Chapter 16: Roots in the Red Earth
The market in Léopoldville buzzed with life—colorful fabrics, the scent of grilled cassava, the call of merchants, the hum of radios broadcasting in Lingala and French. Children ran between the stalls carrying notebooks stamped with the Delcroix school crest. Their mothers traded goods wrapped in branded burlap sacks from the biomedical shipments, repurposed into bags and bedding.
Victor walked among them quietly. No entourage. No uniform. Just a tan linen suit and a low-brimmed hat. He nodded to the people. Some recognized him. Most didn't.
And that was exactly how he wanted it.
In the mining regions, tensions had always simmered between the colonizers and the local population. But Victor understood something most European administrators did not: respect was earned not by force, but by presence.
He ordered his company schools to teach not only French and arithmetic, but also local history, culture, and native language literacy. He made sure the best Congolese workers were promoted into mid-level roles, trained as machinists, lab assistants, and port engineers. For every expatriate hired, three locals were trained.
A new directive passed through the administrative college: all Delcroix companies were to employ local staff in supervisory and technical positions whenever possible. A rapid vocational program was launched to accelerate this transition.
His biomedical staff began offering free weekend clinics—mobile tents with trained nurses, distributing medication and performing checkups. It cost him 200,000 BEF per quarter, but the goodwill it bought was beyond price. In the villages, they began calling the trucks ndako ya bwanga—"the house of healing."
One elder in the copper belt stood outside the new community well and told a company foreman, "Delcroix doesn't build for Belgians. He builds for us too."
That phrase would echo for months.
In February, Victor hosted a celebration in Léopoldville's central plaza. Not for investors. For the people.
Clean water had just been piped to over 4,000 homes. A new public garden opened behind the market square. A stage was erected, and musicians played both European instruments and Congolese rhythms. He addressed the crowd in careful, rehearsed Lingala:
"We are not guests here. We are neighbors. Your children will be the engineers. Your sons and daughters will be the doctors. This future belongs to all of us."
The crowd roared.
In company publications, illustrations began to change. Gone were the images of stern European supervisors and silent laborers. Now: doctors with Congolese nurses, teachers standing beside mixed classrooms, engineers reviewing blueprints with local apprentices.
It was more than propaganda. It was policy.
Elise watched this shift with both admiration and pragmatism.
"You've done in one year what most colonial governments haven't done in thirty."
Victor smiled, watching children play near the biomedical lab's gates.
"Because I'm not building an empire," he said.
"I'm building a home."
Chapter 17: Echoes of Change
The effects of Victor Delcroix's integration strategy rippled outward with unexpected speed.
At first, it was small: delays in petty bureaucracies disappeared. Customs officers in Matadi began to wave Delcroix shipments through without questions. Local chiefs started sending their sons to Delcroix schools and their daughters to his medical academies. His representatives were invited to sit in advisory roles at town councils—not by edict, but by request.
Then came something rarer: respect.
In the copper belt, a former labor camp transformed into a model settlement. Where once there had been shacks and violence, now stood family homes with tin roofs and clean water. A new local clinic treated over 200 patients a week. Victor named the settlement Mwasi na Talatala—"Woman of the Future"—in honor of the first female Congolese lab technician trained in his program.
The surrounding villages responded not with suspicion, but with curiosity. Soon, requests came in from neighboring provinces. Could they have their own school? Their own clinic? Could their children take the entrance exam for the Delcroix Institute?
The answer, increasingly, was yes.
In Léopoldville, colonial administrators took notice.
Reports began circulating through government channels: rising literacy rates in Delcroix zones, dramatic drops in disease and infant mortality, and a surge in vocational certification among Congolese adults. The Governor-General's office received a memorandum from a district commissioner:
"Delcroix territories now operate more smoothly than government-controlled zones. Local populations are cooperating without coercion. Productivity is up. So is morale."
One French administrator called it "an anomaly in the colonial structure"—but no one could deny the numbers.
At the Belgian Parliament, the Minister of Colonies delivered a guarded briefing:
"We are observing a phenomenon in the Congo where private industry has succeeded in establishing trust and productivity through... unconventional means. While the long-term implications are unclear, it has so far reduced tensions and increased economic outputs."
Victor read the transcript with a thin smile.
