Seeking Out Narrators

Puneet Goenka - Ross School of Business

Imagine a world in which everything that anyone outside the U.S. knew about the U.S. came from the news.  The country would struggle to garner respect and admiration for itself.  The only thing people would hear about is the string of senseless gun shootings, racial attacks, and Donald Trump’s media escapades around his presidential campaign – making it impossible for a non-U.S. resident to form a positive opinion about the country.

But thankfully, the U.S. is able to export so much more to the world than its domestic news.  It has a brigade of artists and musicians whose songs are played on radio stations around the world.  It has a bearded man to sell greasy chunks of fried chicken in red fast-food outlets.  It has citizens working in organizations such as Peace Corps and USAID to dispel myths and misconceptions about American life and culture.  It has the imagination and skill to recreate dinosaurs on the big-screen and enthrall audiences from Adelaide to Anaheim and beyond.  The U.S. (and several other countries) through its own efforts and that of others is able to spin multiple narratives about its country, culture, and its people.

Why then are several developing countries stuck with a single, often negative, narrative – that of being undeveloped and poor.  Either they really have a single narrative to offer the world, or there is a severe lack of narrators.  In my experience working in three countries over the summer, I have found the latter to be true.

On my last weekend in Uganda, I made a quick trip to Kigali, the capital city of Rwanda.  As an undergraduate student I raised funds for an organization that provided life-saving HIV drugs to Rwandan clinics without knowing anything else about the country.  The only thing I had known about Rwanda was that its population struggled with HIV/AIDS, and that they were largely poor.  That was the narrative that stayed with me all these years in the absence of any other news or information about Rwanda from personal discussions or from the consumption of traditional and social media.

Kigali has to be one of the cleanest, and most organized cities in the developing world.  I looked hard but wasn’t able to find much garbage on the streets or other public spaces, roads and related infrastructure were top-notch, and there was a general civic sense in following traffic rules and road signs.  How does Kigali achieve this?  Partly through a Government mandated community service program that requires all citizens to partake in community building activities once a month.  On probing further as to why this program came about I learnt that it was established as a peace building endeavor after the horrific 1994 genocide that killed millions of people from a particular ethnic group in Rwanda.

In his 2009 TED talk, Shashi Tharoor, former Indian Member of Parliament and senior UN official talked about the importance and impact of countries generating soft power, a way of attracting people to a country by its culture, political beliefs, and foreign policies.  He goes on to argue that McDonalds may have done more to improve U.S. soft power than any formal policy or activity.  In recent months, India’s Prime Minister has rolled out one campaign after the other.  ‘Make in India’ brands India as a manufacturing powerhouse, ‘Swacch Bharat’ (Clean India) aims at bringing basic cleanliness and hygiene to the forefront of Indian consciousness, while the more recent ‘World Yoga Day’ was an endorsement by the United Nations of the significance of Yoga and by extension, of India, the country of its origin. 

These campaigns can, and should, be viewed with caution.  Unless backed by the right guidelines and adequate resources, they could end up being PR campaigns that benefit the Prime Minister’s next election campaign more than it benefits the country.  However, I also realize the potential upside of this if things do move in the right direction – more so after my experiences this summer.  It gives India the opportunity to develop additional narratives for itself and its people, strengthening its soft power.

Having a dominant negative narrative define a country and its people is detrimental.  It warps public perceptions, impacts business and tourism, influences policy and Government more than it should, and leaves us all with somewhat silly and misguided biases.  Johannesburg’s single dominant narrative of being crime-ridden for example warped my own thoughts and actions a few months ago.

While driving to a performing arts show with a friend, she swerved the car to avoid hitting a man who was laying on the street.  He was delirious and was asking for help.  He could also have been drunk, or putting on a show to get people to step outside of the car while giving him easy access to their valuables, or maybe have an accomplice drive away with the car.  In that split second of decision making I was shamefully unsure of how to react – stop and help someone that may have been hurt or drive away.  All the stories of crime, mugging, and theft flooded my mind and drowned out my own personal values.  Thankfully my friend who was in the driver’s seat got to make the decision, and she made the right one of stopping to help.

