Rwanda Dimension Technology (RD Tech), a refurbished computer retailer in Rwanda with partner operations in Burundi and Congo, purchases refurbished desktops from vendors in the US, ships them to Rwanda, and sells them to schools, businesses, individuals, and government customers. Management has recognized that vertical integration of their supply chain has the potential to improve the company’s profit margins and its growth potential. In order to tap this potential, a team of four Thunderbird MBA candidates is assisting RD Tech to re-engineer its supply chain throughout East Africa and determine the costs and benefits of implementing a new supply chain strategy.
Last week, our house was flooded in the middle of the night. Each of us had a very different perspective on the event, so we thought it would be interesting to share them all. Without further adieu…
I still don’t know why I woke up. Perhaps it was because the rotary fan blowing in my room was failing to prevent my sweat from penetrating my pajamas. Or maybe it was because the sound of the rain falling on the corrugated plastic skylight in my bathroom was so loud I thought it might shatter. It also could have been the flashes of light that periodically filled my room only to leave the darkness even darker…
I awoke to a tentative tap on my door. Two thoughts slowly wandered across my groggy mind: “I probably just imagined that.” “If I didn’t imagine that, whoever it is will go away.” Again came the mouse-like tapping. I thought it was probably Jules – some evenings he comes to talk and make sure everything is going well. Upon hearing my hoarse invitation to come in, my mystery visitor – Carrie, it turned out – slowly opened my door and edged her way in my room…
Oh, how the rain came down! It rains in Kigali almost daily but nothing like this. This tropical rain was falling in sets of blistering long waves averaging 1 to 2 minutes in length.
I had laid down to bed at 11PM and still found my self stirring an hour later. The rain was so loud and violent that I could feel it in my chest, creating a vicious cerebral cycle…
KNOCK! “Chadd don’t get up!” It was one of those knocks that has less to do with preserving your privacy than with announcing an abrupt entrance.
Lights flipping on immediately accompanied my intruder’s rude entry.
Hunched over a short squeegee, eyes wide, Rob informed me the house was flooding. I looked at the floor. Well I’ll be a son-of-a-er-gun – flooding indeed…
We pulled up to the small dock to find three of our host’s men animatedly discussing some matter in Kinyarwanda, the local language. As we disembarked our little motorboat, the only bit of English we picked up from the conversation was, “It’s good. It doesn’t spit.”
“What doesn’t spit?”
Oh, that would be the two-meter snake the lads sent to Hades shortly before our arrival at the beautiful eco-resort and spa under construction on Lake Kivu.
“Two meters. Wow. But you said, ‘It’s good.’ So it’s not poisonous?”
Immediately and in unison came vigorous head shaking from the three dockhands, the owner of the resort and Jules. “Oh no, it’s poisonous.” It’s just one of those “good” two-meter poisonous snakes…y’know, ’cause it doesn’t spit its poison at you.
That’s awesome! I, for one, was reassured and stoked to run up into the carved-out-of-nature resort, where rocks form your bathtub, trees shroud you from neighboring cabins and two-meter poisonous snakes bring you your room service in the morning. At least you don’t have to worry about them spitting in your food if you get a rep as a bad tipper.
Chez Serpent, Lake Kivu's Newest (and most reptilian) Eco-Lodge
You gotta love a place where the snake you’re wrestling “ain’t so tough” because he’s only a black mamba and not a spitting cobra. I think this says a lot about Rwanda and the difference in mentality we citified Westerners have when traveling to lands – not to mention eco-resorts under construction – more connected to nature.
This weekend, the gang is going to see the gorillas in the north. This is very significant in that we are currently in the only place on the planet where these creatures can be observed in their natural habitat. And the Rwandan government has taken great pains to ensure that the habitat is preserved and treated with respect. One of the mechanisms implemented to achieve this preservation and reduce foot traffic is the $500 fee foreigners are charged to take the trek.
I feel this excursion may be a turning point in my life. Until now, whenever faced with a physical challenge, I have risen to the occasion and gotten the job done. This time, however, I am hanging back, sending the team into the bush without me. A number of ailments have influenced my decision: general fatigue, poverty, but most prominently the fact that I am dreadfully out of shape. My knee buckling under me over the last two weeks has been the icing on the maybe-I-shouldn’t-go cake. Four knee operations over the years and a significant amount of unneeded weight have done a bit of a number on me. All this combined with the fact that the trek is at altitude (about 9,000 feet) have influenced me to err on the side of caution this time and wimp out.
