The trouble started in Kinshasa's business district last Sunday, where the provisional results of the 30 July presidential elections were declared at 11pm to the sound of gunfire.

Outgoing president Joseph Kabila was bitterly disappointed at failing to secure an overall majority in the 33-candidate contest, with 45% of the vote. Worse than that, the 35year-old premier had been routed in the capital by his closest and most bitter rival, the businessman turned rebel leader Jean-Pierre Bemba.

Worse again, Kabila has reason to fear a second round against Bemba, who secured his run-off spot with 20% of the vote, from a power base in the northwest province of Equateur.

The Swahili-speaking president has not yet learned the language of the west, Lingala, and even his French is tinted with an English speaker's accent. Kabila is not popular outside eastern Congo, and Bemba, who is ten years his senior, has continually taunted Congo's unelected leader about his nationality, his leadership abilities and even his parentage.

Sources in Kinshasa have indicated that a number of Angolan troops were involved in an incident on Congolese soil. It is believed that there have been a small number of casualties following gunshots in two villages. Angola moved more than 3,000 troops to the border two weeks ago.

On Monday, after a night of gunfire, the man billed in his election posters as 'la force tranquille' . . . with its connotations of "quiet fortitude" . . . finally had his Zinedine Zidane moment, lashing out at his opponent. Three hundred men from Kabila's praetorian guard struck as almost the entire diplomatic corps was visiting the Bemba household, necessitating their evacuation in a 30-car convoy with a military escort.

Bemba's troops, in their rambostyle bandanas, fought back fiercely as the city and country were transfixed by events in the capital.

The official death toll is 16. A presidential advisor puts it at 35, but it is probably closer to 60. Kinshasa residents are not happy.

"Kabila and Bemba are bandits.

They should both be banned from the election for this. Everybody is scared, " said Francois Ilemo.

Yesterday was a very special day for the father of five, who is widely known around town as 'coach', as he was celebrating his 43rd birthday. It was also the day of a fete at Zoo Tennis Club, where Ilemo runs a school for 60 children from all backgrounds, to mark the handing over of two dozen racquets.

Many of Zoo tennis club's members come from low-income families, and Ilemo and his assistants have given them a rare opportunity. It is a good thing that the fighting has stopped in time for their big day.

Ilemo credits the UN mission in Congo with the end to the conflict.

"It's thanks to MONUC that it came to an end. We wouldn't have come out of it otherwise. But I have to ask you why did it happen in the first place. Our leaders are bandits. They should be arrested. They are not suited to leading."

It is hard to separate the bullet from the ballot in Congo. Both presidential candidates have their own private armies, and they are joined by a host of Congolese warlords.

The conventional route to power in this vast central African state was armed force, since long before the 32-year rule of Congo's cold war dictator, Marshal Mobutu.

Ilemo remembers the days of Mobutu, when the tennis club was frequented by figures close to the ruling class. "They used to amuse themselves with money, " he recalls.

When the regime was going strong, in the mid-'80s, Ilemo was once given more than $1,000 for a tennis lesson. "I couldn't believe it.

I ran with the money!"

The beginning of the end for Mobutu was the Christian March in February 1992, when tens of thousands of demonstrators protested all over Kinshasa at the closing down of a nascent national parliament.

As troops fired over their heads, they sang, 'These guns will stay on earth. Glory to Jesus! This money will stay on earth. Glory to Jesus!'

To many Congolese, last week's violence is an affront. The presidential candidates speak of peace and progress. Last week, however, actions spoke louder than words.