Developing multiple narratives in my view is a democratic undertaking that needs equal participation by Government, business, and civil society.  Governments, businesses, and citizens are however likely to be constrained by the resources available within the country.  Access and penetration of the internet/cell phones, stable Governments that support the growth of homegrown multinational corporations, or the ability to connect globally in a universal language are all factors that could inhibit a resource poor country from exporting more than stories about its poverty and challenges to the world.  Rwandan artists for example may not be able to have the global appeal that American or British artists enjoy, their food may not transcend borders the way Italian cuisine has, and its private sector may need another decade or two to build global companies.  But, maybe the story of how a country comes together once a month to better their communities can prove to be an inspiring and workable model for other countries.  And maybe this Rwandan story is worth sharing with other young undergraduates who may still be fundraising for HIV clinics in Rwanda and developing a narrow and negative narrative about the country the same way I had several years ago.

Just as the news headlines do not come close to defining or capturing what it means to be American and living in America, the same logic should be extended when thinking about developing countries.  There are monumental challenges, and I am not suggesting we pretend they don’t exist.  The media, aid organizations, and Governments are already focusing on building those narratives but why don’t you and I focus on building more interesting, nuanced, and constructive narratives? 

On Breasts, Talking to Strangers, and Other Things My Mother Taught Me.

Julio Villasenor

Have you ever thought how cool it would be if our eyes had little cameras that could capture moments and the emotion behind them? This is something that I find myself wishing for lately. Imagine it.

Blink. The image of a five year old boy with the biggest smile waving to you when you pass by as he carries a bag full of branches bigger than him on top of his head. Blink. The joy of seeing a truck that has been bouncing you around all day being loaded with the mill necessary to make porridge. Blink. The wonder of driving through fields on the back on a bike on a night so dark yet so full of stars that it feels like the sky is a giant black snow-globe that has been pierced by thousands of tiny needles. Blink. The warm feeling of seeing a sea of little six year olds in their school uniforms run towards you to shake hands and sometimes hug your legs. Blink. The sense of peace as you watch sunrays and clouds play hide and seek behind rows of endless hills. Blink. The awkwardness of having a stranger’s breast pop out. Blink. Having another stranger pop out a breast. Blink. And a third one…

Ok. Wait. My little eye-camera wish hasn’t happened and those last blinks might need some explanation. After all, this is not that kind of blog.

As I mentioned in my last blog I have been going to Health Care Centers to understand more about the healthcare system in Rwanda, implement a small market survey and meet the women that participate in TIP’s programs. Meeting these women is always a fun experience. I especially enjoy watching how women handle and carry their babies. In Rwanda women will bend forward from the waist, balance their babies on their backs and then drape a piece of cloth over them, tie the blanket in the front and proceed with their daily lives. The final effect is like a small strapless backpack with a little doll head popping out of it. Sometimes they’ll also tie a blanket around their necks use it as a cape Superman-style to cover their babies.

I was in a HC watching the woman in front of me do this simple yet elaborate baby wrapping dance when the toddler next to her started pulling at his mother’s skirt. The mother, who was midsentence, grabbed the baby by the arm, quickly placed him on her lap and nonchalantly pulled out her breast for some baby casual dining open-air style. All of this without the slightest pause in the conversation she was having.

So what do you do in this situation? Do you politely turn the other way? Make eye contact followed by a slight “good job” nod? Stare into space? Ask how you say “bon appetite” in Kinyarwandan? Pretend something super interesting just happened in the opposite side of the room and turn around? I was tempted to go for this last option but suddenly all the children started pulling at their mothers who did the same exact thing the first one had done. No corner of the room was safe, I was cornered by bare breasted breastfeeding mothers… It was a feeding frenzy…

The only thing is, I was the only one that was freaking out. The rest of the room went on with the conversation they were having despite the fact that half of them where flashing each other. Once I realized that the skies weren’t falling and that what was going on was absolutely natural I actually started seeing the beauty in the scene and was slightly embarrassed by my initial reaction. You see, I am in Rwanda to help a business that is focused on fighting malnutrition by giving people fortified porridge, but what if not a mother’s milk is the original fortified food? What best way to fight malnutrition than by breastfeeding? And if we are really getting poetic, what best way to strengthen the bond between a mother and child?

I guess at this point I should acknowledge that my mother is a card-carrying member of La Leche League, a group dedicated to supporting breastfeeding. I should also say that my amazing wife breastfeed our kid even past the point at which it was no longer “socially cool”, which I have a feeling is now sadly around the three week mark. So, if anything, I now question when and why breastfeeding became uncool in the more “modern” world. Don’t you think it’s a little bit strange that, as a society, we are obsessed with super foods but whenever a mom super-feeds her baby people in the room get super uncomfortable?

