How do we help?

Rwanda, like the other countries my fellow WDI interns are working in this summer, is a place with great need, a place where daily life for many bears none of the ease we are used to in America. The signs of hardship here can be deeply graphic. People here tend to talk about the 1994 genocide in the vaguest of terms, and yet each day on my walk across the bus station, through the market, and up the stairs to my office, I’m confronted with beggars whose bodies bear heart-wrenching evidence of the atrocities: amputated legs, missing hands, swollen feet, scarred faces . They reach their hands up, calling out, “Sister, please” as I walk by. While walking downtown with a friend, we were surrounded by a group of young children, maybe five or six years old, who followed us down the street, saying “Madam, I am suffering. Give me money.” And one evening last week as I was walking home, a teenage boy began walking along side me, asking me if I knew of anywhere he could get a job and whether I could give him even 50 francs ($0.10) so he could buy food to eat that night.

Like most people here, they assume that since I’m a light-skinned foreigner, I am wealthy – and by the standards of living here, I am, despite the fact that back home I’m a student with no income and plenty of debt. So far, I’ve responded to these requests the same way I would at home – I keep walking, maybe averting my eyes or shaking my head and saying “sorry” as I continue on. At home, I rationalize these choices through my (intermittent) volunteer work and support of organizations that provide services to those in need. The logical side of me rationalizes that giving money to one individual isn’t going to solve the real problem and that established organizations have greater capacity to address the root causes. Somehow, here that distinction doesn’t sit with me quite as well. I could very well have spared the money the teenage boy asked for, or handed over the orange that sat in my bag. And yet I didn’t – why, I’m not exactly sure. It’s partially the lesson that’s been deeply engrained in me during my previous travels – if you help one person, you’ll be surrounded by others expecting you to help them as well. There is certainly an element of fear about putting myself in a situation that spirals out of control, but I think there’s something else at work as well.

There was a recent article in the New York Times about Honolulu’s response to a growing homeless population. Many of the policies focus on moving the homeless population out of the prime tourist area of Waikiki: a twisted version of the old saying “Out of sight, out of mind.” Like Honolulu, Rwanda is also struggling with how to address the needs of its people while creating an environment that appeals to tourists, one of the country’s target growth sectors; while I haven’t read much about the policies here, what I’ve heard suggests that they share some commonalities with those in Hawaii. As I read the NYT piece, I found myself agreeing deeply with a quote in the article from Jerry Jones, executive director of the National Coalition for the Homeless, who asks, “Have we gotten so out of touch with reality that our first reaction to people experiencing destitution that it spoils our view of the beach?” – how can it be that even in America, our response to homelessness is to simply move the homeless to some place less intrusive, as if it the situation is their fault alone? And yet I recognize the tension between my reaction to the article and my silent wishes that I could just walk to work without being asked for money by the destitute of Rwanda , that the need here didn’t confront me so directly, or even that I could truly believe that I don’t have the capacity to help , which would allow me to go back to the plausible deniability I’ve established at home.

That last one is a strange thought for me to have: I’ve always thought of myself as a compassionate person, thoughtful about how I choose to help, but certainly eager to help when I have the power to do so. There are two things that have defined my path in life for just about as long as I can remember: finding the right person to share my life and create a loving family with (I love you and miss you, Tyler) and working in a career that allows me to improve some corner of the world, to make life better for someone. That second goal is part of what drew me to a WDI internship in the first place: I wanted to have the opportunity to use the skills I've acquired in grad school improve lives, to make a difference. And my work here does do that: over the next month and a half, Nuru will provide clean, affordable lighting to 20,000 households and establish 130 village businesses in rural Rwanda that will provide a sustainable source of income to their communities – impressive numbers to be sure. Yet, given the depth of need that confronts me each day, it feels insufficient. 

I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with these situations going forward – I don’t think my heart can bear continuing to walk by without responding, and yet I’m conscious of the fact that simply throwing money at these situations also won’t really help. So I’m posing the question to my fellow interns and other readers of this blog: How do you handle these situations? How can we help in a responsible manner? And how do we manage the heartbreak of knowing we can never help everyone? 

