From the dusty streets of Harare to the glam green rooms of Hollywood, hers was a journey that transcended vistas and visages.
Jackie Mgido, Zimbabwean hairstylist and make-up artist to the stars, was a poor girl in a humble Harare neighborhood with big dreams, an artistic hand and an eye for beauty.
“I did not have an amazing childhood but I had an amazing childhood in my head. Everything that I did was magical and everything that I did, I dared to dream,” says the 42-year-old cosmetics entrepreneur, who worked with Hollywood A-listers such as John Legend, Morris Chestnut, Denzel Washington, P Diddy, Jamie Foxx and Sylvester Stallone, before returning home to start her own beauty brand Vault Cosmetics.
Mgido had moved to the United States 20 years ago hoping to make films, and for a better look at the beautiful faces facing the camera.
“I wanted to understand how they were able to make people look so amazing on camera,” she says.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignnone wp-image-31937 size-large" src="http://www.forbesafrica.com/app/uploads/2016/04/Vault_Forbes-2-of-19-683x1024.jpg" alt="" width="683" height="1024" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Vault_Forbes-2-of-19.jpg 683w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Vault_Forbes-2-of-19-300x450.jpg 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Vault_Forbes-2-of-19-600x900.jpg 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Vault_Forbes-2-of-19-200x300.jpg 200w" sizes="(max-width: 683px) 100vw, 683px" />
She then enrolled at the Make-Up Designory, popularly known as MUD, in California, where she studied the art and later interned at several Hollywood studios. After spending almost five years meticulously planning her business strategy and her next move, she wanted to start something new but the fear of failure stalled her dream.
For a professional who turned dour to dazzling with her magic make-up wand, she was confronted with a new reality back home in Zimbabwe, and then came the epiphany.
“One time I visited Zimbabwe and noticed there was something missing, women were neglected, I looked at so many beautiful women but a lot of them were really dark and could not see their beauty, so I decided to do something to enhance their beauty,” says Mgido.
That was it. She launched her own line in 2012 but suffered major setbacks, even losing a staggering $60,000 in the first six months, of the $100,000 she and her husband had invested in the business.
“If it was not for my husband, I would have given up. What motivated me to continue is that I have a gift and it’s not about me. This is what I am supposed to be doing in life, touching lives through make-up.”
Vault Cosmetics is available in Zimbabwe’s cities and has branches in the US, UK and now South Africa. She says her brand is worth over $5 million.
Last year for the Emmy Awards, Mgido made up awards host and Glee star Jane Lynch, and has also been contracted by Food Network to do on-set make-up for celebrity chefs including Alex Guarnaschelli, Duff Goldman, Tyler Florence and Cat Cora. Last year, she was awarded Female Entrepreneur of the Year for her start-up business at the African Women Awards.
All her products are made in the US, but she is currently in Zimbabwe setting up a manufacturing company. Her biggest challenge has been getting the product to the people. Zimbabwe’s import laws and taxes have made things tough for her, she says, but she’s currently in talks with revenue authorities and hopes they will appreciate her desire to invest in her home country. Mgido has also invested her hard-earned dollars in Zimbabwean communities, opening windows of opportunity for many young women. Her make-up academy in Harare is training young artists passionate about learning more about the beauty business.
With the right investors, she intends expanding her business in Southern and West Africa, her targets being Zambia, Botswana, Namibia, Kenya and Nigeria.
We meet her in Johannesburg on a recent visit to expand her business.
“I came to South Africa because I was told I could not and would not be accepted, knowing perfectly well that every woman has one goal and that goal is to be loved and seen, I had to bring Vault to South Africa.”
And this, she says, is only the beginning, with an excitement no greasepaint can conceal.

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The Artist Changing The Face Of Africa

It was a shock. Three years ago, Portia Masimula told her family that she was going to quit her safe, well-paid job to start her own IT company. They thought she was mad and her father refused to speak to her.
The 29-year-old entrepreneur was so determined she even put her wedding on hold.
Masimula took every chance that came her way to make her business work. One Tuesday evening, after a stressful day at work, Masimula spotted multi-millionaire Patrice Motsepe, Africa’s 22nd richest man according to FORBES AFRICA, at a restaurant in the V&amp;A Waterfront, Cape Town.
“There he was sitting having dinner. I thought I wasn’t going to let him go past me. I am going to go over there and talk to him. This opportunity comes once in life. They happen randomly. I am thinking ‘what am I going to say to him, let me wait for him to finish dinner’. There I am watching him while he is eating.”
“That’s the thing about being an entrepreneur, you grab every opportunity. As soon as he was finished. The things you do as a businesswoman is crazy. The minute he stood up, I said ‘Mr Motsepe, how are you doing?’ This is who I am.”
The brief meeting ended with a business card and some sage advice from Motsepe.
“He said to me ‘when you looking for something, never mention the word help, say I am looking for partnership’. Those are the wise words he left me with. As a businesswoman, if you don’t talk you are not going to get what you want. You have to take the shininess away from it. In business, you have to take it away. Business has taught me you can’t be shy,” she says.
It is the bold-as-brass move you would expect from the edgy streets of New York. In Masimula’s case, it came from growing up with her grandparents on the dirt roads of KwaMhlanga, a tiny village in Mpumalanga, southwest of South Africa.
“My grandmother is a principal of a school, my grandfather is a school inspector. My mother passed away when I was very young and my father had me when he was still a boy in Grade 11 at school, which is why I was living with my grandparents from my father’s side. He couldn’t afford to look after me.”
Masimula says her father came back into her life once he had matured and educated himself at university.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignnone wp-image-31935 size-large" src="http://www.forbesafrica.com/app/uploads/2017/05/PortiaMasimula_JC-3-of-7-1024x683.jpg" alt="" width="1024" height="683" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/PortiaMasimula_JC-3-of-7.jpg 1024w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/PortiaMasimula_JC-3-of-7-300x200.jpg 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/PortiaMasimula_JC-3-of-7-600x400.jpg 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/PortiaMasimula_JC-3-of-7-768x512.jpg 768w" sizes="(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px" />
“It becomes hard. I was born for this. I was born to do business. I know it becomes difficult when they want you to do things in a traditional way. It’s not an easy journey. My father was actually angry at me at some stage. Asking why I was leaving a solid job and opening a business. I tried to explain to him this was the journey I wanted to take. Initially he wasn’t supportive to it,” she says.
One reason her family was shocked with the news was that Masimula didn’t know anything about the business she was going into.
“I was hanging around with a lot of the tech guys, and I developed interests. If you look at it now, the digital space is where it’s happening. It’s fast in terms of tech. I was so curious. I thought ‘how could I get involved and make this a business’. While I was sitting there, I thought let’s start a company and do this. That was 2013 and we didn’t waste time.
“I always had the entrepreneurial spirit in me. I knew that one day I was going to have my own business, even though I didn’t know what sort of business it would be,” she says.
“I enrolled in some courses at the University of Cape Town. I would practice programming and luckily enough my fiancée, Mhlonipheni, is in IT and is a developer. I used to come home at night and practice and he would show me how to program.”
It led to Masimula leaving her comfortable job in financial marketing to open IT solutions company Kansani Tech.
“As a woman in this industry, it is the toughest thing ever. Most of the time you are sitting in a boardroom and it’s just men. They are sitting there and asking ‘what are you doing here, woman’?
“The ultimate goal is for a four-year contract. We want to get to that level. For now, it’s small projects,” says Masimula, who built a R6,000 ($400) app for a doctor who wants to keep in touch with her patients.
“The doctor wanted to retain her clients. She runs weight-loss programs. The people who come to see her don’t monitor it properly. When you are developing an app, you need all the ingredients, you need to monitor your food and your exercise. Today, [the doctor] can see what [her patients] have done by recording it on their phone. Instead of [the patients] picking up the phone and having to book the doctor, she can access the app,” says Masimula.
And the postponed wedding? When will her fiancée pay the delayed bride-prize?
“Lobola, it will come, but for now, we are all about building the business. The minute we see the business on the level where it doesn’t need us, we’ll pay up,” she says with a smile.
Clearly, marriage can wait, but business can’t.

PortiaMasimula_JC-5-of-7

What Are  You Doing  Here, Woman?’

