What are we doing here?

 

Join Project:Darmang founder along with other scholars and activists in a discussion on foreign aid and it's implications for Africa.  

501(c)3

We're a 501 (c)3. Yes, but we're different than most (that's what they all say, right?). But we are. We have an exit strategy. We have a plan to dismantle our non-profit. We're not looking for a ten-year plan or a plan of action for 2020.


We're looking for an exit strategy.


So, why? Because we're committed to sustainability.


The idea of sustainability in development is centered around the idea of meeting the needs of the current generation without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs. That means enabling and supporting the community's ability to empower themselves, becoming agents of their own reality. That means that, if done correctly, our role as a non-profit becomes obsolete. And the sooner we become obsolete, the better.


It means we did it right.


So that's our plan- to not exist as soon as possible. But the end to our existence does not mean an end to Project:Darmang, it simply means an end to our 501(c)3 status and my title as President. It means that the agency is in the hands of the people of Darmang, to carry out the project in any way they see fit. It means that Julie or Nancy or even Michael can carry on the legacy of positive and progressive change. 


And Darmang will not be left without support. We will be supporting and loving towards the community of Darmang indefinitely because we are connected to them on the most intimate level. We will forever be in each others lives. 


But that's our plan, that's our commitment, and that's the way it should be. 

Who are the people of Darmang (continued)?

The people of Darmang are people like Nancy. They are also people like Michael. 


This picture embodies everything I came to love about Michael. Every, single day Michael appeared outside my house in his blue speedo, his neon pink 1990's shirt unbuttoned to expose his swollen stomach, and his rusting machete. 


He would look up at me with a furrowed brow and asked the only words he knew in English,


 "Obruni, where are you going?" 


His scowl complimented the angry tone that accompanied his question. I couldn't help but smile as this little boy stood dressed in the attire of a middle-aged man vacationing in Hawaii, angrily uttering words that meant nothing to him. 


It was an irony, really. 


Here was a boy who reminded me of an over-indulgent American as his stomach swelled with the pains of starvation. And here was a boy questioning me with absolute self-assurance, mumbling the only four words he knew in English, the official language of his country. 


But it was incredible, too. 


It was incredible because this boy faced adversity I had, and probably will, never know and yet he carried on with absolute normalcy. He came to me everyday to try to connect by saying the only thing he knew I would understand, hoping to play. 


And what's more is that Michael is orphaned. 


He came to my house everyday because he had no where else to go. He wandered the village with his machete, nourished by the love and meager remains of the people in the community, hoping to simply find someone to read, to talk with, to touch. 


When I returned Darmang in 2010, I looked for Michael but he was no where to be found. He had all but disappeared from the streets. And then I went to an orphanage nearby... 


and there was Michael sitting in a neatly pressed school uniform, smiling. He looked up when he saw me without a hint of recognition and asked, 


"Obruni where are you going?"