In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, power has never been seized through parliamentary debates. It has always been taken in the shadows. Since independence in 1960, every president, rebellion, and transition has relied on a shadowy figure: the master spy. These individuals operate unseen, yet their influence is undeniable, shaping the fate of a nation from behind closed doors.

The Congolese intelligence services are more than just a state apparatus—they are the state itself. When the national security apparatus coughs, the presidential palace trembles. When the National Documentation Center listens, ministers fall silent. When the National Intelligence Agency acts, the justice system complies. Why? Because the Congo was born in the Cold War, amid coups and deep-seated distrust.

Their true mission has never been formally documented. Officially, they gather political, economic, and social intelligence. Unofficially, they do three things:

• Protect the leader—from enemies, the military, and even the people.
• Monitor everyone—opposition figures, ministers, religious leaders, students, and the diaspora.
• Instill fear—to ensure no one dares challenge the status quo.

three architects of fear

From 1960 to 1990, a single system took shape under three distinct leaders, each leaving an indelible mark on Congo’s history:

• Victor Nendaka Bika, “the Congolese Oufkir”: A former nurse turned spymaster, he transformed the colonial-era security apparatus into a political weapon. His golden rule: the head of intelligence answers only to the president, not to ministers. His methods were crude but effective—threats, document manipulation, and the elimination of rivals.
• Seti Yale, “the Gray Eminence”: A professional who honed his skills with Israeli and American training. He built the National Documentation Center (CND) into a Congolese KGB, complete with wiretapping, surveillance, and torture as institutional tools.
• Honoré Ngbanda, “the Terminator”: He industrialized repression. The CND became a state within a state, with spies embedded in every ministry and embassy. His reach extended even into Europe.

The thread running through 1960 to 1990 was clear: “He who controls intelligence controls power.” Mobutu understood this early on. He multiplied intelligence agencies—CND, SNIP, SARM, DSP—ensuring they monitored one another. Yet he never allowed a single figure to dominate the machinery for too long. Nendaka was dismissed in 1965, Yale sidelined, and Ngbanda ousted in 1990.

the system that never died

When Mobutu’s regime collapsed in 1997, the system did not vanish—it evolved. Agencies changed names: SNIP became AND, then ANR. But the underground cells remained, as did the methods. This series peels back the layers of a 30-year history, told from the depths of power’s underbelly. It begins with an emergency appointment in October 1960 and ends with a “terminator” swept away by the winds of democracy in 1990. Between these dates lie wiretaps, disappearances, fatal transfers, and twisted coups.

Welcome to the real story of power in Kinshasa—a narrative rarely broadcast on airwaves but whispered in windowless offices. It all started in October 1960. The Congo was just three months old. Mobutu had just overthrown Lumumba, and the country needed a man to secure its foundations. A man who asked no questions. That man was Victor Nendaka Bika.

“The Congolese Oufkir: How Victor Nendaka Built the Machine of Power”

Nendaka never wore a uniform, yet from 1960 to 1965, this former nurse turned spymaster sent tremors through Congo. As the first director of the National Security Service, he drafted the rulebook of fear: intimidating ministers, fabricating evidence, and delivering opponents to their fate. A dive into the archives reveals the machinery of terror he set in motion.

Léopoldville, December 13, 1961: The day the police staged a coup against their own minister.

The scene unfolded in the offices of the National Security Service. Interior Minister Christophe Gbenye believed he still held authority. He signed a decree relieving Victor Nendaka of his post. “Reassigned elsewhere,” the document read.

Nendaka’s response was a single phone call.

He turned to Mobutu, who immediately dispatched armed troops to surround the security agency’s headquarters. Within hours, Gbenye was warned: interfere, and he would face arrest. Days later, the Moniteur Congolais published the decree—Nendaka remained in power, Gbenye was out. It was the first time in Congo’s history that a security chief had threatened a minister with military force—and won. The “Oufkir model” was born.

the handwritten note that sealed Lumumba’s fate

Forty years later, an elderly man still brandished a yellowed piece of paper before a Belgian inquiry commission. “When we learned Tshombe would receive Lumumba, the evacuation plans for three prisoners were altered by André Lahaye, a security agent,” Victor Nendaka declared. “I kept this document.”

That document was the order transferring Patrice Lumumba, Maurice Mpolo, and Joseph Okito to Elisabethville. As chief administrator of the security services, Nendaka organized the convoy. On the night of January 17, 1961, the three men were executed.

His defense? “Kasa-Vubu approved the transfer because he, like me, believed Lumumba would not be killed in Katanga. In our tradition, we settle disputes under the baobab, not with bloodshed.”

Historians have noted: “Victor Nendaka, who had strained relations with Lumumba since the 1960 elections, was suspected of involvement in the incident.”

October 1960: The Nurse Who Turned Security into a Political Weapon

A month after Mobutu’s first coup, Nendaka was appointed director of the National Security Service.

“He rapidly reorganized the institution, transforming it into an efficient intelligence-gathering apparatus,” historians recount.

He established the National Investigations Bureau (BIN), shifting its focus from petty crime to tracking, surveilling, and neutralizing Lumumbists. He joined Mobutu’s “Binza Group,” becoming a key figure in the shadowy inner circle that governed the country.

Why was he dubbed the “Congolese Oufkir”? Like Morocco’s feared general, Nendaka imposed three enduring rules:

• The security apparatus above the law: He surrounded his office with soldiers when a minister attempted to dismiss him.
• Intelligence as a political project: A member of the Binza Group, he reshaped prime ministers with CIA backing.
• Plausible deniability: On Lumumba, he always claimed, “It wasn’t me—it was D’Aspremont, Tshombe, Lahaye.”

In 1965, Mobutu removed him from power—for being too dangerous. But the machine was already in motion. Seti Yale and Honoré Ngbanda merely industrialized Nendaka’s methods.

The next chapter explores how Seti Yale transformed the fledgling BIN into the CND, the “Zairian KGB,” trained by Israel and the United States. Exclusive testimonies reveal the inner workings of the CND’s underground chambers in the 1970s.

Some Congolese writings describe Nendaka as “a bloodthirsty terminator, the monster of darkness,” for his role in arranging Lumumba’s fatal transfer. Nendaka maintained his innocence until his death, insisting the Lumumba Commission was trying to frame him.