been thinking of that."

"Mobutu is tricky." Ziad el Attar, Secretary for Defence, spoke up for the first time. "He'll state the most blatant lies, and look as if he's being sincere. Did you see him on PINA?"

Khadhim nodded again.
"All very good points." She sighed. "I'll consider it. We'll reconvene in an hour."

= = = = = =

To: President Mobutu Sese Seko
From: Prime Secretary Nuriyah bint Rashad Khadhim


Dear Mr. President,

I am pleased to accept your gracious invitation. It is my hope that we can indeed make positive steps towards establishing better relations between our two countries. There are, as you say, a variety of matters we may discuss.

Sincerely,

Nuriyah Khadhim,
Prime Secretary,
PDSRA

To: Prime Secretary Nuriyah bint Rashad Khadhim
From: President Mobutu Sese Seko


Dear Prime Secretary,

I am most honored and pleased that you have accepted my invitation. I look forward to meeting with you in Gbadolite. Please let me know, when it would be most convenient for you, and I shall schedule it accordingly.


Warmest regards,
Marshal Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga
Founder-President of the Republic of Zaire
http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/images/Coat_of_arms_of_Zaire.PNG

To: President Mobutu Sese Seko
From: Prime Secretary Nuriyah bint Rashad Khadhim


Dear Mr. President,

I can re-organise my schedule to be available in three weeks, if that is convenient. I too look forward to our meeting.

Sincerely,

Nuriyah Khadhim,
Prime Secretary,
PDSRA

To: Prime Secretary Nuriyah bint Rashad Khadhim
From: President Mobutu Sese Seko


Dear Prime Secretary,

That is perfectly acceptable. I'll see you then.


Warmest regards,
Marshal Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga
Founder-President of the Republic of Zaire
http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/images/Coat_of_arms_of_Zaire.PNG

{OOC: Bump.}

Breaking through a thin bank of clouds, the plane began its descent towards the dusty-looking yet forested land of Zaïre far below. As Prime Secretary Khadhim, seated by a viewport, looked down, she could clearly see the airport's landing strip (http://img468.imageshack.us/img468/3452/gbadolitevs9.jpg) some distance from the city.

"The weather... Hot and dry, I suppose?" she asked one of the few assistants who was accompanying her on this flight. The man shook his head.

"I didn't think to check the weather, Comrade Secretary."

They had gone over diplomatic procedures in detail, but ultimately, Mobutu remained in part unpredictable. He was pulling the proverbial strings, a situation Khadhim did not feel particularly comfortable with.

PINA, of course, would already be on the ground, with Rahmati covering the Red Star’s humanitarian work. No doubt PINA would have a lot of questions for the Prime Secretary as soon as they had the chance. The leader of a democratic nation, coming here at the request of a tyrant like Mobutu, accepting a private dinner as though they were close friends. . .

She sighed, and looked out of the viewport again, taking a few moments to relax as the airport grew larger and larger beneath them.

Unlike the rest of the country, Gbadolite actually had a well-developed infrastructure. As the ancestral home of the President - and the place where he spent the majority of his time residing - the city enjoyed privileges the rest of Zaire could only dream of: smooth, well-paved roads; reliable electricity; well-stocked stores and markets with high-quality, low-priced goods; quality healthcare; high standards in sanitation and hygiene; potable drinking water; and reliable air conditioning and plumbing. In addition, crime was unheard of, and jobs were plentiful (many of the town's denizens were employed as servants in Mobutu's palaces). The international airport, to which Prime Secretary Khadim was heading, was on par with some of the finest airports in the world.

As an increasingly isolated figure regarded by many as a pariah, President Mobutu rarely received foreign visitors anymore, except from Parthia. As such, he was sparing no expense in preparing the pomp and protocol that would await his new visitor. An orchestra, flown in from New York, would play the Ariddian national anthem the moment Khadim stepped out of the plane, at which time huge Ariddian flags would unfold, fireworks would shoot into the sky, and throngs of hundreds of Zairian women would arrive in traditional garb and serenade the visitor with songs and dances. And the meal that awaited was truly one that would defy imagination: Mobutu had gone to great lengths arranging for the best and the brightest chefs to fly straight to Gbadolite from Europe, and they had spent days laboring over a feast worthy of kings. The vainglorious Mobutu was eager to astound his guest, hoping for an awestruck response that would stoke his massive ego.

