It was in December 2006 when I received an email from my brother inviting me to join a cool new website named Kiva.org which allowed individuals with a credit card to finance entrepreneurs in the developing world. Although I had heard of Microfinance I didn’t fully appreciate what it offered the world until I began to research Kiva.org, its field partners, and had read Muhammad Yunus’s book “Banker to the Poor”. I then realized how special the Kiva concept was and knew I had to get involved.

I am now close to the end of my 6 month Kiva Fellowship working with their Peruvian partner Manuela Ramos CrediMujer. Zig-zagging my way through the Amazon Basin, Sierras, and Coast interviewing hundreds of entrepreneurs, writing about their lives, and working side by side incredible loan officers has been one amazing experience.

But the best part about this Fellowship has been discovering that there is no Microfinance/NGO scam… the system works. The working poor are responsible financial clients, the Microfinance Institutions offer valuable, fair services, and these small loans really do change lives! Every entrepreneur I interviewed agreed their life had improved after receiving a loan. Even when an entrepreneur hadn’t experienced significant economic gains they had discovered self worth, independence, and dignity. Externalities of self worth and dignity include happier, healthier families, environments, and communities!

This trip may be close to over but I’m eager to support Kiva and the Microfinance community for years to come.

Days go by and I often forget how life in Africa can be so different than life in the States. Events from this past weekend remind me that I am going to really miss Tanzania when I leave in June.

On Saturday, I was driving to a friend’s house when I was stopped by a policeman who flagged me down from the side of the road. In Swahili, he asked for my license and then asked for me to show him that the brakes, lights, windshield wipers, etc. work. Seeing that everything worked properly, he started talking about something outside the car. Unfamiliar with these Swahili words, I got out to see that he was pointing to rust on the side of the car. He led me around the car to point out all the spots that had some rust. I replied in English (due to my limited Swahili) that it’s true, that it is an old car. He told me that the rust was “a problem” and that I would have to pay a fine of 20,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $18). Flabbergasted, I responded saying, “I’m very sorry, but I don’t do fines. Please just take me to court.” We argued about it for a few minutes. He kept saying that court was unnecessary, but I insisted that I preferred going to court. He then left with my license to deal with another driver. Returning five to ten minutes later, he asked if I was ready for the fine papers. I said no, and insisted that I just wanted the court date. Having grown up in East Africa, I know all too well of the common occurrence of “kitu kidogo” (Swahili for the polite way of asking for a bribe). At that moment, I remembered that humor was probably my best tactic. In broken Swahili, I laughed saying that receiving a court date was better for me since I would just get the owner who I borrowed the car from to show for court. He then laughed with me and finally he let me go.   

Sunday brought me more amusement. I was walking from my home to the grocery store to buy some margarine when I met an eleven-year-old girl named Mariam on the road. She struck up conversation with me since we were walking in the same direction. Although she was from my neighborhood, she looked like a typical village girl, all except for the fact that she was wearing slippers instead of walking barefoot. She had a sarong wrapped around her over a ragged, oversized dress. On her head, she carried a large, heavy plastic bucket of rice which she was taking to the mill to be processed into flour for her mother’s roadside snack business. She rejected my offer to assist her with the bucket and made her own offer to carry my umbrella.

Walking side-by-side, we used up all the Swahili I know. Going an extra half-mile out of her way, she accompanied me to the grocery store, located (ironically) at the most modern mall in Tanzania. The contrast between this girl, with the big bucket on her head, and the westernized mall around us intrigued me. After buying the margarine and some chocolate, as was her request, we then walked to complete her chore down some muddy back roads where chickens dart across the street. Somehow, at the end of the walk, I felt like we were two peas in a pod.

Making friends and laughter with strangers is an everyday experience here that I will dearly miss when I go. Life in Tanzania is lived in a sense of community in which people prefer to sit with strangers than to sit alone. I find that if I am ever alone at a roadside restaurant waiting for a friend, people who come in and see me by myself often choose to join my table although there are empty ones nearby. Not only do they want to “alleviate” me from my aloneness, these strangers courteously welcome me with a “karibu” to the food they have ordered. Life, I am ever finding out, becomes richer and more amusing when we all accept each other as peas in a pod.

The past six months have been indescribable. I’ve attempted to wrap my thoughts around them and put them to words, but the result does not compare to the experience. I’m home now, trying to find a way to live here, in this world, with the same passion that comes so naturally when given the constant inspiration and education I received from Kiva’s entrepreneurs. Here are some thoughts I scrambled together on the plane ride home, reflecting on what there is left to do and how to possibly take on the challenge:

Poor little rich girl with the luxury of picking around the slightly bruised grapes, choosing not to eat the peas and carrots accompanying the mashed potatoes. What must it be like to not think that way; to feed your child dirt to quell the pangs coming forth from their tiny helpless body? Part of me almost wishes I knew, just so I could identify with those who own this as their reality. Because I can never know, no matter how close to it I live, how many mothers I see defeated, how many sighs of helplessness I breath. Trying to understand it is like trying to understand war by watching Glory, love by reading Shakespeare. I can get lots of ideas, form my opinions, decide what I think the best solutions might be, but I can never know it. It is a part of me in an entirely different way than it is a part of them. They are teaching me. I selfishly benefit from their misfortunate birth into poverty. I can choose to learn from them, or to go elsewhere and learn from someone or something else instead. But for them, the choice is only present in the decision to get up and fight one more day.

The world is perfectly cruel and wonderful, tilted just like the earth itself to bring constant periods of light and dark. In all its unbalanced harmony, where a small percent of the population controls the vast majority of the world’s wealth, there is enough. The problem is, not for a second, resources. The problem is distribution. Distribution of food, water, education, opportunity. There is enough food on the earth for each person, all 6.6 billion of us, to eat almost 3000 calories a day. But while we fill up on free refills and seconds and thirds at the buffet, others feed their children dirt, simply to temporarily relieve the unimaginable ache that haunts every waking moment.

I don’t know who said it, but I’ve often repeated to myself the phrase ‘comfort is a vice’ over the past six months. Comfort can be wonderful and good, but the things it keeps us from doing are dangerous. Comfort keeps us from committing to the voice within us telling us to act when we see something that needs to change. Comfort encourages us to drive on, live our lives in the warmth of our home, enjoying the fruits of our labor while ignoring the barrenness of theirs. Maybe if it were our neighbor who was feeding their child dirt for every meal, maybe then we wouldn’t cling to comfort. But isn’t it our neighbor? Our mother, our brother, our friend?

There are society’s solutions to poverty–give of your money to every charity that knocks at your door, or volunteer your time until you are so exhausted you have no more time to give. Maybe if you donate both of these gifts, you won’t have to be annoyed with guilt from the wonderful burden of knowing that you do have the power to change the world. But basing your role in change on society’s validation doesn’t work. Listen to yourself. You know your truth, you know how to press your inner comfort levels, to challenge your abilities and be an agent for change. The world needs not only our money and our time; it needs our talents, our compassion, our love, our attention. If you could make a change in the world, in your country, your city, your home, what would you do?

If your brother were born without sight, would you read him stories? Share your knowledge? If your sister had no legs, would you carry her? If your daughter were mute, would you speak for her? If your son was hurt on the side of the road with no way of calling for help, and all who passed him by looked the other way, what would you feel? Would you be his voice? How would you help him find his voice so he could be the voice for another?

Instead of anger, choose resolution. Instead of hate, choose love. And instead of indifference, choose action. Choose to be moved by the quiet voice in your head that is so easily ignored. Listen to it. Instead of just talking about all the world’s problems, take the guidance from Gandhi; Be the change you wish to see in the world.

Over the past five months I have, several times, made the ignorant mistake of poking fun at the perceived idea of ‘cold’ here. Coming from Minnesota, land of ‘the nation’s ice box’, where just a couple weeks ago it hit a record low of 40 below, before wind-chill, I have a different mentality of cold than someone from a not-so-northern state, who might put on a winter jacket when the weather hits 60, when we don a t-shirt come spring when the thermometer notch reads above freezing. So, when traveling to places in Peru and now Guatemala, that are known to the locals as unbearably cold, I simply laugh and say, ‘I’m from Minnesota, I think I can handle it’.

And, of course, I can- because I have a heated room with hot water and warm blankets to go home to after the day’s work. It has taken me five months to realize this, and I feel so foolish for my delay. Choosing where to live in the ‘developed’ world, based on weather conditions, has always been a question of simple taste. Do you like snow? Do you crave the sun? Do you love the water? Do you need the openness of endless plains, or the distraction of the mountains? But not here. A few days ago a Guatemalan woman asked me about my home. She was intrigued by the weather of Minnesota, trying to picture that much snow or that amount of cold. But she had a confused look, and asked, very awe-struck, what we do for food during the winter. Because certainly, crops can’t grow like that. I had no idea how to answer that. The simple answer of ‘we drive to the grocery store just like we do in the summer’ didn’t seem to be appropriate, so I rattled something off about cows and pigs and chickens being okay in the cold. I felt my ignorance rising up inside, and made an unsuccessful attempt to explain importing food from other regions not burdened by the cold, but realized I had no real idea what I was talking about.

The cold here, when you have no heat and holes in the broken walls of your house, is lethal. Thinking about it made me cringe with sadness for the homeless in Minnesota, too. I can’t imagine. I have been cold before, truly freezing, with icicles forming on my eyelashes, but I have always done so out of free will, with the option of running back inside to the warmth and security of a heated home full of blankets, fireplaces, and hot chocolate. And here, if the cold doesn’t kill you, it kills your crops, your one hope for an income or nourishment for your family. I wonder if this fear is present for farmers in the ‘developed’ world, when I read about an early unexpected frost.

