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Archive for the ‘Journeys to Rwanda’ Category

When communities get smart, girls don’t drop out

Sunday, May 15, 2011
Almost one year since we finished college and it’s graduation season again.  We attended a graduation party here, back in September (see Christina’s post), for the elite all-girls school Fawe.  Since then, I’ve realized all the factors that conspire against Rwandan girls who want to graduate. According to a group of primary school teachers we are working with in rural Mahembe, a suspicious number of girls disappear around puberty. In Rwanda this ‘coincidence’ isn’t suspicious at all, and it is reported in rural schools around the country. Christine, the president of the team that calls itself “Perseverance,” explained that girls drop out of school for many reasons related to puberty: they want to escape harassment from boys, menstrual periods are hard to manage away from home, and, just like in the US, teenage girls get pregnant. Christine, Marie-Claudine, and Marcelline noted the inadequate facilities at school for menstruating girls.  There are no sanitation supplies available, unlike in the US where tampons and pads wait neatly next to the sink or in a metal dispenser on the wall.  There is no water for the girls to wash out their rags, clean their stained clothes, or even wash their hands of embarrassing evidence.  There is no place to rest when cramps become unbearable. Most importantly, there is no privacy.  Boys and girls share the same latrines— a mud outhouse with a hole in the ground and a feeble wood-plank door that seems perfectly designed for enterprising boys who spy and squeal while a girl spends extra long in the latrine. The teachers are raising money to build a separate latrine for girls and a private area with a spiket for washing.  They also hope to provide pads every month.* This measure will ensure that girls continue to attend school through menstruation; their goal is to decrease the number of girls who stay home during menstruation to just 40%. But the problem isn’t solved with a few pads and a better bathroom. The teachers know that menstruation isn’t the only reason girls drop out around puberty. Teenage pregnancy is a great concern in this predominantly Christian country.  Rwandan schoolgirls end up pregnant for many of the same reasons as American girls, and for other ones, too. Sometimes they don’t know the link between sex and pregnancy. Other times, they fall prey to “sugar daddies” who offer them candy or spending money in exchange for sex.  In Kigali, sugar daddies are usually well-dressed men with cars. At Mahembe School, they are young boys with bicycle taxis who hang out around the school. These older boys tempt the schoolgirls with coveted fried donuts and rides to and from school. Girls don’t think they can attend school while pregnant, much less with a child, and so after their mistake, they drop out. There were ten such cases last year.

These billboards dot the country, warning against Shuga Dadi. Some girls are lured in by rides or candy, then get pregnant and drop out of school. "Sinigurisha" means "I am not for sale."

Not all who drop out are pregnant. Boys harass girls with mature bodies, and sometimes it’s just easier to stay home. Parents know that this harassment happens, so they take preventative measures. One study of rural schools in Tanzania found that girls’ performance started lagging behind boys’ around puberty because they weren’t allowed outside the home after 6pm and couldn’t participate in group study sessions.** According to the Mahembe teachers, parents don’t see much value in educating girls.  “They think that if she goes to school, she’ll get pregnant and drop out, and then they’ll lose their money [from tuition].” And the loss of money is nothing compared to the loss of family pride. It is not uncommon for a single mother to be beaten by her brothers and kicked out of the house.*** The team’s comprehensive solution includes workshops for girls, taxi-bikers, and parents. They will emphasize to fathers that it is just as important to educate girls as boys, and that their daughter is not guaranteed to “waste” their money by finding a boy and getting pregnant. The pesky taxi-bikers will learn about safe sex, and the girls will be educated on the myriad of issues they face so that they will be better equipped to make good decisions. Christine, Marie-Claudine, and Marcelline are also introducing a reproductive health curriculum for all Mahembe students aged twelve to eighteen. They will partner with the local clinic to hold open public workshops about HIV, promoting condom use. For the girls who have already left school, community social workers are being dispatched to follow their cases and work with the family to re-enroll the daughter. “If people are educated about reproductive health,” a team member told us, “the number of unwanted pregnancies will decrease, and fewer girls will drop out of school.”  Fewer drop-outs means more graduations, more parties, more women in skilled jobs, and one more step towards gender equality. The Stats 73.2%:  US high school completion rate 75%: Rwandan ninth grade completion rate (after 9th grade, education is no longer free) Neither country reported a notable sex difference. I maintain that in Rwanda, there is an inequality in real opportunity for education; more girls would graduate if the system were different and they felt safe at school, were supported by their parents, and understood how to prevent pregnancy. (The US data was taken from the most comprehensive report I could find: High School Drop-out and Completion Rates in the United States: 2007, by the US Department of Education. The Rwandan data was taken from the results of a study by the Ministry of Education, which were published in the government newspaper The New Times on April 22, 2010.)