On November 4, 2015, plus-size French model Clémentine Desseaux received a $90 gift from Christian Louboutin – a luscious new Rouge Velvet Matte lipstick from the French design house. Louboutin, known for its iconic red-soled heels, entered the beauty business in recent years.
The excited Desseaux posted a 15-second video on her social media account wearing the new lip color, which subsequently was reposted by the brand.
Within minutes, the online world was buzzing with excitement at what it assumed was the ground-breaking new campaign from the Louboutin brand featuring a plus-size model.
Although a false claim, it left a dark cloud hanging over the multi-billion dollar beauty industry – why is it not apparently accepting, yet, of curvier women?
The issue of plus-size models is one that has been highly debated and as a consequence has led to several hashtag campaigns on social media calling for the abolishment of the term. By definition, when a model wears a size greater than 12, she is considered ‘plus-sized’ in the fashion industry. For those against the term, the main argument is in the meaning of the word ‘plus’ which denotes a bigger size than average. Pressure from activists in previous years led to the dissuasion of size zero models who seemed to be the go-to clothes hangers for all major runway campaigns. In the sea of confusing body image messages bombarding women, something needed to be done.
The above paragraphs explain why Linda Ojoma Idegwu, a Nigerian fashion entrepreneur, was the woman to shake things up.
Instead of creating yet another campaign calling her fellow plus-size ‘sisters’ to stand together and fight the system, she decided on a different strategy.
Cue the creation of Dear Curves, which has now come to be a leading plus-size women’s fashion line in Nigeria. For Idegwu, the fight is much bigger than the banning of the term ‘plus-size’.
“I love my body and I am not afraid to be a size 16. I work out and I exercise but I feel being plus-size does not mean you are unhealthy. So I thought it was unfair that the media generalized all plus-size women as unhealthy. For me this is a movement, so it’s not just about clothes, I am very much pro-love and pro-curves and encouraging women to love themselves,” says Idegwu.
The idea was sown in 2012 but germinated a couple of years later after Idegwu tried her hand at different professions including working part time at a retail company in the United Kingdom (UK).
“At the time, it was a hobby. But leaving the UK, I saw there were so many fat-shaming and derogatory statements made about women who were plus-size and I found that very strange because I grew up in a culture where being curvy or plus-size was celebrated.”
In her early years, Idegwu, like every peppy teenager, had dreams of snaring the limelight. The burgeoning Nollywood industry at the time was a melting pot for youthful talent and like many of her peers, Idegwu was determined to leave her mark.
The young Idegwu even featured in a sitcom in Lagos called Twilight Zone but it was her love for fashion that would eventually set her on the course to international acclaim. Her Dear Curves brand has been featured in Vogue Italia and Huffington Post and other notable international publications. For Idegwu, her goal is simple – clothing for women with curves needs to be both fashionable and empowering.
This ethos is at the heart of everything she does. The company was started with £500 of Idegwu’s savings. She learned the sewing trade from her mother who also doubled as a teacher. Being the first of 10 siblings, Idegwu had to be independent from a very early age, which gave birth to her inner entrepreneur.
“Before going to the UK, while I was waiting for admission into school, I was doing my fashion business on the side. I was designing for men, I had a team of two people, where we did a bit of illustrations and created kaftans for men and that was very successful,” she says.
Being a plus-size model herself, Idegwu knows all too well the challenges of securing opportunities in the competitive world of modeling. Fashion retail has come a long way in terms of inclusion of plus-size models in fashion campaigns but the beauty industry still lags significantly behind in following this trend. For Dear Curves, the goal is to be an internationally-recognized brand encouraging women to love themselves no matter their size.
“I want to have a bigger percentage of the plus-size market. We do not have a stand-alone shop yet because we do not feel like we need it yet, but we have some concessions and boutiques who we work with because this is a contemporary affordable luxury brand,” she says.
With plans to expand across Nigeria and then in Ghana, currently, 76% of her orders are from customers in the United States where the average size is 14, according to Idegwu. Her brand is featured in the hit US series, Empire, and as the debate continues to rage on about the future of the plus-size model, Idegwu is now spearheading a new movement calling all women to embrace themselves – and their body type.

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Another Term For Plus-Size Please?

With South Africa in the midst of its worst drought in more than two decades, a trip through the Kruger National Park is dusty and desolate. Areas of the park that were once lush are now withered; the watering holes are now cracked earth.
Driving through the park is like following a trail of death, with the sour smell of decomposing flesh. There are as many sightings of skulls and bones as there are herds of the park’s most abundant antelope, the impala.
It’s not as grim as it seems though. Izak Smit, a Systems Ecology scientist in the Kruger National Park, one of Africa’s largest nature reserves, says it helps the park’s ecosystem.
“These droughts have a natural regulatory role to play,” says Smit.
The current buffalo population is at its highest since the numbers were first counted in the 1960s, he says.
“The buffalo numbers can’t continue to increase forever. The numbers go up and then they go down. In wet years, people think the animals are doing great but some species suffer, like the predators, they find it harder to catch prey,” he says.
The lack of water also brings an evolutionary theory into play – the survival of the fittest.
“Your older individuals, your young individuals and the sickly individuals are the ones that are most affected. The healthier and stronger animals will survive longer. The animals that are the strongest will be able to best survive and they will carry the gene pool forward.”
Some animals seem to be thriving in the tough conditions. Vultures flock throughout the park, squabbling over the plentiful carcasses. The crocodiles that have managed to secure the few remaining pools in the Sabie River also seem gorged. A dead buffalo, floating in the water, was ignored by three of the red-toothed reptiles that were within meters of an easy meal.
As 100-meter-tall dust devils twist their way across the arid land, the animals jostle for shade under large trees that haven’t lost their leaves yet. At a lookout point at Mlondozi Dam, near the border with Mozambique, the riverbed was empty and the dam wall was exposed over the parched soil. Nearby, three hippos crammed in shallow water, which would probably dry up in a few days. With no other water sources nearby, the hippos were facing death.
Some have called for human intervention, saying the natural effects of the drought are felt more by the animals because of the unnatural barriers in their way – fences.
“We monitor the situation but there is very little intervention that can and should be done. We’re trying to manage for a healthy ecosystem, not for healthy animals. With the size of the park, interventions will be small-scale and might not achieve the desired effect. We need to allow nature to take its course,” says Smit.
The drought is the most severe South Africa has experienced since 1991/1992 and it could get worse.
“We are now in a dryer period compared to 1991 and 1992, so it seems that this drought is more severe than the previous one,” he says.
Smit says you can’t predict how long it will take for the area to recover.
“We’ll have to see how it plays out.”
The animals in the Kruger National Park hope its sooner rather than later.

Drought animal

‘We Need To Allow Nature To Take Its Course’