I’m slightly embarrassed it took me this long to see things a little more as they really are. I wonder what else my ignorance is keeping from me…

TANZANIA. Last week, I was given the opportunity to train BRAC Tanzania staff on Kiva in Kibiti, which is located about 150 km outside of Dar es Salaam. Riding from the noisy, congested (yet still completely lovable) city to the luscious green countryside brought refreshment to my senses.

Kibiti is a small agricultural town on the way to one of the famous game parks in Tanzania, thus making it a popular stopping point for people passing through. The center of town is the highway, and life for its residents seems to revolve around what the highway brings and takes away.

The town has no electricity, although electric lines run right through the town toward another destination. I asked someone why Kibiti wasn’t receiving any electricity from the lines, but the only answer I was given is that the government is still working on it. As a result of the lack of electricity (except for generator usage), the stars that night were indescribable.

I, along with the two BRAC staff who accompanied me, stayed that one night at the nicest guesthouse in town. A room cost 4,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $3.50). The guesthouse even had running water and a generator which I was told runs after dark for 4 hours each night. I was surprised that night when the generator remained running past the 4 hour mark. Only afterward did I realize that they had kept it running just for me, the foreigner. As soon as the light in my room went off, the generator went off. In the morning, I asked the BRAC staff if it was normal for the generator to be on so late and was told no. I felt guilty because my stay probably cost them more in generator fuel than the $3.50 it had cost for the room. Once again, because of my skin color and Tanzania’s value of gracious hospitality toward foreigners, I was given undeserved privilege.

The town had one main restaurant, where the customers pretty much have to order most items a day in advance. In the town, there were also the typical street cafes, where women sell plates of rice, beans, and stew. The BRAC staff and I sat at one of the street cafés for some after-dinner tea that night and found out that the seller had been one of BRAC’s former clients. Last year, the woman had taken a 100,000 Tsh (about $90) loan from BRAC in order to buy more cups, plates, and food stock for her business. She had been able to pay back the loan, but in the end, it hadn’t benefited her business that much because the demand for her food is so low in the town. She told us that the only way her business survives is by selling a plate of her food at 600 Tsh (about 55 cents) whereas the other places sell at 800 Tsh and above. Each night, she has her regular 12 customers– bachelors living in the town. Her daily profit is 3000 Tsh. She acknowledged that unless she upgrades her café by building a structure and providing seating, she will never be able to attract more customers. Although she has fear about whether or not she would be able to pay back another loan like the last one, she agreed that borrowing smaller loans could potentially help her business move slowly toward her dream. She seemed so happy to talk to us about her struggles and probably thankful that she had exceeded her 12 customer limit for the night. I too was thankful. Her ginger tea was delicious, and I was thankful that that night we were able to become a small part of her amazing story.

I am writing from Buffalo NY upon the completion of my three month commitment as a Kiva Fellow in Uganda.  I want to use my final post on the Kiva Fellows Blog to thank the people who made this one of the most significant and rewarding experiences of my life.

KIVA.ORG:  First, thank you Matt and Jessica Flannery for inventing Kiva.  I have great admiration for what you started, especially since you invented an entirely new model of microfinance funding.  Without your effort and creativity, Nicholas Kristof from the New York Times would not have written about a baker in Afghanistan whose business was funded by a Kiva loan funded in part by Kristof himself.  When I read that article I just knew I had to get involved.

Also, thank you Anushka Ratnayake, the head of the Kiva Fellows program.  Anushka permitted me to volunteer and to make my own unique contribution to poverty reduction.  Most people don’t know it, but Anushka, a Modern Literature major, is the guiding force behind the Kiva Fellows Blog.  As you can tell from my frequent posts, I enthusiastically took advantage of her brainchild to blog away about my experiences and observations in Uganda.  Thanks Anushka for having the foresight to create a space for all Kiva Fellows to share ideas and experiences from our remote corners of the world.

Finally, thank you Ben Elberger, my microfinance boss at Kiva.  Ben is one of the hardest working young people I have ever met.  The rumor is Ben never sleeps, and I believe it.  He always seemed to be on-line when I emailed him from half way around the world, no matter what time of day or night it was in San Francisco. 

Ben is responsible for managing Kiva’s business with the two microfinance institutions I worked for; Share an Opportunity Microfinance, Ltd, and BRAC, Uganda.  He was always interested in my input and suggestions. 

I know for sure Ben is hard working because he did his utmost to keep Kiva from running out of loans during the holidays.   Due to internet connection problems in Uganda, we were unable to post loans on the Kiva website.  Ben worked throughout his Christmas vacation to transcribe word documents and photos I e-mailed him to post about 150 group loans.  In my opinion, that was above and beyond the call of duty.  Way to go Ben!

MFI’S:  Thank you Samuel Mayanja Ssekajja (Sam) and Knondoker Ariful Islam  (Mr. Arif), my two bosses at SAO and BRAC respectively.  They gave me guidance, insight, and a plate full of work to do while I was in Uganda.  My primary motivation for volunteering as a Kiva Fellow was to learn about the business of poverty reduction.  Thanks to Sam and Mr. Arif I got everything I hoped for.  There was never a dull moment under the direction of these two natural born leaders.

I also want to thank all the employees of SAO and BRAC.  It was a joy to work beside these dedicated young people.  I took great pleasure in making my small contribution, because I knew how much they appreciated my effort.   

BORROWERS:  All the borrowers I met in the course of my activities as a Kiva Fellow made me feel like a “million dollars”.  These are some of the most genuine and sincere people I have ever known.   I found nobility and remarkable family values among the poor residents of Kampala that I have not observed elsewhere.  To Florence and Regina and all the other borrowers I met; thank you for sharing your culture and your values with me.   You made a lasting impression.

MY FAMILY:  Three months is a long time to be away from home.  I want to thank my wife of 31 years, Mary Therese, for not objecting to my somewhat unconventional idea of volunteering in Africa.  I also want to thank my daughter Molly who rearranged her semester break to visit me.  She raised my spirits at the critical two month point in my stay, just when I was beginning to get really home sick.  I also appreciated every email and blog comment I received in Uganda.  Thank you to the authors of all those messages. 

KIVA FRIENDS:  Finally, I want to say thank you to all the generous supporters who frequent the Kiva Friends website and who contributed to two women I wrote about in my Kiva Fellows blog; Florence Kaluuba of the Mirembe Youth Development Projects and Regina.  You will never know how much pleasure it gave me to distribute your money.  No matter what explanation I offered to the contrary, your gifts were always treated as if they were a gift from me.  Thank you for allowing me to serve as your proxy and to bask in the glow of so much heartfelt appreciation.

I am a different, and hopefully better, person than I was before Uganda.  I sincerely thank Kiva and everyone who had a hand in my transformation.

Kampala, Uganda    “Poverty reduction is a three legged stool balanced on income generation, savings, and education” according to Mr. Knondoker Ariful Islam, BRAC Uganda Country Manager. “Take one leg away and the stool tips over.”

While Kiva social lenders are focused on the income generating leg of poverty reduction, this discussion pertains to the education leg; specifically post-conflict education in Uganda.

Education is one of the first victims of civil conflict in Africa. This is especially true where children are targeted as potential child soldiers and forcibly removed from their families and schools by rebel armies. One such post-conflict environment is Northern Uganda where the Lord’s Resistance Army formerly battled the Uganda Army for control. The local population, consisting mostly of members of the Acholi tribe, fled to the safety of Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camps. The education system ground to a halt.

When armed conflict ends, one issue is what to do with children whose education was interrupted or not begun during the conflict. One option is to enroll the older children in the last grade they completed. This is not practical because the existing grades are completely filled with younger students. For example, in Uganda the average primary school class size is about 50 students. In Northern Uganda, where qualified teachers are in short supply, the average class size is larger. Adding a whole new layer of 10-15 year old students to Primary 1 level classes is not a workable solution.

In 2007 BRAC Uganda partnered with UNICEF to tackle this problem. BRAC is uniquely qualified to deal with post-conflict education because it traces its roots to the aftermath of the war of independence between Bangladesh and Pakistan in the 1980’s.

BRAC’s pioneering study “Non-Formal Primary Education, Learning from BRAC’s Experience” is a model for post-conflict education throughout the world. Ultimately 2.8 million students in Bangladesh who dropped out of or never started school have been educated since 1985. Subsequently, approximately 24,000 students in Afghanistan benefited from BRAC’s non-formal education program after their schooling was interrupted by war or denied by the Taliban because they are female.

Mr. Knondoker Ariful Islam (Mr. Arif, for short) has a strong background in education. He originally joined BRAC right out of college in the 1980’s as an education specialist. He came to Uganda from Afghanistan, where he headed BRAC’s education program there.

BRAC’s non-formal education program in Northern Uganda, referred to as the Out of School Program, focuses on young girls. Many of the children attending BRAC schools are formerly abducted, traumatized child mothers who became pregnant by their captors. They perceive this to be their last chance for education. BRAC school children spend 30 minutes each day story-telling, presenting local short drama, singing, dancing, drawing and other fun activities. This is considered part of the curriculum for traumatized children.

 BRAC and UNICEF share a vision of education as having multiple impacts on the student’s life. Education enhances people’s thinking ability, improves planning capacity, develops skill in managing and shaping an independent life, widens social participation, and empowers people to realize their rights. Education is a cornerstone of the United Nations Millennium Development Goals for alleviating poverty in Africa. Without these acquired skills, escaping poverty is highly unlikely.

