Horse dreams: The plucky riders of the poverty-stricken Central African Republic
IT’S an arresting sight: In the middle of a dusty street in Bangui, a chestnut horse appears, trotting graciously among the bashed-up cars, motorbike taxis and crumbling buildings.
The rider is a well-known figure in the capital of the Central Republic of Africa: he’s Soumaila Zacharia Maidjida, nicknamed “Dida”, a former sprinter who set a national record for the 800m at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics and retains it today.
The diminutive twinklingeyed man is one of just a handful of horse riders in the CAR, a country whose poverty, climate, war and overall chaos make it one of the world’s least equine-friendly environments.
“Everyone knows Dida,” the rider said. “When ministers and bosses want to go out on a horse, it’s me they come to.”
Dida dreams of setting up a horse centre but admits the vision is far away. To help feed his animals, he works as a guard.
Glory days
The horse has a troubled history in the CAR, a landlocked country that gained independence from France in 1960 but has been buffeted by war and coups ever since.
For many people here, the horse is more associated with raids by marauding gangs who cross the border on horseback from Chad or Sudan rather than with polo or genteel rides in the forest.
Older citizens, though, remember its glory days under Jean-Bedel Bokassa, a horseloving despot who in 1977 had himself crowned himself emperor.
Enamoured of the pomp and ceremony in Paris, Bokassa had a bronze and gold carriage shipped f rom France to parade around Bangui. On one tragic occasion, t wo of t he poor creatures died of heatstroke under t he pitiless tropica l sun.
Bokassa imported hundreds of horses during his time and even set up a cavalry – a unit that proudly officiated at major ceremonies.
As a child Dida watched the displays and became fired up by the idea of mounting a horse.
Bangui had t wo well-regarded equestrian centres – one was for “high societ y”, essentia lly French emigres, and t he ot her was for t he genera l public.
“At weekends, young people in the neighbourhood used to go for a ride for a few francs. It was t he only leisure activ it y at the time,” Auguste, who had an Arabian horse as a young man, said wit h a nosta lgic sigh.
End of the era
In 1996, the halcyon days of the horse in the CAR came to a terrible end.
The army mutinied, triggering a cycle of violence and instability from which the country has never recovered.
Bangui’s two equestrian centres were abandoned and the horses were stolen, sold abroad .. . or ended up on market stalls.
“They gave me a big sum of money to sell my horse to an abattoir. I was broke at the time,” said Auguste. “Today, when I think about it, I feel really sick.”
Dida managed to save a few of the animals and today, despite the militia groups who control two-thirds of the country, still makes the epic drive to the Chadian border to bring back horses to Bangui.
“Horses are what I live for – I can’t do without them,” he said with a shrug.
Memories of the glorious past have even stirred JeanBosco, an army captain, to try to revive the mounted guard.
Dressed in a splendid red vest, with a plumed kepi head and a sabre at his belt, he had come to Dida with a last-minute request for a riding lesson.
The following day, there was to be a military parade, and Jean-Bosco intended to be there to salute the head of state from horseback, bedecked in the CAR colours.
Bosco had only ridden once, which explained his haste to get in a second lesson before the big event.
But he was undaunted by the idea of a fall or a horsey mishap.
“I’ve been wanting to bring back the mounted guard for years,” he said. “If I can take part in the parade, I hope I can persuade my superiors to back the idea.”