Young, armed shebabs from chosen tribes crammed in on each side of us, boxing us in the middle of the back seat. The sound of locking doors confirmed our kidnapped status. With screeching wheels, the driver made a dangerous U-turn across the oncoming traffic,” says Yolande Korkie as she recalls the car ride that would leave an eternal scar in her life.
South African couple, Korkie and her late husband, Pierre, had relocated to Yemen in 2009, four years before this fateful day. This was the first of the 228 days Korkie would be held hostage by terrorist group Al-Qaeda, near Taiz, Yemen.
For Pierre, it was his last day of freedom as he would be killed during an attempt by US Special Forces to free him and American photographer, Luke Somers, from their Al-Qaeda captors.
Pierre died on his 558th day of captivity.
“Sometimes love doesn’t have fairytale endings,” says Korkie.
The silver lining to the tragedy, if there ever was to be one, was their children, Peter and Lize, being left at their Yemen home at the time of the kidnapping.
“Our daughter was almost with us that afternoon. The electricity supply in Yemen is way worse than here,” says the soft-spoken and reserved Korkie when we meet her at a B&amp;B in Bloemfontein in South Africa’s Free State province.
As she laughs about the scarcity of electricity in Yemen, which she says is available for only about 20 minutes on a lucky day, it is obvious that even through her positivity, she has suffered a lot. Lize was supposed to join them on their trip to town that day but decided against it at the last minute.
“The electricity came on as we walked out the door and she was with us. She said ‘no, no,’ she’s going to stay home because she was going to watch television with her brother. I can’t praise God enough that she couldn’t come,” says Korkie.
This would be the last time their children would ever see their father alive again.
After the Gift of the Givers Foundation assisted with negotiations, Korkie was released and returned to South Africa on January 13, 2014, after 228 days as a hostage. She never once knew the whereabouts of their children during the kidnapping.
“We asked and we pleaded and we wrote letters and nothing. They just kept saying if they kidnapped them they’ll bring them to us. That’s not the answer you want to hear,” says Korkie.
Pierre died without knowing the whereabouts of his children.
Korkie says there was nothing specific that made them Al-Qaeda targets, except for being foreigners. She says their captors thought they were American because in their mindsets all South Africans are black and they were reluctant to believe there were white South Africans.
Korkie went on to describe the war Al-Qaeda militants have declared against America, giving examples of videos they’ve posted openly declaring war.
“Of course their prize would be an American hostage, that would be their number one prize, but any other foreigner would be a good option, a better hostage than any other Yemeni hostage for instance.”
Korkie’s relationship with God has intensified since the tragedy and she says she has chosen to forgive the perpetrators as she doesn’t want to be a “hostage to unforgiveness”. She says that will poison her children and herself and will not take them anywhere.
After falling in love with Yemen and its people, the couple made a decision to relocate to the country to assist with education and humanitarian work. Pierre was a teacher in Yemen and Korkie did relief work in hospitals.
Korkie describes Yemen as an impoverished country, scaling it alongside Ethiopia, saying it is in desperate need of humanitarian aid. Never did she imagine that their good hearts would put them through such a traumatic experience.
A trained psychologist who used to practice before marriage, Korkie says trauma and grieving are a bit different from what the textbook postulates, saying she would love to do research on this one day.
“We’ve got that shock stage and that reality stage and anger. Those are emotions, but they don’t really come in the textbook order. I’m not saying I’m right but this is just from my own experience,” she says.
Korkie describes these emotions as having various levels at various times. She says for days there would be very little emotion and then suddenly, there would be days where she would have constant ups and downs. As time goes by, Korkie says the emotions soften out and the time between them gets longer.
“Mostly I think that grieving is very unique to the person who is going through it. It’s unique because we’re different. Every person will work through it differently. Some will not work through it, some will deny it, some will manage to put it behind and build their way through,” says Korkie.
Her psychology background was a tool that they tried to use while being held hostage, along with other tools they acquired throughout life. Some of them were useful and others didn’t work. She describes the difficulty they faced in communicating with their captors as they needed them for food and medical supplies. They tried building relationships with their captors; some of them showed kindness, some of them didn’t.
Korkie says it’s very important that governments work together with groups that do hostage negotiations as she believes this could have saved her husband’s life.
After not being able to meet the initial ransom of R32.5 million (around $2 million), the Gift of the Givers Foundation managed to negotiate a facilitation fee for Pierre’s release.
Korkie says they made it clear in the media that negotiations were taking place and they even said on Pierre’s official website, two weeks prior to his possible release, that he would probably be home before Christmas. On December 6, 2014, Pierre was killed when US Special Forces tried to free him.
“They [US Government] say they didn’t know so it’s not my position to say that they did know. I’m not going to go into that. It’s for them to know what they did know and didn’t know. What I know is that we made it clear in the media that we were getting ready to get Pierre released. The South African government knew because we were working very close with them and governments talk,” she says.
Korkie says this whole experience has emphasized the importance of family. She says one might never get the chance to say ‘I love you’ to their loved ones again, so today and now is important.
Earlier this year, Korkie published the book 558 Days, which documents her ordeal.
“I want it to stand as the testimony of God’s love. The book stands as quite a bit of our journey together with Pierre, my husband, and it stands as an encouragement to husbands; how their support and outpouring of their love can actually see their wives and their children through a trauma like this.”
Korkie emphasizes families with a kidnapped member need a strong support system. She says families are hostages themselves as they are never free until their loved one returns. Korkie advises those close to those families to show constant support and love.
“Every minute was possibly now the minute he’s going to be released, so the phone was constantly in my hand. It’s as hard for the family as it is for the hostage,” says Korkie.
“The children and I are still on a journey of working through it. We still have moments where it’s very difficult to just comprehend that we have to continue without Pierre. Now that is the greatest challenge. To continue without him, without his support, his love, his friendship, his companionship, he was everything. It’s just the biggest challenge.”

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Free of Captors, Chained by Sorrow

A few months ago, I suddenly found myself dropping to the ground and crouching in long grass with bullets whirring overhead. Minutes earlier, I’d been following a group of pro-Russian fighters conducting a sweep of an area in eastern Ukraine to make sure it was ‘clean’ of the Ukrainian military. For a few frozen moments, my world stood still.
Everything was deathly quiet aside from the frighteningly close cracking of gunfire. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking and the commander was shouting&#8230; Yes, I was afraid.
Last May, I was sitting in a hotel room, warm water lazily filling a bath tub nearby. I switched on my phone and instantly paled. I was just as afraid.
“Scum of the earth”, “f*** her”, “take a knife and pull out all her Russian shit”.
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My Twitter feed had gone into overdrive and as I scrolled down each message, the abuse intensified.
I was on assignment in Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, reporting for the Moscow-based broadcaster, Russia Today. The two countries were at war with each other and a local activist had picked up on my location and started a manhunt – “not just to catch her but to kill her”.
Within hours, I was on a plane out of the country. I arrived at the airport with dark glasses and a scarf. If I hadn’t been so afraid, it might have been funny.
Ukraine is currently the third most dangerous country for journalists to work in. The online harassment I faced, and continue to face, is not unique to Ukraine though, or for that matter, to journalists in general.
But what the threats uniquely focus on is my gender – the fact that I’m a woman – and the explicit threats are of extreme violence to rape and assault me. Most of my so-called online detractors focus their criticism less on my work and more on me.
My experience echoes the stories of other female journalists, writers and bloggers. A staggering 72.5% of online harassment is targeted at women, according to the Organisation for Safety and Co-operation in Europe.
The issue is of such concern that a special panel has been set up to address it. Trolling has become a favorite past-time for people buoyed by the anonymity and safety the online world offers. It is easy to sit in your home and spurt threats at anyone with views you don’t like. Legislation is far from water-tight in preventing it and what gives these words so much power is the incitement they can evoke and the very real possibility for them to be carried out in the real world.
I was in a taxi, lost, in an outlying suburb of Beirut, Lebanon. The driver had been circling the same neighborhoods for more than an hour and it was starting to get dark and I was getting concerned.
In such a situation, GPS tracking is a godsend – not just for finding one’s way but for alerting one’s editors to a possible abduction attempt. Today, journalists are seen as legitimate targets – no longer do we merely cover the story; in many instances we’ve become the story – whether online or in the real world.
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The number one fear we all share is that of being kidnapped. Paradoxically though, while switching on my cellphone’s GPS that day in Beirut and increasing my security, I also decreased it by alerting online detractors as to where I was.
The risks are greater when you’re a woman in the field than a man. In many parts of the world, women journalists are a strange persona for those with preconceived ideas of where a woman’s place should be.
Once, during an embed (term for a journalist attached to a military unit in conflict areas) with American soldiers in the Afghan province of Zabul, a group of children came running after us, laughing and joking. I was weighed down by a bulletproof jacket, helmet and backpack, but through the military sunglasses that kept slipping down my nose I could see the children pointing at my red-painted finger nails.
When we eventually took a breather and I removed my helmet, one of the more courageous boys plucked up the courage to step forward and ask: “Ma’am, do your parents know you’re here?”
All voices need to be heard, whether male or female, whether for or against the views one holds. Courage lies not only in speaking out for what one believes in, but for making sure the views of those we disagree with are given a platform.
– The writer is South African and the Middle East bureau chief of Russia Today. She was reporting for the channel in Kiev when a manhunt started against her and she had to exit.

shutterstock_266430095

‘Catch Her… Kill Her’

Every year, the month of March serves as a special time to reflect on the meaning of International Women’s Day.
In Rwanda, this year’s special month was welcome through a series of events, highlighting the roles played by all our women in the building of our nation, while also celebrating their innovative and entrepreneurial spirits.
The past weeks saw different generations come together to assess the work to be done for the continuous empowerment of our women in our various communities, building on how far we have come.
This was also a time to look back at the dignified Rwandan woman, who more than half a century later, we still remember vividly. The many who were taken away from us, and the last few, who in our darkest times, beautifully drew from the deepest roots of our culture, to keep their families together, and to nurture an abiding love and patriotism for our nation.
These women inspired us to aim for more, to do more, to never lose hope. They were the ones that kept a candle lit in our darkest times, as their star never dimmed in the starkest night. I believe history will always praise the sacrifices they consented for our communities, for their selflessness was not in vain.
The generation of sons and daughters they bore and raised, made the ultimate sacrifice, and shouldered the task of building a new and dignified nation.
It is in fact more than a moral obligation to never forget the high price paid, to be who we are today. We are forever indebted to them for investing in the future of their children and making it the purpose of their lives.
We will forever be grateful and rejoice in their achievements, while drawing pride and lessons from every obstacle they overcame as we continue to work tirelessly for this land to see the peace, respect and dignity all her sons and daughters deserve.
We will never say it enough; our Rwandan woman is truly remarkable! Her essence is made of strength and courage that define her.
Our history is filled with brave women of all ages who refused to be complicit in tearing apart our country, and were not bystanders to injustice and violence but instead they made the difficult but right choice. From the Nyange schoolgirls who paid the ultimate price with their lives, refusing to be separated along ethnic lines; to the wives who stood up against their husbands, refusing to stay silent in the face of the crimes they committed.
I think of women like Rose Mureshyankwano, who for years believed in sectarian ideology but ultimately freed herself from divisive politics. Women raised by those who carefully planned and executed the genocide, who finally broke the cycle of perpetual hatred from one generation to another; to all of those who now call themselves proud daughters of Rwanda.
We also honor the widows, who despite their aching hearts formed new families and cherished the genocide orphans who longed for their warm motherly love. These beloved Rwandan women earned the endearing name, Les Mamans Affection, for finding in them the courage to give some more, after so much had been taken away from them.
These women are indeed much more than a mother, wife, sister and daughter.
This dignified, remarkable, beloved Rwandan woman is the matriarch, pioneer, leader, descended from greatness, who holds high the torch that lights the way for others. She paves the way and weaves the thread to those who need to hear her stories, so they too, will know that within them, lie the tools to resilience.
Through her passion, she engaged us. Through her words, she educated us. Through her actions, she empowered us.
I speak from the heart, when I say we are proud of you, powerful Rwandan woman. You are the rock upon which we have built our foundation and you have now reclaimed your rightful place among the leaders of our country. Unwavering and firm, you lift up your song in synchrony with that of your brothers’ chorus, which for too long had been missing your soft, yet, powerful voice.
The word ‘no’ never stopped you from pushing on to new frontiers, for without your determination, who would the younger ones look up to? Through you, future generations will know that a woman’s worth is equal to any man’s.
So, now and always, we pay tribute to you.
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– The writer, Her Excellency Jeannette Kagame, is the First Lady of the Republic of Rwanda.

