I would also ask you not to post till Carloso & I clear you, as we have more to add!
No one ever knew where the Miyazenga and Butu came from. Many ethnologists created countless theories that clogged the literature in today's universities. Some say that the Miyazenga have invaded the region from the north and made the Butu their serfs. Others said that both groups had the same origin, and evolved into nationalities as tribal societies became more and more complex, creating the division of labor and first social structures. Yet others aid that the groups were simply an invention of the British colonialist, who created them to divide and conquer the region.
Regardless of weather the last theory was true, it certainly had a grain of truth in it.
The Miyazenga had, for centuries, held vast majority of land and resources and dominated the upper levels of society, as the Butu lived in hunger and poverty. Unequal access to land prevented the Butu from obtaining basic necessities - and thus, they resorted to violence. Early 1960s saw a wave of Butu terrorism that utterly terrified the Miyazenga until today - especially as the exiled Miyazenga president turned rebel leader, General Mugerwa, lost his own parents in that event. The hate had been growing progressively. Over twenty years ago, Mugerwa launched a coup d'tat to protect the Miyazenga influence. Now, thanks to the Butu protests, Mugerwa was out, but he managed to lead a successful guerilla campaign "to restore the rightful government". FROLIBO now effectively ran state within a state, and their armed force had limited conventional capabilities.
For two years, peace had been reigning in the land. Yet dark clouds are gathering once again, and soon the Butu and the Miyazenga will once again be at each other's throats....
*** Karaba, King Tchombe's International Airport
King Tchobme's international airport, named after a legendary ruler from the times old gone, was one of busiest places in the nation. Each day, planes that would have been by first world standard antiquated landed and took off, bringing new goods into the nation. The civilian aviation shared this airport with Bagongo's minuscule air force, which operated from here due to lack of funding. Aside from legitimate businesses, the airport served as a gateway into a world far less official, but very real - as the guards, underpaid and poorly motivated, eagerly closed eye on various kinds of less - than - legal cargo for a proper price.
Today, however, the airport functioned perfectly - as the president himself was visiting it. Michael Zuluka was an elderly man, with short, grey hair, extended cheekbones, wrinkles covering large forehead and a pair of small, deep set eyes. Dressed in a simple black suit, he stood now on a podium, announcing his departure:
"My friends, and fellow citizens of Bagongo" he started, supposedly smiling; but those who looked onto his face could see deeply hidden unease, even fear in his eyes "I have not been able to deliver a speech for a certain period of time. I have to apologize for that fact, as certain matters have kept me occupied. Be aware, however that those matters were issues of highest importance that could not have been delayed.
As you all may be aware, recently a large oil deposit was discovered, hidden among the depths of Lake Elizabeth. This deposit, while offering a chance to bring our people out of poverty, can also become a bone of discord for our people - something that I would not like to see happening. Long long ago, I have been fighting for the civil rights of the Butu population, to ensure that our kinsmen are free from oppression. Yet those goals have been, for the most part, concluded. Today, the administration has considerable number of Butus, and we have managed to include both ethnic groups in our government. In prospect of continued development, it's time for the bloodshed to end."
He paused, sighing deeply almost as if he was pronouncing something grave; fear now became even more visible. Quacking, Zuluka continued:
"Right now I am departing for a security summit in Gola, where I intend to seek possibilities of mediation international mediation in the current conflict. If Butu and the Miyazenga can not reach an agreement, hopefully other nations can. I know that many other nations, especially our Palmyri friends, have done a lot for us simply by being here and maintaining the peacekeeping contingent that currently monitors the ceasefire. Yet the cease-fire is not enough; this time, we have to bring a true peace, and disarmament of all groups participating in the war.
I hope that this journey will be a beginning of a new tomorrow for our troubled nation."
With that, the elderly president left the podium, and - escorted by two suit-clad bodyguards - headed into his limo, which took him into the plane. He boarded silent, without any words, constantly looking around as if a leopard hid behind every corner, just waiting to pounce on his unsuspecting prey. Seeing no danger, he sighed deeply in relief, and headed in.
