Archive for July, 2008
The Little Things That Make Me Smile and Scratch My Head
There are a number of things here in Nigeria that are just different enough to bring laughter and puzzlement to my days…
“Oyibo” – Wherever I go, people call out “Oyibo.” Naturally, I initially thought this meant “hello” or served as some sort of greeting. I suppose it is a greeting of sorts, but literally means “white person.” It isn’t an insult, just a way to get my attention and a wave. Generally oyibos remain in Lagos, the business capital, or Port Harcourt, where the oil flows. I’ve seen two other oyibos in my first month here in Benin City – not many. I’m certainly an anomaly. I wish I could capture the curiosity and discovery that I see in the eyes of the children I meet. They look at me with a deep attention. Every movement is watched. Every action is noted. For many, I am the first white person they have seen outside of the manufactured distance of a television screen. They are excited and confused. Some try to stay very still as not to let on to their interest. Others creep up next to me and casually rub against my skin or run around giggling with their siblings, beaming smiles on their faces.
Divine Businesses – Nigeria, and especially Benin City, is a very religious place. In the north of the country Islam reigns. In the south, various Christian denominations rule, ranging from Pentecostal to Baptist, Catholic to Apocalyptic. The seriousness of faith is evident just driving down the road passing signs displaying religiously themed business names. Some are expected (e.g. Christ’s Bookshop and Religious Store). Some make me smile in their randomness (e.g. God’s Time Aluminum Co.). Others make me laugh out loud with comical plays on words (my favorite, God’s Power Electrical Supplies).
“This House is Not For Sale” – you will find these words scribbled in paint across houses throughout Benin (and probably Nigeria). From a Western perspective this seems odd. If it is not explicitly stated that the house is for sale, then why would it be assumed otherwise? Why would the aesthetic of one’s home be sacrificed to clarify this seemingly intuitive statement? The answer: fraud within the family. Apparently it is not uncommon for one family member to try and sell the house out from under another.
Soup – Tired of eating a diet based primarily on an endless variety of starches, one evening I decided to order “soup and salad.” Both of these words are used in relation to Nigerian food, however, “salad” is more of a cabbage garnish topped with a dollop of mayonnaise and soup is not spooned into ones mouth, but eaten as more of a sauce with pounded yam and other cassava-based starchy staples. One orders their starch as the main and specifies which soup for flavor (like ordering rice with a side of salmon or a whole grain sandwich with turkey). The difference is subtle, but important. To me, my order of “soup and salad” seemed to me to be a smart alternative to a carb overload, but the looks I got were riddled with confusion and amazement. The restaurant staff was so baffled by my order that it was on the house. From what I can tell as a result of my questioning, an equivalent order in America might be a bowl of alfredo sauce with a side of parsley and an orange slice.
The Nuts and Bolts
Part of the reason I signed up for the Kiva Fellowship was to see how microfinance actually works on the ground. You can read all the books on microfinance, but that couldn’t make up for never seeing it in action with your own eyes. After getting an understanding of AMK’s operations from their nice air-conditioned central office (where I just finished making them an Excel macro to keep better track of their Kiva loans), I knew I had to see the loan officer in action to really understand the pros and cons of microfinance.
Saphanith, Elena and I stopped by Au Village, the home of two Kiva entrepreneurs, Mrs. Kim Eng and Mrs. Eak Maong. Both entrepreneurs received their loans recently (which is why my journal updates on them are rather meek). We went to their village bank meeting. Here’s a quote from AMK’s website that describes the village bank:
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AMK’s flagship product is the solidarity group loan product, which offers flexible repayment terms where clients can borrow and repay at any point during the cycle. AMK’s end-of-term repayment product is delivered to members through a solidarity group lending methodology. These village solidarity groups are called Village Banks (VBs) and constitute the group loan delivery mechanism; they are in effect a “Village Association” or “Village-level client group”. The potential clients self-select themselves into solidarity groups of 4 to 6 members and these, in turn, are organized into VBs of 4 to 12 groups (or 20 to 60 clients). Being part of a self-selected solidarity group entails that three to five other villagers trust the loan applicant to let him/her join their solidarity group. All loans are guaranteed by the respective group members and appraised and approved by AMK’s Credit Officer (CO) and the Village Bank President (VBP) before the disbursements take place in the presence of the group members and AMK’s Area/Branch Manager. |
As I mentioned in my last post, each village bank has a president who is elected by the villagers and facilitates the functions of the village bank. When we showed up at Au Village, Ly Chandara, the loan officer was busy collecting payments from many of the villagers. Most of the loans were end of term loans, so the loan officer was collecting mainly interest payments. Nevertheless this took a lot of time. All the clients did not come at the exact time, after they came he had to calculate how much was paid and how much interest they owed. Once they paid up, the loan officer had to do a lot of counting because they mainly gave him small bills 100, 500 and 1000 riels (worth 2.5 cents, 12.5 cents and 25 cents respectively).
Ly Chandara, an AMK loan officer, collecting payments from Au Village Bank members
The village bank meeting was very close to Mrs. Kim Eng’s little shop, so we stopped by for a visit. We saw all the goods that she was able to buy with her loan. She told us about her husband’s death. He had gone to Angkor Wat, and when he came back he became really sick. She thinks that he probably died of food poisoning. She was pregnant at the time of his death, which was ten years ago. Despite all of this she is able to support her family and I wish her the best of luck!
Mrs. Kim Eng and her well stocked store
Smiles!
We then went to Mrs. Eak Maong’s residence. She showed us the new pigs that she bought with a Kiva loan and a gigantic pig that she was getting ready to sell. Her pig breeding business has been doing very well, and she hopes to increase her profits with the pigs she bought using her Kiva loan!
Mrs. Eak Maong and her new pigs
Is this a pig or a small elephant?
Before we left, Saphanith and Elena also got lessons from another Au Village bank member on how to make Num Thnot cake. Num Thnot cake is made out of palm fruit and plam sugar. It is wrapped in banana leaves and then steamed. The first step is to make a box out of a strip of banana leaf and a toothpick. This is what Elena and Saphanith tried to learn.
Elena and Saphanith in the background, while the master Num Thnot maker shows them how it's done.
I don’t want to rush to make any conclusions, good or bad, about microfinance based on my two visits into the field, but hopefully after spending some more time (and learning some Khmer!) I will get a better sense of what microfinance, AMK, and Kiva are accomplishing and what they could improve upon. In the meantime, here’s another animal picture for KivaFriends members.
Oink Oink!
Click here to see all the loans from AMK that are currently fundraising on Kiva.
From the city, into the field: views from a motorbike
To see a complete list of MAXIMA’s clients who live in rural areas such as this one, please click here.
My First Ugandan Fight
Yesterday I was not in a fight, but rather saw my first fight in Uganda. This fight was over a woman – me. However, it was not between jealous lovers. Rather, the fight was between two taxi drivers vying for my fare.
In Kampala, if one doesn’t have a car or is too scared to drive (me), there are two other forms of transportation to get around. One option is to take a boda-boda which is a motorcycle. The other option is to take a matatu which is a shared van that is licensed to carry 14 people, but usually has upwards of 16 people crammed into the small van.
At MCDT, we usually travel via matatu as this is the cheapest form of transportation. Loan officers and I catch the matatu at the taxi stop by the Kampala branch. Yesterday, Rose and I headed to the taxi stop to catch the Jinja Road/Kampala Road matatu. These matatus show up constantly, and there are usually at least two waiting there upon our arrival like there was yesterday. At each stop they wait in hopes of filling up their matatus with passengers before heading to the next stop – this wait can be anywhere from 30 seconds to 10 minutes.
Matatus love muzungus (white people) as they tend to not know the proper prices (there are no real set prices – one just needs to know how much to pay) and can be pressured into paying higher prices. When I travel on matatu, I go with a loan officer who doesn’t let the conductor (the one in charge of collecting passengers and money) overcharge me. Rose, being the ever-conscious loan officer she is, not only protects me from being charged too much, but also bargains to ensure she can save MCDT even the smallest amount. Yesterday was no different.
As we set off on our way yesterday, we headed to the taxi stop and stood there with a look of not caring in an attempt to get the conductor to lower the price. Two conductors were vying for our business until finally one conductor offered us the ride for 300 shillings rather than 500 shillings. We immediately boarded his matatu and Rose was very satisfied with her powers of persuasion. Unfortunately, the matatu conductor that lost our business was not impressed.
Immediately after we boarded, the matatu conductors started arguing and the one whose we did not board began sliding our van door closed so no one else could board, clearly angered by our decision not to ride with him. Our conductor was getting more and more annoyed with this behavior but mostly ignored him and kept opening the door and acquiring passengers. The other conductor got even more angered by this and then started pushing our matatu driver. The pushing was not to be tolerated and the two drivers exchanged more heated words and harder pushes. Through this entire altercation, people barely watched as apparently this is “normal” behavior for matatu conductors.
Finally, our conductor boarded our van and our driver started the engine intent on moving onto the next stop. The other matatu conductor would not have this and stood in front of the van, not allowing us to pull into the two lane traffic. Our driver, used to the treacherous driving conditions in Kampala, was amazingly able to maneuver around the angry conductor trying to standing front of our van. However, seeing that our driver was heading onto the street and away from the angry conductor, the driver of the other matatu (and apparently the partner-in-crime of the angry conductor) then pulled into the street and positioned the van horizontally so that both lanes were blocked and no traffic could pass.
Eventually, all passengers including Rose and I got off the matatus and boarded other vans. These matatus and the other traffic started passing the feuding matatus by driving on the sidewalk. I have no idea how long the vans stayed feuding and basically blocking traffic, but what I realized was something more personal: In the 8 weeks I have been here, little now surprises me and my patience has increased incredibly. I now know I will eventually end up at my destination, I just have no exact idea how or when.
http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=112&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old_tpg=fb
The Expectation of Innovation
Microcredit undoubtedly represents a creative and original response to poverty. But I think that somewhere along the way, the innovativeness of the idea seems to have translated into an expectation of novelty and ingenuity for all “small-scale entrepreneurs.” I was reminded of this recently while reading a report published by IBM that described microcredit recipients as “creative” and “entrepreneurial.” While I’m certainly no expert on the subject, my time in the field has reinforced my belief that microloans do not generally enable budding entrepreneurs to realize innovative business ideas. Although there’s always an exception to the rule, the loans seem to help ordinary individuals start or expand one-(wo)man enterprises that resemble many other businesses in the marketplace. I don’t believe that this fact diminishes the significance of the loans. Yet I do think that the common media portrayal of microfinance’s potential is out of line with the reality on the ground. I have to wonder if this gap between expectation and reality (as I see it, at least), will eventually hinder the microfinance movement.
Personally, I have to admit that the first time I looked on Kiva, I was a little disappointed. The opportunity to make a loan directly to another individual excited me, of course, but the nature of the projects seemed so provincial. Profile after profile showed conventional businesses with the loan purpose listed as “expanding her business” or “purchasing more goods for sale.” I had wanted to help someone who was doing something new and different. Something more than simply buying goods in bulk at reselling them for a small profit. Perhaps I’m all alone in this respect, but I suspect that many Kiva lenders have the same initial response. Working with CRAN this summer, however, I have had the opportunity to witness borrowers’ modest businesses firsthand, and to learn from them about the nature of work in the informal sector. It has been an eye-opening experience and has helped me to understand the importance of “purchasing more goods for sale.”
In my interviews with clients (most of whom are traders), I always ask how they got into their line of work. I hear two common choruses. Either they inherited the trade from a parent, or they observed the market, noticed a particular set of goods selling quickly, and decided to start selling it themselves. In doing the latter, they instinctively respond to market trends—which always impresses me, but there’s no apparent attempt to define a new niche for themselves or to offer creative solutions to conventional problems. Take the sale of bread, for instance. Generally speaking, there are 4 types of bread in Ghana: sugar bread, tea bread, butter bread, and brown bread (all of which are delicious). And on any given commercial street in Cape Coast, you’ll likely find one or two bread stands, two or three breakfast stands, and seven or more general stores, all selling some combination of these four breads. Why, I’ve wondered, if bread is so popular, does no one experiment with other types of bread? Perhaps a loaf with a crispier crust, a heavier dessert bread, or a good ole fashion banana bread? Why hasn’t CRAN helped a client open a banana bread stand, when all of the ingredients are so abundant?
I suspect that there are many explanations for this—and I’m interested in learning more about them—but I think that the risk involved in any entrepreneurial undertaking represents one major factor. Innovation seems to require that both the buyer and the seller have some breathing room in their expenses. Someone living at or below the poverty line can likely not afford to charter a new path in the bread market. If a poor baker invested all of her capital into an experimental batch of bread that flopped, the result could be disastrous for her and her family. With minimal savings and no official safety net, it could mean that her children go without much food or schooling indefinitely. Furthermore, if the start-up capital came from a microloan, then she’d be saddled with debt too. And from the buyer’s perspective, testing out a new kind of bread may seem risky and unnecessary. Why take a chance with the unfamiliar when a second loaf of bread cannot easily be bought, and when the conventional loaf fills her children’s stomachs just fine? Without the cushion of savings or disposable income, the price of innovation seems to increase significantly. Experimentation seems to become a luxury reserved for the well-off.
