Archive for March, 2008
English as a form of capital in Azerbaijan
On Sunday, I had the privilege of spending time with an Azeri woman over lunch and walking around Baku. For the record, I am female. I met Ulviyya on a bus a few days ago when I saw her reading English vocabulary from a dictionary that was falling apart to pieces and started talking to her. We parted shortly after but before doing so, Ulviyya jumped on the opportunity to practice her spoken English. She took down my mobile number and invited me to lunch on Sunday.
Throughout the few hours we spent together, I was incredible impressed at how diligent Ulviyya was at asking for definitions of words she didn’t understand, taking notes, and referring to what’s left of her Azerbaijani-English dictionary to express words she struggled with. I felt more and more embarrassed at how little effort I am putting into learning Azeri in comparison to her!
After lunch, Ulviyya took me to a place in the city where there were vendors selling English instruction books. We selected a few but the availability of affordable books was very scarce. She had already read almost all books at the level below her current ability. Ulviyya tells me that she would like to improve her English so that she can be confident of applying for and getting a job as a geologist at BP, where the salary is much higher but fluency in English is mandatory.
I am humbled upon realizing how hard Azerbaijanis at every level of society strive to better their lives. Some opt to borrow from microfinance organizations to expand their businesses while others increase their human capital by learning English.
Fire…Fire…Fire!!
A few days ago we had just finished some shopping at the Uchumi supermarket at the newly built Garden City Mall. As we left the mall and walked through the car park we noticed the commotion of hundreds of people watching smoke billowing from the roof of the six story Standard Chartered Bank building. A few of the workers had made their way onto the roof and were removing tiles to allow the smoke and heat to escape. The roof of a building that’s on fire is possibly not the safest of places to be but quite a few workers seems very happy to be up there, being watched by the huge crowd that was gathering on all the mall balconies and car park levels. As the smoke continued to grow some people decided the safest place to be was as far from the mall complex as possible. The cars queued to leave via the only exit which, incidentally, is also the only entrance! The two lanes provided for entrance and exit were both fully clogged up by cars leaving the mall. At that moment the fire engine arrived. Or at least it tried to arrive – it couldn’t get into the entrance of the car pack due to the cars trying to flee the scene. There was a huge panic as officials tried to get the cars that were trying to leave to back up. The same people that were desperately trying to flee the scene of a six-story building potential about to burst into a flaming fireball were being forced to reverse back down the ramp towards the smoking bank. It was clear that there had been little planning for the eventuality of a fire within the mall. Eventually a route was cleared for the fire engine to drive to he outside of the ground floor of the bank. There was a ramp to the right which allowed vehicles to drive up and around to be outside the 3rd story of the building but they chose the ground floor level.
The smoke was still rising out of the roof and the bank workers were still frantically pulling up roof tiles to allow more heat to escape. Meanwhile the six or seven members of the fire engine crew were busy trying to get the ladder off the fire engine’s roof rack. The ladder was in three parts and it took all of the crew a good few minutes to assemble. Only when they put it in position on the floor and leaned it against the wall did they realize that the ladder only reached up to a point midway between the 2nd and 3rd story of the building! They dismantled the ladder, placed it back on the roof rack of the fire engine and drove the vehicle round the ramp and parked it outside the 3rd story of the building. The ladder assembly process began again. They managed to put it together slightly quicker than the first time – practice makes perfect! Unfortunately, even from the 3rd story, ladder did not quite reach up to the roof of the building. There was a balcony on the adjacent building to the bank where a large group of people had gathered. One of the firemen realized he could go inside the mall, up the escalator and onto the balcony where the people were standing. Four of the other firemen then started to climb the ladder at the same time, each holding a separate part of the hose, aiming to pass it from the fire engine up to the fireman who had reached the balcony.
Meanwhile the bank workers on the roof were still pulling up tiles and the smoke was still rising through the holes – although it seemed to have been dying down a little. The hose reached the fireman on the balcony who was now only one story below the roof. He stood prepared with the hose in his hand aiming up at the roof of the bank. The fireman closest to the tap turned on the hose. Only then did it become clear that the hose had not been used or checked for some time. It was completely ridden with holes and almost all of the water from the tap leaked out of the holes in the hose before reaching the end with the nozzle. Everyone in the vicinity got soaked through before the firemen turned off the tap. They had run out of ideas. Fortunately the smoke had completely stopped and it seemed that the fire had somehow put itself out.
I think the moral of this story is to really try exceptionally hard not to leave a chip pan unattended on your stove while preparing dinner in Kampala.
A conversation to ponder
Yesterday, while walking home from work, my husband and I fell into a rhythm that kept pace with a young man who was walking in the same direction. In the big city I come from, people tend to avoid making eye contact when they chance upon strangers in the street. In a country town, people tend to acknowledge each other with a friendly nod or brief smile. Ugandans will smile openly, say hello and ask how you are. They will even wait for your reply and expect you to enquire the same of them. And then, if your Luganda is good enough, or if they speak English, a light and friendly chat will take place. So of course when this happened yesterday, it came as no surprise. Nor was it unusual that the Joseph, as the young man introduced himself, was gently spoken and so very polite. I should point out now that Uganda appears to be an incredibly safe country, where we can walk without fear along most roads – knowing that the laptop in your bag would prove to be a curiosity rather than a potential windfall. So we feel very comfortable ignoring our mothers’ advice about talking to strangers here.
We told Joseph that we were on our way home from work and asked him if he was doing the same. He was well dressed, with perfectly polished shoes, so it seemed to be the logical assumption. Joseph was in fact going to his brother’s house, where he was staying for a while until he found work. He explained that his brother had a job, but was struggling to support his own wife and children so he could only impose on them a while longer. Joseph told us about his home town in the east of Uganda. How beautiful it is, and how he plans to stay in Kampala for a few years to make some money and then return there to start a family.
While he told us his story, Joseph spoke positively, with the confidence that he would find a job soon. His hardship was simply a fact of life in Uganda and nothing to be pitied. In fact, Joseph said that he was very lucky to be blessed with the ability to read and write English well and the strength to do many physical jobs. He also had the good sense to make the most of this chance meeting with two Muzungus – Joseph asked if he could give us his phone number in case we came across anyone who might be hiring staff. I couldn’t think of a more reasonable request. And that’s the Ugandan way – gentle and honest, with no hint of aggression.
This is not the fist time a Ugandan has asked if we know of anyone who can give them a job, but it is the first country where I have heard this request so many times. And I find this quite incredible. In one of the world’s poorest nations, we are not swamped with beggars or children demanding pens or sweets, or by people eager to show us their medical conditions in the hope that we will pay for their treatment. Just the dignified request for an honest living.
Something to ponder anyway…
The Leader, Brother Colonel Gaddafi
Yesterday we were on a mutatu coming back from Ggaba (around seven miles away on the shores of Lake Victoria). We covered the first five miles in good time – in fact at the precise moment that I was thinking how quick the journey had been we hit a jam. We didn’t move an inch for over half an hour. No one else on the mutatu batted an eyelid. We waited for another ten minutes before a few people chose to get off the bus and walk the rest of the journey. The major roads are not the most pleasant of routes to walk along. Every vehicle pumps out an incredible about of black smoke from their exhaust pipes which more often than not are directed at the pedestrians walking alongside. The pavements are strewn with holes – some of them large enough to swallow up someone who steps in it unexpectedly. It’s easy to be distracted. There’s quite a lot going on when you walk around the streets. People shouting questions at you; Boda-Boda drivers pulling out in front of you on the pavement offering their services; hopeful locals taking your hand and asking you for a job; mutatu drivers attempting to entice you into their vehicles. It would be very easy to lose concentration on the actual pavement and drop into an open man-hole. Scary thought. On this occasion we chose to stay in the mutatu and sit out the traffic jam.
