6 girls, 6 degrees: 2020.

It started with Divine & Yazina; two young women that impacted my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer from 2011-2013.

In finishing my service late 2013, I was determined to continue to be an advocate for girls’ education. Of the many issues of the world that can pull heartstrings, this was the one for me, and teaching in Ruramira revealed that over and over again. It was the girls who had educated me on life, cooking, new conceptions of woman-hood, family, and rural living in Rwanda. Their lives exuded both joy – even in the midst of hardship. Without them, I am confident my service as a teacher would have been greatly, greatly different. I know, without a doubt, God placed these group of women in my life for a reason – I see that more as the years go by. IMG_2716


More than teaching, they simply demonstrated what it means to live simply and to do so with both great humility and strength.

Yazina has gone on to study physics & chemistry at a “school of excellence” in the northeastern corner of the country (upon visiting I was amazed at the plethora of labs with microscopes!) and Divine is studying history while pursuing her religious interest with peers at school. I’ve visited both, and I’ve been pleased to see that their school environments are significantly more positive than what is offered at our home, in the village.

As supporters came, so did the ability to grow this cause. Because of my own continued professional opportunities in Rwanda, I have had the unique chance to stay in touch with not only Divine and Yazina, but also Eugenie, Maisara, Zahara, and Donatha, Divine’s sister. 

Eugenie and her deep love for reading.

Eugenie and her deep love for reading.

Each girl is from Eastern Rwanda and each girl has visions for their future. With increased funds, I felt led to expand the offering to the girls listed above. Maisara is studying in a school tucked away out West (studying math & chemistry); Zahara is in training to be a nursery school teacher; and Donatha is new to the Secondary School scene – having started this year.

These girls became my friends 4 years ago; now they are like sisters. I’m happy to share this donation opportunity again. For those that have helped been a part of this dream – I, and the girls, are forever thankful and full of gratitude. They have shed tears in thinking of the generosity they have seen. They tell me, “this is the great blessing in their life.”

See the link below for further opportunities to contribute – the last $800 that I am fundraising for will cover the finishing expenses to get these girls all completed in secondary by 2020. Amazing. Praise God and that this may glorify His good work in this country – and in them.

Educate “The Girls”


three lessons.

Lesson One: You are a small piece of the puzzle (keep humble, my friend).

The afternoon brought me back to an incredibly familiar Kigali road. I don’t know the name exactly, but it’s the one wedged between the blue, yellow, and green AMAHORO (translated directly as ‘peace’) Stadium and the colorful, eclectic, and over packed market of Kimironko. I was on a business mission; bouncing from revenue authority to local authorities’ offices to remain compliant as we forge forward in our organizations’ operations. Mid-afternoon places a glowy sweat on my skin, but I bounce around on the broken pavement any way. Coming from the most recent US Peace Corps Rwanda group’s swearing-in ceremony at the ambassador’s residence, I was energized with inspiration, motivation, and really good food (we’re talking deviled eggs, carrot cake, fresh fruit, and unlimited sparkling water, oh hey). I looked to my left as I moved steadily forward, taking in the pedestrian-driven city full of business men, shopkeepers, street cleaners, drivers, and old women. Just like it always is.

Yet, something different caught my eye. A woman with highlighter yellow shoes, a stick, and a medium-sized black paper bag waved me over. Instead of just smiling and continuing my jaunt by, I obeyed and stepped over the ditch and went to sit alongside her.

I greeted her, shook her hand, and in an old, tired Rwandan voice she mumbled something rather inaudible.

I pressed further, “Ma, ugiye he? Wabaye iki?” (Where are you going? What happened?)

She told me she was going out of town – out of the city proper. Somewhere indecipherable. Old women have always been good friends of mine – especially in Rwanda – but their accents, age, and traditional slang often leave me clueless in the world of cross-cultural translation.

