Free The Blue Sweater: Bridging the Gap Between Rich and Poor in an Interconnected World by Jacqueline Novogratz

I still don't.
    The question for me now was whether Rwanda was ready for microcredit-were there enough people and institutions to support the idea? I also questioned whether the Grameen Bank model would work in Rwanda. Bangladesh had something this country didn't: a history of trading and a feeling of solidarity among the people, especially since nationalism had taken root because of the war with Pakistan. Everything I read discussed how Rwanda operated as a feudal economy composed mostly of farmers living off the land. Some low-income people had started bartering for needed goods and services, but except for the Muslim population concentrated in Kigali, this was not known as a country of traders. I made a long list of questions to ask people and readied myself to present them first to my new partner in the study, Veronique.

    Boniface picked me up to drive me to the Ministry of Family and Social Affairs, where we walked down a dark corridor and looked for Veronique in every room. I heard her rich voice before I saw her. As in every other office, Veronique's space was furnished with two desks, both constructed of dark wood, both covered with piles of papers and books, some yellowed, apparently from remaining in the same place for years.
    Standing next to Veronique in the dark and dingy office was a shy, unassuming woman wearing a long skirt and flat black shoes. She was just a few inches over 5 feet tall, with a broad face and skin the color of coffee beans. She had large brown eyes that drooped at the sides, projecting a crinkly empathy further emphasized by a gap-toothed smile. Her hair was combed back into a loose crown. Her only adornments were a wedding band and a tiny gold cross on a chain around her neck.
    She introduced herself shyly: "Amahuru, Jacqueline. My name is Honorata."
    "Bonjour."
    Veronique, already a teacher to me, gave me a gentle shove and laughed. "Now you say `Imeza.' When someone says Amahuru,' you answer `Imeza.' It is only polite."
    "What does it mean?" I asked.
    She laughed and hit me on the back. "So many questions already!" she said, adding, "It's very simple. Amahuru means `What news?' A sort of `How are you doing?' When you say imeza, you are answering back that it is just okay."
    "What if it is more than okay?" I teased.
    She laughed and shook her head and I knew we would be friends. I reached over to shake Honorata's hand, and she surprised me by clapping her right hand over my left shoulder and her left on my right elbow while leaning her face to the right of mine. My body naturally did the opposite, mirroring her. Then we switched. It was an awkward gesture at first, but a more intimate way of greeting-a double hug rather than a handshake.
    Throughout the exchange, Honorata laughed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand. She wasn't showy in any way and seemed genuine in her desire to help women change their lives. Though Veronique was the more effusive communicator about our project, it turned out to be Honorata who knew which people we needed to meet, made the right calls, and set up my schedule. She also accompanied me to meetings while offering a running oral history of her country.

    Veronique and Honorata were bemused when I said I wanted to meet tomato sellers, business owners, and priests as well as their list of government ministers, NGO directors, and U.N. aid workers. These were the women we would ultimately be serving, so why wouldn't we start there and assess their needs? They finally agreed, and Honorata added that we should speak with some of the women's groups she knew, as well.
    The early days of the project were now filled with meetings, informal conversations, and just watching the way the world worked for women in Kigali. We would ask government ministers and development workers about their economic aid programs for women and found a number of grant-based programs. Several officials told us how they intended to reach millions with programs to give women maize mills and