Another few minutes passed with absolutely no movement and our patience broke. We got out and started walking and coughing. When I first got to Kampala I held my breath when a dirty truck drove passed filling the air with black soot and poison. After a while I found that I was holding my breath for considerably more time than I was actually breathing. I’m now resigned to the fact that it’s not possible to walk around the streets without breathing in the toxins. It’s one of the most disappointing elements of Kampala for me so far. Anyway, so back to walking through the traffic jam that we’d been sitting patiently in for so long. We walked no more than a couple of hundred yards when we came to a large roundabout where the police had blocked all traffic in all directions. Not one vehicle was moving. All of the pedestrians that were trying to walk to their destinations had also been prevented from passing. We had to wait.
Two of the streets had been cleared of all traffic and a few of the pedestrians along the streets had large placards adorned with the photo of Colonel Gaddafi. Suddenly there were sirens coming from our left. Two police cars sped past along the emptied street. A third police car approached the bend at high speed and came to a skidding screeching half spinning stop right in front of the amassed crowd. My first reaction was that the car almost killed a group of innocent by-standers. The innocent by-standers first reaction was to cheer and clap. The car did a wheel spin, throwing a huge amount of dust and dirt into the air and all over looking crowd – still cheering! Seconds later a convoy of at least 20 SUVs came hurtling passed, most of them accompanied by sirens or holding their horns on continuously. Then a sedan car with the man himself in the back seat, flanked by body guards, waving and smiling at the crowd – of which the vast majority hadn’t come to see him but had in fact just been caught up in the wrong part of the city at the wrong time. Nevertheless, Colonel Gaddafi sped past what I’m sure he thought were streets lined with his adoring supporters. Once Gaddafi’s car had passed another 20 or so SUVs sped by with people inside who clearly did love the man.
I couldn’t help but thinking why does a man holding no public office or title have the right to hold up an entire city and it’s people for over an hour. Can’t he get on a mutatu like the rest of us? Has he forgotten his peasant family upbringing? Who the hell does he think he is? Since the day he arrived in town the newspapers have been full of stories and photos of the colonel. Streets around the university have been renamed after him. It’s been reported that he’s frequented numerous lap dancing bars, having the entire female staff perform for him while the usual patrons are locked out on the street. Nice man.
Early thoughts from Uganda
Arriving in Uganda was as welcoming as my wife (Genevieve) and I had expected. We had heard and read such glowing reports of the country and its people. After only a few days in the country my first impressions of both the locals and the city of Kampala are extremely positive ones. As we left the arrivals area at Entebbe airport and stepped outside in Uganda for the first time we were greeted by a large advertising board for Barclays Bank. It says in hugely proud letters “Enjoy Africa’s friendliest country”. The people are among the friendliest people I have had the pleasure of spending time with – not only in Africa, but worldwide. I’m not sure if it’s because the locals are all aware of this label that they have and make the effort to live up to the hype or if it’s because they are simply incredibly friendly. But which came first – the chicken or the egg? It doesn’t matter, from my experience so far, it’s been a pleasure to be here amongst the Ugandans. Unlike the locals of many other developing countries, they genuinely want to make sure that their overseas visitors are made welcome, feel comfortable and at home in Uganda. They offer to help at any opportunity and, surprisingly, are rarely looking for anything in return except a thank you and a warm smile – and the opportunity to shout Muzungu (“White man”) at you. This is purely an observation. Apparently, the locals refer to each other as such things as the brown one, the fat one and the blind one so their use of the local word for “White man” isn’t supposed to be racist in any way. This kind nature is not only reserved for foreign visitors, it is also their way with each other.
My first experience with a local minibus taxi (called a Mutatu in the local language) highlighted this. There is space for 13 people in the taxi. All seats were full with 12 passengers and the conductor seated next to a serious looking man in smart business attire. I presumed we were full but we stopped to pick up a market woman. There is no space for standing on these taxis but there was absolutely no problem with the conductor sitting on the businessman’s knees as we carried on along our way. The Ugandan people have such a gentle nature. They are softly spoken and I am yet to hear someone raise their voice in anger. They all seem to have genuine consideration for each others feelings. If someone drops what they are holding and it breaks, everyone around will say “sorry” – and they mean it. One minibus taxi I was on drove passed the scene of a lady who had fallen off her bicycle and was being helped by a few locals. Almost in unison, all the passengers on the bus said “sorry”. They say it in such a heartfelt manner that you can’t help but be taken aback by their compassion for one another.
Their positivity is apparent through their beaming smiles – from small children through to the frailest of old men. Almost everyone I have seen looks well and healthy. They have an abundance of naturally grown produce, available cheaply in the local markets. They have a low fat and low sugar diet – their teeth are all great (so my Genevieve tells me – she’s a dentist!). In the respect of living in a lush, green, plentiful country the Ugandans have a lot to be happy about. Their climate allows them to grow an abundance of fruit, vegetables tea, coffee and also sugar. The country now exports some of these products and the government is hopefully using the revenue to improve the country and the welfare of its people.
It seems that the tremendous weight of the Idi Amin era seems long forgotten and the country is moving forward positively. While I have spent most of my few days here in Kampala I have also been fortunate enough to visit two separate groups of people in rural communities in Jinja and Mukono. The people here are also progressing nicely. The Micro finance institutions based all around Uganda are able to offer loans and other financial products as well as training to a wide section of the population, at more affordable rates than local money lenders. This relatively recently introduced form of money lending is allowing those not previously able to apply for bank loans, able to afford the extortionate money lender rates or live in too remote a community to have been reached in the past to receive financial support. Their small businesses are starting to thrive. Individual brick-makers now have four or five full time workers and are dreaming of buying land and building homes and services for their village. Families who previously owned one cow now have a few cows and a handful of calves and can sell milk in their village market to the locals at a more affordable price. Women who used to buy a handful of bananas and sell them on the roadside now have a stall at the town market and are able to buy and sell in much larger quantities. Rural families are able to send all their children to school and many have hopes of going onto further education and becoming professionals. People are building themselves new brick homes. Drainage channels are being dug and paved alongside the roads to manage the rain water flow. Roads are being re-laid. Construction is everywhere. The companies in charge are employing large numbers of locals to help with the manual labour. A few mobile phone companies are competing for the market, offering affordable communication for all. It is not uncommon to see a family living in a mud brick house to have a few mobile phones between them. There is wireless internet all around Kampala. These are exciting times for Uganda.
Everyone has a great sense of pride in their appearance. They all dress immaculately and it is an insult to them to not wear appropriate attire. A muzungu who goes around in ripped pants, flip flops and a collarless t-shirt is considered to be showing disrespect by not dressing according to how he or she can afford to dress. While outward appearance shows a prosperous and healthy nation the bitter fact that so many Ugandans are infected with HIV AIDS, malaria and cholera are widespread and the Ebola virus is once again starting to spread in the west of the country. There are public notice adverts on huge billboards urging people not to have cross generational sex. Power cuts across Kampala are extremely common and often lengthy. The vehicles on the roads are mainly old, emitting black smoke, making large areas of the city dirty and polluted. The Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), a guerilla movement, allegedly supporting the Sudan People’s Liberation Army (SPLA), operates in Northern Uganda and Sudan and is accused of widespread human rights violations. They are in armed rebellion against the Ugandan Government in what is one of Africa’s longest conflicts. This is a nation not without its problems – and some very serious ones at that.
It’s clear that there are many western organizations here to help. Although, a few of the locals we have spoken to about this, are under the impression that most westerners are here to make money and reap the financial benefits of being here. The NGOs are here to do good for Uganda and its people. Many of the expats here live very comfortable lifestyles – in securely walled apartment blocks or houses, with round the clock security, daily maid service, buying imported food from the modern supermarkets, frequenting expat-only bars, being chauffeured around by personal drivers in huge 4-wheel-drive SUVs. Having said all that, most expats are here to contribute to the country; they spend their foreign money here and therefore support the Ugandan economy.