Internally debating, I asked, Lord, what do I do? She asked for 500 RWF (about a dollar – okay, really, it’s less than that when you complete the exchange) and I still pushed to question the amount based on her destination. Typically, on bus, Kigali journeys are around 300 RWF – and yet she reiterated that she was going to visit someone by the name of Eric, someone who did not reside in the city limits. I smacked the faded fig lipstick against my teeth and just knew she was speaking truth. I found my red and green African-fabric’d wallet and couldn’t find enough change. Loose coins from Mexico, the US, and Rwanda didn’t add up enough and so I glanced only at the two remaining options at my disposal – the 2000 RWF or 5000 RWF bills I had tucked away. The 5000 RWF bill was for any extra food purchases I might need to get at the grocery store. The 2000 RWF was for my impending cup of coffee. Should I do it?

Of course I should, of freaking course.  She needed this far far more than I ever would. And so, I handed her the purple bill of 2000 RWF into her shaking hands. I think she was surprised by the amount, but I can’t be sure. I told her that Jesus loved her and she proceeded to wish blessings upon my future. I simply nodded and got up to leave. I didn’t want to make a scene; I didn’t want her to feel like she had anything to owe for me. It was simply an act of obedience that I know I was guided to follow.

I felt far more humbled in those few steps away from her than I have felt in a long time. Over the last couple of days I have talked to numerous people about the hardness of life, about dis-empowered situations that people find themselves in, and of the incredible need that exists in our world. I only walked for about 5 seconds before spinning back around, eager to get the woman’s name. I had forgotten to ask; and I certainly wanted to pray for her and for the journey she had ahead. I took just a couple steps back on that very road and poked my head behind the sign she had been hiding behind.

No one.

Nothing. No sign of anything in sight. There’s absolutely no way that she could have moved that quickly. The woman could barely walk and the bus stop was nearly 100 feet down the road. I checked back further. Again, no sign of any old woman in sight. I laughed aloud in the streets. Alone, in Rwanda. I laughed. I’m absolutely certain I looked crazy, but in that deep humility I began to felt an even deeper awe and respect. Exactly who was that? What was the moment actually all about it?

I really just can’t be sure. But I do know it was what I needed. A strong spoon of humility and a stark reminder to keep your eyes open. Always. You never can expect what might be coming your way.


Lesson Two: You’re Not the Only One Changing.

One of the first weekends I spent back Rwanda-side of the world was actually in Tanzania where we spent a couple of days checking in on a couple of bakery groups and projects that had been trained earlier this spring. Tanzania gave us time on the road – 10 hours each way – and I was excited to have spent that time with my new co-workers, getting in-depth field observation of what we do, and a taste of Tanzania to boot. Our trip was encouraging and full; we got to witness the actual baking process that some of our women are taking part in a couple of times a week, and taste a newly developed product that is being seen in some of our small local markets. It’s an exciting time for our team and for the Women’s Bakery, and so particularly on our drive home, I was basking in loads full of gratitude.

That same basket of gratitude came in handy just a week later.

Awaiting the arrival of Maisara and Zahara at the madness of the bus station, my heart was racing. I hadn’t seen the girls for nearly a year! Last time around, I was here working for a local bank and had visited their home in my village. This time, they were both passing through the city, headed to their last term of school for the year, and so we had a way of intersecting, even for just a few hours, so we could catch up.

Though they were nearly a couple of hours late – because it’s Rwanda – the joy of reunion was inescapable. Giggly and enthusiastic, it was as if distance and time had never really existed. The girls and I had a few hours to share together and we would do so at their uncle’s house. I had expected he lived in the city. Um. No.

We traveled by motorbike about 15 minutes away and then crossed a rickety, oddly spaced bridge across one of the largest rivers in all of Rwanda. As if it would be any different.

We sat together, shared a Fanta, and they told me story on top of story of what had transpired in the prior year. A new home built, increased problems with their father, innovative teacher training for Zahara as she pursues her dream of becoming an educator, and a continual commitment for Maisara in her sports’ leadership roles. I sat back in awe for most of the conversation, again, appropriately humbled.

I wasn’t the only who had changed. These girls had changed too; if not more!

Most proudly of all, they proclaimed that they had both decided to become Christians. Quite intimately, they shared with me how they engaged in that process, how they had started singing songs from a Kinyarwanda hymnal, and spoke with their mother about this change in their lives. Unsurprising to me, their mother supported and felt strongly they should have the choice where they would pray.

