Typical.

Rwanda and its neighbor to the south are frequently described as mirror countries.  Ruled jointly by Belgium during colonialism, the countries have similar cultures, demographics, political histories, almost identical topographies, and similar struggles during the 1990's.  Two of the few stark differences between the countries are the amount of aid money given to each country, and their economic recovery following civil unrest.  I can't find the numbers (post in the comments if you know), but Rwanda get's LOTS more money than Burundi in international aid.  It's been argued that one of the major reason for this disparity is due to worldwide guilt over the genocide.  Although Burundi has had major civil strife over the last 20 years, they haven't seen the same numbers killed in the same swift, organized way as in Rwanda.

I came across a reference to this difference in the two countries in the unlikeliest of places today - the comments section on a blog post on Gweneth Paltrow and her new campaign for the Coach bag empire.  The website - jezebel.com - is sort of known for being full of Gweneth haters.  I won't really expound on why she's so ragged-on except to say that in addition to having that "shit don't stink" air about her, she also launched a "lifestyle" website named Goop (which she says doesn't stand for anything) in which she frequently advises people to better their lives via completely ridiculous, unattainable-for-mortals, expensive shit.

Anyway, in the comments section of this post, a BRILLIANT reference to the Rwanda-Burundi funding disparity came up:

So the author of the post (Jenna Sauers) asks where people read "Gwyneth hate" into what she wrote in the original post.  The commenter below her (Ari Schwartz) comes to her defense by saying that even if Gwyneth gave all her cash money to Rwandan chilldren, people would still hate on her.  Pretty funny.  BUT IT GETS BETTER!  Further down the comment thread is this reply:

"And not a dime for Burundi.  Typical." 

ZING!  What a brilliant, inside-jokey, witty and educated comment.  It was a perfect moment of synergy of snarky commentary, fashion, celebrity, and East African politics.  I think it might have have been the best online comment, ever.  

Please don't judge me for being a nerd.

A sucess ten months in the making.

If you've followed this here blog of mine or have spoken me with me since I left the States almost a year ago, you know that I trained for the Kigali Peace Marathon for essentially the duration of my one year fellowship.  I wrote a post back in January titled "Why I Run", so I won't bog this one down with the back-story of why I chose to start training.  But I did run, and I did finish.  So I figure I should at least close the door on that part of my year before I jet back to DC.

I originally had planned to run the full 26 mile marathon, mostly because I am hard-headed.  Somewhere around when my mother and aunt visited in February and I didn't run once in two weeks, I started to see that sticking steadfastly to that goal was going to result in me being really disappointed in myself.  So I cut it down to the half-marathon, confirmed with Alex that he wouldn't think I was an utter failure for "only" running 13 miles, and finished my training.  Originally scheduled to visit in April for my birthday, Alex had to re-plan his trip because of work and we set his new arrival date one day before the half marathon.  I made him promise he would run it with me.  

About 18 hours after he stepped off the plane, Alex and I were dressed and ready to head down to the national stadium for the start of the race.  The stadium itself was a bit of a mad house - not only were they running the full and half-marathons simultaneously, but they were also doing a relay marathon and a kids 5k fun run.  I wish I have pictures of some of the unintentionally hilarious getups some people ran in.  I vividly remember one woman in running shorts and a cheerleading top.  Who knows where she found that.

At about 8:45 am (really late, in marathon start times), encouraged on by some inexplicable European techno music, we were off.  I was so nervous I was ready to puke.  What if I didn't finish?  What if I'd trained this whole time only to fail on game day?  Thankfully, I wasn't the only one who was nervous.  Poor Alex quickly realized just what he'd gotten himself into.  I'm not trying to sound like a hero here, but running in Kigali is hard.  It's really hard.  In addition to being at a mile altitude, the whole city is nothing but up and down.  Even the "flat" parts are really just low-grade hills.

By the time we were making our way down the first big hill and into the first loop, the male marathon pack leaders were already circling back on their way to the second half of the loop.  They were insane.  A group of about 20 almost scary-skinny men just pounding the pavement, none of them blinking an eye.  A few minutes later, we passed the women's marathon (only about 6 of them) coming back from their first half of the loop.  Just as intense, just as focused.