The elements of BRAC’s “Out of School Education Program” in Northern Uganda (Kitgum and Pader Districts) are;

· Community Instructors recruited from the local population

· 10-15 year old students with no literacy or numeric skills

· Completion of Primary 1-3 grade levels in two years

· Education following the government curriculum

· Smaller class size limited to 30-35 students

· Same instructor for the entire 2 years in the same learning center

· Year round school with no vacation and class breaks no longer than 1 week

· Four hour school day with flexible starting time so students can do family chores

· Characteristic BRAC “U” shaped seating for student-to-instructor eye contact

· Monthly parents meetings at the learning centers

Instructor training is provided by BRAC education specialists. Community Instructors must have “O” level of formal education (high school) but no previous teaching experience is required. BRAC provides induction training for new instructors prior to deployment and then conducts monthly one day refresher training in which the curriculum for the next 30 days is laid out and practiced. Instructors return to their classrooms with rehearsed lesson plans and all the materials needed to execute the program for the next month.

One of the primary differences between BRAC’s non-formal education approach compared to the formal government run system is the absence of a pass/fail year end test for advancement. Community Instructors in the BRAC program are trained to conduct frequent assessments of students and are responsible for re-teaching students who fail to grasp the subjects. Mr. Arif reports that this results in relatively uniform student performance across the entire class.

Students in the non-formal program attend class in learning centers located in rented buildings separate from the government schools. Instructors live in the same village or IDP camp as the students. BRAC Education Program supervisors are distributed uniformly throughout the area, so they can frequently observe instructors at work in the classroom. Monthly training is conducted at the supervisors’ location which is no more than several hours travel from the most distant learning center. Supervisors are provided motorbikes to travel on the unpaved, unimproved roads.

The results of BRAC’s non-formal education program in Northern Uganda since its inception in June 2007 are;

· 122 Learning Centers

· 3,973 students

· 764 boys (19%)

· 3,209 girls (81%)

The preponderance of female students and female community instructors in the Out of School Program reflects BRAC’s goal of “empowering the powerless”.

Upon completion in June of 2009 these students will either be mainstreamed into grade P-4 in the public school system or, in the case of the older children, be given an opportunity for job skills training through BRAC’s Adolescent Program.

In summary, civil conflict is a significant generator of poverty in Uganda as well as other African countries such as Sudan, Somalia, Liberia, Sierra Leone, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. BRACs non-formal Out of School Program is an organized effort to reduce post-conflict illiteracy and rescue young victims from a life of poverty on the bottom rung of society.

I am finding myself in situations here that require much moral thought, and I can’t seem to come up with the right answer, no matter which choice I make. There are children everywhere, all of them somehow under the age of twelve, and all of them working the same trade, selling bracelets, scarves, and little souvenirs on the streets, sharing their stories of sadness and begging for your business. I don’t know what to do with them. Long ago I couldn’t have seen anything but goodness in giving to a child- believing that my money and my food will help them out of their poverty. Now, I see things differently (although not entirely).

I have mixed feelings about buying from children in the street. On one hand, they are offering me something in exchange for my money, so they are working for it, it’s not a handout. On the other hand, they are working for it. They are so young, should they be spending their time working all day? And if I buy from them, does it just affirm to their parents that yes, they should be working all day? My heart tells me to never turn away a child, but my mind goes through the whole process, and sees a parent who has the option to put their child in school, or on the streets working. And when the child comes home from work with money, which option will the parent choose? But then six-year-old Tomás comes up begging, dirt in his eyes, no shoes, and pleading for me to buy a doll from him, he hasn’t eaten all day and he needs to buy a tortilla, please. What can you do? I had met Tomás earlier in the day as I sat down to read. I told him no, thank you, I didn’t want to buy a doll. This time he found me as I waited for my dinner. Sometimes I’ve seen kids laughing in the streets, and as they see me coming, they immediately stop laughing and turn on the sad face, as if it’s a Pavlovian instinct triggered by a gringo. But Tomás, his tears appeared genuine, the desperation in his voice real. There was a family next to me, and they had a small dog who was clearly loved. They were having a pleasant family night, eating pizza, drinking Cokes, laughing at stories and playing with their dog. Tomás approached them, necklaces draped over his arm, dolls in hand, asking five Quetzales for both (about 75 cents). They politely said no, and continued on with their night. He persisted, lowering his price, showing them the necklaces, telling them his story. They again said no, not unexpectedly. Finally, Tomás asked if he could have some food, as he was so hungry and they had plenty of leftovers. They said no, and eventually he gave up and moved on to me. As I was talking with Tomás, his eyes looking as if they were about to spill over, this family’s dog was barking, sitting on his hind legs, and being fed pizza for each trick he performed. It broke my heart to have to watch Tomás witness this, I can’t imagine what he made of it—people would rather feed their food to a dog than take away his hunger.

I don’t intend to judge this family, they have their reasons, and the situation runs deeper than I can imagine. It just struck me, and made me wonder.

I had an encounter the night before that made me start thinking about this subject. I was, again, sitting down to dinner in a little café on the main street of Panajachel. I had just gotten an iced tea and was writing in my journal, and a little girl approached me, basket upon her head, another one in her arms, begging me in her sad voice to please buy a bracelet, she hadn’t made a sale and couldn’t go home until she made some money. I said no, sorry, they’re beautiful but I’m not going to buy any. She persisted, lowering her prices, showing me everything she had to offer. I looked up this time, and said no thank you, not tonight. She didn’t seem fazed; rather she sat down, and asked what I was doing. I told her I was writing, and asked if she liked to write. She said she did very much, but even more she liked to draw. We talked for a few minutes, she had several questions; she wanted to know how I could write so many words, and what tea tasted like when it was cold. After a bit she got the courage to ask if she could draw in my book. I said of course, and her eyes turned huge with excitement. She took my pen, opened to the first blank page, and began to draw a picture of the Lake Atitlan, with a smiling sun rising over the mountains (the sun was happy because it was morning). She drew pictures of her house and her family, flowers and hearts and birds. I asked her if she could write her name, to which she answered, of course! She then wrote down a little poem, and signed it ‘Para Maren, De Maria Guadalupe’. Clearly, this eleven-year-old was being educated. At this point I decided it was okay if I bought a bracelet from her. Figuring she’d leave after she had my business, she instead continued to draw, talking away, hardly even noticing the money in front of her. A friend of hers approached, basket in hand, and upon seeing us drawing, dropped her basket and pulled up a chair. She wanted to draw, too, and after a minute we were playing games—one person begins a drawing, the next has to add to it, and the next finishes it, ultimately deciding what the object will be. Somewhere in here, my pizza arrived, and I felt quite guilty and a little rude eating in front of these girls. They weren’t about to ask for any, but you could see hunger in them. I didn’t know if it was okay or not, but I shared the pizza and hoped for the best. I felt as if I were sitting down to lunch with friends- they were so grown up, and had so many questions. They both go to school regularly- Maria Guadalupe wants to be a teacher (and when she heard that’s what I had studied, I was amazed at the questions she had for me), and Veronica wants to be a tour guide because she loves to travel.

The girls drew and played games and recited poems for close to an hour, part of me feeling guilty for keeping them from work, the other part kicking myself for feeling guilty. They so eagerly abandoned their work, and transitioned so naturally into being kids. I fought with this, wondering if it’s okay for them to work, or if it’s okay because it’s not taking them away from their education, but wondering if it will eventually keep them from studying, when their parents see they’ve brought home so much money… The two girls decided to show me how they make the bracelets, and did so so quickly and skillfully. I thought they would try and sell me these new bracelets, but instead they tied them on my wrist as gifts. I almost lost it. I think I wished I could adopt them more than I wish for a puppy.

I have no decided point to this story, simply meanderings about what to do in situations like these. Does giving to children encourage their parents to put them on the street? Is it okay for kids to work if they’re still getting an education? Should we buy from kids even if it does encourage child labor- for how will they eat if we don’t? What’s more important, that the child eats or that we make a point? If you have any thoughts or ideas on the subject, I’d love to hear them…

Kampala, Uganda    A loan funded by Kiva social lenders benefits the Microfinance Institution (MFI), the lender, as well as the poor borrower.   The MFI potentially earns gross profit from the loan to sustain its business and, in the case of a MFI structured as a for-profit company, to generate a financial return for the owners.

Where the MFI is a not-for-profit venture, surplus interest income may be invested in non-financial programs which generate expenses but little or no revenue.

One such non-financial poverty program is the BRAC Adolescent Program.  Although this start-up program is initially being funded by a grant from the Nike Foundation, it is expected that the rapidly growing BRAC Uganda Microfinance Program will generate enough profit to sustain an expanding Adolescent Program when Nike’s funding ends in three years.

The purpose of this post is to describe the BRAC Adolescent Program and demonstrate how integrated approaches to poverty reduction give Kiva social lenders a double bang for their loan dollar.

Background:  Uganda has one of the highest birth rates in the world. 

Afghanistan 46.21 births/1,000 population (2007 est.)

Mali 49.61 births/1,000 population (2007 est.)

Sierra Leone 45.41 births/1,000 population (2007 est.)

Somalia 44.6 births/1,000 population (2007 est.)

Uganda 48.12 births/1,000 population (2007 est.)

United States 14.16 births/1,000 population (2007 est.)

When you walk the streets of Kampala it sometimes seems as if everyone in this country is a teenager.  In the villages, schools are overflowing with uniformed young students packed 50 or more to a classroom.

In Ugandan society women still have fewer advantages than men and, as mothers, they bear a disproportionate burden of poverty.  These two factors; high birth rate and female inequality point to adolescent girls as a growing risk group in society.

