The Wedding of the President’s Daughter
Ruth Keidel Clemens and Cheryl Chenot
On October 17, 1981, I received an invitation which read: “The President of the Republic of Zaire and Mama Bobi Ladawa are happy for you to share in the marriage of their daughter Mobutu Ngombo Toku, with Bossekota w’Atshia.”
Here’s what Wikipedia says in 2019 about this daughter and her marriage:
The eldest daughter had married the son of the mayor of Limete (a Kinshasa commune), a friend of his father. First to advise the presidency, the son-in-law will then be promoted secretary of state. But the union was not happy. After trying to put an end to her life during her father's lifetime, Ngombo, a mother of two, currently lives in Belgium.
I’d heard rumors that President Mobutu was spending an exorbitant amount of money on this wedding, which made me wonder if I should go, and in so doing, possibly show support for his financial policies. It didn’t take me too long to decide I’d go anyway. I mean, how often in a lifetime does one get the chance to attend the wedding of a president’s daughter?
This occasion took place in the Palais du Peuple, a very modern building built as a gift from the Chinese. When one walks into the building it’s hard to remember you’re in Zaire. One enters into a very large foyer, somewhat like a ballroom, with several chandeliers placed across the length of the ceiling, and two large staircases, one on either end of the room, something like what you’d see in a Cinderella movie. When we arrived (an hour and a half before the wedding was to start) people were setting up bars for the reception, and rolling out red carpets across the foyer.
After we’d found our section of seats in the balcony, a few of us decided to watch what was going on outside (the presidential party had not yet arrived). One complete side of the second floor is made of glass, and lends a perfect view onto the huge parking lot. The fountain had been turned on, and there were several bands and dance groups spaced around the sprawling square to greet the wedding party.
Soon we heard sirens in the distance. Guards with bayonets, dressed in green uniforms and large black-skinned hats (who were placed very decoratively around the foyer and along the driveway) stood at attention. Many police cars with sirens and flashing lights escorted two large black limousines up to the door. In front and to the rear of the cavalcade were two jeeps mounted with machine guns. Everyone was whisked quickly inside, passing directly beneath us. We watched them move through the foyer; then we hurried back to our seats to watch them come down the aisle of the auditorium.
The ceremony was “ecumenical” (she’s Catholic, he’s Protestant). Four choirs were seated on the stage, and sang several times during the ceremony. The main theme of the sermon (which was very Biblical) was, “In these days when so many marriages are falling apart, there is only one way a couple can have a happy marriage and remain faithful to each other and that is if the marriage is centered around Jesus Christ.”
After the ceremony, the same “few” of us rushed back onto the second-floor foyer to beat the crowd. The bridal party went to an elevator, and come up to the second floor, stepping out about 20 feet in front of us. We followed closely behind, and eventually came to a quiet richly-decorated sitting room complete with chandeliers, candles, and Persian rugs. The bride and groom sat on a couch and posed for the many photographers, while the rest of the bridal party sat down on other lounge chairs placed around the room. The President himself was sitting about three feet away from me. He was talking to his youngest daughter telling her to look at the cameras, pointing to different photographers (including one of ours!).
We left the party there and made our way back down to the foyer where the reception was in progress. I wonder if the President had any idea what kind of scene was taking place at his daughter’s reception. Some Zairians were tearing the meat off the carcasses with their bare hands, stuffing sandwiches into pockets, baskets, handkerchiefs, wherever there was space. Some were carrying out the carcasses of turkey, lamb, duck, etc. Someone poured beer over another’s hands to wash them. Soon the only food left was the little sandwich rolls, minus their meat and cheese filling. Fragments of food and spilled beer left the floor a mushy mess. Fortunately, the food tables and bars were set apart from the plush red carpeting, as if the reception caterers had foreseen what could take place.
No one paid much attention to us as we observed this spectacle. We knew that what we were seeing was not gross impoliteness, but the natural reactions of people who were starving. They had probably never in their lives seen so much food at once. They were taking advantage of this “once-in-a-lifetime” experience. The paradox was overwhelming. Here we were in perhaps the swankiest palace in Zaire attending a very expensive wedding of the President’s daughter, and people were so hungry they forgot about where they were, or what kind of politeness was expected, and scavenged animal carcasses. The scene made us realize we were still in Zaire, among people who struggle to meet the basic needs for survival.
When the wedding party finally came down the stair case they seemed oblivious to the frenzied scene behind them. They were immediately surrounded by photographers and important diplomats who were waiting to congratulate the couple and shake hands with the President. We were looking at two completely different worlds in one room. It made me wonder what it will take to make the President open his eyes and look down from his exalted position where he surrounds himself with his own comfortable world, and show compassion for his own people.