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‘A Tribute To Remarkable Rwandan Women’

German Chancellor Angela Merkel invited one of the greatest collections of women leaders ever for a G7 meeting inside her vast concrete-and-glass Chancellery last September. You could find the director of the World Health Organization (Margaret Chan) and the CEO of General Motors (Mary Barra). The prime minister of Norway (Erna Sold berg) and the former prime minister of Denmark (Helle Thorning-Schmidt). A Nobel Peace Prize winner (Liberian President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf) and a queen (Rania of Jordan).
And at a circular table set for about two dozen, sitting directly across from Merkel: a former Microsoft manager turned philanthropist, Melinda Gates.
After Merkel danke schöns her guests and listens to reports on women’s political participation, health and economic empowerment, she opens up the floor. Gates, wearing a fitted inky-blue suit and reading glasses, speaks first, giving a precise, impassioned four-minute address.
“When you get women in roles of leadership, we make things happen,” Gates says. “It takes us using our voice, and it also takes us making investments, huge investments, in women and girls.”
Alone in this room of world leaders, Gates can single-handedly make that happen. Prime ministers have parliaments; CEOs have boards; Melinda Gates has a $41.3 billion endowment, and she can deploy it in pretty much any manner that she and husband Bill, the world’s richest person, see fit.
This represents a personal transformation. For the first decade and a half of its existence, the Bill &amp; Melinda Gates Foundation deployed its remarkable scale toward eradicating polio and malaria, and experimentation in education issues. But over the past few years, Melinda Gates has embraced having her name on the letterhead of the largest-ever charitable foundation, along with the influence that comes with that. She has become the most powerful person on the planet whose singular focus is women and girls.
“I kept looking for the advocate who would champion these issues,” she says over lunch at the iconic Hotel Adlon Kempinski, during a break from Merkel’s forum.
Gates, 51, has the air of a down-to-earth technocrat, traveling without an entourage but rather with reams of data and determination.
“I knew it had to be a woman. We would talk inside the foundation, ‘Could we get this person or that person?’ I considered other women leaders. But I couldn’t find the one who embodied to me the voice of women around the world. And so I thought, ‘If I’m the one, then I just need to do it. I have to have courage and not worry’.”
Women account for six out of 10 of the world’s poorest and two-thirds of the illiterate. “Excessive female mortality” in the developing world, in the parlance of the International Monetary Fund, means some 3.9 million women and girls are “missing” annually: about two-fifths are never born, one-sixth die in early childhood and more than one-third die during their reproductive years.
“What’s the most pressing issue of our time?” asks Gates. “It really is ending poverty in the world. And we know to do that you have to put women and girls at the center.” Poverty is sexist, and Gates is betting billions that it can be stemmed through the gender historically ignored.
Melinda French Gates was born and bred in Dallas, the daughter of an aerospace-engineer father and a homemaker mother who helped run a family rental property business on the side.
“That was literally how they were going to put us through college, and we all knew it,” she says referencing her sister and two younger brothers. On weekends, the kids cleaned and fixed up the rental properties and kept books on the family’s Apple III.
The valedictorian of her all-girls Catholic school and captain of her high school’s drill team, Gates earned a bachelor’s in computer science and economics and an M.B.A. from Duke in five years, consciously shaving a year so she could get into the workforce faster.
“She always knew what she wanted,” says her sister, Susan French. “She just has this confidence within her. Once she sets her eyes on the next project, her next goal, then it’s all out.”
That next project, in 1987, was Microsoft, as a product manager, where the founder famously asked her out in the company parking lot.
“I worked around a lot of really intelligent guys in college because there were very few women,” she says, describing her initial attraction.
“When I look back, Bill was the same kind of guy I was hanging out with in college. I had a lot of respect for them, and they had respect for me. I was definitely attracted to his brilliant mind, but beyond that, his curiosity. And he has a huge sense of fun. I love that wry side of him.”
The couple dated for seven years before marrying in 1994 in Hawaii. In 1996, Gates, now a general manager at Microsoft, became pregnant with their first child, Jennifer, and chose to stay home.
“That was completely her decision,” says Bill Gates. “I was a little surprised, but that really made sense for her. Then came kids two and three.”
Fast-forward two decades: Jennifer is now 19 and a sophomore at Stanford, with Rory, 16, and Phoebe, 13, leaning on Mom increasingly less. Like many mothers staring down an empty nest, Gates went through a period of intense soul-searching. Now what?
And so she began digging ever deeper into the work at the Gates Foundation, which is concentrated primarily on global health and development, and making stunning progress in eradicating polio, malaria and HIV, and promoting vaccines and sanitation. It should be noted, though, that the foundation “has not been a pioneer when it comes to advocating for women’s health,” says Linsey McGoey, author of No Such Thing as a Free Gift: The Gates Foundation and the Price of Philanthropy.
Increasingly, Gates started focusing less on the foundation’s vertical efforts but rather on how to approach what it was already doing horizontally. Specifically, to fund initiatives in these areas that take the world’s most vulnerable women and girls into account. Yes, there was an empathetic component, but Gates looked through the lens of ROI.
Muhammad Yunus won a Nobel Peace Prize for microloan practices that targeted women in the developing world, recognizing they’re more likely to steward money effectively and channel it into the family. Bill Gates has saved tens of thousands of lives through immunization efforts; Melinda Gates began to encourage grants that took into account that women are more likely than men to take their kids to get immunized.
<div id="attachment_31859" style="width: 1034px" class="wp-caption alignnone"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-31859" class="wp-image-31859 size-large" src="http://www.forbesafrica.com/app/uploads/2017/05/FO121415_062-1024x683.jpg" alt="" width="1024" height="683" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FO121415_062.jpg 1024w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FO121415_062-300x200.jpg 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FO121415_062-600x400.jpg 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/FO121415_062-768x512.jpg 768w" sizes="(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px" />&#8221;Women’s issues are the hard issues.”</div>
“When I was first at the foundation I thought of women’s issues as the ‘soft issues,’ and I didn’t want to be seen as soft,” says Gates. “In fact, it’s just the opposite. Women’s issues are the hard issues. You want to get at violence or child marriage? Those are hard. Warren [Buffett] always says you have to swing for the fences.”
Melinda Gates’ public coming out also traces to Berlin. For years, even as she worked at the foundation, she guarded her privacy. (“Bill was already a public figure, so I knew what that half looked like.”) But eventually she decided that advocacy for a cause means putting your face out there.
“I tell my daughters to have their voice in this world, and it became clear I needed to role-model that.”
So three years ago, she came to Germany to give a TedX talk focusing on family planning and universal birth control access. Her original $70-million-a-year commitment was doubled three months later, and she just announced an additional $120 million.
Welcome to the limelight, Melinda. The Vatican’s office newspaper, under Pope Benedict XVI, published a front page headline, “Birth Control and Disinformation: The Risks of Philanthropy”, that accused her of spreading lies. A tough rebuke for a Catholic who says she prays or meditates daily (“whatever you want to call it”).
“It’s a really uncomfortable place to go,” says Gates. “To talk about sex, reproduction, tools. But these were things we were talking about inside the foundation.”
And Gates learned two valuable lessons. First, that when she speaks, by dint of her conviction and resources, the world listens.
“In giving voice to family planning, once I saw we could actually move resources on the global stage, I thought, ‘There are other women’s issues I have to take on’.”
Second, she could take a punch. “They say how mistaken Mrs. Gates was, and she must have been misled by the people who wanted to make money selling reproductive health tools,” says Bill Gates. In response he gave her the newspaper as a gift, which she keeps framed in her office at the foundation’s Seattle headquarters. “I gave her a copy because she decided she would speak up and deal with the controversy. It’s a complex area, but she took it on.”
Those who watch the foundation reject the idea that Melinda operates as a number two to Bill’s number one. “Anyone who’s paying attention understands that she’s playing a leading role,” says Aaron Dorfman of the National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy, a watchdog for the sector.
“We certainly weren’t working as equals when we started together,” says Melinda Gates. “I was down several levels at Microsoft, and he was the CEO. We’ve had to change to really be coequals. It’s not something that immediately happens overnight, but we’re both committed to it. We needed to talk behind the scenes when it wasn’t working. But I think that’s come now.
“We literally hand meetings and issues to one another, and we’re very comfortable about when to make a decision without the other one and when we should do it together. And the together isn’t always because of a dollar issue. It’s more about, ‘Will the other person care about this decision as much as I do?’ ”
“Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve always had a partner,” says Bill Gates. “In the early days of Microsoft it was Paul Allen who helped come up with the ideas and build the early things. Then it became Steve Ballmer, who I met at college and came in and helped run the company and made it super successful. Now it’s Melinda at the foundation.”
She carries the same title as her husband: cofounder and cochair. (Bill’s dad is another cochair and Warren Buffett, who is funnelling his fortune into the foundation, serves as cotrustee.)
“She and Bill are the final deciders,” adds Susan Desmond-Hellmann, the foundation’s CEO, who started in 2014. “The approval process that starts with annual budgets and strategies involves the two of them as equal partners.”
Gates’ family planning initiatives quickly segued to those who got pregnant, specifically maternal and prenatal health. Once you spend time there, infant health is a natural extension. Then a commitment to expand educational opportunities for girls. And what are these young women supposed to do when they get out of school? Gates understands most aren’t going to get paid to work in developing countries. So she’s green-lit numerous programs that encourage micro-entrepreneurship, such as small-plot farming and mobile banking.
The result is a cradle-to-motherhood suite of initiatives for women and girls. The foundation doesn’t break out how much it spends in this area, mostly because it was so woven into its $3.9 billion in outlays in 2014. And it measures how each program specifically helps women and girls.
For example, the foundation backs M-KOPA, a Kenya-based organization that manufactures solar-powered lamps. On paper it’s a gender-neutral program providing the kind of personal power supply that relieves off-the-grid families of the costs and dangers of kerosene lamps. But it disproportionately helps girls, who often do homework at night after a day of chores.
Another partner, GSMA, brings mobile money accounts to the underbanked. Again, a bigger deal for women – just 37% in developing countries hold bank accounts, and many are intentionally excluded from formal financial systems.
“When you go on the ground, in places in India or inner Bangladesh, you kind of don’t want to hear what the women tell you,” she says. “But when you really sit and take it all in, you later go, ‘Oh my God, they’re right’. And this group of women helped me realize that all these other issues I see in the developing world, those issues need to be addressed, too. They’re all part and parcel of the same thing.”
The Gates Foundation is also keen on funding pilots in this area: Successes are rewarded with more money; failures are learning opportunities. Megan White Mukuria is typical. She founded Kenya-based ZanaAfrica Group, an initiative focused on sanitary pads. Girls in many low-income countries stay away from school during their period or even drop out, with numbers as high as one in 10 in Africa.
ZanaAfrica’s grant timeline neatly follows the arc of the foundation’s gender focus. After a $100,000 test phase grant in 2011 to develop sanitary pads from local materials such as bamboo or jute, Mukuria was turned down for a Phase 2 proposal to test distribution strategies and approaches to health education. That “no” went to “maybe yes” two months later and turned into a definite $1 million three months after that. Late 2015, ZanaAfrica received a $2.6 million grant.
“They [the Gates Foundation] initially couldn’t fund the scale-up because sanitary pads are outside their mandate in sanitation, which is all about the toilet,” Mukuria says. “But they literally just winked at each other and said, ‘We have to do this’. And if they didn’t do it, nobody would.”
Expect more such grants in 2016 through a loquaciously named program: the Putting Women and Girls at the Center of Development Challenge. Some 20 awardees will net more than $20 million in grants aimed at gender-specific projects. Small money for Gates but a signal that she’s opening up to groups that see women and girls as the primary goal rather than a beneficial by-product, and a first step toward what Gates hopes might be a clearinghouse for those looking to help in this area.
“Everyone tries to read the tea leaves to understand what’s going to be in favor or out of favor,” says Dorfman, the philanthropy watchdog, “and many groups adjust their work plans accordingly.” That dovetails with a consistent criticism of the Gates Foundation—that it wields too much power and makes too many decisions in an echo chamber.
“Whether Mr. and Mrs. Gates prefer it that way or not,” says the author McGoey, “there’s this perception that the strong directional influence played by the executives is something to be celebrated rather than seen potentially as a cause for problems.”
“My experience has been that she [Melinda] likes to get [others’] views,” says Desmond-Hellmann. “We have people at the foundation who have spent their entire careers on a technical area, say, somebody’s done tuberculosis their whole life.” Asked if anyone says no to Melinda Gates, she laughs. “People do say, ‘Yes, that’s not possible.’ That’s more likely than no.”
“[We are accountable] to the people of the world, honestly,” adds Gates. “I do hope that at the end of our lives somebody will look back and say, ‘Melinda and Bill set out to change the world on behalf of poor people. Did they? Are more kids alive because of the work they did? Are fewer people getting malaria? Are more women getting contraceptives?’ That’s who we are accountable to.”
Back in Berlin, after a state dinner at the Chancellery, Gates heads off to her private jet. Across town from the airport and a world apart from the halls of power she just left is a government complex where thousands of Syrians and other refugees are waiting to register for asylum.
It’s impossible to ignore all the women tending to overstretched strollers filled with little ones and a life’s detritus sagging in plastic bags. They have their own tent for privacy, including nursing. Men stand in overcrowded lines, anxious to be called to sign up for IDs, funds and services. Having trekked all the way to Berlin, the refugees have nothing to do now but wait.
“When you see a picture of a child washed up on the beach — or a mother — so many of the faces you see are women,” she says. “And even if they get across the border, they’re put into camps, which are especially horrible for women in terms of the violence and rape. They’re disproportionately affected. So my heart breaks. It’s not a small heartbreak, it’s a huge heartbreak.”
The Gates Foundation is engineered to move quickly — the couple has dictated that all assets must be put to work and the organization wound down within 20 years of the last cofounder’s passing. So Gates is investing some $17.5 million around the Middle East refugee crisis — an investment that the world sees as alleviating suffering, and that Melinda Gates sees as another step in improving the lives of poor women.
The article first appeared in the December 14, 2015 issue of FORBES. The year references have been accordingly changed.

