In my former life working on USAID projects focused on education for girls, I traveled to a number of African countries. While each country is unique and different, after enough travel, meetings and jetlag, they can all start to feel the same in many ways.
Until Rwanda. When I got to Rwanda, it felt different. It was quiet, first of all. Much quieter, generally, than most African nations. The constant bluster of honking, music, yelling and just general noise seemed somehow dampered in Rwanda.
And then I was struck by the other difference–less obvious, but certainly present. Through my meetings and visits to schools and teachers and NGOs, it quickly became apparent that there were far more women in power than in most countries I’d been in. There were more girls in school and gender was far more talked about and discussed than in most other countries I’d visited. When I was sent to meet with a minister or high government official, I almost came to count on it being a woman.
Not a common experience in Africa.
The statistics, of course, bore out this trend. Half of Rwanda’s parliament seats are devoted to women. They have established a Ministry devoted to family, gender and social affairs.
The only other country I’ve visited that had this same sort of vibe, of women just being more empowered generally–not only in terms of seats of parliament but in terms of their own lives and families–was Uganda.
Two nations struck by horrible conflict. Sadly, when such conflict strikes, women are left with terrible consequences, and tremendous opportunity. For they face terrible violence and crimes against themselves and their children. They bear the brunt of poverty and of rebuilding homes, towns and countries devastated by the destruction of war. They are left to care for the sick, the dying and the orphaned.
But they are also left in many cases to run their families, farms, and the nation. After the Rwandan genocide, 70% of the country was female. Half of the households were headed by women. Eighty percent of those were headed by poor widows.
And as the Washington Post documented on Friday in the article, "Women Rise in Rwanda’s Economic Revival," having women running the nation’s businesses hasn’t only been good for women.
It’s been good for Rwanda.
The article explains, quoting Rwandan officials, "The march of female entrepreneurialism, playing out here and across Rwanda in industries from agribusiness to tourism, has proved to be a windfall for efforts to rebuild the nation and fight poverty. Women more than men invest profits in the family, renovate homes, improve nutrition, increase savings rates and spend on children’s education."
The article goes on to quote Agnes Matilda Kalibata, minister of state in charge of agriculture, saying, "Bringing women out of the home and fields has been essential to our rebuilding. In that process, Rwanda has changed forever. . . . We are becoming a nation that understands that there are huge financial benefits to equality."
As I read this article, I couldn’t help but think back to the brief time I spent in Rwanda, a collection of impressions and memories that are far from expertise, and that as I left Uganda a week later, that I thought about the horrible irony that often the best examples and evidence of the power of investing in women only have a chance to surface following terrible conflict and war.
That somehow, despite the proven return, investing in women is generally a last resort, rather than a starting place.
Though this weekend, I did hear a story of hope. A friend from another country in Africa, one also struck by its fair share of conflict and strife–though nothing compared to Rwanda–told me that when her father passed away, he left all of his land to his daughters, instead of his sons.
Almost unheard of in her country–and in most of Africa. Surely everyone around town must think he was utterly insane, I tell her.
Of course, she says. And now, the brothers are angry and fighting and furious that they are not in control. For they want to sell the land and reap the profits.
And I don’t even care, she’s telling me. What am I going to do with it? I just have to make sure that my mother and everyone in the family is cared for, and beyond that, what does it all matter? And my sisters, they don’t care. We’ll keep it all for the family to use as they need it. Beyond that, what is the point?
I told her that this, of course, is why her father had left the land to her and her sisters. Because he knew, I said, that by giving it to you, the entire family would be cared for in the long run.
Well, of course, she said. What else would I do?
