Archive for July, 2007
Women We’ve Met Recently
We’ve met a wide variety of women in the last couple of weeks, from Mayan women who speak no Spanish at all and who try to scrape together a living with some weaving and a pig, to fairly ordinary poor urban women who remind us a little more of home, except that to them $15 is what you have to come up with every month for the kid’s school payment.
Last week Nancy met Clara Ajsoc in the highland village of Santa Clara La Laguna. Clara used her Friendship Bridge loan to buy a calf, which she raised, only to lose it to a sudden illness, leaving a young calf behind. But she bottlefed that one and raised it up successfully, and she now sells milk and cheese, where she had no livelihood before. And she wants to get another calf.
In San Antonio La Laguna, Nancy met Catarina Cox Perez, who lost her house to Hurricane Stan in October, 2005. She has been patching it back together bit by bit, but she lives in a really bad piece of broken house with no real windows, and she has to pile rocks up in the broken windowframes for a little privacy. But Catarina’s big goal with her next loan is to buy and raise 24 chicks. More power to her. There’s the great power of microfinance.
We’ve also met lots of more mundane people, storekeepers and weavers and clothing sellers, who are just battling the day-to-day struggle to pay for their kids’education. For them to come up with those few dollars per month for school fees and notebooks is an amazing battle. But so many assure us that they’re absolutely committed to their kids having a better life. And almost all we’ve met have kids who are getting at least some education. We’ve met many, many women who have absolutely no education. They sign their loan papers with a thumbprint. It’s just the normal way.
Elena Coché and Family
Yesterday we turned up a street out of the village we were in and then off that onto a path up into the hills. It was maybe a half a mile to a set of houses along a creek that were quite a bit more primitive than most we’d visited. Elena Coché, whose family is trying to get buy reselling a few clothes on the street. Their house is of wood, and they have to get water from a “well”set in the side of the creek bank; the kids get sicker in the rainy season.
You can look through all the stories of the women we’ve met on the Kiva site. To see if there are any available to make loans to, click here.
Sawa, Sawa
Jambo once again from cold Nairobi! I am going to start this blog talking about my trip to Kayole to visit some Kiva clients last Wednesday. Kayole is located about 30 minutes from downtown Nairobi, and is not really considered a slum, more of an ‘informal settlement’ whatever that really means. So we loaded up into the car and drove through the smoggy streets of the city. Driving through Kayole I was already struck about how different it was from Kiambiu-which is considered a real ‘slum’- Kayole had actual buildings, mostly flats, ambiguously piled on top of each other, but it was proper housing nonetheless. It also seemed a lot smaller, and was sort of its own village really, set amongst some fields a few miles from the city. I was able to meet about five Kiva clients, all of whom were so nice, and I actually got to spend the day with a lady called Monica who was so funny and kept looking with disgust at the state of my nails!(She runs a beauty school, and was far more smartly dressed than I!) Everyone was really friendly, and we even had lunch with some of the clients, although since everyone spoke in Swahili most of the time, I just grinned and drank my Fanta! But it was fun, since I felt like I got to know some of the people who benefit from the loans, rather than just interview them. Of course I got the usual ‘hello how are you’ from all the little children running around everywhere, but it was a fun day. I also met a Kiva client who makes clothes, and she had some wonderful Katenge’s (sort of like a Kenyan kaftan) so I might have to visit her again and place an order!
One of the issues I have been pondering a lot recently, is why, when I meet some of the clients who are doing well, don’t they move out of the slums into the various ‘estates’ around Nairobi. This is where the ‘catch 22′ of slum-living really maks a point; since its so much cheaper to live in the slums than the rest of the city, most people, even if they could move out, tend to stay. Also, there are apparantly some parts of Kibera where people do not pay any rent at all, and so that helps explain, why despite the terrible conditions, people keep moving in. Yet one of the viscious aspects of this, is that it is difficult to have a profitable business in the slums, even if you wanted to charge just a few shillings more for the products you serve/offer, people would not pay it, since they know they can get the same old cheap price from someone else. I met a lady the other day, who complained how expensive for her it is to buy her beans and maize to sell, since she sells a plate of food for Ksh 25 (about 39cents). So I asked, her, why don’t you sell your food for more? And she gave me the reply I have heard over and over again, which is no one would pay more. Then I thought, why not sell your wares outside of the slums? And of course this is not so easy, since that would mean you have to lug all your gear; pots and pans, sacks of food, a pretty far distance into the city. It justs not worth it.
So after my visit to Kayole, I ended up spending the weekend camping with some wazungu friends near to Lake Magadi, which is a few hours southwest of Nairobi, towards the border with Tanzania. Lake Magadi is a soda lake, and absolutely reeks of sulphur, but the flamingos were cool! It was really nice to get out of the city, breathe some fresh air, and relax, although the appearance of a cobra snake on Saturday night was not so conducive for a relaxing sleep, but makes for some good campfire stories! The area where we camped is also Maasai country, and although it wasn’t a National Park or Reserve, it is considered communal land, where the Maasai are left to live their lives as they choose, with all their precious herds of cattle and goat which were constantly walking past our campsite!
So that basically brings me up to today, Friday July 26th, this week has been a bit slow, but tomorrow I am finally going to Kibera, where a lot of the Kiva clients are. This is one of the largest slums, probably in all of Africa, so I am sure I will have a lot to write about next week! So until my next riveting installment, Kwa Heri!
Training in Azerbaijan!
Yesterday in Baku, sixteen Azerbaijanis from seven MFIs filled a small conference room for a class on writing business descriptions and success stories. They were craving training, not only on these critical elements of promoting their organizations, but also on writing in the English language. Among the attendees, employees from Kiva’s three Azerbaijani field partners were present: Murad and Jeyhun from NorMicro, Ulviyya from Komak, and Tamilla from AqroInvest.
The class was organized by Paul at ACDI|VOCA through the Azerbaijan Micro-Finance Association (AMFA) after he detected a high demand from the Azerbaijani MFIs for such training. Paul spent about an hour teaching methods for writing success stories. He touched on basics like length, structure, and formatting. The importance of considering the audience that will read the story was stressed. He also spent time discussing the importance of well-composed photos – a topic that was well-received by the attendees.
I spent about an hour discussing the elements of a quality (interesting!) business description. I tried to impress upon the attendees that they have the opportunity through these business descriptions to educate international lenders about Azerbaijan, the local industries, and living conditions for the entrepreneurs. I used actual Kiva examples and the attendees rewrote the business descriptions using a Kiva-based format I provided. Paul had a projector set-up to his computer, so we were able to project Kiva.org on the wall and click through listings to reinforce the importance of quality business descriptions. Hopefully, having a pre-made template and seeing some English-language examples will aid these MFIs in bulking up their business descriptions.
As the class was wrapping up, Paul mentioned a follow-on class covering English-language emails and PowerPoint training – everyone received those topics enthusiastically. They were also interested in a class on photo composition and photo editing (cropping, straightening, brightening). Additionally, a couple of the Kiva partners here have asked me to help them create systems for more efficient posting and one partner is interested in learning how to post videos! Looks like I’ll be teaching a couple more classes! I’m really hoping that the training and interest will be translated into high quality Azerbaijani postings that more accurately represent the great entrepreneurs here!
Photo printouts for our client friends! Finally
Mother and daughter of a client
As we take photos and write down the stories of clients, they are almost always thrilled to see their picture on the display of our camera. But they often have no picture of themselves or their family, and sometimes come close to begging for one.
Well, we finally figured it out for the first time today. Yes, I know this is not that difficult a challenge, but it was progress for us. When we returned from the village to the nearest town, we found a photo printing place, printed out the women’s pictures (and their children) and then sent them back to the village with one of the women’s husbands! I think this may work with some variations, and we can give something back to these wonderful women who spend their day with us.
Alan in Kenya
My apologies! I’ve been in Kenya for three weeks and haven’t found time to even introduce myself – my name is Alan McGee, and I’m in Kenya working with the SEED Development Group. My time thus far has been spent in Kisumu, a city bordered on the west by the well-known Lake Victoria that any local will proudly boast its reputation as the second largest freshwater lake in the world. Since arrival, I’ve been in the field observing Kiva’s impact on the ground and until now have not been able to separate myself to share my experiences.
SEED Development Group has two main offices located in Nairobi and Kisumu, with satellite offices in Busia, Ugunja, and Migori. Pictured below are the Kisumu staff:
From left to right: Olivia Achien’g, Daniel Odongo, Vincent Nandi, Patrick Oketch, Peter Abok, Rogers Otieno, and Monica Wagude.
I’m staying in a small house with staff members Patrick and Rogers, and the hospitality I’ve been shown has been more than generous. Kisumu itself is a beautiful city–although rarely visited by tourists–and has a lot of economic potential with the growing number of entrepreneurial ventures as seen throughout the area. While it used to known as Kisumu town, the progressive growth within the area elevated the town to city status in December 2001. Aside from its ambitious inhabitants, the city is also home to Kibuye market – Kenya’s second largest open-air market where product and produce range from Mombasa imports on the east coast to neighboring Uganda and Tanzania. Every Sunday this market becomes a trading focal point for both local and imported items, as the city is flooded with consumers looking for a good bargain. I’ll try to upload some photos of the market very soon as it’s quite a sight!
Oí de Moçambique
Hi, I’m Shannon from San Francisco, CA and I am a Fellow working with Kiva’s MFI partner, Hluvuku-Adsema, in Mozambique on the southeastern coast of Africa. The country is probably best known for its magnificent beaches, but I will spend most of my time in the equally pretty interior.
After what amounted to 29 hours in flight and two more hours bumping along a dirt highway, I was happy to arrive at Hluvuku’s headquarters in the small town of Bela-Vista. Just south of the capital Maputo, the vila boasts one paved road and is home to about 4,000 residents. At one end of the Rua Principal is a church, grocery store, primary school and the Hluvuku-Adsema office. A ten minute walk to the other end is where I’m staying at the Quinta Mila; a motel on beautifully landscaped grounds run by Sra. Emília Dos Santos, a client of Hluvuku-Adsema and one of Mozambique’s most renowned female entrepreneurs. Hers is my first example that microfinance works, having built her business with the help of successive loans, today she caters to tourists passing through to/from South Africa and Maputo weekenders escaping the smog. She and the staff have taken me in like family; even the guard dogs Lady and Fofo shadow me everywhere (helpful companions when trying to get past other territorial dogs at night).
The Hluvuku-Adsema name holds bilingual significance: ‘Hluvuku’ means development in the predominant Bantu-based Ronga dialect and ‘Adsema’ is an acronym for the Portuguese equivalent of Association of Socio-Economic Development of Matutuíne. The districts served are rural and offer limited infrastructure to people in the throes of rebuilding their communities after a destructive sixteen year civil war and an ongoing battle against the HIV virus. Hluvuku-Adsema helps fill this void.