According to our team, some Rwandan girls don't go to school, even though they want to. They fear harassment from boys, there is no place to wash when they are menstruating, their father believes it is a waste of money, or they have gotten pregnant.

*For a creative, local solution to the exorbitant price of sanitary pads, Sustainable Health Enterprises (SHE) is engineering sanitary napkins out of banana fiber. http://www.sheinnovates.com/ourventures.html **From an interesting paper recommended by a friend: Sommer, M. (2010). “Where the education system and women’s bodies collide: The social and health impact of girls’ experiences of menstruation and schooling in Tanzania.Journal of Adolescence, 33, 521-529. ***This is according to another Global Grassroots team, A Friend Indeed, which provides support to unwed mothers and their stigmatized children.

Teaching Basic English to Vulnerable Women

Thursday, March 24, 2011

On Fridays we explain independent clauses, but on Mondays and Thursdays we taught (until recently) an entirely different kind of English class.  We traveled to Gisozi, the site of one GG project started by Evariste in 2008.  The Community Vocational Training School teaches tailoring to vulnerable women (widows, orphans, and prostitutes), and in October we attended the graduation of this year’s class of 24 women, many of whom are using this marketable skill to leave prostitution or free themselves from dependence on an abusive husband.  At the reception, we were drinking Fanta and eating bread when some of the women asked Evariste if we could teach them English.

Rwandans celebrate most occassions (at least weddings, graduations, & birthdays in our experience) by sharing Fanta and some bread. On the left is Evariste, who founded CVTS after being trained by GG and receiving seed-funding for the project. On the right is our Country Director Marlene, and the far left is a graduate who no one realized sneaked into the picture :) 

 

A few days later, Christina and I said yes.  Although we receive at least two requests per day for English lessons (taxi drivers, shopkeepers, and teammates are all eager to keep pace after the country’s 2008 shift from French to English), we decided that this class fit with our project because it could improve the graduates’ employability.  If a tailor can speak enough English to take measurements of and negotiate with tourists and ex-pats, she or he will be quite popular.  (Everyone knows Josephine, the go-to English-speaker in our market.)  So, we agreed to a month-long class, thinking that was enough time to teach some occupational English.

Teaching women who have never been to school is not as difficult as I anticipated.  It took a long time for the one or two illiterate girls to copy from the board, letter by letter, and the general pace was pretty slow, but most of them grasped the concepts the first time around.  They are very eager learners.  They took notes on everything, and somehow, between sewing, cooking, and caring for their families, they always found time to do the homework.  No one complained about writing on their laps while perched on wooden stools and chairs that collapse without warning.  For good lighting, they dragged the one-legged blackboard out onto the front porch of the school.  We hadn’t quite figured out yet how to prop it up and on the first day of school, it may or may not have careened forward onto me mid-explanation of ‘I am’.  A blackboard falling from the sky was a first in all my school experience, but some things are apparently international: the know-it-alls sit in front, the shy ones never raise their hands, and there was a class clown, Josiane.  Looking back, I’m impressed she let that blackboard incident slide… by the end all someone has to do was accidentally say “I am a boy,” and she had the female offender collapsed in giggles.  The laughter would die down until someone piped up, “Are you a boy?” and we all deteriorated again.  Our classroom management skills may be lacking, but it’s ok—they’d mastered interrogatives!

