Archive for April, 2008
Cambodian “Gambling”
Most of the clients I visit make just enough money from their businesses to get by day to day. When you ask what their future plans or hopes are, some have none in sight- just repeating the same monotonous labor, day in and day out, to continue to put food on the table… challenging enough with the rising food inflation here (http://www.voanews.com/english/2008-04-21-voa21.cfm). If family members are sick (with an 8+ member household in a developing country- odds are someone will be sick), medical costs can make this prohibitive and put business activity on hold. That’s where Maxima often steps in with loans for start-up capital so the families can resume their business operations:
- http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=comment&id=20190&ent=43834
- http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=comment&id=30577&ent=47218
The great success stories come in when clients’ businesses have taken off to the point where they have excess—enough for monthly savings. Realizing the villagers never invest this money into a savings account, I thought this was a greatly missed opportunity to turn interest…. until I found out about Cambodian gambling.
Cambodian gambling, or tontin, is a “game” that villagers play when they have extra money. A tontin leader will form a group of friends or neighbors who pool their money into group savings. Much like a group loan, members take turns borrowing, starting with the group leader (the one in need of immediate capital who established the group). The twist comes becomes members can negotiate with each other to decide the interest rate they’ll pay, as well as the rate at which they’ll agree to be repaid. Depending on the timing, circumstances and loan use, they may vary. Playing tontin, members administer a self-regulated borrowing network. The network acts as an insurance system to provide members reserve funds in times of need or emergency, as well as a savings system and means to earn interest each time another person borrows.
While occasionally members will skip town with the money, this is rare. Rather, because members select each other from among friends and neighbors, they feel the system provides the best way to insure their money is safe and secure. Many villagers feel it is safer with each other than with a bank. In the ‘90s, Cambodia faced a meltdown with financial institutions. Banks were established overnight with minimal capital, and after collecting significant sums of money, they took off with the cash and closed just as fast as they opened. While the NBC (National Bank of Cambodia) now sets minimal capital requirements and the system is much more regulated, the scams are still too recent to be forgotten. Villagers burned by the past are still reluctant to trust the financial institutions with their investments and consider their self-made institutions more reliable and accountable. Not to mention, depending on their luck at the negotiation table, the interest rates can be even more favorable.
1 comment 30 April 2008
Sorry, Officer, I just don’t do fines.
Days go by and I often forget how life in Africa can be so different than life in the States. Events from this past weekend remind me that I am going to really miss Tanzania when I leave in June.
On Saturday, I was driving to a friend’s house when I was stopped by a policeman who flagged me down from the side of the road. In Swahili, he asked for my license and then asked for me to show him that the brakes, lights, windshield wipers, etc. work. Seeing that everything worked properly, he started talking about something outside the car. Unfamiliar with these Swahili words, I got out to see that he was pointing to rust on the side of the car. He led me around the car to point out all the spots that had some rust. I replied in English (due to my limited Swahili) that it’s true, that it is an old car. He told me that the rust was “a problem” and that I would have to pay a fine of 20,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $18). Flabbergasted, I responded saying, “I’m very sorry, but I don’t do fines. Please just take me to court.” We argued about it for a few minutes. He kept saying that court was unnecessary, but I insisted that I preferred going to court. He then left with my license to deal with another driver. Returning five to ten minutes later, he asked if I was ready for the fine papers. I said no, and insisted that I just wanted the court date. Having grown up in East Africa, I know all too well of the common occurrence of “kitu kidogo” (Swahili for the polite way of asking for a bribe). At that moment, I remembered that humor was probably my best tactic. In broken Swahili, I laughed saying that receiving a court date was better for me since I would just get the owner who I borrowed the car from to show for court. He then laughed with me and finally he let me go.
Sunday brought me more amusement. I was walking from my home to the grocery store to buy some margarine when I met an eleven-year-old girl named Mariam on the road. She struck up conversation with me since we were walking in the same direction. Although she was from my neighborhood, she looked like a typical village girl, all except for the fact that she was wearing slippers instead of walking barefoot. She had a sarong wrapped around her over a ragged, oversized dress. On her head, she carried a large, heavy plastic bucket of rice which she was taking to the mill to be processed into flour for her mother’s roadside snack business. She rejected my offer to assist her with the bucket and made her own offer to carry my umbrella.