On my first day out in the field, I hopped on the back of loan officer Arlindo’s moto to meet with my first client in Salamanga village! Gas is expensive so motorcycles are the way to go. I quickly came to appreciate the hard work of loan officers who traverse miles of unkept, rugged roads to see as many clients as possible in a day to maximize efficiency. But as a passenger I enjoyed taking in the landscape; a vast green savanna on dusty red earth, a mixture of mud/wood and concrete block homes peppering the roadside, and men and women (dressed in vibrant traditonal capulana skirts and lenço headwraps) in constant motion skillfully carrying goods atop their heads, children on their backs, and herding livestock.
I have to admit that long days of meetings in the sun, trying to converse in a language I haven’t used in years, was initially tiring, but utlimately so rewarding. The people I’ve met are warm, welcoming, and predominantly single mothers who work long days to support several children and their extended families. Limited family funds allowed them to be schooled only through the 5th or 6th grade and, as a result, they speak very little Portuguese – I rely on Arlindo to translate between my Portuguese and their Ronga. While I didn’t initially understand the meaning of their words, their enthusiasm and smiles made it abundantly clear the positive impact this loan has had on their quality of life. And the more people I speak with, the more I see firsthand how even the smallest of loans can and do make a measurable difference.
Até logo! I’m off now to live and work in Boane (two hours northwest) to be closer to the majority of Hluvuku’s entrepreneurial clients and… Internet access por fim!
My Second Day of Interviews
Wednesday I headed up to San Antonio, Solola, Guatemala. It was my second day doing interviews and photos to post profiles for Friendship Bridge.
Patti (the Friendship facilitator) and I hopped into the taxi (really the back of a pickup). We snaked our way along the shore and up the side of a mountain — the view was incredible. As I looked across the emerald lake toward the towering volcanoes, I wondered how such a beautiful place could house such incredible poverty.
All day I sat with the Mayan women in their homes, business and community center learning about their struggles, victories and dreams.
These people had been living in a war-torn area for twenty years only to be further pummeled by the incredible natural disaster Hurricane Stan in 2005. The torrential rains as a result of the hurricane washed away many communities. Whole neighborhoods no longer exist because of the mudslides that swallowed up the land the neighborhood sat on and with it thousands of people. It threw these people further into grave poverty.
Poverty is when people who have never had a day of schooling and have no resources to obtain the basics and no access to funds to take care of medical or dental emergencies then lose everything in a natural disaster. Some of the women have no shoes for themselves or their children. Most of the women I interviewed never went to school but know the value of schooling are struggling to figure out how to pay for their children’s education. The children have to wear shoes to school and need notebooks and pens. Many families just cannot afford this and are lucky to be able to feed their children. Some do not have electricity or running water. Some have electricity to their house but no lights are on. Perhaps they can not afford light bulbs or the electricity or probably both. When the family has food shortages, this is poverty. When a person has a rotten tooth and it hurts and keeps them up all night and there is nothing they can do about it because there is no money for a dentist, I see this as poverty. The poverty in this town is great.
The women are survivors because they have no choice. They deal with what they are dealt. If they lose everything but the shirt on their backs, they sell that shirt so they can take care of their family. One woman did sell one of her two huipiles, her hand woven top, which cost over $100. It was all she had after the hurricane took everything, including her home.
Most of the women in the area make a living hand weaving traditional maya textitles which are turned into belts, scarfs, huipiles, pants, jackets, cloth bracelets, purses, table and bed covers. They can spend $10 in material, weave a product over the course of two weeks, and sell it for $40. They can only sell a few because the market is so flooded.
In order to weave they seek out loans to buy materials. Before the loans they could only afford material for one product, then wait until it sold and buy the material for the next. With the loans the women can buy enough material to make a few products and sell many more. At other times the loan may be used to send the children to school or just to buy food. The women repay the loan every month and usual pay off the few hundred dollars they borrow in six or nine months. Before microfinance there was little hope to crawling out of poverty, but at least now the families have some hope and room for dreams.
As I came home after the day of interviewing, the women’s stories, tears, smiles and laughter stuck deep in my soul. I will never be the same, I am so thankful for being able to have a day like this.
Randy and I will travel around Guatemala for at least another 10 weeks, interviewing the women thoughout this country and capturing a moment of their lives.
Overdue update
Well I have been here for over a month now and have a little less than a month left. I can’t believe so much time has passed already. Next week I will be taking some time off from my Fellow duties to visit Tanzania with some family. Then I return to Nakuru for a week. After that I will travel to Eb-F branch offices in Mombasa and Nairobi.
So it’s been a while since I’ve written. It’s going to be easiest to go with the bullet/list format I went with in my last entry. It’ll be a mix of recapping certain days/events and just random thoughts/observations. Enjoy.
- The weekend of July 6, the entire staff of Ebony Foundation went on a staff retreat / team building session to Maasai Mara, one of the biggest national reserves in Kenya. It’s located on the border with Tanzania, and when you cross over to that country you are in the Serengeti. Every Ebony employee came, not just from the head office here in Nakuru but also from branches in Nairobi, Mombasa, etc. Apparently James, Ebony’s director, places a high value on such retreats and they are not an uncommon part of this organization’s culture. I think that’s absolutely fantastic. I took a sociology class this past semester called Leadership and Organizations. Among other things it covered how to build effective organizations and vibrant organizational culture. Everything I have seen at Ebony makes good on the theories my professor lectured about. James and the rest of his management team work hard to ensure a friendly, welcoming and supportive environment for the entire staff. A clear mission and vision are articulated and reinforced at every level of the institution. Speaking of that vision, James took time on Saturday night to reiterate it: Ebony Foundation seeks to help their clients create successful businesses so that they may improve their family’s livelihood. Providing credit is just one aspect of that process. James dubbed it “integrated microfinance” – Ebony provides loans, but also training, mentorship, introduction and access to technology, contacts with both government officials and private sector partnerships, etc.
All in all it was a fantastic weekend. Much of the time was spent enjoying the beauty of the land and enjoying each other’s company. It was refreshing to see everyone’s other side, the more relaxed and informal attitudes that can only come out when we’re out of the office. Saturday we spent much of the morning and afternoon on a game drive. We saw lions, a cheetah, elephants, zebras, rhinos, giraffes, and more. The landscape is absolutely breathtaking – stunningly beautiful beyond what my words can describe. I urge anyone who has the chance to visit Kenya to do so because everything I have seen, not only in game parks and reserves but also just in my visits to the field to meet clients has always left me in awe.
At night we made a huge bonfire and cooked our own dinner. That entailed slaughtering, skinning and roasting two goats on an outdoor cooking fire we made. It was the best weekend I have had here so far.
I was also lucky to meet some Maasai. The Maasai are one of the oldest tribes in Kenya and the one that has remained by far the most traditional. They have almost completely maintained the same culture and lifestyle that their ancestors had hundreds of years ago. This rejection of modernity is both a boon and a curse. On one hand, they are respected by all Kenyans for their adherence to tradition. They are a proud and amazing people. On the other hand, there are drawbacks. For instance, it is common for female circumcision to be practiced on girls as they enter their teens. Soon after the girls are usually married off to much older men. Many Maasai children are also not educated at all, or if they are they barely make it past primary school.
- Back in the office after Maasai Mara, we had to move to a new office. The Kenyan government just recently passed legislation regulating microfinance activity in the country for the first time ever. Part of the new laws require all MFI head offices to be located on a quarter acre of land. Renting or owning that much land is not easy, so the provision is one way to ensure that the MFIs in operation are legitimate. It’s a counter for the so-called “briefcase banks” – the con operations that swindle impoverished Kenyans who are seeking loans to better their lives.
- I know I’ve written previously about the frustration of using matatus, the public “bus” system here and the related issue of time culture in Kenya. Well the other day I remarked how there are no traffic lights anywhere in Nakuru. I was told that the government had installed them a few years ago but had to take them down after public pressure. Apparently, people didn’t like waiting (and didn’t understand why they had to wait) at red lights when there were red if there was no traffic moving on the cross street with the green light. I find it ironic that people were impatient about the few seconds wait at a traffic light, but that no complaints are raised about the indefinite and unpredictable amount of time you may have to wait for a matatu to depart, which is entirely up to its driver and conductor.
- Despite the chaos, traffic here works. It just does – pedestrians, animals, carts, rickshaws, bicycle taxis, motorbikes, trucks, and cars all weave through the streets. I’ve rarely seen any accident. But the other day I was given a grim shock. My commute to the new office involves taking a matatu to the town center, walking a few blocks, and then taking a bicycle taxi to the office. On my taxi the other day, we rode past a huge crowd in the middle of a busy street, surrounding a truck that had stopped there. The truck had hit a man transporting vegetables on his bike. He lay there motionless in a pool of his own blood. It was utterly horrific and a very gruesome reminder of just how fragile life is and how quickly one’s fortunes can change.
- Something I have discovered about myself in my time here – and in talking to friends of mine who are also spending the summer abroad – is that I’ve become more patriotic. I’ve always considered myself an American but have never been ardently patriotic or outspoken about it. But for instance, the other day I was watching Black Hawk Down…one of the guys I was watching with said jokingly “the only war America lost” and “I do know this about your country, you’re a big bully.” I found myself feeling oddly defensive and snapped back a bit. But then I checked myself. After all, America’s rep on the international stage isn’t exactly stellar these days.
- Finally, I am craving an everything bagel from a New York City deli. A good bowl of penne vodka and some warm Italian bread would be nice too.
Randy and Nancy in Guatemala
Clara in Santa Clara La Laguna
Hello to all of you from Mazatenango, Guatemala. We wanted to introduce ourselves – We’re Randy Fay and Nancy Lewis, and we’ve just started helping to post clients from Friendship Bridge. We’re in the middle of an epic bicycle trek from the north of Canada to the bottom of South America – you’re invited to follow us on our blog at hobobiker.com. But we’re thankful and excited to be able to spend a time here in Guatemala as Kiva Fellows helping to post new clients to the website.
We spent last week in the beautiful highland lake area near Panajachel and over the weekend rode our bikes down out of the mountains to the coastal regions near Mazatenango. On a typical day we get on a bus to some village and meet one of the Friendship Bridge loan workers there. They’re all women and they’re called “facilitadoras” (facilitators) or “asesoras” (loan assessors). Most are quite young, ambitious, on-the-ball, and exceptionally intelligent. They’ll take us out to the houses of the businesswomen who are receiving Friendship Bridge loans where we can ask them about their business, life, challenges, and dreams. When we’ve interviewed all the women we can handle for the day, we head back to the hotel and try to write them all up.
A few of the stories are pedestrian, but many, many of them are so compelling. These people are fighting a battle to make a living every day. Clara, the woman in the photo, bought a calf with her first loan, raised it to maturity, then it died suddenly leaving her with a 21-day-old calf to bottlefeed to maturity. BUT the cow in the picture is that calf, and Clara is selling cheese and milk successfully. Like most of the women in the highlands, Spanish is not her native language, but unlike most, she can speak it pretty well. Many of the highland women speak no Spanish at all and we have to rely on the facilitadora.
Today we met with Petrona, a 28-year-old widow, who has a market table loaded with clothing, trying to put her life together after her husband died several months ago. She says she has to fight the fight to make it for the kids, and she’s doing it. She used her first loan to buy some clothing to get started.
