Archive for June, 2008
Tororo, Uganda
Each morning before heading into the field, I read the New Vision, a daily newspaper in Kampala. A few weeks ago there was a special article about a town in Uganda in which the men do nothing but drink, gamble and nurse their hangovers while the women work and tend to the house, children and their needy husbands. The article speculated that the men needed therapy to deal with their lack of motivation resulting from the extreme poverty they are living in.
Upon mentioning the article to my associates at work, they said that one of MCDT’s branches, Tororo, suffers from a similar situation and that I should go visit. With that, I found myself making the three and a half hour drive to Tororo from Kampala for a visit.
My first impressions left me with two questions as follows:
1. Why did we pass the town of Tororo forty minutes ago and we haven’t yet reached our destination?
2. Why have we passed two infectious disease trucks?
My visit provided me with the answer to both of these questions.
During our drive I noticed many things that were different from the Kampala slums I visit. First, instead of motorbikes that are extremely popular as a source of transportation in Kampala, there were mainly regular bicycles and almost no cars. Then I noticed that the majority of the people, from adults to the school children, didn’t have shoes. Finally, there was the realization that these people didn’t live in brick or even wood houses but rather in huts made of mud with grass roofs that leak when it rains. Even the slums in Kampala could not compare to the slums I saw in Tororo.
But, we weren’t exactly in Tororo as MCDT is the only microfinance institute (MFI) that serves the villages in the bush outside of Tororo (why we drove over 40 minutes from the center of Tororo to the first site). The centers are so spread out that it would take at least a day to walk from one end of the MCDT district to the other. It is truly incredible that MCDT even has the capacity to serve these people as many other MFIs have opened branches, but then closed them due to the high costs of serving these villages that are so spread apart.
Once we reached the first center, I was greeted with singing, hollering, dancing and hugs. The women were so excited to see me and I was quite embarrassed being the center of attention! This continued through all three center visits and I continued to turn red with embarrassment each time.
The women were just as amazing as was their singing and dancing. They face so many obstacles beyond husbands who do not pull their weight including domestic violence, HIV/AIDS (hence the infectious disease trucks) and famine. The woman are subject to a high level of domestic violence in this area due to lack of food and high incidence of alcoholism, for when their husbands come home after drinking and are hungry, they are often upset with the lack of food and beat their wives. However, with the MCDT loans, the women are better able to provide for their families and therefore MCDT has seen a decrease in the incidences of domestic violence.
The drinking and subsequent alcoholism has also caused the increase in HIV/AIDS infections as there is a high level of casual sex. The ramifications are horrendous as one woman mentioned she cares for her brother’s children who are infected as he and his wife have passed. In addition, a large number of the women are infected and even have children who have passed due to the disease. The loans help these women get access to the drugs that lengthen their lives and the lives of their children and grandchildren.
In addition to the domestic and health problems, the women also face a yearly drought that causes a famine. Unlike Kampala and its immediate surrounding areas, the soil in Tororo is sandy. The combination of this and the lack of rain make it difficult to grow the vegetables and fruits that are so abundant in Kampala. Therefore, the women must purchase their food, making the act of providing essential nutrition a huge hurdle.
Yet, despite this, the women are happy and motivated. When I asked them how they are able to get up and work each morning, the women explained that it is difficult, but with the loans from MCDT, it is easier as they have seen an improvement in their lives. Before MCDT, the only jobs available were digging and even then the pay was infrequent and extremely low- never enough for school fees. Now the women can bring in their own money and help support their families.
Despite the many differences between the women in Tororo and the women in Kampala, there is one very striking similarity: like the women in Kampala they work so that they can provide their children with an education and hopefully a better life than they have had. Although they know they will not be able to send their children to university or even senior level schooling, they hope that by providing some education, the children will be able apply their knowledge of carpentry and agriculture to their own businesses and support their families. In addition, the women hope their children will care for them when they are older as they have cared for their children in their young age.
Upon returning to MCDT’s offices in Kampala, I relayed my experience to the women who work in the main branch. And after hearing about my experience, they asked me the question they face – How could we leave these women? I said the only thing I felt – You can’t.
To see currently fundraising loans from MCDT on Kiva.org, please click here.
The Road to Khujand
It’s 5:30am and after lying in bed all night, sleepless from both the strange Central Asian bacteria inhabiting my stomach and the sheer excited anticipation of my coming journey, the time has now come for what will be one hell of a ride. Kenjal, my trusty driver, arrives on time in his battered, white 4WD, his gold teeth shine in the morning sun as he greets me with the traditional “Osolom Aleikum!” “Vy gotovi? (Are you ready?),” he asks me in his thick Tajik accent. “Da, konechno, poyekhali!” (Yes, of course, let’s go!”) I reply with an enthusiasm that reveals the true extent of my American naïveté. And we’re off! Cruising past the suburbs of Dushanbe, I gaze out through the cracked windshield at the denizens of this small Central Asian capital getting ready for the hard, hot day ahead. Women with unibrows (some kind of fashion statement here, no joke) sweep the streets with handmade brooms as children ride to and fro on the backs of donkeys, smiling amidst the dirt and the poverty in which they have been fated to live the rest of their young lives. Kenjal, gregarious even at this ungodly hour, begins to interrogate me about my life in America with an intense curiosity that is understandable given the fact that there are only 450 of my compatriots (including embassy staff) currently living in this far off outpost of the former Soviet Union.
“Are you married?” he asks me to kick things off (typical first question in a country where family really is everything).
“No, I’m not married,” I curtly reply, knowing exactly what’s coming next.
“YOU’RE NOT MARRIED?!!” Kenjal is simply astonished. “And how old did you say you are again….25? A man your age should be married, you should have five kids by know.”
“I know, I know” I say giving him a response I have already practiced a few times, “It’s just that in America we get married later in life. We grow up a lot more slowly than you do in Tajikistan. It’s a very different culture. So, are you married?”
He smiles mischievously and says “Of course! Not only am I married but I have TWO wives. One in Khujand and one in Dushanbe. I also have nine kids.”
“Wow,” I say, still recovering from the shock of the whole polygamy thing. “Two wives and nine kids, you must be a busy man! Is it normal in Tajikistan for men to have more than one wife?”
“No, not really. But, you have to understand, I’m a bit of a hooligan.” He gives me a knowing wink and continues, “I don’t have that many kids, at least not for a Tajik. During Soviet times Tajikistan was famous for having the highest birthrate out of all the republics. My brother, for example, he has 19 kids… all from one wife!”
I keep smiling although at this point my heart is going out to that poor, poor woman somewhere in the Tajik hinterlands who has spent most of her adult life in a constant state of pregnancy. I take a break from our strange conversation and look out at mountains growing steeper and more beautiful with every minute. Wide, flat, and nicely paved, the road at first is sheer pleasure. This is Central Asian sightseeing at its best, its most luxurious. I’m loving every minute of it as we get deeper in the countryside, the river beside which we are traveling now nothing but pure whitewater. About an hour and a half into the drive, the road is still paved and I’m thinking to myself, “This isn’t so bad,” when we hit our first delay in the journey. “Kitaitsi rabotayoot,” (the Chinese are working), Kenjal tells me, and for the rest of our trip he will utter these two words like a Buddhist mantra.
Apparently, the Tajik government contracted out a series of major improvements on the M34(the “highway” between Dushanbe and Khujand) to a Chinese construction firm and all of a sudden there they are , these Kitaitsi who will be our companions for the next 11 hours. They work like automatons, welding, digging, hauling, laying concrete, asphalt, tar, gravel…I’ve never seen such roadwork in my life. And the conditions in which they live…my God! Felt tents that look like nomadic encampments litter the barren hillsides. It’s like some kind of industrial revolution-era workcamp, a place where men work so hard that the life simply oozes out of them. Even for the Tajiks who are accustomed to tough conditions, the filth in which these unfortunate Chinese make their meager livings is simply shocking.
First delay..not so bad…15 minutes for a little dynamiting operation. 20 km later, after passing President Emomali Rahmon’s highly gaudy roadside palace (I think this is number 11 or 12…slightly reminiscent of a certain Iraqi dictator who also had a penchant for overdone architecture and numerous residences) the asphalt reaches its end and the fun begins. We enter the Anzob Tunnel, an unventilated work in progress that feels like going down a mineshaft. No lights, no ventilation, just a lot of old Soviet trucks spewing toxic diesel fumes as we maneuver through the small lakes created by mountain streams gushing out of the rock face. After the tunnel we hit our second delay…a lot worse than the first. We eat plov(national dish of rice, carrots, and some kind of meat) and drink green tea amidst the breathtaking scenery of the Fan Mountains as the Kitaitsi lay asphalt on the road for 3 hours. Sheer drop-offs of thousands of feet keep me awake and terrified for the next 180km as we maneuver through the treacherous heights of the Shakharistan Pass. All along the steep mountainsides the wrecked and rusted carcasses of unfortunate vehicles provide silent, eerie tesimony to the hazards of the M34. I breathe deeply and trust Kenjal…even though he is slightly crazy and can’t hear very well, he sure knows how to drive. Finally, we descend down our last mountain and cruise the broad, flat plains of Northern Tajikistan. Soon, a big smile comes to my face and the sweat on my palms begins to dry up…after 350km of the worst roads I have ever traversed in my 25 years, I have reached Khujand at last!
To see currently fundraising loans from MLF Microinvest on Kiva.org, please click here.
Straws and sandpaper
It was kind of an inside joke between my father and I when I was younger that I would make fun of him for never using straws when he drank beverages. “Dad, it makes your life so much easier! You don’t have to bother picking up the glass. You just lean forward a little and drink. It’s great.”
My dad would shake his head at his twelve-year-old daughter. “Straws are superfluous. It’s an unnecessary step between me and my drink. I don’t need a tube to help me drink- I can do it fine on my own.”
We would argue like this back and forth. I don’t remember why such a mundane topic came up repeatedly during my childhood but it apparently occurred often enough for me to still remember today.
I promise this relates to Cambodia.
There are a lot of things here that can frustrate a foreigner. The buses are usually not on time; when they are, they usually still manage to arrive at your destination late. They stop at a small town to pick someone up and then drive two hundred meters to pick another person up. They are slow and inefficient. It can be frustrating.
On the days I go in the field I sometimes get incredibly dirty. I made the mistake of wearing a short-sleeve white button-up when driving to Khsach Kandal district, a rural area about forty-five minutes and a long ferry ride away from Phnom Penh. The roads in Khsach Kandal are dirt, which means passing cars, trucks, and motos disperse huge plumes of dust as they rumble down the street. If you are even the least bit sweaty (and I don’t think I have stopped sweating since I arrived a month ago) the red dirt turns into a very thin sort of mud that lines your collar and sleeves. It’s pretty gross and hopelessly futile to try to rescue the bright white color your shirt once was.