We teach an English class twice per week to vulnerable women who learned to sew as a way to a better life. With basic English, they will (hopefully!) get more clients and have a better chance of landing a steady job with a cooperative. Our classroom was outside on the porch of the sewing school, since there is no electricity inside. The blackboard is missing a leg, chairs often collapse, and neighborhood children eavedrop outside. 

What’s an Indefinite Article, again?

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Part of our project involves teaching English to the Global Grassroots staff.  Every Friday morning from 9-11:30, we convert our living room into a makeshift classroom where we explain the finer points of English to Marlene, Daphne, and Daniel.  Or try to.  I’ve been speaking this lovely language of ours for 23 years, but I have no idea why I say, “I will raft the Nile.” but not, “Last weekend I swam in the Lake Muhazi.”  I live by Lake Erie, Christina lives by the Pacific Ocean, on the planet Earth. Whyyyyy?

“Sustainability” was the first word of our fellowship proposal titles, and we’re teaching these classes to make Global Grassroots’ work sustainable.  Ideally, someday in the future, the Rwandan staff will write their own grant proposals to international foundations (or even future Rwandan foundations!).  Better yet, they will fundraise from Rwandans themselves, just like right now we fundraise from Americans.  Gretchen, the founder, talks about our ‘exit strategy’ because Rwandans should build Rwanda.  As a Rwandan friend put it, they just need help right now from America, the UK, etc. to jump-start their development.  And part of that help includes teaching English, the language of global communication, according to Rwandans.

So, we continue editing translations, clarifying the difference between effect and impact, and explaining why we use semi-colons.  They ask questions like “When do you say ‘think of’ versus ‘think about’?” and I admit I have no idea.  Christina and I have no formal ESL training and do not pretend for a second that we are qualified to teach.  It doesn’t seem to matter to our staff.  They show up every Friday and pour over exercises we’ve designed based on a few textbooks and ESL websites.  They wait patiently while Christina and I debate whether you ALWAYS need a comma before which… I feel like I should know this stuff. While they are eagerly perfecting their third language (Kinyarwanda, French & English), we’re slowing learning about our first.

Every Friday from 9-11, the GG Country Director and two interns (one was missing this week) come to our house to refine their English.

Happy International Women’s Day! The 100th Anniversary

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

In 1910, the First International Women’s Conference in Copenhagen created International Women’s Day, which wasn’t designated as March 8th until 1977 by the UN. (Ok, so the ‘100th Anniversary’ claim is suspect, and was possibly used last year as well, but everyone here is still excited.) My waiter at breakfast wished me a Happy Women’s Day, and a motorcycle driver shouted well wishes after me as I walked down the street in Kampala. Unfortunately, the sentiment was probably the same as when motos SSss at me every other day of the year, which our Rwandan male friends claim are all for men. “I don’t know why you need a special day for you, unless you’re admitting that the other 364 are for us,” Marlene’s husband told us.

Nonetheless, Women’s Day is a big holiday in Rwanda and Uganda (and an official public holiday in Afghanistan and China among others, according to Wikipedia). Some businesses are closed, organizations host special events, and articles about female empowerment run in the government paper.  The Director of the Center for Gender and Cultural Development is hosting a celebratory breakfast at her home this morning, and we are speaking at a conference on gender research and activism this weekend.

In a country where we spend our days hearing stories of discrimination, gender-based violence, and inequality in educating daughters vs sons, formal support for women is encouraging, but according to our teams, not yet enough- that’s why they keep calling us! In the meantime, I’ll continue arguing with Marlene’s husband, laughing along with Elvis at the supermarket because I insist on carrying my own jug of water to the register, and wearing long skirts to frisbee before changing into shorts and running alongside teammates who inform me they’re going to marry three wives. …And then I intercept his pass and all is right in the world.