The Office, Rwandan Style.

Nuru Energy
Kigali, Rwanda
Therese Miranda-Blackney

The Beautiful Hills of Kigali

“Don’t panic. The office vouched for this guy and Mary said she talked to him and he was close. He’ll show up. You’ll get to the office just fine,” said the rational voice in my head as I watched Mary, the family friend I’m staying with this week, drive off to her job at 8:30AM on Monday. “But I’m locked out of the house! I don’t have a phone or a phone number to call the office, I don’t speak the language, and I don’t know where I’m going. Plus, the guy from the office said not to wait for the driver past 8:40 and it’s almost that time!” said the panicked voice belonging to the girl who had been in Rwanda less than 24 hours. “You really don’t have any choice but to wait and see what happens. You know timeliness has a different meaning here. And everyone said the city was very safe, so you’ll be fine waiting outside the gate,” the rational voice responded. “Settle in and do some people watching. You're here to enjoy the journey, remember?”

There wasn’t really any other option, so that’s what I did. Gisozi, the part of town I’m staying in doesn’t have many foreigners and those that do live there rarely spend much time in the neighborhood outside of their gated and walled homes, so I definitely attracted a few stares as I stood waiting on the sidewalk. The school children walking by were my favorites – many of them would try out a shy “Good morning” and break into huge grins when I responded. Rwanda just switched its education system to emphasize English rather than French in October 2008, which I think may be part of why young kids in particular are excited to try out their English. The minutes ticked by, a few motor cycle taxis, or motos, and minibuses stopped to ask if I needed a ride, and soon it was 9:00. “Ok,” I thought, “You have to do something now. Either take a moto down to the international bus station the office is near, or see if you can borrow someone’s phone to call Mary, since you have her number.” Luckily, as I was debating which option was less nerve racking, a battered maroon sedan pulled up and the driver beckoned at me. Reasoning that there couldn’t be that many other drivers in the area looking for an American standing outside a gate, I walked over and he handed me his cellphone. To my relief, Mary’s voice came out of the speaker. I got in, glad to find that while the open door light seemed to be permanently on, the seat belt worked just fine, and we headed down the hill to the office.

The Nuru Store

The scene around the bus terminal was chaotic when we arrived: people, cars, trucks, and motos all competed for the same space in the dusty parking lot. I followed the driver through the throng, sticking close to avoid losing him, and we climbed two flights of stairs through a building with open air walkways around the edges and small stores and restaurants in the inside. We passed a small kiosk selling newspapers, a hair salon where women sat on the floor having their hair braided, several roaming vendors hawking everything from peanuts and hard boiled eggs to jeans and children’s shoes, and a shop selling a murky brown liquid that I later realized was labeled kombucha (I’m not sure I’ll have the nerve to try it, but it certainly doesn’t look like the pretty pastel kombucha I’m familiar with from back home) before arriving at the Nuru office. My first impression upon walking in was that it was clean, but quite small. The office doubles as a shop for customers in the Kigali area: the front half contains the POWERCycle and two chairs for customers to wait in, and a counter holds some of the lights and doubles as a divider between the store and the office space. I walked through the swinging door to a warm welcome from Benon, the country manager, and the field staff, who were seated around both sides of two desks that were crammed into the office area. Everyone introduced themselves and then I was given a brief orientation about the business and some of the software by Francine, the only other woman in the Rwanda office. I'd already talked with Sameer, the CEO about most of the material, but it was good to hear it from another source. Afterwards, she took me to see the workshop / warehouse building.