Anyway… food for thought……

But now that we are sort of talking about families, let me tell you the quick story of how I spent father’s day this year.

The designated Sunday found me slightly hung-over (another story) walking around Nyabugogo (the taxi-van/bus station) looking for my ride home. I met a driver who recognized me and pointed me to his taxi-van. As I approached it I noticed that the vehicle was already very crammed and the only remaining seats were those in the first and second row next to the door. Not the best seats because sometimes the taxi will pick up people on the way back to Ruli, if the taxi is full (which it always is) and you are in one of the aforementioned seats, people WILL seat on you. So, not feeling up to the task of potentially being a stranger’s cushion I asked the driver if there was another taxi leaving soon. He replied in the negative and so started an exchange that was partly English, partly French, partly Kinyarwandan but mostly hand gestures the objective of which was to get me in the taxi-van.

The driver, though friendly, was adamant and so I did what any self-respecting modern day person would do: I pretended my phone rang and somehow conveyed to the driver that it was going to be an important and long call. Once the taxi-van drove off I finished my imaginary conversation and started looking for a new ride. I soon found one, mostly empty, that was waiting for passengers, so I took a seat in the corner of the very last row. While waiting for the taxi-van to fill up, which took about an hour, I had the pleasure of regretting the previous night’s beers, so when the engine came alive I had a mixture of happiness at the prospect of finally getting home and dread at the road that would get me there.

The taxi, as always, was crammed to the point at which I marveled that I wasn’t fluent in Kinyarwandan yet simply by virtue of osmosis. As I pondered these thoughts I made eye contact with a girl sitting two seats away from me who had been looking at me inquisitively. She told me her name was Leopold and asked me what I was doing in Rwanda. This sparked a small conversation about me and my family so I brought out my phone to show her pictures of my loved ones. Before I knew it the phone was taxi-van public property; as it went through different hands people started commenting on the pictures they saw and asking me more questions. The woman sitting in front of me started having some form of argument with her husband; an argument that was resolved when she grabbed my hand and, forgetting that it was still attached to my body, pulled it forward to show her husband, seated in the row in front of her, that there was a ring on it.

The rest of the ride home was a taxi-van conversation on family, marriage, porridge, kids, the economy, health and several other subjects. Everyone chimed in, everyone laughed at my broken Kinyarwandan and everyone shared something about themselves. It was dark when we made it back and as I walked home I reflected on the amazing father’s day gift I had just gotten: I had boarded a taxi full of strangers and, by sharing pictures of my family, by the time we got to Ruli I got out of a taxi full of new friends.  

Hide-and-seek

Loading our truck with the hammermill

How much life do you see in these two pictures

 

Of Fitness and Other Ironies

So I’ve been in Rwanda now for over a month and a bit now. At this point I am getting used to the cold showers, the power outages, the unreliable internet, not knowing the local language and even my allergies flaring up with the humidity and dust. The one thing that I have to admit is killing me is missing Game of Thrones.
Now that I have gotten that off my chest let us proceed.

As part of my work (the nature of which I will get to further on, as promised) these last few days I have had the opportunity to try out what I am sure will be the next big thing in fitness fads. It is a simple activity that will give you a full body work out without ever even having to stand up. It is called riding in the back of a motorcycle from Health Center to Health Center in Rwanda’s rural dirt roads.

You will strengthen core muscle groups as you strive to maintain balance and hang on to whatever you can each time you bounce of off some rock, fallen tree or other obstacle cleverly left there by Mother Nature. You will get to discover muscles you didn’t know you had as you bounce around up and down hills and gullies navigating the ever changing road. You will enjoy breathtaking views of hills, valleys and clouds and wave to people carrying all sorts of things on their bicycles and on top of their heads as they hike the steep slopes and many miles from village to village. You will get to experience the distinct satisfaction of raising a small cloud of dust as you speed by. Yes, this is the sort of activity that in America would surely come with a friendly form reminding you that you can’t sue if you die (which you might), but on the other hand you will have the sort of experience that amusement parks try to emulate in all their high-adrenaline rides, plus the work out, minus the two-hour queue.

So what do you say?  Ready to go for a ride?