So, the risk of innovation may encourage poor individuals to open businesses whose success has already been demonstrated. Beyond the risk factor, however, I think that the nature of the informal sector also encourages the duplication—and the constant desire for a loan to “buy more goods for sale.” The informal economy in Cape Coast comes as close as I’ve ever seen to perfectly competitive market. The barriers to entry, for one, are almost non-existent. Although profits generally increase as one’s supply increases, someone can start a business with only enough inventory to fill a small basket. Such women carry the baskets on their heads and walk door to door searching for customers. With no red tape or minimum requirement of capital, hundred of sellers in the marketplace, and nearly identical products, everyone ends up a price taker. They charge the market price and not a pesewas higher; if they do, they’ll lose their business to the person half a block away selling the same thing. As a result, everyone ends up with slim profit margins. Yet expansion provides a straight-forward way of making more money. With a slim profit margin on each good sold, her profit slowly accumulates as she sells more of the same stuff. The basket carrier seeks to set up an informal stall; the stall owner wants to open a sturdy kiosk; and the kiosk saleswoman aspires to expand into a modest shop.
So that’s what I’ve seem in the field so far. Individuals don’t take out loans to start new, creative businesses. They access credit in order to enlarge their inventory. The traders want to buy more goods for sale; the fishmongers want to buy more fish; the bakers want to purchase more ingredients. It’s not glamorous but it seems to be the pragmatic reality of microfinance. Expecting more from the financial service may be dangerously wishful thinking.
Five Things I Love About Tajikistan
1. Tajiki-what?: Being an American in Tajikistan means that you are in a country that few of your compatriots have ever heard of, let alone traveled to. You are a curiosity everywhere you go and the lack of Westerners gives you the opportunity to act as kind of a mini-ambassador, answering all of questions that Tajiks have been waiting, sometimes their whole lives, to ask an American. Especially in the small towns, I attract a crowd of onlookers whenever I’m conducting an interview with a Kiva client, gawking at me as if I’ve just arrived from the moon. It is quite fun to be suddenly elevated to such pseudo-celebrity status and when I speak people listen to every word with an incredible amount of interest. I’ve been asked by mothers to marry their daughters, I’ve had a child named in my honor, and the usual response by my driver when we reach some kind of checkpoint or roadblock is to loudly exclaim to the soldiers or policemen on duty “We’ve got an American in the car!” and the problem just disappears. I relish the time I spend teaching others about America, answering their numerous questions and asking them in turn a litany of my own questions about their country. Because Tajikistan is so far off the beaten track the cultural exchange that occurs here is really intense and you experience travel in a way that people rarely do anymore in a world where there are so few places left to discover.
Me with my good friends, the Tajik Border Guards
2. Hospitality, re-defined: Trust me, you don’t know the meaning of the word until you’ve been to this far-flung outpost of former-Soviet Central Asia. Everyone wants a little piece of the new Yankee on the block and over the past several weeks I’ve felt a little bit like a human pinball, bounced back and forth through all the different feats of generosity that my wonderful, yet often overbearing hosts can throw at me. My patience, my Russian language skills, the strength of my gastrointestinal system, and above all my appetite have been tested in ways that I never thought possible . Exhortations to “EAT!” and “DRINK!” are shouted at me like I’m in some kind of Central Asian bootcamp with Tajik babushkas playing the role of drill sergeant as I try to get the mounds of plov and shashlyk down my throat without choking to death. Even after what I think are my Herculean efforts to consume everything my hosts have offered me, I’m usually ridiculed with a typical “Ha! My grandson, he’s not even a year old, and he eats more than you!” or “What, are you not hungry? Do you not like our Tajik food?” It is an utterly exhausting endeavor to “go as a guest” in Tajikistan, but it is a wonderful and often hilarious experience nonetheless. You learn the real meaning of generosity, when you are given a feast of epic proportions by someone who makes $100 dollars a month and has several children to feed. Even though I consider myself a fairly giving individual, I feel like a real Ebenezer Scrooge in the face of such kindness. Despite the fact that it’s not always the most delicious meal and you may add a few inches to your waistline in the process, being a guest in Tajikistan will open you up to a new level of hospitality that you will never forget.
mmmm...yummy
3. Melons, melons, and more melons: Central Asia is known for its melons, especially in summertime when the bazaars are packed with pyramidal stacks of the ubiquitous fruit. Almost every meal either begins or ends (sometimes both) with slices of fresh watermelon (tarbuz in Tajik) that are amazingly sweet and delicious. As a guest here in Tajikistan, I am usually forced to eat about half a gigantic tarbuz at every sitting, and sometimes they throw in a regular yellow melon just for good measure that far outshines the comparatively bland honeydew and canteloupe that we have become accustomed to in the states. You could live here on melons alone, especially during the hotter months when there is nothing as refreshing as laying down on the tapchan (a traditional raised square platform where Tajiks do most of their eating) with melon juice sloshing around your stomach as you sip green tea and drift slowly into a lazy afternoon siesta.
Me and the Wonderful Watermelons of Tajikistan
4. Apricot heaven: I have to admit that I’m a huge fan of apricots, but never in my life did I think that I would stumble onto the apricot mecca that is northeastern Tajikistan. The area around the city of Isfara is the epicenter of the apricot world where over 40 varieties of the fruit are grown on the seemingly endless orchards that surround you as you drive into the countryside. Everywhere you look you see the deep orange hue of fresh apricots drying on huge pieces of cloth underneath the summer sun. Women kneel over and remove each pit by hand that they then dry and roast in order to eat the almond-like nut inside. While interviewing clients outside of Isfara I asked my loan officers if we could stop and take a look at some of the orchards. They kindly granted my request and with permission of the local farmer I giddily ran around, plucking the ripe fruit from low hanging branches and sampling the amazing gift of Mother Nature that is the Tajik apricot. Dried, the apricots serve as a kind of local currency that people can barter or sell when they need some extra cash. Therefore, not only are apricots delicious, they are a kind of safety net for families in this part of the country during the harsh and economically uncertain winter months.
Apricot time!
5. A Mild Cult of Personality: President Emomali Rahmon’s obsession with himself is something that I both love and hate simultaneously. For a foreigner like myself it is one of the more hilarious aspects of being in Tajikistan, yet as I laugh at his silly portraits and statements hanging everywhere in the cities and along the roadsides, I am also sad for the people who are stuck here with this post-Soviet despot and can’t take these curious monuments as lightly as I can. One of my favorite pastimes here is to make fun of Rahmon’s attempts at being a “man of the people,” when it is obvious, especially with $6 billion sitting in a Swiss bank, that the people are really the last thing on his mind. At the main intersection here in Khujand there is a jumbotron that plays a non-stop montage of Rahmon’s sojourns amongst the citizens of Northern Tajikistan, cutting ribbons, visiting schools, kissing babies while crowds of people clap in rhythym, standing in a wheat field and feeling the crop with his own hands, giving speeches surrounded by gigantic picutes of (guess who?) himself, and receiving various awards for basically doing nothing. Over and over again the largest screen in the city plays this vacuous film when they could be using it for some useful purpose, but alas, logic and common sense are often scarce commodities amongst the leaders of Central Asia. The type of humor that comes from watching this display of extravagant narcissism is bittersweet and stems from a certain exasperation one feels when the system is so stacked against change that the only thing left to do is laugh at the absurdity of it all. But, laugh I do, and even though it is tinged with sadness, seeing this strange form of political expression is endlessly amusing and fascinating.
What a great guy! (President Rahmon is the one on the left)
Beautiful Cambodia
I’m regularly taken aback by the beauty that I witness all over Cambodia. However, I am hesitant to write this blog for one reason: I could never fully recount the beauty of the landscape, people, and culture, neither through words nor photographs. Life in Cambodia has been surprisingly humbling and incredibly rewarding, so I hope that I can convey at least a glimmer of my experiences of the country. I’ll do my best to highlight a few of the aspects of Cambodian life and culture which I most appreciate.
Cultural Persona: Pride, cheer, concord – these elements are pervasive in Cambodian culture. Perhaps it’s a result of the past national turmoil, which forced strangers to band together as family for the purpose of survival. Perhaps it’s because the culture is rooted in Buddhist influence, and therefore traditionally devoid of consumerism, deceitfulness or cynicism. Perhaps I shouldn’t try so hard to explain why, but rather appreciate it for what it is.
Three cousins. They stick together, so don't try to mess with them!
Resourcefulness: By necessity, Cambodian people have had to develop an extremely opportunistic and enterprising way of life. It is rare to see a resource go wasted, whether that resource is food, raw material, machine, or manpower.
Driving through Phnom Penh I saw this truck loaded to the max with metal brackets AND people
Tradition: Despite the difficult modern history of Cambodia, including national devastation by the Khmer Rouge regime, Cambodia has maintained strong cultural traditions. Out in the countryside you can find communities living in the same manner in which they lived before the dawn of motorized transportation, electronics, and other modern comforts. Even in the urban centers, many people still live in close accordance to Buddhist, Muslim or other traditional principles.
A Family business in Kampong Chhnang - the daughters are already expert at pottery
Cuisine: An often overlooked aspect of Cambodia is the delicious Khmer cuisine. Cambodian dishes require natural ingredients and items from the surrounding landscape, and often incorporate animal parts or creatures often overlooked by Western culture. If you can overcome your preconceptions, you can enjoy the cuisine like the Khmer people do.
An array of Khmer dishes for sale at the local market
History: There is no more obvious way to illustrate the spectacular history of Cambodia, than with one of the many magnificent temples at Angkor. The complex of ancient temples at Angkor Wat is the kind of place that you have to visit to fully appreciate, but the grandeur of the temples is clear in any picture, nonetheless.
Ta Prohm Temple, near Angkor Wat
Sometimes life here feels surreal to me, as if I am on the set of a movie (the temple of Ta Prohm near Angkor Wat was, in fact, a set location for the first Tomb Raider movie). Often, It’s not until I skim through my photographs that I realize how uniquely beautiful are the people and their country.
Click here to see all loans from HKL that are currently fundraising on Kiva
Life of Kiva Clients in Bosnia: The Amateur’s Version
The smell of a farm is one thing that is familiar to me, but not much else is. It’s amazing how removed you can be from a process that is so central to life, but it’s true. Feel like I should take some kind of crash course in farming, something that would qualify me to report on the majority of the businesses here. But I’m not qualified and that’s that. This is the amateur’s version of the life of Kiva clients in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Farming is not a business, it’s at least 10 businesses wrapped into one. These women manage everything, from the planting of seeds to the final selling at the market. What they don’t sell they use to feed their families and keep their animals alive. They share barns & supplies with their neighbors, trade food, and keep each other afloat. There is a lot of talk about sustainable living these days, but the only time I have witnessed it is here in Bosnia.
It’s tempting to glamorize the life of a farmer, but since it’s anything but I should stop that right here. 14 hour days are the norm. The weather can be unkind, and there go your crops. A cow dies, your flock of sheep are wiped out by disease, and there goes all your income. It’s a job in the end, like any other, but a lot less forgiving. I don’t know how they cope with that ongoing disappointment, with the fickle nature of fate. I wonder if they get any kind of joy out of their work, like many city dwellers imagine they would. But these women have a lot to deal with. There is not a lot of time for all these questions.
It is awkward to be the outsider here, this strange intermediary between the lender and the borrower, and my awareness of this gives me pause whenever I meet with clients and try to explain what I’m doing here. Many get a kick out of seeing their business profile, but I wonder what they really think about all that goes on behind this. What continues to amaze me most about Kiva is what it has created—an amazingly dedicated lending community, a force of nature itself. I want to tell clients that there are many people so interested in hearing everything they have to say. That they send their hopes & wishes to them, via comments on a website. It’s hard to explain this phenomenon at all, even in English.
I feel lucky to be in this strange & wonderful position, to be here at all, to be able to meet these clients. But the distance between any two people can be small yet great at the same time. There’s a lot I wish to know about these women, but not a lot I can know. I just wish they could all just speak to you for themselves, and tell you what they really thought.
Here at least is what I think. The women I meet are strong and they are fighters. They find new ways to make the most out of their land every day. They have better business sense & work ethic than you can imagine. They take care of their family, and they look out for each other. They are kind & gracious despite all the bad luck they’ve had. And they all deserve better luck than they have had. Though I may not be doing a good job in communicating anything here, I hope they know that they have a lot of people on their side, and that the world has not forgotten them.
To fund a new business from Zene za Zene, click here (if these run out more will be posted soon!)
Zehra, Kiva Client
Sadika, Kiva Client, with her family
Vesna, Kiva Client, with her daughter
Emira, Kiva Client, with her husband
Redžiba and Namka, Kiva Clients, also neighbors & distant cousins
Finest Poyo in Sierra Leone
Musa Kamara is a simple man. He lives in small hut in a remote region of the Sierra Leone jungle. He lives with his wife and daughter under a palm-branch roof that he built himself. For food he grows a few vegetables in his garden and hunts his own bushmeat. Musa gets almost everything he needs for his family from the jungle. Maybe you would expect it, maybe you wouldn’t, but Musa is an extremely happy man. If you ask him why, he’ll probably say it’s because he has the finest poyo in Sierra Leone.