Baadaye…..
Continuing on from my last blog, I believe I was talking about my adventures last Wednesday, which would have been July 11th. Firstly, one thing I would like to discuss was my bus ride that morning. I waited for 45 minutes to get on a bus, because they were all full. So imagine my delight when FINALLY a bus let me on! I sat in the last row of the bus, and settled into the quick 10-minute journey to ANK. Upon reaching the hospital stop though, this seemingly smooth bus ride turned into a roller coaster at Disneyworld, as the bus was pulling through the bus stop I was being bounced at least 1 foot up into the air! Gripping onto the seat in front for dear life, this ordeal lasted a good 15 seconds, yet unlike a ride at DisneyWorld, this was not a barrel of laughs, but at least it was a much cheaper thrill! So after that eye-awakening start to the day, I realized one important thing; don’t sit at the back of the bus!
Wednesday was also my first field visit, to meet some of the Kiva clients in the Kiambiu slums, and if my map skills serve me correctly, Kiambiu is located on the eastern side of Nairobi- also known as ‘Eastlands’. I have visited slum ‘areas’ before, and therefore thought I might be mentally prepared for what I was going to see, however, walking through the slums and meeting the people was a very different experience.
We parked the car in a churchyard, since it was safer, – there was an askari (private security guard, of which there are an estimated 100,000 in Nairobi- even the coffee shops downtown have askari) we then walked up the road to the entrance of Kiambiu. Walking past a few vegetable and fruit stalls, you then cross a bridge over mysteriously grey-colored stream; presumably it was that odd color due to the garbage and pollution everywhere. Then you enter the area where the houses are, with stray dogs lying everywhere, and children playing in the paths. The people of the slums are used to seeing mzungus (a white person) since a lot of other NGO’s, charities and international organizations work amongst them, however, it is still fun for the children, and they come up to you, with their big inquisitive eyes and runny noses, shouting ‘ hello how are you!!’ to which I replied, ‘ fine, how are you?’ Some of the braver youngsters ran up to me and shook my hand, whilst a few of them simply followed us around.
Walking through the main ‘street’ of Kiambiu was almost like an out of body experience, I mean you know what to expect when you hear the word ‘slum’; dirty roads, open sewage, rickety houses built of mud mixed with cement and held up with timbers; but it is still surreal. The burning rubbish gives out a rancid stench that sits in your throat, and the smoke stings your eyes, as you try to stay upright dodging huge holes in the dirt paths, with people staring at you the whole time. All I could think of was how unfair it was that people had to live like this, especially when you see the small toddlers playing with rubbish along the roads, and massive amounts of guilt for the life that I am lucky enough to lead at home. Simple things we take for granted; access to clean drinking water, free education, simply knowing that we will have dinner tonight; these things are not guaranteed for the people of the slums. Even something as commonplace as street lighting- recently there has been a project running in Nairobi called ‘Adopt a Light’, whereby local businesses sponsor lights to go up by advertising on them, and in return the people of the slum areas get lighting, which has helped improve security.
I was able to meet a few Kiva clients in Kiambiu and also sit in on a meeting of a credit group. Women seem to be the main beneficiaries of micro credit, and it seems a lot of this is down to the fact that many of these women are left to run the household and bring in money, whilst their husbands often look for casual work in the industrial areas of Nairobi. Women have proven themselves to be trustworthy and reliable as loan recipients, sorry I do not mean to be sexist, but this does seem to be the general trend. Consequently it is the women who have often organized themselves into ‘Merry Go Round’ Groups, like a rotating credit fund, to pull together their resources, improve their businesses, and therefore provide for their children.
As we walked away from the slums, I was chatting to one of the ANK staff, who informed me that Kibera – the largest and most infamous of the Kenyan slums- is actually worse. Worse? I thought, how could anything be worse than that! But apparently Kiambiu is actually relatively clean and organized, whilst Kibera there are houses everywhere, right next to each other leaving no space for paths, or to allow for some sort of basic drainage system. Next week we are planning to visit Kibera, and I have to admit that I am anxious about it.
Sunday July 15th
By the weekend, I was ready for a bit of a relax, and maybe out to get some ‘Western’ grub, although I am loving the food here, its always nice to have a taste of home. So on Sunday, whilst most Kenyans attended church, I went to the Sarit Center in search of Harry Potter and pasta! So I braved the infamous matutus and made my way to the shopping center- the matatu was not that bad- I like to call them ‘party on a bus’ since they blast out loud African music and are crammed with young people.
Much to my delight I found both Harry and pasta! So I purchased my ticket to see the latest installment, selected my seat- you are assigned a seat in the cinemas here- and then spent a glorious hour at the food court devouring my pasta and Mexican salad (one of those salads in a big taco shell, which really surprised me to see, kind of random to find in the middle of East Africa!) I wandered around the shopping center, and then the time finally came for HP, which was awesome, and a nice treat to have, despite the fact I blew my daily budget for it, it was worth it!
Now that brings me up to today- Wednesday- and after a few days of tremors it seems there has been an earthquake over the border in Tanzania- nothing bad but still a little unsettling, especially since last night after a tremor at about 9pm I convinced myself that the ceiling in my room was going to collapse! But luckily I woke up, sans ceiling collapse, just another day in crazy Kenya!
That’s about it from me in Nairobi for now- I will have more adventures (and misadventures!) to report later on in the week; after a field visit to Kayole, a slum area outside of Nairobi, so, until then, Kesho ( tomorrow)!
Cambio de tema
Hi All!
Its been a long and exciting week, and I’m just now finding some time to write. I hope you enjoy the chronicles of Argentina and Paraguay…note: photos will come in a seperate entry tomorrow:)
Buenos Aires, Argentina
I’ve dreamed about Argentina ever since I got to the point with my Spanish that I was able to tell the difference between a North and South American accent. Between Mexico and Nicaragua. Peru and Colombia. I’m not quite sure what it is, but there’s something completely irresistible about Argentine culture. Maybe it’s the vibrating jjjaah’s that litter their speech like little bits of cookie dough in Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Maybe it’s the memories I have of listening to the Fabuloso’s “Basta de llamarme asi” while bouncing around in the back of Central American buses. Or maybe it’s the fragrant Malbec wine that I first tasted years ago while in a tucked away in a tiny restaurant in San Francisco’s mission district.
Whatever it is, when I found out that I had to fly through Argentina to arrive in Paraguay for a visit to our field partner, Fundacion Paraguaya, I made sure my layover was as long as possible. The compromise: 9 hours. Just enough time to pop out of the airport, see a little of Buenos Aires, have a meeting, eat some meat (yes even I ate some here!) and drink a little wine before heading back to the airport. 9 hours it was. Or so I thought…
Wednesday
Touching down in Buenos Aires I brush the hair out of my face, do a few stretches and try my best to shake the red-eye haze off after a relatively quick but very delayed flight from Lima. Its 9am and I’ve got an hour and a half to get through customs, taxi over to Bob Hannan, Kiva’s Argentine guru and tireless supporter’s, house, and show up at a meeting at the Beccar Varela offices in downtown Buenos Aires. The meeting has been arranged as a short and sweet gathering of the microfinance players who are interested in learning about Kiva, sharing their experiences with me, and having a bit of an informal “charla” about the government and central bank regulations that plague the sector and strictly regulate outside investment in the country.
A bit on the regulations: Argentina’s near impossible for Kiva to work in. The capital movement restrictions are horrendous—a 30% “encaje” on all oncoming funds, a minimum time period of 1 year for all outside investment, a long and tedious NGO exception application process, and on top of that an upcoming election that stalls any budging in the state-level regulations. Having been in talks with a local law firm whose offices we’re scheduled to meet at today for at least a few months, I’m confident that it will be quite some time before anything will be worked out here. Thus the scheduled meeting is less about business, and more about ideas. What could we do together? How might we be able make this work?
I grab my bag, hop in a taxi, and am whisked through the beautiful streets of Argentina’s Palermo Viejo neighborhood. Cafes line the alleyways, people dressed in fashionable clothes strut along the sidewalks. I gaze out the window of the cab wide-eyed~ sure doesn’t feel like Latin America anymore… Showing up at Bob’s door at least 2 hours late, we jump into another cab and are soon downtown and in a boardroom with folks from Radim (the local microfinance network), Planet Finance, Beccar Varela, some other microfinance gurus, and a visiting intern. I’m greeted warmly and we get into an animated discussion about the regulations, and how Kiva could possibly work here. Step one~ jump through the loops to negotiate an exception to the 30% tax rule because we’re an NGO, Step 2~ find and vet a few reputable institutions to work with, Step 3~ Step up a complicated escrow agreement to manage Kiva funds in country in order to be in compliance with the rules, Step 4~ engage in continual lobbying with the government to lighten the regulations on the movement of foreign funds, which, as far as I can tell, are vestiges of the lingering fears of another crisis such as the one that rippled through Argentina in late 2001. Possible, yes, but not probable in the near future. It’s a bummer really. That the government has to make it so hard for an organization such as Kiva to support those of their citizens that need it most….
We chat for an hour or two, I share a bit about Kiva, and then its off to play tourist. Bob and I have an amazing lunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on some pedestrian side street where the 80 year old waitress calls me darling, grabs my hand multiple times, and wont stop bringing us amazing samples pancitos con queso before we even get our wine. I love it here!
I’m then off to the airport and in line for my boarding pass when, to my surprise, I’m told that I have to have a visa and will not be permitted to board my plane to Asuncion. What!?! I almost start crying there on the spot. “No, no, tienes que estar equivocado, no me han dicho nada,” I plead, “nada!” But to no avail. I call the consulate and they’re closed for the day. I fight with the airport staff that can clearly do nothing to help me. So I resign. It’s back to Buenos Aires!
The night, I wish I could write, was full of tango and milanesa and wine with attractive men. But no. So completely exhausted from 2 days without sleep I instead walk the streets a bit and then can do nothing more than crash onto my hotel bed and fall deep asleep. Ah well, next time I’m in Buenos Aires…
The morning and I’m up early. To the consulate. To the bank. To the passport photo office. Back to the consulate. To my hotel. To a great lunch spot. Back to the consulate. And I have it~ my very own Paraguayan visa! So by 4pm I’m on a plane and en route to the mysterious country known for…well, what is Paraguay known for? Sounding like Uruguay? Having a really big river that provides lots of power? Beef? A long dictatorship? Mate? I’m not quite sure, but if you know then respond to this blog with a comment☺
Asuncion, Paraguay
The Asuncion airport is a stark contrast to the flashy Argentine one that I got to know so well in the last few days. Its small, humble, cozy. I’m met by a smiling gentleman holding a sign that reads my name, and am delighted to learn it is Luis Fernando Sanabria, Fundacion Paraguaya’s microfinance director and my primary contact that I’ve come to know via skype and email in the last month of our budding partnership. Luis Fernando grabs by bag, leads me to the car, and gives me the lowdown on the revised agenda for my shortened visit—a dinner at Martin Burt, the director of Fundacion Paraguaya’s, house, a visit to their agricultural school, meetings with a few of the women’s groups, a visit to the central offices, and a mini-tour if time permits. All in 36 hours. Sounds good to me, I chime in, smiling and thinking to myself, I’m glad I took last night to get some rest…
It’s to the hotel and then over to Martin’s house for an introduction to the Kiva Paraguay team. The former mayor of Asuncion and current head of what has to be Paraguay’s most dynamic and exciting NGO to work for, Martin is the kind of person whose stories are so good and energy is so positive that you wish you had a tape recorder to catch everything he says. We’ve met once before, in the brightly lit Grove café on Chestnut Street in San Francisco, but this time I get a much better idea of his character. In his home, with his wife and extended Fundacion Paraguaya family. He greets us with a hug and a glass of wine, and we sit by the fire in his living room as the guests arrive and the smell of dinner cooking dances through the house.
