Unregistered cars

It is 19 hours (as they say here), but pitch dark in Mufumbwe. Our election monitoring team has arrived earlier the day and has already held several meetings with important stakeholders in the Mufumbwe by-elections. Now we are on our way to the campaign headquarters of one of the strongest contenders for the parliamentary seat that is up for grabs.

We’re stopped by a big-bellied, strong-muscled dude at a large gate to the HQ. We can see dozens of young chaps – party cadres or “foot soldiers” (as they are called by their own party) – hanging around in the compound’s courtyard behind the dude’s impressive silhouette. After some discussion and cross-checking, we are let inside. The candidate greats us from behind a huge desk. Behind him, on the wall, flip charts from a previous meeting with his cadres. One written rule for the campaign team: “Violence shall be used only in self-defense. Be vigilant and ready.” 

While we are listening to his complaints regarding the laziness of the police and the violence of the other teams, the room fills with other party officials. The candidate is telling us how the others are using unregistered cars to carry out misdeeds such as the tearing down of campaign posters and the beating up of his own men (for they are all men) to confuse the public and avoid persecution by the police. His men are adding detail to his allegations: This and that car, this and that violation of the electoral code. I ask him: “So what about the car without number plates in your courtyard here?” A second of silence. Then he says: “What car?” To which his campaign manager responds: “I think he talks about the black Pajero.” I can see that the candidate for a moment is undecided about whom to punch in the face first – his own campaign manager or me. He says: “So what does that have to do with what I was saying?” Nothing, I guess. When we came out, the Pajero was gone.