IN 1994, DURING one of his trips to New Delhi, Boutros Boutros-Ghali, then UN Secretary-General, was advised to meet a famous Indian fortune teller.

“Without giving him the chance to go on about his expectations, I asked him the question that occupied me the most at the time; I plan to go for a second five-year term at the United Nations. What are the chances I will be re-elected?” Ghali writes in the latest installment of his memoirs, Bintizar Badr El-Bodour (Waiting for the Full Moon).

“His instant answer disappointed me. He s ‘I do not think you will succeed in this project. But on the other hand, your star is going to shine even more after your missions end. This will happen after the passing of your 1000th moon. I guarantee you that your star will shine with incomparable brightness. I see nothing at the time being but the blinding light of this star.’”

Ghali, wondering about this light that will only shine as he goes closer to the dusk of his days, writes, “I wait for Badr El-Bodour to appear.” Thus start the memoirs, in an unexpected and strangely poetic manner. Or perhaps it’s just a side of his pesonality we’re only now discovering: On one of the inside pages of the book, Ghali points out to Jacques Chirac: “I am a poet sometimes, should the moment demand it of me.”

The title is the first thing that draws you to this book. Waiting for Badr El-Bodour, literally ‘the full moon of all full moons,’ is the first indication that this is not going to be some dry trip into world politics.

Rather, for this outing Ghali sheds his serious politician’s cap and takes his readers on a journey into his private life. Spanning the years 1997 and 2002, which were important years for Ghali personally, and for the world, the reader is given glimpses of how the seasoned politician thinks, what he feels, and his reflections on some important world issues.

Ghali begins the memoirs on one of the most difficult days of his life, December 31st 1996, his last day on the 38th floor of the UN building in New York.

“Departure is a kind of death,” he writes, a truth that gained meaning for him only that day. What annoys him the most at the time is the need to move one more time: “At 74, I have to move again and live under a new sky, take on new responsibilities, in an environment that remains new to me.” With that come down all the barriers Ghali’s political position implies.

Following a harrowing battle with the US, the only country that vetoed his re-election, Ghali moves to Paris, the city of his youth where he was a student of international law in the 1940s. Although Ghali goes into greater detail about his ordeal in his book Unvanquished, the former secretary-general mentions it again in this book, as he visits Qana, the Southern Lebanese town that witnessed one of the most gruesome massacres at the hands of the Israelis in 1996. In 1998, two years after the carnage, Ghali, as the Secretary-General of the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (a position he held from 1997 – 2002), pays his respects to the martyrs.

“Qana is like a chorus of wails. This is how the UN employees described the tragedy that was unfolding less than a kilometer away from them. On April 18th, 1996, Israel bombed the UN buildings, where women and children were seeking sanctuary, in their belief that it was the safest place to be. The Israelis said it was a mistake, while Clinton saw it as a tragic error in judgment of location,” Ghali writes. He remembers, as he his surrounded by the citizens of Qana, the calls from the Israeli foreign minister asking him not to publish his report of the disastrous events. He also remembers the greatly doctored report that Kofi Anan, who was then responsible for the peacekeeping operations, handed to him.

“I was very angry,” he writes. Despite fears that the US would definitely veto his re-election should he publish the report, Ghali did it, and writes: “It was my duty towards the women and children.When an old woman dressed in poor clothes comes to thank me for ‘what I accomplished for Qana and Lebanon’ the tears started pouring out of my eyes. I could not, and did not want to, hide my feelings. The old woman looks at me in surprise, as she gently says ‘may God be with you, may God keep you’ and walks away slowly.”

So politics can have a heart, the reader starts to think, if more people like Ghali were in positions of power. Valiantly, and lightheartedly, he tells us what it is like to be old, or rather, what it is like to have a young, enthusiastic spirit that is sometimes held back by an old body. As he walks out of the conference hall in Hanoi, to leave the heads of state alone for the process of the election of the new secretary-general of La Francophonie on November 16th, 1997, Ghali writes: “Is it just a miserable coincidence? My leg is so painful I have to exert tremendous effort to stand up. It is obvious to everyone that I am having difficulty walking, so two Vietnamese officers get up to help me leave the hall. Comments start hammering down: ‘He is 75 years old, and is handicapped with joint problems, yet he is still clinging on to power’”

In another part of the book he recounts another incident, which took place during a Christmas party in Vientiane in 1998: “Christmas dinner at the French Embassy. Everybody drinks too much, and the atmosphere is full of joy, and conducive to relaxation, until four of my teeth fall into my plate, making a ringing noise. Thanks to the alcohol, nobody seems to notice it, or at least I hope not I put my broken bridge in my mouth quickly, as I shower the dentist with curses.”

Back to politics; As part of his job for La Francophonie, Ghali is brought closer than ever to the issues ripping apart the dark continent. In a conversation with Ossama el-Baz, he writes: “You are neglecting the Sudan question, and the Nile water problem During our talks, Ossama el-Baz constantly takes down notes, which he soon loses anyway. But today he is not even exerting this effort. As is his habit, he just nods his head, and says a sentence here and a sentence there, which he utters in his nasal voice.”

During a lunch with his wife, Leah, and a childhood friend in Paris “we are literally attacked by journalist Mohamed (Hassanien) Heikal and his wife, who embrace us warmly, showing great affection. This man, just a few weeks ago, insulted me relentlessly in an article about my book The Way to Jerusalem, and did not mind resorting to all kinds of misquotations. All this show of affection is nothing but a way to allow him to tell our mutual friends in Cairo that I hold no grudges against him, and that we enjoy an excellent relationship,” he writes.

About the former Prime Minister Atef Ebeid, Ghali writes: “Throughout our conversation, I find him trying to fight the urge to fall asleep. I try to raise my voice, but to my great surprise, he does fall asleep as I speak.” This interview, held on Dec. 31st, 2001, came a few months after the 9/11 attacks. At the time, Ghali was trying to suggest that Egypt follow Tunis and Morocco in setting up a ministry for Human Rights. “Egypt’s image, as is the image of the Arab world, is very bad. We have to start a counter-attack. Civil society and NGOs can help us rectify this image,” Ghali was trying to tell the somnolent prime minister.

A pleasure to read, Waiting for the Full Moon unfolds more like a modern novel than an autobiography. It is refreshing and eye-opening, with Ghali’s insights into the attacks on the twin towers in New York making up some of the strongest parts of the book as are his reflections on the power China is going to become in the future. Literature, politics and a great page-turner all rolled into one, the book gives hope, although Ghali ends it on a sad note: “I am desperate this evening. I have very little time left to think, to work, to build. Very little time left to conquer the world. Only a few moons left, until Badr el-Bodour.” et