Women who are widows, orphans and former commercial sex workers lining up for the group picture at the 2010 graduation ceremony for the Community Vocational Training School, a social venture that receives GG seed funding and training. CVTS teaches the women how to sew so they can support themselves.

Driving from Jinja to Acholi Land

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Post was a bit delayed because there aren’t many internet cafes up north!

After taking a weekend break from meetings to raft with some friends at the source of the Nile, Monday morning we met our driver and the 4×4 we rented to drive North, the area where we hope to identify new change agents among the victims of war violence. The driver estimated it would take three or four hours to get there, and the distance was “over 200 kilometers.” (Key word: over.)

Welcome to the concept of African Time. As our co-worker Marlene explains to us, time is “kinda flexible.” I shouldn’t be surprised when my frisbee teammate tells me he’ll be there in five minutes and shows up half an hour later. I’ve grown wary of trusting estimates like that. Once, Marlene told me that if we left for a field visit at 9, we would return by 2. “The bus is 2 hours, and then it takes thirty minutes in a car to get to the village,” she explained. Doing some quick math, I deduced if we finished by 2, we would spend exactly zero minutes at the site. So, with a knowing smile, I accepted her time estimate, and shared her amusement when we missed dinner at 6pm.

African Time prevails in Rwanda, and apparently Uganda as well. We had estimates of three or six hours for the 200+ or 350 km trip to Gulu. We would be flexible. After three hours, Christina and I pulled out our laptops to type some reports, and as we approached hour four… POP. Metal grinded on pavement and our driver Joseph expertly maneuvered the car to the side of the road. The back tire had blown out, the entire tread peeling off in protest of the 100+ ºF temperatures and the friction on even hotter pavement. We weren’t very surprised, given four straight hours on the road. According to the estimates we were almost there. But alas, across the road from our lopsided vehicle loomed an ominous sign: “Gulu 250 km.”

“Joseph, is that sign right? How far to Gulu?”

“Very far. What did the sign say?” Then, “Yes, that sounds right.”

“I thought you said 200 km… What were we doing for the last four hours?” Christina nudged me and I stopped myself, sharing her  defeated laugh. Thirty minutes later we were underway. I called our Gulu contact to reschedule our afternoon meeting. “No problem!” she said. “Don’t hurry! Just call when you arrive.” We were meeting on African Time, which was good since our journey took seven hours, including the tire blow-out, a lunch stop to bargain for some mangoes, and the traffic (a big problem in Uganda, especially where two major roads meet). And, like she suggested, we didn’t hurry. She was doing some business in town when we arrived— the system works when everyone is on it.

Uganda Ho!

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

This Thursday, Caitlin and I will travel from Rwanda to Uganda.  I’m so excited –- both personally and for Global Grassroots’ upcoming expansion into Uganda, our northern neighbor.  We’ll spend a couple of days in Kampala and then head to Gulu, further north.  The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) periodically ravaged northern Uganda from 1989 until 2007, when Joseph Kony, leader of the LRA, fled to the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Our trip will have several purposes.  We’ll learn as much as we can about northern Uganda’s current situation: What has happened to Kony’s former child soldiers?  What has happened to the girls once forced to serve as sex slaves to his army?  How are women involved in the rebuilding process?  What and where is the greatest need?  What organizations are working in the area, and who’s doing what?

We will also meet with a dozen potential partner organizations.  Caitlin and I will learn about their program structure and commitment to participatory development, and we’ll share the Global Grassroots philosophy, mission, and model.

In short, this is a scoping trip.  If all goes well, Global Grassroots will continue the dialogue with our most promising potential partners and launch an Academy for Conscious Change in northern Uganda this summer.

I can’t wait to see Uganda.  I really, really can’t wait to visit all the amazing organizations we’ve crammed into our trip’s schedule.  We’re going to learn so much both from their leaders and from their beneficiaries.

A Saddening Statistic

Monday, February 14, 2011

Is domestic violence legal in Rwanda? Absolutely not. Unfortunately, in this case the law is more progressive than customary practice.

