WHEN Bujumburas small diplomatic corps turned out at the airport last week to say goodbye to the departing UN representative for Burundi, they were treated to an unexpected show.
As the diplomats bade farewell to their colleague, a massive Antonov transporter aircraft taxied into view on the tarmac.
Army personnel arrived to unload it. Down from the hold they drove a series of 12 brand-new Mercedes flatbed trucks painted, in the words of one observer, "an interesting shade of olive green".
International sanctions have been applied to Burundi since the army seized power in a bloodless coup last August. No country in the world recognises the regime.
"Yet here they were, cocking a snook at us, and laughing right in our faces at our feeble little sanctions," remarked one diplomat.
The Burundian army seems to have more weapons than ever, as well as new uniforms. Bujumbura's elegant French restaurants are still stocked with the finest foods, wines and champagnes. More fish than ever are landed at the port, now that the Hutu rebels are no longer around to attack trawlers on Lake Tanganyika.
Once again, just as was the case in Rhodesia and South Africa, international sanctions are being applied half-heartedly.
Bujumbura's air-conditioned hotels are flush with arms dealers, while currency speculators congregate outside. Once dusk falls, the drone of aircraft is heard overhead, even though all international scheduled flights have ceased. By midnight, the convoys of oil tankers and lorries are wending their way across the borders.
The country's principal exports, coffee and tea, continue to leave as though the embargo didn't exist, according to well-placed observers.
The sanctions, which were imposed by the states in the region, have never been ratified by the UN. This makes the job of the sanctions-busters even easier. The Congo Republic, for example never joined in the embargo and organises regular flights from Brazzaville to Bujumbura. Dubai, Angola and Ostend in Belgium are also said to be linked by air to Burundi.
But what most galls the opposition and outside observers is the apparent connivance of the regional states in breaking the sanctions they themselves imposed. Aircraft could not come to landlocked Burundi without obtaining the right to overfly neighbouring countries. The few road links are easily sealed off.
Yet sanctions push prices, and therefore profits, up. Easy money is to be made for those with access to capital or trucks. Hard-pressed governments seem powerless to resist, especially if the appropriate "considerations" are forthcoming.
The main losers in this scenario are the poor, who have seen the price of basic foodstuffs double since last August.
"We have no medical supplies, no seeds, and no fertilisers in a country which is 90 per cent agricultural," said Mr Jean-Luc Ndizeye, spokesman for President Pierre Buyoya. "Unless something changes, the food supply will drop and we will face famine."
Another victim of the continuing embargo could be President Buyoya. He was installed by the army last August as a figure acceptable to the international community, having presided over democratic elections when he was last president in 1993.
However, seven months on the sanctions are still in place and there is growing resentment within Tutsi circles against the elite who are profiting from the increased prices, at the same time as middle-class Tutsis are hurting economically. Some observers believe Mr Buyoya may be replaced shortly, or even that inter-Tutsi rivalry may break out just when the army seems to be winning the war against Hutu rebels.
Even more than neighbouring Rwanda, Burundi is identified by the international community as more trouble than it is worth.
Intervention carries high risks but promises few gains and little chance of a clear-cut solution. It seems, in the case of Burundi that the world can live with a death toll that exceeds 50,000 a year.