Any parent knows that adolescence difficulties are not limited to girls in poor countries.  We all face them, first as a young person ourselves, and then again if we are parents.  The critical nature of adolescents in the developing world is that they are a disproportionate share of the population and these young people represent the future, and best hope, of their countries.

Girls are the starting point for BRAC for several reasons.  First, money is limited and you have to begin somewhere.  BRAC opted for a female only approach but ultimately expects to design programs for male adolescents in the future.

Secondly, young boys have significantly more socializing opportunities through sports.  For example, Uganda is a soccer (football) crazy country.  Wherever there is a flat piece of ground you will find a group of boys kicking some sort of a round object toward an improvised goal.  In three months in this country, I have not seen a single girl playing soccer or any other sport.  Unlike the US, where the government mandates equal access to school sports, girls in Uganda are largely denied the socializing benefits of sports.

Thirdly, BRAC found through household surveys that girls often have limited access to reading material.  The daily newspaper is a good example.  Typically the father brings it home from work and reads it first.  Two hours later when he is finished, the mother reads it.  Then the sons, if they are interested, get a crack at it.  Finally, the daughters, if it is not already past their bed time, have a chance to read the paper.  A cornerstone of BRAC’s Adolescent Program is to make quality reading material available to girls.

Finally, age 13 is a common school drop-out point for young girls.  Few have basic literacy skills at that grade level.  BRAC’s household surveys show that many return home after dropping out and do nothing.  With limited literacy, little earning potential, no job skills, no money to invest, and a lack of parental confidence in them, these girls are positioned to be non-starters in society.  Without intervention they represent part of the problem of poverty rather than part of the solution.  A myriad of bad outcomes await them.

The Idea:  BRAC’s Adolescent Program is designed to empower girls between ages 13-19 from poor households for;

·         Knowledge

·         Skill

·         Income earning ability 

How It Works:  At the heart of the Adolescent Program is the Adolescent Club.  This is a group of up to forty young women from age 13-19 who meet every Saturday and Sunday at the same location with a peer mentor.  School drop-outs have preference.  During the program roll-out, each of ten participating BRAC microfinance branches will be assigned one full time paid project staff member to establish and supervise ten Adolescent Clubs.  The staff member will also conduct periodic parent meetings and develop programs to foster community support and involvement. 

At club meetings the girls will have access to sports of their choice such as basketball or net ball.  The objective is socialization and peer group formation.  They will also have access to quality reading material, in English, pertaining to life skills.  If a girl cannot read, other club members will assist her.  The point will be to gain knowledge, improve reading and writing skills, develop a reading habit, and move in the direction of a knowledge based society. 

The weekly meeting content will evolve over time to include life skills training like hygiene and a host of female topics such as reproductive health, pregnancy, child care, disease prevention, and when and how to say “no”. 

The girls who are not in school will also have access to work skills training such as tailoring, livestock rearing, hairdressing, and other trades. 

Finally, as they approach age 19, the girls will be introduced to microfinance and offered an opportunity to form borrowing groups with fellow graduating club members to establish small businesses. 

Benefits:   While microfinance focuses on poverty reduction today, the BRAC Adolescent Program is a coordinated attempt to prevent poverty in the future.  Everyone benefits from the effort. 

Young girl drop-outs benefit the most by being given a second chance.  All the girls benefit from socializing opportunities not otherwise available to them in Ugandan society.  A host of positive outcomes is expected from the peer relationships forged at the Adolescent Clubs;

·         Reduced teenage pregnancy

·         Reduced sexually transmitted disease

·         Improved literacy, life skills and job skills

·         Fewer unwed mothers

·         Fewer forced marriages for financial reasons

·         A more confident and better prepared group of young females for their families, their communities and their country 

BRAC benefits by reinvesting proceeds from microfinance to achieve its vision of “just, enlightened, healthy and democratic societies free from hunger, poverty, environmental degradation and all forms of exploitation based on age, sex, religion and ethnicity”. 

Kiva social lenders benefit from loans with a “double bottom line” that help pay for integrated poverty programs beyond the initial peer-to-peer business loan. 

And it all begins with a simple $25 loan on Kiva.org.      

I’ve found myself lately in a state of peace I can’t seem to explain nor justify. But peace is much preferred to chaos, and I’ll take it, no questions asked. For the first three months of my fellowship I was based in Lima, traveling from there to the different branch offices around the country. While amazing to experience the intense variety of Peru, it can be unsettling to be in a constant state of movement- just as you get used to a place, you have to leave, wondering what you could have accomplished with a bit more time, what relationships you could have formed. So, with much eagerness and gratitude, I spent my last month in Peru in the amazing city I’d fallen in love with in December, Ayacucho. For the first time since I had landed in Peru, I was able to not only unpack my bags, but actually put my things in a closet, on hangers, in drawers! The excitement was too much! But Ayacucho proved to be much more than a place to simply ‘hang my hat’. It became my temporary home, complete with friends and family.

I was lucky enough to have my month in Ayacucho correspond with the country’s massive festival of Carnaval. I believe Carnaval is celebrated a bit differently in each city throughout the world, and here, in Ayacucho, they celebrate with water. Each day in the weeks leading up to this great celebration presented a challenge. The children nearby the house where I lived had a scope narrowed in on the gringos, and thought the best way to pass their summer vacation was to hide behind whatever door, wall, or car they could find, and spring an attack of water balloons whatever chance we gave them. And so it turned into a covert operation, constantly on the lookout for little hands clenching all too maliciously to purple and green balloons, ready to pounce. And then one would hit, and by the time you could shake off the shock and turn around, all that was left was joyful squeals, relishing in their triumph. Something had to be done. So dinosaur water guns were purchased for 50 cents. Although cute, they were not enough. And so, the right of passage to becoming a true Ayacuchano took place. Water balloons, and lots of them. And so it became, fully armed at all times before venturing into the dangerous streets, true participants in Carnaval.

It continued like this with no relief, being drenched became the norm. I became very good at repeating to myself ‘it’s just water, it will dry’. And then arrived the true Carnaval. No longer innocent water balloons, but buckets full, followed by baby powder and an insane amount of spray foam. And, to the unlucky, paint and oil. I could no longer reassure myself with ‘it’s just water, it will dry’. But somehow, even the paint was welcomed. Seldom have I laughed so hard, or seen so much pure happiness in every direction.

I had the great privilege to be a part of Finca’s ‘comparsa’, singing and dancing in traditional dress for six hours through the streets of Ayacucho in one of many Carnaval parades. Desperately trying to learn the Quechua (native language) songs, and proudly belting it out whenever the Spanish lines came along, we twirled through the streets, with spray foam and baby powder in hand, ready to engage in war with the thousands of awaiting spectators. It was fantastic.

The staff at Finca amaze me. I feel so honored to have been a part of something so important to them, and so sad to have to leave them so soon. The work they are doing has an incredible impact. Every socia I got to talk to willingly conveyed their immense gratitude for the loan officers and staff of Finca, that more than money, Finca gives them hope and teaches them how to live as strong and loving women. Skeptics ask if microfinance really works. I have not a single doubt. And it is so much more than finance. It is life.

I had to say goodbye to Finca last week, and they gave me a going-away party I’ll never forget, one that touched my heart and deepened my understanding of what the thousands of socias see. After my short visit to Ayacucho in December, I wrote a blog about the city, post terrorism. One of the things that struck me most was how, in a city that had been destroyed by evil less than two decades ago, there was no indicator that the town had ever been anything other than peaceful. Finca has been an alive presence for fifteen years now, and I have to believe that they are a strong factor in the community’s ability to rebuild and thrive. I can’t wait to see what they accomplish in the next fifteen years.

I was so sad to leave my temporary home and move once again to a new and strange place. But Guatemala has a story of its own, and a people who love it like Finca loves Ayacucho. And slowly, I’m seeing the beauty in this, and finding the courage to uncover the miracles that Friendship Bridge creates every day.

A few years ago I was told a story of how to tell a first, second, and third time missionary. If you are drinking a glass of lemonade, and a fly lands in it, a first time missionary will ask for a new glass of lemonade. A second-timer will simply remove the fly, but continue to drink the lemonade. And a third-timer will look at the fly, and without interruption, drink the lemonade, fly and all, giving thanks for the extra nutrition! Last week I left Peru and moved on to Guatemala to begin my fifth month as a Kiva Fellow. Sitting down to a delicious lunch of tortillas, chicken, and rice, I reached for my glass to take a much-needed drink. After the first sip, I looked in the glass and noticed several dozen tiny ants floating on top of the could-be-so-refreshing pink beverage. I pondered for a moment, having already swallowed that first sip, and set the glass down, reflecting on this story I had once been told. I wasn’t about to ask for a new glass, as the others seated around me seemed to have the same added ‘nutrition’ in their glasses, so I figured it must be standard around here. I thought of scooping them out, but it wasn’t just a single fly, there were dozens of these little creatures, and I didn’t want to be rude. So… I acknowledged that I’d already surely downed a few of them in my first sip, and had noticed nothing– so far I was still alive and well… what harm could the rest of them do?! It would just be like eating cow-stomach soup in Peru—just close your eyes and hold on to the fact that it’s not going to kill you. And after all that hot salsa, I was just so thirsty! So, what could be done? I picked up my glass, and brought it to my lips, and began to drink my ant-seasoned lemonade. As I did this, by the grace of something almighty, my hostess got up and left the table, leaving me with the only other gringa around. I took the opportunity to inquire about the ants, (she’s lived here for some time and would know if it was normal) and to my great relief, it’s not normal, and she swiped the glass away and said ‘don’t drink that!’, and my taste buds breathed sighs of gratitude. A few minutes later all pink beverages were off the table, with fresh cups of ant-free coffee in their place. While I was quite relieved to not have to ingest more ants than necessary, I couldn’t help but smile with a small amount of pride that I’m now okay with doing so if the situation requires!