The team “Build a Family” witnessed overwhelming amounts of gender-based violence in their community, both between couples and between patriarchs and female domestic help.* Global Grassroots is currently helping them implement their envisioned solution. Community members will change their traditional mindsets through workshops on laws and ethics of abuse. “Build a Family” will also form an association for domestic workers to advocate to their employers. By creating a sewing cooperative, domestic workers and wives will gain the confidence or economic power that often ends the violence. (A husband is less likely to beat his wife if she contributes to the family’s income.)

*Many Rwandans support the economy by providing employment to young men and women as housekeepers, guards and nannies. The worker is expected to live at the house and is rarely permitted time off to see friends or family. Typical salary is 8000 RFW ($13.34) per month for a nanny or housekeeper.

As part of our goal to increase the efficacy and sustainability of Global Grassroots projects, we helped “Build a Family” create a survey to evaluate the current state of gender-based violence in their community. Their planned trainings will emphasize the most relevant topics as identified by the survey.

Sixty-five percent of wives reported that their husbands had recently beaten them. 100% of wives felt that women are undervalued in their community. Ninety-five percent of domestic workers feared being raped by their employers, and 79% reported suffering from daily verbal or emotional abuse. The team surveyed local authorities, who reported that it is common for domestic workers and wives to be thrown out of the house one evening, without a place to stay, after offending their boss/husband. If life is bad in a house with one dominant male and small bit of his salary, imagine life on the street with many single males and no money.

We explained how to tally results and gave a crash course on calculating percentages. The numbers made me cringe. For me, a woman from a liberal environment who never doubted that men and I deserve the same respect, the worst result was the opinion of the Rwandan women.

  • Does a husband have the right to beat his wife: Yes- 0% No- 100%

But our now survey-savvy team followed up:

  • In what circumstances do you think your husband has a right to beat you? (You may mark more than one answer.)
    • 10% When you do not respect his orders
    • 0% When you come home late
    • 0% When you have wasted money or property
    • 90% When you cheat your husband

Eighteen out of the twenty women surveyed said that their husband had a right to beat them if they were unfaithful. How deep those patriarchal roots run.

From left: Team Leaders Rahema, Jeanine, & Vienny, fellows Caitlin & Christina, GG intern Josiane. Meeting to create a survey to assess domestic violence in a Rwandan community.
Team leaders Jeanine and Vienny take notes at a training on legislation about domestic violence, equal inheritance, and polygamy among other misunderstood laws. Five team members were trained, and they will now train 20 couples and 20 female domestic helpers in their community.

Snapshots of Life in Kigali: On Display

Monday, February 14, 2011

I went to a boxing match.

Our friend Eric convinced me; he’s friends with an American woman here who runs a boxing club for local kids, which is funded by the boxing-fitness classes for expats that she organizes.

Awesome, right?

A dozen fights were scheduled; $4 admission included a free soda or beer.  I sat down with my Coke and watched Rwandan kids punch each other in the face.  I was sitting in the middle of a huge group of expats in white lawn chairs.

(I am trying to say here: it was weird.)

I stayed for a few fights and walked to the bus stop to head home.  I got a jump seat next to the driver, which I like because of the wide-windshield, aquarium view of the world at dusk.  I read a chapter of Eat, Pray, Love – Liz Gilbert is in India and has this cutting realization about her own character flaws – and I felt that emotional high you get from hearing a moment of your own story from someone else’s articulate mouth.  The bus raced the settling darkness, brown streetlight after brown streetlight.

Sometimes Kigali reminds me so suddenly of its beauty (look, it says. look at me) and I just fly on the strength of that loveliness.

But then.  At every stop, every Rwandan on the street stared in at the almost-white girl, sitting on display with her knees tucked up in the front of the bus.  I was no longer quite so airborne.  One stare, two stares, ten stares, twenty-second-stares… reminded me of the trade-off for my front row seat.  I felt much, much better about the boxing, though.