The roads in the rural areas are bumpy, even the paved ones. I have never gotten carsick but the bumps jostle your insides enough to make them start to hurt. I sometimes groan under my breath on the back of a moto (whose shocks I swear are nonexistent) and hold my stomach in a feeble attempt to keep my spleen and liver in their rightful places. I don’t know if spleens and livers can move to other parts of your body but to me it’s not worth taking the risk to find out.
Every meal is a gamble. Most often the ice is transported in large rectangle chunks without any sort of covering in the back of dirty trucks or on the back of motos. It is dropped, handled without gloves, and set directly on the street to cut into smaller pieces to sell to restaurants. I have no desire whatsoever to place a few drops on a petri dish and see what happens. The meat is possibly undercooked, the fish most likely left sitting out for several hours. It tastes delicious but the pleasure can sometimes be short-lived… two hours later your body makes you keenly aware of its disapproval in your lack of dietary discretion.
The electricity goes out, usually opting for the most inconvenient time to take its leave. It’s the middle of the day and 96 degrees outside and you have no fan. You have twenty-three Kiva journals to post before 5 PM and the internet has been out since 2.
Things don’t happen when you want them to, how you want them to, or the way you had planned. You are constantly inconvenienced, hot, sweaty, annoyed, tired, pressed up against the language barrier wall, put out by the cultural differences, pushed away from the comfortable and the expected.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t mind all of these challenges and quirks. I do mind. They are frustrating and emotionally and physically draining. But at the same time, there is something incredibly…. refreshing is the wrong word… cathartic?…. about not having every convenience handed to me. In Phnom Penh, I cannot step out of my air-conditioned home into my own personal air-conditioned car and drive to my health-inspector approved favorite air-conditioned restaurant, return the lemon pepper salmon because it didn’t taste quite right and have a new one brought to me at no cost, and drive back home to enjoy an evening of television and relaxation. But while I greatly appreciate being able to do this in the States, it feels good to experience something other than abundant comfort for a while.
My dad doesn’t use straws because they are waste of plastic and an superfluous convenience. The one-eighth of a calorie it probably takes to pick up a glass to him outweighs the desire to make his life unnecessarily easier. It’s a miniscule decision in his life but it’s representative of a larger perspective.
I had a friend one time describe a bad decision he made as one chosen out of the desire to “rub his thumb against a piece of sandpaper.” It was a conscious choice to step out of the ordinary and the easy and to place himself in an uncomfortable situation, to feel something rough and slightly painful, if only for a short time. I didn’t quite understand what he meant at the time, or why he would want to impose on himself anything less than the path of least resistance.
I think I understand it now. I think there is something to be said for not being completely obsessed with saving time and worshiping efficiency. The world is a dirty, dusty place, and it is natural to sweat. There are bumps in the road to Khsach Kandal and sometimes, just sometimes, it is nice to actually feel them, to not have hundreds of pounds of rubber and metal isolating you from the natural terrain. Food tastes better when it hasn’t been soaking in preservatives for three days, even if it might cause me a slight stomach ache later. I’d like to think my immune system is stronger if it does. Internet, electricity, and air-conditioning are luxuries; I am lucky to have them but I am not entitled to them. Power outages remind me of that.
It will be nice to go back home in a few months and take a shower at the precise temperature of my choosing, have a pizza delivered to my house with the press of a few buttons, to have constant access to information and people, and know with almost absolute certainty that things will go as I want and expect them too.
In the meantime though, I will appreciate living a life that is a little more natural, a little less insulated, one with slightly fewer straws and a little more sandpaper.
To see all currently fundraising loans from MAXIMA on Kiva.org, please click here.
First Day
Patan Business and Professional Women (BPW)
It was my first full day of work and the director of BPW decided that the best way for me to get an understanding of how her organization worked would be to start from the beginning. So, with that goal in mind, I was sent to observe a “recognition exam” which she would be administering to a group of 10 new borrowers.
The exam serves as an opportunity to reiterate the principles of the MFI, clarify the terms of the loan, and showcase the business plans of the individual entrepreneurs. The exam opens with a round of formal introductions and the reciting of the MFI’s core principles (set to a lovely tune and sung). Next, Urmila, the director of BPW, quizzes the new borrowers on the policies of the MFI and the specifics of their loans. After she feels that the understanding of all the borrowers is sufficient, the group is allowed to begin their business proposals.
BPW distributes loans to individual women who enter into groups of five. These groups are bound together by shared liability. If any member of the group defaults on the loan, it is the shared responsibility of the other four members. This bond of liability is strengthened by preexisting social connections formed within the small communities in which these women live. A key part of this trust process is the business proposal and group approval.
Called forward individually, each woman presents her detailed business plan to the group. The group, along with the director and loan officers, is then allowed to ask questions and assess the viability of the plan. Once all questions have been asked, it is ultimately up to the group to decide whether or not the loan will be given. On this day, every applicant is granted a loan.
Walking back to the office after the exam, Urmila explains to me how the recognition exam fits within the core principles of BPW and the larger micro-finance world. Micro-finance is about the enabling of the individual, while also strengthening the bonds of the community. BPW is able to accomplish both by encouraging individual creativity in the use of the loan while relying upon the strength of social bonds and peer approval.
Simple, but effective.
First weeks in Cape Coast, Ghana
I have been in the country for two weeks now and I love it. Ghana is known for its warmth—both physical and relational—and thus far, it has lived up to its reputation. The Ghanaian handshake, with its snap upon release, seems to epitomize the general tone of life here. Friendly and laid-back. In the town of Cape Coast where I’m living, taxi drivers remember your name and children invite you to games of make-shift pool (using long sticks and marbles). Religion is also a very prominent part of life here. 70-80% of the population is Christian, and those of the faith display it proudly. Most vehicles boast bumper stickers that remind us to “Love Jesus!” or of “Jesus Christ: Someone You’ve Got to Meet!” The names of shops often contain biblical allusions as well. My favorites thus far are, “Man! Know Thyself Enterprises” and “In Christ’s Blood Beauty Salon.” Although it could easily be overwhelming for Non-Christians, I think there’s something refreshing about such an unabashed commitment to one’s faith.
I am here in Ghana for 11 weeks this summer working with an NGO called Christian Rural Aid Network (CRAN). CRAN’s mission is to improve the livelihood of the rural and semi-urban poor, particularly women and children. CRAN started its microloan scheme in 1998. Since then its microfinance program has grown to encompass approximately 70% of its operations, and in the past two years, the organization has increased its number of active borrowers from one thousand to five thousand. In addition to extending microloans to small-scale entrepreneurs, CRAN also offers a nontraditional “susu” savings option. With this type of savings, participants in the voluntary program pledge to set aside a certain amount of their income per day, generally somewhere between one and five cedis (roughly one to five dollars). For a small monthly fee equal to a day’s worth of savings (such that clients pay in accordance with their means), a CRAN representative collects the money daily from the client’s residence. CRAN then stores the money safely in a bank account where it can be withdrawn upon the client’s request. Such a program helps clients build a personal safety net for rough times and, for those with loans, helps ensure that they can make repayments in a timely fashion.
Working with the Kiva coordinator, my main responsibility this summer will be to interview clients for the purpose of writing journal updates. Because of CRAN’s small size, however, I’ll have the opportunity to take part in several other projects, which I’m really excited about. At the end of July, CRAN will undergo a social impact assessment of its lending program. In preparation for this, we’re trying to conduct our own mini evaluation. I have been able to help with both the development and execution of this assessment, which has been really exciting. I believe that the extension of reliable and affordable credit to the poor undeniably meets a critical need that was long overlooked. The question, however, of whether it actually contains the potential to help alleviate poverty and empower women is still fiercely debated within the sector. The issue fascinates me, and I’m very grateful for the opportunity to explore it with CRAN.
I want to end with a quote from a book I just finished reading. (I’d recommend it to all travelers in Africa, and particularly females.) It’s a quote that put into prose so perfectly what I have felt since I arrived in Ghana:
“In Africa, the boat leaves when it’s full. You might wait an hour; you might wait two weeks. If you spend that time tipping forward into the future, you sink. The best think to do is just to sit on the boat and look around at the other humans who are sitting there with you. You might discover that you like the view.”
- Somebody’s Heart is Burning, by Tanya Shaffer
To see all currently fundraising loans from CRAN on Kiva.org, please click here.
Unclaimed Baggage
After all of the horror stories I had read on the Internet (kidnappers waiting to grab Americans at the airport, planes crashing because someone tried cooking over a coal fire in the back, rampant corruption and required bribery) I was a little nervous before embarking on my travels to Nigeria. Somehow Nigeria had been built up in my head as a complex mixture of culture and chaos– afrobeat music a la Fela Kuti and colorful clothing, big personalities and the complex flavors of jollof rice embedded in the “Wild West” of Africa. By the time the wheels of my plane touched down in Lagos, however, the nervous voices inside me were subdued. I owe this sense of calm to Delta Flight 50.
My arrival in Nigeria began well before the plane’s windows fogged up with humidity on the runway or the immigration officers stamped my passport. I entered Nigeria at the very serene and un-scary Gate E2 in the Atlanta airport (due to Lagos’s lack of appeal as a tourist destination 95% of passengers were Nigerian with that other 5% primarily populating business and first class). It was a reassuring 11-hour introduction to the normalcy that is more prevalent in Nigeria than the horrific urban legends that proliferate on the Internet. There were no coal fires and no scammers, just a few babies crying like any flight to Hawaii or Hamburg. Passengers were friendly, but not overly so.
I deplaned with confidence. I buzzed through immigration pausing for only a moment to gawk at a fellow American who apparently had not been the victim of Googling “Nigeria Travel Safety.” He wore a stars and stripes button-up collared dress shirt (the stars caressing his right shoulder), blue jeans, cowboy boots, a bushy grey mustache waxed and twirled at the tips and a confederate-style beige hat complete with the emblematic crossed swords above the brim. “Bold,” I thought.
I changed money and collected my baggage (leaving my fear spinning around the conveyer belt). On my way out of the airport I was pulled aside by a friendly concierge. Not immediately seeing the men who were to meet me from LAPO, the Micro Finance Institution (MFI) I would be working with for the next 3 months, the concierge let me borrow her cell phone. The phone was ringing when the large LAPO sign caught my eye across the airport drop-off. There they were, as expected.