Unconventional. They still didn't understand.
He didn't want to control people. He wanted to empower them. Because a skilled, healthy, and loyal population was worth more than any number of conscripts or clerks.
Back in the field, the evidence was everywhere.
Delcroix apprentices were designing new water towers. Congolese engineers were overseeing refinery expansions. Villagers proudly pointed to buildings they had helped construct.
In one schoolyard, a chalk mural appeared—depicting a young girl in a lab coat, surrounded by the flags of Belgium and Congo interwoven.
Gérard saw it first. He brought Victor to see.
Victor stared at the mural in silence for a long time.
"We're not just changing infrastructure anymore," Gérard said.
Victor nodded slowly.
"We're changing the story."
Chapter 18: The Quiet Mandate
The meeting took place in a villa overlooking Lake Tanganyika. White stone walls, wide verandas, and guards in discreet civilian clothing. Inside, the atmosphere was neither hostile nor warm—it was careful.
Victor Delcroix sat at the long table beside Elise and Gérard, opposite three members of the Belgian colonial assembly. They had flown in quietly, without press, without ceremony. Officially, this was a "strategic dialogue." In truth, it was the beginning of something else.
The Governor-General himself had not come—but his signature was on the authorization letter that granted Victor this audience.
"You have no official mandate," one of the older assemblymen said flatly.
Victor smiled. "No. I have results."
He passed them a packet: health reports, literacy statistics, export figures, and photos—classrooms, steelworks, and clean water systems bearing both Belgian and Congolese flags.
"Your administration calls it an anomaly," Victor said. "I call it proof of concept."
In the weeks leading up to the meeting, Victor had orchestrated a soft campaign across Europe. Carefully placed articles praised the Delcroix system as a model for enlightened colonial development. Thought leaders in Paris and Geneva hailed his education and medical results. A popular Dutch journal ran a front-page spread calling his ports and shipping "the arteries of modern Africa."
Public sentiment in Belgium, weary of postwar economic stagnation, began to shift. Young professionals saw in Congo not only opportunity—but order. The Delcroix name had become shorthand for clean administration, scientific progress, and stability.
Victor knew this gave him leverage.
Now, at the table, he laid out his proposal.
"I don't ask for sovereignty. Not yet. But I propose a regional charter for integrated infrastructure. Roads, ports, rail, power. All managed by a central non-governmental authority, supervised by both Belgian and Congolese administrators trained in our system."
"You want to create a parallel government?" one man asked.
"I want to remove the bottlenecks," Victor replied. "Your colonial ministries are ten years behind the pace of modern logistics. I intend to build at tomorrow's speed. You can either keep up—or be left behind."
There was silence.
Then the youngest delegate spoke. "We'd need to consult Parliament."
Victor nodded. "Of course. I'll be in Brussels next month. Shall we plan to meet again?"
After they left, Elise turned to him. "That was bold."
"They're not ready to say yes," Victor replied. "But they didn't say no."
Gérard looked out over the lake. "And what if they push back?"
Victor took a deep breath.
"Then we show them the numbers. The world is watching. And this time, they're watching us."
Later that night, he wrote in his journal:
"Autonomy is not declared. It is assumed—when others begin to ask permission to stop you."
Chapter 19: Beneath the Surface
The tropical sun cast long shadows across the administrative campus in Léopoldville. As students in crisp uniforms exited their lecture halls, engineers reviewed rail schematics in glass-walled offices, and medical staff began the evening shift at the polyclinic, Victor Delcroix leaned against the terrace rail of the new Planning Directorate.
He watched quietly. Not with urgency, but with intent.
This was the true work now—consolidation.
Victor had stepped back from the public stage. No interviews, no more speeches, and no further proposals to the Belgian authorities.
Instead, he turned inward.
The first priority was standardization. Every Delcroix division—medical, mining, freight, education—now used a common internal ledger format, a shared reporting interface, and a unified payroll protocol. Accounting offices from Ghent to Katanga were brought under a new system developed in-house, mimicking the double-entry formats Victor recalled from ERP platforms of the future.
The cost: 1.1 million BEF, but it eliminated duplication, fraud, and delays. Efficiency rose 18% in six months.