-Christina

The Stigma of Mental Illness

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

One afternoon I was walking to the bus with Christina and our co-worker Marlene.  A man with what was probably schizophrenia approached Marlene and started talking in a garbled way, asking for money. Marlene, who in her words “loves to talk to the people,” chatted with him for a while, probing his story, before we gave him a coin. He ran away with a giddy hitch in his step. The villagers around us laughed at his departing image and bombarded Marlene with questions that basically all asked, “Why did you talk to that fool?”

One of our newest Global Grassroots teams is a group of mothers who started a boarding school for children with disabilities– to our knowledge, the only institution of its kind in the country. As a budding psychologist I was excited to see the Rwandan equivalent of special education.

Packed-mud rooms contain bunks for the children, who have ample space to play outside on the cement and grass.  Uphill, a cooking hut leaks charcoal smoke, and adjacent sits a wooden structure where children and teachers eat beans and rice. As I approached the school, an adorable deaf girl in her blue uniform dress spotted me.  Grabbing my hand, she pulled me on a tour of her own bunk room, small and bare classroom, and squat toilet, where she crinkled and held her nose, yanking me quickly past.  She dropped me at the well-decorated and electrified office of the director.  During our meeting, an older girl with mental retardation opened the door, plopped down on the couch and struck up conversation with our translator for a few minutes before she was gone, as abruptly as she’d come.

On our way out, the director scooped up a crying infant with a deformed face and a mass the size of a baseball over one temple.  A child with withered legs was propped in a wheelchair, his head leaning listlessly to one side, his eyes not recognizing our smiles.  My original tour guide introduced me to her friend, a girl who motioned towards her lips that she couldn’t speak, while a boy with an adult-looking face and a giant smile streaked by me in energetic laps around the lawn.  They are all classmates.  Diagnoses would be difficult to translate into English, but our co-worker Marlene was spared: we’ve been told there are only seven psychologists in the country, so most of these rural children have never been labeled.

Even if clinical services were available, I am doubtful that parents would willingly take their children. A mother who bears a child with a disability is usually ostracized or even rejected by her family. They might say that she is possessed by evil spirits and blame her for giving birth to a child who will consume the family’s resources and never contribute. She may be forced to work a full-time job and simultaneously care for her child, without help.  The directors of the school– all mothers of at least one child with special needs– applied to be Global Grassroots social change agents because they want to help other women in their position. They hope to do educational outreach to families to teach them how to care for their child with special needs, and maybe even love him/her as their other children.  They plan to teach sign language to mothers of deaf children, and their community awareness campaign will work to dispel the myths.

Last, to combat the notion that these children and their mothers only drain family resources, the team will set up a small grocery store. Mothers who face severe maltreatment from their families will collectively manage the store and market their home-grown produce there. Through the store they will generate income, which the team hopes will raise their familial status and put an end to the ostracizing. It even solves the problem of childcare while at work: Their children will socialize at the store, and those who are able will restock shelves, thereby dispelling the myth that they are unproductive members of an unsympathetic society.

Leonice, president of the school for children with special needs, and a young child with a tumor over his temple.
The girl on the left gave me a tour of the dorms, classrooms, and bathrooms, and then introduced me to her friend on the right, who is also deaf.

Water is NOT all around

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Love is “urukundo” in Kinyarwanda.  Kamonyi district’s “Team of Love” consists of a beautiful young woman named Christine, two elderly, wrinkled ladies, one of the ladies’ son, and a local government official.  The inspiration for their name comes from the group’s love for their village community, despite its myriad problems.  They seek to alleviate malnutrition, domestic violence, miscarriages, lack of female personal development, school truancy among children, inequality in education levels between boys and girls, and a gender disparity in local government…  If these goals seem overly ambitious, the solution seems frighteningly simple.

You’ve heard about ‘water in Africa’ a thousand times, and maybe you’ve even donated to dig a well or two. But did you ever imagine in what deep and varied ways that dollar improved individual lives? Here is a snapshot of the ripple effect of water scarcity in one community: the mountaintop village of Kamonyi, Rwanda.

