The Tattered Congolese Franc

There seems to be a significant and important difference between tolerating and accepting differences we encounter in life. When traveling to and discovering a different country we are confronted with so many differences that it can be overwhelming. Differences in language, in the way people talk, in the way people act, in the way people view the world, in the way people dress, even in the way that people eat. Each culture has its own different way of doing things. When traveling most people have a tendency to be respectful of another culture and are for the most part tolerant towards their hosts. Making sure that the “t’s” are crossed and the “i’s” are dotted, the visitor will go to great lengths to make sure that they do not offend the foreign culture in which they find themselves.

The differences between life in the Ituri Region and life in all the other countries I have lived in (USA, Canada, UK, France, and Switzerland) are stark and abundant. One of the more interesting differences for me occurred when I was here in Bunia in 2009. In Congo you can use two different currencies: the American dollar and the Congolese franc. Most people visiting the Congo will just rely on the American dollar as it is easier to get from banks and is a much stronger currency. I was coming to the end of my trip in Bunia and was quickly running out of cash. I looked at the money in my wallet and calculated that I had just enough to take care of my traveling expenses for my journey back home. I gave the amount of money needed to buy my ticket to Kalongo, my local contact, and he said that one of the $50 bills was no good. I thought that this was a bit strange as I was sure that all my bills came from the same bank and that all the bills I had used during that trip so far had been accepted. I asked Kalongo what the problem was with the $50 bill I gave him and he showed me that there was a tiny rip on one of the edges of the otherwise flawless bill. I thought that he must have been joking because it would easily be accepted in the USA without any questions. Kalongo very kindly said to me, “This isn’t the USA Bwana Steve.” 

I have often thought back to this situation as an example of how difficult it is to accept differences. I was recently reminded of this difference when I received a Congolese franc that was being held together by some scotch tape and resembled a piece of trash that had been picked out of a garbage can. I thought to myself, this doesn’t seem right. If one of my American bills has the tiniest rip or mark on it the value of the bill is lost and yet this seemingly hundred-year-old, tattered Congolese franc holds its value! I remind myself of what Kalongo said to me in 2009, “this isn’t the USA Bwana Steve.” What does it mean to not only tolerate this difference, but to actually accept it? To accept the fact that things are run differently here in Congo than in the USA, to accept that what we see as being ‘right’ in the USA is often times not ‘right’ for the Congolese, to accept that my skin color and clothing style represents something I don’t understand, to accept that my mere presence is a source of hope for the people I am working with, and to accept that I have a responsibility to these people.