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THE FIRST WOMAN OF Women

She was destined to be a teacher but fate had grander plans for the young Graça Simbine. Born in 1945 in rural Mozambique, the youngest of six children, she survived the dismal conditions of Portuguese colonial rule, and rose to being one of the most influential women on the continent.
However, ambition distinguished her early on. A prodigy, Simbine consistently found herself at the top of her class at the missionary schools she attended. Her academic talent led her to become one of the first Mozambican women to win a scholarship to study at the University of Lisbon in 1968 where she focused on German Philosophy and Linguistics.
Moved by the plight of those she left behind during her time in Europe, she became increasingly politicized and began campaigning for the independence movement back in Mozambique. Courting the attention of Portuguese authorities and facing arrest, she eventually abandoned her studies to join FRELIMO [Frente de Libertação de Moçambique or the Mozambique Liberation Front], a political movement that retains substantial popular support to date. Her first posting was as teacher at a school run by the movement in Tanzania where she taught languages and served as deputy headmistress.
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Respected by her peers and senior officers, as a courageous and articulate member of the movement, Simbine found herself taking on greater responsibility within the movement. On one of those assignments, stationed in Mozambique in 1973, she met Samora Machel, then commander with FRELIMO. They married a year later.
Her standing within the movement earned her an appointment as the country’s first post-independence Education Minister. She held the post for over a decade. During that time, she put in place the foundations of Mozambique’s education system. One of her achievements was pushing primary school enrolment rates from 40% to over 90% for boys and 75% for girls, an absolute increase of 1.5 million pupils nationwide. Today, she remains deeply passionate about ensuring universal access to education for every child, not only in Mozambique but across the globe.
For Machel, education is not merely a right, it is the means to a greater end; political and economic liberation.
“I believe that education is freedom, and it must provide our children with the skills they need to become who they want to be,” she said at a press conference announcing the launch of the African Leadership University (ALU) in Mauritius last month.
Machel believes education for every child is within reach and, despite resource constraints, Africa is capable of providing world-class education to its professional and leadership cadres.
As an experienced policy-maker, Machel understands the importance of strong institutions in addressing intractable social challenges. Social institutions, Machel believes, must be designed to evenly empower citizens to achieve their individual and collective conditions. The challenges within the higher education system in Africa are only symptoms of a system that needs to be rethought.
“There is something quite courageous in interrogating the kind of education we’ve been providing our young people. Our children today are learning the same things that I was taught when I was in school in the 1950s. We never took the time to reimagine our education,” she says.
Commenting on the recent turbulence in South African universities, Machel points out that it is evidence of a systemic rather than a philosophical problem.
“This is not an emotional issue, it’s an issue of economics, it’s an issue of social justice. It is not only about higher education, but all the way down to early childhood development. This is the only reasonable way to look at it. There is a danger of #FeesMustFall playing against the students themselves. There is an issue on deciding who gets the benefits of the new system. We have not yet done the math.”
Machel’s voice on the issue matters.
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She has served as a Chancellor at the University of Cape Town and as President of the prestigious School of Oriental and African Studies in London. Her argument also makes sense. For an education system to fully play its social role, it must also be accessible to as many people as possible at every stage. The trick is to strike a balance.
“There are only about 100,000 [South Africans] in university today. What about the millions who need to go to secondary school, primary school or kindergarten? We haven’t navigated the mathematics of such a system. You can’t give to tertiary education without taking away from something else.”
Machel is confident transformative solutions exist and only need to be developed. She is currently focusing her energies on the newly-established ALU that is seeking to position itself as the premier leadership education institution in Africa.
“It’s important to look at the future of our continent in the eyes of the human capability that we have. Take the faces and voices of the young people who will come through these doors, we have to present them to Africa and then to the rest of the world,” she says.
ALU is built on “a resource efficient model that pioneers technology and innovative learning to provide high-quality tertiary education at scale”. The university plans to build 25 campuses that would each host 250,000 students each.
But even at those numbers, Machel argues that the university will only address a small portion of the continent’s education needs.
If the challenge today is to provide a solution at scale, Machel reflects, the long-term challenge is to develop institutions that are distinctively African, designed to solve the problems of today but constructed to stand the test of time.