As we made our way along the course, there were lots of images that will stick with me for a long time.  The man with only one leg who did the half-marathon on crutches and who stayed in front of Alex and me the entire time.  The blind man who ran the entire marathon with help from friends who lead him through the course.  The smile on an older woman's face as she handed me a banana from the sidelines.  The other man with one leg, a member of the national cycling team, who kept pace with the women's marathon runners to make sure the road was clear for them.  Stopping to help the man who fainted from heat exhaustion right in front of us.  The two women with babies on their backs who ran beside me up a hill I had almost walked instead.  The goosebumps I felt on my arm when people cheered us through the end of our first loop through the stadium and I pictured the almost 12,000 refugees who lived inside its walls during the genocide in 1994.

The phrase "a story for the kids" was something I said several times during our 2 hour and 45 minute half-marathon.  Alex was really my hero.  It got hot and we got tired and it was really one of the hardest things I've ever done.  But the old guy and I pushed through and we finished.  Exhausted, but finished.  It was a great feeling.  One day, I'll do a full marathon in someplace very flat and very mild.  We're planning on running the Charlottesville 10K in October just to get back into the swing of things.


I can't wait to hit the streets of DC in new kicks, with new tunes, and new-found sense of confidence.  Hell, if I can survive 13 miles at 5,000 feet and equatorial sun, I can surely survive whatever the District throws my way.

Today in Misguided Charity Marketing

Our office has a great culture of forwarding news articles, studies, and photographs that run the full gamut offbeat, thought-provoking, tasteless, heartfelt, and inside-jokey.  Yesterday, my boss sent around the following Macy's advertisement which he'd received from a friend who had previously lived in Rwanda.

Before I get to ranting, let me say that my intention is not to denigrate the "Path to Peace" organization which sells its wares through Macy's stores and websites.  There are many organizations in Rwanda who combine craft products/fashion, reconciliation, development, health, the whole shebang.  Some of them (like the Rwanda/Spanish fashion house, Mille Collines, run by friends of mine) are great.  Some aren't.  I have no way of knowing whether this particular project actually "changes communities" the way it says it does or whether its artisans get paid marginally more than they usually would and middle men pocket the rest.  It IS hard to dispute that their wares are truly beautiful.  I don't take umbrage at the organization itself.  I just think its ad was marketed by Macy's in a stupidly offensive way.

 

Rant Point #1 - Shop for a better world.  Let's just be honest.  Nobody shops for a better world.  You shop for shit to put on your body, on your front hallway table, your bookshelf.  'Path to Peace' didn't partner with Macy's because Macy's customers have a strong history of giving back.  They partnered with Macy's because Macy's customers have a strong history of buying shit.  And not just any shit.  Expensive shit that makes them look impressive in the eyes of their friends/enemies/frenimies.  When you want to contribute selflessly to a cause, you give money to an organization like DonorsChoose, where all you get in return is a thank-you email and that elusive "inner pride" thing my 8th grade science teacher always gave for winning review games.  

Why does buying things from "Africa" always have to make people feel good?  Do people have to believe that they're helping end hunger or AIDS or [insert your cause here] in order to purchase a product made in Africa?  Whatever happened to good old fashioned capitalism?  These baskets don't need to be "symbolic of the country's success".  They shouldn't need to be symbolic of anything.  The baskets these woman make are beautiful and stand on their own.  I don't need to buy one of these baskets because they help a woman buy health insurance, I can buy one because they're freaking baller.  I've given many of these types of baskets to people as gifts over the years and never because I wanted to make the world a better place.  They're well made and aesthetically pleasing.  That's enough for me, and it should be enough for Macy's customers.

Rant Point #2 - Free Shipping.  Well hell, if I can shop for a better world AND get free shipping [exclusions apply], what am I doing just sitting here on my office-chair cushy ass?