As the plane came into view, Mobutu stepped out of his bulletproof limosine, surrounded by DSP soldiers, who would fire a twenty-one gun salute when the plane landed. He signalled for the orchestra and dancers to get ready. He was taking no chances. Everything had to be perfect.

As the plane made a smooth landing, and began slowing to a halt, Khadhim looked out through the viewport. There seemed to be an orchestra. She turned to an assistant to comment, but at that point the crackling of guns burst through the air, and she quickly turned again to look outside.

"They're saluting our arrival," someone said, sounding as surprised as Khadhim felt.

Don't let him surprise you, she chided herself. Not this soon.

When the plane stopped, she gathered her bags herself, and stepped out of the aircraft. The air was very warm, and dry, but not unpleasantly so. The next instant, the quiet airport came alive with a throng of spectacular activity. The Ariddian anthem, Dream, carried through the air, loud and solemn but melodious, and streaks of light shot upwards, erupting in magnificent fireworks. Gigantic Ariddian flags seemed to unfold wherever her startled gaze rested. Countless hundreds of women in traditional dress appeared seemingly out of nowhere, dancing and singing. For a moment, Khadhim stood still, her senses taking it all in.

Aware that there were probably cameras scrutinising the expression on her face at that very moment, she masked her surprise and walked down the steps toward the airport ground.

Mobutu certainly knew how to impress a visiting head of State.

She wondered what other “surprises” he might have planned, and whether she should start feeling concerned. . .

Dressed in a conscipuously pressed field marshal uniform, Mobutu stepped forward, gripping his eagle-headed walking stick for support. In flawless French, he greeted her. "Hello, and welcome to the Republic of Zaire. Thank you for coming. I trust your flight went well?"

"It did, thank you." Khadhim smiled politely, answering in the same language. "I must say, I'm honoured by this greeting. It's" - she looked round, at the countless dancing women, the large flags rippling slightly in the breeze, the fireworks still erupting high above - "very impressive."

And how much money have you wasted on this that could have been put to better use? she wondered, but did not ask. She felt suddenly a little guilty, although she did not let it show. If I hadn't come...

The vainglorious Mobutu, never tired of having his massive ego stroked, smiled proudly. "Thank you. I'm glad you appreciate it." He led her to a bulletproof limo, which would take them directly to his main palace.

Khadhim followed him, looking round at the festivities as she did so - displaying her interesting, but without commenting further. She had decided to let Mobutu strike up conversation, if he wished to. His first choice of topic might, she thought, prove revealing.

"I do hope you were pleased with your reception at the airport," Mobutu said, trying, but failing - perhaps on purpose - to sound modest. "I spared no expense in giving a fellow head of state a proper greeting." As if on cue, two nearby DSP soldiers began clapping and laughing in sycophonic homage, but Mobutu paid them no heed. Ever the gracious host, he personally opened the Prime Secretary's limo door. "Ladies first," he said curtly.

"Thank you." Khadhim smiled politely, and settled into the comfortable limousine. "Yes, as I was saying it's extremely impressive." Inwardly, she shook her head in amazement. The man was actually fishing for compliments...

"Where are we going now, exactly?" she asked, mainly for the sake of conversation. Outside the car, the sound of singing still filled the air.

"To my palace," he said, smiling.

The limo proceeded smoothly, easily traversing the pristinely-paved road. They passed rows of modest-sized houses, nearly all of which had MPR banners and Mobutu portraits adorning their windows. Everywhere, there were happy, healthy, well-fed people; a rarity in this country.

