Open Writing

Immersing myself into the local customs and finding out what makes a country tick has always been for me one of the most enjoyable aspects of travelling. Unfortunately, here in the DRC, that is practically impossible; early on, the UN encouraged a non-fraternization policy with the local people. The purpose of this was perhaps to minimize the possibility for relationships to develop, which might have the potential for abuse or exploitation down the road, or perhaps (could it be?) to protect the MONUC staff from the certain frustration and disillusionment that would almost surely result.

When I came here four years ago, while not naïve in any way, I still had a positive spirit and was approachable to the local people. I was willing to listen. In short order, I realized that all approaches to expats are motivated by money. In one way, you can’t blame them – they have become like this through years of exploitation by expats, starting from King Leopold II of Belgium.

Just saying “Hello” in the street to a passer-by is a signal that you can be approached for money. If a Congolese greets you, it is usually because he wants something. I can honestly say that the Congolese win hands down over any other race I have ever encountered in their ingenuity in new ways to extract money from expats. There is a sick relative, necessary surgery, a death in the family, some other tragedy, every week. “Grandfather passed away.” Oh, again? So you had six grandparents then?”

Example: Jibi, who you’ve known for less than two weeks, invites you to his wedding at 2 pm on Saturday. You’re tired, you have lots to pack into the weekend - shopping, reading, catching up on correspondence, sleeping, lots of other priorities. “But, hey,” you think, “it’s a chance to dip into the local flavour, local customs etc.”

So you go. No one shows up until 4 pm; then it’s a few relatives, who also take the opportunity to regale you with yet more stories of why they need money. This goes on for another three hours, with no sign of bride or groom. Then someone informs us that the venue has changed.

ABC who has come in their 30 year old truck, which has broken down, needs money to fix it so they can get to the new location. DEF wants to know if you can get him an appointment with MONUC Personnel next week. GHI wants to know if you can help him get a visa for the US. XYZ asks what you’ve brought for the couple – usually a packet of money is expected from any white guests.

You cannot come just for the cultural experience. Impossible. Nothing happens on schedule here. When you are used to the Western culture of stress and the constant constraints of time, the African’s laidback attitude and complete lack of respect for others’ time can be very frustrating. The three-hour commitment you thought you’d made turns into an eight-hour one. You come away thoroughly disenchanted and vowing never to go to another such event.

To illustrate the mentality of greed and trickery further, here’s another little extract from a journalist accompanying the Security Council on a 10-day visit to Africa in May this year:

“When I arrived at the airport Tuesday night for my flight to Europe as an ordinary person in a rickety taxi, with starter problems, I quickly realized what the council had missed, the real Africa that travelers confront every day.

At the entrance to Kinshasa airport, I was asked for $5 so the taxi could enter. When we got near the departure area, two porters insisted on carrying my two bags, which I normally carry myself. Each wanted $5. I told them I don't pay that in the United States. They were unimpressed by the $2 apiece I gave them and followed me, scowling when I wouldn't relent.

After I checked in and got my boarding pass and departure card, a man claiming to be the chief of internal operations pulled the card out of my hand, took my passport, and insisted on filling the card out. He wanted $20, but settled for $5.

Then, I went through security where there were four men and one woman. The woman went through my bags, rifling through my money, and then asked for something for coffee. I came up with another $5, and one of the male security guards tried to take it, but I insisted on giving it to the woman, who pocketed it immediately.

I thought I was finally finished with the "baksheesh" but I was wrong. A young woman who worked in the cafe in the departure lounge insisted on pulling my computer bag from the terminal to the steps of the aircraft. That was another $2 tip.

So $21 later, I finally boarded the plane”.

The downside of this is that they just don’t realize that this sort of behaviour works against them in the long run. It discourages the expats from associating with them and it puts up a wall. Then again, as we all know too well, the African doesn’t think in the long term – the short term is all he knows. Most expats (not all) seem to reach a point where they would rather stay within the safe confines of the golf club or Elaeis, my swimming and tennis club, on the weekends, eat at one of the European style restaurants at night and retreat to their comfortable, air-conditioned houses to entertain or watch TV, than venture off into the bush or attempt integration into the local way of life. When using the airport, they wisely go accompanied by some “protocol” person who can smooth them through all this payoff BS.