Rant Point #3 - A Happy Anniversary.  You know what?  F*** you, Mr. Macy's Marketing Man.  This line is so erroneous and offensive and just DUMB.  First of all, if you're going to allude to the genocide as a marketing scheme, at least have the balls to write the word somewhere on the ad.  As much as it would be great to think that all Macy's customers have a basic understanding of the genocide in 1994, it's just not true.  I mean, I knew a woman who came to Rwanda in 2007 to run an organization and she somehow made it off the PLANE without knowing about the genocide (this is a true story, I swear to God).

You know, I never can remember - am I supposed to give linen or leather for a 17th genocide anniversary?  Maybe it's paper or bronze....Come ON.  I was in Kigali in April for this so-called Anniversary of 17 Years of Peace and there was very little mirth, rejoicing, or general merriment.  There were, however, a lot of people somberly recounting the last time they saw a friend, sleeping in bushes to hide from murderers, and lots of death.  It's not a "happy" anniversary any way you skew it.  Putting a picture of two smiling women (why are they always smiling?) in your ad doesn't change that fact.  Not to mention that Rwanda saw several years of civil unrest following the 100 days of the genocide, so even the "17 years of peace" concept is, at best, historically inaccurate.

MilleColline's collection @ Anthropologie

People working with African handicraft makers to broaden their tourist customer base into a global one are often doing good work.  Africa represents an astonishing range of cultures each with lots to share with the world and although almost all of what's out there is based purely on an African aesthetic (jewelry, decorative items like these baskets, fashion), it's been encouraging in the past few years to see parts of the continent at least represented in the global market.  But the products that come out of Africa should sell based on their own merits and not on the concept of charity.  Consumers should buy items they would purchase anyway, and African producers should make items at a quality that deserves a rightful place among leather bags from Italy, perfume from America, and whatever other expensive stuff Macy's sells.

Rwanda's leadership has made it clear that their country doesn't need charity development, charity education, or a charity GDP.  It needs (and demands) real development, real education, and a real GDP.  So thanks, but no thanks, Macy's.  However, next time you want to market a product from Rwanda, call me.  I've got plenty of ideas.

Happy birthday, old man.

I'm here because of Alex.  In March of 2010, I was just starting to think about what I would do after my two-year Teach For America commitment finished.  Would I continue to teach?  I decided that I felt so strongly about teaching and the state of education in the United States that I would either sign on for another five years, or walk away.  One Sunday night in a coffee shop, about 15 minutes before they closed, I stumbled upon the Global Health Corps.  They not only had a position with the Clinton Heath Access Initiative, it was in Rwanda.  My heart sank.  It was the perfect follow up to two years out of the health sector.  It was also across the Atlantic Ocean, for a year.

Alex didn't even blink.  "You have to apply.  And when you get the job, you  have to go," he said.  "It's the right thing to do for your career."  Of course, he was right, but when I tell people that he was not only supportive of me moving abroad for a year, but was the one who convinced me to apply for the fellowship, they're often surprised (and always impressed).  But that's just the kind of guy Alex is.  Always logical, he said to me, "It's just a year.  I'll be here when you get back, I'm not going anywhere.  We'll be fine."  And of course, he was right.  He always is about these things.  We're three weeks away from being back in the same city for the foreseeable future, and I'm so excited.

But it hasn't been easy.  In fact, it's been really hard.  So on his birthday (the second I've missed in as many years), I wanted to thank him for finding the patience, thoughtfulness, dedication, patience, love, faith, and patience to make it through a year on opposite sides of an ocean, on opposite sides of the world.  There are very few girls lucky enough to have men who not only encourage their careers, but who hang out with their families while they're gone, scour the city for elusive items to send abroad, and work three jobs to save money to visit them across the world.  Not to mention that he's pretty easy on the eyes and almost as good a dancer as he is at looking distinguished in sweaters.

I love you Mr. C!  Here's to many future birthdays spent in each others company.

The Most Loved Man in Kigali...