Musa and His Daughter
It was Wednesday at twilight when I first saw Musa. I was in the passenger seat of a white Land Cruiser, traveling down a dirt road that looked more like a shallow, red clay river. We were returning from Dogolaia village where I had interviewed rice and okra farmers near the Guinean border. I was hanging out of the window, watching the jungle pass by when Musa came into view through the palm trees. He was sitting on a wooden stool in front of his hut. He was shirtless and smiling. With a Krio accent he said, “Got de finest poyo in Salone.” And that was all. I shouldn’t have even been able to hear him over the engine of the Land Cruiser. But I did.
Finest poyo in Salone? Constantly on the lookout for that authentic drinking experience abroad, I couldn’t pass this up. I had heard of poyo before I arrived in Sierra Leone. Poyo is a slang term for palm-wine. An alcoholic drink extracted from palm trees and revered for its deliciously relaxing effects. I got the driver to hit the brakes and we backed that cruiser up to Musa’s hut.
“How de body?” “De body fine. Kushe.” “Kushe” “Tapped dis an hour ago.” Then he proceeded to pour a mug full of whitish liquid. Honestly, I was revolted. It looked like a cup of soapy water with globs of snot floating in it. Top it off with bits of bark and gnats swimming in it. Musa had a huge grin on his face, but I’m sure my face was contorted in disgust. You have got to be kidding. This was going to take some convincing. So what is the big deal with this poyo?
Musa Tapping a Palm Tree
The process starts with Musa finding the right palm tree. The liquid is stored inside the trunk and can be tapped about once a year. There is a whole art (which I won’t pretend to know) of selecting the tree at the right time. Tap the tree when the poyo is too young and it will be overly sweet and weak in alcohol. Tap the tree too late, and the poyo will have fermented too long and taste sour. You can also do some distilling outside the tree trunk, but that’s not Musa’s style. He likes to keep things organic.
Once Musa has the perfect tree ready, he climbs it with a strap made out of old palm branches tied together. It looks like it is going to snap at any second… but Musa doesn’t seem to mind even when he is over 30 feet off the ground. When he gets to the top of the tree he pulls out his tap. It is a very simple wooden carving that he hammers into the trunk of the palm tree. Once he pounds it into the right spot, out flows the poyo. It’s as simple as that. No filtering, no aging, no refrigerating. Just tap and drink. That’s where all the delicious floaters come from.
With Musa standing in front of me pouring the sap into a plastic mug, I was starting to get a bit nervous. The mug looked filthy and the poyo looked like it might kill me. I was actually thinking more about what diseases I could get from drinking out of this guy’s mug than anything else. But Musa brought me back to attention by filling me in on an African tradition. The pourer always takes the first taste. Always the pourer. With a grin, Musa put the mug to his lips and took a healthy swig. “Dats fine poyo.” The look of sincere pleasure on his face as he said this had me convinced. My turn.
Good Sign in the Poyo
He handed me the mug and I looked in side. Besides there being a healthy amount of “stuff” floating in the mix, there was a dead honey bee bobbing on top. Musa explained that was a good sign. The poyo was just so tasty that the bee fell in, got drunk, and died. Who can argue with that?
I held the poyo up to my nose and took a deep inhale. I was strangely shocked. Nothing like the smell of coconuts or pineapple here. You won’t even believe what it smells like. The strongest aspect of the smell reminded me of a pungent pickle relish. Think of something similar to a freshly chopped up palm leaf. On top of that, there is a woody smell in the poyo… something that imitates a savory beef aroma. Put it together and you have a drink that smells oddly like a McDonalds value meal. I’m not kidding.
So with no more procrastinating I drank up, paying attention to avoid the bugs. The taste followed the smell… a watered down milky drink, with a woody relish flavor. It sounds awful. But actually it wasn’t that bad. I could immediately tell that it was an acquired taste. The loan officer with me, who is something of a poyo connoisseur, was next up. We took his taste and pronounced, “That’s very fine poyo.” It doesn’t get fresher than that he said. If you get it in town, it would probably be diluted with sugar water. This was the good stuff.
Sharing the Finest Poyo in Salone
Not to break tradition, we pulled up stools in front of Musa’s hut and shared a couple liters of poyo. At times I’ll admit I was choking it back. But the stories were good and the drink had an endearing disgustingness to it. After paying Musa for his poyo, we headed on our way back to Kabala.
Would I drink poyo again? Well… I wouldn’t buy it at Starbucks. A liquid hamburger just isn’t at the top of my list. But in the middle of a jungle, listening to stories in Krio as the sun goes down… pass me another mug.
Chicks and Dirt Roads
On Friday, Sophanith, Elena and I went to visit the Thea Chhin group, to do a journal on the group leader, Thea Chhin. The journey to Sala Khom Village was quite long. We left AMK‘s central office in Phnom Penh early in the morning and the drive to the branch office in Kampong Chhnang took about an hour. There we were greeted by the branch manager and we switched from our car to a pickup truck that was able to handle the village roads. As soon as our truck started driving on dirt roads, I was reminded of a road trip I took during college with my friends to Havasupai Canyon in Arizona. To get to the canyon we had to take a dirt road that was labeled “primitive road.” There was no such sign in Sala Khom Village.
Primitive road sign from my college road trip
The road to Sala Khom village
After another hour of driving, we arrived at the house of the village bank president where we were informed the village bank was meeting a few hours later. The VB president is elected by the other village bank borrowers. They organize village bank meetings and handle problems that villagers have with repayments or interest rates. While we were waiting I took some pictures of chicks (the animal type!) for KivaFriends members to enjoy.
Chickies!
As the clients started to trickle in, eventually Thea Chhin arrived. She is currently pregnant and is expecting a child in September. Sophanith interviewed her using a questionnaire form Elena developed with him. Hopefully this questionnaire will be used by loan officers as they interview clients for future journals. (At AMK we are still working on integrating Kiva’s needs into their business structure). I took a picture of her and she smiled! Adam, an Australian volunteer for AMK who does a lot of graphic design work for them, has been taking pictures of Cambodians but has had a hard time getting them to smile. When Cambodians pose for pictures they usually have a serious face (like in the business description).
Thea Chinn, another Kiva Success Story!
I wasn’t able to get a picture of her with her business, because she was busy at the village bank meeting. On my next visit to a village I’ll try to get pictures of clients next to their businesses.
This is the journal update I wrote on Thea Chhin which describes how the loan has changed her life:
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With the loan that she borrowed, Mrs. Thea Chhin was able to buy more vegetables to resell and her husband was able to buy more parts for his motorcycle business. This increased their profits which has improved the living conditions of her family. She has also bought some kitchen equipment. Her three children are doing well; two are working at the same jobs that they had, while the other is still in school. Mrs. Chinn is currently saving some of her money because she is expecting another child in September. The rest of the group is also doing well. Another member has bought fruits from Poy Peth and vegetables from Phnom Penh to sell at the local market. This is an end-of-term loan, so Mrs. Chinn has not made any payments on the principal, but next month she will have to repay the loan in full. She has made every monthly interest payment on time, as has the rest of the group. Just so you know AMK’s default rate is virtually zero. The few loans that are not repaid (less than 0.1%) are mostly those that are written off due to the death of the entrepreneur. |
Click here to see all the loans from AMK that are currently fundraising on Kiva.
Oil & Elbow Grease
My small black notebook is quickly filling up with lengthy scribble detailing the businesses and lives Kiva lenders are touching in Nigeria. The ever-present entrepreneurial spirit in this country fascinates me while the big-picture political economy boggles my mind.
To put it all in context, Nigeria is the world’s 6th biggest oil producer. Oil revenues constitute over 95% of Nigeria’s export earnings and 85% of the government’s revenue (at US$50 billion in 2006). However, there are frequent power outages, the roads are slow and hazardous riddled with potholes and 57% of the population lives below the poverty line. Few Nigerians see any benefit from the large oil resources. The majority of people are left to fend for themselves, operating an informal economy with more than its share of challenges.
Nigeria is a nation of entrepreneurial middlemen and women. The example of the yam supply chain for Benin City (commonly known as Benin) illustrates this clearly. Yam wholesalers travel once a week to northern Nigeria to purchase yams from the farmers, a journey that takes 4 to 5 days. After purchasing the yams, they mark every one with their unique symbol in blue chalk. Twenty to thirty wholesalers from Benin will pool resources and hire a large lorry to carry the goods back to a large empty plot of land where they will sort and sell their goods. The wholesalers ride rickety 15-passenger vans back, just as they went. From there, local market vendors will purchase the yams and take them to various markets around Benin to sell at a markup. Some of these larger vendors will attract another level of business and sell to small-time yam vendors who provide to the smallest markets on the outskirts of town.
Most things work this way. Boys on the street sell cell phone recharge cards that they buy in packs of 10 from a wholesaler. If they sell them all, they will earn a profit of less than $2. They may spend a few days trying to turn a profit. Women travel to Lagos, a 328-mile five-hour drive plagued by potholes and traffic, to purchase fabrics that they sell at their market stalls or hawk them through the streets. Men may do the same, but for tires or refurbished electronics. Having capital to purchase goods upfront is a common and constant challenge. It takes a long time to build up enough saving to be self-supportive (that $2 profit on phone recharge cards, for instance, comes at an initial cost of $34). Upward mobility is difficult for even the hardest working Nigerians. Microloans are helping. And they are not just benefiting the individual, but are instrumental to the functioning of an economy driven entrepreneurship rather than large-scale logistics. It is exciting to meet recipients of microloans and help tell their success stories, however, the ever-present shadow of a corrupt government and unfilled potential is a constant disappointment.
A man who shall remain nameless on this blog commented to me that Nigeria was lucky to have no natural disasters that threaten their economy – no hurricanes, no earthquakes, no tsunamis. But that they have something worse – Nigeria’s natural disaster is the government. Instead of losing hundreds of homes to a tornado once every few years, they lose billions of dollars to corruption every year. I think about how quickly Nigeria could change if oil money was allowed to trickle down to the common citizenry. The impact of a major roads project, for instance, could have a tremendous impact on job creation and economic efficiency. An overhaul of the Power Holding Company Nigeria, commonly referred to as “Please Hold Your Candle Now” (formerly called the Nigerian Electrical Power Authority or “Never Expect Power Again”) would increase efficiency and lower the cost of doing business. A well-educated workforce could make Nigeria, Africa’s most populous country, competitive in an international market and create true upward mobility. But until there is a significant shift in the political culture of Nigeria, everyday challenges will continue to inspire the most impressive entrepreneurship through hardship and necessity and my black notebook will continue to be full of heartening stories of microfinance to share with the Kiva community.
Currently, Nigeria’s oil production and capacity are equal to that of the United Arab Emirates.
To see all currently fundraising loans from LAPO on Kiva.org, please click here.
Feeling like a stranger in my home country…
I can’t believe 3 weeks have gone by and I still haven’t blogged sharing with all of you my experience so far. I’m truly sorry for this but I’m hoping to redeem myself and be able to write and describe everything I’ve lived this past days. So back to the beginning…..
I believe (not sure if I’m totally right) that I’m the only fellow who is working in her own country. When I first applied to Kiva’s fellowship program what was in my mind was to go somewhere in Asia, be it Cambodie or Vietnam, or maybe Indonesia. I started conversations with Kiva staff, but when they saw I was Mexican and of course fluent in Spanish, they explained to me that I would be really helpful in a Latin American country, where I could leverage my Spanish facilitating and improving the communication between the MFI/its clients and Kiva. At the beginning I was a bit discouraged by the idea, since I really wanted to be a fellow combining both, a thorough learning about Microfinance with a different and authentic traveling experience. Somehow, being back in Latin America was not that interesting for me. After some conversations with Kiva, I actually started liking the idea and even asked them to place me in Mexico. I had been one year away from home studying in Australia, so going back for the summer didn’t sound that bad. As I accepted the placement in Mexico, I lost the idea of a “traveling experience” and got really excited just about being in the field of Microfinance and at the same time volunteering for my own country. When I was told that the MFI was in San Cristobal de las Casas, I even got more excited. Last year, I had visited this beautiful colonial town only for the weekend since I had to go back to work in Mexico City. Despite my family’s efforts to convince me to stay, I kind of got out by saying that someday I would come back and have a long stay here, since I had loved it!. So when Kiva announced me I would be placed in San Cristobal, the puzzle started making sense. I became really thrilled about the idea but as I said before the traveling concept escaped my mind. I got here thinking I would feel at home. That there would not be any cultural challenge, no adaptation or no shocks as when you travel in different countries having constant experiences all day long, seeing people, places and things that you had never seen before. As for me? I had been in San Cristobal, I am Mexican and I’ve traveled quite a bit around my country, so in terms of cultural challenge it wouldn’t be that interesting. And, how wrong I was…thus, the title of this blog!
I got to San Cris (as local people call it) on a Monday. The following day I started at the local MFI, Alsol. I met Karina, she is the one that kindly arranged everything for me: where I would be staying, where I would be working, and introducing me to everyone in the office. It was a really fast and informal introduction but it was good enough for the first day. I met more than 40 people in less than 30 minutes, so that made it hard for me to remember names and responsibilities, but through the 3 weeks I have been working with them, I have come to know pretty much everyone at Alsol. So many things to talk about Alsol (an amazing MFI in so many ways) but I’ll probably leave that for my next blog.
