Posts filed under ‘KF4 (Kiva Fellows 4th Class)’
Wheelchair donated to a Kiva Mozambican client by KivaFriends!!!
A week ago, Regina Jose, Hluvuku’s client in Mozambique, received a brand new wheelchair to replace her broken one!!! KivaFriends donated it, and with the help of many people it was bought, transported from South Africa to Mozambique and delivered to her!!
Regina was so happy with her new wheelchair that she even cried! Now she will be able to resume her activities and will go to church on Sundays, something she described as her favorite activity. As I wrote in my last blog, it took just over one month since my first journal about Regina to get all this done. One of Regina’s lenders who is also part of KivaFriends brought this into KivaFriends attention and in a teamwork event it was successfully concluded!
As I mentioned in my last blog, I’m quite impressed with this network of good-hearted people that don’t know each other in person but work together for the same cause – to help those in need.
The picture shows Regina shaking Bernardo Tembe’s hand (Hluvuku CEO) and with Ernesto Rungo, Regina’s loan officer from Hluvuku.
I’m already back from my fellowship in Mozambique and as some other fellow fellows, I will write about my microfinance experience in my next blog.
Ate mais.
Posted on behalf of Beatriz Mauro
TIA
TIA
A Tanzanian friend, who stays at the same guest house as me, came up with an expression that can be used to make any frustrating, confusing, or illogical moment in Africa, funny. TIA (this is Africa!). I can’t even remember the origin of this phrase (bad referencing I know), other than that my friend said it on the way home from a club one night, and made me believe that it was a commonly used expression in Dar es Salaam (N.B. sadly my gullibility cannot be attributed to drunkenness, it’s a special characteristic of mine, despite my supreme intelligence). This gullibility led to me using ‘TIA’ at will, until I realised that no one knew what it meant! I confronted my friend, who broke down and admitted that he had made it up himself and just wanted to embarrass me (although further research tells me he may have lifted it from the movie Blood Diamond). The minor embarrassment it caused has been well worth it though, because TIA has saved my sanity a number of times since.
Example #1: Dana Lunberry, my fellow Fellow in Dar, accompanied me on a trip to train an MFI’s staff on how to use the kiva system. The staff were professional, punctual, receptive, hospitable, kind (they gave us gifts), and generally wonderful (so much so that we finished the training a couple of days early). Until our second-last day. Usually we were picked up from our guest house at around 8am. On this particular day, we didn’t hear from our hosts until 11am (this wasn’t so strange because everyone realised there wasn’t really much to do, and we had been on an epic adventure the day before – involving a five hour drive to Lake Malawi with a fish flying along next to us in a plastic bag tied to the car to prevent it spoiling. The flying fish was subsequently presented to the manager and cook at the beach resort, who agreed to cook it for us. BYO fish was a new concept for us, but our hosts couldn’t understand our amazement and hysterical laughter).
Back to us waiting at the guest house. Our host rang and asked us if we were ready, because they were on their way to pick us up. “Of course”, I replied, cheekily using an expression often used out of context here in TZ, usually in cases where the implied obviousness of the situation does not exist, and where a simply yes would suffice (in this case, at 11am, I feel my polite “of course” was justified). So Dana and I waited, and waited, and WAITED! Until 4pm, when we decided a) to go for a walk, and b) to stop speculating as to why someone would say they were on the way to pick you up and then not show up. ALL DAY! As we observed later, neither of us ever suspected that a fatal accident or other form of emergency had occurred. Maybe we’ve been here too long. Anyway, the next morning one of the staff members showed up unannounced while I was still in the bathroom. Dana answered the door, and after the usual polite greetings asked, “So, what happened yesterday?”
“What yesterday?” our host replied.
“HOW YOU NEVER CAME TO PICK US UP YESTERDAY!” (Ok, Dana did not shout, she never does, I just couldn’t resist writing it because it would have been really funny if she had).
Our unnameable host: “Oh, we decided you were tired and needed to rest”.
???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
When Dana relayed the conversation to me later, I asked her what she said. “Nothing”, she replied, and anticipating my hot-tempered reaction to her non-response, added “What can you say to that?”
“TIA!” we chorused in unison.
Disclaimer: I love Africa, and Tanzania, and SELFINA, but I have gone beyond the ‘culturally sensitive’ stage of accepting everything I come across (although TIA is a form of acceptance). It’s now gloves off when it comes to cultural observations and criticisms, and in my experience most Tanzanians find it funny and refreshing (maybe because I’m just as critical of my own culture!)
N.B.: More examples to follow – I can guarantee that ahead of time!