Walking side-by-side, we used up all the Swahili I know. Going an extra half-mile out of her way, she accompanied me to the grocery store, located (ironically) at the most modern mall in Tanzania. The contrast between this girl, with the big bucket on her head, and the westernized mall around us intrigued me. After buying the margarine and some chocolate, as was her request, we then walked to complete her chore down some muddy back roads where chickens dart across the street. Somehow, at the end of the walk, I felt like we were two peas in a pod.
Making friends and laughter with strangers is an everyday experience here that I will dearly miss when I go. Life in Tanzania is lived in a sense of community in which people prefer to sit with strangers than to sit alone. I find that if I am ever alone at a roadside restaurant waiting for a friend, people who come in and see me by myself often choose to join my table although there are empty ones nearby. Not only do they want to “alleviate” me from my aloneness, these strangers courteously welcome me with a “karibu” to the food they have ordered. Life, I am ever finding out, becomes richer and more amusing when we all accept each other as peas in a pod.
Add comment 30 April 2008
Top Ten List
It seems to be a requisite duty of a Fellow to provide the “You know you’re in…when” so here’s my take:
10. Rugby is life. American Football is called ‘American Rugby’. Though a Samoan-American is 40 times more likely to make the NFL than a non-Samoan American (thanks, ESPN), the more than 30 ethnic Samoan football players in the NFL, like Troy Polamalu or Junior Seau, do not have celebrity status. That fame is reserved for the Rugby players of Manu Samoa (National Team) and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson born of a Samoan mother.
9. “Mmm” means Yes. If you ask, was that a “yes”? You’ll receive another “Mmm”.
8. At times, no communication can be better than bad communication. I mistakenly relayed that I was married with kids when I first arrived through a conversation in broken Enlgish. Neither is true.
7. If you ride the buses, be prepared to have someone on your lap and make stops every 200ft due to no designated bus stops and Samoans’ aversion to walking.
6. As a foreigner, the only persistent dangers are the wild dogs and sunburns. Both potentially nasty. As a local remarked to me during my first few days here: “you are not made for this sun.”
5. If you’re raised in a village, you really have more like 20 mothers there to chastise you and provide swift corporal punishment in the form of a stiff rear-end smack at any time.
4. Only in Samoa (or perhaps Scotland) are four NFL linemen-sized men singing Madonna’s “Borderline”, in lavalavas (skirts), still an intimidating sight.
3. Walking along the side of the road is like playing a game of chicken with the passing vehicles. I am convinced they want to get as close to you as possible. When a driver provides ample room to walk (and live), I know it’s an expat driving by.
2. Your mobile phone calls are very short. No introductions, no good-byes. The result of per-second charging and exorbitant rates.
1. Your deceased relatives never really leave you. Many are buried on your porch or front lawn.
Add comment 30 April 2008
We be thankful we arrive fine for Cameroon. Or how the cross-Africa dash came to a welcome pause in Bamenda.
Cameroon. For us, it is the end of a long road. Since we left the U.S. in December, Dave and Megan have set foot in 13 countries, 11 in Africa. Our overland trek started in Casablanca and took us through Morocco/Western Sahara, Mauritania, Senegal, The Gambia, Mali, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, Benin, Nigeria, and finally here, Bamenda, the capital city of the Northwest Province, altitude above 1000 meters, surrounded by mountains, green, lush, and yes, the beginning of the “light” rainy season.
Our arrival in Cameroon three weeks ago occurred in several stages.
• First, crossing the border from Nigeria to Ekok, Cameroon, a process involving conversations with passport checks by no fewer than 8 border officials.
• Second, discovering that the guidebooks had not lied, and that the road from Ekok to the next major city, Mamfe, is in fact “terrible.” We departed Ekok at about 5:00 PM, crammed into a car dwarfed by its oversized wheels, makeshift rear-wheel drive, and jacked-up suspension – and arrived, mud covered, via motorbike, 63 kilometers later, in Mamfe at about 6:00 AM. In between: a bonding experience with our driver-cum-auto-mechanic and fellow passengers, involving a borrowed battery, siphoned petrol from the tank directly into the carburetor, and hours of pushing and pulling (with a rope attached to the front axle) through a series of mud traps with 8 foot walls of mud on either side carved out by the rains and previous vehicles.