For a few hours following, we navigated the horrendous traffic in Lagos and visited one of LAPO’s branch offices. The staff was all smiles and we chatted a bit, all enjoying the fan that moved the otherwise damp and heavy air. I practiced getting used to the somewhat tricky Nigerian accent through excessive ambient noise (created by fans, air conditioners and generators).
Back to the airport in time to check-in for my three o’clock flight, I enjoyed a few moments of solitude again. This would have been a prime opportunity to reflect on how it felt to be here – how the expectations I had had were playing out, what commonalities and differences were apparent between Nigeria and my previous experiences in Southern and East Africa, what new questions had surfaced about LAPO and micro finance, etc., but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I sat one arm on my precious carry-on bag and the other cradled my forehead as I struggled to get some rest while maintaining a slice of consciousness.
The rest is a bit of a blur…propeller plane, walking off the runway at the very basic airport in Benin [City], brief introduction to another kind gentleman from LAPO who greeted me and began to tell me about his role in the Strategic Planning Department and finally the hotel after 24 hours of travel…big firm bed, cool shower and CNN. I cooled down and fell into a relaxed reclined position, grabbed the remote and caught up on developments in Zimbabwe trying to keep myself awake until a reasonable hour so that I wouldn’t wake up refreshed and ready for the day at 2:30 am. After a few hours and what I have come to learn are frequent and expected power outages, I took the 9:14 pm blackout to be a divine sign that it was time to sleep.
I dreamed of Fela Kuti, dancing, fried plantain and welcoming smiles rather than ransoms and rebels.
To see all currently fundraising loans from LAPO on Kiva.org, please click here.
Arrival.
(About a week late due to power outages and internet disconnection.)
After almost six full days of travel, I’ve made it to Kathmandu. Flight delays, cancellations, rerouting, and an unexpected detour through Hong Kong all made my trip here much more interesting than I had expected. But, at last, I have arrived.
It’s been about six months since my last visit to Nepal, and much remains the same: The roads are crowded with taxis, tuk-tuks, wondering sadhus, and lounging cows. Walking down the street, one’s nose is filled with a mix of burning juniper, sandalwood, diesel fuel, and burning trash. People go about their lives, making things work while the newly-formed government remains stuck in a weeks-long deadlock.
I contact my MFI director, Urmila, and we make plans to meet as soon as this most recent transportation strike lets up. It could be a day. It could be a week. This is Nepal; and this is how things work.
Two Buckets and a Potato in Sierra Leone
I’ve been in Sierra Leone now for about 6 days. It feels like I’ve been here for about 6 months. Not in a bad way, though. It’s just a very intense experience. Minus the unrelenting sweating it’s quite nice. It’s kind of like a bare-bones boot camp in the jungle, but instead of a screaming drill sergeant there are a lot of excited little African kids waving at you. Getting a feel for this place is all in the details. So here are a couple quirks from Sierra Leone to get things started:
The Two-Bucket Bath:
Running water is rare here, and showers are virtually non-existent. So what I’ve been introduced to is the two-bucket bath. (But note that this is the luxury version in Sierra Leone… cheaper versions include the one-bucket bath and the no-bucket bath.)
I start with a large bucket, set it on the ground, and fill it with cold water. Imagine something like a garden bucket taken from your back patio. The first time I did this, I was debating standing in the big bucket. But I’ve since been told that only an idiot would do that. So now I know. Anyway, I stand NEXT to the bucket because I’m a quick learner and pick up the second bucket. The second bucket is something like an old butter dish. Mine is actually a margarine container. I then dip the little bucket into the big bucket, fill it with cold water, and dump it on my head. Ahhh, that’ll wake you up in the morning! I repeat as I continue to convulse and spasm. Add in some scrubbing and some more dumping, and that is your typical Sierra Leone shower.
It may seem fairly idiot proof, but I made a critical mistake during my first bucket bath. I wet myself down and then went to town with the soap. I got a nice rich lather going, thinking to myself, “I’ll show this African dirt how we do things in America.” What a mistake. It was freaking near impossible to get all that soap off by dumping little buckets of water on myself. Dump a bucket, still soap suds. Dump another bucket, still soap suds. After about a billion buckets I just gave up. I would have had to use all the water in the Africa to get that soap off. So the rest of the day I just left a little trail of soap bubbles wherever I went. It probably looked like I have a major case of OCD with soap bubbles leaking out of my clothes all day. Lesson learned: not so much soap next time.
The Unwritten Rule:
I swear there is a rule here that every Sierra Leonean knows from birth. The rule goes like this: If you are under 10 years old and you see a white person, you are required to wave your hands manically, smile so all your teeth are showing, and begin screaming “Opotho” as loud as you can. Every child does this, without fail. When the small babies are squealing, it sounds something like “A Potato!!! A Potato!!!”
Opotho means “white person” in the native Temne language. And not because my complexion resembles mashed potatoes… but that’s not a bad guess. The mini history lesson goes like this: the first white people to explore Sierra Leone and come in contact with the Temne tribe were the Portuguese. Opotho is the Temne version of saying “Portu” or “Portuguese.” So the Temne are actually now calling all white people Portuguese.
I thoroughly enjoy the children screaming “Opotho.” When I go jogging in the morning, they like to stand by the side of the road and touch my hand. I’d like to get them more organized so they line both sides of the street and give me high fives on the home stretch. If I could set up a finish line ribbon and have someone dump some Gatorade on me I’d have it made.
-Nicholas Sabin
Ready to Start
Tuesday morning at 8:15, all 20 of the new Kiva Fellows were on time, crowded around the breakfast table where Noah’s bagels, pastries and coffee were available to power us through the intense four days of training that would follow. The table in the middle of the training room was perpetually covered with beverages, snacks and laptops for the week we were there. I was extremely grateful for every ounce of caffeine and every handful of trailmix that JD, our Fellows Program Director, had to offer us along with the 800 Powerpoint slides and hours of practice sessions. I could tell in the first hour that the other 19 Fellows in the room with me were just as psyched as I was to have the amazing chance to work with Kiva, who is only 30 months old, in their very new program. Kiva puts an incredible amount of faith in strangers, a four day course, and the selection process to gather crucial information for the website via these new liaisons between the San Francisco office and the many MFIs around the world.
The reading materials for the course seemed like a lot of information to digest, being about 150 pages of microfinance terms, practices and the history of Kiva, as written by Matt Flannery. When I got to meet Matt and Premal (who joined Kiva in the beginning stages), I felt like I was in the presence of celebrities, although their demeanor suggested that I was in every way their equal. I would come to understand that microfinance terms and practices were the mere tip of the iceberg and that what appears on the Kiva website is a highly refined, user-friendly interface to simplify the complex workings of what they do. I also learned that my job as a fellow was not to be a microfinance specialist (thank god!) but primarily to write journals because that’s the humanizing element that Kiva adds to this industry. I think that I can do that so we’ll see how it goes once I get to Cameroon.
I want to introduce myself to everyone who may stop by the Fellows blog every once in a while to read my postings. My name is Lucy Gent, from Santa Fe, NM. I just spent a year in Brazil as a junior in college, and this is my fourth trip to Africa. This last year has been full of travels for me, spending 5 months in Rio de Janeiro studying economics in the fall, then going to Egypt and Senegal for 6 weeks while I took my Brazilian summer break, and finishing the school year back in Rio. I flew back to the US last Sunday so that I could participate in the Fellows training on Tuesday in San Francisco. Friday night I came to Santa Fe and I’ll be leaving on Tuesday for Cameroon, as long as my visa and passport get back to me by my 11:00 AM flight. I had been investing with Kiva for about a year when I found the Fellows program and knew that it would be an amazing opportunity to work in this field that greatly interests me and gives me the chance to continue traveling in Africa. With my graduation nearing, I’m trying to find where I can place myself to make an impact in the world and see results to gratify the hard work I’m willing to put in. I was so discouraged in Brazil by seeing the extreme poverty on every street corner and then going to my classes where my peers owned iPhones and 7 Jeans, which in USD equivalent cost about $700. I just didn’t feel like I should be in classes if there was any way I could be working to bring people out of poverty. This may provide the circumstance to experiment with that. I’m most excited see first-hand the nitty-gritty transactions of microfinance in the field and to talk to the individuals who are benefiting from this work. Probably what I’m most nervous about is running out of energy to give to the people I’ll be working with. I’m stepping into an office that works 45+ hour weeks and who have been dedicated to the cause for longer than Kiva has been around. I want to do the best job I can to help GHAPE, the office I’ll be at, and Kiva, and I’m just a little anxious about how much effort I can squeeze out of myself for the 10 weeks that I’ll be there. We shall see.
I’ll be arriving next week and hopefully I’ll be posting blogs pretty regularly. I would love to hear from anyone in the Kiva community about what their ideas and reactions are to what I’ll be experiencing so hopefully this is the beginning of a relationship I’ll have with you as the reader. Please feel free to write me or post comments. I’d love to hear from you! After getting pumped full of exciting information and energy from the training this last week, I’m ready to spring off into the field and I can’t wait to see what awaits in the field for me and for the other Kiva Fellows who will be heading off soon.
TIA
TIA
A Tanzanian friend, who stays at the same guest house as me, came up with an expression that can be used to make any frustrating, confusing, or illogical moment in Africa, funny. TIA (this is Africa!). I can’t even remember the origin of this phrase (bad referencing I know), other than that my friend said it on the way home from a club one night, and made me believe that it was a commonly used expression in Dar es Salaam (N.B. sadly my gullibility cannot be attributed to drunkenness, it’s a special characteristic of mine, despite my supreme intelligence). This gullibility led to me using ‘TIA’ at will, until I realised that no one knew what it meant! I confronted my friend, who broke down and admitted that he had made it up himself and just wanted to embarrass me (although further research tells me he may have lifted it from the movie Blood Diamond). The minor embarrassment it caused has been well worth it though, because TIA has saved my sanity a number of times since.
Example #1: Dana Lunberry, my fellow Fellow in Dar, accompanied me on a trip to train an MFI’s staff on how to use the kiva system. The staff were professional, punctual, receptive, hospitable, kind (they gave us gifts), and generally wonderful (so much so that we finished the training a couple of days early). Until our second-last day. Usually we were picked up from our guest house at around 8am. On this particular day, we didn’t hear from our hosts until 11am (this wasn’t so strange because everyone realised there wasn’t really much to do, and we had been on an epic adventure the day before – involving a five hour drive to Lake Malawi with a fish flying along next to us in a plastic bag tied to the car to prevent it spoiling. The flying fish was subsequently presented to the manager and cook at the beach resort, who agreed to cook it for us. BYO fish was a new concept for us, but our hosts couldn’t understand our amazement and hysterical laughter).