My wife and I are here to volunteer with PEARL Microfinance. It’s an organization that provides financial services to those people that are not able to use the regular banking system due to their remote location or lack of equity to put up against a loan. It’s unfortunate but unavoidable that companies like PEARL have to charge higher interest rates than the bank to enable them to cover their costs and be self sufficient. While the interest charged is around 30% per annum when you consider that inflation is around half of this amount, it doesn’t seem so unreasonable. The recipients of the loans that we have met so far are all happy with the way the money has helped with their businesses and also their private lives. We have heard some interesting stories about the small businesses that the loan recipients own. They include such businesses as brick-making operations, banana sales, general stores, scrap metal collection and sales, milk production, sugar cane farming and restaurants. The locals tell us about their businesses and also about their family situation. Many of them are women, married with five or more children and are also supporting the children of their brothers and sisters who have died young. Yesterday we met a young lady who was holding back the tears telling us how her youngest child recently died of AIDS and how her eldest child now has the HIV virus. The medication is available but the costs of the drugs have forced her into making the decision not to give them to her daughter. When you consider that these drugs cost less than a dollar a day it’s just incredible to think that it’s not an affordable option for many families here.
So after hearing and writing the stories of all the people we meet the next challenge is to upload the info to the Kiva website. It’s hard to describe to someone that has only ever accessed the internet from a computer in a developed country. Everyone can remember dial up speeds before they had the luxury of broadband. Even the snail pace of the very first dial up connections was made to feel super-speedy when compared with the dial up access we have to deal with in Uganda. I’ve just spent the past four hours trying to set up an online bank transfer between two of my online accounts. Back home I’d complete this task in a few minutes at the most. Not here. It took me all morning. Lost connections, website time outs, page not recognized, unexplainable errors, power cuts, computers crashing. Maybe 30 attempts later, the money had been transferred. Our job involves uploading stories of local businessmen and women to Kiva’s website. The target to collect and upload 15 stories per week sounds like an easy one when you consider it takes five minutes to collect a story, tens minutes to write it up and, in theory, one minute to upload it. Simple! Meet a large group of entrepreneurs on Monday morning, interview 15 of them in the space of a couple of hours, return to the office and spend the afternoon writing and uploading all of them, have Tuesday to Friday free to do other things for PEARL and Kiva. Things just happen much slower here. Patience is a key attribute for everyone to have – and lots of it. The journey to the field which is planned to start from the office at 9am doesn’t leave until 1pm. The “45 minute journey” takes three and half hours, most of the time sitting in “jam”, or stopping at a kiosk for 20 minutes to buy a bottle of water. Don’t ask my why it takes so long to do such simple tasks. It just does. There’s no point trying to speed things up – it won’t happen and people won’t understand why you’re in a hurry. The quick interviews with the entrepreneurs each take five times longer than anticipated due to everything having to be translated back and forward through an interpreter.
Processes simply aren’t as efficient here. I have to lower my expectations of everything and everyone. If I expected to be able to do the same things here as I can back home in the same space of time then I would spend all day every day incredibly frustrated. It’s much easier to say this than put it into practice but I have to try to laugh at certain situations rather than let them get to me…
Uganda – Great Expectations
I thought I knew what to expect when we arrived in Uganda. We’d been to Africa before – to Tanzania, Malawi and Zambia – for six weeks as part of a round the world backpacking trip. I fell in love with the continent then, and vowed to return. Next time, I promised myself, I’d do something worthwhile there, rather than just appreciate Africa’s beauty with the eyes of a traveler. It took a year, but my husband, Adam, and I have returned. And that worthwhile thing we’ve found is to become Kiva Fellows at Pearl Microfinance in Kampala, Uganda.
So after spending a week here, and only three days at Pearl, what surprises have I had? Do I dare share my insight after such brief exposure to both the country of Uganda and my first glimpse of microfinance in action? I do, I do, but with the disclaimer that things will be turned on their head soon enough. With every new experience, no doubt I will deepen my understanding of Uganda, the Ugandan people and the reality of microfinance in the field.
First Impressions
I could write reams about the wonderful landscape of Africa. The lush greenery and gentle golden light are part of the reason I am drawn here. And coming from the harsh land of Australia, all sun burnt and drought-stricken, the intensity and number of different shades of green and the rich red soil, this really is paradise found. But Kampala is a bustling city of one million people, so would it be fair or sensible to expect it to live up to my glorious expectations? Well, yes and no. The city centre is bumper to bumper cars, trucks and buses, most of which pump out huge plumes of black smoke which look and smell like they’re instantly reducing your lifespan.
This heavy traffic is known in Ugandan English as ‘jam’, an abbreviation of ‘traffic jam’. Obvious, you say. Well, not so clear to this Muzungu (white person), who is only just starting to tune her ear to the different African vowels and new words that pepper the English spoken here. So not only will we attempt to learn Luganda, but we’ll be learning Ugandan English while we’re here too. One word which I have heard many more times than I expected was ‘sorry’. Ugandans have broadened its meaning so that now it is used as an expression of concern and sympathy. It’s been said to me when I’ve dropped something or slipped, to a barman who smashed a glass, and as a outcry when our mini-bus taxi drove passed a car accident. What a lovely adaptation of a word that so many of us have so little time for is our busy western lives.
So yes, there is traffic and pollution in the city centre. Yet the people in the streets are all smartly dressed, with their clothes pristinely clean and perfectly pressed. They certainly put our wardrobes to shame! And cleanliness is a thing that requires much work here. Kampala is covered with fine red dust that gets into everything – eyes and ears, under finger nails, into computer keyboards, cell phones, you name it, there’s that red dust there. The dust has even found its way to the peaceful suburbs which lie a mile or so to the north of the city center. But there it only seems to add gentleness to the landscape, tempering the stark blackness of the bitumen roads. Here, there are gentle hills (which prove to be much less gentle when navigated on foot in the heat of the midday sun), and beautiful views over the city center as well as other equally picturesque hills which make up this part of town. And this is where our microfinance partner is located, which I must admit did come as a surprise. I had hoped to be able to walk to work, but never had I dreamed it would be along paths which meander around hills covered in dense greenery, with the busy city center of Kampala at their feet. We are lucky enough to have found an apartment (with minimum of fuss), which is half an hour walk from Pearl Microfinance, so we wake up to a most pleasant amble past smiling, friendly faces on our way to work. It hasn’t really rained since we’ve been here, so I’m not sure I’ll find the journey as much fun in the mud slides that are bound to result. So I’ll cling on to my fantasy a while longer.
We’ve been out of Kampala on two field visits, to the town of Jinja, at the source of the Nile and to Mukono, which is about 30 miles away. The drive took us through the most vivid green landscape, through forests and plains, with that vast African sky always overhead. When we stopped to buy some water and grilled bananas, we were descended upon by a swarm of vendors, who stood as close as they could to the car windows, gently presenting their goods. There was no pushing or aggressive selling you might expect with such a horde, but the Ugandans appear to be a most polite and considerate people. Not once have I heard a raised voice, or seen anything other than consideration for others. Not on crowded 14 person mini-bus shared taxis, on streets jammed with cars while motorbikes navigate the traffic around pedestrians side-stepping open man-holes. There seems to be enough room for everyone, never a need for a push or a shove. There’s even thoughtfulness from the motorbike taxi (boda-boda) drivers, while touting for business. Ok, so pulling up on the pavement right in front of where we’re walking isn’t the most polite way to get our attention, but when we decline the offer of a hair-raising ride through traffic sans helmet, we’re simply smiled at, and allowed to walk on in peace.
Ugandans are softly spoken and hushed even in a crowd. But that quiet countenance lights up as you greet someone in the street. Not necessarily with a simple ‘hello’, as we greet each other in the west, often passing by before waiting for a response. Ugandans seem to ask “How are you?” and show genuine interest in the response. They will wait for your reply before continuing on their way, and reward you with a huge smile if you ask them yourself. I feel as though it is a culture that times itself on a more human scale than we do in the west, so things take as long as they take (which is usually longer than we’re used to), but in a way that the human element is not ignored. I think we can learn much from this, and perhaps it’s something that the ‘developed world’ has forgotten on its quest for, well, development.