• 
Third, from Mamfe to Bamenda, another 127 kilometers on a slightly better road in a much better vehicle, we bore witness to the “raw power” of four-wheel drive beyond Jeep Cherokee commercials. We sat in the open-air back of the pickup with ten or so other passengers and, though the trip took another 12 hours, we were content with good company and fantastic views of farms nestled in the rainforest, and across the mountains we were gradually climbing. Midway, a tree with an 18-inch trunk blocked our muddy path, but through geometry, rope, and 8-cylanders, our Toyota managed to pull it aside – take that weekend warriors! Of course, it rained, and as predicted, the air turned cooler as we approached Bamenda, so that we were happy to arrive as night fell.
The folks at GHAPE, our host organization, had been awaiting our arrival for days, and Loveline, the field manager, rushed to the bus station to meet us, greeting each of us with a hug, and quickly scooped us into a taxi back to the GHAPE office/house compound. There, we were greeted by about ten smiling faces, mostly women of many different ages – from 16 to 70, we would later learn – and ushered into our apartment in the compound. For her part, Megan can honestly say that she has only experienced welcome like this from her parents when arriving home the first few times from college to find her room newly cleaned and rearranged, food specially bought for her consumption.
Our two room apartment was perfectly outfitted – tables and chairs, living room set, stove, dishes, pots, buckets for dish washing, broom, bed, wardrobe, radio, TV and DVD player. Within moments, we had guests in every chair of the apartment, were reviewing names for the second time, trying to guess just who-was-who and what role each played, and brewing a pot of tea on our stove. Learning that Dave loves eggs, a man named Michael (who we later learned is the brother of GHAPE founder Bernadette) practically snapped his fingers and two-dozen eggs miraculously appeared.
That was Friday night, and we quickly learned how hard-working GHAPE – and most of Cameroonians – are. Work began at 8:00 AM the next morning, with a meeting of all the staff: Loveline, field manager; Donald, Fointama, Mercy, Josephine, and Bridget, credit assistants; Calista, accountant; and two volunteer workers, Mr. Eric and Hostensia. At first we thought this meeting was specially called for us, but in fact GHAPE works not only a 7:30 AM to 5:00 PM week workday, but also a half-day on Saturday mornings.
Saturday afternoon and Sunday introduced us to our neighbors – the immediate, extended, and adopted family of GHAPE founder Bernadette, a mostly female family, led by “Mama,” a warm and hilarious septuagenarian. By the time we returned from the food market and Megan from the cyber, where she sent the requisite “we’re safely out of Nigeria and at home in Cameroon” email, the other ladies of the house were helping Dave to properly wash and prepare his vegetables for dinner-making. Pascaline then lent us a grinding-stone-cum-cutting-board and helped Megan to prepare dinner, including the new (for us) “bitter leaf.” By evening, we had 17-year-old Abigail and 10-year-old Fru sharing food with us in our room and watching The Gods Must be Crazy with us on bootleg DVD (thank you, Nigeria!).
Sunday morning, Megan was collected at a quarter of eight to accompany Pascaline and Mama to mass at the Catholic Church down the road. She had her first practical lesson in the local Pidgin English, listening to the Kenyan priest, himself not a native speaker, read the mass: “We be listen for we lord and he talk say he helup all he piking (children). We be thank he for we protect and guide.” Walking home, Pascaline laughed when Megan proudly announced that she could understand much of the mass, and explained that the priest spoke more slowly and clearly than any native speaker. She is right. If either of these subjects piques your fancy, don’t worry, as we will certainly be writing more on religion, which infuses every aspect of life here, and language, which fascinates at least one of us, in future chapters.
Until then,
Send your comments and questions
(We promise to respond), and
Finance a loan for a GHAPE member
(We’ll write more about them soon)!
~Megan & Dave
4 comments 26 April 2008
The mission to be social
As my fellowship nears its end, I’ve purposely taken time to step back and revisit my original reasons for deciding to quit my job, stuff my apartment into a dusty storage unit, leave family and friends and fly to Ghana. One of my goals was to see the impact of commercialization on an MFI’s social mission.