I’m made the guest of honor (weird!) and we share a great dinner, followed by a most delightful session of Latin American guitarra played by the real guest of honor, el troubador Javier. The poetry comes out and we take turns reading our favorites snippets from Neruda, Hernandez, Whitman, Lorca. Mine is a Neruda love sonnet, read in Spanish with the backdrop of melodic guitar. The picture displayed here should paint the scene☺!
A few hours and a many Quilmes beers later, we bid farewell and make plans for my hotel pick-up early in the morning. It’s been a fabulous welcome to this quirky South American country!
To be continued….
Karibu!
I must apologize since I have been in Nairobi for a week now and have not blogged! But fret not, I will make amends. There is so much to write already, I don’t quite know where to begin, so I guess I will start from the moment I stumbled off the plane from London after a sleepless overnight journey. Landing in Nairobi at the rude hour of 6am it was still dark and looked cold. Hmmmm I thought, I have only brought one jumper with me, oh well I am sure it will warm up during the day! Oh how I was wrong. Turns out this is the coldest month of the year- but keep in mind when I say ‘cold’ it really does not dip below about 60F, so all is well. Although it has been overcast everyday, it hasn’t rained yet, thankfully.
Ok so I managed to get through immigration no worries, grabbed my overstuffed backpack from the baggage claim, bought some Kenyan Shillings, and headed out into arrivals. This is where things went a little pear shaped, basically I ended up waiting in the small and somewhat dingy arrivals area for about 90 minutes, at 8am I braved the crowds and squeezed through to the information booth to make an announcement to see if the Action Now Kenya (ANK) people were here and just couldn’t find me for whatever reason. I was standing at the booth, when this nice ex pat lady approached me to ask if I was alright. To cut a long story short, these fellow Brits took me into town, and I went to their house for the obligatory cup of tea and a biscuit. Then they helped me find a hotel in town so I could rest and contact ANK. It was all pretty funny, but I was so jet lagged I just wanted to crash!
Eventually I got in touch with Irene, the Director of ANK and she agreed to pick me up on Saturday ( July 10th) for a tour of the city. So after a big dinner and a long sleep I was refreshed and excited to meet Irene and see some of the city. She picked me up from my hotel and took me to ANK’s headquarters- which are about 10 minutes from downtown Nairobi. We went upstairs and spent a good time chatting over some sweet Kenyan chai (tea) and some freshly made chapatis (sort of like a thick crepe, but savory) After that, Irene and I went on a mission to find me some lodgings for the week, and after an exhaustive search all around the hostels of Nairobi I settled on the YMCA since it was close to town and to ANK’s offices.
So on Sunday I moved into my new digs, and prepared for my first day at work. Irene ordered a taxi to come pick me up Monday morning since I had no idea where I was really, or how to navigate the Nairobi’s bus ‘system’ – I use that word lightly since in no way do the buses here run on any sort of schedule, and many change their routes and prices everyday-. Monday morning, I promptly arrive at 8am and grab a cup of chai since Irene and the rest of the staff had not arrived yet, and relaxed in the cafe that sits at the bottom of our office building. I spent Monday meeting the other 3 staff members, and going over Kiva files and getting more acquainted with the clients.
Now this brings me up to Tuesday- where after a long day at the office- getting to meet a few of the clients- I braved the bus for my journey back. Costing only Ksh20 (about 31cents) it is very cheap, however, the buses probably aren’t really up to scratch in terms of their safety and they pump out fumes , adding to the already horribly pungent and polluted air that sits on top of Nairobi city center like a huge blanket. But I prefer the buses since the Matatus seem more dangerous to me, always weaving around the traffic, very cheekily, and not very concerned about laws or rules of driving!
So I got back to my room, and was relaxing reading the quintessential ex pat read – ‘Out of Africa’ – when the light bulb in my room died a slow and painful death. Great I thought, of course this would happen to me! So I checked the switch in the bathroom too to see if it was the bulb or the electricity supply. Unfortunately it was the electricity, so I marched up to reception and told them of my theory. One of the hotel staff came to check it out, and he announced that the infamous Kenya Power would have to be called. All of a sudden images flashed in my mind of either; my room combusting into flames, or me having to lug all my gear to another dismal room. So I retired onto the veranda of the hostel that looks out over the swimming pool, and had some chai, and a surprisingly good sausage roll, and awaited my fate. Two hours later I ventured back to my room to see if it was in ashes or not, and luckily there was light! Just another typical day!
This is turning into a real essay, so I think I will write about Wednesday and then give it a breather! Wednesday morning I thought I would grab some tea from the hostel since I had some time to spare before I caught the bus. I discovered, to my delight, that the hostel offered a free hot breakfast. I thought it was awfully cheeky of them not to have told me this when I checked in, so I sought some sweet revenge by trying to eat as much food as I could physically manage. Finally got my first taste of mandazi a lovely Kenyan donut, its less sweet and more crunchy than the usual fare, but delicious nonetheless. Ok thats about it for now, its lunchtime and the chapatis are waiting!
A day in the life…
Some of you out there may be wondering what a typical day is like “in the field.” Yesterday was one of those days. I spent the morning driving around with Mario Cruz, one of Prisma´s loan officers.
We zig zag around town, dodging traffic in a 1982 Toyota Corolla disguised as a taxi. Esau, the husband of one of the loan officers, is driving us around town as he usually does. I’m more than happy to take the front seat today, as like most cars here, there are no seat belts in the back. (Although I’m not sure how much a seat belt would help in an accident given that most of the cars I’ve been in here feel as safe as a tin can on wheels!)
Our first stop is to meet Luz Arel Castillo. She runs an auto repair shop. We pull into the shop and I see Luz, the lone female among her four male employees and those at the used car lot next door. I’m sure I look a little surprised to see a woman running an auto repair shop. I asked her how she learned the business. It´s a typical story. Her husband passed away two years ago and she had to take over the business to feed her family. After asking her a few more questions, I finish my interview, and we hop in the car to visit the three other women who are in her lending group.
About 30 minutes later, we arrive in the “Santa Isabel” neighborhood of Tegucigalpa. The last 10 minutes consist of driving on bumpy dirt roads, dodging potholes and rocks at a whopping speed of about 5 miles/hour. Glenda Yamith Duron and Hortencia Diaz Castejon are cousins who share a small house with their respective families. Glenda is married with three children. Hortencia is a single mother also with three children. Each family shares one bedroom amongst the four or five of them. As we sit in the living room, I peer back into the rest of the house. I see a dark room with a dirt floor. It is meant to be the kitchen, but like many families here, they “pay as they go” to build their home, and haven’t been able to afford the kitchen yet. Next door is Thelma Elizabeth Giron. She is also a single mother who lives with her two children. Her “house” consists of one room with two beds, a dresser, a small TV, a sink, and a hot plate. Two of these three women are the sole breadwinners for their family. They make a living by selling products from their home – shampoo, lotion, used clothing, etc. It’s quite incredible to believe that with a $275 loan, these women are able to feed three to four people each. Their income varies week by week depending on how much they can sell. My guess is that on average, they each net no more than $15 a week. Sometimes this job can be depressing. But at the same time, it can be inspiring to see so many people who won’t give up. In one form or another, so many people I meet face hardships and they continue to move forward.
Finally, it’s on to the “Honduras” neighborhood to visit Maria Isabel Obando. I’m pretty impressed to see paved streets and sidewalks, and rows of neatly constructed homes. Maria eagerly invites us in. She starts talking a mile a minute in Spanish, and I’m trying to keep up with all that she is saying, politely nodding my head as if I understand it all! She tells me how much she enjoys working with Prisma because the loan officers give her such personalized attention. (This is something I hear a lot from Prisma clients). As our conversation continues, Maria invites us to stay for lunch. Mario and I look at each other – hmmm….free food? Actually, one of the perks of my job is that most of the clients are so grateful for their loans, that if you try to buy something from them, they usually want to give it to you for free! Some of the foods I’ve tasted made by Kiva borrowers include coconut cookies, corn on the cob, tortillas, and homemade bread. Hey, it’s due diligence, right?
As we finish up our lunch, Maria tells us her neighbor is interested in a loan and she directs us to her business. We head down to the corner and find the potential client in her restaurant where she sells chicken and other local specialties. She wants a loan because she doesn’t have the capital to grow her business. Judging by all the customers she has, we can see that her meals are in demand. Mario walks her through the requirements for obtaining a loan, and promises to return in a few days. Finally, it’s back to the office. But we get stopped again. Another one of Mario’s clients waves us down as we drive by. She has a cousin who wants to apply for a loan for her piñata business. Hmmm…we might see some new Kiva clients soon!
The Role of Microfinance in Azerbaijan
Walking with a NorMicro loan officer through a small town bazaar in Azerbaijan is like walking with a pop star through a suburban American shopping mall. In Devechi, Nafira was mobbed by dozens of prospective clients as she led me through the crowded market stalls in search of Kiva clients. As he helped translate my interviews in Agsu, Namik often had to field questions from clients about the likelihood of their friend or neighbor getting a loan. The weekly “reception day” in each NorMicro branch office – that is, the day when clients make payments, drop off applications, and just stop by to chat – creates a constant stream of dozens of clients passing through the offices. In many small Azerbaijani towns, the only banking institutions interested in serving the low-income population are a handful of small MFIs. Many of the clients I met enthusiastically expressed their gratitude at having access to these micro banking services – without NorMicro and similar MFIs, they would have no way to improve their businesses and their families’ situations.
In the early nineties, Azerbaijan got hit with an economic double-whammy: the simultaneous collapse of the Soviet Union and the war with Armenia over Nagorno-Karabakh. Under the Soviet system, subsidies prevented extreme poverty and the huge bureaucracy created many government jobs. A uniformly mediocre standard of living existed across the Soviet Republics. The fall of the U.S.S.R. resulted in the loss of this government-strung safety net, leaving many Azerbaijanis jobless and without government subsidies to pick up the slack as the country transitioned from command to market economy. Throw nearly 700,000 citizens (10% of the population) displaced by the Armenian occupation of Nagorno-Karabakh, and a full-out economic crisis was created.