Soon, they found themselves enveloped by thick foliage, as they headed into the heart of the jungle. Fronds slapped against the windows, soaking them in botanical perspiration. The shrill cries of jungle fauna echoed in the distance. Finally emerging from the jungle, the limo paused grandly before a massive, gleaming, $100 million palace that defied imagination. Standing before it were ever-attentive, rifle-toting soldiers of the Special Presidential Division, who sharply saluted the new arrivals as they stepped out of the limo.

"Here we are."

Khadhim could not help but notice that the people she saw along the streets looked healthy and relatively well-off. Cynically, she wondered how much they had been paid to be present alongside the limousine's path. Or was this simply a wealthy area, chosen for that reason?

The misery and crises the Red Star was dealing with at that very moment, perhaps very close to here, seemed a world away...

The palace was dazzling. And that's just on the outside! she thought as she got out of the car, trying not to stare. It was simply nothing like her modest apartment in Espérence, nor even her workplace-cum-residence in Rêvane, a smallish building itself. Idly, she wondered how many foreign heads of State had ever been here before her.

"Very stylish," she commented politely, with a slight smile.

"Thank you," Mobutu said, smiling like a kid showing off his new bike. "One hundred million dollars went spent, I would say. Shall we go inside?"

Khadhim nodded, and followed him towards the palace. It became even more impressive with every step she took closer, the details of its lavish architecture coming into focus. She glanced back over her shoulder briefly towards the jungle which isolated the dictator even from his better off subjects. It was - she could not help but feel again - as if there were several worlds within Zaïre, this one small, articifial and almost unreal. As bizarre, in fact, as the ruthless President's almost childish smile of satisfaction at showing off his wealth.

She repressed a shiver, as they stepped into the shadow of the palace's wall, out of the glaring sun.

They stepped inside. Mobutu took extra pains to make sure she didn't get too close to any of the antiques; unbeknownst to nearly all, most of them were cheap imitations. They looked authentic from a distance, but when seen up close, could clearly be seen to be fakes.

As expected, the inside of the palace was as impressive as the outside. Spacious, luxuriously decorated, with both Western and African artwork and antiques. Khadhim looked around as she walked, both for the sake of politeness and out of genuine interest.

This place could probably be turned into an interesting museum, she reflected cynically.

Two nearby guards saw her, their eyes coming alight as they chuckled mischievously. They nudged each other, guffawing like hyenas, and muttering sexist comments to each other, speaking in Ngbandi to ensure she could not understand them (although their expressions made it quite obvious).

Ignoring them, Mobutu led her into a parlor, gestured toward a hulking armchair, and sat opposite her. "Would you care for something to drink?"

Khadhim sat, not in the least surprised at how comfortable the armchair was.

"Yes, please," she said. She had indeed been getting rather thirsty. "I'm used to warm temperatures, but the air in Zaire is a lot drier than back home."

Mobutu summoned a waitress, who bowed curtly and asked in impeccable French: "What would you like to drink, mademoiselle?"

"Anything refreshing, please," Khadhim replied in the same language, and gave the waitress a grateful smile.

The waitress returned shortly afterwards with a tall, ice cold glass of fresh-squeezed fruit juice. "Please enjoy."

"Thank you. I will." Khadhim took the glass with another smile, then turned her attention back to Mobutu. "You didn't invite me here simply to offer me a glass of fruit juice... and this impressive hospitality," she said lightly. "Was there anything in particular you'd like us to discuss, Mr. President?"

"As you know, our countries have had...difficulties lately. I merely wish to make amends, and seek strengthened ties. Both are countries are Third World, and as you know, the Third World continues to be subjugated by dire poverty, perpetrated in part by unfair trade policies of the First World and the greed of predatory multinationals. What we need is not division among the poor nations, but unity. I believe increased trade between our nations would need to increased prosperity for us both, and will build and cement a new friendship between our peoples. In addition, we can broaden the horizons of our youngsters' minds through cultural exchanges, cooperate on scientific and technological research, and other things to bring our nations closer. While ideologically and politically we may differ radically, I see no reason why we cannot disregard our differences and get along amiably. How is your drink, by the way?"