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‘Education Is Freedom’

At 19, she shot down a helicopter, she married a general at 23, became the youngest female cabinet minister at 30 and rose to the country’s number two position, in 2004, next to President Robert Mugabe. This is the story of the rise, fall and possible recovery of Joice Mujuru: politician; entrepreneur; PhD holder; a woman also known by her nom-de-guerre, Teurai Ropa (spill the blood) who now wants to unseat her former comrades in arms.
“She adds excitement and momentum to an otherwise dull political terrain dominated by a ZANU-PF factionalism chaos on one side and many weak splinter comical groupings of opposition parties and pretenders on the other side,” says political economist Maxwell Saungweme.
Mujuru’s life began with rifle in hand. She went to the bush, after two years of secondary school, to train as a guerrilla fighter in Mozambique in 1973.
Mujuru, from Mount Darwin, 99 miles from Zimbabwe’s capital Harare, rose through the ranks of ZANLA (Zimbabwe African National Liberation Army), the military wing of liberation movement ZANU (Zimbabwe African National Union). She became one of its first women commanders.
At independence, in 1980, Mugabe appointed her the youngest cabinet minister, responsible for sports, youth and recreation. He encouraged her to finish secondary school while she learned the ropes of government.
The next three decades were fulfilling and full of power. On her way to becoming the deputy president, she held a number of ministerial portfolios.
It was her time at the telecommunications portfolio that would cement her place among ZANU-PF (Zimbabwe African National Union-Patriotic Front) hardliners and make enemies with moderates like the late vice president Joshua Nkomo. She tried to deny millionaire Strive Masiyiwa, Zimbabwe’s richest man, an operating license for his mobile network Econet.
Many will never forgive her for questioning Nkomo’s mental faculties when he supported Masiyiwa. Masiyiwa’s Econet went on to win a court battle but it set back his company years. It left the government looking lumbering and out of touch.
There was talk of her becoming the first female president as she had the backing of her feared husband and kingmaker, General Solomon Mujuru. General Mujuru was killed in an inferno on August 15, 2011 at his Alamein Farm in Zimbabwe. Many believe he was a victim of ZANU-PF internal infighting.
It all turned sour in 2014 when Mugabe fired her. Comrades, who for years talked of her bringing down a helicopter with an AK-47 rifle, turned against her and the story. Mugabe’s wife, Grace, increasingly active in politics, called her a witch, thief, liar and undeserving of a place in ZANU-PF.
If anything, Mujuru is a fighter. She wants to unseat Mugabe with her new political party, Zimbabwe People First – the second PF party in the country. She believes someone should stop Mugabe’s quest to rule, in his own words, “until Jesus comes” and her party will seek to do just that. This move enraged Mugabe and his close associates who went on the attack.
Cabinet minister and propagandist, Professor Jonathan Moyo, who many call the loyal son Mugabe never had, has savaged Mujuru.
Moyo tweeted that, to call this ‘gamatox-trio’ (pseudonym given to the faction Mujuru allegedly led while in the ZANU-PF) a political party yet ZANU-PF expelled it in 2014 for factionalism is the joke of the year.
Mujuru was expelled with veterans Didymus Mutasa and Rugare Gumbo.
“Without the late General Mujuru’s name and without President Mugabe, Joice is politically nothing. She knows this as we do. The idea that Joice Mujuru can succeed where the inimitable Edgar Tekere [former liberation hero] failed is daydreaming,” says Moyo.
After 15 months of speculation and secret meetings, Mujuru confirmed her plans, launching a new political outfit in March.
“We confirm the existence of a viable home-grown inclusive political party. The unjust system that Zimbabwean masses fought against remains a noose around our necks as that [colonial] system. We are living under an unjust system. There is selective application of the law, one for the poor and the powerless, one for the rich and the powerful, one for opposition party supporters and one for ruling party supporters. Zimbabwe requires investor-friendly and market-driven policies to stimulate economic activity and in order to realize this to happen, one of the challenges that should be uprooted is corruption,” said Mujuru launching her party.
Saungweme concedes Mujuru represents change.
“She represents hope to many, and her seeming rebellion from ZANU-PF portrays her as a strong woman capable of changing things. However, an apple does not fall far from the tree. She is ZANU-PF at heart. Her veins have ZANU-PF blood. She is likely to act and behave in the manner ZANU-PF does.”
The country’s main opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), led by Morgan Tsvangirai, welcomed Mujuru to the opposition ranks.
“Our political adversary is the faction-ridden ZANU-PF party that has ruined Zimbabwe’s economy through decades of unparalleled misgovernance, thievery and rampant corruption,” says MDC spokesperson Obert Gutu.
Mujuru’s newfound human rights rhetoric doesn’t convince everyone, especially those who suffered on her watch. This might see her party struggling as Western donors might see her as a recycled ZANU-PF leader and spoiler.
Tafadzwa Musekiwa is one of the exiled former MDC legislators. He left Zimbabwe after his life came under threat from Mugabe’s regime. He believes Mujuru is no different to her former boss.
“This Mujuru praising nonsense must just stop. I witnessed the worst violence in Mt Darwin [a region where Mujuru comes from], the violence that completely changed how I view violence and violent people. For anyone to tell me Joice is their choice is exactly the same as saying ZANU-PF is their preferred party,” said Musekiwa on his Facebook wall.
Nqobani Ndlovu, a Zimbabwean journalist, says Mujuru’s 34 years in ZANU-PF is a stain that can’t be removed.
“Shaking off her ‘dark’ past with ZANU-PF and proving to the electorate that she truly is a social democrat will make or break her,” he says.
Whatever happens, Zimbabwe’s 2018 elections will be a thriller and will certainly make history. Mujuru could be Zimbabwe’s first female president; Tsvangirai could become the first Zimbabwean opposition leader to unseat Mugabe; and for the man himself, Mugabe, he could become the first 94-year-old to win an election.

ZIMBABWE-POLITICS-MUJURU

Will It Make  Or Break Her?