Before you answer here is a little thought experiment: as you read the above paragraph what did you focus on? What drew your attention? Did your mind’s eye see me as some misbegotten Indiana Jones type riding from village to village? (which I am sorry to report is wrong- with the helmet strap across my neck and my black hoodie under it I actually resembled The Flying Nun more than anything else, but that is neither here nor there) Or did you instead think of the unique views one gets as hills turn into valleys and small rice plantations give way to banana groves and lastly to eucalyptus forests? How many of you thought of the small layer of rouge-like dust that gets pancaked on everything now that the rains are coming to an end? How about the people that you get to wave to? Who picked up on the people for whom this is daily life and not some explorer wannabe’s (mis)adventure?

This was actually very similar to what my thought process was as I started to get over my initial bike-shock. I hate to admit it but it wasn’t until I saw a man pushing a bicycle which had his little boy sitting on it on some form of makeshift basket with his leg all bandaged-up up a particularly steep climb that it hit me that riding a motorcycle is actually a luxury that most people can’t afford in their daily lives. At that point I started appreciating statics as facts of life rather than just cold numbers. You see, in Rwanda over 70% of the population lives in rural communities; however, of the 4,700kms of roads in the country only 1,207kms are paved. Those numbers take on a different meaning when you see women carrying all types of bags, boxes and sacks on their heads, when you speed by a group of farmers taking their hoes, rakes and other utensils that have been used since the middle ages onto the field and when you appreciate the considerable effort that it must take to push a bike weighed down with different types of crops up a dusty slope.  

The lack of transportation infrastructure is not particular to Rwanda and it continues to make the delivery of services and goods to the many millions of people living in rural areas in developing countries a challenge. It is one that I have been giving a lot of thought of as I work with The Ihangane Project (TIP) to develop a business model for a sustainable fortified porridge production meant to support, primarily, HIV+ mothers and their babies.

The project, though small scale in terms of production amounts or budget, has huge potential to impact the lives of many people. On a daily basis I scramble my now-partially-MBA-educated-brain to answer some of the following questions: How is the factory going to operate at each station? What efficiencies can we find in how much and how often we get grain? Who are we selling to and at what price? What is our pricing model? Based on what? How are our plans affected by others doing similar work in the country? Who are the stakeholders that we need to approach and how to do so? How are we going to distribute the porridge? And how is all of this going to come together to form a strategy to make this a sustainable business?

From a more general perspective, whether you believe in finding a fortune at the bottom of the pyramid, creating a fortune at the bottom of the pyramid or simply realizing that there doesn’t have to be a fortune for there to be need and opportunity I hope you’ll agree with me that Milton Friedman's assertion that “the social responsibility of a business is to increase its profit” is no longer valid. Now more than ever companies, individuals and even indebted MBAs are waking up to the possibility of new models that seek a social or environmental impact (ideally both) while returning a profit. This past year I had the opportunity to participate in case competitions from big name companies that tried to address these issues in different ways. I enjoyed those experiences but realized that solutions cooked up in the developed world will never work if we don’t take the time to see how the other half lives, ergo I am in Rwanda.

But this is starting to get to heavy so back to the important stuff: fitness.

As part of my plan to get rid of my “bear” pounds (those acquired while hibernating in the wonderfully white Ann Arbor winter) every day at around 5.45am I wake up (not a personal choice- it has been predetermined by crows that nest outside my window) and, after painfully realizing that Morpheus will not take me in his arms again, I get out of bed, turn my computer on to whatever workout is scheduled for the day and proceed to flop and bounce around my room as if escaping the attack of thousands of invisible malaria carrying mosquitos.  

I am normally so out of breath by the end of this that I hadn’t noticed that after the workout there are several ads for a variety of health foods and supplements. While that is not at all surprising the thing that caught my attention as I lay on the floor was the female voiceover saying that they source all their ingredients “from around the world, grown in the fertile soils of remote regions of the earth.” Interested in this proclamation I raised my head (resentful for the extra crunch this was forcing me to do) and noticed that the image used by the ad playing on my laptop could very well be the image outside my window.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I have been an active member of the super food craze: quinoa!! goji berries!! kale!! anything from Whole Foods!! I have also spent the last month coming and going by fields where all sorts of vegetables grow, meeting with farmers, discussing nutrition and learning from the local coffee co-ops. I have seen how fertile this land is.

The thing that jumps at me is the balance of it all. For example, as far as I can tell, Rwanda has some of the best coffee in the world, there are several coffee coops around Ruli and yet no one is offering Venti Espresso Americanos. No one here drinks the stuff!! I asked around and, though I did not get a wholly clear explanation for this strange phenomenon, the best theory was that, if you think about it, you would also not drink your livelihood away. It seems people are happier selling to the mermaid and her cronies than drinking the dark elixir.