Back to us waiting at the guest house. Our host rang and asked us if we were ready, because they were on their way to pick us up. “Of course”, I replied, cheekily using an expression often used out of context here in TZ, usually in cases where the implied obviousness of the situation does not exist, and where a simply yes would suffice (in this case, at 11am, I feel my polite “of course” was justified). So Dana and I waited, and waited, and WAITED! Until 4pm, when we decided a) to go for a walk, and b) to stop speculating as to why someone would say they were on the way to pick you up and then not show up. ALL DAY! As we observed later, neither of us ever suspected that a fatal accident or other form of emergency had occurred. Maybe we’ve been here too long. Anyway, the next morning one of the staff members showed up unannounced while I was still in the bathroom. Dana answered the door, and after the usual polite greetings asked, “So, what happened yesterday?”
“What yesterday?” our host replied.
“HOW YOU NEVER CAME TO PICK US UP YESTERDAY!” (Ok, Dana did not shout, she never does, I just couldn’t resist writing it because it would have been really funny if she had).
Our unnameable host: “Oh, we decided you were tired and needed to rest”.
???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
When Dana relayed the conversation to me later, I asked her what she said. “Nothing”, she replied, and anticipating my hot-tempered reaction to her non-response, added “What can you say to that?”
“TIA!” we chorused in unison.
Disclaimer: I love Africa, and Tanzania, and SELFINA, but I have gone beyond the ‘culturally sensitive’ stage of accepting everything I come across (although TIA is a form of acceptance). It’s now gloves off when it comes to cultural observations and criticisms, and in my experience most Tanzanians find it funny and refreshing (maybe because I’m just as critical of my own culture!)
N.B.: More examples to follow – I can guarantee that ahead of time!
Finding Familiar
So… for me, one of the difficult parts of moving someplace new is getting used to things being different than I’m accustomed to. For example, after four years of wonderful college goodness, it came as a real shock when I got a job, moved to San Francisco and realized I had to wear pants on a regular basis. It still haunts me. But I’ve adapted, and now some days I even wear pants on the weekend. And sometimes I don’t.
This seems to be true as I am adjusting to life in Badung, Bali (the adapting, not the pants). Luckily, the Executive Director of DINARI, Mr. Alit, has been kind enough to take me in and house me in his guest room, which has given me the pleasure of getting to know his family and joining them for meals and other daily activities. I’ve also made some new friends at DINARI and have really enjoyed the chats with clients and the random conversations that I’ve had with people on the street. The hard part has been kicking my technology addictions and social dependencies.
Although some of these habits I am happy to be rid of, like the Blackberry and internet addictions, I realize that there are many habits and patterns which I can’t wait to resume when I get back, nearly all of which involve socializing with friends and family. These habits include post-game celebrations, sushi with Chuck, porch-talks, 3:00 AM heart-to-hearts, and email exchanges so glorious that you wish you could read them again for the first time.
So while I’m away from some of these social interactions, I’ve been thinking a lot about what has been making me feel the most like… me. During a typical day spent meeting new clients, struggling with the Indonesian language, working with the DINARI staff, learning a new culture and trying new foods, sometimes it feels good to find a few minutes to spend time doing something familiar.
From my travels in that past and my last few weeks here in Indonesia, I have found that the following list of things really helps to make me feel balanced (in no particular order):
1. Reading/Music/Email: These are the obvious ones, so I’ll get them out of the way. Nonetheless, when you can’t understand the language and spend much of your day trying to learn on the fly, it feels incredible to let my brain loose. So far the Lonely Planet guides for Bangkok and Bali, Eat, Pray, Love (source of future blog), Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, Yunus’ Banker to the Poor have been wonderful friends. As has my rediscovery of Oregon’s own Everclear, especially “Santa Monica” and “AM Radio”. And with email, there’s nothing better than coming back to the Gmail after a few days away and seeing a bunch of updates from friends, even if the only friends who wrote are the ones offering Viagra at a once in a lifetime price.
2. Junk Food: I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the occasional cookie/wafer/chocolate randomness binge. I have literally cried tears of happiness upon discovering Oreo’s in a local market.
3. Sports: Thankfully so far in Bali, I’ve been able to play ping-pong, volleyball, badminton, a game of hoops, and even raced a nine year old (results still under protest). Getting out there and getting the heart rate up with a little friendly competition is not only social, but helps wear off the fried banana breakfast.
4. Playing with Kids: The nice part about being a Kiva Fellow is that you meet a bunch of clients that often have their little sons and daughters running about. For the most part, playing with children takes no knowledge of the Indonesian language, which fits my skill set perfectly. Whether it’s a quick game of tag or figuring out who can make the weirdest face, playing with the Balinese children has been a blast.
So that’s my list… pretty generic, I admit. My question to any who want to participate is: When travelling or acclimating to some place new, what makes you feel balanced? What did I miss? Feel free to add any updates to whatever I’ve listed including books, music or your secret addiction to powdered milk.
Cheers from Bali,
GC
Meet CAURIE Microfinance in Senegal!
By Mary Moseley
Senegal Fellow
CAURIE MF, Caisse Autonome pour le Renforcement des initiatives Economiques par la Microfinance, is a mid-size microfinance institution that serves over 15,000 clients in Senegal and as of March 31st 2008, has a loan portfolio just over $4mUSD. They are present in several regions of the country: Diourbel, Kolda, Louga, Thiès, and Ziguinchor. Their mission is to offer best practice micro-finance services to poor, female-owned micro-enterprises in primarily rural areas while investing in their own eventual financial autonomy.
CAURIE is the organizational offspring of the Catholic Relief Services (CRS) and its primary regional partner, Caritas Internationalis. After a decade of Microcredit activities in Senegal, CRS realized that as an NGO, it would not be able to operate effectively within the realms of Credit and Savings, nor would it meet the needs of the country’s growing Microfinance market. Caritas-Thiès and CRS-Senegal then joined forces to launch a Microfinance project utilizing their program experience and after 5 successful years, decided to officially establish CAURIE Microfinance in September 2005.
A monthly meeting at one of the Village banks established by Caurie.
As a Kiva Fellow in Senegal, I’ve therefore gotten a chance to learn a lot about CAURIE and would like to introduce them to you! Read on to learn a little more about this amazing organization.
I’ve been working and living at the CAURIE Headquarters since March 2008. The director, Mamadou Lamine Gueye, has all the makings of an amazing leader: hardworking, responsive, decisive, and a nice guy to boot. Mr. Gueye has Fatoumata Binta Daniff, an ex-loan officer and accountant, spearheading the Kiva loan processing from headquarters. Mrs. Daniff is incredibly hardworking and creates each loan profile with precision and care. I think that Kiva has partnered with CAURIE at a really interesting time. CAURIE is an emerging microfinance company – it is growing rapidly. The inclusion of Kiva into its loan funding process is sure to foster their planned growth as an organization.
It’s important to note that amidst massive growth and expansion, CAURIE’s Village Bank lending methodology remains faithful to the core concepts of microfinance and, in my opinion, succeeds because of it. CAURIE lends to groups of women who form village-banking groups. Once the women organize themselves, CAURIE provides microfinance training (savings and loan methodology), improving a woman’s chance of success from day one. CAURIE has over 275 Village Banks (VBs) in Senegal with between 35 and 60 women in each. VB’s can get started in a variety of ways. CAURIE will sometimes send representatives out to villages to offer their services. Other times, groups of women approach CAURIE asking to set up a bank in their village. To begin, several informational meetings are held between CAURIE staff, the village leaders and the future borrowers. Within each Village Bank, the women split up into Solidarity Groups of between 3 and 10 women. In lieu of putting up collateral for loans, they agree to be held responsible for their fellow solidarity group members’ loans. Solidarity Groups are one of the reasons CAURIE’s loan default rate is 0% to date.
Caurie staff, Mary & clients during a monthly meeting at one of the Village banks
CAURIE’s loans are usually for a duration of 6 months and repaid by one single bulk payment at the end of the cycle. Although payments are made at the end of each loan term, the Village Banks meet monthly. During the meeting, each woman is called up to present her deposit into her savings account. Loan payments are also made in front of the group. At each monthly meeting, the members can opt to take out small loans from their Village Bank’s savings account. These monthly loans are very small and not related to the larger loans that CAURIE and Kiva lenders fund. But, small amounts like $20 US can be helpful in these women’s lives, and at each monthly meeting many of them choose to borrow a small sum to be repaid in full the following month.
Caurie staff visiting a client of a Village bank.
All women are welcome into the program and allowed a first loan of up to approximately $60 USD for a 6-month loan term. After the first loan, each borrower’s credit limit is evaluated and re-calculated based on her repayment history, their savings account balances and their experience with loans. With each 6-month cycle, the women have an opportunity to build their credit and take a larger loan or remain at whichever borrowing level is comfortable for them. I’ve met with many of CAURIE’s borrowers and loan officers. I’ve attended several monthly meetings and met with the elected management committee at each bank. The management committees are elected by the VB and are VB members themselves. All of these have been incredibly positive experiences, without exception. I believe in CAURIE’s methodology and I highly respect the hard work of the staff and the dedication of their borrowers.
Both CAURIE and the Microfinance sector in general in Senegal are growing rapidly. To date, there are over 600 microfinance institutions in the country. The beauty of Microfinance in Senegal is that it reaches out to typically under-served rural areas as opposed to traditional banking, which is primarily focused in urban areas. CAURIE is growing its loan portfolio, opening more Village Banks, and will be expanding its services to include micro-insurance this summer!
*This blog was posted on behalf of Mary Moseley*
Getting Acquainted
I packed light for my trip, because I heard what a breeze it is to buy everyday items at the local markets in Cambodia. After settling in at my guest house in Phnom Penh, I headed down to do just that at the nearby Phsar Toul Tom Poung Market, aka “Russian Market.” Why do they call it that, you ask? Apparently they don’t…
Even before I stepped outside of the entrance to my guest house, a handful of men eagerly shouted offers to drive me to my destination. I approached the driver of one of the motos parked adjacent to the building. His moto was new and shiny, so I assumed the driver probably knew his way around town.
“How much to Russian Market?”
“6,000 [riel]*. We go!” he replied, enthusiastically.
I jumped on the back of his moto. We crept to the street corner and paused awkwardly despite a clear road ahead.
“Do you know where Russian Market is?”
“Um Yes, yes, yes… This way?”
“Yes, South,” I responded, trusting that he knew his way around the city that was so new to me.
“Oooooh, okay, I take you there!” Vroooooooom and we’re off.
After 15 minutes of darting and dodging around traffic I became disoriented – still no sign of Russian Market. Admitting defeat at finding the destination, the driver pulled over to ask a nearby group of moto and tuk-tuk drivers. A bit of arguing in the native tongue, Khmer, was followed by boisterous laughter as one of the tuk-tuk drivers pointed in the opposite direction of where we were headed.