Fast-forward fourteen years later and most of the 700,000 IDPs are still living in “temporary” housing while the government has turned its attention to the country’s oil reserves. This “resource curse” has left much of the population oscillating between a meager sustainable existence and extreme poverty, despite the oil revenues supposedly flooding into the country (reference Venezuela and Nigeria). What infrastructure did exist in the Soviet days is deteriorating and health care, roads, electricity, water, and sewage systems are substandard and unreliable in much of the country. Politics-driven policies have prevented the IDPs from fully-integrating into their new communities, and many live isolated in abject poverty even in the shadows of Baku’s oil mansions.
Hang with me while I get even more technical for a minute. Statistics indicate that 49% of Azerbaijanis live below the poverty line, and up to 85% earn very low wages and live at very low standards. Inflation is 8%, ranking Azerbaijan 170 out of 224 countries. The Azerbaijani government officially classifies unemployment at 1.2% (or the fifth lowest unemployment rate in the world), an implausibly low statistic which brings me to the topic of corruption. Azerbaijan is in an eight-way tie for the 130th most corrupt nation (out of 160) on the Transparency International 2006 Corruption Perception Index.
The Azerbaijani microfinance industry stands out as the single beacon of honesty and goodwill in a country where corruption is deeply ingrained in government services. The clients appreciate the fact that when they apply for loans through MFIs they do not have to pay the hefty “application fee” (known elsewhere as a bribe!) that they must pay at other banking institutions. The MFIs, with international assistance, are motivated by a sense of national pride and concern for their countrymen, and have thus far kept the industry free of the pervasive corruption found in other sectors of society. Microfinance resources are in very high demand throughout Azerbaijan, as IDPs and other low income individuals work to gain footing in the emerging market economy. Many IDPs, like Mashuga Ismayilova, fled during the war, leaving behind their homes, possessions, and jobs. They have had to pick up new livelihoods and often still live in squalid conditions, like Devran Ibishov. But with the aid of small business loans they try and often succeed, like Khagani Nuruyev, in improving their situations. Azerbaijan has enormous potential, but the poor working-class Azerbaijanis need a helping hand to set progress in motion.
Update from Nana Adjnoa!
My first Kiva client–her name is Sophie, my namesake!
In Ghana your nickname is the day you were born – ny nickname in Twi is Nana Adjnoa – Princess Monday! Today we were at the Golden Tulip – a Dutch owned hotel chain. Walking into the hotel I feel like I am in the middle of a James Bond movie circa 1978 – grainy, smoky, muted colors with out-of-date lithographs on the wall, and the crème de la crème of sleazy North African businessmen lounging about in the bar. There are definitely some questionable business deals happening at this spot, not to mention the obvious few very good-looking Ghanaian women who are hanging out with some of the not so handsome Obroni’s. This reminds me of the welcome sign at the Immigration booth at the airport which said; Akwabaa to Ghana, we welcome all visitors except for pedophiles. If you have any such intentions, turn around now or it will be worst for your self. Everyone else welcome”……ahh it is always the little things you find traveling that gives you the most amusementJ So, internet connections in Ghana are a matter of interpretations – Golden Tulip has about the same speed as a regular 56K dial up in the US….the common Ghanaian internet connection is more akin to smoke smoke signals or pigeon mail! Yesterday I chewed 3 bites of a Ghanaian croissant while waiting for one page to load. Never again a bad word from me about WiFi connections in SF!
Being an Obroni in Ghana is quite an experience –everything always has to be set against “Obroni price?” or “Obroni time?’. Obroni price is 3 times higher than Ghanaian prices and Obroni time means being on time – Ghanaian time is about 2 hours later. We are on GMT – this I believe stands for Greenwhich Mean Time around the world but here it stands for Ghana Maybe Time! Also, Ghana being a very Christian country (a common sign in a taxi might say ‘you are on God’s time”) they have apparently decided that they can sell alcohol in most places including wine, but that they will restrict the drinking of it by making wine-openers expensive. A wine opener costs $15 (remember how the average rent of the Kiva client is $6.5 month) – my Swiss army knife would have come in so much handy here, but somehow it disappeared from my luggage on the way here. Now I understand why.
Africa in more ways than one is testing all of my survival skills. The Ghanaian people are the most hospitable – living up to their reputation as the “friendliest people in Africa”. 4 of the 10 women I met with yesterday invited me to visit them in their home next time I visit Ghana! The average rent for a rental home of Kiva’s clients is 65K cedes per month – that is $6.5 US per month! They live with their extended families (like Agnes) in one room and they are inviting the random Obroni to come stay with them! Many Ghanaians that we have talked to, are curious about why were are in Ghana and are so excited that we are spending our volunteer time helping Ghana. They have a very keen understanding of the media perception being put out in the US and Europe – that Africa is all about war, hunger, illness, and death. They are anxious to know that the Kiva fellows and other Obroni volunteers are communicating back to family and friends that there is so much work and beauty happening here. Please help me spread the word – forward my updates to friends and encourage them to get involved in any way they can. The world is changing before our eyes and I feel so blessed to be able to have one little part in it.
Thank you all so much for all the support you have given to me!
Obroni Meltdown
We call ahead to at least five hotels that we have starred in the Bradt Guide to Ghana – all of their prices have doubled from what the travel book says – I guess my Obroni accent isn’t exactly helping the situation! After settling on the price of the room, we get to the Raybow (this is probably meant to be “rainbow” but this is Ghana!) and attempt to check in . We run through the “must-have” check list: AC?, Fan? Hot water? Generator when the power fails so at least the fan can run when the AC is out? Check, check – we are all set to go.
“Now can we see the room, please?”
“No rooms available tonight or for a week going forward”…retracing my steps through the empty parking lot and silent hotel grounds – this is one of the biggest hotels we have seen in Ghana. I ask again, thinking this must be just one of the daily misunderstandings.
“No room available for a week!”
“Umm…but we called you one hour ago and we just spent 15 min negotiating.” –This is the plight of the Obroni – never take anything for granted or assumed here!
She says: “ You asked price – not room available.”
Again dismayed and honestly flabbergasted: “But the mere act of calling a hotel implies that I would like a room…” At this point I am standing on the very edge of a serious Obroni meltdown…
Five minutes later, we are drenched in sweat carrying our bags down the road to the next hotel – we try to lift our spirits and send out positive thoughts to make this next transaction smoother.
Two hotels later we arrive at the Guesthouse Maggi. The first sentence out of Anne Sophie’s mouth upon seeing our new room is, “This place looks like a soft-core porn bedroom.” Completely exhausted, we glaze over the velour cranberry colored bedspread, copper art pieces of naked women and throw our stuff in the corner and crank up the AC. The day has just begun, but I feel like I’ve been traveling for a week straight. Anne Sophie and I head to the hotel restaurant, “The Princess Diana Restaurant.”
Anne Sophie warms me she is about to breakdown with a bad case of “LBS,” the dangerous state known as “low blood sugar” when she needs to eat asap. We’re both on the edge of a second Obroni meltdown and decide to order a salad and pizza to split. First, a simple question, “What is the difference between the mixed salad and the vegetable salad?” The Ghanaian waitress answers, “”Same-Same, but different.” I know better than to pursue any further.
“Okay, we’ll have the mixed salad. No meat, please. We are vegetarians. And we’ll have the Hawaiian pizza, but no ham please. I tell her thank you, Me da se.” The plight of the Obroni continues…When traveling in countries where the path of meat to your plate is questionable, it’s often best to pull the V card.
A good hour and a half later, after devouring an emergency Odwalla Bar, the food arrives. We were two for one; the salad has no meat or mayonnaise dressing, but sadly the pizza was covered in fatty chunks of bacon(?), then blanketed in a florescent yellow layer of squeeze cheese. Again, the plight of the Obroni…Don’t lust after things that aren’t native to the country you are traveling in. Eat local.
El Altiplano y la costa
Hi All!
Greetings from Lima, Peru. Its Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting in a coffee shop near my hotel, the first time I’ve felt it appropriate enough to pull out a computer and work from the comfort of a public establishment. Big cities do have their perks…
It’s been a busy and exciting week in Peru. Many meetings, many miles traveled. The journey began with my first overland border crossing in Copacabana, and since then its continued through the highland towns of Puno and Juliaca, and down to the bustling, crowded, overcast city of Lima. Some highlights from both (note: no pictures attached as I have misplaced the cord to connect my camera to my computer. Hope to find soon…☺)
Puno, Juliaca and the Altiplano, Peru
Provincial and cozy, the city of Puno stretches across a small range of the hills overlooking a little bay on the shores of the world’s highest freshwater lake. Arriving to the smoky bus terminal, I am met by a delightful young couple who escort me to the house of dona Marta and don Salvador, local pastors who have agreed to house me during my stay in Puno on the shores of the mighty lake Titicaca. I drag my bag up their stairs into their daughter, Gina’s room that they’ve cleared for me (gracias Ginita!), and we sit at their table and enjoy a cup of tea before I’m immediately off for a dinner meeting with Vicente Alavaros, long-time Peruvian microfinance guru and head of the international NGO, SwissContact’s Microfinance division.
I show up late to Vicente’s hotel, and after a hilarious mix-up where I naively mistaken him for another gentleman and end up propositioning a complete stranger to join me for dinner (whoops), we work it out and are soon off to the streets of Puno in search of somewhere that’s open at 8pm on a Sunday night in the dead of winter.
With luck we settle in to a tiny vegetarian restaurant (yes, at least 1 exists in Peru), have a great diner and get ready for an early morning meeting at Caja Rural los Andes, a local NBFI (Non-Bank Financial Institution) that Vicente has been kind of enough to make us an introduction to. He shares with me the history of the “Cajas,” recounting the early days of microfinance in Peru wherein the first organizations to do microfinance were projects support by funds from the municipal governments. Paving the way for the developed and increasingly more competitive market that now exists in Peru today, the Caja system made microfinance a local household term in the rural and marginal areas of the country, and also opened up the market for what would later be the NGOs and Microfinance wings of the country’s commercial banking sector. I soak it all up, ask a million questions, and then its off to bed.
The next 3 days are filled with powerpoint presentations, site visits, negotiations, excited conversation and many new faces and names. I spend Monday morning with Caja Rural, the afternoon with Prisma Peru in Juliaca, Tuesday with ProMujer Peru and Caja again, and anytime I have leftover I’m with my kind hosts, my trusty laptop and my international cell phone. Its so totally fun to confront the new questions that come along with developing such a strong regional presence~ how can Kiva best diversify within Peru through its partnership selection? Which organizations can best use Kiva capital to serve the poor? To reach more rural areas? To offer the unique basket of services demanded by clients living in areas with no access to clean water, poor transportation, temperamental electricity, and most certainly no heat (brrr!!!)
I begin to map out the niche each of our potential new partners fills—ProMujer Peru in the marginal urban / sub-urban areas, working with groups of women and complementary ancillary services such as healthcare and business training courses. Prisma in the surrounding environs, serving more of a rural client base but still in the group methodology. Caja Rural with individuals, driving unique innovations such as rural savings programs for women and individual lending methodologies, as well in the rural areas.