So going back to the whole experience… in less than a week I was exposed to a different face of my country. Yes I knew Mexico is a developing country, yes I had visited poor communities and had done social service with them, yes I knew we do live in a non-equitative country, where there is 20 million people living in extreme poverty while 80% of the country’s wealth is distributed amongst 5% of the population (including the wealthiest man in the world) But, one thing is to know and a different thing is to acknowledge it, to see it, to just live it. Its not just poverty that has shocked my mind, it is also the ignorance and the state of acceptance in which people live. I knew Chiapas is the poorest state in the country and I knew of the 4 million people from Chiapas, 1 million is indigenous people who live in marginal conditions and segregated from the rest of the country. Yes, all the facts where there…but not the images. It is so easy to play blind, to live your daily and satisfactory life, to hear things but not really process them. The opportunity I have had through this fellowship has been so unique; it has just unfolded my eyes showing me a different Mexico.
Alsol only lends to women, most of them coming from indigenous communities. Some communities are close to San Cris others are 2 hours ride away from the city, just beautiful sites of a rural Mexico that very few people get to see. Yes there is indeed some charm from what I have seen. People who have been holding to their roots for ages, living like they lived centuries ago: harvesting, weaving, embroidering…..but at the same time people who have been forgotten in time. Maybe I did not travel to a far away continent but I did enter a time tunnel in my own country. I never saw this coming. Last time I experienced something similar was traveling through Myan Mar, what an amazing feeling it was to be transported through time, I never thought this could happen in the same way so close to home.
There is so much I have learned from and about the indigenous people. Just to start: there are seven different languages spoken in the region. Each community has a defined language…be it tzoltzil, tzeltal, maya, chol, tojolabal …Each has its own traditions, clothing, economic activity and religious rituals. Traveling from one community to the other is just like changing countries. The first thing you distinguish is the change in clothes; each community has its own clothing, varying its embroidery and its colors, all of it reflecting their history and local traditions. Then, even if they speak the same language, the tones and conjugations vary (making it almost impossible to learn one language). Their attitudes also vary. If you go to Chamula, people are very reluctant from strangers, they don’t talk to you nor allow you to take pictures of them. If you go to Zinacantan (15 minutes drive from Chamula) they are traders, so they embrace tourism and external commerce, they are way more open and inviting. Most of the women I’ve met barely speak Spanish, this has been both, fascinating but at the same time frustrating. How can they live in a country with out speaking the official language? Some people say they are trying to conserve their own roots, traditions and language. But I believe this is a tremendous barrier between them and the rest of the world. Also is a lack of ability from the government to design education programs where they can learn Spanish and at the same time they can conserve their own language. Interviewing these women has been one of the most challenging tasks of my entire life, especially when I was not prepared for it. I thought Spanish would be more than enough to do these interviews, but I have had to use translators in order to be able to communicate with them. Also they see me as a tourist, the other day I was asked if I was American (they actually used the word “gringa”) which made me laugh a bit, specially when I have dark skin, dark hair and dark eyes….but I look so different for them that they never thought I would be of the same nationality. Also, most of them are so shy; they feel really intimidated by an outsider. After some days of practicing I’ve kind of learned how to break the ice, sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t. All of these women just amaze me. Despite the harsh conditions they live in, they don’t give up, they are so hard working, so enthusiastic, even (despite their shyness) manage all the time to be smiling. I have met 18 years old girls that were married at age 15 and have more than 3 children.
Lucia and her children
Most of the time these women are breastfeeding a child. That is something that can not escape my mind. These women travel miles from their houses to join the group’s meeting. They arrive sometimes barefoot, carrying and breastfeeding a child, and followed by 2 or 3 or more of their kids. They say hello to the loan officer and give him the payment. Then they just stay standing (still carrying and breastfeeding their child) waiting for the others to complete their payments. No words spoken, no complaints. All I see is a proof of their responsibility and compromise. Also a look of gratitude for the opportunity to participate in the borrowing programs with Alsol.
Just to conclude (I just realized how long of a blog I’m writing) the experience has been the most exciting, challenging and rewarding traveling experience I’ve ever had, with all the needed ingredients to call it “traveling”, where for me everything is new and everything is different, making me feel like a foreigner or stranger and all these just taking a one hour flight from home. I hope to write to all of you really soon….. “Texacomic” (my way of writing “see you later” in Tzoltzil).
Now in Cameroon
Tuesday was the last day that the former Kiva Fellows, Megan and David, spent at the GHAPE office. The going-away party was really sweet with a board members lunch and gifts of gratitude. The main office in Bamenda is located in a family compound, with an open central area for recreation and cooking. The whole office spent the afternoon preparing the meal of Njama-njama (cooked greens), fufucorn (starchy white food), and chicken that had been freshly slaughtered from the coop out back. Our feast was a celebration for the new friends who had been living and working closely with GHAPE as the first foreigners from Kiva. More than anything, the staff talked about all the advances that Megan and David had initiated in the three months that they’ve spent here in Cameroon. Among other things, they created an office network, so that staff doesn’t have to use flash drives between the various computers when switching machines. My mind was racing, partly with excitement, partly with anxiety about all the things that I want to achieve in this Microfinance Instititute while I’m here.
my new favorite flower
I expected to meet amazing people working at the GHAPE office, but the people I’ve met here have exceeded my expectations. This last week at the branch office, we had meetings to go to every morning with the various centers. The meetings were around 6:30 am every day, which meant that I woke up around 5 to get ready. Upon awakening, I found the three other members already awake each day, putting together records and crunching more numbers for the mid-year report. I’m truly inspired by each staff member and am planning on doing staff profiles to add to their Kiva page. They each deserve special mention, but especially the young Field Manager, Loveline Neh, has captured my respect and admiration. Everyone’s days end between 5 and 8pm, and the office is open on Saturdays, making it a long but successful week for everyone. During all of the adjustment in the office, I’ve also been trying to find my footing in the town of Bamenda, where I’m staying with a family who I connected with through Cameroonians I met in New Mexico.
me with the neighborhood kids
If you’ve been to Africa before, you’ll know that using squat toilets, carrying water for bucket bathes, and dining with your hands are all part of the daily routine. Having been in Senegal in January, I feel like I hardly left, although the cold and rainy weather of Cameroon reminds me that I’m in a different country. I’m startled that the city is as chilly as it is and especially in the mountain town, I felt like I was in the Rockies. I wear a wool sweater and have my rain jacket in my bag at all times. The red earth of the North West Province (which I think is a product of the rapid oxidation of iron in the soil) turns to slippery mud slides with all the rain and has presented its own unique challenge on top of learning to dodge taxi drivers while walking. I have a comical video that I’ve tried (and failed) to upload demonstrating how traction is a learned capability. The experience was a great introduction to Cameroon, reminding me to be humble in the face of tasks as basic as walking. I’ve been so appreciative of the time I’ve overlapped with Megan and David because they’ve caught me up on everything they had to discover from scratch about GHAPE. I still have a lot to figure out, but I got a pretty good start. This week, I’m starting interviews with clients, going to individual work sites and verifying loan amounts while trying to gather personal information for journals to post on the Kiva site. As I expected, I’ve been meeting amazing people and I can’t wait to write about them so I can introduce them to Kiva lenders. These first two weeks have been very busy, but I’m happy to put in every hour I can.
¡Adios Puente de Amistad, Hola FAPE!
My time at Friendship Bridge has come to an end and I’m off to Guatemala City to start the next phase of my fellowship with la Fundación de Asistencia para la Pequeña Empresa (FAPE). Before I launch into my work at FAPE, I’ll attempt to reflect back on my time with Friendship Bridge a bit.
First of all, being a Kiva Fellow is fantastic work. I’ve spent much of my time traveling around a beautiful country, meeting with incredible women, and talking with them about their lives, their businesses, their loans, and pretty much whatever else they want to tell me about. I can’t imagine many other circumstances where I would have the opportunity to talk with so many different people and hear so many different interesting and sometimes heartbreaking stories. It’s been an honor to be able to do this and I sincerely hope that I’ve been able to effectively pass on glimpses into these people’s lives through the journals I’ve been writing and posting on Kiva.
In terms of working with Friendship Bridge specifically, I can’t imagine a better introduction to microfinance in Guatemala. All of the staff I worked with were absolutely wonderful and it was such a pleasure getting to know them both personally and professionally. More than anything, I have been so struck with how true to the social mission the organization and its staff are. Friendship Bridge’s mission is as follows: “Friendship Bridge provides microcredit and education to help women and their families create their own solutions to poverty.” I was given a copy of a MicroRating International rating report for Friendship Bridge shortly before I started working with them, and one line jumped out at me when I first read it over. This microfinance rating agency stated that “Friendship Bridge’s mission and vision permeate the organization.” After having spent just six short weeks with the organization, I believe that “permeate” really is the perfect word to describe how their mission influences their work.
Obviously the financial component is the most substantial ‘product’ that they offer. However, along with every loan there is heavy emphasis on education, not only for the women receiving the loans, but perhaps more importantly on the education of their children. Time and time again I’d ask the women receiving loans from Friendship Bridge if their children are in school, and the vast majority proudly answered yes. However, some reported that they can’t currently send some or all of their children to school because they don’t have enough money to pay the small registration fees and to buy the required school supplies. It makes me sick to think that these costs don’t amount to much more than I easily spend on a good night out in the States. Nevertheless, almost every single woman I have spoken with over the last couple of months stated that their top priority is fighting for their children to have a better life, and one of the most important steps in that fight is helping them get good educations. It’s amazing to witness microfinance in action, seeing women have access to a little credit to build their businesses in an attempt to ‘create their own solutions to poverty.’ But it’s been even more amazing to see how much that impact can spread. Not only can these small loans help women build their microenterprises, but they can also help them give opportunities to their children that they themselves never had.
Yes, I do realize the praise is excessive here. No, microfinance is not a panacea and Friendship Bridge certainly isn’t perfect. Nevertheless, they are an organization with a noble mission, and are largely staffed with people truly dedicated to that mission. It’s been a privilege to get to share in that mission for six short weeks, and I’ve learned much and gained respect and appreciation for microfinance and the women of Guatemala that I will carry with me for years to come. Now I’m off to meet a whole new staff and see a completely different organization in action. While I am, of course, very sad to say goodbye to Friendship Bridge, I’m thrilled to move on to the next phase and learn more about microfinance, the people of Guatemala, and poverty alleviation in action.
But first, one final shameless plug for Friendship Bridge! For anyone interested in learning more about this fantastic organization, visit their website at www.friendshipbridge.org. And if you want to lend to their incredible clients, you can see what’s currently fundraising on Kiva here: http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=55&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb.
Challenging Questions, No Easy Answers
Visiting clients with Fundación Paraguaya hasn’t been exactly what I expected. Fundación clients aren’t being “lifted out of poverty.” They aren’t the poorest of the poor in Paraguay. Most of the time, their loans are simply maintaining a status quo, economically speaking. So far, I’ve visited clients based out of four branch offices, and they have a lot in common. Like many MFIs, Fundación clients are often repeat borrowers. They are already entrepreneurs before they receive their first loan. The classic example is the couple that owns the despensa, a small local grocery/variety store. When their stock gets low, they withdraw a loan in order to replenish their merchandise. Such loans do not necessarily enable them to grow their business, but it allows them to maintain their current level of success. Another example is the woman who has a tailoring business. At the beginning of the winter season, she applies for a loan to buy fabric to sew winter clothes. She needs to sell these clothes to provide for her family, and the loan ensures she has enough fabric to complete her orders, but it doesn’t change her business in any way. The question many people will ask in response to this disclosure is, “am I helping?” I think to find the answer to this question we need to go back to the purpose of microfinance, and the role of credit in alleviating poverty.
Microfinance provides access to credit for those who would otherwise be unable to attain it. Fundación clients would be rejected by large banks, who won’t give loans without collateral, and for whom the administrative costs of such a small loan are not worth their time. So, yes, we are providing credit to those who need it, and would not otherwise have it. And we are helping them maintain their business and provide for their families.
The question about whether Kiva loans are helping them grow is another question all together. When I ask loan officers what they think their clients need to be more successful, the answer is “skills.” Most Kiva clients are under-educated and do not have a sense of how to grow their business. In Banker to the Poor, Muhammad Yunus, argues that, “not one single [Bangladeshi] borrower requires any special training. They either have already received this training as part of their household chores, or have acquired the necessary skills in their field of work.” (p 205) I disagree with this completely, at least in the context of the clients I have seen in Paraguay. Many clients engage in retail work, which is not something you learn in the way you may learn to weave or farm. The joke amongst the interns at Fundación Paraguaya is that every client is engaged in copycat retailism. Any successful business, whether selling food or jeans, is seen by community members as their ticket to success, and soon there are 4 people selling women’s underwear on the same block. Anyone who has studied the basic principles of supply and demand will immediately see the flaw in this strategy.
Often, the inability to achieve economic stability is more subtle. Take the couple I met who have two businesses selling grains and vegetables – one in the city and one 150 km away, where their four oldest children live and work during the week. They take turns returning every other weekend to help with the business and spend time with their children. The country business is more profitable, and they would love to move there permanently, but they are afraid to leave their stall in the city. If the country business is not enough to support the family, they will have given up a good location in the city center, which is not easy to re-obtain. So they continue to split their time, working 14 hours, 7 days/week in two businesses. As they have for 23 years.