“I excuse! I go wrong way!” he exclaimed as he waved off the heckling men that clearly were entertained by our situation. The tallest one in the group joked that I should drive instead and let my moto driver sit behind me. Another man beckoned me to sit in his tuk-tuk so that he could take me to my destination. We promptly turned around and raced down the street again.
After another 5 minutes of dipping in and out of side roads and speeding up and down busy streets, we stopped to ask another local driver. Same response as before. This time we couldn’t help but laugh with him. I hoped Russian Market was at least somewhere between these last couple of pit stops.
After a few more minutes of bouncing around what seemed to be some of the more roughly-paved roads of Phnom Penh, I decided to play navigator using a tourist map and my new compass (thanks, Dad!). Picture me holding on for dear life on the back of a moto as we flew over potholes and snaked through traffic coming from all directions – all while juggling my navigation tools and trying to identify street names on store fronts.
For the record, I should never be allowed to be navigator. Ever. Some people have a knack for directions; I, on the other hand, have trouble finding my way through the supermarket. However, considering that I’m telling this story, let’s just assume that I directed us to the market with skill that even Marco Polo would envy. Let’s also assume that I have a photographic memory, sing with perfect pitch, and only date supermodels.
We finally arrived at the Russian Market and the driver and I laughed more about our unplanned adventure around town. As I reached for my wallet he dipped his head and asked, “Two dollars?”
“Two dollars?” I asked, incredulously. “You said $1.50 and even got us lost!”
“No lost, I give tour!” He joked, grinning from ear to ear. Too funny. “Fuel not cheap,” he added, apologetically.
Fuel isn’t cheap. Conversations with locals suggest that the price of gasoline here has risen by more than 65% over the past year, and drivers struggle to increase fares quickly enough to cover the cost. Factor in the rising cost of food and aggressive inflation and one quickly realizes how difficult it is to have financial security in a less developed country.
The profiles of the Kiva borrowers that I support flashed through my head as I began to realize the importance of empowering entrepreneurs to build efficient micro-enterprises. Extending loans through Kiva makes it possible for entrepreneurs such as this man to afford to keep motos well maintained, to purchase inventory in bulk, to acquire machinery that operates at higher yield… I feel proud to represent Kiva when I think about the impact on the developing world made by the Kiva community of staff, MFIs, lenders, supporters, and friends.
Even if I didn’t sympathize with his position, what is fifty-cents between strangers, if you can share a good laugh? I have never before laughed so hard at being lost – and I have been lost many times! Anyways, if you ever come to Cambodia, just remember that while it is easy to buy your daily necessities at markets, if you’re a newbie, it’s not always easy getting there!
* US Dollars are widely accepted as de facto currency in Cambodia, where the understood exchange rate is US$1 to 4,000 riel.
In Love
I fell in love today. It started out as an innocent crush, evolved into a dangerous infatuation, and today turned into full-blown, head-over-heels in love…with Guatemala, that is! What an amazing place this is. I’ve spent quite a bit of time traveling throughout Latin America, but I’ve never been so taken by a place and its people. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what has swept me off my feet, but it’s some wonderful combination of the breathtaking countryside, the extreme warmth of the people, the crazy packed buses and terrible roads, the conversations with random kids trying to sell me things, getting drenched in a rainstorm and feeling like a little kid again, and most of all, seeing first hand how incredibly strong women combine ingenuity, drive, and a small loan to improve the lives of their families.
I’ve spent the past week working out of the Friendship Bridge Quetzaltenango branch office, and have travelled around to small, rural villages in the beautiful highlands of Guatemala. The experience has been wonderful on so many levels. I’ve had the pleasure of running around rural Guatemala with various loan officers, all of whom have been an excellent resource for finding where I need to go and helping with translating for the many indigenous women who don’t speak Spanish. They’ve also been great fun to chat with on all the many, many long and bumpy bus rides. Additionally, I’ve been able to stay with a Friendship Bridge employee and her family out here, which has been a great way to get a glimpse of real day-to-day life in Guatemala. They have treated me like a queen and I don’t think I’ve stopped eating since I arrived! The best part of all, though, has been going to people’s homes/places of business and getting to hear their stories. There have certainly been some challenges, which I think I’m learning to overcome a little more with each interview.
Some of the ladies are very shy, and simply say their business is good and repayment is good and their families are good. There’s definitely a skill to getting them to open up, and hopefully I’ll continue to learn how to do that better. Some ladies, on the other hand, get really excited to talk about their families and their businesses. They are often very appreciative of their loans and very proud of what they have done with it. My favorite part is seeing the pride in their faces when they talk about being able to send their children to school. And for those that can’t, they repeatedly emphasize how giving their children an education and better opportunities for the future is their top priority.
Fortunately, most of the women I’ve talked with so far (approximately 35) have had pretty positive stories to tell. Their businesses are going relatively well, many of them are able to send their children to school, loan repayment has been going well, etc. But there certainly have been a few in situations that I can’t even fathom. A story of taking out a loan to purchase inventory for a little store a woman just opened up to try to support her family, only to have all the inventory stolen. “Fighting” just to pay back the loan and feed her 8 children while her husband drinks away any money he earns. And yet this woman smiles a sad smile, graciously thanks me for what I’m doing, and focuses on the dream that someday her children will have a better life. It’s so unbelievably humbling to realize the real issues people face everyday all over the world. And it makes me feel ashamed and ridiculous for many of my “needs” back in the U.S. What a privilege it is to get a glimpse of these women’s lives, hear of their struggles, be in awe of their successes.
A friend recently made a comment about balancing life’s moments with life’s big picture. The more I think about this, the more I realize how easy it is to be wrapped up in life’s long-term goals and plans, often letting day-to-day moments slide by without notice. At the same time, so many people around the world don’t have the privilege to think much beyond getting food on the table each day and keeping a roof over their heads. Yet the women seeking these loans have made a point to work to improve their lives overall, and it’s unbelievably inspiring to see the perseverance that drives them each day. Since I’ve been in Guatemala, each day has been an adventure, full of rich experiences. I can’t stop thinking about how amazing it is to live in each moment, soaking it all in. Life is so pure, so simple, so real, and I’m absolutely in love with it!
Sierra Leone: Yeah, but No
When I tell people that I am heading to Sierra Leone for the summer to do microfinance I usually end up getting the following three questions: 1) Aren’t they killing each other over there? 2) Did you choose Sierra Leone? 3) Are you crazy?
So I thought I’d kick off my first post to the Fellows Blog by answering those questions. And to keep you on your toes, I’ll start with question 2, follow that with question 1, and then let you decide for yourself on question 3. Oh, and if you don’t want to read the whole blog, my executive summary (a little gem of a technique I picked up in the corporate world) is that the answer to all three of these questions is “yeah, but no.”
Question 2: Did you choose Sierra Leone?
Yeah, but no. Sierra Leone was one of three African countries on my short list for placement through Kiva. Why? For me, Africa seems like the place to be. Skin-melting heat, squat-style toilets, and a healthy supply of malaria-carrying mosquitoes… everything you want in your summer vacation, right? Since I had previously traveled in East Africa, I short listed a few West African countries that speak English.
To be honest, in April when I was first interviewing for the Kiva Fellows program, I didn’t know anything about Sierra Leone. I mean I knew where it was on the map, but anyone who had seen Leonardo DiCaprio’s shining performance in “Blood Diamond” knew more about Sierra Leone than I did. But after some intense research, thank you Wikipedia, I agreed to make Sierra Leone my number one draft pick. I decided that the country risk level seemed “appropriately exciting” and Kiva seemed to really want to send me there because they hadn’t found anyone else crazy enough to place in Sierra Leone yet. The icing on the cake was that Sierra Leone also had an extremely enticing distinction. According to the UN’s Human Development Index, Sierra Leone is the least developed country in the world. How can you say “no” to #1?
Question 1: Aren’t they killing each other over there?
Yeah, but no. After I agreed to my placement in Sierra Leone, I dug into the country history and current status. After a few books, a couple documentaries, a child’s memoir, and more Wikipedia, I have a superficial knowledge of what is taking place in Sierra Leone. To inadequately summarize, Sierra Leone is recovering from a devastating civil war that lasted from roughly 1991 to 2002. A corrupt government was fighting a brutal rebel army, the Revolutionary United Front. The war eventually gained notoriety for its human atrocities and the UN stepped in to help bring the war to an end.
What struck me most when I was reading about the war was that the classic good vs. evil framework that I am accustomed to was nowhere in sight. The Rocky theme song never started up and Sylvester Stallone didn’t do a few pushups before beating up the bad guy. Rather, it can be argued that both sides of the conflict had questionable motives and resorted to ruthless tactics. But what is clear, is that a large amount of the civilian population was trapped in the middle. The prevalence of gruesome violence inflicted on innocent people is the most notable aspect of the war in my mind.
As I prepare to head over to Sierra Leone, the question that continues to bounce around in my mind is, “Even though the fighting officially ended a few years ago, how can people involved in this nightmarish war, victims or aggressors, return to their everyday life?” I can’t begin to imagine how that is possible. But I certainly hope that when I return from my trip, I am less amazed by the human capacity for violence than I am inspired by the human capacity for resilience. (That’s my cheesy, melodramatic comment for this post, every blog should have one.)
Question 3: Are you crazy?
Rather than answer that directly, I thought I’d offer a glimpse into my personality, and let you decide. When I was at the travel doctor this month, getting injected with every vaccine known to man, my doctor stressed that it was very important for me to take my Oral Typhoid Vaccine on schedule. I reassured her that I would, but she didn’t seem to believe me. She came back into the room a few minutes later and asked me if this would help… it was one of those rubber bracelets like Lance Armstrong wears. But this one was orange and said, “Remember Oral Typhoid Vaccine.” A huge smile spread across my face when I saw it. I told my doctor that I definitely needed it… not that it would help me remember at all, but because it was the coolest fashion accessory I had ever seen.
I’m heading to Sierra Leone in 2 days, June 19th. I look forward to writing about something more interesting than my bracelet at that point. But is that really possible? Stay tuned.
-Nicholas Sabin
War and its aftermath in Bosnia and Herzegovina
When I set out to write this, I thought it would be important to give some background on Bosnia and Herzegovina in this first blog. As I tried to think of intros to sum up the situation in Bosnia, no quote or cliché seemed to fit. And maybe I am not articulate enough (probably) or wise enough (definitely) to make sense of it. So instead of pretending to understand what I clearly don’t, I’ll just write what I’ve learned so far.