Stranger still is that in a country where everything is green and practically screams “BITE ME”, 43% of children suffer from malnutrition (albeit there are many different reasons for this). So you have to allow that the more I reflect on it the more deliciously ironic I think it is that the slimming diet fads of countries that treat their food supply chain as some sort of mass production factory (you NEED to see Food, Inc.) are now helping to fill bellies in developing countries (one hopes).

I hope that as these types of industries grow, developed nations’ table manners will allow for a true sharing of the proverbial cake.

Thank you for reading, apologies for the length and please share and comment.
(Thanks to those who did so last time)

Thousands of Experiences in the Country of a Thousand Hills

It was 5:30 pm on a regular day after work. The moto driver who provided daily transportation between home and office during the past month was driving me to a supermarket in downtown of Kigali. Another moto was catching up. The driver turned his head, winked at me while making a V sign with his fingers, and then drove away.

That’s usually the thing that makes my day, a simple smile that makes me feel warm inside. That reminded me of a conversation with a colleague at the company I am currently interning with.  On the first day at work, he introduced me pieces of Rwandan culture in which he said people are genuinely hospitable to each other, even more so to foreigners.  Local people see foreigners as guests who should be treated better.  That is also how Chinese people see foreigners.

That’s one of the factors that constantly grow my love for this territoriality small country in East Africa.  How time flies!  It has been an entire month since I set foot on this beautiful land of thousand hills.  It truly is. 

So many things happened within the month that built up the amazing and memorable experience.

Experience:

Like a celebrity or an alien?

This must not be new to foreigners who visit Rwanda. “Muzungu,” meaning “white people,” is the word local people, especially children, use to call foreigners when they see one. It usually goes with a long-time attentive stare and continuous follow around. I don’t remember that I have never been paid so much attention since I was born. It feels quite flattering, and sometimes overwhelming, especially when colleagues took me on field trips to rural areas. I was greeted all along the way, more than half an hour drive on moto, by children standing on the dirt roads, by women gathering crops and by men repairing roads. Sometimes, kids chased the moto, screaming “muzungu” while waving at me. The intensity almost convinced me that I am the first Chinese ever that has even been there or I am nothing they have seen before.  When walking in the village, I was surrounded by local people and was given a full body visual examination from head to toe.  From time to time, they talked to each other and laughed at intervals of stares. Sometimes I felt lost and just responded with a smile.

A month has passed.  I still receive the same amount of attention, but I have gradually gotten used to it.

Informal is the new normal!

The informal sector contributes about 55 per cent of Sub-Saharan Africa’s GDP and 80 percent of the labor force.  Nine in 10 rural and urban workers have informal jobs in Africa and most employees are women and youth.  Rwanda is an evident demonstration of the above statement.  Wherever I go, there are people carrying on their head a yellow water can, or a basket of vegetables, or fruits, or a pile of shirts for sale.  Some men take a plastic basket filled with bread or hard boiled eggs. There are also men selling self-made news digest collecting major news items from local newspapers.  Moto taxis seem to be the major transportation, shuttling to and fro on streets. The major transportation hub is crammed with private vans and buses vying with each other for passengers.  Agents of MTN, Tigo, and Airtel, major telecom companies in Africa, are lining up along major streets, selling phone credits to whoever pass by.

Streets are always busy. People seem to enjoy the hustle and bustle.

Fast and Furious!

For more than 20 years before coming to Rwanda, I had promised myself that I would never take motors as a way of commuting because, to me, the moment I am on a moto, I lose control of my life. I eat my words after I got to Kigali because of their cheap price, efficiency and easy access through traffic jams. Now moto becomes my only means of transport between home and office, restaurants and bars. I don’t have to wait for more than 2 minutes to get a moto. Wave, negotiate the price, put on the helmet, and hop on. Then the moto speeds off, so fast that my heartbeat raced three times faster with every passing meter. The good thing is that I can get to my destination without worrying about traffic. Moto drivers always find a way to weave recklessly among cars, buses and trucks running on narrow roads.

There were times that I enjoyed riding a moto. After several drinks at a bar, I felt like flying on a racing moto; when listening to music with strong beats, I feel like a really cool person.   

Fun stuff:

Rwanda bans lightweight plastic bags to protect environment. About one hour away from landing, flight attendant announced that all the plastic bags we had with us should be left on the plane before entering Rwanda. As a small country where environment matters particularly, policy is necessary and effective implementation is crucial.