Many, many FP entrpreneurs have 2-3 businesses and work 12-18 hours every day to provide for their families. And they are doing ok; they are not the poorest members of society. But there is so much potential for more. What if they could have just one business, and work 10-12 hours/day?
Fundación Paraguaya does have skill-building programs. They run an agricultural high school, in which they teach economics as well as farming skills (I hope to blog more about this amazing program later on). All the women’s groups are required to attend a skills-building class quarterly, where they practice skills like balancing a budget, and how to save. Fundación Paraguaya is also starting a program to work with the children of borrowers, to teach them the skills to be successful entrepreneurial adults. It doesn’t reach everyone, but it’s a start.
My work as a nurse is driven by my belief that healthcare is a human right. Muhammad Yunus believes that credit is a human right. If you agree with him, then you will continue to loan to these entrepreneurs, who are some of the most hard-working, deserving people I have ever met. But it doesn’t mean microcredit, or Fundación Paraguaya, or Kiva are perfect. They are but one piece of the puzzle to solve poverty.
Welcome to Phnom Penh!
After a wonderful 25-hour journey from New York, I finally made it to Cambodia! My first order of business was to get my visa at the airport, but that turned out to be a breeze. I filled out a visa application and it was passed along a line of 8 Cambodian officials who were seated in a row behind a counter. After 15 minutes and $25 I had my 30-day business visa (which I have to extend soon). When I left the airport I had to make the very difficult decision between a $9 taxi ride or a $7 tuk-tuk ride. The guy selling tuk-tuk rides made a compelling argument, that he had the cheaper ride, but with all my baggage I decided to splurge on the taxi. The drive into Phnom Penh reminded me a lot of my parent’s home country, Sri Lanka. Just like in Sri Lanka, the roads are shared by wheel-barrows, trucks, and everything in between. The only difference is that Cambodians drive 25 mph slower (which is a ver y good thing!). In Sri Lanka I had to get use to buses accelerating to 65mph, swerving around tractors and tuk-tuks, and then braking hard when we came to a traffic jam.This lead to many accidents on the road, a few which I have taken part in
I was suppose to meet Paujo,an American who works at AMK, outside my apartment. I was taking over Paujo’s place while he’s visiting the states until September. When I got to the street where his apartment is located, I was a bit early so I stopped at a sports bar which is located around the corner. I used the wi-fi at the bar to reach Paujo. After three Tiger beers and a lengthy discussion with the Australian who runs the bar about the sports bar business in Cambodia, Paujo arrived. I grabbed lunch with him, his girlfriend and Elena (the current AMK-Kiva fellow). After my first delicious Cambodian meal, I was ready to pass out. Unfortunately the power was out when I got back to my place, so for a while I was roasting in my bed without a fan. Eventually the power came back on and I fell into a deep sleep. I woke up at 9 PM to fireworks. I quickly ran to the window to make sure taht it in fact was fireworks and not gunfire or bombs (with elections around the corner you never know what can happen!) I later learned that the National Museum, which I live next to, has fireworks on occasion. I managed to go back to sleep, only to wake up again at 2 in the morning, damn jet-lag. I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t, so I watched a movie on my laptop to kill time. When the sun rose I got dressed and headed out to AMK.
I arrived at the office before most of the staff had come in, but eventually I met Sophanith, the AMK Kiva coordinator. He introduced me to the entire staff, which was about 30 people, in 5 minutes, so I forgot most of their names really quickly. As a former teacher, I learned that it helps to learn names if you see them on paper, so I got to learn the senior staff’s name by looking at AMK’s financial report which has their names listed. Sophanith has been writing most of the business descriptions for AMK, and according to Elena (the other AMK fellow) his English has improved a lot since she’s been there. He is a hilarious guy, and in the future I should devote an entire post to him so taht you guys can get to know him. The staff at AMK is really, really friendly. AMK is new to Kiva, but they have a well established business. I read in their annual report that they became a profitable business in less than a year. What also makes them stand out from other MFIs is their dedication to social performance. The board of directors has created two standing committees, the audit committee and the social performance committee. These two committees allow AMK to balance their social mission with their financial self-sufficiency. Elena and I will talk more about their social performance and research work in our posts to come!
One thing which I’m going to have to get use to (not that I should be complaining) is our two-hour lunches. The workday here is from 7:30am-5pm with lunch from 12pm-2pm. During my first lunch, I ate my meal quickly like I usually do and I was walking quickly back to work. Elena had to slow me down, but we still got back an hour early. However, today I made good use of my lunch break. At 12pm, I noticed the All-Star game was in the 12th inning, so I hopped on a moto and went to that sports bar near my house. I managed to catch the the last 3 innings of the game. It was great! (Once I get to learn some Khmer, I promise I will be having more Cambodian experiences!)
This is a becoming a long post, but before I sign off a quick note about AMK’s delinquency rate: Kiva recently took off AMK’s delinquency rate on their profile page. The reason behind this was many of the loans that AMK had posted on Kiva were end of term loans, which means that they get repaid at the end of the loan instead of monthly payments. Kiva didn’t have a way to designate end of term loans, so when monthly payments were not coming in AMK’s delinquency rate went up. Their actual default rate is less than 0.1%. AMK has now switched all of the loans they post on Kiva so that they can avoid this problem in the future. You guys should check out some of the loans that are posted by AMK on Kiva.
Also, I haven’t taken my camera out yet, but I will be going out onto the field on Friday! So hopefully I’ll get some pictures up for you guys to enjoy!
My American Dinner (What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger)
Turkey, stuffing and beer.
BBQ ribs, corn on the cob and beer.
Beer with a side of beer, with beer on top.
When trying to think of what authentic American dinner I could cook for my host family to show my appreciation of their hospitality, I thought of some of my favorite wholesome, nutritious, typical American dinners, which I listed above. But then I thought better of it, as my family here has three kids 18 and under, and what role model would I be if I served ribs to kids? They could poke an eye out with those things. And turkey? Too much tryptophan and you may never wake up. And I can’t have that on my conscience.
So I went back to the drawing board with these slight limitations in mind:
1. I can’t cook. Not even a little bit. Although, I’m a wizard with the microwave.
2. There are no microwaves in this part of Bali.
3. There’s very little food that one would consider to be truly American in origin.
4. When I invite people over to sample my cooking, I typically eat alone.
I went by taxi to find inspiration and ingredients at the Carrefour, which is a large Euro styled supermarket close to the airport in Denpasar. After spending a solid hour roaming the aisles, I had a cart full of mismatched ingredients and a large inflatable donkey. Oddly enough, the donkey was for display only and not for sale (What kind of country is this???).
When I went to the kitchen to prepare the food, the family crowded around to see what wild concoction this crazy American would cook up. As all three people who have seen me cook might have guessed, I went with pasta, green beans, corn and spiced things up with some meatballs and marinara, topped with parmesan cheese and a little pepper and salt. As I didn’t want to scare this family more than the sight of me pummeling 3 pounds of raw ground hamburger meat into submission already did, I was forced to forsake my usual habit of cooking all pasta and veggies in one pot*, albeit with much sadness and spiritual discomfort. I understand that spaghetti and meat balls is Italian in origin, but like many things of European descent (bad hair, colonial imperialism, Jackie Chan, etc.) I feel like we’ve had it long enough to call it American.
After everyone was served, provided with a bottle of ice cold Coca-Cola and prepared for the worst, we had our usual pre-meal prayer, albeit with a more somber tone than usual. And at last… we dug in. Forty five minutes later, no one had fainted, gagged or faked a seizure. Some even dared to say they liked it. Great success!!! For dessert we had neopolitan ice cream served on ice cream cones, which, oddly being the only thing I didn’t make, was a huge fan-favorite.
In the photo below, notice how I wisely took the photo before a single bite was taken. Poor souls, if only they knew the fate that awaited them. In the picture, DINARI’s Executive Director, Nyoman Irianto Wibawa (nicknamed Pak Alit), is sitting on the far left and is joined from left to right by his daughter Monica (18), the family nanny Sari, his wife Ibu Neni, DINARI field officer Daniel, Pak Alit’s daughter Ayu (age 15), and his son Komang (14). 
So with the success of the first night, I’m looking to do another rendition, and I’m looking for suggestions. Please note the four limitations stated above and understand that the family has a stove with two burners (no oven) and a medium sized fridge, if that helps. Any thoughts?
If you would like to learn more about DINARI’s work in Bali and fund a loan through Kiva, please click on the following link, and then select “See all loans from the field partner>>”: http://www.kiva.org/about/aboutPartner?id=82&_tpg=din
* Editor’s note: Cooking veggies and pasta in the same pot is a glorious, glorious thing that creates cleaning efficiencies (saving one to two pots) and spiritual bliss. All you do is cook your pasta, and then when it is almost ready, just add in your frozen veggies. It makes a nice addition to the pasta, and goes well with the red sauce and parmesan. Please know that you will likely be met with resistance by doing so. My roommates have even threatened to organize an intervention. But please be heartened in knowing that many truly revolutionary, life changing innovations have first been met with staunch resistance, as we’ve seen with male designer jeans, the forward pass and George Michael’s solo career.
FVP in Nuevo Laredo: building confianza
Two weeks have passed since I started work at Fundación Para La Vivienda Progresiva, or Foundation for Progressive Housing. I am still very much in absorption mode, so for now I will rely on broad strokes to paint the picture of what FVP is all about.
The organization is located right across the border from the U.S., with offices in the border towns of Nuevo Laredo, Ciudad Acuña, and, soon, Piedras Negras. In short, FVP helps people in the border region to build housing and to start or grow small businesses. Housing is in its title because FVP started in 2002 as an affiliate of Cooperative Housing Foundation (CHF), an international NGO based in the U.S. It was initially founded to address the housing crisis that had resulted partly from the large post-NAFTA migration of Mexicans to work in industries along the border. FVP is now independent from CHF, but the latter continues to advise the FVP on its development.
Housing is a big part of its heart and soul, but FVP has grown into an organization that addresses more than just housing. FVP’s work is dedicated to improving the livelihood of Mexicans of modest means who live in the border region. As one of their leaders explained to me, grinding poverty – not knowing where the next meal is coming from – is not nearly as common here as in other parts of Mexico. But poverty persists in this relatively affluent region, what he called pobreza patrimonial, which I will badly translate as something like a “poverty of assets”.
In other words, even if a family is getting along from day to day, their stability can be fragile. FVP builds up the foundation on which its clients stand, providing tools to actually build a foundation – housing loans – and to strengthen their source of income – small business loans. I will talk about this concept more in future posts.
For FVP, this means more than just giving a loan to an individual or household. It means creating a relationship with each client and helping them to build their business or their home up over time. Enduring growth, they call it here.
The organization’s work philosophy is to make borrowers feel like they are all part of a common project to improve their way of life – and you can see this in the way that the loan officers interact with the clients.
Please flash on your mental screen your picture of a “Loan Officer”. I know I had my own preconceived image, warts and all. And I have friends who work as Loan Officers. Now put it to the side for a moment.
Now imagine Mireya, a Loan Officer at FVP. She is by trade an accountant, she knows her numbers, and she dresses in a business suit, but that is where the similarities with my former image of a loan officer end. Mireya drives her hatchback car out to neighborhoods that paving has not yet reached, braving the rain and seeming to instinctively avoid the flooded streets most likely to swallow her car (we actually saw a truck here that was completely taken down by a pothole, so this is no joke).
When she arrives at clients’ homes or businesses, it has the feel of a cousin stopping by, not a financial officer. Even when she talks shop – getting an update on a business or helping to open a new loan – she and the client have a rapport that is more collaborative than hierarchical. Somehow, she does all of this without getting a speck of dirt on her light tan pants. I, meanwhile, look like I have been in a mud wrestling match.
We were fed tamales on our last stop, and stayed for almost an hour at the client’s house. Mexicans don’t feed tamales to people they don’t like.
The example of Mireya is emblematic of how FVP works. They emphasize forming a connection with clients that will extend beyond a loan, they try to treat each client as a special case, and their rule of thumb is to be honest and transparent with the client about all aspects of the loan process.
Can you imagine this from a bank? I have known loan officers in the U.S. at banks and mortgage companies who have really stretched themselves to help out their clients. I am sure they exist here, too. In general, though, banks are a place where many of the clients do not feel welcome, much less a place they would seek out as a source for a loan.
The conventional wisdom, amongst FVP clients and staff, is that most clients would not get a loan from a bank. I am still unpacking the reasons for why this is the case, if, in fact, it is true. Is it that they don’t qualify for a loan – that the bank’s requirements are too stringent or inflexible for the small entrepreneur without much collateral? Is it that banks are just not interested in giving out loans less than, say, $10,000 pesos ($1,000 dollars +/-)? Or is it that clients just don’t seek out a loan from a bank, because they are afraid of a bank or have a perception that the bank won’t serve them? Are there other small entrepreneurs that do go to banks for a loan, i.e. is it just that I am looking at a skewed sample?
It is probably a little bit of all of these depending on the situation. How it breaks down is something that I will explore over the next couple of months. So far, though, my instinct is that most of FVP’s clients just would never ask a bank for a loan. From initial conversations, it seems like most clients – mostly poor or working poor – just do not consider a bank loan one of their options.