I had expected a strong sense of modesty and propriety that I’ve experienced elsewhere in Africa. So of course, I packed modest clothes and planned to behave myself. But the Ugandan sense of physical modesty seems to concern itself with legs and not shoulders or even breasts, as I had expected. While the long skirts were an obvious choice, I am thrilled to know that I can wear sleeveless tops in this hot and humid climate, but slightly less pleased that I didn’t actually bring any. The greater surprise, where correct behavior is concerned, is the way a husband and wife can interact in public. Not only are public displays of affection perceived as mildly pornographic, but hand-holding or even just close proximity to one’s spouse may cause offense. Not that anyone has actually told us that they’re offended, or reproached us in any way. We’ve just been met with nervous giggles and down turned eyes when we’ve commit such a faux pas. I discovered this first when we squashed into a shared taxi, with four of us expected to share three seats. The obvious solution (to me at least) was to squash up next to my husband and sit almost on his lap. Surely this would be less awkward than cuddling up to the stranger next to me? That’s when I experienced 13 embarrassed Ugandans giggling uncomfortably at us two inappropriate Muzungus. It was a gentle, yet effective way to tell us we had crossed over that imaginary line.
Encounters with microfinance
So was our first trip into the field – our first window into the reality of microfinance – what I had expected? Yes, on first glimpse, it is just as I had imagined. We met a group of 31 men and women in Jinja, each of whom runs their own business, who were receiving their group loan on the day of our visit. We were greeted by a round of polite (and gentle, always gentle!) applause. We were the Muzungu face of Kiva, the source of their much needed funds, which have found their way across the globe to their group in Jijna.
These were hard working people, many with several businesses but still struggling to meet the rocketing costs of school feels for their children. So many of them care for nieces and nephews who have been orphaned by AIDS, in addition to their own children, and it was not uncommon to learn of 15 people living in one house. Everyone we spoke to was determined that all of their children, as well as their other dependents, complete school. And school fees are incredibly expensive here, so this seems to be a key reason why they’re seeking loans. We asked some of them what they did in their spare time and were met with blank faces. When I’m not at work? I’m asleep of course. And we think we have it tough with our annual leave and public holidays! Yet they were positive about the future and all had dreams for their children to find professions they enjoy and live an easier life.
So has my first glimpse of Uganda shaken my preconceptions, my high hopes for a land of beauty and a warm and gentle people? Incredibly, I can say that the experiences of my first week in Kampala have been overwhelmingly positive. No doubt there will be people and events that will challenge my idyllic view of life here, but today I am so delighted to be here.
And what of our purpose here – of microfinance and Kiva in action? So far, I can say that It’s most certainly worthwhile and it really is changing people’s lives. I feel so privileged to be able to meet with these strong and hard-working people, to talk with them and learn about their experiences. It’s not something that can really be done as a traveler and I’m excited to be able to share it with the Kiva lenders.
Sinapi! Abapa! Sinapi! Enkoso!
During the last month, I’ve visited quite a few courtyards, backyards, sideyards, and frontyards. In each one, I can usually count on two things. One is that someone in the group rises to find chairs for the loan officers and myself and places these chairs in a cool, shady spot. The other is the Sinapi cheer. A loan officer walks into the meeting area and shouts, “Sinapi” and claps twice. In response, the group members yell, “Abapa” (Good Seed). This cheer goes through several more iterations with different responses and the group sits down.
But, recently, in one group, the loan officer’s “Sinapi” was met with silence. The officer tried again and only met silence again. She then smiled, sat down, and walked through the cheer with the group. Another Sinapi employee sitting next to me explained that this was a new group and had only completed the first week of the four week orientation. I thought to myself that if my past experiences could shed any light on the future, the officer’s cheer would be met with a rousing response by the end of the orientation.
Sinapi’s orientation process is a fine example of how microfinance is not simply loans, but much, much more. Not unexpectedly, the orientation process includes concepts such as basic bookkeeping and loan financing. What is telling, however, is that before any of these business concepts are even introduced Sinapi spends considerable time talking to the group about their individual family life and about Sinapi’s core values (Integrity, Respect, Stewardship, and Commitment to the Poor). They explain how these core values not only guide Sinapi’s operations but should also guide their own businesses. They talk to the group about the importance of schooling, health, and instilling responsibility in their children. They ask them if they are having any family troubles or troubles with neighbors. And while much of this is motivated by the social mission of Sinapi, it is also in Sinapi’s financial interest to have healthy, happy clients who can repay on time.
A fine example of the blended relationship between social mission and financial mission is the wonderful work of the Kiva Coordinator, Joshua Opoku-Mainoo. Before he was asked to coordinate Sinapi’s Kiva efforts, he worked as a loan officer in their Takoradi branch. As part of his work, he decided to integrate health insurance registration into the orientation process.
As a backdrop, three years ago, the Ghanaian government instituted a national health insurance scheme with the goal of registering the entire nation. At this point, the registration process is being implemented on a voluntary basis. For those who are at the lowest income bracket, the annual premium is about 7 cedis (7 dollars) a year. However, many of these individuals were not registering with the scheme and many of them were Sinapi clients.
As a loan officer, Joshua understood that poor health was a significant cause of repayment problems. After all, sick clients don’t pay. And sick clients with big medical bills definitely don’t pay. By implementing registration into the orientation process, Josh was not only hoping to minimize health bills and sickness, but also expecting a reduction in repayment issues. The results are in. After instituting the process, the Takoradi branch has now seen a marked drop in repayment issues related to sickness and medical bills. Due to the success of this pilot, Sinapi is taking steps to integrate the insurance registration process into all of its orientations nationwide. It is in efforts like this that I’m seeing how it’s possible to use a microloan to support a broader social mission.
How a Skill Becomes a Loan Becomes a Business
I’ve decided to provide a pictorial representation of the loan steps for SPBD. I’ll use thumbnails because I’d like to avoid crashing the Ugandan or Mozambican or any other countries’ internet cafes. This will alow you to see some of the guys (and gals) behind the guys (and gals). I’m confident that other MFIs have similar processes. It was incredible to witness it first-hand. Hopefully this will provide a glimpse.
After a village expresses interest in starting a center (microfinance group), a representative of SPBD travels to the villages and provides them with a couple finely crafted program videos and a PowerPoint presentation to a very captive audience. Many of the villagers discover SPBD through local TV advertisements.
A Centre Manager (CM – loan officer) returns for four consecutive weeks to provide training on SPBD’s core concepts: business, weekly meetings, payments, savings and group guarantee. Group guarantee being the bedrock of this MFI. Each woman is dependent on the others to faithfully follow the terms of their agreement and must shoulder the burden if others are unable. This is where the Samoan culture of community and pride are especially indispensable.
On disbursement day, the women (as many as 100) begin to arrive at 8:00am at the SPBD office in Savaii. Some stay as long as 8 hours to receive their first loan. I’d like to say the atmosphere is teeming with excitement. I think, really, after 4 weeks of training, they just want their money. Many have had their skill (growing taro, fishing, making dresses, mats, etc) for many years. Time spent previously lounging in the fales (open air houses) is now spent more productively.
Each woman undergoes a final interview to guarantee her fitness in repaying the loan, understanding of the agreement and knowledge of her business. A wide grin and “fa’fetai” (thank you) are all that is needed to show their appreciation.
Now begins the standard 52-week loan term. Each week, a CM travels to each center to receive payments. Group guarantee is effectively enforced and followed.
Visits to the actual businesses is not often an option for a CM considering their very busy days. (But they are able to patronize them as customers during the nights and weekends.) During these center meetings while the detailed records are taken, I’ve had the opportunity to leave and visit the local food stalls, plantations and others. A retail location for many of the women is the Salelologa market where surprisingly no heckling and bargaining rarely takes place.
So the business and loan cycle continue for the next 51 weeks. Profits used to pay back the loan, educate their children, improve their houses, expand their businesses and save for the future. Prior to microfinance, opportunities never before realized.
