ANGOLA: Angola should be oil- rich, but instead 3 million Angolans are teetering on the edge of survival, writes Declan Walsh
Oil should have made Angola fabulously wealthy. A few miles off the Atlantic shoreline, a cluster of offshore oil rigs pump almost a million barrels of high-grade crude every day. It makes good money for the western oil giants and for the Angolan government too: $3.2 billion last year alone.
Yet Angola remains desperately poor. The capital, Luanda, is filthy, stinking and overcrowded. Social services such as hospitals and schools are dilapidated or closed. In the countryside, where war has just ended, three million people are teetering on the edge of survival.
President Eduardo dos Santos claims he has little money to tackle this humanitarian disaster.
Few believe him. Instead, diplomats, campaigners and a growing number of angry Angolans say the country's vast oil profits are being stealthily pocketed by a secretive but extravagantly wealthy elite, centred on his presidency and known as the Futungo. Last year, for example, the International Monetary Fund estimated that $1.2 billion of the $3.2 billion oil profits simply disappeared. Similar amounts vanished the year before and the year before that again. The IMF calls it "unaccounted expenditure". Campaigners such as the advocacy group Global Witness call it "wholesale state robbery".
Where exactly the money goes is unclear but the dilapidated streets of Luanda offer some clues. Fleets of the latest BMW, Mercedes and Jaguar cars splash along the sewage-laced roads, roaring past the armies of ragged, homeless people on the pavements. Many are driven by government employees or associates.
Better clues may be found thousands of miles away. Earlier this year, Global Witness identified a $1 billion bank account in the British Virgin Islands. It said the fortune was controlled by figures connected to the Angolan government.
A campaign is slowly swelling to return Angola's oil revenues to its impoverished people. The end of war against UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) rebels, which officially ended last Friday, has focused minds; so has the humanitarian crisis. The UN is struggling to raise $236 million to help three million Angolans; the government could come up with that money using just three weeks of oil profits, one diplomat recently told the UN Security Council.
There is also a growing clamour for transparency among ordinary Angolans. "The war was always used as an excuse not to spend on social services. Now people are saying there is no excuse," says Mr Ian Dolan of Irish development agency Trocaire, which is focusing its energies on supporting local civil and human rights groups. Western oil companies and banks have also been blamed. Although all of the oil majors are represented in Angola - including Chevron, BP Amoco and Shell - none openly publishes details of payments to the government. This murkiness - which is illegal in the oil giants' home countries - makes it easier to divert money illegally.
A campaign to get the oil companies to "Publish What You Pay" is being led by the American financier and philanthropist, Mr George Soros. The Angolan government, however, is doggedly resisting.
Western banks are also accused of unscrupulous behaviour. Some have advanced high-interest loans to the government that are mortgaged against future oil production; others fly teams of sharp-suited "personal bankers" to help the Futungo elite salt their money away in offshore accounts.
The Futungo, a close-knit cabal of powerful military, business and political figures, is shrouded in mystery. Popularly it is thought to number 200 families; analysts refer to it as Angola's "parallel government".
A glossy magazine called Tropical offers a glimpse into the lifestyles of this exclusive set. Hello!-style photo spreads show designer-clad Angolans enjoying themselves; the latest issue features parties in London, Lisbon and Luanda.
The glitzy extravagance contrasts starkly with the lives of most of Angola's 13 million people. They have slim hopes of getting a job, an education or even staying alive for very long: average life expectancy is 45, unemployment is 80 per cent and three out of 10 children do not see their fifth birthday.
The government says things are changing. The president recently released generous funds for rebuilding infrastructure; he has also fired several notoriously corrupt ministers and provincial governors.
With the end of war, now is the time to rebuild, says Norberto dos Santos, spokesman for the ruling MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) party.
"Before, we had to defend the country so we invested a lot in buying weapons. Today we are facing a different situation," he says. Others are sceptical that the president is willing to relinquish control of the elaborate patronage apparatus which has kept him in power.
In the eastern town of Luena, the medical charity Médecins Sans Frontières has cut aid to the local hospital because supplies kept disappearing. These days it is a dirty place of broken windows and suffering patients.
The hospital director, however, is doing better. Dr Carlos Alberto dresses in smart suits, wears an Yves Saint-Laurent tie and drives a new Suzuki jeep. In his office there is a new laptop on the desk and a television stacked on the fridge. "The situation is very difficult," he says in his air-conditioned office, the only one in the building. "The support we receive from the government is not enough to cover our problems."