Recently, Sinapi has confronted this issue head-on when it started the process of converting from an NGO to a formal financial institution. Like many MFIs before it, Sinapi wanted to change its business structure in order to receive more commercial financing as well as to take client deposits. Many of the expected benefits were cited for this decision including new financial discipline in the organization and the potential to open new markets and reach more borrowers. Likewise, I heard many of the expected negatives including the burden of debt-servicing and the pressure by commercial lenders to alter or downscale the social mission of the organization. But, it was the impact this organizational change had on the lender / borrower relationship that I never really considered. Or as I like to call it – the impact on the organization’s mission to be social. In Sinapi’s case, the mission to be social was a key driver in its decision to slow its transformation process.
During the weeks I’ve spent out in the field, the one thing that continually strikes me is how the loan officers and the clients are more family than business partners. There are, of course, the smiles that will last a lifetime for me. But, there are also warm hugs between loan officers and clients – when’s the last time you’ve hugged your banker? There are the handshakes that last minutes not seconds. There are clients who attribute their recent success to joining the Sinapi family. There are the times after group meetings when we would pack into Sinapi’s Toyota van and take the clients back to their home – inevitably I’d find myself in the center of a group of giggling middle-aged women laughing at my attempts to communicate in Twi. And back at the branch there is the open arrangement of the office. There are no tellers. No walls between the officers and clients. Instead, clients walk into the office – some with their business on their heads – and are welcomed to the officer’s desk.
But, as Sinapi’s formalization plan was initiated and branches were converted into a more traditional banking layout, the relationship with clients evolved. Clients became more hesitant to approach the officers. They felt that they couldn’t come to the branch in their work clothes. They were intimidated by teller windows. The Sinapi family was gone. Warm hugs were replaced by the cold creditor-debtor relationship we are all know too well. So, the aggressive formalization plans were halted and the family atmosphere I’ve witnessed here returned to the benefit of everyone involved.
Yet, I know the pressure to become more formal will not disappear anytime soon. The supply of microfinance services needs to scale to meet the demand. It will be up to successful organizations like Sinapi to find ways to meet this challenge but keep the Sinapi family intact.
2 comments 25 April 2008
Photos from Kampong Cham
Last month I had the chance to shadow a couple HKL credit officers at the Kampong Cham branch, an hour and a half northeast of Phnom Penh. Since my responsibilities here in Cambodia are mainly training and implementing the Kiva process rather than write journals, I was excited to get out and meet the people who make microfinance happen. I have nothing but the highest respect for Mr. Virak and Mr. Vo, who ride around the hot, dusty countryside four days a week helping prospective clients process loan applications. And they manage to look sharp while they’re at it, which is a challenge with a heat index around 105. Unfortunately, I lost my little notebook along the way, so all I have are the photos I took.
The first client we met. At first I thought all this was trash, but it turns out she operates a recycling business.
This man repairs and sells used motorbikes.
The proud recipient of an HKL loan for farming tools. Mr. Virak on the right.
Pulling the correct file…
Checking the name…
…and climbing the stairs.
Discussing the provisions of their loan. This process can take anywhere from 10 minutes to a half hour.
Mr. Virak tells a joke in Khmer.
Loan documents are always signed using the client’s right thumbprint.
Credit officers like Mr. Virak use motos to visit clients because roads in rural Cambodia are usually little more than rutted dirt paths.
A barang with a camera is a strange sight in these villages.
Sometimes the loan documentation process can be a little tedious, especially in the stifling heat.
This entrepreneur was proud of the bicycle she purchased with her HKL loan. She uses it to collect cans, bottles and other recyclables around her village. She said the investment has noticeably increased her income.
She was in such a friendly mood that she wanted me to take a photo of her whole family.
The last clients of the long day.
Many thanks to Mr. Virak and Mr. Vo for showing me what they do.
4 comments 22 April 2008
Lost in Translation
Last week I had a heated discussion with a minibus taxi conductor. The locals that witnessed this event rarely see anyone losing their temper, let alone raising their voice in public. Genevieve and I have been using the same bus route for a number of weeks now and, while at first we paid slightly more than the locals, it’s now obvious that we know the price and all the conductors charge us appropriately.