In their storytelling and adamant commitment, I could feel lines of joy forming in my face. I knew the kind of freedom they were talking about. I just didn’t know it would be with them that I would have that kind of conversation, and I sure didn’t expect it to be on a rainy Saturday in Kigali, Rwanda.

Change is never just for you. Ever.

We parted ways that day in peace. Somehow, an understanding that near of far, we are united by something far greater than ourselves. They are growing up, maturing, becoming the women they are meant to be, and I feel more than honored that I can bear witness.


Lesson Three: Timing is everything.

One of the co-founders of The Women’s Bakery (and an old friend and Peace Corps Volunteer in Rwanda), Julie, helped me bake a yeast bread one of the first days I arrived back in country. With training, curriculum development, operations management, and business decisions ahead of us, it was also important to get a bearing on why we do what we do. We bake. We sell. We empower.

Obviously, a girl needs to learn how to make a solid loaf of banana bread if I’m going to keep up with these women!

Julie taught me the proper way to knead (significantly harder than it looks!) and the recipe nuances and flexibilities that do exist. One thing that seemed non-negotiable? Time. It must bake just perfectly as to capture the right moisture, texture, and taste.

It was like that in taking this job back in Rwanda, but it was also like that in how our daily life pans out – from the friends we meet, the things we see, and the words that are spoken to us. One thing that consistently draws me back to Rwandan culture, I think, is this unwavering trust in what is (or isn’t) provided is precisely how it’s supposed to be.

On hazy Kanombe roads (a subset of Kigali, just a mile or so from the international airport) a few evenings ago, I was meandering the curvy paths with Lilliose. Lilly, as I lovingly refer to her, was my Kinyarwanda teacher in Peace Corps from yes, four years ago. Now old friends, we share stories of weddings, life changes, moves, and professional moves as if we had experienced them together. The sun was barely present in the black – orange night as she showed me the place she took her civil ceremony vows with her husband. Rwandan weddings traditionally involve three different ceremonies, with the civil being the involvement and recognition by the government and country as officially married. She chuckled as she remembered nervously seeing her husband that day, and how she was so uncertain about what her life would hold.

She divulged her insecurities about how the finances would work, how they would adjust as a family unit, and biggest of all, when her desire to be a mother would be fulfilled. Made to be a mother, it was something she had always wanted. Yet, she was waiting. And had been waiting for a long time.

Lilly remarked, “I just had to ask God, please. Show me how you can make this happen. How can I have a child? And still have to pay rent? How is this possible?”

She indicated she was drawn into an intensive season of waiting. She knew what she wanted, but she knew also that it had to be given in the precise moment. I nodded silently, understanding. There has been much of what I desired in life that couldn’t work. Largely, too, because of timing. We turned towards the gates of the authorities’ office to move closer to the restaurant we would share at least four fantas later into the evening.

She murmured, “But God is good! We have started to build our new home – one that we will own – and will be ready for next month….

And we are expecting….I now have a baby in me for now two months!”

I leaped, shouted, and again, did some weird things in the middle of these darn Rwandan roads. What a beautifully, wonderful way to share the way God has provided in her life. An expanding family, a stable living situation; not because it’s perfect, but because the timing is. She waited, and God came through. That’s faith, if I have ever seen it.

I’m learning that lesson again (and again). You can never learn it enough, I think. Our lives move in these patterns that draw us to places we don’t expect. While along for the ride, just wait. Abide. You never know what element of perfect timing is next.

Because that’s when the bread will rise, the timer will ding, and it will be time to eat. That’s when all will be right and for a small moment, you’ll understand why some things really do fit together.


love will change everything.

Last week, I entered what has been deemed sacred by defenders of gym life, the locker room, gabbing abruptly on my phone. Dirty looks were cast my way but I allowed them to bounce off the ever-present mirrors around us.

I chuckled loudly and in the midst of tennis shoes, spandex, and work clothes, I realized these people are also perhaps heavy onlookers because not only am I shouting vigorously, but I am speaking Kinyarwanda. Another language, girl. Oh.

I gazed at one of those omnipresent mirrors and gave myself a funny look. How is it 2015 and you are standing half-dressed at one hell of a gym (10,000 square feet!) in South Denver, simultaneously laughing with Rwandans thousands of miles, hours, and lifetimes away? Technology, the world, and communications never cease to amaze me – even after all this time of adjusting to long-distance, cross-cultural relationships.