Meet CAURIE Microfinance in Senegal!
By Mary Moseley
Senegal Fellow
CAURIE MF, Caisse Autonome pour le Renforcement des initiatives Economiques par la Microfinance, is a mid-size microfinance institution that serves over 15,000 clients in Senegal and as of March 31st 2008, has a loan portfolio just over $4mUSD. They are present in several regions of the country: Diourbel, Kolda, Louga, Thiès, and Ziguinchor. Their mission is to offer best practice micro-finance services to poor, female-owned micro-enterprises in primarily rural areas while investing in their own eventual financial autonomy.
CAURIE is the organizational offspring of the Catholic Relief Services (CRS) and its primary regional partner, Caritas Internationalis. After a decade of Microcredit activities in Senegal, CRS realized that as an NGO, it would not be able to operate effectively within the realms of Credit and Savings, nor would it meet the needs of the country’s growing Microfinance market. Caritas-Thiès and CRS-Senegal then joined forces to launch a Microfinance project utilizing their program experience and after 5 successful years, decided to officially establish CAURIE Microfinance in September 2005.
A monthly meeting at one of the Village banks established by Caurie.
As a Kiva Fellow in Senegal, I’ve therefore gotten a chance to learn a lot about CAURIE and would like to introduce them to you! Read on to learn a little more about this amazing organization.
I’ve been working and living at the CAURIE Headquarters since March 2008. The director, Mamadou Lamine Gueye, has all the makings of an amazing leader: hardworking, responsive, decisive, and a nice guy to boot. Mr. Gueye has Fatoumata Binta Daniff, an ex-loan officer and accountant, spearheading the Kiva loan processing from headquarters. Mrs. Daniff is incredibly hardworking and creates each loan profile with precision and care. I think that Kiva has partnered with CAURIE at a really interesting time. CAURIE is an emerging microfinance company – it is growing rapidly. The inclusion of Kiva into its loan funding process is sure to foster their planned growth as an organization.
It’s important to note that amidst massive growth and expansion, CAURIE’s Village Bank lending methodology remains faithful to the core concepts of microfinance and, in my opinion, succeeds because of it. CAURIE lends to groups of women who form village-banking groups. Once the women organize themselves, CAURIE provides microfinance training (savings and loan methodology), improving a woman’s chance of success from day one. CAURIE has over 275 Village Banks (VBs) in Senegal with between 35 and 60 women in each. VB’s can get started in a variety of ways. CAURIE will sometimes send representatives out to villages to offer their services. Other times, groups of women approach CAURIE asking to set up a bank in their village. To begin, several informational meetings are held between CAURIE staff, the village leaders and the future borrowers. Within each Village Bank, the women split up into Solidarity Groups of between 3 and 10 women. In lieu of putting up collateral for loans, they agree to be held responsible for their fellow solidarity group members’ loans. Solidarity Groups are one of the reasons CAURIE’s loan default rate is 0% to date.
Caurie staff, Mary & clients during a monthly meeting at one of the Village banks
CAURIE’s loans are usually for a duration of 6 months and repaid by one single bulk payment at the end of the cycle. Although payments are made at the end of each loan term, the Village Banks meet monthly. During the meeting, each woman is called up to present her deposit into her savings account. Loan payments are also made in front of the group. At each monthly meeting, the members can opt to take out small loans from their Village Bank’s savings account. These monthly loans are very small and not related to the larger loans that CAURIE and Kiva lenders fund. But, small amounts like $20 US can be helpful in these women’s lives, and at each monthly meeting many of them choose to borrow a small sum to be repaid in full the following month.
Caurie staff visiting a client of a Village bank.
All women are welcome into the program and allowed a first loan of up to approximately $60 USD for a 6-month loan term. After the first loan, each borrower’s credit limit is evaluated and re-calculated based on her repayment history, their savings account balances and their experience with loans. With each 6-month cycle, the women have an opportunity to build their credit and take a larger loan or remain at whichever borrowing level is comfortable for them. I’ve met with many of CAURIE’s borrowers and loan officers. I’ve attended several monthly meetings and met with the elected management committee at each bank. The management committees are elected by the VB and are VB members themselves. All of these have been incredibly positive experiences, without exception. I believe in CAURIE’s methodology and I highly respect the hard work of the staff and the dedication of their borrowers.
Both CAURIE and the Microfinance sector in general in Senegal are growing rapidly. To date, there are over 600 microfinance institutions in the country. The beauty of Microfinance in Senegal is that it reaches out to typically under-served rural areas as opposed to traditional banking, which is primarily focused in urban areas. CAURIE is growing its loan portfolio, opening more Village Banks, and will be expanding its services to include micro-insurance this summer!