Most of the history I read to prepare for the trip focused on the ethnic cleansing the country endured in the 1990s. After the break up of Yugoslavia, Serbian President Slobodan Milošević instigated the war, using nationalist sentiments to mobilize his people to wipeout Bosnia’s Muslim population. In the end 200,000 Bosnians were killed and 2 million fled their homes. In concentration camps thousands of women were raped, and innocent civilians tortured. The terror & brutality of the genocide lasted 3 years.
With all industry and infrastructure in shambles, Bosnia literally had to start from scratch to rebuild, and still has a long way to go. The unemployment rate is estimated between 30-45%, poverty is severe especially in rural areas, and it holds one of the highest rates of income inequality in the world. Despite this Bosnia (along with most of Eastern Europe) is rarely considered a problem area anymore, and international aid to the country slowed down considerably by 1999. Bosnia has been fending for itself ever since.
Yet the country today is a peaceful place, and Bosnians have certainly proved their resilience. Organizations like Zene za Zene International (where I am working this summer), have helped many regain their livelihoods over the last decade, and microfinance has been key in helping thousands achieve financial stability. If Bosnia continues to heal and move forward, it can provide hope of recovery to struggling war torn countries around the world.
Today Sarajevo is alive & buzzing, and Bosnians are notably friendly and hospitable. I feel inspired by their strength, and grateful for whatever makes that perseverance possible. But these feelings drain away as I wonder how much the past still haunts those who live here. Bosnians are proof that you can get over the absolute worst that can happen. But this still doesn’t justify or explain why the absolute worst happens, and why innocent people have to suffer the lasting consequences of something they didn’t create.
After I arrived I hoped to say something to reconcile the horrors of the past I read so much about. It’s difficult to do when for me Bosnia generates feelings of despair & hope almost simultaneously, as evidence of all that can go wrong in this world and all that can be overcome. I guess being confused & overwhelmed is to be expected especially in the first week, and I don’t need to explain it all right now. I still have many people to meet, places to go, and much to learn. With luck I will be able to one day explain some of the many things I don’t understand.
Three Things..
So much has happened since I last wrote that I feel it is necessary to cover three topics in this entry. For my friends who have inquired about Kampala, I wanted to speak more about the city. In addition, I have officially started work and have been in the field on several occasions, piquing my interest and desire to share information on both the loan officers at MCDT and the amazing women I have met. Please bear with me…
Kampala has completely surprised me. I realize now that unlike my last trip to East Africa, I was not mentally, emotionally or probably physically prepared for this trip. Kampala is quite metropolitan, sits over many hills (seven I think) and has three (and probably more) different types of areas that I have seen thus far. The downtown area is where the taxi parks (for matatus – shared vans in which 14 people cram in) are in addition to about 1000 market stalls. It is crowded and yesterday I even got in a human traffic jam. They sell everything under the sun and more (all mostly plastic) here as people are constantly coming into and out of the city. Then there is the “other downtown” (I obviously don’t know the correct names yet) where the hotels and many businesses are located. Here you will find nice paved streets with matatus and boda bodas (motorbikes) as well as private cars but also beautiful shrubbery and space to breathe and walk. Finally, there are the hills where many people live. Looking up, the hills look green and are specked with houses with red tiled roofs.
Traffic in the city is horrible. At home when I would be in traffic and had my exit in sight, I would think if everyone just moved forward a few feet, decreasing the distance between each car, I could get to the exit. Well, in Kampala that is exactly what they do. I cannot even fit between 2 matatus in traffic as they are almost (or are) touching. The driving is even worse than the traffic as I have only seen two actual stop signs and one traffic light. Needless to say, I will not be driving.
In addition to the traffic there are cows, goats, chickens and dogs running around. Apparently everyone knows which animals are theirs and it is completely ridiculous for someone to kill and eat another’s animal. In fact, from talking to some Ugandans, that could be one of the worst things one can do. I find the idea quite nice and at the same time a bit fascinating since I am used to the western world, where many people have the idea that if it is on my property, it is mine.
I have been able to garner much of this information from the wonderful Ugandan woman who I live with and indulges all of my questions. We have discussed my job as well, and it is through these discussions that I have also learned that there are different levels of slums. As I mentioned above, many people live in the hills. I believe this is due to the fact that there is a rainy season and the hills probably act as protection, providing drainage. There are some slums in the hills, but the slums that MCDT serves are in the valleys slightly outside the city. My friend once asked me if they were “slum-slums.” After I didn’t understand, she explained that the worst slums are those in which the houses are actually just one room and have dirt floors, the kids run around barefoot and half-naked even though they should be in school and sewage runs through the walkway between the houses. Indeed these are the areas MCDT serves.
When I venture into these areas, I am always with an MCDT loan officer. Most recently, I have been paired with Rose. She is 24, recently finished her studies at Makere University and has only been with MCDT for 2 months. She, like all the loan officers get into the office at 8am and don’t leave until 8pm – they are truly amazing. In addition to that, MCDT has a requirement that all loan officers are first hired on a volunteer basis for three months without pay (they receive lunch each day during the week), then the loan officer is put on probation for six months where he or she starts receiving a salary, then after another round of interviews, the loan officer is hired on as a full employee. It is quite remarkable that each loan officer goes through this difficult process, especially Rose whose father has passed and whose mother doesn’t work as she must stay home to look after her sister who has mental problems. So, in order to work at MCDT, Rose must forgo a salary for these few months and pay for her bus ride into town in hopes of getting full-time employment.
Yet, each day Rose takes me to the field and I am so very grateful as with her guidance (and translation at times) I get to meet these wonderful women (MCDT serves mainly women who are put into groups of four or five people. They are each responsible for one another’s debt should one person fail to pay). The other day I got to meet Mwanje Florence, a hard-working woman who speaks wonderful English. She so eloquently told me that she works, “very hard to make just a little” since she goes to bed at midnight and wakes up at 4am to start working again.
Mwanje Florence went onto explain how the loans have empowered the woman as they are no longer beholden to their husbands to ask for money for food or school fees. MCDT’s training helps these women learn about the loan process and by the end, each woman is at least able to write her name, something many could not do before, and keep a loan book. In addition the groups, according to Mwanje, allow the women to meet and discuss their problems because they all understand and can support each other; they are able to help each other with their loan books and answer one another’s questions.
There are many women like Mwanje Florence and it is always so enlightening to meet each one of them. My living and working experience has shown there is a vast difference between those that live in the hills in nice houses and those who live in the slum-slums. For the people in the hills, the Bank of Africa advertises loans for weddings and furniture and for the women who live in the slums and work only to send their children to school there is MCDT and their amazing loan officers.
Was Kiva ever meant to be a Microfinance Fund?
I wonder if Jessica and Matt Flannery, Kiva co-founders, meant to create a Microfinance Fund to help local entrepreneurs in developing countries have money to grow or help their business. When I decided to join Kiva as a Kiva fellow I told my friends I was going to work for a Microfinance Fund. Last week I understood I was completely wrong. Kiva is a global community, not a microfinance fund based on small individual lending.
The other Friday, June 6th 08, I posted a journal about a client I visited the previous day. Nothing special, that’s one of my main tasks here. However, the client, a disable woman, mentioned that her wheelchair was broken and that she hasn’t been to Church in almost 2 months, and therefore was considering using a next loan to buy a wheelchair. I wrote that. The following morning I read a comment on the journal written by a Kiva Friend saying that KivaFriends would be willing to donate a new wheelchair to Regina Jose (picture below). The next day Jill, the KivaFriend, created a new thread at KivaFriends and on Monday, June 9th, when I opened Kivafriends.org for the first time in my life I saw that more than 300 people had seen Jill’s message and there were around 30 replies. People around the world were committed to give Regina Jose a new wheelchair, and then, for the first time, I realized I was working for a community, not for a Microfinance Fund. Now this message board has been seen for more than 900 people!!
For those not familiar with KivaFriends, it is a parallel non-profit organization that was created by very committed Kiva lenders, with the intent of helping further Kiva clients and Kiva itself. I am quite impressed by the power of Internet and global instant communication. Within 10 days the wheelchair was chosen and will be acquired next week, with delivery scheduled for the following week, hopefully in time for me to deliver the chair (representing KivaFriends) and take a few pictures on the occasion.
I am thrilled to see so many good people in the world wanting to help a client in a very poor neighborhood in the outskirt of Mozambican’s capital city Maputo. So many people have given advises and tried to help! A few even joined KivaFriends for the first time to help with donation!
If Jessica and Matt wanted a microfinance fund, they have it. Kiva is a fast growing fund on its way to be one of the largest microfinance funds in the world. Congratulations for that. But I believe they need a long applause for the community of good people they put together for the cause – helping alleviate poverty and promote economic development.
I’ll keep you posted on Regina’s wheelchair story!
Khanimanbo.
He Got Game
After spending my first few nights in Badung, Bali at a local hotel, Mr. Alit, the Executive Director for DINARI (Kiva’s MFI partner in Bali), invited me to stay in his guest room. I happily accepted and now enjoy sharing meals with Mr. Alit, along with his two children, Ayu and Jeremy, his very kind wife, Nenny, and their assistant, Neni.
For my first weekend in Badung, I was invited by my coworker at DINARI and new friend, Ferdinand, to join him on a trek to Tabanan in central Bali to join his friend at a traditional Hindu ceremony. Always up for seeing new things (and still not having learned the Indonesian word for “no”), I eagerly accepted his invitation. So after work on Friday, I hopped on the back of Ferdinand’s moped, hugged onto him for dear life, and we sped off into the Bali night. One hour and four sore cheeks later (2 confirmed, 2 assumed), we arrived at his friend’s house.
Ferdinand’s friend, Gangga, and his family graciously accepted us into their celebration and fed us until we were bursting at the seams. Although our work at DINARI caused us to be too late to see the actual ceremony, we enjoyed an incredible spread of every type of pork imaginable, rice, vegetables, spicy hotness and many types of sate (meat on a stick). After a week of Indonesian food, I still rarely have an idea of what I’m eating, and occasionally get blasted with some incredible spiciness, but it’s always pretty tasty.
As has been common in my experience so far in Bali, Gangga’s family made me feel extraordinarily welcome. Ferdinand spoke with Gangga and many of the guests, while I assumed my usual role of mute village idiot from America, unable to communicate. Nonetheless, I enjoyed listening to the conversations and couldn’t help but get caught up in the incessant laughter and smiles that are such a wonderful part of the Balinesian identity.