That afternoon – and in culmination of a few days of conversations – I spoke with all of “the girls” via Skype. Some of the contact is regular; Divine and I chat weekly, but because Maisara, Zahara, Yazina, and Eugenie don’t keep their phones charged while at school, the conversations occur a bit more sparingly.

Epic, are they, when we finally have our chats again.

Hence the hootin’ and hollerin’ in the locker room in good ole’ suburban America.

It doesn’t seem long ago – and yet it was – when I first met these young women who had only motivation, persistence, and ethic to fuel their commitment to learning. In a span of 4 years – because of their own opportunities and awareness of themselves – they have developed an underlying belief in what they are doing. They have seen it works.

Maisara was a shy, timid, and tired young lady when we first met. I’ll never forget that first home visit – her body was physically present, but her mind was far, far away. She pursed her lips in hesitation and fear as I got to know her. As she opened up though, she blossomed. She’s a natural leader, with intellect and charisma, doing everything with intention. I love that about her, and I have heard it in her voice, and seen it displayed in her actions. She scores goals, aces exams, and studies every free moment she has. No longer timid, she can brighten any room she enters.

Zahara has always been more gregarious, rambunctious, and let’s be real, crazy, but she’s oozing this quality of balance now. She is maturing and honing her strengths beautifully as she becomes soccer captain and head girl at her new (brand new  – just built last year!) school. She’d drive me nuts when I would teach her class lessons – she was so dang talkative – but as she’s grown up a bit, she understands better how to utilize her sociability. People can’t help but want to be around her.

Divine is more thrust into her life as a Catholic woman than ever. On campus, she tells me that she is a “prayer warrior” and leader for student religious events. She’s always been faithful, but now, I sense it’s seeping into everything; namely her education. Success, she says, is not the pinnacle. Trusting in the process is. Take that for a chunk of wisdom. Her education is fueled and funneled as a top priority along with her identities as a Christian and daughter. She is starting to fully grasp what it is to be well-rounded; understanding that her best qualities are available to her in anything she might do.

Yazina’s grades are improving – promising, considering the poor girl is loaded with Chemistry, Math & Physics courses. Bleh. When I was in Kigali last summer and I visited her school, she was intensely worried about her marks. Be patient, my dear, her grandmother would tell her over a broiled pot of bananas and greens. And indeed, it’s getting better for her. She wants to be a nurse or a doctor, so the only road ahead is the one full of calculators, tests, and laboratories. When I met her back in 2011, I noticed her observant mind right away. She’s still like that. Only with a little more sass.

I only began to facilitate education sponsorship for Eugenie last August, but I have known her now for over three years. She’s diligent, studious, kinder than most people I know, and also eaten alive by an incessant need for perfection. Stemmed from a forever begrudged father who is always groaning about raising 4 girls and never fathering a son, she has always wanted to prove something. It’s an innate human quality, and these young Rwandan women and ladies are no exception to the rule. In our conversations, she’s learning how to not be perfect. We’ve all been there right? It’s a necessary lesson, and one that serves a 20-year old girl quite well. Hell, we’re all still learning how to graciously do that, right?


I share all of this – their summaries and life updates – not to solely draw light on an important issue (education for women) but to address the reality that, like scripture tells us,

For wherever your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:21

Supporting them is a commitment that I happily stand by. These long conversations, money transfers, readings of tuition statements…it pales to what the experience has been like for them but also for me. Frankly, by staying faithful to this commitment, God has remained faithful to all of us. As you can read above, they are thriving at their schools. More than that, they are thriving women. That’s the real victory. Humbly, fortunately, and by the grace of God, I can say the same for myself.

ephesiansIn this experience, God has shed light on how to serve.

What’s appropriate; what’s not. What my role is; what it’s not. When it works; when it doesn’t.

Some have called this charity. Some of labeled it ministry. Still others have commended the great and noble act of advocating for a person when they may not have the means to do so themselves.

I smile when I get comments like that. I appreciate that heartfelt sentiment. But let me be the first to say, God has impressed something important on me in this process.

