Gettin' Weird in Rwanda (A Travelogue)

“We’re so fucking weird,” giggles Taylor, CEO and beating heart of Open Function. “I love it.”

We sing our approval in a long collective dischord.

Fourteen months on from our previous retreat in Kenya, we find ourselves in Rwanda. Despite significant travel disruption, we manage to gather at our hotel in Kigali, pile into the bus, and head for adventure. A week of connection, conversation and co-working follows.

And, as Taylor says, we get a bit weird with it.

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There is change in the air here in Rwanda. You can feel it.

I’m not talking about the final lashes of the rainy season which freshen the air. I’m talking about the vibe of a country on a new journey after a tragic past; a younger generation of Rwandans trying to move forward and build their own life; revolutions, digital and social.

You can feel it in the sprawling bars and restaurants which thrum with an understated buzz (and some killer dance moves). You can feel it in the pulsating drums which beat around the basketball court in the BK Arena. You can feel it at Norrsken House, our office for a few days, where smart young people are fuelling the digitization of the country, full of fire, wit and purpose.

We listen to the stories of engineers and entrepreneurs and civil servants and taxi drivers. People are connecting and healing and innovating and growing through a desire to build a better world, and enabled by technology.

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We dust the sun from our skins and step into the cool marble embrace of the Genocide Memorial. We aren’t really sure what to do with ourselves.

The custodian here is a genocide survivor. Our guide translates his story to us: his loss, his fear, his survival, his peace.

Tears seem appropriate, yet I cannot find them. Some of us are stronger, and find the courage to let go.

But this is a place of healing, remembrance and peace. Not - despite the garlands and names and markers and coffins - of mourning. I wonder if we should have stayed in the memorial a while, lived and laughed in that cool room. Filled it with our energy.

It feels like Rwanda has found peace by looking forward, not backwards.

My tears will come later, flowing freely, uncontrollably, over breakfast. It is a relief to be human after all.

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On my previous visits to Africa, I’ve been struck by the amount of people you see just… waiting. Clusters of people hanging around, nothing to do, nowhere to be.

We see this in Rwanda too, particularly while driving through the countryside. But not so much.

And the vibe is very different in Kigali. Everyone is on the move (the clogged roads are proof of that); coffee shops and bars are teeming with bright-eyed people; the streets are clean and safe, the verges are lush, and birds sing from every tree.

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Lunchtime. We leave the office at Norssken House and take in the neighbourhood.

While we wait for our food, a deluge of heavy rain erupts around us: pounding the streets with the rhythm and roar of those basketball drums. Thank goodness we brought out sunglasses, we laugh. We watch the flood anxiously as the server brings our food.

We eat. The rain rains.

Our server finds an umbrella and shelters us on the short walk back to Norrsken House. This is a rare kindness. This may be the moment Kigali takes my heart.

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There is change at Open Function too. Well, maybe. We discuss this at length through the week.

There are nineteen of us here in Rwanda - more of us than ever before, and many new faces. This matters: we have more firepower to throw at our mission, to scale our impact, to achieve financial independence.

But since our last meetup there are ten new faces. The connections are a little loose, the vision a little blurry. There is catching up to do, trust to be built. You could start to see the cracks in the corners of this thing.

And there are many questions hanging over us. How can we achieve financial sustainability? How can we maximize our impact? How can we leverage these glorious advancements in AI? And how can we protect ourselves from them?

So we reconnect over rocky dirt tracks, dinner tables, pristine lake water, fire pits. We share buses, taxis, canoes. We dance, we sing, we laugh, we dance some more.

The questions linger, expand, shrink, recombine, coalesce, whisper, shout, excite, frustrate. If we didn’t have questions we wouldn’t be here - so we welcome them.

Many surround AI, and the changing digital world and our role in it. We demand a seat at the table in this new world order - but also safety and dignity for human lives.

For all the risks and threats and dangers presented by AI, we find real clarity in our purpose to use technology and automation to enrich human lives. AI is a critical part of that story.

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There are 70 people in a room right now talking about OpenFn. The room is buzzing. This is momentous. This is wild.

Equally momentous is this screen. It’s a whole wall, like 10 metres long by 5 metres high. And the openfn.org website scrolls gloriously across it, blue and pink and purple, a living mural, visible from space (probably). Heat radiates from the surface.

In the glow of the screen, our whole team works the crowd, teasing out people’s stories, seeking connections, learning how we can make the biggest impact.

When it’s over, when every word has been said, when our tanks are empty, when we are almost out of smiles, we gather at the screen. We line up for the camera. One more smile.

And something happens. There’s a sort of eruption, another moment, a flash of shared psychosis, a release, a trip. For four wild minutes the wheels come off.

And we dance.

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And there is change in me.

I am basically a hermit these days. Being surrounded by all these humans - as generous and wonderful as they are - is hard for me. The energy can be intimidating. I feel I don’t belong. Like I’m not good enough to be here.

This is silly, I know - but its an emotional position, not a rational one. The feeling ebbs and flows throughout the week. I question my place in all this.

Questions again.

But by the end, right at the point when it’s time to leave, I suddenly feel like I’m home. Are we sure the week has to end? Can we not just stay here?

Amongst these wonderful humans, amongst this precious, genuine diversity, I find purpose and learning and inspiration.

And something has shifted in me. For perhaps the first time, I find I am more comforted with AI than scared of it. The consideration, the caution, the wisdom of the people here have encouraged me that there is a safe path through this. That we can take more from AI than it can take from us.

I feel I have permission to use it, to lean into it, to let it improve me. It won’t take my soul - not if I’m careful, anyway.

This is a gift, I think. Without this leadership, without the wisdom of these colleagues, I’m not sure where I would be right now. Probably not a good place.

So thank you, Kigali, for the safety, shelter and stories. And thank you, OpenFn, for the purpose, the company, and the memories.

And I hope to do another weird dance with you soon.