General Assembly
Last weekend I had the pleasure of attending Hattha Kaksekar’s annual General Assembly, held at Sihanoukville, Cambodia’s resort town. When general manager Mr. Tong invited me I initially thought it was going to just a board meeting with a day at the beach thrown in for fun. Turns out I was very wrong. HKL is a large MFI. Everyone in the organization was invited, from the top managers and directors to security guards and janitors. Over 280 people attended, descending on Sihanoukville from nine HKL branches all over Cambodia. I hitched a ride on the bus chartered by the head office. Spirits were high as we left Phnom Penh, despite temperatures hovering around 100 in the packed bus. Everyone was excited for General Assembly, which is a highly anticipated event among HKL staff. It’s a chance to reconnect with friends and co-workers from other branches, some of whom they get to see only once a year. It was a festive five-hour drive down National Route 4 to the coast. Nonstop karaoke, drums, clapping, jokes, laughter. There were several leisurely rest stops along the way where we got out to stretch and sample questionable street vendor fare. As we passed through the Elephant Mountains, half the bus emptied at a roadside Buddhist shrine to light incense and make offerings for a safe journey. This is a must on Cambodian highways, where traffic laws are non-existent and safety consists of honking your horn as you pass on blind turns. Fortunately, we had a veteran driver.
HKL had practically rented out the entire Golden Sea Hotel for the occasion. The next day, everyone dressed in their finest business outfits. Most staff wore starched blue shirts with pressed pants or skirts, while management wore dark suits. I was hopelessly underdressed, but a tucked-in collared shirt goes a long way and they seemed to cut me some slack. Things started promptly at 7:30 with seven hours of power point presentations and speeches in Khmer. I sat up front with the management team trying to follow along, but could only comprehend numbers and whatever limited translations my seatmates whispered to me. 2007 had been the “year of valentine” for HKL, which I gathered meant that everyone was supposed to treat each other with love and respect. Mr. Tong declared 2008 to be the “year of happiness and prosperity.” Seven hours of business presentations in a foreign language was a bit of a challenge, but it was interesting to get a feel for the overall structure of HKL and its goals for the future.
The most anticipated event of the weekend was the banquet. Steaming mounds of rice topped with seasoned fish, mysterious crustaceans and mollusks caught that morning from the Gulf of Thailand and fresh fruit for dessert. And, of course, endless pitchers of Angkor beer. Cambodians love Angkor, which they drink with huge chunks of ice. Being unaccustomed to this practice, I politely declined because the beer was already ice cold. This turned out to be a mistake as the night wore on. Cambodians also love toasting, clinking glasses every minute or so. Having watered-down beer enables you to endure many toasts, which is essential because this banquet was especially large and long. Just about every credit officer from all nine branches wandered over to my table that night to introduce themselves and offer a toast. Trying to remember a single Cambodian name is hard enough for me, let alone over 250, but it was great to meet the faces behind the business profiles I’ve been editing.
After dinner various speeches and pronouncements were made. The Kampong Cham branch performed a skit called “Six Ways to Make People Like You” which included cross-dressing and riotous laughter. Then a DJ played HKL’s official song (yes, they have a song), a distressingly catchy piece of Cambodian pop written, composed, and sung by members of the internal auditing team. I had this song stuck in my head the rest of the trip. Once the music started everyone got up for traditional Khmer dancing. To me, this appeared to consist of walking counter-clockwise around a table with undulating hands and arms. Didn’t look too tough. I gave it a shot, much to everyone’s delight. I soon discovered that the moves were actually very specific and complex. Trying to save me from further embarrassment, a few guys asked me to show them some “hip-hop moves.” I don’t have anything remotely resembling hip-hop moves, but I indulged them with something vague and mostly awkward. The party ended around midnight, which is late a country where most people are in bed by 9:30.
The next day was a free day. The Banteay Meanchey branch challenged the Phnom Penh branch to a soccer match and won decisively 11-3. I couldn’t play because of a smashed toe, and my moral support evidently didn’t count for much. The rest of the day I hung out with the guys from the Stoung branch, playing beach games and swimming in the warm water. Mostly they sat in the shade playing cards and drinking Angkor. Vendors hawked all sorts of stuff, from swim trunks and sea-shell trinkets to raw peanuts and grilled squid.
Lunch and dinner was banquet-style with more seafood, but nowhere near as festive as last night. Everyone was up by 5:30 the next morning for the ride back to Phnom Penh. Back to work.
Powercords and other purchases
This morning, I went downtown again and, after visiting 6 stores (luckily all in the same neighborhood) and walking a mile to the one bank that takes my ATM card (I hadn’t brought enough cash, and credit cards are taken almost nowhere), I purchased a new powercord.
Kampala seemed incredibly remote before I got here. I carefully packed Q-tips, unsure if they would be available. Now I recognize how easy it is to acquire many of the things that I need, or simply things I want. My stupid mistakes and technical difficulties can be fairly easily overcome, as when I forgot to attach an adapter when I plugged in the battery charger. Another was available in fairly short order.
At the same time, some things I took for granted are much harder to come by. I needed to print out copies of borrower profiles once I got here and accessing a printer meant taking a matatu (taxi) to the next neighborhood and purchasing copies at 500 shillings a page (about 30 cents a sheet). I am used to printing anything and everything whenever I want, but now I think carefully about whether or not I really need that page. Given the usual state of my office at home, this is a good thing.
The primary difference for me in my acquisitions is the time that it takes: taking a matatu instead of hopping in the car; going to six computer stores instead of Best Buy; waiting for someone to help me print out my files instead of doing it myself. And I admit I miss the ease of doing these tasks at home. I’ve lived alone for a long time and considered myself to be very self-sufficient. Now I’m being asked to do things in a way that I haven’t been asked to since I was a kid: to share, to wait, to take my turn, and to not always expect things to go my way. I’m glad to report that I haven’t had any temper tantrums–so far.
You know you are in Tanzania when… (Vol. II)
1. You are constantly told to eat more ugali so you won’t be so skinny.
2. Cell phone towers are more common than traffic lights.
3.5. And this:
4. The most common phrase you hear is “Hey mzungu! Taxi?”
(“mzungu” is Swahili for “white person”)
5. A short cab ride can cost up to 3,000 TZS, but no worries…that’s only $2.
6. The vernacular has enough common greetings to fill a dictionary, but locals resort to English to explain that they are “busy.”
7. KC & JoJo, Shania Twain and WWF Wrestling are popular.
8. You usually use laundry detergent powder to wash your hands in restaurants.
9. Riding three people on a small Chinese motorbike is safer than riding certain bus routes.
10. The internet is so slow it takes 25 minutes to post this blog.
You know you are in Tanzania when…
Hopefully, this is just volume 1 of “You know you are in Tanzania when…” blogs. I am banking on contributions from Dana and Johannah, the other TZ fellows for the next volumes…
1. Coworkers frequently walk by and casually mention that they have malaria.
2. The most common question you are asked is: “Are you a Muslim or a Christian?”
3. Gospel music plays full volume during the workday.
4. During traffic jams, 2-lane roads become 6-lane highways courtesy of drainage ditches, school yards, and storefronts.
5. Cell phone airtime is billed per second.
6. Getting a seat on the bus during rush hour requires running at a full sprint or climbing through a window.
7. Children greet you with: “Good morning,” no matter the time of day.
8. You get better cell phone reception than you do in the U.S., but you have no access to running water.
9. Your bus hits a biker and drives away.
10. Your taxi driver can watch TV, make videos and play music with his cell phone, but his taxi has no radio, A/C, seatbelts, locks…and often, no gas.
Dress code
Hello from Uganda! I have been in Kampala for a week now and all is going very well, but I have to say I feel woefully underdressed most of the time. People on the street are by and large impeccably turned out. Looking around the Life in Africa office, the men are all wearing nice trousers and buttoned shirts, and the women are in lovely skirts and blouses. And it’s true everywhere. I have seen more beautiful ties since I’ve been in Kampala than I’ve seen in years. And women: no trooping through the streets in sneakers. You’ll be in dressy shoes wherever you are, dirt road or no.
I’ll be wearing the two skirts and one dress that I bought almost continuously, I imagine, and I’ve been working up the callouses on my feet so that I can wear my better shoes everywhere. It just seems more respectful, somehow. The cargo pants and t-shirts will be for slouching around in the apartment and weekend activities.