Kampala, Uganda. On Saturday, January 26, 2008 I had the honor and pleasure of presenting a check in the amount of $7,389,750 Uganda Shillings (US $4,430) from Kiva Friends to Florence Kaluuba and the Mirembe Youth Development Projects.

Several weeks ago Jill informed me that Kiva Friends had collected over $4,000. I withheld the information from Florence in belief that it was just too good to be true; and since I didn’t have the cash in hand, I didn’t want to risk disappointing her.

It was quite a scene at the Mirembe School as we arrived at 10 am on Saturday. Florence arranged for a number of students and alumni to be there, so the little 4 room school building was packed with young women and their small children. There were also samples of the crafts and teaching materials Florence’s staff teaches the girls to make and use in their jobs as nursery school teachers.

I came to Florence’s school with Stuart Tamale, Florence’s credit Officer from Share an Opportunity Microfinance Ltd, whose original loan to Florence of $1,200 was used to purchase a desk top computer and printer. SAO is a MFI partner of Kiva.org, so Florence’s loan was funded by Kiva social lenders.

I was also accompanied by my daughter Molly Kinder who is a graduate student at the Kennedy School at Harvard, completing her final semester of a Masters degree in International Development (MPA/ID). Molly stopped to visit me in Uganda on her return to Boston from a two week assignment in Liberia working for the Ministry of Finance on their Poverty Reduction Plan.

It was a proud moment for me as my daughter witnessed the check presentation ceremony and met Florence in person. Of course Florence, the consummate teacher, recognized the value of a 28 year old role model for her girls so Molly’s visit was heavily promoted in advance. The young women flocked to the tall red headed American like a visiting rock star.

When we went into Florence’s small office to present the Bank Check, I told her the amount was a little larger than we expected. She didn’t react visibly as she read the check. It seems Florence uses reading glasses, which were not being worn in front of our cameras. Once she put her glasses on, she acted quite surprised and pleased by the large donation. She said she would have to send Jill a new expanded list of items to purchase with the donation.

The actual donation, as reported to me by email, was $4,430. The amount that arrived in my checking account was 7,389,750 Uganda shillings. Dividing the two amounts yields an exchange rate of 1,668 shillings to the dollar, which is pretty much half way between the posted foreign exchange rate at Metropolitan Forex Bureau of 1,650 shillings to the dollar for a funds transfer and 1,690 shillings/dollar for US $100 dollar bills. I am satisfied Barclay’s Bank treated us fairly.

On this visit I was reminded of something about the Mirembe School I failed to emphasize in my original blog. Florence’s “Founders Class” of young women had 16 graduates. Many of those young women went on to teach and then eventually establish their own nursery schools with an average enrollment of about 60 children. Subsequent graduating classes totaling about 500 graduates have followed the same pattern.

My blog talked about Florence’s amazing determination to salvage the lives of her students and enable them to be productive members of society and excellent mothers. I missed the multiplier effect her graduates are having on the next generation of young Ugandans. That information made me feel even better about the support the Kiva Friends have given her.

Afterwards, as Molly and I reviewed the day’s events, I told her no vacation has ever given me greater pleasure than the simple act of presenting the Kiva Friends check to Florence and her girls. I am very thankful to Kiva Friends for that opportunity.

Nabwire Carolyn, Manager of BRAC Uganda’s Kalerwe Branch, awakens at 5:30 each work day.  A devoutly religious person, she spends the first half hour of each day in prayer.  Next she prepares her two children for the day.   Joshua, age 4, attends pre-school and Ester, age 2, goes to day care.  Carolyn prepares breakfast for the children and her husband, Joseph, who is a computer programmer and web designer.  At 6:30 Joseph departs in the family car to drop the children off at school on his way to work.

Carolyn walks to the Kalerwe Branch.  BRAC requires branch managers and credit officers to live within the boundaries of their branch.  Given the overburdened and unreliable public transportation system in Kampala, and the fact that the BRAC work day begins precisely at 7:00 am, this is a wise policy.

On this day, Carolyn was met at the branch office by five credit officers and Mr. Emma, the branch support staff.  Olive, Demali, Annette and Jackie are micro-finance C.O.’s.  Ms. Raymond is a newly hired credit officer assigned to launch an individual loan program at the branch.

The Kalerwe branch recently celebrated its one year anniversary.  Carolyn, Annette, and Jackie have been there since the first day. 

Carolyn related to me the difficulty of opening a new microfinance branch in Kalerwe.  There are about ten different microfinance institutions operating within her branch boundaries, which extend out about a three mile radius from the branch office.

BRAC follows the same procedure whenever a new branch is opened.  The first step is to conduct a survey of every household in the area.   Carolyn and her credit officers expanded concentrically from the office in ¼ mile increments, not missing a single residence.

The BRAC survey asks basic questions of residents to determine their relative wealth compared to their neighbors.  

At the end of the day, Carolyn took her survey results to the LC1, the local elected official who oversees most activity in the area.  The two of them went through the surveys and the LC1 used a red pen to check off the lowest 50% of residents in terms of wealth and income.   Anyone with an existing loan from another Microfinance Institution was eliminated from consideration.

The households with the red checkmarks were BRAC’s initial target customers.  Carolyn and her staff went back to those homes to invite the female head of household to an informational meeting.  Their initial greetings were not always positive.  Many MFI’s have operated in this area, promising much and delivering little.  The BRAC staff was able to overcome much of that distrust and skepticism at the informational meetings.

Groups were formed consisting of four to five subgroups of five members each.  The sub-group members were friends and neighbors who were required to guarantee each other’s loan repayment.

When I asked Carolyn about her best day as a BRAC Manager, she said it was the day she disbursed her first loan, just six weeks after opening the branch.

After one year, the Kalerwe branch is nearing full capacity.  The maximum number of members served by a BRAC branch with 4 microfinance credit officers, assuming a maximum of 30 members per group and three group meetings a day for 5 days, is 1,800 members.   The current membership roll at Kalerwe stands at approximately 1,400.

When I asked Carolyn about her worst day at work, she told me about the time it flooded and she had to slog through mud and flood water to reach her group meeting, only to stand on a table once she arrived.

The part of the job Carolyn enjoys the most is attending group meetings.  Like snowflakes, no two meetings are the exactly the same.  She finds them interesting and usually amusing.  If she is having a bad day, she says she forgets her troubles at a group meeting.

Carolyn believes in BRAC.  When I asked her what makes BRAC different from the other Microfinance Institutions operating in her territory, she replied;

1.        BRAC’s interest rate is lower.

2.       They do not ask for collateral.

3.       They keep overhead down to about 10%, loaning the remaining 90% to poor borrowers.

4.       They do not make members feel inferior.  Members interact freely with a respectful staff.

5.       The objective is poverty reduction and empowering women, not profit.

6.       They loan money to poor women who have been denied credit by other MFI’s.

7.       At meetings all members sit on the ground on mats in a horseshoe or circular pattern, which she believes is unique and indicative of BRAC’s spirit of equality and group dynamics.

 One of Carolyn’s primary duties is to prevent loan fraud.  Every afternoon and between morning meetings, she personally interviews loan applicants at home and at their place of business.   On the home visit, Carolyn listens for comments from neighbors and assesses the applicant’s living conditions.  She confirms the size of the family and the marital status of the applicant.  Not only is she there to approve or deny the loan, she also has to determine an appropriate loan amount.  Loaning too much money places an unnecessary strain on the borrower and creates a temptation to use excess money for personal purposes.

At the applicant’s place of business, Carolyn fills out a loan appraisal form as she critically examines the business.  She asks questions, examines inventory, and tests equipment to confirm it operates.

Another valuable source of information is feedback from the members of the borrowing group, especially her sub-group of four loan guarantors.  Although these women might be reluctant to speak publically against a loan application, they often approach Carolyn or her Credit Officers in private with their concerns.

Finally, the applicant’s credit officer conducts a separate but identical loan assessment.

After conferring with her C.O., Carolyn signs a loan approval which is sent to her Area Manager and Country Office for review.  In one year and approximately 1,400 loans, the Kalerwe branch has not had a single uncollected loan.

Another of Carolyn’s major responsibilities is to train and develop her credit officers.  Most BRAC employees are green; joining the company with no previous microfinance experience.  Carolyn is proud that several of her C.O.’s have been promoted since the branch opened.

Carolyn attends three group meetings each morning.  Her role is to observe and double check the C.O.’s work.  She randomly samples five pass books against the computerized collection sheet to confirm the C.O’s entries.  She also evaluates the C.O.’s conduct of the meeting, including promptness, attendance, and meeting content.

Recently, BRAC Uganda partnered with Kiva.org to raise 0% interest funds for BRAC.  The Kiva model is based on “peer to peer” lending from individuals in developed countries to poor borrowers in developing countries.  The model requires a digital picture of the borrower as well as a written profile of the borrower and the business purpose of the loan.

Branch Managers have responsibility for collecting this information.  Carolyn has quickly become an expert using a digital camera at group meetings.

 The manager and C.O.’s arrive back at the branch at about noon.  They spend the next hour counting and reconciling loan repayments from the morning meetings against the computerized collection sheets.

