Rwanda

Where to begin? There are so many reasons to be optimistic about Rwanda. The capital is safe, clean, and beautiful. The place just seems well run. Our meeting at the ministry of finance yesterday with the director of planning was a revelation. He was a brilliant man in his early thirties – articulate, competent, and utterly dedicated to making his country a better place. And as far as I can tell, he and his colleagues are doing a pretty good job, considering where they’ve come from such a short time ago.

I mean, this country has a law that requires all motorcyclists to wear a helmet, which is something thirty U.S. states can’t say. A colleague from Uganda said that while a similar law was passed there recently, it was met with utter derision. People would wear gourds on their heads in mocking protest. There’s also a law against plastic bags. In short, this city is the African Singapore, at least on the surface. Ask anybody, and their likely to tell you how this country has revived itself only fifteen years after a genocide in which one out of every seven people in the country was killed.


Kigali City - Safe, clean and friendly

They’ll tell you that the revival is because of the leadership of Paul Kagame, the President. Kagame, the sly, intellectual, stork-like figure whose querulous portrait peers down from walls around the country, is credited with leading the reconciliation and recovery. He seems genuinely beloved. If Kagame says put on your helmet, people put on their helmets. That’s a lot of power for one guy, even if he uses it wisely.


President Kagame, watching over.

After three days meeting with government officials and a visit to a rural health clinic, I can say that there’s real reason for hope. More on why later. Off to bed now – we have a 4:30 am flight to Nairobi, where we have half an hour to make a transfer to Johannesburg, where we transfer to Cape Town. Absolute insanity.

I am in serious blog debt, sorry to say. Here’s what I owe:

• Much more on Korogocho, including a piece about the community radio station, which is for many the primary source of information and entertainment; a visit to two health clinics, such as they are; a bit about the program that cares for HIV+ children, and probably something I’m forgetting.

• Lots about our trip to the health clinic in rural Rwanda (which was a stark contrast to the real challenges of Korogocho.

• A bit about our meeting with the Minister of Health, who brings to mind a McKinsey analyst.

• A really inspiring profile of my new friend E, who spent much of his life in exile when his family was forced to flee to Burundi in the fifties, and who has returned to Rwanda to try to turn his country around.

Off to bed.

Go figure

On the road back from a remarkable rural health clinic in the southern province in Rwanda, with a better cell signal than I have in my office in the heart of silicon valley. I believe that qualifies as irony.

Kigali, Rwanda

Just got back from a morning run. Yes, you read that right. Whereas the guidebook for Nairobi warns you not to put your big toe outside the hotel, Kigali is a different kind of city. It's absolutely lovely - set among literally hundreds of hills, and there are trees everywhere. The city is also immaculately clean - on my half hour run, I saw exactly one piece of trash, and armies of street cleaners out, apparently looking for it.

It's safe to say that my presence was unusual, and as always, the children tell you what everyone else is thinking, but are too polite to say. I came upon one group of children who were maybe six or seven and they took a look at me and just laughed. Others called out "Bon Jour!" "Hallo!" and I called back. I saw one other runner - a Rwandese man who clapped at me and I clapped back. Runners solidarity translates.

More on Rwanda - a fascinating, exciting, but maybe slightly worrisome country - later.

Part Three - Big Pen Academy

As I mentioned, there are very few public facilities – the poorest of the poor have to pay for school and health care. One survey estimated that for the residents of Korogocho, fully half of their expenditures go to health care. There are approximately 500 health clinics in Korogocho, but all but six are private, meaning you have to pay. But there is no functional regulatory process for private sector clinics – it’s buyer beware. No way to run a railroad.

Getting an education in Korogocho is just as dicey a proposition. In a slum of hundreds of thousands of people, there are exactly two public schools. If you want your children to have any chance to learn to read or write, you have to pay one of the many informal schools that dot the slum. Today, we visited the “Big Pen” school, where 274 children attend primary school classes. The classrooms, such as they are, measure about twenty feet square, about the size of a normal sized bedroom, and I counted about forty children, who looked to be about five or six years old. Our visit caused understandable chaos, and the teacher didn’t particularly seem happy to see us, and who could blame her? The children broke out into wide, generous smiles, and literally climbed over each other to reach out their hands to touch us. Kids are funny – I can’t imagine that they receive regular visitors like us, yet they just cheered, and smiled and tried out their English on us. And they wanted to touch, and I did – reaching out and touching every hand.

If there are any writers from the show “Monk” (about the germophobic detective) reading this, I believe I’ve given you the ultimate story idea. According to one UN report, nearly one child in nine in Kenya dies before his or her fifth birthday, and while these children have passed that grim milestone, they are clearly not thriving. Several had open sores, many are likely ill from opportunistic bugs of one kind or another, many had runny noses, and like children of a certain age around the world, everything went into their mouths. But how could I turn away from these beautiful little children?

The kids of Big Pen

 

Head Teacher's Office

 

Making do under difficult circumstances