It’s a delightful few days, and as I close out my time in the Andean altiplano and prepare for big city life, I decide to make a point of taking a few moments to breath in the cool mountain air and reflect. Its Wednesday morning and I’m up early before my bus. Climbing up on the hill behind Puno I take in the view. The green algae of the shoreline melts into the deep blue of the mighty lake’s waters. Tiny shuttle boats escort passengers to and from the shore. The city’s taxis begin their unending homage to the gods who invented car horns. Women roll carts out onto the street to begin the day’s sales. Perched on the hill I watch it all happen as another day dawns for Puno’s economy, its moving parts stretching their limbs and preparing for one more day of life. One more day in the intricate ebb and flow of commerce. To the bigger city….
Lima, Peru
To fly into Lima is to descend into a lukewarm grey haze of fog, smog, and clouds. I’ve been here only once before, but its exactly as I remember it. Grey.
I grab my bags, bid farewell to the sweet couple I shared a cab to the airport with, and am on my way. Outside of the airport I immediately feel the pulse of the big city, 10+ million people rushing about their days, thousands of minibuses, called “combis,” fill the streets, taxis, markets, everywhere people rush about.
A great cabby takes me to a hotel that we identify in the cab, calling around to see who is cheap and provides in-room internet access. The hotel Nirvana (I love the name!!) assures us of its connectivity, and so we head there. Settling in I come to terms with the fact that I’ve been had, and, yet again, no internet in my temporary residence. Ah well…
I get dressed and head over to my first meeting with Caritas del Peru, a Catholic NGO with a large microfinance wing that started in the late 1990s. Their directors, Maria Emilia and Sara have prepared a presentation for me, and we sip mate and gab for hours about their work, who they serve, their hopes, goals and challenges in the executive office. Its so much fun to show them the Kiva site, and watch as they get excited by our usability and simplicity (way to go tech team!!). We close the meeting with about a million introductions, a fascinating conversation about the ethnic makeup of the country (Sara is an sociologist as well as microfinance guru), and bullet points for next steps.
Then night falls and its off to explore my neighborhood. I’m so excited to be in a big city again that I nearly jump of joy when I discover there is a local outdoor climbing gym just blocks from my hotel. Yeeewhoo!!! I discover the site and spend the evening hanging out with the “Banda de Lima” of climbers, playing on new routes and listening to reggae music under the foggy Lima sky. Ah climbing…
The next day is a marathon: 9:30 am meeting with Prisma. Noon with Manuela Ramos. 3pm with FINCA Peru. It’s a crazy rush but so absolutely fabulous to get to know the local NGO microfinance crew. The directors, Diego, Gloria and Iris, respectively, are all friends, and so they share stories throughout the day about each other, their origins, their work. A total success, we define the launch plans for each organization, and I end the day over an amazing Italian dinner with Iris Lanao, FINCA Peru’s founder and director, where we gab about everything possible, and enjoy some of the strongest pisco sours I’ve ever tasted. A beautiful introduction to Lima and as I head back to my hotel I thank god it’s the weekend. I need a day to chill out, write emails, and play in the big city. Lima, here I come!
Until next time my friends…☺
Sudden Death in Dar
I’ve only lived in Dar for a few weeks and only know a handful of people but each week I’ve been here someone I know has lost a family member of friend without warning.
First my roommate’s uncle lost a daughter at the age of 2. She went to sleep and didn’t wake up — no symptoms, no warning. The worst thing is that this is his third daughter ini a row to die before reaching the age of three.
The following week my colleague’s friend’s father died instantly of a heart condition. The next week someone I met at dinner told me about his neighbor who was instantly killed in a car accident. The list goes on, six weeks and six sudden deaths. The life expectancy for Tanzania is only 44 years according to the UN. If my experience is any indication, I have plenty of examples of people who did not live to beyond that age. It’s quite different than the 79 year life expectancy for the US.
This week, the death hit closer to home. Yesterday Cecy told me that Anna, the woman who owned the food shop on the corner, had died the night before. This loss was more personal because I had gotten to know Anna and her husband over the past few weeks. I had purchased many things from Anna and always enjoyed exchanging Swahili greetings with her. Her eldest son was old enough to learn a little English and she would always prompt him to greet me with “Good Morning” or “Hello.” Sometimes he would say “Hello, Muzungu” in the cutest voice and wave. Her youngest son was still breast feeding, and one time she interrupted his meal to take care of my order. The little one looked up at me, slightly forlorn, probably wishing he could return to his meal in peace. I tried to make that transaction very quick! Anna’s husband and I also were on friendly terms and had shared a few beers with him and the other men from the neighborhood one Friday evening. I really couldn’t believe that this young woman could be gone.
Cecy told me the story of Anna’s last evening. She wasn’t feeling well so she closed the stand at 7pm and went to a friend’s house. She decided to go to the clinic to see if she had malaria. So she strapped her baby on her back, left her eldest boy with a neighbor, and set out with a young friend for the clinic. She hadn’t made if far when she suddenly collapsed, hitting her face as she fell to the ground. The friend picked up the baby and ran back to the house screaming that Mama Anna had fallen and was unconscious. Friends found a car and picked her up and took her to the hospital. She had blood coming out of her nose and mouth. Shortly after she arrived she died. The doctors said she had had a heart attack. She wasn’t even 28 years old.
All of this sudden death starts to wear down a person. It seems like there is more death here than I experience in my day-to-day life in the U.S. Life is hard in Tanzania. The tropical climate and limited access to medical care can make small illnesses life threatening. And then there are the other conditions that cause premature death that may have been found and treated with access to the right medical care.
I think about those boys who lost their mother so suddenly and I get very sad. Tonight Cecy and I will go over to pay our respects to the family. It’s tradition to give money to the family as well. But I know all too well that no sum of money can replace a beloved family member, wife or mother.
Nairobi Red Eye
I wish this was a story about an overnight flight to Kenya, but it’s not. I literally have red eyes. It’s a bacterial infection of the eye which turns the whole eye red. The eye swells and it’s quite uncomfortable and there is a bunch of mucus that comes out of the eye. Yeah, it’s really gross.
I’ve seen many people around Dar with “red eyes” and my roommates warned me against shaking hands with people I meet because the disease is so contagious. They warned me to always, always wash my hands if I touched anyone. I’ve been following their advice and using my antibacterial moisture wipes to keep myself clean, even though I feel like a complete stereotypical tourist (carrying bottled water is bad enough). I found out later that even the Minister of Heath and Social Welfare has advised the public to stop shaking hands in order to combat the illness.
But then my roommate, Cecy, caught the red eye virus from a woman at work. She came home with it on Friday night. By Saturday both of her eyes were almost swollen shut. She kept glasses on and I kept my distance, but I wasn’t too surprised when Sunday morning my right eye started feeling uncomfortable. A few hours later the eye was swollen and itchy and red.
By Monday the infection had spread to the right eye. My roommate had some medicated eye drops to use and I cleaned the eyes with salt water (which is recommended). By Tuesday the eyes weren’t much better, so I went to see a doctor. She gave me new eye drops, in case the Cecy’s had been infected, and told me things should be better in a few days.
By Wednesday the eyes were not swollen by the whites of the eye were blood red. I can imagine this infection is particularly rough for individuals with a lot of vanity because you look like you look quite devilish during this phase of the illness. It’s hard to go out in public until your eyes return to white, soI stayed home another day. People here believe that you can catch this illness by just looking at someone with red eyes so they avoid eye contact with you (reality is that you can only catch it through touch).
It’s Sunday now, a week from the beginning of this whole ordeal, and my eyes are still slightly red, but for the most part I’m back to normal. For most people the illness only lasts a few days but I had a particularly bad case. But even the best case scenario — just a a few days off work and having to buy medical eye drops ($3-$5 a bottle) to treat the illness – can have serious implications for a family trying to make it here. Most of the citizens of Dar already have so many challenges to overcome in their everyday life that the last thing they need is a case of Nairobi Red Eyes.
A Day in Baku
Yesterday was a rather typical day for me in Azerbaijan’s capital, Baku. I left my host family’s nice home and walked fifteen minutes to the nearest metro station. On the way to the metro station I passed new apartment buildings, food shops with locally-grown fruit displays, clothing stores with bright skirts hanging in the windows, street cats lolling in the sun, bored taxi drivers playing backgammon, and street vendors selling cell phone cards. I weaved through and dodged traffic when necessary, Frogger-style. $0.05, three metro stops, and three flights of stairs later, I arrived at the NorMicro head office. The head office oversees five branch offices (Baku, Sumgayit, Khachmaz, Agsu, Beylagan) that provide loans to IDPs and low-income Azerbaijanis.
I took advantage of the relatively consistent electricity and dial-up internet access that the Baku head office offers, and reviewed the Kiva.org profiles of the clients I planned to visit later in the day. Yesterday was really warm, so I opted to not have the obligatory morning cup of hot chay. I emailed two of the five NorMicro branch representatives that deal with Kiva clients and arranged visits with them for next week. When lunchtime rolled around, rather than eat the office cook’s freshly prepared meal (like I usually do – and with enjoyment!), I instead met a friend (and Kiva lender!) at an air-conditioned café on a shaded pedestrian street near the beautiful Baku Opera Theater. After a Western meal that cost more than I usually spend in an entire week, I hurried to meet up with two of the Baku branch office’s loan officers.
The loan officers and I took the company Lada , a Russian car that is now ubiquitously Azerbaijani, and innocuously slipped out of shiny-happy Baku and into her darker, forgotten side. The contrast between the growing affluent population of Baku and the limbo-stranded IDP population still unnerves me, even after seeing it routinely for over a month. Our Lada passed new three-story homes carefully concealed behind foreboding walls with impressive metal gates and turned onto a rough, unpaved road leading to a neighborhood that may as well have been in another country. It is inconceivable that I ate an expensive lunch next to a beautiful Opera House less than five kilometers from this neighborhood. Sadly, neighborhoods like this exist all over Baku and many other parts of the country, as IDPs have been temporarily settled in old government buildings until they can return to their homes in Nagorno-Karabakh.
The dusty, rocky road was lined with mismatched sheets of scavenged metal that hid the living quarters beyond. We passed a group of rickety, wooden outhouses, all padlocked so that only the owners could use them. Children obliviously darted across the road and elderly men loitered in side streets, whiling away another day. Soon, we arrived at our destination: a row of little shops, haphazardly constructed along the edge of the road to serve this IDP community. Casting ragged shadows over the shops were three decaying, seven-story buildings that would have been condemned and then demolished anywhere else. Electric wires created a twisting and ominous web between the structures. Inside the buildings, worn wooden planks or old car doors bridged growing gaps in heavily-trafficked stairwells. Clotheslines hung in the hallways and trash filled empty cavities where elevators previously resided.
Over the course of two hours, I met with eight NorMicro entrepreneurs with loans financed by Kiva lenders. They came originally from districts that border the highly contested region of Nagorno-Karabakh: Fizuli, Jabrayil, Agdam. I was impressed by the sense of pride and foresight each of these lenders have in their businesses, despite the fact that for fourteen years they have been living in neglected, isolated communities with few economic opportunities. Each of them commented on the fact that the only way they are able to improve their businesses is through the microloans offered by NorMicro. They described to me their hopes for their families and business, but admitted that these hopes were going to be very difficult to achieve.