Next came logistical redundancy. Victor ordered the construction of auxiliary depots along the Congo and Lualaba rivers, doubling the safety margin for raw material storage and shipment in the rainy season. A parallel fuel depot was built near Kisangani for river barges.
Three new warehouses, two custom-built cranes, and a system of tagged metal containers later, the Delcroix Freight Network could now guarantee shipment within five days from mine to port.
Logistics reinvestment: 2.4 million BEF
In education, a new training complex opened outside Kolwezi—Delcroix Technical College for Industry—offering certifications in machinery maintenance, applied metallurgy, and logistics coordination. It quickly attracted over 300 students in its first intake.
An internal scholarship fund was created to allow promising workers to rise through ranks, regardless of background or language. The cost: 900,000 BEF, funded partially from profits of the steel division.
But most quietly of all, Victor created a shadow charter.
It was never publicly discussed. Not written in one document. But its principles were embedded into hiring contracts, logistics agreements, and board mandates:
All Delcroix entities were self-reliant and modular.
Every site had a dual supply chain.
Every facility trained its own backups.
No operation relied entirely on Belgian infrastructure.
Gérard called it "corporate redundancy." Elise called it "war-proofing."
Victor knew what it was: preparation.
While Brussels was lulled by the outward calm, Victor built depth.
In the event of disruption—financial panic, political interference, or war—his empire would not collapse. It would flex. Shift. Endure.
The crisis would come. That much he remembered clearly.
But when it did, Delcroix would not ask for permission.
It would be the solution.
And the world would have no choice but to follow.
Chapter 20: Currents of Power
Victor stood on a rocky ridge above the Congo River, wind tugging at his coat as the engineers below marked off the floodplain. The roar of water filled the air—untapped, unchained, raw potential.
"Two years from now," he said to Elise, who stood beside him, "this will power everything."
By early 1923, Victor had secured over 30 million BEF in new credit, primarily from Swiss and Dutch institutions eager to share in his explosive returns. With Delcroix Biologique now exporting to 24 countries and steel output approaching 2,800 tons per month, the banks were practically tripping over themselves to offer favorable terms.
He directed the new funding into three areas: infrastructure expansion, power generation, and industrial automation.
Hydroelectric Ambitions
The first and most ambitious project: a hydroelectric complex near Inga Falls.
Feasibility surveys, carried out by mixed teams of Belgian, Congolese, and Swedish engineers, confirmed that the site could generate tens of megawatts—enough to power all Delcroix installations in the region with room to spare.
Phase I construction began with a budget of 8 million BEF, including imported turbines, dam reinforcement, and power line corridors. A research team from Zurich partnered with Delcroix engineers to design an advanced switchgear control center—the most modern in Africa.
Elise oversaw labor rotations, ensuring local workers were trained in electrical maintenance. Victor insisted this not be a colonial outpost, but a knowledge node.
"This," he said, "is not just a dam. It's sovereignty on a circuit."
Electrifying the Industrial Spine
Steel foundries were retrofitted with three-phase power connections, reducing smelting time by 25% and fuel costs by nearly 40%. The manganese alloy plant gained a new electric arc furnace—one of only a handful on the continent—financed through a 5 million BEF facility loan from the Banque de Bruxelles.
The Delcroix Freight Network introduced battery-powered cargo lifters for internal port use. Designed in partnership with a small French engineering startup, these lifters became the blueprint for all future container handling operations.
Cost of the electrification campaign: 11.5 million BEF.
Infrastructure, Education, and the Grid
Four new substations were built along major trade routes, each equipped with German-designed transformers and Congolese-built enclosures. Nearby towns began to see the first electric lamps flicker to life.
The Delcroix Technical College opened its new Department of Electrical Engineering, enrolling over 400 students in its first term. Graduates were immediately placed in utility operations or assigned to apprenticeship programs at the dam site.
Power brought more than light. It brought pride.
One headline in a Congolese-language newspaper read:
"Where once came smoke, now comes lightning."
Victor reviewed the latest reports at night, seated in his office overlooking Léopoldville's grid-lit skyline. For all his foresight, even he was humbled by how fast it moved.
In just five years, the Congo had gone from darkness to dynamos.
And he wasn't finished yet.
"To build the future," he wrote in his journal, "you must first make it glow."