Kolping House
Thanks to Drew Kinder, recently returned Kiva Fellow, I was able to stay at Kampala Kolping House for my first week of (and an easy transition to) Kampala life. Coming back after my first full day at the Life in Africa office, on my last night at Kolping House, I found the following to greet me:
What you can’t see is the longhorned bull on the other side of the driveway!
Make you homesick, Drew? Truly, a lovely place, and a wonderful experience thus far.
Meet a Loan Officer
Loan officers are an integral part of the microfinance process. Without the hard work of loan officers, reaching the poor with financial services would not be possible. However, loan officers typically do not get very much attention. With that in mind, I thought it would be interesting for you to meet a friend of mine at YOSEFO to help give you a better understanding of how loan officers fit into the microfinance process.
At YOSEFO, each loan officer is assigned a community center. There are 13 centers serviced by the Dar es Salaam branch scattered throughout the urban area, primarily in poorer communities. During the week, each loan officer travels to their community center to have sessions with their clients. Each session consists of 40 clients, so loan officers typically meet with at least 400 clients every week. While conducting the community banking centers they collect repayments, disburse loans, and deal with issues that clients are facing. After traveling to the field, officers return to the YOSEFO office to record and process the transactions that took place throughout the day. The process can be tedious, but is crucial to ensure that collections, disbursements and defaults are recorded with the greatest possible accuracy.
Name: James Mwenda
Age: 27
Hometown: Njombe, Tanzania (Iringa Region)
YOSEFO Center: Vituka
Educational background: B.A. Geography and Environment
Favorite food: Ugali and Beef
Interests: Football, Traveling, Seeing new places, Singing, Gospel music
Future plans: I hope to return to University and obtain an M.B.A. in Human Resources Management
On working as a loan officer:
“Working as a loan officer is a challenging, but rewarding experience. I work with a very diverse group of clients that have different backgrounds and characteristics. My clients all respond to issues differently, and so it is often a challenge to learn how to deal with each client appropriately.
Not long after clients receive loans, I am able to observe improvements in their standard of living. It is not difficult to see actual physical improvements in my client’s live as a result of receiving loans. For example, some of my clients have been able to pay school fees for their children, and others have been able to purchase land for the first time. It is also rewarding to see my client’s ability to pay back loans improve over time as they graduate to larger and larger loans. Ultimately, working as a loan officer gives me the opportunity to learn the process of community development. I am able to actively organize and spearhead social development in the community.”
Soccer Does Promote Social and Economic Development
During my initial days here in Mozambique, while Bernardo was explaining me Hluvuku’s background and current position, he mentioned investments in a soccer team. Immediately I remembered all the NGOs that operate in Brazilian slums and their effort to promote sports (99% of the time soccer) and music. I though that soccer worked in Brazil because of the fame it has and because many star players come from those slums. I never actually imaged how far it could reach and how thoughtful this method could be.
Hluvuku is divided in 4 departments, as below. The 3 profitable ones are committed to give 10% of their monthly profits to Hluvuku’s social department.
- Microfinance: offering microcredit and micro-leasing
- Services: offering services to clients (such as tractors to help in their harvest)
- Production: raising cattle and selling meat in the region at a lower cost
- Social: promoting the soccer team of Bela Vista village and other community gatherings and traditional parties (below a picture of Hluvuku’s social center)
I must admit that my first reaction as a Brazilian girl used to having men talking all the time about soccer was to think that the choice of soccer was mainly because of Bernardo’s personal taste or because most of Hluvuku’s staff are men. Those might even be the true reasons, but it doesn’t matter!! Today I realized that soccer is an incredible way of promoting social and economic development, in any where in the world.
The Bela Vista team is already playing for a year now, and because of their great performance as beginners last year, they were given the chance to play Mozambican’s national second division championship this year. Yesterday a couple of representatives of this championship where here in Bela Vista checking the field’s conditions, as there will be a couple of games played here! More than an opportunity for a few young men to play and do something on their spare time, this will be an amazing opportunity for the village to grow and become known again.
Bela Vista used to be an important city before Mozambican civil war, if you get any map of Mozambique, it will always point Bela Vista just below Maputo. But the war simply destroyed it: almost all the brick houses where put down or abandoned and 16 years weren’t enough to rebuild it.
This simply choice of a soccer team was all but a personal or naïve choice. It will put Bela Vista back in the map. It will promote economic development through increase in people flow. It will help all Kiva borrowers that have grocery stores and will help local lodges to develop (today there is just 1 guest house with 4 rooms). It will also promote social development through the sense of one unit country, no more local tribes that have never been to each other villages.
The championship will begin in April. I already have a team to support! I will let you know how Hluvuku Futebol Clube goes!!
Ate mais.
Visiting clients in a small city in Azerbaijan
Greetings! My name is Ai Li Ang and I live in Chicago, Illinois, in the USA. I was born and grew up in Malaysia and am ethnically Chinese (this detail will be relevant later on). I arrived in Azerbaijan as a Kiva Fellow to work with one of Kiva’s partners, Norwegian Microcredit (Normicro). This is the second time that Normicro is hosting a Kiva Fellow. Since the previous Fellow, Liz Vallette, departed in fall of 2007, Normicro has continued to experience tremendous growth in number of clients served and loan portfolio. In less than a year, Normicro has added 2 branch offices to the 5 it had last year, improving access to microloans for many low-income and internally-displaced persons in Azerbaijan.
Last week, I ventured outside the capital city of Baku (where Normicro’s head office is located) to visit a branch office (where loans are administered) for the first time. My goal was to interview clients who received loans from Kiva lenders, write journals, and upload the journals to Kiva.org. Getting to Khachmaz, a city north of Baku, was relatively easy for someone who doesn’t speak Azeri or Russian. Minibuses, known as “mashrutkas”, line up outside one of Baku’s main bus stations with clearly labeled signs of their destinations. As far I know, the mashrutkas don’t follow schedules, but depart as soon as each vehicle fills up. For most low-income Azeris, mashrutkas are the most reliable and affordable means of traveling to other cities. However, the 3 manat (approx. 3.60 USD) one way, 2.5 hour bumpy journey is not for the faint-hearted. Many times the driver would pass slow trucks in spite of on-coming vehicles, swerving back to his own lane only at the very last minute. Sometimes, when the driver overestimated his mashrutka’s horsepower on a passing attempt, he would resort to creating an additional middle lane.
During my 3 days at Normicro’s Khachmaz branch office, the two loan officers, Vagif and Nafira, were quite busy meeting with clients at the office. Yet, they took some time off in the afternoons to take me to see borrowers of Kiva loans. I also received translation help from a U.S. Peace Corps volunteer, Adam. Most of the clients we visited operated retail (e.g., clothes, groceries, shoes, furniture) business. Very quickly I got consistent replies that the loans were used to purchase inventory in bulk to get lower prices. This implies that the additional profit margin from lower cost of goods was more than sufficient to offset the 3% monthly interest rate charged by Normicro. Access to loans essentially accelerates the rate at which these entrepreneurs accumulate profit and grow their businesses. Many of them also expressed the desire to take larger loans so that they can make one-time infrastructure investments or buy inventory in even larger quantities.
In a small city such as Khachmaz, when two foreigners walk through the bazaar and talk to people, all buying and selling activities are paused because everyone gathers around to listen to our interviews! Each one of us also draws attention for different reasons: Vagif and Nafira, the loan officers, were constantly approached by current and potential clients with inquiries; Adam, a caucasian, was considered the rich investor who would provide the loan capital; I, on the other hand, was asked directly or indirectly what I was selling! (Chinese in Azerbaijan are typically seen selling toys and misc. items on sidewalks and on the streets.)
Cold Weather
Over the past five months I have, several times, made the ignorant mistake of poking fun at the perceived idea of ‘cold’ here. Coming from Minnesota, land of ‘the nation’s ice box’, where just a couple weeks ago it hit a record low of 40 below, before wind-chill, I have a different mentality of cold than someone from a not-so-northern state, who might put on a winter jacket when the weather hits 60, when we don a t-shirt come spring when the thermometer notch reads above freezing. So, when traveling to places in Peru and now Guatemala, that are known to the locals as unbearably cold, I simply laugh and say, ‘I’m from Minnesota, I think I can handle it’.