At 1:00 pm disbursements begin.  All members whose loans have been approved are scheduled for a loan disbursement appointment.  The women are called into the office one at a time from a waiting room.  After the member signs loan documents, Carolyn confirms her identity, signs the documents releasing the money, and records the loan in the member’s pass book.  The credit officers then disburse the loan amount from funds collected that day.

After lunch, Carolyn typically conducts loan due diligence, visiting homes and businesses of prospective borrowers.

The BRAC business day ends at 4 pm.  Before leaving the branch Carolyn must enter all collections and disbursements into BRAC’s proprietary RADAR program on the office computer.  Next, she prints computerized collection sheets for the group meetings scheduled the following day.  Once that task is complete, she returns home to her family, fully prepared for a fast start at 7:00 am the next day.

How does a 48 year old widow in Uganda with no job, no savings, very little education, and no business training provide for eleven orphans, ranging in age from 9 to 17?

One answer is to take out a US $180 micro-loan from BRAC Uganda and work very hard to establish and operate two successful small businesses.

The story of how Bayiyana Regina came to be the sole supporter of eleven orphans is both a tragic commentary on life and death in Uganda and an inspirational tale of sacrifice and perseverance in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Regina and her husband had eleven children. They lived a modest but relatively secure life based on his salary as a primary school teacher. Then in 1987 her husband developed a “headache that lasted three days, and he died”, according to Regina. She was left with no savings, no pension and only a small, one room mud brick home located in a swampy flood plain in Bwaise, Uganda, a northern suburb of Kampala, the capital city.

Since then, seven of her eleven children have died; two from AIDS and the remaining five “fell sick” from unspecified illnesses. Of the surviving children, one is “missing”, two are “just around”, and one is a student at Makerere University, Uganda’s leading university.

The eleven orphans in Regina’s care are all family members. Some are her grandchildren, where both parents died of AIDS, and some are the orphaned grandchildren of her deceased brother. She looks after seven boys and four girls.

When I asked Regina about the worst day in her life, she paused and replied it was the day her brother went off to work and never returned. He died on the job. Regina counted on her brother. He lived nearby in a small, half-finished two room home. He and Regina relied on each other for mutual support. The day he died, Regina knew she would provide for his orphans as well as her own.

Regina’s greatest hope in life is that her son will graduate from university and get a good paying job to help support the children. Until then, she works extra long hours to contribute to his tuition. When school is not in session he returns home to work hard like his mother, performing casual labor such as delivering water and doing other peoples’ laundry.

Regina is a very serious person. As I interviewed her following her weekly BRAC group meeting she seldom smiled and never laughed. When I asked her what she does for enjoyment, she replied she “sleeps”.

All this changed as we walked down the soggy lane approaching her modest house. Her orphans ran to be at her side. The first to arrive was Marvin, a young boy who was injured in a fire. He has burns on his arms and legs and about half of his left foot is missing. None of that seems to bother Marvin. He wore a constant smile on his face and he was the first to reach his grandmother. She handed him her bag, which he proudly carried for her. I sensed Marvin occupies a special place in Regina’s heart.

As the children grouped around us, Regina’s stoic composure softened. She smiled and hugged her orphans. They obviously worship her and she relishes their company and devotion.

Regina’s microfinance group was formed less than a year ago. It consists of five sub-groups containing five members each. At their first meeting, the 25 group members elected Regina as their group leader for a two year term.

Regina’s primary business is selling roasted chicken. She buys live chickens during the day, kills and cleans them, and then roasts the birds in a charcoal fueled oven and sells them on the covered sidewalk in the commercial center of Bwaise. She starts selling roasted chicken at about 6 pm. Her first customers are commuters returning home from work. Her next customers are revelers leaving bars in the area. Regina stays on the job until the last roasted chicken is sold, sometime well after midnight.

She shops hard during the day to locate plump birds, paying between 4,000-4,500 shillings each. After roasting and cutting the chickens into pieces, she is able to sell one chicken for 5,900 shillings. She sells six chickens a day Monday-Thursday and seven chickens each day on Friday-Sunday. Her average weekly gross profit from selling roasted chickens is 75,000 shillings, before subtracting fixed costs such as charcoal fuel. This is approximately US $45.50 per week.

One of the threats to Regina’s business is not being able to obtain a reliable daily supply of live chickens. At certain times of the year, especially around holidays, chickens are in short supply.

To even out her cash flow and to guarantee a minimum income, Regina opened a second business of selling fresh water from a water company tap located on her property. She borrowed 300,000 shillings (about US $ 180) from BRAC. With the proceeds of her loan she was able to have the water tap installed as well as replenish working capital in her chicken roasting business. Regina estimates she generates 6,000-10,000 shillings ($3.60-$6.00) profit per week selling clean water to neighbors who do not have a water tap.

The profit from her water business is small but very important. With responsibility for feeding and caring for eleven orphans, earning cash money every day is essential. If the chicken roasting business fails to meet her family needs, she can count on cash income from the water tap.

The daily diet in Regina’s home consists primarily of starches such as posho (made from corn flour), matoke (banana based), potatoes, and cassava. The children wear second hand clothing purchased at Kampala’s sprawling St. Balikuddembe market for 2,000 to 5,000 shillings ($1.20-$3.00).

Some of the orphans sleep with Regina in her one room house. The balance sleep in one room of her brother’s former home, under the supervision of Stephen, an extremely polite teenage grandson who is Regina’s “right hand man” in the family.

Regina’s greatest challenge is paying school fees for the children. Uganda has universal primary education which theoretically provides free schooling for children from Primary 1 through Primary 7 grades. It doesn’t really work out that way. First, additional fees such as uniform fees, book fees, and teacher’s transportation fees are often imposed at public schools. Second, public primary schools are not always available. In Regina’s parish there is only one public primary school and 10 private schools. Finally, the quality of public school education is widely perceived to be sub-standard. The majority of students in the Kampala area attend private schools.

One private school a short distance from Regina’s home charges about 25,000 shillings ($15) per term for a primary level student. Tuition is higher for secondary grades. There are three terms per year.

With a monthly family income of only about $65, it is easy to see how school fees take a large percentage of her household budget.

Regina is a determined woman. She has never been late on a weekly loan payment. She spoke to her credit officer and branch manager about taking out a larger loan when the first loan is paid off. With the additional capital she could raise up a small portion of her swampy land to build a poultry house. Rearing her own chickens will improve profitability by lowering her cost of goods as well as insuring a supply of birds year round.

She has also considered borrowing money to finish the second room of her brother’s house and renting it out. She figures the rental income will repay the loan and eventually contribute to family income.

When I asked Regina what would happen to the children if she was not there, she looked at me through sad eyes and said they would be on the street.

As I bid good bye, I was filled with profound respect and admiration for this saintly grandmother. Impulsively, I bent down to kiss her on the cheek. The children howled in delight and shock at the sight of a tall blond stranger kissing their grandmother in public.

The meaning of my kiss was to let her know that she is not alone. She has the respect of her grandchildren, her neighbors, her peers in the BRAC group, her BRAC credit officer, her BRAC branch manager, the social lenders at Kiva.org who supply funds to BRAC, and at least one American businessman who stands in awe of her unselfish determination.

It would seem that time with Kiva is flying by when I think about my remaining 4½ months left here in East Africa. Almost 4 down, almost 4 more to go. I have been receiving updates from friends in Chicago about their frigid weather and feel grateful even for Tanzania’s thick humidity. I prefer sweating to shivering any day. The bright red flowers on the trees are so beautiful here, and passing by moneys playing by the side of the road on my way to work makes me smile.

I am now helping out at two MFIs– Tujijenge Tanzania and BRAC Tanzania, which have distinct and contrasting personalities when it comes to operation. BRAC, where I’ve been working part-time for the last month, is the largest NGO in the world– I am told. BRAC originated in Bangladesh, and although it only came to Tanzania in 2006, it already has 40+ branch offices around the country. While there are 14 branch offices in Dar es Salaam alone, my work mostly consists of posting business profiles on the internet and occasionally training branch managers on the interviewing process. Besides learning about the extensive work of this well-established NGO, my favorite thing about BRAC is being able to practice the Bengali I had learned in 2006 while living for 6 months in Kolkata, India.

Tujijenge, on the other hand, is small, and for this reason, feels personal (for an institution that is). The first few months of working there, I enjoyed talking with the clients and interviewing them for the Kiva business profiles. Also, the Tujijenge staff are so wonderful and have allowed me a glimpse of the beauty of Tanzanian culture.

One thing that comes to mind was the discovery of what went into their weekly newsletters regarding my presence as a westerner at their office. Over the past 2-3 months, I’ve become friends with the marketing staff person, Ann, who writes the weekly newsletters. Not long ago, I caught her laughing at something she was reading on her laptop and asked what was so funny. In response, she asked me if I had read the last October newsletter written the week I had just begun working at their office. Since the newsletters are mostly in Swahili, and thus the answer was obvious, she proceeded to tell me what she had written. Apparently it had been a difficult week for the head accountant, Mariam, whose office I had been using to do my work (since then, I have moved to Ann’s office due to internet access). During this first week with Tujijenge, there was also another non-Swahili speaker named Sam in Mariam’s office, who had been brought from Uganda to work on the computer software. As a result, the newsletter went something like this:

Staff member Kiloko: ‘Mariam, why are you looking so ill this week?’

Head accountant: ‘I have been taking Panadol everyday this week (Panadol is one of Tanzania’s leading Tylenol’s) . I turn to one side and say, “Yes, Sam, the computer is…” and I turn to the other and say “Hello, Dana, how are…?”’

Completely confused about why this was funny, I probed Ann with questions. I finally came to understand that taking Panadol is a joke among Swahili-speakers for when they are required to speak English and don’t feel comfortable doing so.