I was having a bad day, I shouldn’t have let myself get frustrated in this way, and I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again. The argument went something like this:
“Are you going to Bugolobi Market?”
“Yes, 700 Shillings”
“700? You’re joking. We use this route every day and it’s always 300”
“It’s 700 now”
“We’ll pay the same price as everyone else. 300. Can you let us on please?”
He obstructed our path.
“If you come on this bus you pay 700”
“We’ve been in Kampala a while now, we know the price. It’s always 300. It’s not even far to Bugolobi. How can you charge us 700?”
“If you don’t pay 700 you can’t come. We are leaving now”
He signalled to the driver by tapping on the roof of the minibus twice with the palm of his hand. The bus started to edge away.
“Hang on. We’ll do it for 400. Come on – be fair”.
“700 or you stay”
We were meeting people in Bugolobi and we’re already late for them. It would take around half an hour to walk or three minutes on the bus. It was dark. There were no pavements for pedestrians along that road. It had been raining. We really didn’t want to have to work but we also didn’t want to have to pay extortionate prices. We’re volunteering here. We’re not earning an income – it was actually more than we could afford.
“We’re late and you’re making everyone else late. We’ll pay 500. Let us go please”.
He double tapped the bus again and they edged off a little further.
“You will pay 700”.
“No way are we paying 700. We’ll pay you the fair price, 500. OK?”
“700 or we go now?”
We refused his attempts to con us for the final time, shaking our heads as the minibus pulled away from us.
We walked in the dark, along the wet, busy and polluted road for 30 frustrating minutes, dodging truck headlights, treading in puddles of sewage and generally wishing we could have afforded to say yes to the extra 200 shillings he wanted us to pay.
Our friends were waiting for us at the restaurant. No-one expects anyone to be on time here – not even close to being on time. Anything with an hour of the time planned is deemed to be “on-time”. A delicious pizza topped with creamy feta and Italian olives, and a couple of cold Club Beers later and we couldn’t even feel our wet trousers and had forgotten all about the nasty con tricks of the minibus conductor.
A few days later I remembered back to the argument and actually thought about the amount of money that we were arguing about and preferring to put ourselves through the annoyance, rigour and sweat over.
I went over the conversation we had with the conductor, this time converting the shilling amounts into English pounds…
“Are you going to Bugolobi Market?”
“Yes, 20 pence”
“20 pence? You’re joking. We use this route every day and it’s always 9 pence”
“It’s 20 pence now”
“We’ll pay the same price as everyone else. 9 pence. Can you let us on please?”
He obstructed our path.
“If you come on this bus you pay 20 pence”
“We’ve been in Kampala a while now, we know the price. It’s always 9 pence. It’s not even far to Bugolobi. How can you charge us 20 pence?”
“If you don’t pay 20 pence you can’t come. We are leaving now”
He signalled to the driver by tapping on the roof of the minibus twice with the palm of his hand. The bus started to edge away.
“Hang on. We’ll do it for 12 pence. Come on – be fair”.
“20 or you stay”
“We’re late and you’re making everyone else late. We’ll pay 15 pence. Let us go please”.
He double tapped the bus again and they edged off a little further.
“You will pay 20 pence”.
“No way are we paying 20 pence. We’ll pay you the fair price, 15 pence. OK?”
“20 pence or we go now?”
We refused his attempts to con us for the final time, shaking our heads as the minibus pulled away from us.
We walked in the dark, along the wet, busy and polluted road for 30 frustrating minutes, dodging truck headlights, treading in puddles of sewage and generally wishing we could have afforded to say yes to the extra five pence he wanted us to pay.
Absurd isn’t it?!
3 comments 21 April 2008
Two Near Identical Conversations
In the right place at the right time, I had the great fortune to meet the Deputy Prime Minister of Samoa as a representative for Kiva. An SPBD entrepreneur was selected through Kiva by Advanta, an American small business banking company, to travel to the United States and speak at a few engagements about her Elei printing business. A big deal here in Samoa evidenced by a send off from the DPM. It even made the national newspaper: http://www.samoaobserver.ws/local/LNPages/0408/1608ln007.htm
One would think the content of a conversation with the women of a village centre and one with the Deputy Prime Minister would be noticeably different. They are not.
