I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I told Mr. Sokmetrey I played soccer. Sokmetrey is the Marketing Director for Hattha Kaksekar Ltd. (HKL), one of Kiva’s newest microfinance partners in Cambodia, and my main contact in the organization. After picking me up at Phnom Penh International Airport on Thursday after twenty hours of travel, Sokmetrey treated me to lunch at a noodle house. Over steaming bowls of Khmer curry we fell into a discussion about Cambodian sports. I mentioned I enjoyed playing soccer, and he immediately invited me to play with his team on Saturday morning.
“I’ll pick you up at 7:30,” he said.
Pretty early, especially for someone still on West Coast time, but what better way to meet the locals?
7:30 Saturday came way too early, but excitement was enough to rouse me. Sokmetrey and a few friends picked me up on their motos. Being my first moto ride, it was a tense, white-knuckle twenty minutes for me as we wove through Phnom Penh’s chaotic traffic. I had no clue where we were going, and after a half hour we were well outside the city. People stared at the strange barang clinging desperately to the back of the moto as we puttered deeper into the countryside. Turning randomly onto a dirt road, Sokmetrey led us past rice paddies and saffron-robed monks until we came upon a pristine soccer field in the middle of nowhere. After introductions Sokmetrey dumped a pile of white clothes at my feet.
“You can pick your uniform.”
Uniforms? Seriously? I thought this was going to be a casual pickup game at some local Phnom Penh park, not a semi-pro league match way out in the provinces. I chose No. 9 (“like Ronaldo” they joked), shorts that didn’t look too ridiculous, and a battered pair of soccer boots a size too small. The jersey had the HKL logo emblazoned on it, and it dawned on me that I was playing for my MFI. I asked what team we were playing, hoping it was some other rival MFI like Maxima or Credit, but I was disappointed when it turned out to be the curiously named “Wheat Restaurant.”
After a very brief warm-up the referee blew the whistle and the game started. They must’ve thought I was some sort of prodigy since I started at striker, but I soon found myself making all sorts of mistakes. Outclassed, out of position most of the time and constantly getting burned by quicker opponents, I was more of a liability than anything. The style of play was faster and less physical than I was accustomed to. Wheat Restaurant jumped out to a quick 3-0 lead thanks to a few crucial defensive blunders and had us down 5-1 at halftime. By then I was a mess. Jetlagged and out of shape, angry blisters on my heels and toes, dizzy and dehydrated in the increasing heat, I must’ve been a disappointment. HKL should have known that Kiva wasn’t sending over a soccer star. No one seemed to care though, and despite my various ailments I was having a great time. I hadn’t played a game this meaningful since 8th grade. As I sat to begin the second half, HKL came out aggressive and stormed back to tie it at 5-5. Their last meeting with Wheat Restaurant had ended with a draw, so they were anxious to pull out a victory. After drinking two bottles of water I had sufficient strength to return for the last 10 minutes as a desperation sub on defense. Coincidentally, Wheat Restaurant scored two late goals before HKL made things interesting with a score in the final minute. But that dreaded whistle finally blew, and despite the outcome spirits were high after the match. Hopefully I’ll have a chance to avenge my performance some future Saturday, but I need to hit the gym first.
3 March 2008 at 11:18 eb78
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.”
3 March 2008 at 10:13 dylanhiggins