The interesting thing I’ve found here in Dar es Salaam is that using English is rarely required for many Tanzanians, even at the work place. While their initial interview for a job is often conducted in English, it is common for the rest of the job to be done purely in Swahili. The same is true at Tujijenge, where the staff speak Swahili to each other and to their clients. It is only for visitors like me that they must remember the English they were taught from their schooling days.

Ann told me that the Panadol joke was well known around Tanzania, and that even the previous day, a visitor had used it when visiting the office. Ann had invited him to join her and me in her office, but he refused saying that if he did, he would first have to go out and buy a big tub of Panadol. Previously oblivious to this humor, for which I now realize I am often a main cause, I have since then decided to start taking advantage of their clever Panadol joke. One day, while addressing all of the loan officers about Kiva information, I told them that if they had any questions, they could approach me anytime. I then added that if they preferred, they could ask the questions to my partner/translator instead, which might save them from first having to go out and buying Panadol. They all laughed and I felt a strand closer to understanding their culture.

As a Kiva Fellow you realize the journals you write quickly become lost in the depths of hundreds of pages, full of testimonials begging to be read. I wanted to share one story I’ve found particularly moving, and hope you will, too.

An excerpt from a journal from Ayacucho, Peru:

“Celia has faced many difficulties in her life- her husband left her 21 years ago to raise 11 children on her own. She has lost three of those children, one just last year, and of the remaining children left in her care, three of them are blind due to a hereditary illness. While a challenge anywhere, the steep and unsteady dirt road that leads to Ayacucho’s cobblestone streets full of unforgiving traffic poses extra challenges for her blind children, and Celia dedicates herself daily to providing for all her children, and is saving now to buy new and sturdier canes that will enable them to move about with more ease and safety.

As if Celia hadn’t faced enough in her life, an earthquake hit Peru a few months ago, and much of Celia’s home was destroyed. Fortunately, her store, which is attached to her home, was not affected and she has been able to continue with her business as usual, which is more important than ever with the new expense of rebuilding her home.

Celia has an amazing and inspiring way of accepting the hardships in her life. She smiles and says ‘asi es la vida’- that’s life- and all we can do is to pick up and keep on going. While describing the earthquake, Celia said everything just kept shaking, and because they live on a hill, everything from houses above them fell on their house.

After describing the fear from the earthquake, she asks if she can show me something, and takes me out back of her home, where the firewood she sells is stacked, and I wonder if it’s this she wants me to see. But she walks me over to a small garden where herbs and vegetables are growing. Celia looks at me with eyes of determination and hope, and tells me that this is where her kitchen stood before the earthquake. I am amazed at her perseverance and will to continue, and her ability to take the destructive ruins from a tragedy and create life in a beautiful garden.”

I remember as a child (and still, today) being fascinated by grass growing from cracks in the sidewalk. How could life spring from something so barren? Celia has done the same, and once again, I am fascinated. Well into her seventies, with every story she shares she somehow radiates sunshine from her eyes with the innocence of a child, and the collective wisdom of generations long ago. She has learned the secret of living peacefully amidst a chaotic and broken society, doing more than her part to leave the world more beautiful than she found it.

Here are some of the unique gifts I will be enjoying this Christmas in Uganda;

The Gift of Calm in the Midst of Chaos.  When I read that it is culturally unacceptable to express anger in public in Uganda, I did not really believe it.  Coming for the US, where people routinely drop “F” bombs in public, where  TV and movie plots always seem to involve violence and rage, and where the 24 hour news cycle is dominated by shouting, I found the notion of a society devoid of public anger unimaginable.  

The guide books are correct.  The people of Uganda are amazingly calm and unruffled.  They do not shout.  They may have swear words in the local language, but I can tell you they are not uttered in anger.

It is amazing how remaining calm helps you endure the inconveniences of Ugandan life.  Imagine being cramped in the back seat of a crowed, sweaty, 14 passenger “taxi” van stalled in horrendous traffic where not a single person in the vehicle complains. Uganda has reminded me that getting upset does not improve the situation.  In fact, when you complain, things only get worse, or hotter, or more uncomfortable.    This comes from a hard charging American who finds it impossible to play 18 holes of golf without swearing at himself and his golf ball multiple times.  After a month in Uganda, I don’t even think swear words, let alone say them.

The Gift of Real Family Values:  In Uganda, family comes first.  I am told funerals are a two day affair.  The first day is to bury the dead, and the second day is for a family meeting to decide how to “look after” the survivors.  If a woman loses her husband, the family decides who will care for her.  When children are orphaned, the family decides which member or members will adopt them.  Children are raised with the concept of multiple parents.  Their mother’s younger sister is “little mother” and her older sister is ‘big mother”, etc (This nomenclature can get quite complicated in large families). 

Despite crushing poverty and the constant threat of fatal disease, children grow up in Uganda secure in the knowledge the family will provide for them.  You can see evidence of this on the Kiva website.  Poor women borrowers applying for tiny loans for their humble little businesses often have an orphan or two to “look after” in addition to their own children.

Family values extend to aging parents also.  When I asked a local Baptist minister about retirement homes in Uganda, he laughed.  His eyes widened as he said that even if there were such institutions in Uganda, you would be CURSED for sending your parents to one.  In Uganda, the family stays together from birth till death.

The Gift of Cooperation Not Competition:  If you read my blog entitled Microfinance Plus Plus, you saw how farmers in Uganda work together for their common good. 

Back home, I do business with dairy farmers in up-state New York.  These are some of the finest, most productive farmers in the world.  They have turned milk production into a science.   The problem is when they make more milk, the price per gallon goes down.  These rugged individualists ultimately turn to the government for support programs to stay in business.

In Uganda, there are no government support programs.  Ugandans utilize cooperation as a business survival skill.

The Gift of Forgiveness Not Retribution:  In a country where violence and turmoil were common for  decades prior to the 1990’s, Ugandans understand the value of forgiveness.  Fighters for the Lord’s Resistance Army, a shrinking but violent band of rebels currently holed up in neighboring Republic of Congo, are welcomed back into Ugandan society when they lay down their arms and apologize for their actions.  Although this forgiveness will most likely not be extended to the LRA’s tyrannical leader, he may someday be a General without an army.

Wouldn’t it be a different world if we looked for reasons to understand and forgive our adversaries rather than creating an ever expanding category labeled “terrorists”; to be feared, avoided, insulted, or imprisoned without a trial?

The Gift of Life Without Nicotine.  Uganda is truly a smoke free society.  My unofficial estimate is that somewhere between 1 in 1,000 and 1 in 10,000 Ugandans smoke.  One day I stood on a crowded Kampala street corner waiting for the first smoker to pass.  I gave up after 15 minutes, during which time thousands of pedestrians walked by without a cigarette in sight.

When I ask westerners about this, they invariably cite economics as the reason. “Cigarettes are too expensive for Ugandans”, they say.  That doesn’t make sense because there is significant variation in income here, but no smoking.  Also, in the US, destitute people find the money for cigarettes.  Finally, Ugandans purchase beer, which is a discretionary expense not unlike cigarettes.

I got a different explanation from two Ugandans who cited the same reason for not smoking.  Ugandans don’t smoke because it’s just not the thing to do.  Smoking was popular in the 70’s and for some unexplained reason it went out of fashion. 

This highly unscientific explanation gives me reason for optimism for the remainder of the world.  Wouldn’t we all be better off if smoking was just not the thing to do? 

The Gift of Abundant Heat, Light, Water and Air.  What more can you ask for than 12 hours of sunlight  year round, warm (but not hot) days, cool nights, enough rain to keep the countryside lush and green at all times, and no snow, no earthquakes, no hurricanes and no tornadoes?

Seasonal Affected Disorder will never be a problem here.  You never need to change your clock or your wardrobe.  Some Ugandans set their clocks to 00:00 at sunrise (7 am) so 12:00 arrives at sunset (7 pm).  The sun shines brightly, but Uganda’s 3,000 foot elevation tempers the equatorial heat.

Now don’t get me wrong.  Uganda is an extremely poor, under-developed country.  I’m not ready to move here permanently and I have no doubt many Ugandans would rush to the United States in hopes of capturing a share of the “American Dream” if given the opportunity.   

On Christmas I will be thankful for many gifts in life; my loving family, my economic prosperity, my health.  This year I am especially thankful to Kiva.org for allowing me to experience the unique gifts of Uganda which will remain with me for a lifetime.

Merry Christmas to all!

I can’t believe my work here is almost coming to an end! It feels like just yesterday (or a couple days ago) that I was getting off the plane in Maputo – uncertain, nervous, and excited as to what this entire experience would be like. I still remember flipping over and over (and over) again through my copy of all of FDM´s Kiva clients, wondering what it would be like to meet them face to face. In fact, I looked at those pictures so many times that every time I met a client, I could literally see their picture and their description in my mind.

I met a client the other day who I found truly amazing. Not only was she incredibly warm, inviting, and generous, but I have absolutely NO idea how she does what she does everyday. She teaches primary school in the mornings, runs her business as a very successful seamstress in the afternoons (she has clients that leave orders with her from all across Mozambique), and travels to the capital of Maputo every night to take classes so she can start teaching secondary school. Yet, what I admired most about her was what she calls her most cherished and long held dream, hoping one day to open her own primary school to serve the local impoverished children. Education, she tells me, is the most important component to developing the area and creating a stronger Mozambique, and she dreams of a better future for her children and the next generations. She already has the course materials prepared, and has a step by step plan to realize her goal. As she explains, she first hopes to open the school at her home early next year until she has saved enough to purchase an old, abandoned home nearby to set up a proper school there. She projects that she will be able to begin enrolling students in January and hopes to open the school by the end of that month! Additionally, her husband is a disabled war veteran and she currently supports her children entirely with the profits from her business and current salary as a teacher. Needless to say, the women here never cease to amaze me, and I’ll miss having the opportunity to meet women like her everyday when I go home in a couple weeks.