Bromance is prevailing. Adult men holding hands or holding each other by waist while walking can be seen quite often in Kigali and rural areas. Colleagues told me that Rwandan people believe there are no homosexuals in their country and in their culture so it’s no problem for two adult men to do that. Holding hands is an expression of friendship. However, those who have been to other countries, such as South Africa, don’t think in that way any longer and could not bear the thought of taking another man’s hand.

Drinking matters. Drinking is an important part of Rwandan people’s life since history, for all walks of life. There are three major structures at the King’s Palace. One for receiving visitors and sleeping; another two for storing milk and beer. Commercials may be indicative of people’s life. Commercial posters or paintings are all over the country, whether it is in downtown or in villages where people don’t have access to light. Two types of commercial are there to be found: telecommunication and beer.

    

In the Land of a Thousand Hills

Julio Villasenor

…..  and so after months of planning, a hectic week of packing and endless moments daydreaming about it, I landed in Rwanda.

Delphine, the Country Director of the Ihangane Project, the organization I will be working with this summer was at the airport to pick me up and after a quick and friendly introduction we jumped on a car and started making our way to Ruli which sits high on the northern hills about 40kms from the capital.

As we drove out of Kigali I was struck by how dark and still the night was. Even though there were a couple of other cars on the road the night seemed to have a peacefulness to it that I found surprising. In retrospect this might have been my mind starting to relax after hours of airplanes and airports but nonetheless, in my mind my first impression of Rwanda will always have a magical quality to it.

I have often heard that a great way to put a restless baby to sleep will be to stick him in a car and drive around for a while. As a parent I can attest to the almost miraculous effects that this will have on a baby. As an adult I can attest to the dangers of drawing from this well too often – thanks to my dear parents, much like Pavlov’s dog, I have been trained to act a certain way and, for as far back as I can remember, I cannot stay awake in a moving vehicle.

This trait of mine is of particular nuisance when you have just arrived in an unknown country and your new host is making conversation. I pinched myself as hard and in as many places as I could but I could recognize the familiar unavoidable signs that I was about to lose consciousness.

I needn’t have worried.

Soon the car made a sharp turn and we started down a bumpy roller-coaster dirt road complete with sharp ninety degree turns, ravine near misses, fallen tree obstacles and small village check points. Did I mention we had Rwanda’s version of Evel Knievel at the wheel?

This was a little over a week ago. Since then I have developed a new appreciation for the ups and downs we had to cross in order to get here. The view from most anywhere in Ruli is of sprawling hills that twist and bend in many shades of green. The clouds are a constant companion for the many different birds and insects that you can see or hear in an otherwise pure blue sky. My favorite is peering out of my window to see the thunder when it is about to rain (or when the sky is about to come down since that is what night rain here feels like) or seeing the morning clouds disperse between the hills in the morning.

As I discover my new surroundings I also learn to appreciate things from my everyday life back home which are considered a luxury here: tap water one can drink, hot showers in a none-squatting position and a reliable internet connection are among the most notable.

To be able to connect to the internet signal I have to stand outside, between the hospital administrative offices (where I get the connection from) and the row of smaller rooms where the Ihangane Project office is located. Far from being an irritation I actually enjoy the opportunity to sit and work outside, especially since I get to see people’s faces as they walk around and suddenly see this umuzungu, completely out of place, sitting on the floor desperately typing on his laptop. Kids are the best in this respect, they approach me, sit down next to me and, as they watch me work, start conversations that go on way past the point at which it becomes obvious that neither of us understands the other. Still, a smile is universal language right?

This week I also had the opportunity to go with JD and Dianne to the place where the porridge production facility is being built. We went up there on taxi bikes and walked down to the office on a path that wound through different small family plots in which maize, coffee, soy, sorghum, carrots and potatoes were growing. JD mentioned that these were the “back alleys” he used to hide in when he wanted to skip school but for me it was more akin to something out of a Peter Rabbit novel – amazing how the place we grow up in will shape the way we look at new environments.

The porridge production facility will be the core of my work the next following months as I work with the Ihangane Project to develop a business plan and strategy to make fortified porridge production for HIV+ mothers and children a sustainable business. So far I have gotten a rough draft of some of the variable and fixed costs that they will face and an idea of what total output might look like, but, even though it is still early days, I get the feeling that the truly sustainable solution will lay in how to bring different stakeholders and members of the community together.

For now, I look forward to the following weeks in which I continue to learn from and explore this beautiful land.