After leaving the IDP community, I spent a little while back at the head office collecting my thoughts and making notes for the journals I will later write on these entrepreneurs. Returning home with my host family, I spent some time “paying the rent” by speaking English with the three teenage kids. Later in the evening we ate corn-on-the-cob and watermelon in a yard surrounded by a high wall and metal gate – a world away from the IDP entrepreneurs I had met earlier.
Grandma Rose’s…Nsawam, Ghana
We escaped to the country…to Grandma Rose’s.
Grandma Rose lives in Nsawam, which is at the foothills of the mountains, approximately a two hour drive from Accra, Ghana. Nsawam is “lush.” This tucked away small community oozes with vibrant, tropical vegetation everywhere I looked…a far cry from the sweating, concrete jungle of Accra. It reminded me of the gentle, climbing, misty foothills and rich vegetation of the Blue Mountains outside Kingston, Jamaica where I used to teach many years ago.
Grandma Rose is 83. She is a most gentle, gracious and loving soul. She is “pure white light”….. and a deeply committed Christian. In the middle of the day whilst we were writing on her front porch, oftentimes she would kneeling by her bed giving thanks and quietly saying her prayers. She oozes compassion and is one on the most non-judgemental persons I have had the privilege of meeting. She walks the talk, her faith is resolute..and her deep Christian faith is what guides her life and feeds her soul.
Everyday Delana, my Kiva Fellow partner, and I took early morning power walks up the gentle hills and surrounding countryside. We passed by numerous fields of tall, leafy green maize, willowy okra, and copious papaya trees that seemed to be growing anywhere…from where the birds and winds placed their seeds. Being an avid gardener, I was craving for some “green”…it was “nectar” for my soul and very healing.
Nana, the executive director of Kraban, intuitively and correctly understood that we needed the “calm and hearth” of his mother’s place in the country…to re-energize our batteries. Grandma Rose takes care of three younger grandchildren/cousins; Corby 8 years, Emmanuel 7 years, and lastly, Rebecca, a trainee nurse in her early twenties. Fortunatly for us, both Rebecca and Grandma Rose were extraordinary cooks and prepared abundant “feasts” of tasty, delicious African food….red red, cassava, yam, fu fu, garri, etc. We had full bellies every day.
I have wonderful memories of life at Grandma Rose’s…spontaneously dancing together with our arms up in the air….she would watch me have a “private dance” whenever I got up from my laptop to take a “breather” to change my energy. Eventually, she succumbed and sometimes joined me, or both Delana and I, as we swung our hands in the air and danced to some soulful, foot stomping music on our i-pods. She loved it. It reminded her of her college days when they were required to dance…and in her words “be like a fairy.” The dancing energized us all…and gave us all a lot of joy. Even the little boys Emmanuel and Corby were joining in on the fun. It was contagious!
Running water for bathing and the toilet in Nsawam was challenging. We soon adapted. Emmanuel and Corby would bring buckets of water from the outside well to strip wash ourselves and leave water to flush the toilet. I was amazed how refreshed I would feel after my many strip washes with just a small bucket of water. Ever since my last trip to East Africa in the late 90’s, I thought I “got” the value of water; however, in Nsawam, I went to a much deeper level of appreciation and understanding.
We were sad to leave Grandma Rose’s refuge. As we drove away in our taxi, both waving good bye to each other, she was “lightly” dancing, letting us know she had not forgotten our joyful moments on the front porch together. It was her parting “gift” to us as we drove away.
Michelle contra la montana
Hangin with the boys at Lake Titicaca
Hi All!
Its been a few days since I’ve written, and much has happened! Heres the latest….
A Weekend in the Highlands
For those of you that know me, it shouldn’t surprise you that I decided to spend my day off climbing a mountain. The destination: Huyana Potosi, a towering 6000+ meter beast outside of La Paz.
I awake to a beautiful Bolivian Saturday morning, sun peaking over the valley walls and blinding me as I roll over in bed. So delighted I am to have a day for myself I nearly forget the previous night of illness- must have been some bad water or undercooked street food. I spent the night shivering in sickness, my body ridding itself of whatever it was that it decided it really didn’t like:)
Me and don Mario, a borrower
As I hop out of bed and get ready for the big day I have my doubts~ the nausea lingers and my body becons me to stay under the covers and just snuggle. But no! I’m in the Andes. I have to climb! So I drag myself downstairs, into the 4 wheeler, up the mountain with a group of Europeans, and to the base camp. 16, 700 ft. Dizzy and weak, I step out of the car, nearly topple over from nausea, and then finally surrender. So it ain’t happening.
The group heads out and I barely make it into the mountain shack before collapsing onto the couch. My body aches and I know today is not my day. I take a nap instead, and when I awake I feel a bit better and venture outside. Snowcapped peaks stare down at me, their half-melted glaciers inching forward as if they’re trying to hold to the rocky cliffs, loosing, inch by inch, their silent battle with the hot Andean sun. I sit on a rock and track the path of the other climbers with my eyes, my body pulsing with a mixture of fever and jealousy. My one day off!
I sign and accept. I guess this trip is not about climbing mountains… Big Andean Mountain: 1, Michelle: 0.
Sunday
After a long nights rest I awake Sunday morning feeling notably better. Rushing to pack, I’m down in the lobby at 7 am, awaiting my pick-up from the Regional Directors of FADES, don Edwin and don Basilio, who are to escort me to Peruvian border. The plan is to stop along the way and visit their clients, giving me a flavor for their work as I go about reading through their documentation and assessing their compadability for Kiva partnership.
FADES has certainly impressed me so far, with solid financial reporting and rigorous internal documentation and controls. But the financial statements, annual reports, powerpoint presentations and shiny banners hanging from the walls of the national office are only one side of the story. The other is the people they serve. The borrowers in need of a little extra cash to help break the cycle of poverty. Purchase an extra machine, inventory, a cow.
As I pay the hotel bills (next stop: Puno, Peru), Edwin and Bacilo show up. They grab my bags, I sign my bills, and soon we’re off. Don Edwin is a delight and we soon get to talking about all subjects, their clients, his work with the organization, their goals and dreams. As we roll through the dust of the altiplano the conversation turns to Kiva. I explain a bit more about our model, how we work, the social orientation of our work. We gab and gab, and at one point he turns to me and says, “I’ve dreamt about an organization like Kiva for years.” An organization that seeks not to make money off the poor, but instead to empower them. To balance the distribution of resources of the world. To level the playing field just a little bit . I look back at him and smile. I too, had dreamt about it for years.
Chatting with a loan officer
In and out of tiny highland villages, we spend the day visiting clients, driving along the shores of Lake Titicaca, and discussing Bolivian microfinance. After visiting the Sunday market in one of the villages FADES serves, where 96% of the population lives below the poverty line, we get to talking about the possibility of Kiva financing. If you could get cheap capital for your loans, I ask, how would you pass that along to your clients?
Easy, he responds, we’d lower their interest rates. He explains: Faced with pressure from funders to lower their operating costs, increase their profitability and expand their reach, in recent years FADES has had to raise the interest rates charged to borrowers of their smallest loans. Its a classic case of their mission– to serve the poorest of Bolivia’s rural poor–clashing with the realities of administering tiny loans to borrowers in remote regions: its expensive, its time-consuming, and its hard.
So, the result has been a 3% higher interest rate on loans under $500. We talk numbers and do a little bit of back-of-the-envelope math over lunch. Kiva’s capital would go precisely to these borrowers. We’re a cheap source of financing, and thus demand only minimal margins. Enough to get by and not overcharge the poor. To empower and not enslave. And so we birth the basis of an agreement that will ensure fairer prices charged to the poor. An arrangement where FADES borrowers will feel the benefits of 80,000 social investors trusting them from afar, and will be able to lower their interest rates in doing so. I leave lunch so excited to draft up an agreement I almost forget to pay! Luckily the server is on it, and the quinoa soup and coca-cola are properly covered:)
As I set out across the border into Peru, I can’t help but think about how exciting it all is–to bridge partnerships that span continents, defy norms, challenge paradigms. Bringing my thoughts back down to reality I strike up a conversation with my bicycle-powered open air taxi driver. Hows business today? How many border crossings do you do a week? We get to chatting and he tells me about his wife and kids. His house on the Bolivian side of the border. He also tells me about his microloan.
Until next time….
Snapshots of the last two weeks
It’s been a while since my last entry and I have a few different momentsI want to cover, so I apologize in advance if the following is a little disjointed and meandering. (And for Russell, I apologize that I’ll most likely switch tenses several times in this entry.) I think the best way to cover the highlights of the past two weeks is list form:
June 23:
James (Ebony Foundation’s director) arranged for me to see the KCB Safari Rally. Basically, it’s a year-long series off-road derbies, or as I like to call it, Kenyan Nascar. (If you’re curious, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Safari_Rally). The rally itself was pretty mundane in my opinion – I was helping to operate a checkpoint (timing the cars as they completed a certain section of the day’s course). Read: I was waving a flag as the cars passed me, which was happening at about 10 minute intervals.
Regardless, I was happy James had arranged the experience for me. At the very least, I got to see more of the beautiful Kenyan countryside on the drive from Nakuru to Baringo and Cabarnet. The real treat, though, was the locals I met while on flag duty. One was a high-school boy of Maasi heritage who has dreams of visiting America one day. He’s also an avid Barack Obama supporter. The best were the fifteen schoolboys, ranging in age from 6 to 12, who kept me company for most of the morning. We had a great time trying to figure each other out. Mostly our communication consisted of them pointing to various objects or body parts and me telling them what the English word for it was. One boy became especially adept at mimicking my voice, mainly my exasperated pleas of “I don’t understand you guys! English, no Swahili!”
At one point I took a picture of them, and they were elated to look at the image on the screen of my digital camera.
They just giggled and screamed and ran around, and made me take a few more of them and then of passersby on the dirt road. Some of these kids were literally wearing rags, most had no shoes. When I let them all take a sip of cold water, I think it was the first time many of them had drank from a commercially produced water bottle. It was just another reminder of how privileged my entire life and everything I know in America has been. We take so much for granted, and here was this group of kids who had literally nothing but were still so happy, thankful, curious, and friendly. I know this is cliché to say, but it makes just about everything we worry about in the course of our daily lives seem to be absolutely trivial. I think I need a Blackberry and these kids were ecstatic playing with the metal chain holding the Timberland logo tag on my boots. What does that say about me, about America, about the developed versus the developing worlds?
June 25:
That Monday I went to the field with Jane and another Ebony officer, Henry. We went to a village/settlement a little bit past Subukia (the place I wrote about in my previous entry) to meet some clients. It was a productive day of journal writing as we were able to meet an entire group of clients. The group, the Baraka Weru Self Help Group, was the pilot group that Ebony had lent money to in the region. Ebony chose Baraka Weru because the group had already established itself – it had its own internal regulations, its own hierarchy and most importantly its own system of table banking. (The approximately 40 active members, before involvement with Eb-F, came together to pool their savings and resources and then dole out loans to various members in turn.)