*This blog was posted on behalf of Mary Moseley*
Was Kiva ever meant to be a Microfinance Fund?
I wonder if Jessica and Matt Flannery, Kiva co-founders, meant to create a Microfinance Fund to help local entrepreneurs in developing countries have money to grow or help their business. When I decided to join Kiva as a Kiva fellow I told my friends I was going to work for a Microfinance Fund. Last week I understood I was completely wrong. Kiva is a global community, not a microfinance fund based on small individual lending.
The other Friday, June 6th 08, I posted a journal about a client I visited the previous day. Nothing special, that’s one of my main tasks here. However, the client, a disable woman, mentioned that her wheelchair was broken and that she hasn’t been to Church in almost 2 months, and therefore was considering using a next loan to buy a wheelchair. I wrote that. The following morning I read a comment on the journal written by a Kiva Friend saying that KivaFriends would be willing to donate a new wheelchair to Regina Jose (picture below). The next day Jill, the KivaFriend, created a new thread at KivaFriends and on Monday, June 9th, when I opened Kivafriends.org for the first time in my life I saw that more than 300 people had seen Jill’s message and there were around 30 replies. People around the world were committed to give Regina Jose a new wheelchair, and then, for the first time, I realized I was working for a community, not for a Microfinance Fund. Now this message board has been seen for more than 900 people!!
For those not familiar with KivaFriends, it is a parallel non-profit organization that was created by very committed Kiva lenders, with the intent of helping further Kiva clients and Kiva itself. I am quite impressed by the power of Internet and global instant communication. Within 10 days the wheelchair was chosen and will be acquired next week, with delivery scheduled for the following week, hopefully in time for me to deliver the chair (representing KivaFriends) and take a few pictures on the occasion.
I am thrilled to see so many good people in the world wanting to help a client in a very poor neighborhood in the outskirt of Mozambican’s capital city Maputo. So many people have given advises and tried to help! A few even joined KivaFriends for the first time to help with donation!
If Jessica and Matt wanted a microfinance fund, they have it. Kiva is a fast growing fund on its way to be one of the largest microfinance funds in the world. Congratulations for that. But I believe they need a long applause for the community of good people they put together for the cause – helping alleviate poverty and promote economic development.
I’ll keep you posted on Regina’s wheelchair story!
Khanimanbo.
Field Experience
I’ve been working in Mozambique with Hluvuku-Adsema for the past 3 months now and I’m not even close to adapted. I must have visited more than 100 clients so far, and sometimes it is still quite hard to face reality. As a professional in the field I’m supposed to leave my emotions aside, right? Why is it so hard? Am I a bad “field employee” because I feel or am I just hurting myself?
I remember when my brother started to operate while in Medical University. My aunt, a doctor herself, told him the hardest part of being a doctor was to put the feelings aside and not suffer for all the patients’ lives my brother would loose in his career. I remember the first time my brother lost a patient. He went to my parents’ house devastated, and wouldn’t even talk. Four or five years have passed since my brother became a surgeon. I’ve listened to him talking about a few patients he has lost, but never emotional. Does this mean he doesn’t feel anymore, that he adapted? Or that he is just pretending he doesn’t feel anything?
Last Thursday I’ve visited 16 clients (Kiva and non-Kiva clients) and when I arrived home at night I was completed exhausted; emotionally devastated. I had seen so much poverty, so many problems, so many kids in horrible situations, diseases, hunger, lack of a proper home to live. A strong storm hit the region the previous night, and many people that had plastic roofing had just lost their home with everything inside. Many clients lost their stand and their place to sell their products, but they weren’t as scared as I was. They were sad, but behaving as “we lost it all one more time”, which for me was even more hard to take it.
I come from a developing country. I have already volunteered in slums in Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. I’ve seen poverty and many children begging in the streets. Why am I still not used to it? Why do I still feel so much? I would like to work with economic development as a profession. Does that mean I will never be good enough for it? I will never adapt? Or am I just in my first “field year”, just like a first med school year?
Yesterday I walked through the capital city Maputo the whole day, just thinking and trying to understand the reality I am facing. With my sad spirit came my furiousness. If I already wanted to help the poorest reach the ladder of development, now I will.
Jeffrey Sachs said in one of his books that you can’t study, understand, and advise a country in it’s economic development path without going into the field, without clinically diagnosing what is the country’s “disease” so that you can find the best “remedy”. I agree. A field experience changes one’s looks and comprehension of the world. It does put life into perspective.
Khanimanbo.