The highlight of the night came when Ferdinand decided that it would be a good idea for me to try and chat with some of the girls at the event. Never one to be real shy, I tried to brainstorm how on earth I was going to chat, considering I knew about seven words of Indonesian and no one spoke English. Ferdinand offered to translate, but I knew that he would surely “throw me under the bus” and I’d likely end up going back home to Badung with a new wife and a headless chicken. Having denied his services, Ferdinand asked me what I was going to say, so I tried practicing on him. Using all the Indonesian words I knew I said, “Satu, dua, tiga, empat, lima… Pisang gorang!!! Tarima kasi.” He laughed a little at first, but I figured he was just impressed by my American flirtation skills, or “game” as the kids are calling it these days.
After some serious deliberation, he decided it was in my best interest to sit this one out and wait until my Indonesian improved. I guess it turns out that “One, two, three, four, five… Fried Bananas!!! Thank you,” is not the best pick up line in Bali. You live and you learn, I guess.
Cheers from Bali,
GC
Off and running at DINARI and in the field…
So after three nights in Bangkok and two nights in the Bali surf town of Kuta, I was picked up yesterday by Ferdinand, who I will be working with side by side at DINARI, the microfinance institution (“MFI”) here in Bali that Kiva has partnered with. Ferdinand drove me to Sempidi, which is 20 km’s inland and north of Kuta (and about 20 degrees hotter), where I met many of the 30+ employees at the DINARI headquarters. DINARI also has a second branch in West Bali (Melaya) and is planning to open two more branches in the coming year.
While there is much to talk about with respect to the culture and people in the office, the part I was most excited to get started was the visiting of Kiva’s clients. Over my time here in Bali, I will likely be meeting with around 70 Kiva clients, the first 11 of whom I met this week. In order to meet with a client, I head out with a loan officer and often a translator. Typically, I’ll hop on the back of a moped designed for about 150 pounds and hug the guy in front of me as he wheels through the crazy Bali traffic and then through small streets and rice paddies that lead us to our destination.
I have a fun time on the back of the moped as the driver tries to figure out why his bike is making strange noises, having problems accelerating and getting horrible mileage. I have an inkling that it might have something to do with the extra 200 pounds weighing on the back tire, but I have no idea how to say that in Bahasa (Indonesian), so I shrug my shoulders and give my village idiot smile.
The clients so far typically live and operate their businesses out of their tiny one room dwellings that also house their families. The conditions vary, but in almost all cases, it’s clearly evident that many of these clients are living in fairly extreme forms of poverty. However, from the smiles on the faces of the clients and their families, it seems as if these people have never seen a day of sadness. From the big smiles that greet me to the laughs that accompany my sad attempts at speaking Indonesian, I have had a wonderful time getting to know more about how your loans have affected their lives.
With each client, I basically show up, ask them a bunch of questions (through a translator), smile a lot, hear their story, play with their kids (if applicable – I try not to play with imaginary kids as it tends to creep people out) and then take their photos. When I ask them what their dreams are (my favorite question), most say that their primary dream is to have good health and happiness for their families, before going into more elaborate wishes about grwoing their businesses. It’s always refreshing to hear such wonderful priorities. And the loans do seem to make a difference. I will see more evidence throughout my two months here, but so far it seems like the loans are allowing for a better life in one aspect or another.
Okay… Off to visit another client. If you have a minute, please say a prayer for my rear. I can barely sit down after spending three hours today on the back of a moped.
CHEERS!
GC
Note – this piece was written a few days earlier than it was posted, as will likely be the case with most of my postings.
Another KF5 Checking In….
So I had this crazy experience in Phnom Penh yesterday. I saw a sign for a $7 massage. Seven dollars!!! No way! Turns out the experience was a crazy experience in which this tiny Khmer woman twisted and contorted my—
Oh, blast. Gary already told this story. I guess I’ll have to come up with something else….
My one week in Phnom Penh cannot be captured or showcased by chronicling one critical, pivotal, emotional, or whimsical moment. I can though say that it can be characterized by a general feeling… one of profound humility, a feeling which is perhaps much more welcomed than the pain inflicted by a brazen black-belt-turned-Thai-masseuse in Bangkok.
I spent a brief period of time in Cambodia before and was aware of the kindness which is pervasive throughout Khmer culture. It is difficult to be lost, hungry, confused, or shoved up against a frustrating language barrier for too long before a local will take a moment of her time (or a few, if you are really good at getting yourself into sticky predicaments) to help. Still, in my first week back in Cambodia I was continually humbled by the gentle, patient and warm benevolence which emanates throughout the people.
I feel as though this sort of reflection is all too common among travelogues of Westerners venturing into third world cultures and have felt several times as I am writing this that I should perhaps opt for a more unique theme for this journal entry. I will not, however, if for no other reason then because it is at least somewhat of a gesture (albeit a weak one) of gratitude towards all the people I have met over the past few days.
One night I was trying to find my way back home on a moto when it became apparent my driver was horribly lost. He didn’t speak English, I don’t speak Khmer, and the map had proven useless. We drove for forty-five minutes before I recognized where we were and ended the ride. I stepped off of the moto, incredibly frustrated and exhausted until I looked up at my driver who just smiled and laughed a little. I had cost him gas and time and he was too kind to be angry, instead offering to share a feeling of amusement over his misadventures with this incompetent foreigner.
Two days later I had moved into a guesthouse where the staff locked the front gate and went to bed at 8 PM. I had been enjoying the night in Phnom Penh and arrived well after this hour. When I finally showed up the poor man whose job it was to lock the gate looked at me, tired. “Why are you late?” he asked gently. I felt horribly guilty and all I could manage was a pitiful apology. He smiled and returned my response with a genuine “no problem,” which only made me more angry at myself for my absurdly inconsiderate decision to enjoy a late dinner with friends instead of abide by the guesthouse policy. His patience was extraordinary and undeniably undeserved.
Elena’s language teacher, a well-spoken and affable Khmer law student, invited me over for lunch with her family, even though she told me later that the price of food today has soared to twice its cost in the past two months. Veteran Kiva fellows stationed in Phnom Penh have lent their advice, time, and patience helping Omeed and I transition into our stay in Cambodia. With paternal concern, a tuk-tuk driver showed me the best way to carry my purse on a moto so it wouldn’t be snatched quickly by a thief passing by. Dr. Kimseng has invited me to eat a lunch prepared for and enjoyed by the entire staff, and no I cannot bring anything to help. The care is unsolicited and the kindness unwarranted, but both are welcomed and deeply appreciated.
So I am humbled, welcomed into a culture which has so little but gives so much, and truly grateful for this experience. It’s going to be a good summer.
Field Experience
I’ve been working in Mozambique with Hluvuku-Adsema for the past 3 months now and I’m not even close to adapted. I must have visited more than 100 clients so far, and sometimes it is still quite hard to face reality. As a professional in the field I’m supposed to leave my emotions aside, right? Why is it so hard? Am I a bad “field employee” because I feel or am I just hurting myself?
I remember when my brother started to operate while in Medical University. My aunt, a doctor herself, told him the hardest part of being a doctor was to put the feelings aside and not suffer for all the patients’ lives my brother would loose in his career. I remember the first time my brother lost a patient. He went to my parents’ house devastated, and wouldn’t even talk. Four or five years have passed since my brother became a surgeon. I’ve listened to him talking about a few patients he has lost, but never emotional. Does this mean he doesn’t feel anymore, that he adapted? Or that he is just pretending he doesn’t feel anything?
Last Thursday I’ve visited 16 clients (Kiva and non-Kiva clients) and when I arrived home at night I was completed exhausted; emotionally devastated. I had seen so much poverty, so many problems, so many kids in horrible situations, diseases, hunger, lack of a proper home to live. A strong storm hit the region the previous night, and many people that had plastic roofing had just lost their home with everything inside. Many clients lost their stand and their place to sell their products, but they weren’t as scared as I was. They were sad, but behaving as “we lost it all one more time”, which for me was even more hard to take it.
I come from a developing country. I have already volunteered in slums in Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. I’ve seen poverty and many children begging in the streets. Why am I still not used to it? Why do I still feel so much? I would like to work with economic development as a profession. Does that mean I will never be good enough for it? I will never adapt? Or am I just in my first “field year”, just like a first med school year?
Yesterday I walked through the capital city Maputo the whole day, just thinking and trying to understand the reality I am facing. With my sad spirit came my furiousness. If I already wanted to help the poorest reach the ladder of development, now I will.
Jeffrey Sachs said in one of his books that you can’t study, understand, and advise a country in it’s economic development path without going into the field, without clinically diagnosing what is the country’s “disease” so that you can find the best “remedy”. I agree. A field experience changes one’s looks and comprehension of the world. It does put life into perspective.
Khanimanbo.
Greetings from Guatemala
While I didn’t quite get it together enough in the midst of scrambling to get ready to go to write a pre-departure blog, here’s a go at some initial impressions and aspirations for my fellowship. I’ve been in Guatemala a little over 48 hours, and one of the things I’ve been most struck with is how friendly people are here. As with any with any adventure into a new place, there’s a lot of uncertainty. And as I’ve asked for directions, inquired about how to say this or that, and questioned various aspects of how things are done around here, I’ve received nothing but kind, enthusiastic responses.
In preparing for my departure, things were quite hectic. While the 4 days of training Kiva provided were extremely informative and made me all the more impressed with the organization and excited to be working for them, they also taught me just enough to know that I have a very long road ahead of me to understanding what microfinance means and how it really works. We were given tons on information and much, much more to look at in some undetermined future free time. Without realizing it, I’d given myself way less time to prepare than I would have liked. Nevertheless, the plane ticket had already been bought, so I scrambled to shop, pack, say goodbye to family and friends, and even try to learn a bit about the country I was headed to and the organizations I’ll be working for.
I have a pretty fantastic set-up for my fellowship. Based on a simple matter of scheduling, I’ll have the privilege of working with two different microfinance institutions in Guatemala, Friendship Bridge and FAPE. The Friendship Bridge office I’ll be based out of is in a small-ish, touristy town on the shores of Lake Atitlán, called Panajachel. I believe I’ll be traveling around quite a bit to work with their various branch offices and will be interviewing mostly indigenous, often not-Spanish-speaking, clients. I’m really excited about checking out different parts of the country, and especially about seeing microfinance in action first-hand. I know it’s going to be an incredible experience to be able to interact with people and hear their stories, which might not ever be possible otherwise. After 6 weeks with Friendship Bridge, I’ll head to Guatemala City to work with FAPE. Again, this set-up is ideal because Friendship Bridge has worked with Kiva for awhile and has already had a few Kiva Fellows. They’ve been a very successful Kiva partner, so I have a lot to learn from them. FAPE is relatively new in working with Kiva, and I’ll be their first Kiva Fellow, so it’ll be great to have a bit of experience under my belt as I go to work with them and can hopefully be a great asset in helping them utilize Kiva and institutionalize the relationship. Furthermore, it’ll be great to see another organization in action and interact with different clients.