This is not about me. I’ve prayed that, spoken that, and have come to believe that. I do this because ultimately, these girls are my friends. I love them. We are called to covenantal relationships of love that require agape that is unconditional. So, sure, I help them go to school. But when Rwanda was my home, they were the frameworks, building blocks, and foundation for my life. They cooked me meals, showed me how to get around, and laughed with me. They protected me. They stayed with me. They do some of this – even now. We talk and I am reminded to be patient. To practice intentionality. They remind me what’s real in life – and what is not. That, is truly a relationship.

I love cross-cultural experiences because of that – you learn quickly that the human experience is far more wide and far-reaching than you can ever even grasp.

Here’s the kicker, though.

At least in my life, the kind of relationships I describe above?

You and I aren’t only called to do this kind of stuff for people thousands of miles away who may need the opportunity. We are called to seek ways to serve, share, and do life with the people in our inner-circle or periphery too. Just because we can build from afar doesn’t mean we aren’t called to build right next door.

In many ways, it’s harder to engage in covenant with those close to us – especially in proximity to our hearts, homes, and past. It might hurt a little more – just a warning.

But I can say this: God wants this. God seeks covenant with us, and in turn, exhorts us to a covenant relationship with other people. Moms, dads, brothers, bosses, roommates, whatever or whomever it may be. Can you do this with absolutely everyone? No, of course not. But live like you can. Live a bit like Jesus and your life might look a little different. It’s not a self-righteous thing, it’s a love thing. When you realize that, everything changes. It did with the girls in Rwanda and it’s happening with my life here too.

That’s transformation, my friends.
Love will change everything.


From Ephesians 4:

11 So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, 12 to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up13 until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of Godand become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ. 14 Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming.

15 Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ. 16 From him the whole body, joined and held together by every supporting ligament, grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work.

31 Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. 32 Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

the greater advocate

Her voice ricochets and reverberates off the computer speakers and into my ears as I hear her voice for the first time in over 2 months.

Glee is audible, with a touch of surprise, as if I could have sounded any different.

It’s Maisara.


Having been away at school for the year’s third term and obeying strict school guidelines for no phones,I hadn’t exchanged more than a word with Maisara since leaving Rwanda in August.

When I have called…in September…in October…I have repeatedly encountered the dreaded French woman muttering emotionlessly via the fallback recording,

“Se no me compose…the person you have dialed is not currently available…”

This means either the phone is switched off, out of power, or broken. A certain anxiety strikes in these moments and I feel just how far away I am from them. I lick my lips, mutter aloud, and nervously think, “how am I going to make this happen?”

When I committed to helping the girls become educated and to finish their schooling just about a year ago, I underestimated the commitment it entails.

Safety, finances, materials, transport, family approval, study habits, examinations, fundraising, global communication, clarity in process and so forth. I have no regrets, I love doing this, but it’s a time-consuming project.


This last weekend I spoke to Eugenie and Divine too; 3 of the 5 girls I maintain relatively constant contact with and facilitate sponsorship for. Not bad, not bad at all.

Zahara is finishing up national examinations and so she hasn’t been home and Yazina has received a new number and so I continue to await her call. I know when it arrives because I imagine she’ll call one, two, three, possibly four times in a row. If a Rwandan wants to speak with you, they will make it happen.

These are “my girls” and if I can be honest, it’s hard with the distance sometimes. Not only because of spotty communication, uncertainty, or unfamiliarity of their daily situations, but largely because of my own pursuit of control.

Slowly, I am dying to it. I must. That’s what this last year of sponsorship and advocacy has taught me.

You see, my power is inevitably limited even when I didn’t realize as such. I have felt in my deepest soul called to advocate for these girls – and Praise God! I will! – however, what distance is teaching me is that I am not the Savior. I am NOT the one who makes such miracles happen – knowledge, opportunity, growth, belief. God has uniquely allowed for my facilitation, but as I’ve been spiritually broken down and rebuilt again, I have earnestly tried removing myself from the story. If anyone, let it be Jesus.

Because even in an appointed advocacy, Jesus is still greater. He is THE greatest advocate of all.