I made it up the mountains north of the Terai in Nepal in 105-degree heat and intense humidity while saddled with dysentery (I thought they were actually going to have to helicopter me out); I made it up the deathly initial slope at Wadi Mujib at the Dead Sea in 100-degree dry desert heat just last year; but man, these days I crap out walking up a hill in Kigali. Factor in altitude…perhaps discretion is the better part of valor.
Chadd, Mike, and Friends Sweatin' It Up Wadi Mujib
I have, however, decided to view my absence from this once-in-a-lifetime return to nature in a positive light. I’ve come so close I can taste it. This just means I must come back some day, return to this beautiful land of green banana trees, rich red soil and gorillas found nowhere else on the planet. Maybe I’ll do a whole adventure trip – Safari, Kilimanjaro and the gorillas in the mist. Or maybe I’ll be working here again and fortunate enough that my weekend adventures all happen to be once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Either way, it will be yet another opportunity for this city boy to reconnect with the natural environment with which all of our souls organically crave communion. I can’t wait. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get to see a snake that spits…
Trained on the mean streets of Amman, Jordan, Michael “Schumacher” Byrne leaped at the chance to get behind the wheel of our host Jules’ turbo minivan last weekend. The mission: Cart Team Rwanda plus Jules and Joel 2-3 hours through lush mountain countryside to the lakeside town of Kibuye. The drive was amazing, with lush green tropical vistas, replete with the ubiquitous banana tree, and rich red African soil delighting our eyes and feeding our souls for the entire trip.
The roads were winding but paved, and on our one stop we were mobbed by local children who were at first scared of, but then fascinated by, our video camera. The handheld camera does resemble a small pistol, and were I a soldier in a warzone witnessing someone pointing it at me, I would likely shoot him. But when I aimed the camera at myself to show it was harmless, the kids stopped scattering and climbed all over each other to check it out.
As we approached our destination, the small town on the shore of Lake Kivu, Mike was clearly in his element, telling Jules that directions from the backseat were no longer necessary, “I got it. You just follow the signs to Kibuye, right?” Well, sort of.
This worked for the majority of the trip, but we got turned around a little once we arrived in Kibuye – not our fearless leader’s fault.
As we finally approached the site of our hotel, we found ourselves careening around a few blind corners. Mike was regaining his confidence at the right-hand drive helm of our ship of fools just in time for sage yet slightly hesitant counsel to arrive from the backseat: “It’s not one way, Mike.”
Jules’ comment left the entire minivan laughing uproariously. “It’s not one way.” No s***.
One of the reasons I joined this project was Mike Byrne. When you sign on for a Mike Byrne team, you know you’re in for a wild ride. I’ve always used the Spinal Tap reference when describing him. Mike goes to 11. If it’s quitting time, Mike will excitedly declare, “I think we should stay ‘til just 6:15 (read: 7:00) to bang this out.” It doesn’t matter that “this” isn’t due until next week. Mike’s exuberant logic is, “Just think of how much more time we’ll have to get other stuff done!”
We call Mike “Golden Boy” because he never quits – and of course, because of his long blond hair. There are some who are just naturally gifted. Rob is one of these. Arguably, Mike is too, but his true strength in my observation is “man-made.” He is eminently capable, bright and creative, but Mike’s real gift is his seemingly endless supply of enthusiasm, energy and mission-focus
Yeah, that Mike, he’s a real underachiever.
So work with Mike, I say. Hire Mike, I say. Even if it is a pain to stay at the office until 6:15 – or 7:00 as the case may be – when you don’t really need to. And don’t sweat it when he takes those blind curves a little wide and pushes the edge of the envelope. That’s just his style. Just fasten your seatbelt, or better yet, hang on from the running boards, and catch Golden Boy’s overachiever-fever. In the end, you’ll be glad you did…or you’ll just be too exhausted to care.