And, of course, I can- because I have a heated room with hot water and warm blankets to go home to after the day’s work. It has taken me five months to realize this, and I feel so foolish for my delay. Choosing where to live in the ‘developed’ world, based on weather conditions, has always been a question of simple taste. Do you like snow? Do you crave the sun? Do you love the water? Do you need the openness of endless plains, or the distraction of the mountains? But not here. A few days ago a Guatemalan woman asked me about my home. She was intrigued by the weather of Minnesota, trying to picture that much snow or that amount of cold. But she had a confused look, and asked, very awe-struck, what we do for food during the winter. Because certainly, crops can’t grow like that. I had no idea how to answer that. The simple answer of ‘we drive to the grocery store just like we do in the summer’ didn’t seem to be appropriate, so I rattled something off about cows and pigs and chickens being okay in the cold. I felt my ignorance rising up inside, and made an unsuccessful attempt to explain importing food from other regions not burdened by the cold, but realized I had no real idea what I was talking about.
The cold here, when you have no heat and holes in the broken walls of your house, is lethal. Thinking about it made me cringe with sadness for the homeless in Minnesota, too. I can’t imagine. I have been cold before, truly freezing, with icicles forming on my eyelashes, but I have always done so out of free will, with the option of running back inside to the warmth and security of a heated home full of blankets, fireplaces, and hot chocolate. And here, if the cold doesn’t kill you, it kills your crops, your one hope for an income or nourishment for your family. I wonder if this fear is present for farmers in the ‘developed’ world, when I read about an early unexpected frost.
I’m slightly embarrassed it took me this long to see things a little more as they really are. I wonder what else my ignorance is keeping from me…
Talofa from Samoa
Greetings, friends and strangers.
I’ll be spending the next 3 months in Samoa providing you with my observations of the country, people and most importantly, South Pacific Business Development (SPBD), the MFI at which I’ll be working and to whom you may have lent.
I will not offer my impressions of Samoa until several weeks have passed and I can start to make some sense of everything. Otherwise, it would only be a collection of incoherent ramblings about a country of which I do not even speak its native language.
Many have asked where Samoa is located. Or more precisely, where in Africa it is. For the map-deprived Miss America watchers, Samoa is located midway between Hawaii and New Zealand. For all the other answers to general questions, go here: www.visitsamoa.ws
SPBD was started in 1999 by Greg Casagrande, an American and former Ford Motor Company executive. It’s one of Kiva’s original Field Partners. It is a Grameen Bank style micro finance organization serving those living in poverty in the Pacific Islands. It uses the group lending method and focuses on empowering women (Very effectively, I can already confidently add). Its first target market is the island nation of Samoa. The 48% of the population that the UNDP has declared as being food deficient.
For a 2006 NBC piece on SPBD, go to:
http://msnbc.msn.com/id/11328051/
One thing is for certain. Samoa is a prime setting for microfinance: minimal government interference or regulation, politically stable, low crime, liberated women, collective environment, wealth of microbusiness opportunities and, most notably, the need for it.
For anyone mulling over the impact of Kiva on the MFIs, look no further than SPBD. Thanks to the working capital that Kiva provides, SPBD was able to expand from the main island of Upolu to Savaii in the last few months. (Which, by corollary, offered me the opportunity to visit more of Samoa). And more islands are on the horizon, literally.
I will try to keep these posts as word-less and picture-full as possible. Seeing the benefits of your work is always much more satisfying than reading about it. Alas, my fellowship.
My First Repayment Day
Sometimes the end is the best beginning. And, by the end of my first repayment day, a group of four women marched past me, through the hallway and onto the red dirt path outside the house where they had just completed their repayments. As they passed, some were shaking their heads, others were raising their voices in frustration, but they were all unified by their goal – to make a visit on a member of their group who was absent from the repayment meeting and failed to make another repayment again. The rest of the group covered her payment for her. Now it was time to collect.
When I first learned about microfinance, I like so many before me had read about the Grameen Bank and group loans. For me, the concept of converting something as instinctive as peer pressure into social collateral was brilliant in its simplicity. But, I wanted to see it first hand. Well, thanks to Kiva and Sinapi Aba Trust I got my first chance this past week.
As I entered the courtyard with the loan officer, there were several groups huddled in different corners. Within each group, a leader was busy collecting payments from members. The loan officer was seated in a corner in front of a simple desk. On the desk was a stapler, a notebook , an office calculator and some space to collect large wads of cash and piles of coins. As the payment officer called the groups up, they assembled around him and he started his counting.
For most of the groups, this process went smooth. But, there were exceptions. There was a woman who was claiming she didn’t have enough to make this week’s repayment. She opened her purse and paid all she could. The loan officer looked at her with disappointment. The other members in her group – particularly an elderly member – said to her, “you should pay to avoid disgrace.” After some silence and some pleading, she reached into various pockets and like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, soon found enough bills and change.
In another case, a member said she couldn’t pay this week as she was waiting for some customers to pay her. She pled her case, but as the members paid for her, she slowly moved to the outside of the group. She sat in a chair - her arms crossed, her eyes staring at the floor. I didn’t get a complete translation, but I sensed and felt her dejection.
But, nothing compared to those women who rallied their group and marched passed me with such determination. I could not stay around to find out if they convinced the defaulting member to pay. I can only say I wouldn’t have wanted to be in her shoes as the battalion marched towards me.
Busy Streets of Baku
Stepping out onto the streets of Azerbaijan’s capital city is a quick way to gain insight on the local economic situation. The streets of Baku, much like other large cities, are plagued with traffic and drivers who use their horns more than they obey any sort of traffic laws. The mixture of vehicles that fill the roads is telling of the wealth disparity. Public transport is accomplished by aging mini-buses called marshrutkas plying the streets in all directions. Larger city buses are mostly absent so these marshrutkas provide the most comprehensive city transport in Baku. Although bus stops do exist, they are rarely used so one can wave down a passing bus at any time. Boxy, Russian made Ladas are most prevalent passenger car because they are cheap, easy to fix, and will last for hundreds of thousands of miles. However, with their 13” wheels and a manual choke lever, Ladas have less style than your back yard lawnmower. The final component of Baku’s streets is luxury cars. In stark contrast to the rest of the 4-wheeled street machines, BMWs, Mercedes, Land Rovers, Hummers and other high value vehicles by anyone’s standards are surprisingly common, clearly the spoils of the rich Azerbaijan oil deposits. Although watching these mismatched cars interact can be amusing (until you need to cross the street) one of the most enjoyable things to do in Baku is walk through the walls of the old city. The cobblestone streets, thankfully too narrow for cars, quickly dampen the noise of the busy modern city leaving you to enjoy the ancient architectural beauty in peace. The winding maze of alleys helps to prolong the peaceful experience before you inevitably exit the gates and face the modern world again – wishing that car horns wore out as frequently as brake lights.
Ola from Mozambique!!
Or as locals would say hello in Ronga: Shawane!! For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Beatriz, originally from Brazil, and will proudly be a Kiva Fellow with Hluvuku-Adsema in Mozambique for the next 4 months.
I have arrived 2 days ago and so far so good! Hluvuku seems to be an outstanding organization. Fast growing since its establishment in 2004, today it has more than 2,000 clients and an outstanding loan portfolio of almost $1.0 million dollars. Hluvuku mission is to promote social and economic development in the district of Matatuime and surrounding, and apparently it has been doing a great job! There are 5 branches (Bela Vista, Boane, Catembe, Namaacha and Ponta D’Ouro) spread between Mozambican capital Maputo and the south of the country – close to South Africa and Swaziland’s borders.
