ANGOLA: Declan Walsh reports from Angola on the prospects for the country's future after the demobilisation last week of the rebel army UNITA
In the cemetery outside Luena, a sleepy town in war-ravaged eastern Angola, a pair of policemen keeps 24-hour watch over a mound of sandy soil. Just one word, scratched carelessly into the bark of a nearby tree, identifies the man who lies six feet below: "Savimbi".
The lonely grave holds the remains of Jonas Savimbi, the ruthless but charismatic leader of the UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) rebellion.
In life, he was probably the most feared man in Angola. In death, he is marked with quiet ignominy, buried near the remains of colonial-era Portuguese soldiers and visited by a just a handful of diehard supporters.
Perhaps appropriately for a man who successfully exploited violence and commerce, he is watched over by armed guards who demand money for soda - gasosa or bribe - from visitors.
But the silence of Savimbi's grave belies the seismic impact of his death.
Only weeks after the UNITA leader was cut down in a hail of government bullets, his senior commanders signed a ceasefire agreement. Shortly afterwards, 80,000 rebels and 300,000 family members started trudging into demobilisation camps.
Then last Friday, the new leadership declared the war officially over. "UNITA has transformed and now there is peace," said the acting leader, Gen Paulo Lukamba Gato.
Just six months ago, not even the bravest optimist could have predicted such dizzying change, but as Angolans pinch themselves to see if it's true, they must already face into daunting new challenges: those of rebuilding their devastated country and constructing a future for the demobilised rebels.
The first priority is to stave off a vast humanitarian crisis. An estimated three million Angolans are teetering on the brink of survival, many of them hungry, sick or homeless.
Refugees are flooding back from neighbouring countries and, even though the fighting is over, large areas remain inaccessible, due to either the masses of landmines or broken bridges and roads.
Peace has also sprung a new dynamic for Angolan politics. For almost three decades, power has been in the hands of the MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) party. Its rule has not been benevolent: gross corruption has seen billions of dollars in oil revenue "disappear" into the pockets of a tiny elite.
Meanwhile the rest of Angola slid into extreme poverty. In a recent UN study, Angola was listed as the 13th most under-developed country in the world.
Now that they have laid down their guns, the UNITA rebels say they will offer Angolans a political alternative.
"The period of armed conflict is over. Now we are entering into a struggle of ideas," said rebel spokesman Marcial Dachala recently in Luanda. "A new era is born."
There are reasons to believe UNITA could be successful. Although unquestionably brutal in its methods, the rebels enjoy considerable support in some rural areas.
Its core value, although warped by years of war, is that of representing the marginalised: its main support comes from the highland Ovimbundu tribe, while the MPLA stood for assimiliados and mesticos - relatively privileged Angolans of Portuguese extraction or education.
Some feel UNITA's fierce discipline - inspired by Marxist ideology - could also be harnessed for good. Aid workers were amazed at how, in a matter of weeks, rebel families cleared thousands of acres of bushland to build 34 neat, well-ordered demobilisation camps.
However, their commanders warn that if these men are not given viable livelihoods, some could turn to banditry. The omens are bad: unemployment stands at 80 per cent.
At the leadership level, there are fears that instead of invigorating democracy, UNITA's commanders will be sucked into the corroding circles of greed.
For years, President dos Santos has bought political support through an elaborate patronage system which uses oil money to hand out free vehicles and houses. The same process has already started with UNITA leaders.
"It is not clear what they will do in peace," said Fernando Pasceco of the campaigning agency ADRA. "UNITA could be the basis for change or it could be just another elite with the same behaviour and a different political position."
If it plays its cards correctly, UNITA could capitalise on the latent discontent of ordinary Angolans. Previously timid about criticising the government, many are now finding the courage to speak out.
Radio Ecclesia, a Catholic station funded by Trocaire, is leading the debate. "Before the war was the scapegoat," said station director Father Antonio Jaca, "but now people are talking. They are questioning everything."