Turn on that mental screen again. Imagine that you have a wealthy great-aunt who has historically has spurned your siblings in public, didn’t invite you to parties because she assumed you couldn’t afford the formal wear, and made you feel really uncomfortable when you walk into her house. Would you ask her for a loan?
Similar reasons have been offered up by the thirty-some clients with whom I have spoken: they don’t think that the bank would give them a loan, they view banks as a friend of the wealthy and the middle class, not the poor. And they just feel downright uncomfortable when they enter a bank.
Just to dilute my speculation with some empirical evidence, I looked at some of the research that has been done. A 2004 World Bank study estimates that only 23% of adults in Mexican cities have a bank account. The percentage of urban Mexicans that access bank loans, I would guess, is much less. (The percentage that has bank accounts in NYC and LA, for instance, is about 2.5 times this, at approx. 63%)
So, back to FVP. Their strategy is largely a response to this feeling of alienation. In the neighborhoods where they work, confianza is king. Confianza is a great word, a combination of a few concepts. It is trust, but also good rapport, a social familiarity amongst people. And it is these tendencies that bind people together in these neighborhoods, if I am reading things right. In other words, FVP’s strategy follows the contours of the way that people actually relate to each other in poor and working class neighborhoods of Nuevo Laredo. Their tactics build up confianza, so that the client trusts them and grows to count on them for collaboration in the project of improving their livelihood in an enduring way.
From what I can tell from some other Fellows’ blogs, this tendency is characteristic of other quality Kiva microfinance partner institutions around the world. They are not just micro-versions of banks giving out micro-loans – their approach to working with people is fundamentally different from the typical banking institution.
Now, I feel remorseful about being hard on banks. But that is probably a requisite way to kick off a microfinance blog, since microfinance is largely about providing financial services to those excluded, for whatever reason, from the traditional financial sector. I am not anti-bank. My work in the U.S. is in developing affordable housing in cities, so I fully recognize that responsible banks are essential to the well-being of communities in my own country, as well as being necessary for the health of our economic system. Here in Nuevo Laredo, I’m looking forward to seeing how all of these different models fall on the continuum of financial services available to the working poor.
To right the balance, I promise that this week I will enter at least one bank with an open mind and ask a loan officer some questions.
We’ll see if I get fed any tamales.
Next up: Nuevo Laredo incremental housing improvement 101
(Featuring many photos!)
To see all currently fundraising loans from FVP on Kiva.org, please click here.
Notes From Tajikistan
My experiences here in Tajikistan over the past several weeks have run the full spectrum of human emotion. I have laughed with astonishment at the absurd amounts of food that have been forced down my throat, stuffed like a pig all in the name of “hospitality”; I have been saddened and amazed by the industry of young porters who abandon school at the age of ten, forgoing their childhoods in order to earn a couple dollars a day carrying fruit, bread, and meat through the vast, chaotic scene of the Panjshanbe bazaar; I have been humbled by the sheer generosity and kindness of people, who despite receiving a salary of less than $200 per month, give this privileged American almost everything they have, asking for nothing in return; I have smiled with joy when the kids at my apartment block treat me like a minor celebrity, running up in small groups every time I come home from work, excitedly shouting the few English phrases they know mainly “Hello!” “What is your name?” “Goodbye!”; and I have gawked in astonishment at the sheer indifference of the government to the plight of its people.
Tajikistan is severely lacking in natural resources, and the hydroelectric power that used to be a significant asset is now dwindling away due to low water levels. The country is primarily dependent on cotton and other agricultural products, remittances sent back from the more than one million Tajiks who work in Russia, and the significant amount of drug trafficking money that is pumped into the economy thanks to its location directly north of Afghanistan, the world’s largest opium producer. Some estimates say that as much as 50% of the economy here is connected in some way to narcotics. Tajikistan is not a country that can solve its economic problems through purely physical solutions, such as the building of more dams or factories, but it can only hope to get out of its financial doldrums through the creation of significant human capital. Although it may sound cliché and trite, the country’s future will be determined by the quality of its educational capacities, and judging by my own amateur survey of these institutions, there is certainly a lot of work to do.
Modern Tajikistan is a land that is intellectually parched, despite laying claim to a rich history of scholarship. While brilliant men of a bygone era such as Avicenna and Rudaki are celebrated throughout the country with countless billboards and monuments in their honor, schools and libraries literally crumble into oblivion. Many teachers receive minimum wage salaries of 60 Somoni (less than $18) per month, and I have talked to a number of former educators who, due to their inability to live on such a pittance, have had to abandon their chosen professions in order to sell clothing or fruit at the local market. Surely, the poor state of Tajikistan’s educational system is a symptom of a country in dire economic straits, yet I can’t help but feeling that it is question of resource allocation as well. You never seem be more than an hour’s drive from some kind of presidential palace, and in the capital, Dushanbe, an eminently wasteful series of fountains and opulent buildings, called the “Palace of the Nation” project, are being built at tremendous expense. I recently read on the Radio Free Europe website that the country’s last synagogue as well as dozens of houses were demolished, leaving hundreds of people homeless in order to make way for this towering monument to governmental narcissism.
While Tajikistan’s scarce resources are spent on gold leaf and marble, university libraries lack books and adequate internet connections, elementary schools often go unheated during the bone-chilling winters, and college students spend the months of September and October picking cotton in miserable conditions for no money whatsoever. On a recent tour of one of the best Russian-language elementary schools in Sughd Oblast, I saw a sign hanging in the main hall with a quote from President Emomali Rahmon that proclaimed, with sad irony, “Our society needs to value its teachers!” Sure, the Prez has made some slight gestures of compassion such as doubling the monthly minimum wage from 30 to 60 somoni, yet everyone I talk to here tells me that such an increase has been futile due to the concomitant rise of prices. Unfortunately, it seems as though the despotic Rahmon and his inner circle would prefer to cultivate their own bank accounts rather than cultivate the next generation of Tajik minds.
Surely, it is easy for me to criticize this struggling Central Asian state from the lofty heights of American privilege, and the truth is that all societies, to a different degree, suffer from a similar pathology. We, in the United States, also pay our teachers poor salaries and devote vast sums of money to frivolous expenses. I include myself among those who have become accustomed to the waste that all too often accompanies our abundant lifestyles and in no way do I intend to escape from my share of the guilt by pointing the finger at President Rahmon and his cronies. Yet, for me, my experiences in Tajikistan have shed a much harsher light on the problem, bringing into sharper relief the contrast between the haves and have-nots, and making the obvious indifference of the government and the overt opulence of the rich much harder to stomach. I have also come to understand, on a more profound level, the inestimable importance of an educated civil society, of an open media, of the ability to cut against the grain of established thought, to openly challenge old ways of doing and seeing in order to take a collective step forward in the quality of our lives. From my vantage point of halfway around the world I can see more clearly the intellectual dynamism that makes America that country that it is and I can also see the stagnation that occurs in places that lack such fertile ground for open expression.
Being here in Tajikistan, I am prouder than I have ever been of those who shout at the top of their lungs to get us to pay attention to what is going on the world. Writers such as The New York Times’ Nick Kristof, philanthropists such as Bill Gates, and organizations like Kiva, all play a role in prying open our often parochial minds to the reality of the human condition across the planet. While in the larger scheme of things Kiva’s reach may still be limited, dwarfed at times by the immense scale of global poverty, it surely doesn’t seem that way to the Tajik seamstress who was able to buy an electronic sewing machine or to the toy merchant in Khujand who just doubled his stock of merchandise thanks to a Kiva loan. For these people, Kiva’s reach is tremendous, profound, and personal and the stories of their success shine through the gloom of government graft and profligacy to illuminate one small corner of this poorest of post-Soviet nations. In a place where exasperation can swallow you whole, these myriad stories of hope remind me of the eminent worthiness of microfinance, of Kiva, and of the struggle against global poverty.
To see currently fundraising loans from MLF Microinvest on Kiva.org, please click here.
Karibu to Kisumu
I have made it safe and on time to my destination in Kisumu, Kenya. It has been a rush. Before I left, Dr. Omedi Ochieng, told me that nothing could prepared me to fully understand what Africa would be. Personal descriptions, books, photos, data, only go so far Prior to my departure I believed that I had a cerebral understanding of what Africa would be like, but being here the visceral experience is daunting.
My head is slowly catching up and as I look around I know that Kiva and micro-finance have a pivotal role to play. It has helped me to check my emotions knowing that we are doing something about it. Because I lack the ability to fully articulate Africa I want to share with you someone who can:
“Africa is nothing if not evocative. It’s a place of such unimaginable beauty and dignity and expanse and possibility, and such unfathomable suffering and despair and disease and decay. It is at once so alive and so wracked by death, so powerful in its landscape and physicality, and so powerless under the weight of famine and political upheaval and disease” well said Shauna Niequist.
Friday morning I hopped on a Kakemba bus to Kisumu. The bus ride took eight grueling hours but looking out my window provided more than enough fascinating sights to make the time pass. We went through rolling green hills, up the famous Rift Valley, I saw village after village (my favorite was Kericho with thousands of acres of tea leaves), cows and donkeys and sheep grazing in the grass, African’s meandering down the road, even a heard of zebras.
One of the sobering parts of the bus ride was at a stop in Nakuru. Every couple hours the bus would stop at an Akamba station so people could buy snacks and drinks, as well as use the rest room. My heart sank when I walked towards the main road and saw something that I’d read about, cement walls with broken glass bottles on the top. The wall in the photo is surrounding a home, and it illustrates the divisions and barriers that have been scattered throughout African history and continue
today.
Currently, life is still challenging. The political turmoil after the presidential election had much of the violence in Western Kenya which largely included Kisumu. There are still buildings that are destroyed from the looting and arson. Please read this article for a summary. The violence caused Kiva’s Kenya partners to pause because of the unrest. Now that peace has been brokered through a power sharing coalition it is business as usual and the MFI’s are able to operate. Nevertheless, things are still fragile. Kenyans love to talk about Barack Obama (his father was born and raised near Kisumu) but the tone changes when speaking about Kenyan politics.
I’m anxious to get started working for my assigned field partner, Opportunity International-Wedco. I begin on Monday with much work to be done.
Kwa heri!
13 July 2008 at 07:47 Zack Turner, KFP Coordinator 8 comments
Musings: the halfway point
I was surprised to discover earlier this week that I have approached the halfway point of my Kiva fellowship. Upon this realization I was frustrated because of how little I still know about microfinance, development, and rural Cambodia and how little time I have left in my fellowship to advance my understandings on these topics.
That said, I am incredibly indebted to both Kiva and MAXIMA Mikroheranhvatho Co. Ltd to the exposure they have provided me to these issues. Short of complete rural immersion, I cannot imagine a more authentic and candid glimpse of the uphill battle microfinance institutions (and development organizations in general) face in “working together for the development of rural households” (to borrow shamelessly from my beloved host MFI’s new slogan).
I lack the expertise to title the following as truths, and the experience to even categorize them as opinions, but below are a few of the musings which cross my mind on a daily basis as I wander in and out of homes in rural Cambodia on the back of a motorbike:
Microcredit can actually reach people who otherwise would have no other access to credit. While many of the individuals I have interviewed have said they would have borrowed from a private bank and been able to swallow the higher interest rates those banks demand, a great many have explained that for them it simply isn’t an option. They do not have the transportation means to drive thirty kilometers to an office in Phnom Penh, nor can they afford the opportunity costs of taking at least one day off of work to apply for financial services in that office. They have no collateral and no financial expertise to navigate through Khmer banking laws or are gun-shy from predatory moneylenders. Microcredit- individual attention and services aimed to meet the entrepreneur where she is- truly is their only option.
Repeated lending to the same entrepreneur is not necessarily “dependency.” One of the criticisms of microfinance I have heard is that individuals who take out repeated microloans have entered into a cycle of dependency from which they cannot escape. I struggle to believe this. Many entrepreneurs borrow to expand a business which needs to grow based on demand or market opportunities. To withhold a microloan out of fear of “dependency” does not allow the business to scale to its potential. Other businessmen and women take out multiple loans in progressing size; their business is growing and thus needs more and more capital to continue its expansion. When they outgrow the services provided by the microfinance institution they then possess the capital and collateral to apply for financial services from a more formal bank. Formal, incorporated companies in both the west and the developing world undergo repeated lending- this process is crucial for the growth of any viable business.
Loans can have a tangible impact on the standard of living of an individual. I cannot count the number of times clients have told me that their income is significantly larger now than before they received their loan. An increase of $1 or $2 USD a day can often mean the difference between children attending school and children having to drop out and help their mother weave or assist their father in growing vegetables. It can mean the difference between a family sleeping every night in the rain and having a strong, durable roof over their heads, or a toilet instead of having to walk into the woods and dig a hole in the ground multiple times a day. These are incredible differences which to one family may be extremely real and very much appreciated.