Overall, I’m really excited to get started, but also a little nervous. I really don’t know what to expect, and I’m quite confident that this experience will be a bit of an emotional roller coaster. I met briefly with some people at Friendship Bridge on Friday, and one thing that we really emphasized what that the Kiva business profiles and journals are never about pity. This is about a business transaction, and it’s so important for all parties involved to recognize the dignity in the relationship. I couldn’t agree more, and I’m thrilled to get to play a small role in all of this and to be able to witness amazing women fighting for a better life for them and their families.
The Smell of Africa
Upon arrival in Entebbe (the airport for Kampala is actually in Entebbe, the old capital city which is 45 minutes from Kampala), I knew I was definitely back in Africa. It wasn’t because as a white woman I was in the minority, but rather it was the smell. On the drive to Kampala and my hotel, I was trying to figure out how to describe the smell and all I could come up with was the following: the smell is akin to driving in the country past a bonfire in which the burning scent fills your car and your nose. Yes, Africa smells like a bonfire.
As much as the smell is somewhat of a homecoming, it is also a reminder of the many troubles facing Africa as Uganda, like many other countries in Africa, burns its garbage in order to manage its waste. But, this isn’t about the environment or ethics, but rather my “welcome home.”
My previous experience in Africa was in Tanzania, mainly as a tourist operating out of Arusha, a small town near Kilimanjaro. In comparison with Arusha, which had dirt roads, no hi-rise buildings and only one supermarket, Kampala is the exact opposite. The center of Kampala is at the base of several hills which are actually different neighborhoods. The city has a number of hi-rise hotels and office buildings, paved roads, private gardens, a mall and a movie theater (which is currently playing Indiana Jones and Sex in the City). All this modernization adds to the complexity of the city, which in turn has left me trying to figure out how to get around!
However, my confusion and apprehension have been abated by the friendliness of the Ugandans. The smiles of Ugandans I meet on the street are quite welcoming as are the many greetings I have received of “you’re welcome” upon entering a restaurant or any place for that matter. This definitely helps combat the bit of homesickness I am currently suffering from – missing my family, friends and of course my adorable cat, Maddie (my support network).
I realize, however, that these smiles are not without strife. For example, my taxi driver last night spent much of the ride talking to me about Kampala, telling me about all the amazing restaurants (I am a gourmand) and overall sharing his love for the city and country. He then explained that his two children want to go to school but he cannot afford to send them as it costs around $3000 US dollars each year per child, even more for some occupations such as law. His daughter is very driven and scored a 22 on her tests (not sure what that is out of) but, the cutoff for government financial aid is a 24 leaving her without financial support and therefore unable to continue school for this year. My driver is hopeful, however, that next year she will be able to return. Unfortunately, her brother who struggles a bit more with his studies (he scored a 15) will not be able to return to school as the family can only afford to send one child and his performance does not show as much promise as that of his sister.
My cab driver is just one of the many people I hope to meet during my tenure here. It is also a reminder why I chose to come and work here – to help those who have a vision and a drive to succeed, but may not have enough available capital to do so. I just hope that as I start work later this week, I can also start to make an impact.
So, as I begin each day smelling Africa I know I am not at home in the US, but am assured that I am here for the right reasons and that through the friendliness of the Ugandans this will hopefully soon feel like home!
A Few of My Favorite Clients
“Blackouts without notice
And “internet down”
Spreadsheets that prod me
To cry and frown
Riding on motos
And closing my eyes
Clients are always my humanity ties…”
Okay, fine, that was really corny. Consider yourself lucky, though, because it was either that or “In da Field” to the tune of “In da Club” by Fiddie Cent.
This wonderful woman read my palm. She told me that if I married it would be to an older man, then asked me why I would want to marry such an old man. I don’t know? Also, at 64 she runs a fairly lucrative pillowcase business with her cousin to help support her quad-generational family of seven.
Probably the coolest elderly couple of all time. She made delicious khmer cakes with sticky rice, bananas and coconuts and sell mangos in the market. They were serious about making me their daughter-in-law. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I’m pretty sure my buddies Vichet and Sopheap were busy trying to arrange a dowry from them.
“Give me my money!” The pearls are an extra nice touch, lady.
Vichet, Josh, and I are really happy — we are fresh on sugar highs induced by the homemade sodas this lovely client made for us. She is also a member of the Human Rights party and has fantastic business ideas and plans.
This client had an otherworldly regal beauty. Josh and I were awestruck and couldn’t stop talking about it for days. She sold homemade Khmer food at a food stand by her house.
Talk about badass. This lady took her loan so that she could purchase her stand instead of paying rent and commission on it. Now she rakes in around $250 per day.
Three nights, incredible sights, and one fight in Bangkok
WARNING: The following post has nothing to do with microfinance, microwaves or microphones. Not even Micro Machines. That said…
I was in a fight yesterday.
Yesterday, I lost that fight. Badly. It wasn’t even close. It was one of those, “was he even trying?” or “he’ll never walk again!” kind of beat downs. The worst part was, I paid for the privilege of this fight.
Having left the States on May 26th on my way to my 10 week fellowship in Indonesia, I scheduled a three full day stop-over in Bangkok, as I had never been to Thailand (nor any other part of Asia for that matter). Knowing the “popularity” of Americans abroad, I did my best to keep a low profile while enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of Bangkok. But I swear, this fight found me.
Here’s how it happened. After two days in Bangkok, I had enjoyed touring the incredible wats (temples) and bustling markets by day and spent the nights with some street vendor pad thai, karaoke bars, a good book by the pool and massages. The incredible thing about Bangkok, and maybe many parts of South East Asia, is that an hour long massages cost about $7. Seven bucks? Seven bucks!!! Having enjoyed a foot massage the first day and an aromatherapy massage the second day, I felt ready to branch out and try the last option on the list: Thai massage.
Now let it be known that the Thai are world-renowned for their massage techniques and have a bevy of massage schools all around Thailand, especially in Bangkok. I deduced that receiving a Thai massage in Bangkok would surely be an epic experience, akin to enjoying gelato in Italy or singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at Wrigley Field. This was going to be fantastic!
So I walked to the massage parlor by my hostel and was greeted by a smiling 4’11″ Thai woman, which for the purpose of this entry we will name Davida. Davida took one look at my 6’4″, 200 pound lot of elbows and knees and said, “You really tall. This going to be fun.” Not sure what to think, I calmed myself by remembering that I also enjoy fun. Davida instructed me to take my sandals off, have my feet cleaned by another masseuse and then lay down on the massage bed. Obediently, I did just that.
And then the fight started.
The gentle kneading and relaxing shiatsu that had started off my first two massages was replaced instead by three swift Chilean chops to each calf, which I was later explained helped to increase circulation. If increased circulation helps spread pain, then I reckon it to be a highly effective technique.
Over the next hour, I was submitted to various forms of elbowing, stretching, slapping, kicking, kneeing, punching, pummeling, poking, pulling and even some mangling. As it turns out, traditional Thai massage was not intended to be a “feel good” technique and instead was designed as a form of therapy to release locked-in stress and tension. It was such an intense mix of pleasure and pain that midway through, I began to laugh uncontrollably. It was almost like the scene in Fight Club where Brad Pitt demands to get punched and keeps asking for more after each punch, punctuated by a semi-psychotic laugh that freaks out his abuser enough to make him flee the scene. But Davida did not leave. And sadly, I am not Brad Pitt.
The fight was highlighted by what surely is Davida’s signature move, where she sat her 80 pounds on my rear, grabbed hold of my arms and then craned back to stretch my back, as I hysterically laughed in pain. Together, we looked like an oversized toboggan with a small child on it holding the reins. She then proceeded to do the same move, alternating between my head and shoulders. For those of you old-school WWF fans seeking a better visual, think Sgt. Slaughter’s “Camel Clutch” move against Andre the Giant in the late 80′s.
And after that (and a few tissues for my tears)… the hour was over. Davida had slain her Goliath. And this Goliath, although still sore as hell, and now newly equipped with a healthy phobia of undersized Thai women, loved every minute of it.
***
So that is the end of my first blog. I apologize for the long read, but I can’t say that won’t happen again. I’ve been told that I’m allowed to write about ALMOST anything in this blog… so I’m going to take Kiva’s word on that.
I’m definitely looking forward to getting started in Indonesia and will post again with more relevant subject matter once I get situated. Until then, I’ll try to stay out of any more fights, but again, no guarantees.
You stay classy Kiva,
GC
Is Impact Impact?
Probably one of the biggest issues facing microfinance today is that of impact. To what extent has microfinance actually affected global poverty? In what ways can its impact be measured, and how sustainable is it? Will it continue to grow? Though I agree that understanding impact is crucial and developing social impact studies and matrices is a valuable undertaking, I question the ability we have to concretely measure the more soft-data effects. How does one quantify the feeling of being better off?
One of the main responsibilities of Kiva fellows is to assist with the journaling process of our MFIs. With no interest rates, journals are the only tangible ROI for Kiva lenders. They are intended to show the progress of the clients’ businesses and essentially attempt to convey the impact of the loans on the clients’ lives. This opportunity to witness impact first-hand is probably what excited me most about this experience. Having now worked in Cambodia with CREDIT MFI for almost two months now, the interviews I have had with clients for these journals have done a tremendous amount to inform my own attempts to answer these questions.
With the clients I have met, repairs and construction, buying motorbikes, purchasing inventory, tools and equipment for their businesses, and paying for basic household amenities make up the overwhelming majority of loan usages. Those that are able to generate greater income after applying the loans tend to reinvest in their businesses, pay for their children’s education, and try to set aside a savings. Most hope for higher education and a better standard of living for their children.
In many ways, I find all of these motivations, applications, and hopes to be not unlike those of individual borrowers in the States. Mortgage payments, student loans, and start-up capital for businesses are what come to my mind when I think about why people I know borrow money from banks at home.
What strikes me is that at its root, microfinance is a singularly simple concept. “Small finance”– providing access to reasonable financial services in denominations that are proportional to the income and needs of the very poor. A concept that is so bizarrely basic that it is has become revolutionary. Yet we wouldn’t expect access to loans to prevent bankruptcy or to guarantee upward income mobility at home. It would be equally foolish to expect total global poverty alleviation at the hands of microfinance.
What microfinance does do is provide financial access to those who exist outside of mainstream financial systems. This “normalizing” effect can serve as a powerful catalyst and tool. It is what makes the concept revolutionary and the implementation necessary –regardless of the tangible social impact that we are able to measure out of it.