Team of Love told us that women must walk an hour or more down the mountainside to fetch water for cooking, drinking, and bathing.  Walking two to three strenuous hours for water leaves less time to complete other household chores, and if a husband comes home to a dirty house or dinner just getting started, he often beats his wife.  (A team from Nyamirambo, a community closer to Kigali, told different stories of husbands leaving their wives for other, more hygienic women because their own wives couldn’t usually sacrifice the family’s water for their personal baths.)

In addition to serving as a trigger for domestic abuse, the arduous trek down the mountain and back up is a health risk for many women.  Carrying jerry cans stacked on their heads for hours causes severe migraines for some. Elderly, sick, and even pregnant women all make the journey, and a few expectant mothers have suffered miscarriages.

The scarcity of water also causes malnutrition. Crops die without sufficient irrigation, leaving less food, less variety in food, and less income to buy diverse food.  The kitchen gardens where women grow fresh vegetables wither in the dry season.  Others foods are cut out of families’ diets because their preparation requires water.  Children lack those vitamins and eat many French fries (called ‘chips’).  Potatoes require little water to grow and can easily be fried instead of boiled.  Cooking with oil instead conserves water but is less healthy. (Another team is educating their community about nutrition and encouraging members to grow vitamin-rich foods like spinach. Rwandan children used to munching crispy French fries are in for a rough change!)

The Team of Love explained why their children often miss school. Kids must bring water to school on “cleaning days” (since there is no running water at the school to clean the building). If a child arrives empty-handed because her family could not spare water that week, she is sent home. She is also sent home if she fails the bi-weekly checks of bodily cleanliness and a thoroughly washed uniform. (The hygiene checks help to prevent the spread of disease.)

Some children frequently miss the morning part of school because their mothers ask them to come help fetch water.  It’s usually the girls who are absent from morning lessons, “because,” the team told us, “girls are more obedient than boys.” (They said it, not us!) The girls fall behind in their lessons, are eventually held back a grade, and ultimately become the oldest or biggest in the class.  Embarrassed, they finally stop attending altogether.  The water problem leads to a profound gender disparity in education level.  After leaving school, girls grow up to inherit the same claims on, and expectations for, their time and efforts.  Women struggle up a mountainside with jerry cans of water strapped to their back and balanced on their heads while a community meeting or business association gathering takes place back in town, attended only by men.  Now, in addition to being less educated, a wife is more ignorant than her husband about life beyond the hill and kitchen. She depends on him for information, and her ignorance triggers verbal berating that accompanies the physical abuse, leaving her battered and belittled— his superiority reaffirmed yet again.  Women will reclaim their time, their dignity, and their leadership potential when the Team of Love builds a water access point in the center of town.

A person who suffers abuse is more likely to solve problems with violence, herself.  The team ended the meeting by telling us that one woman was imprisoned because her child misbehaved and she responded with corporal punishment (all too prevalent in Rwanda).  This time, the beating was too severe, and sadly, the child died.  Along with the rest of the community, the team would mourn his death at the funeral the following week.  With all the tragedy in Kamonyi, their dedication to a new water access point is bringing much needed hope. But, as they pointed out, a water supply will solve problems, not change minds.  Violence in families is still widely accepted, and the moment a pipe breaks the beatings will resume. So, they’ve developed a plan to host community workshops on the ethics and legality of domestic violence.  Their goals are numerous and ambitious because they recognize the complexity of their community’s problem, as only they can. These women may not be experts in water chemistry, but they are experts in their own experiences, and making use of that knowledge to develop a comprehensive solution may be the solution in itself.

Children from Kamonyi. Blue and khaki are the school uniforms. (The requirement of a school uniform keeps kids in school for 6 months longer, on average.)
This is a water access point like the one Team of Love hopes to build. This spiket was constructed by Have a Good Life, a Global Grassroots team in Nyamirambo.
One of the leaders of Team of Love with her three grandaughters. She is working so that they will stay in school and not bear her burden of carrying water for miles up the mountain.

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