Our first day of work in Rwanda came to a close as we dined on our host’s lawn in the calm Kigali evening under the watchful gaze of distant twinkling stars. Absent from our late dinner were the intensity of the day’s heat as well as the sweet aroma of wood-burning fires which typically signal evening in Kigali. While the stars were not as abundant as I had expected, they were present, joining me in drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of this tiny beautiful African nation.
The equatorial warmth and humidity the team encountered as we stepped off the plane four days ago were neither stifling nor overwhelming. In fact, they were just right – soothing, yet possessed of an underlying intensity that left me wondering how it might feel at high noon. By Tuesday, however, it was hot…Africa hot. And as we trotted off to our first day on assignment clad in Western business attire, I questioned the logic of such trappings and found myself drifting to the day before, our first full day in Rwanda, a national holiday known as Heroes’ Day.
Heroes’ Day memorializes not only soldiers who have fought for the nation but all Rwandan heroes, from a founding father to a simple civilian who may have protected and hidden those fleeing the genocide that tortured the nation some sixteen years ago. On Heroes’ Day, our gracious hosts, Jules and Diana, treated us to a wonderful tour which included a variety of local sites as well as sobering reminders of the genocide, such as the Hotel Des Mille Collines (“Hotel Rwanda”) and the Parliament building. The Parliament building stands in mute testimony to the nation’s heroes as it still bears the pockmarked façade it gained when some 600 rebels and the civilians they were protecting converted it to a stronghold during the war.
Scars of war on the Rwandan Parliament building
The tour completed, Mike and I walked off dinner over the red clay hardscrabble in Jules’ neighborhood as day gave way to night in the land of a thousand hills. As we walked, we collected an entourage of about a dozen smiling children, really young kids from the neighborhood who giggled and shook our hands and greeted us with high-pitched “Bonjours!” A pulsing drumbeat echoed through the twilight as the air cooled and the smell of burning wood drifted under our noses. We kept thinking we would find a local bar or club around the next corner, but none materialized. We would later learn that the music and beats were sounds of celebration emanating from the stadium two hills distant and could be heard throughout Kigali.
I went to bed that night marveling at the resiliency of the Rwandan people. They have endured such suffering so recently, yet their nation is developing faster than any in the region. This is, of course, due in large part to a massive influx of aid which has been channeled into the country over the last decade plus. But aid alone does not develop a nation, and the industry with which Rwandans have used this assistance is impressive to say the least. From my perspective so far, Rwanda is indeed a nation of heroes.
KNOCK! “Chadd don’t get up!” It was one of those knocks that has less to do with preserving your privacy than with announcing an abrupt entrance.
Lights flipping on immediately accompanied my intruder’s rude entry.
Hunched over a short squeegee, eyes wide, Rob informed me the house was flooding. I looked at the floor. Well I’ll be a son-of-a-er-gun – flooding indeed.
Rob quickly suggested I unplug my computer. I promptly followed his sage advice and packed the computer into my backpack, which became my de facto go-bag in the event we had to bolt. I put my boots on my end table, set my flip-flops on the one dry part of my floor and decided to film a little bit of the “inundation.” I could hear Rob, son of a fireman, doing his Eagle Scout thing throughout the guest house.
Maybe it was the tip-tap of raindrops on the roof (ok, it was more like a surge Niagara would aspire to), but I suddenly felt the urge to use the restroom. So I donned my trusty flip-flops and did my thing. Standing there, I heard Rob’s disembodied voice call from the other room: “Hey Chadd, the thunder’s pretty close, you should probably get off the floor.” Great, this is exactly how I want to go out. Fully aware that Rob has a thing about lightning, I figured it was probably not that big a deal, but I still returned to my bed. Note to Eagle Scouts: The idea is not to scare the s*** out of the people you’re saving with tales of natural execution by electric charge.
As the thunderclaps began to consistently detonate about 4-5 seconds after their corresponding lightning strikes, I knew we had dodged the proverbial bullet.
As I heard Rob stir once more, I called out to see if he needed any help. “No,” came the reply. A moment or two later, now possessed of the video camera himself, our trusty Eagle Scout entered my room. Relatively secure in the knowledge that if the water rose to drowning level someone would remember to wake me, I killed the lights, rolled over and went back to sleep, thwarting Rob’s directorial debut.
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