(Sunset dinner in Amstelveen: Pepi and Matsa on our balcony fleurie)

The other day a friend called me from Brussels. We chatted a while and then, knowing him as matter-of-factly person, somebody who would not call to blabber, I tried to figure out when was he coming because his job (Eurocontrol) brings him often to Schiphol. Instead he asked would I come for grill on occasion of the opening of his newly bought house. So Tosko (featured here occasionally) who knows everything and everybody around, was right. Pepi did buy a house. -Congratulations,- I shouted,- that is a very, very good news. Did you legalize the place which you said you were renting? -That place was really rented,-he said. -No, I bought a free-stand. -Is there a large garden for the crowd, it will be warm? -Come and you will see. -Ok, what's the address? -You will not be able to find after the street address. -Why? You know that I am better in orientation than a pigeon-carrier. -Because it is out of town. -So, you wanted a big place in an obsolete location. -No. you are wrong again. I got a small place in a famous location. -So, what's the location. -Waterloo.
No question that Waterloo is famous. -Bad omen. -This is not your day. On the northern outskirts of Waterloo there is this place called Sint-Genesius-Rode. That is it. -What's so important about it? -Well, whatever is left from the Sese-Seko family and the rest of the other Congolese top-brass is settled here.
(Left: Mobutu Sese Seko 40 years ago sporting his leopardskin toque and turtle-rimmed glasses) And then, as if a fury, one of my many trains of thought swooshed (do not look up, it's a nonsense word) past me. But I was flown to Kinshasa on a military plane, with ship-shape colonels serving me whiskey over clinking ice cubes splashed with Canadian Club Soda 33000 feet (sounds impressive in feet, does it not) above the hungry, sandy planes of Central Africa. Why all that? For Milos Minic Tito's Foreign Minister, to discus the principles of and get support for the Non-Aligned Movements from a guy called Mobutu Sese Seko Nkuku Ngbendu wa za Banga who was born as a simple Joseph-Désiré Mobutu. Oh, wasn't that trip over Africa so thrilling! Cris-crossing the Earth with the Envoy of Non-Alignment for the Eternal idea of a New World Order! We, the journalists, were too small fry to be allowed to come close to the Great leader, former simple colonel who rose himself to the rank of a marshal. We did not mind at all since the hosts took us to the cataracts of Zaire, running there impressively wide and noisy, just across the other Congo. Nobody, journalists and diplomats alike, nobody would dare comment a thing about Mobutu or the atrocities committed in his name. President Tito had Milos Minic as one of the most trusted people around. He was impressed with the degree of stability of Zaire, a huge country with 200 tribes. Yugoslavia fell appart with only four dissenting, right in the heart of Europe. There is no more Yugoslavia and there is no more Zaire. Mobutu imposed the name and kept it for some 37 years of iron-fist rule. Everything is back to normal now: Democratic Republic of Congo. River: Congo.
(The grill with friends in Sint-Genesius-Rode was fabulous even without the last Mobutu. sasha here was guided by the smoke of the barbecue!) He was a personal friend of another tyrant: Nicolae Ceau?escu of Romania. Mobutu had fine relations with some communist leaders and everywhere claimed his foreign policy as Non-Aligned. And now I am invited to appraise the luxurious standards of his kin who my church-mouse-poor friend from Skopje is so proud to share the neighborhood air with. Our hosts Predrag -Pepi- Terzioski and Jana Janevska (an architect, daughter of the most famous Macedonian novelist Slavko Janevski) had rearranged their lush garden into an open-air restaurant complete with a shed over a jacuzzi for the kids and impressive barbecue for the oldies to play grill-masters with tons of food and gallons of drinks. The guests came from all over Europe, and while many were of French, Dutch, Serb, Greek extraction they felt very much at home with the predominant Macedonians, all too careful to embrace everybody and make sure the party was a success. A late comer from Delft who got lost searching for the place said: -If it was not for the smell of the grill I would have never found you. We followed it from the center of Waterloo. Do you think your neighbors, the Mobutus, may be tempted to come? Such an eventuality was impossible. Four of Mobutu's sons from his first marriage (with Marie-Antoinette) died: Niwa, Konga, Kongulu (all gone in September 1998) and Manda (two years ago). His son, Nzanga, from the second marriage (with mistress Bobi Ladawa who he wedded, out of respect for the Pontiff, days before Pope John-Paul II visit to Zaire) is back home contending the Presidency at the first general elections in 40 years. His daughter Yakwa was married to a Belg but is not around Waterloo now. The guests had begun leaving by early sunset, which is well over 21:00 hours. At least two hours drive to Amstelveen make me hesitate the departure. Then a new arrival, Svetlana -Nana- Jovanovska a correspondent for the best read daily "Dnevnik" and a daughter (she also has a 24-year old daughter of her own) of a couple of very good old friends of hours. Her father Meto Jovanovski an excitingly humorous writer, had described an anecdote with my wife in his "The Keys of Manhattan". Her mother, Mira died soon after she came to live in Brussels. Svetlana remained. She brought a friend who flew in direct from Skopje and we wanted to hear the latest news "live". It was superb fun. By 10 p.m. we were out. It was 01 a.m. when we parked the Corsa in Amstelveen. It was a beautiful day. And this post is, of course, dedicated to the hospitality so warmly extended by Pepi and Jana.

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