At the same time, some of the most telling and moving experiences have come from meeting clients of FDM who are not on the Kiva website (for everyone one Kiva client, I usually accompany the loan officer when they visited two others for FDM). There was one client in particular who is no longer receiving loans from FDM because she has put her business on hold, but the promotora wanted to stop by and visit nonetheless. She has been sick for quite a while now, almost six months, and when she went to the local clinic (the one and only time) they simply told her that it was malaria and sent her back home. While she received some general form of treatment, she her health has been getting worse and she was forced to stop her business selling charcoal and can no longer pay for loans. Her promotora tells me that there are days that she will stop by and the client can’t even get out of bed, and while she keeps telling her to go the clinic and take an HIV test, her client has yet to take her advice – not because of the cost but because she’s too frightened to go. We sit down to talk for an hour or so as the loan officer reminds her again to go to the hospital, seek the tests and the treatments she needs if not for herself, but for her son who has no one else if something were to happen to her. It truly touched me to see how much the loan officer cared, how much she wanted her old client to get better and see her healthy, happy, and doing well. Her client finally tells her that she will go next week, her usual answer, and as we walk back to the main road to catch our next bus to take us to our next client, I’m left to wonder what will happen to her and her young son if she doesn’t get better.

What will I miss most? Without out a doubt, I will miss being able to wake up every morning knowing that I will meet people that day who I will say goodbye to ever-so-slightly, but forever changed. I will miss working with the promotoras who have taught me what it means to work hard and live a life doing something you love to do. Not to mention the fact that FDM is simply an amazing organization. I just now realize that I’ve have yet to mention FDM´s administrative head, Ana Maria, who will always my role model, the person I will strive to emulate – ceaselessly diligent, intelligent, and devoted to the organization (and the workers and clients here at FDM respect and adore her). She is currently spearheading innovative projects to further serve FDM’s clients which include agricultural initiatives where they will begin selling plots of cultivated land next year for clients to run their own farms as well as plans to begin training rural clients in cattle raising. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to work with all three of FDM´s different offices, and have every intention of returning to Mozambique one day to visit and maybe even work them again.

I was told before I left that when the time would come to leave, I would want to say and I can honestly say that that person was right. I feel like there’s so much more to learn, so many more things to experience, more inspiring people to meet, and so much more I could do, but sadly I’ve been postponing school and my classes long enough.

It’s been an incredible, strange, difficult, exhilarating, and life-changing experience and I want to thank Kiva and Kiva´s wonderful lenders for having given me the opportunity to take this adventure.

Also, I have no idea if they will ever read this, but time to give a shout-out to all the workers of FDM that have made this experience so incredible – Ana Maria, Leopoldina, Esmeralda, Don, Bridgette, Margarida, Sandra, Rosalina, Suzette, Minarsanda, Ricardina, Edineria, Dercia, Jamie, Francisco, Ricardo, Arcenia, Madalena, Lidia, Rosa, Nelizarda, Elina, Ermelinda, Arcenia, Benevenita, Irenia, Simoes, Ilda, Ana, Zelia, Brito, Roda, Deocleciana, Esmeralda, Eulalia, Ana, Marta, Adelso, Carmelia, and Manuela! I will miss you all so much, and thank you.

Finally, while this will be my last blog from Mozambique, inspired by Drew Kinder´s wonderful write-up on Sam, I will be doing the same by giving you all a glimpse into the history of Fundo de Desenvolvimento da Mulher and their amazing Executive Director, Ana Maria. I regret to say I don´t have the amazing specifics that Drew provided in his own blog, but I will try my best to do FDM and Ana Maria justice and reveal a little more of what makes FDM such a powerful organization.

It was 3 months ago that I stepped off the plane and into the tropical Samoan rain. It seems those same storm clouds have gathered on my last day on the island to see me off. Over the course of my stay, I’d like to think that I learned a few of things. 

I’ve learned of the incredible dedication and hard-work it takes for the staff of a small MFI like SPBD to run its operations.

I’ve learned that despite their demanding daily schedules, the SPBD staff rarely shows signs of stress or frustration. I think I’ll have a better chance of mastering the Samoan language in my remaining hours here than encountering a similar work environment back in North America.

I’ve learned that I have yet to scratch the surface of understanding the complex Pacific way of life. The faa Samoa is a riddle, wrapped in a conundrum, wrapped in taro leaves.

I’ve learned how to snorkel, how to change a tire, and how to subsist on an alternating diet of corned beef and Yellowfin tuna. I’m not yet sure how useful that last bit will prove to be.

I’ve learned that, despite not having any international volunteering experience prior to this, I was able to survive for three months in a country many of my friends have never heard of before.

I’ve learned to appreciate how lucky I am to not have to worry about running water or working electricity. One of the great perks of travel is that it often provides a measure of perspective on your own life.

And finally, I’ve learned that that the loans made through Kiva are helping the proud women of Samoa to take advantage of their talents and resourcefulness. It’s been a real honour to have helped out in any way.

Tofa Soifua

Kampala, Uganda Florence Kaluuba is a soft spoken 50 year old school principal who won’t accept no for an answer.

As a teenager she was a brilliant student, excelling in mathematics. At a time when she ranked 8th out of 160 students, her uncle refused to allow her to enroll in the next higher grade level, where she hoped to become a medical doctor. Florence still remembers his words, “She is a girl, and girls just get pregnant anyway”. The uncle decided she would train to be a primary school teacher, which required much less education.
Florence enrolled in primary school teacher training, where, not surprisingly, she finished at the top of her class. She subsequently taught at two of the leading primary schools in Kampala. After a number of years, Florence wished to move up to high school but she lacked the requisite degree. Undeterred, Florence studied the four year curriculum in her free time and passed the qualifying exams without ever entering a classroom. Later, she earned a degree in Management with honors through correspondence from Cambridge University.
Florence founded Mirembe School in response to a 1996 study entitled “Why girls drop out of school and defilement of adolescent girls”. In the course of our interview, the term defilement was used to variously describe the rape of young girls by a brother, a father, and a teacher.
The goal of Mirembe School is to equip youth with developmental education for employment and life skills for survival. The students are almost exclusively girls from age 15-19 who have dropped out of school due to pregnancy and have been ostracized by their parents and family.
Florence and her small staff train the girls to be nursery school teachers, tailors, craft makers, or elementary school teachers (if they have enough formal education). In Uganda, nursery school teachers are given lodging and allowed to bring their children to school, which is an important benefit for these destitute young mothers.
Her belief is that no youth is a failure. She provides counseling as well as training. She promotes sexual abstinence to reduce pre-marital sex, unwanted pregnancy and abortion. Students are given information to reduce the risk of HIV/AIDS and sexually transmitted disease. Florence works hard to restore their spiritual and traditional values.
Florence will not reject a young girl, no matter what her ability to pay. Even though Mirembe charges far less tuition than other programs such as the YMCA/YWCA, most of her girls cannot afford to pay. If she is lucky, monthly tuition from current and former students covers the rent.
The remainder of school overhead is paid by Florence out of her paycheck. She works as a contract social worker for the office of the wife of the President of Uganda. Florence conducts seminars and trains teenage counselors to conduct “peer to peer” counseling of other teenagers.
This week, Florence paid the final installment on a $1200 loan from Kiva through Share an Opportunity Microfinance Ltd. She borrowed the money to purchase a desktop computer, scanner and copier. The loan payment came out of her paycheck earned the previous week.
Florence reported the computer has been very important to the school. She not only trains students on it, but she also uses it to scan photos and print teaching materials; services which were previously outsourced at a high cost.
Florence has written a book, The Joy of Parenting, the first copy of which was typed, scanned and printed on the new computer. She hopes to publish 3,000-4,000 copies of the book with the help of the Children’s Writers Association. She will keep 1,000 copies for the school and sell the balance to generate income.
Florence will not abandon her students. Once, when money was tight, and she was considering closing the school, students came to her home tearfully begging her to continue. She looked me in the eye and said “I can’t stop now”.
Since its inception, the Mirembe School has graduated 500 girls, many of whom call Florence “mother”.
When I asked her what he dream in life is, she replied a bigger school, with no rent, in a quiet area where more girls can be nurtured and trained.
Her challenges are a steadily growing flock of defiled girls, the monthly rent check, a need for more counselors to share her emotional burden, and finding financial partners and supporters.
In her personal life, Florence has corrected the inequities of her own childhood. She is one of 13 children in a polygamous marriage involving 2 wives. Her mother, who was the second wife, was dropped. Florence was sent away to live with her father’s father, a tribal chieftain in northern Uganda.
Florence is happily married to her husband of 25 years, a university professor in electrical engineering. Of their five children, the oldest boy is an engineer and the oldest girl, who inherited her mother’s love of mathematics, studies statistics at Makerere University, Uganda’s leading university. The younger children are in high school.
As I said goodbye to Florence, my impression of this soft spoken woman with a soft spot in her heart for defenseless young girls is that she is as tough as nails. Somehow, some way, Florence will find a way to make the Mirembe Youth Development Project and the Mirembe School continue. This is not a woman who takes no for an answer.
Florence Kaluuba can be reached at mirembeyod@yahoo.co.uk.