Confessions of a Former Nonprofit Leader, part 1: Building FAKOTÔRY

The Idea

In January 2016, as part of my annual closet cleaning, I found myself sorting through clothes and shoes, deciding what to keep and what to donate. This ritual wasn’t just about tidying up; it symbolized a deeper process of shedding the old and making space for something new. I approached it with the dual purpose of clearing clutter and reflecting on the past year, marking the opportunity for growth and change.

That year, as I pulled out a dress I hadn’t worn in years but still loved for its fabric and pattern, an idea struck me. The dress, long forgotten in the back of my closet, could be transformed into something new, something useful. Instead of letting it sit idly, it could be repurposed into a small handbag. I grabbed the scissors, bought a zipper from a nearby market, and sought out a street seamstress to stitch the pieces together. The result was a unique, budget-friendly handbag, one that embodied both creativity and sustainability. And from that simple act, a larger idea began to take shape.

I shared the photo of the bag on Instagram, asking whether people would be interested in purchasing similar items made from old clothes by street seamstresses, as a way to reduce waste and empower disadvantaged women. The response was overwhelmingly positive, which ignited a spark of inspiration. What if I could take this idea further? What if I could turn waste into valuable products, address a pollution crisis, and create economic opportunities at the same time? I began to imagine my city as a giant closet full of discarded items—unused resources that could be transformed into something meaningful.

It was more than just handbags. The potential was limitless.

After a few months of refining the concept, I launched FAKOTÔRY on Facebook in April 2016. The response was immediate and powerful. A single post outlining the project’s mission—to address waste pollution while empowering people economically—struck a chord with many. It was a creative, bold solution to an ongoing issue, and it resonated deeply with Malagasy people. In that moment, FAKOTÔRY and Madagascar’s Zero Waste movement were born.

But the idea was just the beginning.

The Model

Once I launched FAKOTÔRY, the interest came pouring in. Emails, calls, and messages flooded my inbox from individuals and organizations eager to collaborate. One of the first inquiries came from a major car dealership looking to invest in green initiatives for their corporate social responsibility program. I was elated. This was the opportunity I had been waiting for, and I immediately set up a meeting at their office.

At the time, I had no formal education in business, but I was skilled in communication—both visual and written. I had a knack for creating online content that captured attention and sparked interest. FAKOTÔRY had a brand identity that intrigued people, and the idea itself was compelling. Despite being a fresh face with no business experience, I was able to build trust and legitimacy simply by articulating my vision.

The meeting, however, didn’t go as I had imagined. The conversation was with three men, much older than me, holding senior positions at the company. I had spent days preparing—writing proposals, rehearsing my pitch. Yet, by the end of the meeting, we all realized the same thing: FAKOTÔRY was still just an idea. It lacked a legal structure, and its business model was unclear. Although I had used buzzwords like “social enterprise” and “women’s empowerment,” the reality was that without a solid foundation, the project couldn’t attract real investment.

The experience was both humbling and disheartening. Yet, I wasn’t discouraged. At 22, I had time and energy on my side. I could afford to keep pushing forward. What I needed was help—a team of people who knew what I didn’t.

At that time, I was volunteering for a local nonprofit called Autisme Madagascar. It was a space filled with young people from diverse backgrounds, each bringing a unique set of skills. There, I witnessed the power of collaboration and learned the value of structuring an organization in a way that combined diverse talents for a common purpose. It became clear to me that the nonprofit model could provide the framework I needed for FAKOTÔRY.

Choosing this model was a turning point—it was both the best and the worst decision I made. But more on that later.

The First Project

To register a nonprofit in Madagascar, the process was relatively simple—just four Malagasy citizens to form a board of directors. I didn’t expect my board members to be actively involved in the day-to-day operations, but I needed them for the registration. My two older sisters and late brother-in-law agreed to join the board, and I appointed myself as Chair.

Once the legal structure was set up, I began recruiting volunteers. Thanks to the buzz created by FAKOTÔRY’s online presence, recruitment was surprisingly easy. The concept was fresh, and people were eager to get involved.

The next step was figuring out the first project. It came when Ivahona, a local high-end fashion brand, reached out to us with a surplus of fabric waste. They wanted to adopt a zero-waste production model and were seeking partners to repurpose their excess materials. This opportunity not only launched our waste collection efforts but also attracted other brands looking to address their own waste problems.

Meanwhile, Rotaract Ilo Ivato, a service organization, approached us to collaborate on a community-focused project. Their access to funding created the possibility of transforming the waste into something tangible.

But I still had a puzzle to solve: who would transform the waste, and who would benefit from the finished products? I drew inspiration from my aunt, who is deaf and part of a local organization called Akama, which supports the hard-of-hearing community. I learned that employment opportunities for deaf individuals, especially women, were limited. Most jobs available to deaf people were traditionally seen as “masculine.” I decided to hire my aunt and three of her friends to transform the fabric waste into products.

We needed to decide what the finished products would be. I reached out to a nearby public elementary school and discovered that one of the main reasons children dropped out was a lack of school supplies—particularly backpacks. The solution became clear: we would make backpacks from the collected fabric waste, secure funding to cover the costs, and donate the backpacks to local schools.

We named the project KITAPO VAOVAO (New Backpacks). It was a simple concept: collect fabric waste, hire deaf women to make the backpacks, and distribute them to schools in need. It was a win-win for everyone involved—but in reality, things weren’t as smooth as they seemed on paper.

The First Mistake

When I started FAKOTÔRY, I had no business acumen. The organization’s early success can be attributed to the timing of its launch. It tapped into popular conversations about young entrepreneurship, waste pollution, climate change, and social media marketing. However, despite being in the right place at the right time, I made a series of mistakes that set FAKOTÔRY back.

The first major mistake was choosing a cooperative management style. The idea of a democratic, collaborative leadership model was appealing in theory, but in practice, it proved chaotic. I encouraged input and feedback from everyone, hoping to create a sense of ownership and collective decision-making. However, with a large and diverse team, consensus was nearly impossible to reach. The lack of clear roles and accountability led to inefficiency, and the organization’s focus became muddled.

FAKOTÔRY, which started with a clear vision, became fragmented as each team member pushed their own agenda. We were trying to be everything to everyone, but as a result, we excelled at nothing. The lack of a unified goal diluted the organization’s identity, and opportunities slipped through our fingers. Additionally, the lack of clear roles and accountability created a vacuum of responsibility. While some team members were deeply committed, others contributed minimally, leaving a disproportionate workload on a few, especially myself.

After nearly two years, I was burnt out and miserable. To lift my spirits, I sold my camera—a gift from my father for my 21st birthday—and used the money to fund a camping trip for my team. It wasn’t a fix-all, but it gave me a much-needed break, and for a moment, I rediscovered FAKOTÔRY's purpose.

My team was—and is—the best part of this entire experience. More to come.