With a loud roar of engines, the plane started. As it ascended into the air among the clear blue Afruikan skies, another sound roared. Like a lance of fire, a MANPADS missile tore from the neighboring rainforrest, darting upwards towards the presidential plane. It hit among fire and brimstone, as the plane cracked in two, shower of parts falling onto neighboring fields.
Michael Zuluka was dead.
*** Presidential Palace, several hours later
Arthur Bukenya was happy. The operation had succeeded, and now the long realized project could finally begin. When one looked at this bald, older, eternally smiling man, few could have imagined the amount of evil hiding under his happy face. Yet, it was there, and it was about to be unleashed on the nation. The seat was his; Zuluka would contain him no more.
He walked through the neo-classical halls of the presidential palace, a relic of times when the British reigned the land. On the walls, there were endless paintings and cultural artifacts; a warrior shield, a sagay spear, and a stuffed head of a lion. It was a good sign - a lion was the totem anima of the Butu, who constantly used it as part of their symbolism. Entering the hall, he looked upon a massive, wooden chair that the president usually occupied during various official events.
"So, good friend, how does it feel to hold power?" came a calm voice from the chair "You enjoy it, aren't you?"
Bukenya sweated, looking as if he came to the face with the devil himself. There on the chair, cross legged, sat Amihan Russel himself. The elusive financist with a god complex and enormous need for control over everything who had an enormous pull in the political and criminal underworld. His right eye gashed, his right hand gone, and a piece of metal embedded into his forehead like a little horn, giving the infamous manipulator a truly hellish look. A man supposedly dead, but here he was - just in front of him.
"Honored sir!" exclaimed Bukenya, lowering his eyes. With Russel's ego, one always had to be careful "If I knew you would come personally...."
"Spare me your whinning" said angrily Russel, rising from the chair and pointing at it with his single remaining hand "Do you see this chair? It's third time I have this conversation with a man who is supposed to sit on it. This time, however, I am going to personally ensure that everything is in order. Your two predecessors both failed. Mugerwa had cheated me, and Zuluka had proven to be a pussy who backed out from our plans at the last minute. You - YOU WILL DO NO SUCH FUCKING THING!" shouted Russel.
"My sir, I ensure..." Bukenya attempted to speak, but was cut off again.
"I said silence! Can't you get it!?" Russel roared on him again, causing the president to sweat "I. OWN. YOUR. S***OLE. OF A COUNTRY!" the banker continued shouting "Even now I can tell you of ten ways that I can cause this s***hole to collapse, and I am sure that my staff can tell me the next ten. Thus, you will do exactly as I say." Russel paused, visibly calming down "As you may or may or not - I don't really care - Lake Eliabeth was confirmed to hold enough oil to turn this country from a s***hole to a paradise in few years. Now, I can't have Blacksands, Riysan sheikhs, or forbid it, the Nifonese trash laying their dirty hand's on it, can I?"
The banker visibly smiled:
"With Zuluka's death we have killed two birds with one stone. Use the situation to demonize the Miyazenga. Accuse them of racism; you will figure something. After all, I have already purchased all the media outlets I could so you will have that task very easy..." Russel smiled again "Once the flames of conflict burn hot again, you will invade the south and bring me Mugerwa's head. I can't have him spoiling my enterprises again. Then, you will secure the oil reserves for me, and use remaining Miyazenga as a slave labor. Tell the international community that it's a forced reparation for years of discrimination that they have to work out" the financist laughed "In turn, you have 30%. Do we have a deal?"
Bukenya lowered his eyes again. It was never a good idea to deny anything to this man. What else could he do than agree?
"Of course, sir. I agree." he almost whispered, his voice quacking.
"Then that's great" Russel smiled, as he started to put on his disguse again, before heading towards the secret entry to the presidential palace, where a group of trusted mercenaries waited for him to move him out of the country. While dangerous, those trips gave him a thrill he needed after hours of hiding in a skyscrapper in UCK, leaving the sweating president behind.
"Don't fail me..." Russel said as he disappeared as silently as he had entered.