It was the best of times. It was a time when anything seemed possible; a time when hope blew through the tall blue gum trees like the gentle autumn breeze that wafted us along the road. We were on our way to a military base – a place where you don’t usually look for silver linings. Maybe we were just younger and the world looked better.
It was April 1994 and behind the barbed wire and automatic weapons of this army base in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, there was a story that could have gladdened the heart of anyone sick of war. At this camp one of the symbolic last rites were going to be said over one of the nastier running wars of sub-Saharan Africa – or was that nastier running sores? At last, the days of surveillance, killings, and torture were over.
By the end of this day, former foes would swap stories of war over a cold beer in a new, unified, South African army; a few days later, on April 27, these soldiers would help make history. They were at polling stations as millions of South Africans lined up across the country to vote in the first delicate democratic elections that would bury nearly 350 years of minority rule.
Hope was in abundance in those crazy days in Harare. It had been the home for many political exiles from South Africa for decades. Furthermore, it seemed to be the last stop-off point for returning exiles in their sneakers and baseball caps.
“I’m going home to run my country,” they would say, in the bars of Harare, in accents more Los Angeles than Langlaagte. Most were well educated and well versed; but I always noticed a little uncertainty in their faces when they spoke of a country many had never seen.
It all seemed so fresh then. The chance of a new start for one of the most tormented countries in Africa; a bountiful country about to throw off the shackles of sanctions and reap the rewards of an avalanche of post-apartheid investment – the rainbow nation in waiting.
This gathering at the army base in Harare paved the way for the historic elections. Soldiers of Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK) – the military wing of the African National Congress and APLA, the army of the Pan Africanist Congress – were preparing for election duty. It was likely to be difficult and dangerous task – as the soldiers drilled in Harare, bombs were going off in Johannesburg. Armed groups of all creeds and colors threatened to hurl South Africa into a civil war. The elections threatened to be a bloodbath.
Many thought it was too late to train troops for an election days away. That is what I asked the then head of MK, Siphiwe Nyanda, who was to become head of the new South African army and later a cabinet minister.
“We will be ready,” he smiled.
In the ranks on that day were a number of white South African troops who were going to have to fall in, in the new army, with black guerrilla fighters they once had been paid to kill.
“As long as they can reject their racism, we can work together,” said one of the battle-hardened guerrillas of his new white comrades.
Then there was the training. Military instructors spent hours instructing the former guerrillas how to thwart the very incursions and bombings that they had been carrying out for decades. Everyone was enthusiastic with one eye on a brighter future as poachers enthusiastically turned gamekeepers.
As the last beers were drained in the golden sunset and the troops climbed onto the back of trucks there was a feeling of camaraderie; almost an end-of-term levity about it. Former foes were to become the midwives of a new democracy.
Days later, we watched the pictures of millions casting their votes for the first time. The soldiers, trained in Harare, were vigilant; it is one of the small miracles of Africa that there was no violence as votes were cast.
On May 10, we watched again as helicopters carrying the new South African flag flew low over the Union Buildings in Pretoria to the cheers of thousands.
“Never, never and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another and suffer the indignity of being the skunk of the world,” Nelson Mandela said to the world.
As we all watched with broad smiles, Norman Mahaja, our sound recordist on the Harare military base story, brought us crashing down to earth.
“I want to go down south and earn the rand now,” he said.
“Why?”
“Before it becomes like the Zimbabwe dollar.”

Guerrillas Turned Gamekeepers On A Day Of Hope

The South African economy may be struggling but football remains big business in the country with the Premier Soccer League (PSL) expanding its reach outside of the continent.
The increased pulling power of the league has been more evident over the last 18 months with many high-profile acquisitions by the country’s leading clubs.
The most intriguing of these was the capture by SuperSport United of South African international midfielder Dean Furman, who has grabbed the chance to become part of an ambitious project at the Pretoria club.
At the age of 27, Furman is a player reaching his prime, but instead of pushing to grow his reputation in Europe, he has instead opted for a more lucrative contract in South Africa.
Furman is one of a number of players from outside of Africa that have pledged their future to the South African domestic game. What started as a trickle 18 months ago has turned into something of a rush, at two clubs at least.
The New Zealand international trio of Jeremy Brockie and Michael Boxall (both SuperSport), as well as Kris Bright (Wits) have arrived. As has Australian Isaka Cernak at SuperSport, Portuguese junior international, Jucie Lupeta, and most recently Englishman James Keene, both of whom play at Wits.
And then there is the return to the PSL of experienced defender Bongani Khumalo, to SuperSport for the first half of the season and, since January, Wits. His failure to get a work permit in England was a deciding factor, though there were other offers elsewhere in Europe.
The new arrivals have had varying degrees of success. Cernak and Bright have especially struggled to adapt to the local game, but the rest have added value to their teams.
Furman remains the most high-profile of the new arrivals though, having come through the junior ranks at English giants Chelsea, made his professional debut for top Scottish club Glasgow Rangers and captained his country at an African Nations Cup finals.
Born in Cape Town, his early years were spent in the plush surroundings of Camps Bay before his parents immigrated to England when he was five. Four years later, he was scouted by Chelsea playing for his local club and joined their academy.
His next move involved a future Liverpool manager and a Scottish great.
“I was coming to the end of my apprenticeship at Chelsea and was unsure whether I would be kept on,” says Furman. “Throughout my time at Chelsea, the youth coaches had been really supportive of me. One of them, Brendan Rodgers, had a link at Celtic, which was [former Scotland star] Tommy Burns, and so I spent a week training there.”
“After that I had a week at Glasgow Rangers as well. I really enjoyed both experiences and would have been happy to sign for either club. But Rangers moved faster I guess and I committed to them.”
Furman made his senior debut for his new club in 2008, two years after joining the club, but felt his fortunes lay in England, despite being offered a new contract by the Scottish side and after a successful loan spell at fourth-tier Bradford City, joined Oldham Athletic a division above.
He immediately hit it off with coach Paul Dickov, so much so that he was handed the captaincy of the side for the 2011/12 season, just days past his 23rd birthday, making him the youngest skipper among England’s 92 league clubs for that season.
“I think Paul Dickov could see a bit of himself in me,” says Furman.
At the end of the first season, the captain had moved on and Dickov was looking for someone else to take the leadership role.
“It was a great honor and a great responsibility for me at a young age. But I think that is just the way I am. Whether I am wearing the captain’s armband or not I try and get the best out of my teammates. It is something that comes quite naturally to me.”
A move to Doncaster Rovers would follow, initially on loan and then permanently in 2013 as Furman sought to perform at a higher level.
He did compete in the English Championship with Rovers and did not look out of place, despite their relegation in the 2013/14 season.
He turned down the offer of a new contract at the club at the end of the last campaign and had a trial with Championship club Blackburn Rovers, where he received glowing praise from the club’s management, but who ultimately opted to sign players in other positions they felt needed greater cover.
Furman had long been linked with the South African PSL ever since he made his debut for Bafana Bafana under Gordon Igesund against Brazil in 2012. Now with options to consider on the table, the best of these were from SuperSport United, a club with substantial financial backing and ambition.
“It wasn’t an easy decision, purely based on having to move to another country and the affect that would have on my girlfriend and our families,” he says.
“But [SuperSport CEO] Stan Matthews came over and outlined his vision for the club. I spoke to a lot of people about the team and the PSL and ultimately we decided to experience something new.”
Furman says he and his girlfriend have settled in well and believes there are a number of factors why the PSL is becoming a more attractive league for players from outside the continent.
“The legacy from the [2010] World Cup has really put the spotlight on South African football. And there is some real talent over here with exciting players, so it is great to watch and be involved in. The facilities are world-class too.”
Also, there is no doubt that tougher financial conditions among European clubs means more players will be looking for opportunities outside of the continent.
“There are a lot of really good players scratching around looking for a club. Financially, teams have tightened up so good players have been released to cut wage bills and it is becoming more difficult therefore to win a good contract at a good club because there is so much competition.”
It is for that reason that Furman, while just reaching his prime as a player, is already thinking about life after retirement.
“I have got a couple of properties in the UK and am also doing my dissertation for a sports science degree. Your career ends very early in life and so you need to think about the next 50 years.”
The rude financial health of the PSL should make those 50 years easier for Furman.