All of the group members were eager to talk and tell me their stories. At first when Henry explained to them why I was there, some were nervous about what they would say and what they would tell me, especially because most had used their loans for farming and haven’t harvested yet. I assured them that that did not matter, because I was there to learn about their lives in entirety, not just about the loan. I did my best to explain that Kiva lenders delight in learning as much about borrowers and their lives as possible. Once we got underway it was smooth sailing, and they enjoyed the picture taking. At the end, they requested a group picture with me in it – they want a copy so they can hang it in the small room they use for group meetings.
At one point Henry asked me to address the group; I spoke and he translated into Swahili. I tried to convey why I was there, telling them that most of the lenders were ordinary people just like me who felt a sense of global responsibility and we are trying to do our small part to help. We aren’t Bill Gates and can’t fix everything, but we can help in our small way. I told them how awed and inspired I am that despite their hardships, they remain resilient, resourceful, cheerful and perhaps most remarkably hopeful. I thanked them for that, and wished them all good luck. My words felt hollow and inadequate, but when I was done they all clapped heartily. I guess what I said wasn’t lost in translation.
(To my left is the group’s chairman, Peter. Standing in the back row with the blazer and white shirt is Henry. Samuel, the group’s own internal loan officer, is in the back row with the light blue jacket.)
June 28:
Fieldwork this day was conducted in Nakuru town itself. Ebony disperses loans according to a cluster system, with each cluster containing varying levels of funds. Many of the clients in Nakuru town fall among the lower clusters.
One entrepreneur in particular really stood out that day. Meet Lucia, 
a 55-year-old mother of three. Her husband works as a matatu (Kenyan equivalent of public buses) conductor, a profession that doesn’t earn nearly enough to cover her family’s expenses. Lucia has been selling bags (purses, backpacks, duffel bags, etc.) for the past 28 years! In the same spot! Her “shop” is a stretch of sidewalk next to the main matatu staging area in Nakuru…a stretch of sidewalk that she has to rent from the local government. For nearly three decades Lucia has been selling bags from that sidewalk – six days a week, every week, rain or shine. But this isn’t what I admire most about Lucia, although the kind of fortitude, patience and strength she must have to keep at it day in and day out is remarkable. What truly struck me is just how incredibly vivacious and friendly Lucia is. From the second you meet her, you like her. She laughs easily, is always smiling and radiates an exuberant and confident feeling. Jimmy, her loan officer and my escort for the day, assured me that this was Lucia’s standard demeanor and not just an act because I was there.
Clarification: In rereading that last paragraph, I admit the tone of it seemingly indicates that she is an aberration. What I want to make clear is that Lucia, while she does stand out in my mind, is not the exception. Rather, most of the clients I have met in my field visits share her outlook on life and good spirits, and that, it seems, is the rule.
This was also the day I discovered that having mail delivered directly to your house or office location (a norm in the West) is not standard operating procedure in Kenya. Everyone’s mail is sent to the post office and put in to mailboxes. You physically go to the post office to collect your mail from the box, like a college campus mail center.
Did you ever consider receiving your mail at your home everyday to be a luxury?
June 29:
Today I got to see the darker side of microfinance: default. Personally, all my previous interaction with microcredit (lectures/seminars/panels/info sessions at college, personal reading and research, and Western press coverage) had never really addressed what happens when a borrower is unable to repay his or her loan.
Since arriving here, I’ve read the Ebony Foundation Operations Manual that fully outlines the steps Eb-F is prepared to take in the case of default. To go in to them in detail would take too long and I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to disclose that anyway. Suffice to say, part of the process is similar to what traditional banks do with regard to recovering their assets when clients default on loan repayments, mortgages, etc.
What I want to recount is the interaction in the field with the group in default. I accompanied an Ebony officer who had called a special meeting of the group. The officer wished to address the entire group, because it is Ebony’s policy to not go down to the individual level in group lending schemes. In other words, if just one person in the group is unable to make a monthly repayment, then the entire group is considered to be in default. Ebony deals with the group as a single entity and does not distinguish amongst its individual members.
The officer conducted the meeting with tact and appreciation for the difficulties of the group (only a few members had failed to make this month’s repayment) but also with a firm hand. Said officer made it clear that the money was a loan and by terms of their agreement must be repaid. The dynamics of group lending (1 group, no individuals in the eyes of Eb-F) were stressed. To be perfectly frank, the scene was reminiscent of a parent scolding a misbehaving child, from the officer’s tone and gestures to the averted eyes and hunched shoulders of the clients. (The officer later admitted to me that maintaining a firm composure in meetings such as these is the hardest and most unpleasant part of the job.)
The meeting was successful in that the officer was able to convey Ebony’s stance clearly and remind the members what group lending was all about. They were given the rest of the day to collect the balance of this month’s payment by whatever means they felt necessary (e.g. dip in to the group’s internal savings or perhaps some members could cover for the members in default for this month). By the time the officer and I left the village a few hours later, the group was still a few thousand shillings short.
June 30:
Saturday night, at dinner, I met some other foreigners who stood out in the restaurant more than I did. They were volunteers from Norway, England and Ireland. It was their last night in Kenya. They had been doing medical volunteer work in Nakuru.
One thing we all agreed on: the people in Kenya are among the friendliest and most hospitable that we have ever met.
(This was a sentiment that I was sure to express a few nights later at dinner with the entire Ebony staff – everyone in the office has been nothing but welcoming and accomodating in helping me get settled and used to life in Kenya.)
July 2:
I commuted home on matatus by myself for the first time. Hooray for life’s little victories.
On one leg of the commute, I paid the conductor 25 shillings. He said something to me in Swahili. In characteristic I-may-be-foreign-but-I’m-not-dumb hubris, I thought he was trying to charge me more. I insisted, “it’s 25 shillings, I know.” He turned away. When I got off at my stop, he put a 5 shilling coin in my hand without a word. Turns out I didn’t know – that leg was only 20 shillings and he had been trying to explain that to me.
My Azerbaijani Smile
Azerbaijanis don’t smile for pictures. After six weeks of taking pictures of and with Azerbaijanis, I can say this with certainty. Truthfully, it’s driving me a little crazy. I can be having the best time with NorMicro entrepreneurs – I mean, tea and sweets are offered, hands are held, cheeks are kissed, jokes are made, marital status inquiries are made – and once they catch a glimpse of my camera they immediately put on their Serious Photo Face. It’s so frustrating! None of my journal photos even remotely convey the bubbling personality of the entrepreneurs!
Thankfully, I know it’s not just me they use the Serious Photo Face on. I’ve looked at many a wedding album since I’ve arrived and not a single person (especially the bride and groom!) smile for the photos. Wedding parties look like the worst time on Earth.
Recently, I was staying with the family of a young, female employee of NorMicro in the northern town of Khachmaz. We planned to go to the park that evening and take photos. After work, I arrived at the house amid a flurry of activity. The four sisters, an aunt, and a sister-in-law were hurriedly fixing their hair, applying makeup, and changing into dressy clothes. I even put on silver glitter eye shadow they offered me. We were set to take some killer pictures in the park. We had a great time walking through the park and taking dozens of photos, but not a single one of those photos would later indicate that we had a good time! That is, except for the one oddly smiling person in every picture: me.
Since that night of the serious park visit, I’ve been practicing my “Azerbaijani smile” so I don’t stick out in pictures so much! Here’s my best attempt, with NorMicro/Kiva client, Sarfinaz. I should point out that Sarfinaz insisted that I take a photo with her and she had been, up until the second my camera appeared, a vivacious and smiling woman!
Struggles at the border
The other day I got to witness the excitement felt at PEMCI when a loan is filled on the Kiva web site. One of the loan officers had put a great deal of effort into writing a descriptive profile for Fred Wafula Lubisia, who sought a loan to purchase a motorbike. The loan was for 1,200 USD, which is a significant loan relative to what PEMCI usually offers. The next day, I was browsing Kiva.org, and saw that the entire loan had been filled, thanks to the collective contribution of 10 lenders. I let the loan officer know, and he was initially skeptical as to how quickly it filled. When I showed him the web page, he literally let out a shout of glee, leapt into the air, and proceeded with a bit of a celebratory dance. Immediately, he went to the calendar and made calculations as to when he would be able to hand over the keys of the bike to Fred, probably a month from now after it is shipped from Nairobi, and all the required insurance papers are filed.
For me, seeing the loan officer celebrate was a moment that encapsulated the power of Kiva. Unfortunately, not all times of the day as a Kiva fellow are as uplifting. I was sitting down for lunch when I saw a friend who works at the local Family Health International. He grew up around Malaba, and after graduating from secondary school, his widowed mother was unable to pay for him to go to the university. This greatly limited his options, but he was lucky enough to land a job doing office work at FHI. Anyways, Azikiel introduced me to the pastor he was sitting with. As we talked, he began to describe the work he is doing to address HIV-AIDS in the area. I asked him if he agreed with the statistic I had heard that around 50% of the community is infected. He said that he absolutely did not doubt it, and that he usually buries 10-15 people every Saturday in one village alone. He had a grave look on his face when he told me that it was destroying the place he grew up in. The pastor blames the high infection rate on the truckers who pass through the town. He says that women, many from the surrounding villages, as old as widows and as young as primary school girls, are driven by poverty and hunger to the main Malaba road, where they can receive 100 Ksh (about 1.50 USD) to sleep with the truckers. After becoming infected, they return to their villages, and the epidemic spreads. According to the pastor, and it was a powerful statement to hear, many of these men know what they are doing when they sleep with the women, they have an intent to kill because they don’t want to die alone.
Since my work in Malaba is with PEMCI and Kiva, I’ve tried to think about how micro-finance is related to fighting HIV-AIDS in the community. From what I have been able to ascertain, prostitution is a main factor in spreading the virus in the area, and these women are driven to prostitution because of poverty. When I asked the pastor what he suggests women to do as an alternative to prostitution, he acknowledges that there is very little he can offer. So he tells them to work harder to support themselves. The pastor is painfully aware that the problem is opportunity, not industriousness; but still, with the limited resources he has at his church, it is the best advice that he can currently give. The way I see Kiva and PEMCI’s role in addressing the crisis is in creating opportunity. PEMCI is a nascent, but burgeoning MFI with a vision to extend its hand to as many people as possible in the region. It is helping people to grow their businesses from the ground up. I have heard firsthand from the businesspeople who sell maize and onions by the side of the road, or who go door to door selling household goods, how they are able to expand their business, increase their profits, and better support their family, little by little with the help of PEMCI and Kiva. These are the fathers and mothers who will now be able to feed their young daughters enough so that they don’t have to seek money on Malaba’s main road. These are the fathers and mothers who can now pay for the secondary educations of their children, which will open up doors of just enough opportunity so that they won’t be forced into the same types of poverty. These are also the widows who can now afford to sustain themselves and won’t be compelled to desperate measures. Of course micro-finance represents just one component in helping to fight HIV-AIDS and uplift the community. It must be situated within many other more health-related and educational programs. Still, I think there can be hope that Kiva and PEMCI are having an impact.
