Defining Corruption

By Carolyn Thompson

It’s a tired old saying.

“You’re in Africa.”

People use it liberally, using it to justify all types of problems, struggles, frustrations, behaviors. And I know I do it too.

You’re in Africa, so expect things to take a long time. You’re in Africa, so expect there to be corruption. You’re in Africa, so expect men to be sexist, even abusive.

But then someone will remind you that generalizations are unfair. And a culture of war that comes from decades, even centuries of conflict, still doesn’t justify behavior you see.

Rape is not normal. Neither is sexism. Nor is corruption.

But in some places, circumstances determine the path you take. Raised in an environment of continual conflict, is it surprising that people turn to violence or petty crimes?

Imagine for a moment. It’s 6 a.m. and you’ve just woken up. You gather your things and head to work. You get there around 7, and work until at least 7 at night. You do this every day.

You work hard, you invest your time and your energy. Except, at the end of the month, no salary comes.

You wait another month. Still no money.

You talk to your children’s school, and beg them to wait another month for the school fees. Please let them continue, you ask. And the next month comes, with no salary.

Your wife starts working as well, trying to help the family. She walks for miles each day to sell wares or collect supplies. And when you get home, you try to feed your family with the little she’s brought in.

It’s not enough.

So you turn to other options. You work in a position of authority, so you start asking people for money. For little things. And small amounts. You collect a bit, and can buy food. Your children stay in school.

So then you ask for a bit more. Because then you can buy them clothes. Or books for school. And you stop people and make them pay, because without them, your family will starve.

Now imagine you’re a 19-year-old girl. You married a man at fifteen, and already have three children. Plus after some of the many wars and conflicts, you took in another two children, one 18 and one 13.

Your husband is studying in a little village, trying to finish high school so he can get a job. So you live alone in a big city with your five children. Sometimes he sends a bit of money, but often you have none.

Your parents live far away, and don’t have enough money to help you out. If you’re lucky they’ll send sweet potatoes they have harvested on their small plot of land, and you can feed your family.

You try to get by selling goods, so you cross the border every day, walking hours over steep bumpy hills, to exchange merchandise. Then you sit in one of the many markets to earn as little as a dollar so you can bring back food for the children.

Your neighbors are supportive but have their own troubles, and can’t help. Your children will never go to school because you can’t pay the fees, though you dream of them becoming doctors or lawyers and looking after you in your old age.

And what makes it worse is that the little money you make, the precious dollars you earn to feed your family, you often have to give away.

You get stopped at the border and forced to pay your way across. Or you get harassed in the market and give them something to go away. And you struggle even more to bring home food to the little children depending on you.

Now imagine you are 13 years old. You grew up in poverty, and met an older boy who likes you. So you sleep with him. But your father walks in.

He chases away the boy, and then rapes you to finish the job. Your mother is so upset that she divorces your father. And then she and he both abandon the family.

You are left at 14 or 15 years old with your seven siblings, no job, disgraced and traumatized. So you turn to the only job you can think of. You become a prostitute.

You work in a nightclub, and when men ask you to come home, you go. Because you know that’s the way you’ll have money for food the next day.

The nightclub owner knows this happens, and says nothing. Or maybe he encourages it.

Four of the seven nightclub employees already have children. People call them prostitutes and sluts.

They call you one too. And you say that it hurts when they say that. It feels bad. But you know that you are.

I have met people like this. I have visited their houses, and I have asked them about their lives. I have met both sides of the story.

Too often, we call it corruption. People are greedy. People are selfish. People are bad.

But in the cities I’ve visited in Congo, the people I’ve met, the so-called corrupt, are some of the strongest and bravest I’ve seen.

People are hungry. People are desperate. People are fighting for a way to survive. And they use whatever means they can find to do it.

If I had lived any of the lives above, who’s to say I wouldn’t do the exact same thing?

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Carolyn Thompson is an International Intern with Search for Common Ground. She has been working in our Rwanda office for the past few months and occasionally travels to the Democratic Republic of Congo. Learn more about our programs there or see what else Carolyn is up to