When I arrive at a village centre, it begins with the standard introductions. Name, country of origin, organization. My information does not generally pique significant interest. Then it becomes their turn for a question: are you single? Do you have a Samoan girlfriend? At which point, I am told through some chuckles that all the women are single (despite the droves of children all around us).
No different in the DPM office. Except the children.
Immediately, they begin to call me “Benicio”, a lead actor in a widely-watched Filipino soap opera. Despite having no resemblance to him, each village, without fail, calls me by his name. Slightly troubling considering he is the reviled antagonist. Saying that this soap opera is all the rage is a great understatement. The country comes to a halt during the 3-hour, 3 times a week showing. With pirated copies circulating, there is no longer the dreaded break in between episodes.
The DPM, similarly, requested that SPBD’s General Manager, who is Filipino, purchase new Filipino DVDs during his next trip home. Though he unconvincingly claimed not to be a fan.
The DPM did raise some weightier subjects: the US Presidential Election and his own political controversy.
He was very well-versed on the Democratic Primary, and he even knew about each candidate’s most recent gaffe. I can not say who he endorses (he refused), but no one here seems to know that there is a Republican nominee.
As to the great Samoan political controversy rocking this tiny nation: the Prime Minister is imposing a switch from left-hand drive to right-hand drive vehicles. Coupled with a switch of the driving side on the roads. It has been met with near unanimous opposition: 2 protest marches and “Vote NO on RHD” t-shirts, signs and bumper stickers everywhere. The motivations for the change are not exactly clear. Here’s a shot in the dark: it has something to do with money. I am just glad that I’ll be long gone when that chaotic day comes in 2009.
Courtship, Filipino soap operas and RHD. There’s no escape from it here.
1 comment 20 April 2008
Baku is Burning
The biggest holiday in Azerbaijan is Novruz. This spring event has its roots as a pre-Islam New Year celebration. It officially begins on the spring equinox but the celebration ramps up much earlier with large street bonfires every Tuesday for the month preceding Novruz. Each week represents a different element: earth, water, air, and fire. Much of the community comes out for the bonfires to socialize and listen to music. Tradition calls for fearless youth to jump across the bonfire regardless or how large it is. On one occasion I witnessed a boy run through a fire along a burning pole until he could leap the last 3 feet to the other side. I was coerced into making the leap over a much more manageable fire only to learn that once is not enough, three leaps is keeping with tradition. After four weeks of bonfires, and all the scrap wood has been burned, the Novruz holiday finally arrives with a full week of vacation for the entire country.
Novruz is also important for Azerbaijan’s small businesses. Many of the Kiva borrowers I visited were making business decisions based on their sales projections during the holiday. One client had pre-shorn three sheep with the hopes of selling them for butcher at a higher price during the holiday. All of the Kiva trading clients had stocked up on inventory for their shops. Some of the special items included small fireworks, nuts, and festive pots of wheat. This is a very enjoyable time to be in Azerbaijan.
Add comment 17 April 2008
You Know You’re in Cambodia When…
Inspired by the TZ fellows, I’ve come up with a top 10 for a taste of Cambodia:
1) The first questions people ask you are not “where are you from” or “what do you do” but “how old are you” and “are you married.”
2) Your clients bring you pictures of their sons and try to arrange marriages during your meetings.
3) A “taxi” transports 50+ people… and you don’t get a discount for sitting on the roof.
4) The Lexus SUV on the street has one person inside and the motorcycle beside it is transporting a family of 7… plus some groceries.
5) Drivers make their own lanes, honking is polite, and the best way to turn around isn’t a side street—it’s a u-turn into oncoming traffic.
6) Pepsi bottles aren’t filled with cola- they’re liters of gasoline-to-go.
7) Hammocks are the only furniture you need: they’re multi-purpose cradles, beds and chairs.
8.) Spiders, fermented fish paste and duck embryos (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Balut) are delicacies.
9) A 50-note bill is, to you, worthless.
10) You could rival the Pope with the number of hand-clasped bows you do in a day.
1 comment 17 April 2008
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