Entrepreneurs in rural, developing economies are usually incredibly hard working. I say “usually” because just like everywhere else in the world people are unique- some industrious, creative, and dedicated, others lazy and indolent. That said, I have yet to meet a client whose livelihood, and whose children’s survival and future prospects, did not hinge on the number of hours she worked, the number of tomatoes she harvested, or the pieces of silk she wove that week. Certainly people throughout the world work incredibly hard to better the lives of themselves and their families, but the correlation between hard work and standard of living in the rural, informal economy is extremely direct. There are no government safety nets, no worker’s compensation, no paid sick days, no minimum wage, no food stamps, no overtime hours. Taking a day off for rest, finishing work early for a day is an option but for someone earning $3 or $4 USD a day it seriously impacts the amount of disposable income the family depends on for crucial expenses- food, water, and medicine.
Microfinance services are opportunities to better the lives of individuals with the utmost dignity. I believed this long before I stepped foot into “the field” but I firmly subscribe to this opinion now. In 95% weather along twenty-five kilometers of dust and sweat the loan officers of MAXIMA wear collared, button-up shirts and dress pants, they know the names and life stories of each of their clients (many of them were their neighbors as they often come from the provinces they now serve), and are personally invested in their business success. The interaction is professional, there are documents to be signed, records to be collected, and precise amounts of money at precise times to be owed. Both lender and borrower know this and want to take it seriously. Clients prepare the exact amount days before and anxiously await the arrival of their loan officer each month. “It is difficult to pay on time,” one woman told me. “But it is so important to me to be a good client.” Beliefs such as these are inherent in all people, regardless of cultural or economic backgrounds, and microfinance provides services which align with and honor these values.
To see all currently fundraising loans from MAXIMA on Kiva.org, please click here.
America! Oh, Yeah!
I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t experience it myself, but Cambodia is a great place to celebrate American Independence Day. If you don’t believe me, I have the pictures to prove it!
This weekend was jam packed with, among other things, a fireworks show on the evening of the 4th and a large celebration at the US embassy in the capital city of Phnom Penh. The event included the typical American fare of burgers, hot dogs, donuts and beer, and enough American activities to make me feel like I was at home again.
As soon as I arrived, I began stuffing my face with good old fashioned American food – a hamburger, cake, some soda – and then I found out about the hot dog eating contest! The Kiva fellows made a (strong?) showing, with two [losing] contestants. I’ve always figured that my never-ending appetite would come in handy in an eating contest, but until now I never knew that everything tastes gross in the middle of an eating contest. I guess it didn’t exactly help that I was full of food going in, and couldn’t stop cracking up during the competition.
An action shot of the competition: The contestant on the right was the winner, as you might guess from his concentration... As for the two Kiva Fellow contestants, concentration isn't our forte
After the hot dog eating contest we watched a hilarious clown show that was put on by Sopana Phom, a traditional Cambodian theater group. It was complete with a healthy dose of slapstick humor, juggling, and fart jokes – sounds American enough for me. Yes, I think I actually enjoyed this one more than the kids. No, I’m not ashamed of myself.
Clown Show by Sovanna Phum
The night came to a close as everyone rocked out to a military band. They played an impressive medley of classic and modern rock and had the whole audience dancing in no time. Everyone’s favorite member of the band was the trombone player, whose performance style could only be described as “agro.”
The Armed Forces meets Rock and Roll
All in all, it was a great weekend. I have always taken for granted my Country and all of the wonderful things that it has to offer. And although I do love living and working in Cambodia, now that I am experiencing life in a developing country, thousands of miles away from the place I call home, I finally realize how fortunate I am to be an American.
'Cause nothing says "I love my Country" like Rock Hands and flag cake
Happiness
I am beginning to think that Senegal is the land of happiness. Not only do young people often use this English word — along with “nice,” “fine,” and “cool” — to express that everything is OK (in reference to a popular comedian), but my Wolof teacher, Fatou, has informed me that the national language has no easy way of saying “I’m frustrated,” or even for that matter “I’m sad.” Or “what a pity.” Should I attribute this to the complexity of a language that also happens to have no adjectives, or have I really landed in a country that knows no sadness? To say the least, the situation is inconvenient for someone who is frustrated as often as I am — for me Africa is a fascinating, if not always an easy, place to live. As for Fatou, who also teaches French, she claims she didn’t even know the word frustré until she started working with Americans.
Full of smiles: When we do interviews in the villages we take pics of the kids first so they will let us photograph the adults in peace
To put it less frivolously, I am impressed not only by the linguistic acrobatics that the Wolof language imposes on my brain, but by the determination of many of the Kiva borrowers that I’ve met during my first month here. Sem, my MFI, is a little different from others in that it functions something like the microfinance wing of a separate organization, namely the Senegalese branch of the Global Ecovillage Network. (That is, we refer to Sem as being affiliated with Gen-Sen.) Gen-Sen has a whole set of ideals and goals that go beyond microfinance, including revitalizing traditional values, emphasizing community and spirituality, and protecting the environment. It is comprised of a network of ecovillages, or communities of people throughout Senegal who strive to live in a sustainable way and to engage local communities with sustainable living strategies. Each ecovillage selects, trains, and tracks business groups to be financed by Sem, often through Kiva funds, which means that Sem’s office in Dakar only has a very few employees; much of the on-site work is done by committees of volunteers. Once a group is selected to have its project financed, its participants are considered members of the ecovillage and are expected to live and work in accordance with Gen-Sen’s mission.
For some reason I’ve been surprised to find that these ideals are more than just words. Maybe it’s because the Senegalese news, at least on the state-owned channel RTS, runs story after story about conferences, seminars, master classes, meetings, think sessions, and workshops about development. It all sounds good — even euphoric — but I have a feeling that this choice of content is meant to reinforce Senegal’s national myth of being the “best” country in West Africa, that is, the country that enjoys more stability, greater freedoms, and a higher quality of life than its neighbors. Personally, I would rather like to know why the electricity is always going out in some neighborhoods of Dakar but not in others, and why that is accepted as a fact of life here. When I express this to Fatou in my broken Wolof, she charges, with her typical level-headedness and a touch of irony, that Senegal is a place for talking, not doing.
But that judgment might be a bit harsh. I’ve seen plenty of “doing” lately, for the most part far from the TV spotlight. Many of the people I’ve interviewed don’t tell me about their desire to make a profit or improve their quality of life, but about their determination to benefit the whole local community. At Diourbel, several groups said so explicitly. They feel that if they can implant the example of successful small businesses and jobs in the community’s mind that they might stand a chance of slowing the exodus of young people to the big city. The president of the ecovillage there, Ibrahima Faye, always seems to be bursting at the seams with ideas and advice about how to provide better support for the Kiva borrowers as their businesses progress. He has popularized the plan of holding off on all profit for the first few years and reinvesting it back into the business to make sure that the business is solid on its feet. This seems like a tough deal to me — since it means lots of work and no pay, borrowers who do this must live by other means on the side in the meantime. But the hard work is paying off: many groups say that they either are expanding or hope to expand their operations into other West African countries. Ibrahima, himself a member of a Kiva-financed group, is working to open a second shop in Bamako, the capital of Mali which is an arduous 2-day bus trip away, in a few weeks.
Another Kiva group from Diourbel, called Propaf, was awarded 3rd prize from the President of Senegal for women’s entrepreneurship in May. Its members, who refine and process grain to be resold, also spoke of extending their reach outward into the “subregion,” as people say. More importantly though, they said they would have continued their daily work processing grain even without a prize, even if the profits remained small. As it is, they never had any hope of being rewarded in such a prestigious manner.
Holding the presidential prize
From another angle, a group of women in Popenguine is so committed to the environment that they allow their profitable activities (an educational camp, selling grains and baby mango trees) to revolve around their original volunteer activity, promoting reforestation. They regularly plant trees in their own area and try to inspire others to care about the environment as well.
These humble successes do not mean that profit isn’t important — after all, the first goal of microfinance is to empower people to lift themselves out of poverty. For all the positive stories, peanut farmers in Louly are struggling to even survive given last year’s poor harvest and this year’s already late rainy season. But they maintain hope and are determined to pay back their loans on time; and plans are under way to supplement their traditional profession with more diverse activities like raising livestock.
It looks like Senegal may not be the land of happiness, after all. Like any country, it’s a place of competing discourses and tough realities. Amid power and water shortages, the whims of Mother Nature, and the TV’s insistence that everything is just dandy, people are facing the difficulties of entrenched poverty with courage and generosity. Perhaps, then, I should have the courage to see the inability to say “I’m frustrated” as a learning experience?
Getting to know our field partners: ADEPHCA
Here’s an update from Kiva Partner Development Specialist, Daniel Kahn, about his visit to Nicaraguan field partner Asociación de Desarrollo y Promoción Humana de la Costa Atlántica (ADEPHCA)
http://kivanews.blogspot.com/2008/07/getting-to-know-our-field-partners_08.html
To see loans currently fundraising from ADEPHCA on Kiva.org, please click here.
Infectious Stuff in Sierra Leone
“Jalloh, you alive?”
“Yes, Nick… of course.”
“Oh, Jalloh, Jalloh, Jalloh! I think it’s time to get out of here.”
It was 6:45 pm on Thursday. I was sitting in my office in Makeni, next to my coworker from SMT. It had been an exhausting day in the field and in the office. Drenched in sweat with my hands dripping on my keyboard, I had already downed 8 bottles of water. I had been training Jalloh on his new laptop. He had never had a computer primarily for himself before. We were going over things like how and where to save a client’s business description for Kiva, how to upload and edit a photo… all that fun Kiva stuff.
“Jalloh, do you want to watch the football game tonight? They’re showing it over at the Fatima Institute.”
In my head I already knew his response. Football is the sport of choice of Sierra Leone. Correct that, football is almost the only sport in Sierra Leone. And Jalloh loves to watch when he is able to find a TV with the game on.
“Ah, yes! It should be a very strong game. Spain and Russia in the semi-finals.”
“I’m meeting some friends to grab a Star and one of those goat sandwiches.”
“Yes, Nick. I would like… ” But then he paused and looked down at his desk. “But I cannot abandon my yawo.”
“Yawoo?” I repeated. “Yahoo?” “What did you say?”
“No, no. My yawo. Ya-oh”
“Yawo,” I repeated. “What is a yawo?”
“Yawo is Temne for my ‘new bride.’”
I ‘m sure I looked confused and then he started to smile. He pointed to the laptop and said again, “I cannot abandon my yawo.”
I started laughing. “Ahhhhh, I get it. That’s your new bride?”
It took a while, but we eventually connected on the joke.
“So you don’t want to come watch the game, Jalloh?”
“No, I want to keep practicing for Kiva.”
“Hmm. OK, have fun with that. Soon you’ll be typing like…” I posed at my laptop and began feverishly banging away on the keyboard at superhuman speeds.
Jalloh smiled and said, “I hope, if God willing.”
I packed up my bag and walked out of our office. It felt good to be working with such an enthusiastic microfinance team. I was thinking this Kiva thing is some infectious stuff if it can make a Sierra Leonean pass up a football game and a free meal at the end of the day. 
To see all currently fundraising loans from Salone on Kiva.org, please click here.
Update from Guatemala
Hiking in Xela
The city of Mazatenango, on the other hand, is not a beautiful place. At all. Lonely Planet has all of four sentences on the city – it’s the capital of the Suchitepéquez department, something about it being a hub for trading Pacific Slope agricultural produce, it has a few serviceable hotels if you have to stop in an emergency, “otherwise just keep on keeping on.” Seriously, that’s all the Lonely Planet writers could come up with, and I quickly saw why. It’s a relatively large, miserably hot and sticky city full of cars, dogs, bikes, people, and lots and lots of concrete. Definitely not the most beautiful place in Guatemala.
After one sleepless night in the oppressive heat, I headed to the Friendship Bridge branch office and was asked if I would prefer to stay with one of the loan officers and her family in a rural area outside of the city. Of course I promptly and enthusiastically accepted, and headed to the tiny little town of Siete Vueltas, Chicacao. Still hot and humid, but beautiful, lush countryside and with much fresher air out there. The rural lowlands definitely have a different feel than the highlands – and not just in terms of weather. The people are a bit more open, a little less shy. A gringa is an extremely rare sighting in these parts, and to be living with a family way out there was quite an experience. I stayed with a loan officer named Maria Elena, her seven children, and her 83 year old mother-in-law. It was a very simple house with cement floors, cinderblock walls, and a somewhat leaky tin roof that gives the feeling of being in an oven when the sun is shining on it, and gives off an angry roar as the afternoon/evening rain pours down on it. There were essentially three rooms – one kitchen/dining room, one room with a bed and a desk, and then one very large room with four beds and some chairs. I passed the night in the room with one bed, and as I got up the next morning I passed by the other room. What a sight to see seven children, a mother, and a grandmother all piled together in four small beds. And this is a family doing relatively well. Both Maria Elena and her husband have good, formal sector jobs with steady income. I find it so fascinating to see how people live and how unbelievably relative needs and wants really are. The first night I didn’t sleep very well – it’s hot, there are no pillows anywhere to be found, the rain thunders down on the roof. But by the end of my time there, I was sleeping like a baby and feeling so privileged to have the opportunity to spend some time with this amazing family. The kids were so entertaining and welcoming, and the oldest daughter actually spent a day with me, helping me find a bunch of the women I needed to interview. What a great experience.