Home, hale  And Hearty

As a towering, grey-haired, ex-cricketer gets out of his sedan at Ottawa Primary School, the tiny girls in brown tunics and boys in white shirts and grey pants, race towards him chanting: “coach! coach! coach!” High fives all round. Joy fills the swarm of youngsters and the old man smiles.
This is the reception for cricketing legend Mike Procter at this school in Phoenix, an Indian suburb north-west of Durban. The Ottawa children are from a poverty-stricken township called Zwelitsha (the new world in Zulu), on the bushy hillside of the settlement. Procter drives 20 kilometers, from the swimming pools and sprinklers of Durban north, to coach at the school. He has done this for the past four years, four days a week and three hours a day.
It is 10AM and break-time. The school serves around 1,100 children their first meal of the day, probably the last of the day for many. They gobbled down their rice and mashed potatoes with one eye on the cricket pitch; the Grade Fives rush to the rough field outside the school for the first practice session. There are so many that hour-long sessions are held for each grade. Procter works with two coaches: Rodney Malamba and Rocky Mgobhozi; taking charge of children aged between five and 16.
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“We had one girl who picked up a bat for the first time and hit the ball on the off side. Mostly, kids just swipe at it, but she played almost a proper cricket shot. Rodney and I looked at each other. The hairs on our necks stood up,” says Procter.
When Procter came to the school, he built bowling nets but the sessions grew so popular. There were too many children for nets. They are disused with long grass growing around. On the football field, oblivious of the frustrations of the coaches, the boys and girls raced up and down the field and Mgobhozi knocks catches. He seemed happy with the improvement and eagerness.
Three weeks into the beginning of the first school term in January, Procter laments how the school had to go on teaching despite the failure of the government to deliver the quarterly food supply. The Mike Procter Foundation fed the children for two weeks. There was also help from England cricket fans touring South Africa for the test series. They gave £2,000 ($2,800) from their own pockets but this will last no more than six months.
“The foundation is here to help with everything; it is not really about cricket but the development of a child. Once you have been with them you do realize that they are in need… We took 16 of these children to the South Africa and Australia test match at Kingsmead – something they have never experienced before,” says Procter, the South Africa’s former coach and selector.
The life Procter lived is a world away from the children he is trying to help. He went to the best schools and matriculated at Hilton College, a private boys’ boarding school in Durban.
“I had all the opportunities, I had everything I could ask for when I was their age. But they have absolutely nothing. Some of them have only one meal a day,” says Procter.
Malamba, a former Natal Cricket Union (now KZN Dolphins) fast bowler and Procter’s friend, brought him to the school in 2012. They coached together at Natal, where Malamba retired as a first-class cricketer in the 1980s. The Cape Town-born Malamba played club cricket in England. Since his return in 1987, Malamba, whose father, Ben, played professional cricket in the fifties, has been running his academy in Durban.
In his playing days, Procter was the sought after star all-rounder and devastating wicket taker who started his career with Natal in the early 1960s. Through apartheid, his international career was cut off in its prime as South Africa was isolated from world sport. He played seven tests for his country, against Australia, between 1967 and 1970. Aged 23, Procter went to play in England for Gloucestershire in county cricket for 13 years – supporters used to call the county Proctershire.
When South Africa was readmitted to international cricket, in 1991, Procter was appointed the national team coach, and then an International Cricket Council match referee. In 2009, Procter lost his job as the chairman of selectors of the Proteas, but started the foundation to introduce the sport to poor communities in Durban.
A business friend approached Procter with idea to adopt a school, to train cricketers, and promised to fund the project. He agreed and reached out to Malamba to recommend a school. Ottawa was identified and a first group of children started. But the businessman disappeared, leaving Procter disappointed and bereft.
“I broke the news to Rodney. He told me if we back off with the project, we will be breaking hearts of many children. Rodney said exactly what I was thinking. I was not prepared to abandon the children. The seed was already planted,” says Procter.
We caught up with the 50-year-old Malamba on the makeshift football field outside the school premises. A decade ago, Malamba saw the children walking to school and a few were run down by cars on to their way.
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“Life is like a house. You don’t build it from top to bottom, you begin with a formidable foundation. These kids here are not what they used to be when they first came to school, cricket has changed their attitude to life; they may not end up being cricketers but something in life. That’s how sport changes people’s lives,” says Malamba.
At the end of the last session, Malamba kneels down to pack the bats and wickets in his bag; young cricketers circle him, with some playing imaginary cricket shots in the air. Malamba is well aware; it takes time and patience to polish these diamonds. He sees his young, eager self in them and wants them to have the chance to change their lives.

Chief Destroyer Turns Gentle Coach

There is a movement that focuses on ‘consistently contributing to building a peaceful and better world by educating youth through sport practiced in accordance with Olympism and its values’. This is the Olympic Movement. There is no better place to see it than in the Athletes’ Village.
Home to more than 10,500 of the world’s best athletes, from 206 countries, all living in harmony and competing against each other, the Village is a vision of what this ‘better world’ would look like. It demonstrates that unity in diversity is not just an idea, but a possibility.
One of my favorite moments at the Olympics is arriving at the Athletes’ Village. The 206 flags towering over us greet us with a splash of color, representing different languages and cultures from around the world.
Arriving at my first Olympics in Sydney in 2000, I remember trying to take everything in at once and desperately wishing for a glimpse of anyone famous. Excitement is rampant; everywhere you look, photos are being taken and fingers are pointing. Some athletes stare in bewilderment or talk with no sense of purpose, while others have tears streaming down their faces. There are shrieks of delight as the younger athletes spot their first celebrity athlete. There is laughter as the older ones remember how they felt at their first Olympics. The wind in the flags, thrill of the athletes and the vibrant anticipation in the air generates an energy that will hum until the Olympic flame is extinguished and the last athlete leaves the Village.
There is a deeper purpose than just us athletes competing for the world to see and the Olympic Truce Wall reminds us of this. Positioned near the entrance among the flags, the Wall is a symbol for all athletes, coaches, team officials and heads of state to sign as a public declaration to observe and promote peace. At the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, I signed the Wall with UN General Secretary Ban Ki-moon after he reiterated the importance of our responsibilities.
“We are joining our forces together for our shared ideals: sustainability, universality, solidarity, non-discrimination, the fundamental equality of all people,” said Ban.
This equality is what the Olympic Movement – portrayed in the Athletes’ Village – aims to achieve. Every athlete here has the same access to the same resources. We all sleep in similar apartments, train in the same 24-hour world-class gym, have access to the clinic (doctors, dentists, physical therapists, and in-house pharmacy), we ride the same buses to our venues, and eat the same food at the same tables in the same 24,000-square-meter dining hall. Everything provided for all the athletes here is  free. If this is overwhelming and the stress is too much then there is an Athletes’ Area filled with video games, billiards, table tennis, a music area and a mini movie theater to unwind.
As a swimmer, I thought I got up early. That is until I see the boxers drenched in sweat from their morning run or taekwondo athletes going through their routines. Watching the speed walkers train is always interesting, as is guessing which country athletes are from by trying to identify their team kit. The Village is big and it bustles with an endless movement of athletes training, chatting on benches in the landscaped park, or walking to and from the dining hall. Serving about 60,000 meals a day is no joke, athletes like to eat! The dining hall is the most frequented area and a place where you could find yourself (like I did during the London Olympics in 2012) having lunch with younger athletes, sitting next to Roger Federer and laughing at something Kobe Bryant was doing.
This is the culture the Village creates by bringing all of us together on an equal platform. It is also an essential part of a young athlete’s life because they are exposed to such an elite level of athletes which they may never have had access to. I saw Muhammad Ali when he visited the Village in Sydney and this left an indelible impression on me.
We may play different sports, wear different colors, believe in different things and speak different languages but we all have the same determination, the same goal and share the same fact that no one here has given up. Some of my fiercest competitors are my best friends, despite our different backgrounds, because we can find common ground in our goals and challenges and use it to get stronger. Unity in diversity is more than just a possibility, it is a necessity for our survival. In this Village there is no judgment, only encouragement. This is the Olympic spirit.

Hopes, Dreams And Rising Costs

This will be the next village of tears, dreams and heroes

I have seen entrepreneurs mess up relationships with key people because of ignorance and the need for immediate gratification.
There are three types of relationships you will develop when you take the entrepreneurship journey. The first is personal relationships, mostly with your family and friends. The second is relationships with key people who help you get things done, such as colleagues, business partners and associates.  The third are strategic relationships with people who have experienced the success that you are aiming to achieve. These are the people that usually take the role of mentors and coaches; they will show you the ropes in business.
The third relationship is probably the most interesting and the most important. These are the people who you can have coffee with and bounce  ideas off of. They can give you advice on deals you are involved in, and if you’re lucky they will pick up a phone and call their golfing buddy to assist you. Basically, they will provide a link for you with people that will make your business more successful.
When you meet one of these people, you must be careful not to jeopardize the relationship. One of the biggest mistakes you can make is to ask for money from the offset. This is a subject that should be avoided by all means in the first meeting, unless the meeting was called for the specific purpose of funding.
The truth is the best financiers are often mentors. It is likely they will have known you for some time, and will have observed your progress. If they are impressed by your business, they will want to fund your company.
An open secret is that if a businessman admires your business, and you ask them for advice, you will eventually emerge with funding if that is what you need.
Almost everyone that meets a successful person is looking to get something out of them. You need to take a different approach to the majority of other people they meet. You need to stand out; they are more likely to help you if they can remember you and your ideas. Remember that most successful people are happy to talk freely about their story and give advice to anyone willing to listen.
My call to fellow African entrepreneurs is to build relationships before you try to extract value out of them. It’s would be even better if you are able to first to offer value to the would-be-mentor before you ask them for favours.
This is the secret that has the ability to take businesses to the next level. This is the reason that large corporations hire a professional who is responsible for managing relationships. Some companies even have what is called an entertainment budget, to cater to potential clients and the established clients. This money will look after them and in turn it will look after your income.
Daniel Jacobs, the Co-Founder and CEO of Avanoo, a revolutionary training company, was 21 years old when he moved to San Francisco with no money or connections. He decided to email C-level executives of Fortune 500 companies. Jacobs highlighted specific work he admired and expressed an interest in learning from them.
You might think that the people at these companies are hard to reach. Jacobs received responses, with proposed meeting dates, from many of them. That was the beginning of him forming relationships with leaders from huge corporations, like Coca Cola and Morgan Stanley.
Jacobs went on to start a number of companies and used those relationships to make them a success. At a board meeting of one of his companies, where some of those mentors were board members, the President of NBC said that he responded to Jacob’s cold e-mail approach because, unlike others who usually ask for a job or something else from him, Jacobs only asked for advice. Amazingly, all the other mentors agreed that’s why they helped him as well.
It wasn’t luck either. The Co-Founder and CEO of Instagram, Kevin Systrom, also has the ideology of asking for advice before expecting anything else.
Until an entrepreneur learns this simple networking trick, they will struggle to form meaningful business relationships with those that will benefit them the most.

Tag: April 2016

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