Archive for 30 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.
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.
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.