I’m initially based in Bela Vista (100 km from Maputo), where Hluvuku’s general director, Mr. Bernardo Tembe, is locate. The village has around 3,000 people, is very poor but quite charming. It has considerable developed itself in the last 10 years and today, even though you won’t find proper roads to access the village, it is possible to see a few houses with cement walls and 2 streets with public illumination. There is even a Christian church under construction, what an honor for the village!
Yesterday Bernardo took me around all the branches (some located more than 100km from Bela Vista) and it was already possible to notice economic development / status differences between the villages. I will at some point live in each of them – I’ll definitely give more details as I move along.
I haven’t started to properly work yet, that is, to visit entrepreneurs with Kiva loan outstanding, I’m just getting familiar with the institution and with the 38-40 degrees Celsius (100-104 Fahrenheit) during the day (and 30C / 86F at night). For a Brazilian, this is even worse than arriving in Rio de Janeiro in the summer, getting out of the plane for a business meeting in a suit at a 40 C / 104F temperature!! I wish there was enough water to drink and/or shower, but unfortunately water (potable or not) is still a very scarce thing. I am living in a house together with locals, some government people from the district, and it will be an incredible experience. To share the local culture, learn and give, is what this fellowship is all about!
I look forward to getting involved with the operations and will certainly keep everyone posted!!
Ate breve / Hitavonana / Cheers
Beatriz
CRAN Social Development Projects
Along with its microfinance unit, CRAN also sponsors social development projects. CRAN has built 5 schools in Ghana and has provided a community with clean running water. I recently got an opportunity to visit a CRAN sponsored school in the Abaenu community. To get to the village a 4×4 vehicle is a must. Once you turn off the nicely paved road headed to Accra, you embark on what is only comparable to a roller-coaster ride. For about 3 miles the truck bounced up-and-down, sided-to-side and every other way imaginable. After we arrived at the existing school it was apparent how badly another school building was needed, not because the current school was outdated or needed structural improvements, but because of how incredibly overcrowded the classrooms were. A leader from the village came to the CRAN offices and spoke with Teye, the director of social development projects, about the need for a separate school building for the nursery and kindergarten. The kindergarten consists of 109 children and the nursery has 50 children. In total, 159 total children were sharing 2 small rooms.
That’s when CRAN stepped in and built a separate building for the 2 kindergarten classes and the nursery. However, CRAN didn’t do all the work. CRAN provided the materials and specialized labor needed to build a school house, but engaged the community in the building of it. By actively helping in the building of the school, the community members feel more attached to the project and also provide a cost effective labor force. CRAN was able to build the 4 classroom school house with a bathroom for about $18,000.
When I arrived at the school house in the Abaenu village, I was immediately greeted with a loud cheer by the kindergarten class. They quickly left the overcrowded classroom and swarmed me. Kids absolutely love having their picture taken and looking at the picture even more. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do anything till I took their picture, I pulled my camera out to take the picture and the kids immediately organized themselves in neat rows. After I took the picture, I showed the kids their picture and they all went nuts. Soon afterward, I got the opportunity to talk to the teacher of the class, Rebecca Aidoo. Mrs. Aidoo is an extremely sweet woman and should be a certified saint for being able to teach her kindergarten class of 61 children. On top of keeping 61 kids in order, she also has to share a room with 50 other children in the nursery. Thankfully, the new kindergarten and nursery building is near completion and should be in use within a couple weeks.
Kibiti Stars
TANZANIA. Last week, I was given the opportunity to train BRAC Tanzania staff on Kiva in Kibiti, which is located about 150 km outside of Dar es Salaam. Riding from the noisy, congested (yet still completely lovable) city to the luscious green countryside brought refreshment to my senses.
Kibiti is a small agricultural town on the way to one of the famous game parks in Tanzania, thus making it a popular stopping point for people passing through. The center of town is the highway, and life for its residents seems to revolve around what the highway brings and takes away.
The town has no electricity, although electric lines run right through the town toward another destination. I asked someone why Kibiti wasn’t receiving any electricity from the lines, but the only answer I was given is that the government is still working on it. As a result of the lack of electricity (except for generator usage), the stars that night were indescribable.
I, along with the two BRAC staff who accompanied me, stayed that one night at the nicest guesthouse in town. A room cost 4,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $3.50). The guesthouse even had running water and a generator which I was told runs after dark for 4 hours each night. I was surprised that night when the generator remained running past the 4 hour mark. Only afterward did I realize that they had kept it running just for me, the foreigner. As soon as the light in my room went off, the generator went off. In the morning, I asked the BRAC staff if it was normal for the generator to be on so late and was told no. I felt guilty because my stay probably cost them more in generator fuel than the $3.50 it had cost for the room. Once again, because of my skin color and Tanzania’s value of gracious hospitality toward foreigners, I was given undeserved privilege.
The town had one main restaurant, where the customers pretty much have to order most items a day in advance. In the town, there were also the typical street cafes, where women sell plates of rice, beans, and stew. The BRAC staff and I sat at one of the street cafés for some after-dinner tea that night and found out that the seller had been one of BRAC’s former clients. Last year, the woman had taken a 100,000 Tsh (about $90) loan from BRAC in order to buy more cups, plates, and food stock for her business. She had been able to pay back the loan, but in the end, it hadn’t benefited her business that much because the demand for her food is so low in the town. She told us that the only way her business survives is by selling a plate of her food at 600 Tsh (about 55 cents) whereas the other places sell at 800 Tsh and above. Each night, she has her regular 12 customers– bachelors living in the town. Her daily profit is 3000 Tsh. She acknowledged that unless she upgrades her café by building a structure and providing seating, she will never be able to attract more customers. Although she has fear about whether or not she would be able to pay back another loan like the last one, she agreed that borrowing smaller loans could potentially help her business move slowly toward her dream. She seemed so happy to talk to us about her struggles and probably thankful that she had exceeded her 12 customer limit for the night. I too was thankful. Her ginger tea was delicious, and I was thankful that that night we were able to become a small part of her amazing story.
Wheat Restaurant 7, HKL 6
Akwaaba to Ghana!
Struggles. That’s what came to mind during my first days in Ghana. The struggle to find my way around to light a candle when the electricity had failed again. The struggle to keep my body hydrated in the heat and humidity. But, much more, it was the heart wrenching struggles of those around me. The crippled man trying to navigate the cratered streets and bloodthirsty taxidrivers. The mother balancing what amounts to a small woodshed of goods on her head while carrying a baby on her back and trying to contain a curious, energetic boy. Around us all, the sun was struggling to make its way through the clouds thick with dust blown in from the Saharan desert.
While the sun struggled to show itself, the heat did not. The heat had figured out a way to overcome in Ghana. But, the heat was not the only thing overcoming adversity, as I soon learned when I looked in the right places and with the right perspective.
There were the ambitious streetside hawkers who sprinted alongside the bus attempting to close a sale. Or the vacant lot with a crumbling foundation, but an optimistic owner who had posted on a wall, “This land is not for sale.” Or there was something so simple as a cool tile floor that brought an instant sense of relief to tired bare feet. But, it was not until today, when I first met clients of Sinapi Aba Trust that I saw firsthand hope in its most human form.
Today, I travelled along with two loan officers of Sinapi to visit some perspective clients in the suburbs of Kumasi. Before Sinapi finalizes a loan with new clients, loan officers visit the clients at their businesses to get a sense of their assets, their customers, their surroundings or even their neighbor’s perspective on their business.
As we walked around patiently trying to locate our first client, we knew we had arrived when a woman looked up from her pot of roasting palm nuts and a large ear-to-ear grin appeared on her face. Before long, I would know more about her business than I could have imagined. And while we were interviewing her, other women began to appear from nowhere. They also had smiles and warm handshakes. “Current clients,” the loan officers remarked. The gratitude was overwhelming. This was seeing microfinance at its best. As I paused to take this in, I looked around and then I realized that we were next to a dump. All of this hope and ambition next to a dump! And this was only the first week.
Now, when I look back after more than a week in Ghana, I think about struggles but I also see the power of hard work and perseverance. It could not be better explained than the passing van I saw earlier this week. On its back window a slogan was painted, it read, “No Food for Lazy Man.”