If Jesus is your Advocate, the law of God is now completely FOR you. It’s on your side of the scale. When you put your faith in Jesus, when you say from the heart, “Father, accept me because of what Jesus did,” then Jesus’ work on the cross is transferred to your account. Now the law of God demands your acquittal. That is why when John calls Jesus our Advocate, he also calls him “the Righteous One.” This phrase suggests that when God looks at you, if you are a Christian, he sees you “in Christ”. In yourself, alone on your side of the scale, you are a sinner; but in him you are perfect, just, beautiful, and righteous. You’re lost in your Advocate.

–Encounters with Jesus: Unexpected Answers to Life’s Biggest Questions, by Timothy Keller

I can be fighting for the cause of my girls. Certainly, I can fight with vigor and passion, believing as I do that equality for girls starts in the classroom. Believing that we are all of equal capability in our souls but not always of equal opportunity. That lending a hand is a byproduct of God’s love and that sharing in the promotion of education, empowerment, and relationship can only spread His word deeper and wider.

Yes, advocacy is good. But because Jesus is who He says He is, we must let Him come alongside us. We must let Him come before us too, as He already does. We must trust that He will finish what he allowed us to start in the first place.


I miss my girls.

But before I bemoan the distance or the ease that proximity can create in terms of understanding their report cards, schools, issues, teachers, or payment options, I give all glory to God who can do anything. He can overcome abusers, the poverty, and the hunger that Maisara, Divine, Zahara, Eugenie, and Yazina have all faced.

It was just a few months ago that Eugenie (far right in the photograph below) was told by her father that he was ashamed that he had fathered not one, two, but four girls. He was literally fuming because he hadn’t birthed a son. This is what women are up against in some pockets of the world; girls and women are seen as worthless. Powerless. Incapable.

These are lies. Go here if you want to learn more about even more widespread cases of “gendercide.”


I can be the hands and feet, but it is HIM who will heal.

I am happy to not only continue this commitment to the girls, but I am currently exploring options to develop this “project” into something sustainable, lasting, and official. Whether I develop a public charity, apply for 501 (c)(3) status, or simply figure out a way to involve more girls on a larger scale, I am praying openly and fervently to God that the right direction is pursued. As I mentioned, I love doing this. I love it because it’s right. Because in my conversations with the girls this week, I know that not only are lives being changed, but there have been direct encounters with God himself.

All of the girls are experiencing improved marks, a welcome routine in their schedules, and a humble pride in the women they are becoming. They have shared their leadership development opportunities as well as how their colleagues, teachers, and mentors are shaping their spiritual attitudes. All this has taken is the collaborative efforts of friends, family members, and sometimes complete strangers to pool resources together so these girls can build their own lives. I was their teacher just a year ago, and now, as their advocate, I suppose, I know what a difference 365 days full of opportunity can make. I believe in it. And frankly, I’m excited to watch this grow and flourish in the way that makes the most sense.

I am kind of still figuring it all out – and so should you have any advice, words of wisdom, insight, connections, or just something you might want to share, please do. I could use all the help I can get.


As I pull together ideas for a board, bylaws, and operating procedures, it’s hard not to dream. I envision more girls, higher levels of education, and cross-cultural relationship-building. Dreaming is good, but so is growing, little by little, letting Jesus maintain His position as OUR advocate. He advocates so we can do so effectively for others. This is part of our duty as a Christian people. Yet, it must be done with integrity, humility, and honesty. Most strikingly, it must be done with dignity. Not only for the girls themselves, but for their mothers, grandmothers, fathers, and siblings. Again, I don’t want to act as Savior, as “holier than thou”, or any kind of glorified human being. I want the girls to understand that the benefit of education comes from a demonstration of character and inner-beauty. Yet, this open door for education must also serve a greater chance for their family too, and so it’s these things I consider as I pray about growing and increasing these kinds of efforts.


Will you help them? Will you help Him?

Will you share in His molding and formation of these young women?

To all Glory be His name, His works, and His ability to transform all of us, should we stop being the advocate and let Jesus himself advocate in the battles we are brought to.

Click on the link below if you are interested in contributing funds for the girls’ continued studies. Currently the sponsored girls are: Divine, Maisara, Zahara, Eugenie, and Yazina, all top students, leaders, and women in their classes.

“Educate the Girls”