...is not actually Paul Kagame,  Ok, PK might win in terms of total numbers of people who adore him.  But the honor of greatest volume of love goes to the one and only Brad - dear friend, baby fattener, Supreme Master of the Dance Floor,  nurse-to-all, family planning proponent #1, Sass Master #2 (I'm the first), and Rwandan orphan accompagnateur - who turned 24 last week.  His parents were visiting Kigali on his birthday and he came to our house to pick up (he thought) a roommate of his for dinner.  He was met with a crowd of about 35 people, approximately 2.65 million pink balloons, dinner, a brand new bike, and the video below.  His roommate and Gardens for Health co-founder, Julie, had spent the previous three weeks organizing and taking video of his friends not only in Rwanda, but having folks from all over the world (South Africa, Uganda, Burundi, Baltimore, New York), sending him "love and light" to show him just how incredible a person he is.

A quick side story about Brad to illustrate his crazy brand of awesome.  During the half-marathon, Brad did one lap around the course (about 6 miles) and after he finished, spent the rest of the time finding friends to cheer along.  Part of the motivation was in the sheer ridiculosity of his getup.  Picture a marathon.  Running shorts, tank tops, more running shorts, etc.  Now picture a super-skinny, dreadlocked man in a mid-thigh-length, tie-dyed onesie.  Did I mention that it's SKIN tight?  Yeah.  Skin tight.  Picture that image in the context of conservative Kigali, Alex and I struggling along the course, and Brad running backwards in front of us and cheering.  Ask Alex how he finished the half marathon and he won't tell you I got him through it, he'll tell you it was Brad, in all his spandex-ed glory, who pulled him to the end.

I DARE you to keep a dry eye while watching this video.  It's rare that a single person can inspire this much genuine love from so many people.  It's clear in this video just how special a guy Brad is.  We love you my dear!

Forodhani Gardens

I have a dirty vegetarian secret.  It's different from my mother's dirty vegetarian secret which is that one time she ate a chicken nugget - she claims - in order not to waste it when cleaning up dinner many years ago (I know it's really because they're delicious).  Mine, however, is that I love...LOVE...seafood.  Maybe a little too much.  For a person who doesn't eat red meat (or chicken, turkey) in part because I believe you should only eat what you'd be willing to kill yourself, I sure can throw down on seared tuna steak and calamari.  And oysters, squid, shrimp.  Oh, and mussels.  Ok, let's keep this moving before I - oh and CRAB - get too excited.  

Although Zanzibar seemed to be short on a lot of things - governmental competence, any discernible plan for trash collection or processing, reliable electricity - there was no shortage of fruits de la mer.  It flowed like wine at an Episcopalian social gathering.  Alex and I spent two nights in Stone Town and ate at the same place both times - a magical market the stuff of a pescatarian's dreams, Forodhani Gardens.  A beautifully renovated open air courtyard and market, the Gardens serves as the marketplace where local fisherman will describe in almost pornographic detail each of their succulent and fresh-from-the-sea offerings to both old-school Zanzibaris and starry-eyed newlyweds alike.

The market is set up in a grid of tables and grills and the fisherman have a team of a few young guys who grill customers' orders while their boss does his best salesman pitch for why his Mahi-mahi is exceedingly superior to his neighbor's.  Most of the seafood came in two versions - plain and spicy.  I can personally vouch for the spicy octopus.  Just try not to think too hard about the tentacle suckers as you're chewing away.

One of Alex's favorite was the whole grilled red snapper, which is apparently a traditional Jamaican thing.  I can't remember the exact price, but I want to put it somewhere in the range of $3 - $4.

In addition to kebabs of just about every seafood you could put on a stick, the fisherman's tables also sold an assortment of grilled bananas, coconut bread, potatoes, and other generally starchy and delicious items.  My personal favorite, however, was the freshly-squeezed lemonade at about 50 cents a glass.

On our second night, we basically ordered one of everything, including the largest crab claw I've ever seen.  We piled on all the starch items Alex could handle (believe me, this is a LOT), and ordered drinks to wash it all down.  The final bill (including a 20% tip for Fisherman Eddie)? Just under $30.  I tearing up just thinking about it.