By Lisa J Shannon, Zainab Salbi
She created a starting place referred to as Run for Congo girls, with the objective to elevate funds to sponsor 30 Congolese girls. What begun as a solo 30-mile run has now grown right into a nationwide association in reference to ladies for girls foreign. Run for Congo ladies holds fundraising runs in 4 international locations and ten states, and keeps to elevate cash and knowledge. In A Thousand Sisters, Lisa stocks firsthand money owed of her stories traveling the Congo, the ladies she’s helped, and the relationships she’s shaped. With compelling tales of why she is still devoted to this reason, Lisa evokes her viewers to arrive out and aid in addition, forming a sisterhood that transcends geographic boundaries.
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Extra info for A thousand sisters: my journey into the worst place on earth to be a woman
This friend hosts a house party after all, where we raise eight sponsorships! I try to read more, but news on Congo is shockingly spare. There is one book I devour: Adam Hochschild’s King Leopold’s Ghost, a haunting account of Congo’s colonial history. In the late nineteenth century, with the help of the adventure-crazed Welsh explorer Henry Morton Stanley, Belgium’s King Leopold staked out the Congo Free State as his own private colony. Under the auspices of science, religious conversion, and protection from Arab slave traders and from their own ignorance, he enslaved the Congolese people en masse to extract Congo’s treasure trove of natural resources, from rubber to ivory.
It’s a mile and a half of punishing incline. I inch my way up in a shuffle-run. I call on every mental trick I can muster to get one foot in front of the other. But I run, I don’t walk. Finally, I can see my sister and niece Aria waiting for me at the top with water and pretzels. As the trail flattens out, I know I can do it. I’m home free. Better. Though I practically crawl through my last few miles, I’m on fire! A hiker walks past me. A grandma and her fat dog are gaining on me fast. But I refuse to walk.
Years ago, my then roommate and I decided to train for our first marathon. We trained consistently for about a month, then scheduled our first fourteen-mile training run. We procrastinated until late afternoon, forgot our water, and set out in ninety-five-degree heat on an endlessly flat, sun-exposed cement path. ”) Our chatter about frozen dessert could only keep us distracted for so long, and around mile ten, it trailed off into the sound of panting and footsteps. ” “Exhausted,” I admitted. ” he asked.