A Ghost of Its Former Self

Independence has brought deprivation, disruption--and Cubans

Marxist-ruled Angola poses one of the biggest stumbling blocks to solving the problems that plague southern Africa. Five years of complex negotiations over a U.N. plan to win independence for the South African-controlled territory of Namibia have produced a stalemate over South Africa's demand that, as a quid pro quo, Cuba withdraw its 26,000 troops and advisers stationed in Angola. Yet the Cubans now seem more important than ever to the Angolan government. With the backing of South Africa, Angolan rebels have scored a series of gains in recent months, presenting a serious threat to the Soviet-supported regime of President Jose Eduardo Dos Santos. Last week TIME'S Tala Skari joined a group of journalists in a visit to embattled Angola, the first Western reporters to tour the country for quite some time. Her report:

"When the Portuguese left in 1975," sighed a resident of the capital of Luanda, "they didn't go gracefully." Indeed, the exodus of some 350,000 Portuguese after independence stripped the country of its only trained personnel and plunged it deeply into civil war. Today the signs of that hasty evacuation are written into Luanda's decay.

With its pastel-colored stucco buildings, palm-lined harbor and sandy beaches, this city nestled in gentle foothills on the Atlantic Coast used to be known as the Rio de Janeiro of Africa. Now, in most respects, Luanda is a ghost of its former self. In the once thriving downtown, at least two-thirds of the stores have closed. Merchants, unable to purchase supplies, have boarded their doors. The few shops that remain open display almost their entire stock in the front window. Prices are inflated: in one showcase, a pair of secondhand children's trousers was marked 500 kwanzas, or roughly $40 at the official exchange rate. But very often merchants refuse even to sell what little they offer, for fear that they will not be able to restock their shelves.

Reminders of a more prosperous past haunt the city. Shells of half-finished high-rises mar the skyline, their struts jutting crazily and their cranes frozen in midair. Hulks of taxis, virtually new trucks, and even public buses rust on roadsides or in overgrown lots because the few spare parts that trickle into Angola are funneled to the army. To its credit, however, the government has managed to maintain a reliable city bus system.

After independence, the population of Luanda more than doubled to 1 million as tribesmen flooded the capital in search of work. In the squalid shantytowns of wooden clapboard, sheet metal and clay adobe that ring the capital, barefoot children share the streets with squealing piglets, chickens and goats. Conditions in the bleak ten-story apartment houses in town are not much better: in front of one building, women and children draw runoff water from an enormous pothole in the street.

Less conspicuous than the many vestiges of Portuguese colonialism are Cuba's forces, which Western officials estimate include between 21,000 and 22,000 troops and 5,000 civilians. Some are stationed on the outskirts of Luanda, where their presence is unmistakable. Oversize portraits of Fidel Castro and Che Guevara decorate the perimeter of their barracks near the airport on the eastern edge of Luanda. In addition to troops, the Cubans provide hundreds of doctors, teachers and administrators who help train civilian Angolans.

Potentially one of the richest nations in Africa, Angola's 7 million people are saddled with the mixed blessings of oil, rich diamond fields and Marx. But the 17-year conflict with the South African-backed guerrillas of the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA), led by Jonas Savimbi, is bleeding government coffers. Although Angolan officials refuse to reveal how much of the national budget is spent on the military, Western diplomats put the figure at 25%. Forty percent or more of Angola's foreign currency earnings are used to pay for military equipment, while the country's foreign debt is estimated at $2.5 billion to $3 billion.

Rebel and South African attacks have damaged bridges, railways and hydroelectric dams. The distribution of food has been severely hampered, while repeated UNITA offensives have disabled the Benguela railway, which used to transport copper from Zaire and Zambia to the Atlantic. That disruption alone will cost Angola up to $100 million annually in unearned transit fees. UNITA claims to control at least one third of Angola, mainly in the southeast, although the government seems to retain its hold over the major towns.

When the Portuguese left, they not only stripped machinery and even telephones from factories but took with them the administrators needed to run the economy. Before independence, Angola was a food-exporting nation; now it imports 90% of its needs. Oil remains Angola's most important resource, providing 82% of its foreign currency earnings of $1 billion. The drop in world demand, however, has shrunk production from 150,000 bbl. per day in 1980 to 115,000 bbl. last year. In these conditions, money has become virtually worthless, and an imaginative bartering system has replaced the official currency for many transactions.

The failure of Marxist ideology to solve Angola's economic ills has led the pragmatic Dos Santos to quietly encourage Western investment. Luanda's port is one of the few efficiently run enterprises, and the government is now seeking $40 million to $50 million from Western banks to finance an expansion project. Relations with U.S.-based Gulf Oil Corp., which operates three offshore rigs and plans to open a fourth, are also surprisingly cordial. "The government here is hardly ideological," says an American oil-industry representative. "After all, they turn to [U.S. consulting firm] Arthur D. Little when they need advice. That's hardly what I would call hard-core Marxism."

Confronted with a collapsing economy and a mounting rebel threat, Dos Santos is not likely to renounce Soviet sponsorship of his regime. Nor is he likely to agree to South Africa's demand for a withdrawal of the Cuban troops, who help the 35,000 government soldiers and as many as 50,000 militiamen fight the UNITA guerrillas. With Angola's future uncertain, the chances of breaking southern Africa's broader diplomatic logjams seem equally remote. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.