Kinshasa changes its clothes as rebels arrive

For clues on how well Laurent Kabila's rebels were doing in their assault on the Zairean capital, one had only to look at the clothes of the hotel fixer.

On Friday, with the rebels on his doorstep, Pierre had forsaken his usual baseball-capped American street style for a Zairean Army uniform and an AK47. To see him stride through the lobby armed and in khakis was a shock, even for those who knew he was a soldier.

He was still in his fatigues yesterday morning, while Kongolo Mobutu, an army commander and a son of the deposed president, Mobutu Sese Seko, was loading his family from the hotel into a long line of Mercedes Benzes. But by lunchtime, with the rebels already in central Kinshasa and the last of the Mobutu clan on their way across the Zaire river to Brazzaville, a wise Pierre was blending in at the hotel bar in jeans and trainers.

The day had begun in fear. General Mahele Lieko Bokungo, the Defence Minister, was shot dead as he tried to talk the hated DSP, the presidential guard, into quitting. His sin was that he believed a city should not be sacrificed to save an old dictator's face.

But deprived of a leader, a cause, even a side to fight on, Mr Mobutu's soldiers offered little resistance. From 8am central Kinshasa echoed to persistent gunfire, and the emptiness of the night time curfew returned to the sunlit streets. Had Mr Kabila's rebels finally arrived? Were the army or the presidential guard really fighting back? From the roof of the Memling Hotel we looked out over a deserted city to where the shooting was heaviest - the city market, a few hundred yards away - flinching when the firing sounded too close. It took three hours for the penny to drop: this wasn't the sound of war, it was the sound of defeat.

The arrival of 200 delirious youths finally tipped us off. They had come two-and-half miles on foot to celebrate the liberation, they said. Nobody had shot at them, because the army was now on their side. The procession ran on, right into the heart of the gunfire. Two blocks away, outside the headquarters of the Garde Civile, a large white flag flew in the middle of the street. Beside it a mournful young lieutenant watched as his men fired occasional short bursts into the air. He and his troops were sticking to their posts, he said, even though the senior officers had all disappeared.

"We are here to ensure the security of the Garde Civile headquarters and to prevent looting," he said, gesturing to a crowd of excited young civilians loitering 100 yards away. "I have a company of men here with me. We are not many, and we have not had food for three days. I have no radio and no telephone, no way of communicating with anybody else."

So why was he sticking to his post when nobody else seemed to care? The lieutenant straightened up, and a hint of the parade ground came into his voice. "We are here to sacrifice ourselves for the nation, and to preserve its integrity. We are in the service of order. We are subjected to the authorities - whoever they may be."

In practice, this meant that he would hand his command over to the rebels as soon as they appeared. In the meantime, he said, his company of nervous soldiers was all that stood between the wealthy downtown area and the would-be looters in the market.

There was no fighting, but around the corner from the Garde Civile headquarters two young men lay still on the pavement, blood still oozing from multiple gunshot wounds. The people on the street - the lieutenant's would-be looters - said the Garde Civile had shot them for no reason, or because they thought they were carrying weapons. The soldiers said they were shot by a civilian with a military rifle. No inquest will ever be carried out.

Corporal Celestin Ekofo walked out of the Garde Civile building in civilian clothes, his uniform and beret stuffed into a plastic carrier bag. He was hoping to go back to his - and Mr Mobutu's - native Equateur province until such time as a new Zaire might require his services again. There was nothing to eat, he said, and everybody now wanted Mr Kabila to come.

As we walked back to the hotel another soldier in civilian clothing beckoned from a side street, AK47 in one hand and a very large joint in the other. "Tell them we just want peace," he said, smiling beatifically.

Apart from a few looters, Kinshasans saw out the denouement calmly indoors, while the stragglers from Mr Mobutu's corrupt circle panicked. Generals lobbied the American Embassy for asylum, only to be turned away. At the Intercontinental hotel, a stream of families connected with the old regime flowed through the foyer to wait for transport to the city's port. Among them was Kongolo Mobutu, the ousted president's son. Flanked by armed soldiers, he piled his family into a fleet of sleek Mercedes, which were abandoned at the quayside as they - along with a stream of other Mobutuists - crossed the Congo River to Brazzaville and exile.

That so many stayed around until the bitter end is something of a mystery. A few days ago a Western diplomat hinted at widespread self-delusion, saying: "The old Mobutuists still seem to believe that there will be international intervention to save them." But yesterday justice was finally done.

In seven months Mr Kabila has swept across a country the size of western Europe, seizing city after city with astounding ease. Each victory inflicted more humiliation on Zaire's ageing dictator, exposing the nonsense of Mr Mobutu's strongman image.

For three decades the president had masqueraded as father of the nation while condemning it to impoverishment, siphoning off billions of pounds to build up a vast overseas business empire. A spineless, disloyal army, forever in retreat, was his final reward for criminal abuse.

Pierre was only one of thousands of soldiers who opted to ditch his uniform yesterday. A couple of hours later long lines of Zairean troops were snaking through the city centre. They were in retreat, as ever, but there was no urgency, only acceptance, as they ambled along.

For the next few days Mr Kabila can bask in the glory of a remarkable military campaign. But if his intentions towards Zaire are honourable - and there are question-marks over his commitment to democracy, not to mention the dangers of tribalism, regionalism and the ambitions of neighbouring countries - his real battle is just beginning.

Mr Mobutu once boasted that when he took over in Zaire there was nothing but chaos, and arrogantly warned that there would be chaos when he left. It was perhaps the only promise he kept - his greed and corruption have left a country in ruins.

t Additional reporting by Ed O'Loughlin