Khadhim sipped at her drink quietly while she listened, taking in Mobutu's words and thinking, quickly but calmly.

"It's very nice, thank you," she began. "Very refreshing." She paused. "My country always welcomes cultural exchanges, so we can probably come to an agreement there." She smiled. "That in itself would be a step forward, and beneficial to the peoples of both our nations. Ariddia is not new to Third World solidarity, either. We've signed a variety of treaties, entered into multilateral cooperation... Shared scientific and technological research may also be... conceivable," she added carefully.

"I'm afraid that trade, on the other hand, would be difficult. Our obligations as signatories of the International Fair Trade Agreement are very clear. Whatever my government's thoughts on the matter, Zaire would have to become a signatory too before we could consider it."

She paused, and sipped at her drink again, looking at him.

Mobutu leaned forward. "International Fair Trade Agreement? Please, tell me more."

Khadhim nodded.

"IFTA (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/IFTA) - the International Fair Trade Agreement - is an exclusive trading partnership between nations concerned with fair trade. You should easily be able to obtain the text of the Agreement (http://z1.invisionfree.com/forums/CACE/index.php?showtopic=536). The advantage is that it makes you a privileged trading partner for a significant number of nations."

"I will definitely look into that further," he said.

Khadhim nodded again, slightly, and took another sip of her drink.

"Cultural exchanges, on the other hand... Had you got anything specific in mind?"

"Student exchange programs," Mobutu said. "I believe that, if the children of the world were exposed to more diversity, and embraced people of other cultures, there would be far fewer wars."

"I agree, of course," Khadhim said. "And Ariddia is always willing to enter student exchange programmes. In fact, there's a campus of the Third World Open University in Ariddia. Students from Zaïre would be welcome to study there."

"Third World University, eh? Any chance they could set up a campus in Zaire?"

"I don't see why not," Khadhim said with a slight smile. "On the contrary. The more countries the University is present in, the better."

"How do I apply?"

"You would submit an application (http://z1.invisionfree.com/forums/CACE/index.php?showforum=13)," she informed him. "But that would only be possible once Zaire met all membership requirements, of course."

Mobutu raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What...kind of requirements?" he asked, uneasily, hoping that 'democracy' was not one of them.

"Oh, you have to agree to certain standards in terms of wages, working hours, working environment... Things like that," she explained, and finished her drink. She had not expected to find herself discussing the IFTA with Mobutu. The man truly was full of surprises.

Mobutu stroked his chin contemplatively. "I see," he said. "I will definitely look into it further."

"Glad to have been of service." Khadhim smiled, and set down her empty glass. "And setting up a Third World University campus in Zaïre would be a major step in strengthening relations, not only with Ariddia but with the Third World in general. I can, if you like, arrange for Ambassador Bolongo to visit the Ariddian campus in Cité-Belle?"

"Please do so," Mobutu said immediately.

"I'll be glad to," Khadhim promised. That would provide Mobutu with a source of information he could trust. "This could facilitate student exchange programmes, too."

Mobutu smiled. "Indeed. Children are truly a blessing from above, I've always said. I have seventeen myself."

"Seventeen?" Khadhim smiled politely. "That's very impressive. I have one daughter myself. And yes, having a child is a blessing. I'm glad we can work together to ensure the future of young people in both our countries."

"Oh?" Mobutu raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a photo of her? I do love children."

"I... think I've got one, but it's a bit out of date," Khadhim said, searching in her pocket, and eventually producing a photograph. "Fahimah. She's 17 now, but in this picture she must have been... 9, I think." She smiled proudly. "How young is your youngest?"

Mobutu smiled warmly, and it was a genuine smile. "Very adorable," he said, poring over the photo with a sense of appreciation only a parent could have. A weathered, weary expression came across his face as he said, "I have lost a few children, myself. Treasure your children, because you never know when God will take them away."

Khadhim's smile faded.

"I'm very sorry," she said, softly, and meant it. "And yes," she added gently, "I do treasure her. She means everything to me."

Mobutu smiled. "You are a very good mother. I can see it in your eyes."