The Blue Sweater: Bridging the Gap Between Rich and Poor in an Interconnected World Read Online Free PDF Page A

were doing to bring women into the economic mainstream.

    As was the case in a number of African countries at the time, Rwandan law prevented women from opening a bank account without their husbands' written permission, Veronique explained. The country was still governed by the Napoleonic Code, a colonial holdover written in 1804 that gave women the status of minors and the mentally impaired. The idea of women borrowing money on their own terms was simply out of the question. Only recently had Veronique and other leaders made any movement on the issue at all.
    "We are changing the laws now," she assured me, "and need to be ready for this." She had the confidence of someone who knew she was making history.
    We spoke for a long time about her hopes and dreams, and it was clear that Veronique was more activist than academic.
    "You will see one day that our women are so strong! They do so much of the work and take care of the children, but they are kept too far down by the fact that they have so few rights. You know, we need to find a way to let them borrow money for their businesses, to send their daughters to school, to be able to dream of the things we know they can do. If Rwanda is to develop, then its women must have more opportunities, don't you think?"
    I laughed and said, "Of course! The question is how to change the environment so that women can be seen by both men and women alike for what they can contribute."
    "Yes," she said, "and you will help us."
    "That would be wonderful," I responded. In truth, though her blend of ambition and earnestness appealed to me, I assumed we'd never follow up after this chance meeting. Little did I know that her country would come to play a leading role in shaping my life, my views on human nature, and my ideas for what it takes to solve the big problems of world poverty.
    The rest of the conference was a nightmare. The African women made it clear in a public way that I was neither wanted nor needed as an ambassador in West Africa. A woman from Cote d'Ivoire was introduced as someone who could be of assistance to me once I'd moved to her country to set up the regional office, but she clearly had no interest in talking to me. She snapped, "We have women who can and should staff that office and help us build the West Africa region. I don't understand why anyone thinks we should have a young girl who is not even African!"

    The public nature of the conversations was humiliating. I knew the women had a point about it being preferable to have an African in the office, though I understood that I was to be a liaison between Africa and America, and I also knew that after several years of trying, not a single West African office had been built. I'd been hired to jump-start the actual work, to make sure offices were put on the ground. I knew I would work hard and include whoever wanted to work with me. But I didn't know how to confront their fears head-on and instead tried being sweet and sounding smart, hoping the West African women would come to like me.
    They didn't.
    The morning after the conference ended, I was told that plans had changed and I'd now be staying in Nairobi for a few weeks. The ultimate plan was the same. I was still to go to the African Development Bank in Cote d'Ivoire, but the office wasn't ready-or at least the women weren't ready for my arrival.
    Had I known what was really in their minds, I might have terminated my foray into Africa then and there. As it was, I had some time to fill.
    Since I had no place to live in Nairobi and no map for the work I was going to do, I decided to go to Lamu for the weekend. I'd heard it was one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
    Lamu, a tiny island just off the coast of Kenya, had been a stopping-off point for Arab traders over the centuries. I roamed the island's narrow streets under a bright blue sky, looking out at the ocean, exploring the trinkets and spices and woodwork in little shops owned by Arab traders whose wives floated