Maria Elena and Family
While I was definitely sad to say goodbye to Maria Elena and her family, it was wonderful to escape the heat and return to the beautiful, cool highlands. I’ve spent the last week and half since then hanging out in Panajachel, working out of the office to write up the journals and helping Friendship Bridge document some of their policies and procedures for utilizing Kiva, putting together a master database of their Kiva clients, etc. While working in the office is certainly not nearly as exciting as getting out in the field, I am so glad to be able to get to know the people working here a bit better, and will hopefully be able to leave a little bit of lasting value for the organization from the projects that I’m working on. I can’t believe I only have one week left with Friendship Bridge before I head to Guatemala City to work with another microfinance institution, FAPE. I’ve been in touch with the director of FAPE and he has been extremely helpful and welcoming. It’s going to be fascinating to see how another MFI works. I’ll definitely be sad to say goodbye to Friendship Bridge and Panajachel, but it’s really exciting to be going to a smaller MFI that hasn’t been working with Kiva all that long. I really hope to be able to add a lot of value to their organization in terms of learning about Kiva and how to best utilize this resource. No doubt, the adventure continues!
Beautiful Lake Atitlan from the shores of Panajachel
To see all currently fundraising loans from Friendship Bridge on Kiva.org, please click here.
7 July 2008 at 15:58 Megan Tatman Montgomery Leave a comment
Indonesian Client Profile: Nanik and the Recyclables Business
A couple days ago, I had the privilege to sit down with Nanik B. Yayuk, a Kiva client in the Badung region of Bali who received a loan of $125 to help her with her recyclables business. Although there are quite a few Kiva clients in the recyclables business, the afternoon I spent chatting with Nanik was a true highlight. Nanik spent 45 minutes happily discussing how the recyclables business works and how she has been utilizing her loan from Kiva to grow her business.
As I learned from Nanik and other clients, the business of collecting and reselling recyclables in Badung is very labor intensive and highly competitive. In summary, collectors go around and collect recyclable materials off of the streets, including plastic, iron and cardboard. There are often a number of layers of middle-men, who purchase from a variety of smaller collectors (who need the money immediately) and resell in bulk to processors who only deal in large quantities. Those processors sort and treat the recyclables and resell the resulting material to Java to be used in the creation of new products.
The recyclables business is highly competitive because it requires very little capital to get started. The business is also highly dependent on relationships, as often times collectors have agreements with buyers in order to ensure they can sell their materials. These same relationships can also be used to exploit the poorest of the collectors, which I will revisit later.
Thanks to her loan from Kiva (through DINARI), Nanik and her husband are now able to purchase recyclables from small collectors and resell at a higher price, instead of just collecting from the street. This has enabled Nanik to significantly increase her sales, which more than compensates for the lower profit she receives per kilo (due to the cost of purchasing the items instead of collecting them on her own).
Before receiving this loan from Kiva, Nanik and her husband were averaging a profit of Rp350,000 (about $39) per week. With the expansion of their business, their weekly average profit has risen to Rp450,000 to Rp500,000 per week (about $50 to $55). This increased profit has enabled Nanik and her husband to continue to reinvest in their business and pay for the education of their five year old daughter, Rani, who has started kindergarten.
Nanik and her family are living in a home consisting of bits of scrap metal and plywood, in a community with seven other families that do the same occupation (see the photo below). Nanik and the other seven families have an arrangement with the landlord where free rent is exchanged for the right to purchase the recyclables at a price far lower than the market rate. In my opinion, this arrangement contributes to keeping these families in poverty by ensuring that they earn enough to get by, but not enough to get out of poverty. Without savings, Nanik and the other members of her community are forced to sell their products each week in order to provide for their basic needs, instead of saving to move into a home without restrictions. Nanik hopes to be able to continue to increase the profits of her business to a point where she can break out of this cycle and fulfill her dream of someday being able to purchase a home in Java and move her family to be closer to the rest of her family.
What is amazing about Nanik is how spirited she is in the face of such poverty. Throughout our conversation, Nanik smiled and laughed as she glowingly discussed her daughter Rani and her plans to grow her business. As Rani playfully hid behind her mother and peered at me through the strands of Nanik’s hair, Nanik, through the translation of DINARI’s field officer Pastya, happily answered my questions and was amazed when I showed her the profile of her business that was posted on Kiva. She was embarrassed by her photo, but excited that people around the world knew about what she was doing.
When it came time to take a photo to include as part of the journal update, Nanik ran into her room and arranged her hair and chatted happily with her friends (including other Kiva clients) who had gathered around us. She chose to stand by the scale that she used to weigh her materials, and then coyly smiled as I took her photo (below).
Once I showed her the photo on the screen of my digital camera, she rushed to show it to her friends and laughed hysterically when I zoomed in on her face. She then asked to have a picture taken with her daughter, who had never seen her own picture before (below).
After getting a photo taken with Nanik and two other lenders, it was time to say our goodbyes and head off to meet the next client. Although I’ve met with over 50 clients so far, my afternoon with Nanik stands out as a memorable and humbling experience. It’s been a privilege to represent the goodwill of Kiva’s lenders in meetings lenders, especially those as inspiring as Nanik. Her photo is already one of my favorite possessions from this trip, and I hope she will enjoy her copy of the photos as much as I do (she will receive a copy during the next visit from Pastya).
- GC
Borderlands
This is my first blog entry. Many Kiva Fellow arrival tales involve foreign airports, sweaty travels across long stretches of rural countryside, and the onset of intercontinental jetlag. In contrast, I am probably the first fellow who arrived at his placement by Greyhound bus.
I write you from Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, across the border from Laredo, Texas. On one of the local radio stations (local to Texas? local to Mexico? Hard to tell, since radio waves don’t obey borders) they refer to them as “Los Dos Laredos” – the two Laredos. If you just looked at the people, it would be hard to guess where one place starts and the other begins. As I walked through downtown Laredo, Texas I rarely heard English, the majority of the stores announce sales in Spanish only, and nearly everyone looks Mexican. The chile selection in the supermarket is overwhelming, and the only sign of the Texas that I had imagined was a lanky aging cowboy in line at the supermarket. His belt buckle was studded with shiny Texas stars, matching his sunglass holster and his cellphone clip. At least one of my simplistic stereotypes of the Lone Star state was satisfied.
You can’t mistake the border between the two towns. To English speakers it is the Rio Grande (“Big River”), to Spanish speakers the Rio Bravo (“Rough River”, “Angry River” (?)). Putting aside the philosophical questions raised by this difference in names, it should be noted that the river looks neither big nor angry. It seems too small, in fact, to be the demarcation of this, one of the most storied and frequently traversed borders on the planet. Maybe it used to be bigger and angrier before they installed the dams upriver.
Drawn neatly on a map, borders always seem like such an objective but imaginary line, as if you could step across them the way that you could step across a line drawn by a playmate in a childhood game. At this border the asymmetry is clear. Those who enter the U.S. are scrutinized (residents and non-residents both) while walking into Mexico is effortless, not even requiring the flash of a passport. I considered declaring my recently purchased groceries just to right the balance a bit.
Once I stepped into Mexico the environment changed, reminding me of the Latin America I knew from previous travels. The informal businesses (let’s call them entrepreneurs) started at mid-bridge with a squeegee man about a boot’s length over the border, squeezing out his living (sorry :) washing cars heading to the U.S. On the other side of the bridge the streets had a Sunday bustle rarely found in any small American city I’ve ever visited (Correction: any affluent section of an American city). In the crowded town square near the bridge, walking merchants were ready to satisfy your every need, whether it happens be a pack of razors, 3D soccer cards, or a yummy mouth-staining shaved ice. (were any of these Kiva borrowers?) Unless, that is, your immediate need was a map of the city, which took me an hour to find.
A clown entertained children in the middle of the plaza, his bullhorn competing with a group of parents asking for donations for a seven year old girl’s eye operation. Cars strapped with sound equipment announced the latest sales, mingling with a 20 mph chorus of reggaeton. I had forgotten how high the volume is turned up in Latin American cities.
The first night, Sunday, I spent at a budget hotel, where big groups of young Mexican men spilled out of their shared rooms into the parking lot as they relaxed on their day off. (Apparently migration to the border area from poorer southern states is common.) The next day I looked for an apartment, and I found a little place with a fig tree in the back yard, about a 15 minute bus ride from the office of the Kiva field partner. The old ladies across the street already have started to churn the rumor mill about what I am doing here. When I step out my door the blast of dry heat reminds me of that I’m at the edge of a desert extending south. If I walk a block north I suddenly get American cell phone coverage, reminding me how close I am to the U.S. Although this place feels very Mexican, it is also clear that I am living in a place between places, and it is going to be interesting to see how this impacts people here in Nuevo Laredo.
I just started work at the microfinance organization where I will be working for the summer — the Fundacion para la Vivienda Progresiva, or Progressive Housing Foundation. The first day is still sinking in, so I will blog about that later. Stay tuned — it will be a fascinating summer!
To see all currently fundraising loans from FVP on Kiva.org, please click here.
Working at Zene za Zene International
When I told anyone I was going to Bosnia this summer, the basic reaction I got was confusion. Everyone was supportive & excited, but definitely surprised. I was pretty surprised too. When you sign up for experiences like this, you never know where you will end up. In this case I’ve had the good fortune of ending up at Women for Women International, and wanted to take time to shed light on the both the organization & the people who do pretty amazing work here & around the world.
The war in Bosnia and Herzegovina actually led directly to the inception of Women for Women International, after the founders came here in the early 90s to volunteer with the aid process. While they quickly realized that women would be the most marginalized group in post-war Bosnia, no grass roots efforts were in place to help them recover. In 1993 Women for Women International officially launched, and has since expanded to bring direct aid to over 153,000 women survivors in warn torn countries around the world, serving today in Iraq, Sudan, Democratic Republic of the Congo, just to name a few.
Zene za Zene is one of two sites (along with Women for Women Afghanistan) to focus on microcredit services, along with the educational & job skills training programs they run to prepare disadvantaged women for the workforce. Around 60% of their clients on Kiva work in agriculture & raise livestock in the country’s small villages—in a stagnant economy it’s the only option many people have. Poverty is an issue that affects women of all ages & backgrounds. Even those who own land can have pretty meager incomes, and most lack real access to capital except through microfinance. In a little over a decade, Zene za Zene has lent over $32 million to women entrepreneurs throughout Bosnia and Herzegovina.
In my time here I work mainly with our Kiva Coordinator, who collects information from credit officers and keeps up with posting & journaling requirements. Credit officers spend most of their time finding & interviewing new borrowers, as well as visiting current clients to ensure their success. In these first 6 months of 2008, Zene za Zene has around 4,900 active clients; that number is likely to double by year’s end. As simple as it is to lend on Kiva, the mechanisms to ensure due diligence, social impact, and sustainability keep many people here very busy.
It’s funny how when you travel, there is so much anxiety about everything that will be different, you can be put at ease by the smallest things. I was immediately comforted by the familiarity of working in office again, the regular schedule, the abundance of snacks and coffee offered at all times. Working here has kept me from getting too lost—in more ways than one. It’s just reassuring to be around some of the millions of people in the world today who work diligently and patiently to help others help themselves. And it’s good to know you can find such things in places you’d never knew you’d be.
I wanted to share something about Sarajevo itself, but to keep from making this too long, I have included some pictures below of the old town near where I live, and will hopefully have more to go around in some later updates. Cheers…
Para-where? Paraguay.
When I told people I was going to spend my summer in Paraguay, I got mostly blank looks. Unlike Jessica’s panic-inducing internet search results for Nigeria, my results were mostly, well, nonexistent. After all, Paraguay doesn’t have Machu Picchu or the “most dangerous road in the world”. It doesn’t have Patagonia or the Galapagos. No Buenos Aires or Rio de Janeiro. Mostly it’s just an unknown country with a name similar to Uruguay. Paraguay? That’s the one in the middle of South America or on the coast? Reminds me of when I moved to California from New Hampshire, a small state often confused with it’s more progressive neighbor, Vermont. NH? That’s the one that’s big on the top or the bottom?
But Paraguay has a unique place in South America. As one of only two landlocked countries (Bolivia is the other), it is often referred to as the Heart of South America. It’s one of the most homogenous countries in Latin America – with most of the population ethnically mestizo (mixed Spanish and indigenous Guarani Indian descent). Most people speak a mix of Spanish and Guarani, which makes understanding the language here, for those who are auditorially challenged such as myself, something to get used to! It’s also one of the poorest countries in South America, and this is where Fundacion Paraguaya comes in.
While readers of Lonely Planet may not flock to Paraguay, anyone interested in microfinance is immediately drawn to Fundacion Paraguaya (FP). FP has an intern program for interested individuals from around the world, and this is the group I am currently living with. A dynamic group including University students and Fullbright scholars, representing multiple countries, they have come to learn about FP and microfinance in Latin America. And FP has much to teach. I have much to learn.
And so, after 30 hours of travel and 4 days on the ground, I am acclimating once again to life in the developing world. Hard work and lots of play…bustling work weeks and sleepy weekends. By far the hardest challenge so far has been the abrupt switch from summer to winter. I think I have the distinction of being the Kiva fellow located the furthest south of the equator (someone correct me if I’m wrong), and I have to admit I’m a little envious of these hot and sweaty blog entries ☺
To see all currently fundraising loans from Fundacion Paraguaya on Kiva.org, please click here.