To get there, we walked back down the steps and across the parking lot, then up a rocky dirt road. An old man guarding the gate said something to both of us before unlocking the gate and Francine taught me my first Kinyarwandan word, mwaramutse, which means good morning. Greetings are very important here – before anything can happen, you say hello or good morning to everyone in the room, often shaking hands as a way to accompany the greeting. Handshakes here are quite gentle, more a clasping of hands than the firm grip and up-and-down pump so admired in the US. I’ve had to work hard not to be overly aggressive with the “good” handshake I’ve worked to develop in my career and business school, and I’m sure I’ll have to re-learn that one at the end of the summer to avoid the dreaded “limp fish” when I return to the States. We continued up the hill, passing a few goats and an avocado tree, while I reflected on the fact that I was very glad I hadn’t worn my suede heels that morning but had instead opted for the much more durable patent leather flats – the heels will probably spend the entire summer in my suitcase. The workshop area is bright and open, with space to repair lights and POWERCycles that get broken, a desk for the accountant, and a storeroom for inventory. It’s quiet and breezy, but since there’s no internet access, I can only work from there occasionally.

I spent the rest of the day getting settled in, doing a bit of work on projects I’d started when I was working from the States, and getting to know the people in the office. Everyone is very nice – they helped me get a Rwandan SIM card for my phone, figure out why the internet wasn’t working, and add more money to the account to buy a data plan. By US standards, data is quite cheap: you can either buy unlimited weekly data for RWF4,000 (about $5.75), or get 5GB of data to use within 90 days for RWF15,000 (about $21.50). I opted for the weekly unlimited to get a sense of how much I’ll be using my phone – wifi is not at all common here, so pretty much all of my internet usage outside of the office will be through my phone. I did spend most of the day feeling like an adult trapped in a child’s body – I knew what I wanted to do, but couldn’t really communicate it to anyone and needed other people to tell me what to do, show me where to get lunch, how much to pay, etc. While the field staff are always willing to help me out, they’re not always so good at teaching me how to do or say things so I can eventually do them on my own, so that’s been a bit of a challenge.

Before I left, I talked to several people who had worked with Rwandans before and almost universally they told me that it was very important to build a personal relationship with your colleagues in order to develop trust and make them feel comfortable disagreeing with you. I spent a good part of the day talking with the local staff and it was amazing to see how they lit up as soon as I started talking about my family or showing them pictures on my phone. They began to open up to me about their lives as well, and I heard all about their wives, children, girlfriend problems, and more. I also had my first reminder that as an American, I am expected to be an authority on everything in the US: I got peppered with questions about gun control, the death penalty, economic opportunity, and the cost of living, which I tried to answer as best I could. I’ll definitely need to be keeping up on current events in the US while I’m here!

I’ve settled into a routine pretty quickly here: mornings are spent in the shop, listening to the rapid fire Kinyarwandan conversations among the staff, the whirring of the POWERCycle, and the honking and bustle of the busy street outside. I brought my own computer and I’ve carved out a bit of space on the desk, though I still feel like I’m always in the way. This week, I ate lunch at a few of the different restaurants in the building around the office – they’re good, but don’t offer much variety. Rwandan food is tasty, but very heavy on the starches – you typically get a plate of rice, fries, green bananas, pasta, etc. and then a separate serving of meat, beans, or on rare occasion, vegetables. I’m hoping to start bringing my own lunch one I move into a permanent spot, but that’s not really part of the culture here, so we’ll see how it goes. I’m hoping they’ll be willing to indulge me. In the afternoons, I’ll typically move up to the workshop to escape the worst of the heat and spend some time summarizing what I’ve learned that day or reading through resources I found and downloaded in the morning. Everyone leaves at just about 5:30 on the dot.

Flash Flooding in Nyabugogo

As I’m writing this, it’s the end of the afternoon on Friday and the power is out because a huge thunderstorm is rolling through – unusual for this time of year, which they call the sunny season. We’re on the top floor of the building, so the sound of raindrops on the metal roof is incredibly loud – you have to shout to be heard. Outside, the rain has caused a flash flood – Kigali is quite hilly and the office is located in a bit of a valley – and the entire road is now a rushing muddy river. It’s quite a dramatic end to my first week here - almost as if the rain has overwhelmed the earth just as the new experiences overwhelmed me during this week, the first few soaking in and the rest running off with little impact because my capacity to absorb and process them had been exhausted. I’m excited to recharge over the weekend and see what the next week holds.