David Muffett was described as a hard riding ‘Bush DO’ (District Officer) who would never let anything get in the way of good old fashioned justice and fair administration.   He was an ebullient character forever sensitive to local traditions.  In 1960 he apprehended the Tigwe of Vwuip, a Northern Nigerian tribal chief who had recently eaten the local tax collector. So impressed had the Tigwe been by the tax collector’s ability to acquire money on demand that he understandably tried to assimilate his prowess in this field. Quite soon, the tax collector died under undisclosed circumstances and the Tigwe had him served up for dinner. He was a little surprised that the Foreign Office disapproved of his eating habits and at one moment Muffett put him in gaol.  Apparently  it was not this misdemeanor which bothered the District Officer but that a UNO delegation was about to visit his area to over see an election, and he felt that should the Tigwe try to eat any of them it would be a highly retrogressive step.  Thus he was locked up for the duration of the visit and was not released until they had departed rendering themselves beyond his culinary aspirations

 In January 1961 I was posted to D Company 5^th  Battalion of the Queen’s Own Nigeria Regiment at the time residing in Bukavu at the southern tip of lake Kivu. D Company was away on its own in Kindu. The day I arrived, there was a battle and I was unable to join them until the dust had settled. I was ordered to find accommodation for them in Goma at the northern tip of the lake, and wait for their arrival. During the battle one of the officers had sadly been killed. After it was all over my Company Commander had gone the Congolese Commander and asked for the body of the unfortunate officer. “You can’t have him,” said the Congolese Commander. “Why not?” asked my Company Commander.  “Because we’ve eaten him,” came the reply. “Good gracious; why did you do that?” came the obvious next question. “Because he was very brave and we are of the belief that if a brave man is killed in a battle and you eat him you will inherit his courage big time.” 

 I very much doubt if the Congolese had ever heard of the Tigwe let alone met him but it indorses that famous French saying “Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose!”                                  

 In June of that year I was posted to Brigade Headquarters as GSO III and finished my time in Luluabourg (Kananga) the following December. Whilst there, we had a Company from the 3^rd Battalion QONR stationed in Lodja, Sankuru District, in the north of the Province. They had inherited a cannibal called Omonombe who was shut up in the local gaol. He had  been put there because someone had found a number of European arms and legs in his fridge. For a reason which was not apparent at the time he kept getting out and making a nuisance of him self. One day we had a signal from our Company in Lodja asking if we could remove him. I was sent up to contact the Company and return with Omonombe under escort.

 On arrival I contacted the Company Commander and together we made a plan which was simplicity its self. We surrounded the gaol with the Company and I landed in the helicopter in a clearing opposite the entrance. It looked much like those stockades one sees in cowboy films. It consisted of a series of vertical pointed topped posts driven  into  the  ground,

 forming an approximate square.

The entrance was a pair heavy doors beneath a sloping canopy. I  hammered  on  one of them  with  a  rifle  butt. After a moment or two it  slowly  opened  and  a man  appeared  round it looking rather like a scruffy apology for a sleeping car attendant on the Belgian railways. When I asked if we could have Omonombe he answered firmly, and rather surprisingly: “ ‘Non, absolument pas!’  We’ve let him out for the day and he doesn’t usually return until the evening.” To which I said: “Well you had better find him. We are taking him back to Luluabourg. (Kananga).”  He then made a pathetic effort of going round the perimeter of the clearing calling “Omonombe, Omonombe. Where are you?” I watched this absurd pantomime for a couple of minutes and it was soon obvious that if he was there he certainly wasn’t going to come out, so I said I would return the following morning at 0630 and asked him if he would kindly have him ready.  He said he would and we departed. It had, by then, become perfectly clear that if we had left our soldiers in place and Omonombe, on returning, had spotted them he would be most unlikely to report to the gaoler.  The obvious solution was to capture him the following morning.

 Sharp at 0630 I landed in my chopper in the clearing, having left the Company  Commander time to surround the area with his men. When I hammered on the door for the second time I was greeted this time by quite a different ‘wagon lit’ attendant who knew nothing of our plan and once again said we couldn’t have him because he had, as seemed customary, been let out for breakfast. 

 Unfortunately I had to attend an important conference in Brigade Headquarters. I couldn’t see that my presence or absence would make any difference so flew back to base and then sent the helicopter back to Lodja to await the evening ‘drive.’ I was in the operations room that evening at about 7pm and someone telephoned from the airfield saying that Omonombe had arrived. I, in turn, rang the Brigadier with the glad tidings. “Hurrah,” he said, “where is he?” he asked. I had to admit I hadn’t the slightest idea and immediately telephoned the air field and spoke in turn  to the Gendarmerie, Police and Congolese Army.  No one knew what had become of him. I then tried the orderly officer of the 3^rd Battalion who told me that he had been handed over to the Minister of Justice. Foolishly I thought this was as good a place as any, and having telephoned the Brigadier went back to the officer’s mess.

 Three days later we had a signal from the Lodja Company that he was once again on the prowl and this time had no intention of going back to gaol for the night. One can only speculate that he used to go back to his own house, when no one was looking, and have a little nibble from his fridge from time to time, to keep him self going.

 It turned out that the Minister of Justice had been a friend and Omonombe had been a house guest for three days. He had acquired  car with a bicycle in the boot and sent him on his way.

 The only time I met him face to face was when one day I flew into the Baluba tribe headquarters at Bakwanga (Mbuji-Mayi) and found that Omonombe had acquired the job of ‘Chef de Sureté’at the air field.  Fortunately he had no idea who I was. Had he asked for my ID card he could have discovered that I was part of the Nigerian Army. As a result I might have ended up in his cooking pot as being a member of the army which had kept him in custody; or at best perhaps let off with a ‘caution’ for being partly instrumental in enabling him to escape! Mercifully he took no notice of me and I was able to return to base unmolested.