A Few of My Favorite Clients
“Blackouts without notice
And “internet down”
Spreadsheets that prod me
To cry and frown
Riding on motos
And closing my eyes
Clients are always my humanity ties…”
Okay, fine, that was really corny. Consider yourself lucky, though, because it was either that or “In da Field” to the tune of “In da Club” by Fiddie Cent.
This wonderful woman read my palm. She told me that if I married it would be to an older man, then asked me why I would want to marry such an old man. I don’t know? Also, at 64 she runs a fairly lucrative pillowcase business with her cousin to help support her quad-generational family of seven.
Probably the coolest elderly couple of all time. She made delicious khmer cakes with sticky rice, bananas and coconuts and sell mangos in the market. They were serious about making me their daughter-in-law. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I’m pretty sure my buddies Vichet and Sopheap were busy trying to arrange a dowry from them.
“Give me my money!” The pearls are an extra nice touch, lady.
Vichet, Josh, and I are really happy — we are fresh on sugar highs induced by the homemade sodas this lovely client made for us. She is also a member of the Human Rights party and has fantastic business ideas and plans.
This client had an otherworldly regal beauty. Josh and I were awestruck and couldn’t stop talking about it for days. She sold homemade Khmer food at a food stand by her house.
Talk about badass. This lady took her loan so that she could purchase her stand instead of paying rent and commission on it. Now she rakes in around $250 per day.
Is Impact Impact?
Probably one of the biggest issues facing microfinance today is that of impact. To what extent has microfinance actually affected global poverty? In what ways can its impact be measured, and how sustainable is it? Will it continue to grow? Though I agree that understanding impact is crucial and developing social impact studies and matrices is a valuable undertaking, I question the ability we have to concretely measure the more soft-data effects. How does one quantify the feeling of being better off?
One of the main responsibilities of Kiva fellows is to assist with the journaling process of our MFIs. With no interest rates, journals are the only tangible ROI for Kiva lenders. They are intended to show the progress of the clients’ businesses and essentially attempt to convey the impact of the loans on the clients’ lives. This opportunity to witness impact first-hand is probably what excited me most about this experience. Having now worked in Cambodia with CREDIT MFI for almost two months now, the interviews I have had with clients for these journals have done a tremendous amount to inform my own attempts to answer these questions.
With the clients I have met, repairs and construction, buying motorbikes, purchasing inventory, tools and equipment for their businesses, and paying for basic household amenities make up the overwhelming majority of loan usages. Those that are able to generate greater income after applying the loans tend to reinvest in their businesses, pay for their children’s education, and try to set aside a savings. Most hope for higher education and a better standard of living for their children.
In many ways, I find all of these motivations, applications, and hopes to be not unlike those of individual borrowers in the States. Mortgage payments, student loans, and start-up capital for businesses are what come to my mind when I think about why people I know borrow money from banks at home.
What strikes me is that at its root, microfinance is a singularly simple concept. “Small finance”– providing access to reasonable financial services in denominations that are proportional to the income and needs of the very poor. A concept that is so bizarrely basic that it is has become revolutionary. Yet we wouldn’t expect access to loans to prevent bankruptcy or to guarantee upward income mobility at home. It would be equally foolish to expect total global poverty alleviation at the hands of microfinance.
What microfinance does do is provide financial access to those who exist outside of mainstream financial systems. This “normalizing” effect can serve as a powerful catalyst and tool. It is what makes the concept revolutionary and the implementation necessary –regardless of the tangible social impact that we are able to measure out of it.
Ruth
The first week I came to MCDT, Justine, my supervisor, and Olivia, her supervisor, were looking at pictures of borrowers they were preparing to post to the Kiva website. They called me over to look at one person in particular, standing in the middle of a group of five and said, “You must meet Ruth!” They told me she was the embodiment of the entrepreneurial spirit and a real survivor. They told me how she’s living with AIDS and lost her husband to the disease 10 years ago. They told me how she as at least 5 businesses. I didn’t know quite what that meant until I went to visit her earlier this week.
Justine and I walked down the hill from the MCDT office to Kamwokya, the slum area where MCDT gave out its first loans. Walking through the narrow alleyways and jumping over a few gutters, we reached Ruth’s home. We went into the most cluttered house I’ve seen here in Uganda, but it was cluttered for a reason: everything would be used for some business purpose or another.
There was very little light in the house because huge bags of charcoal were stacked up around the outside (business #1). Inside, a woman sat on a stool waiting for Ruth to return to finish braiding her hair (business #2); next to that stood an ironing board with an iron heated with charcoal for Ruth’s laundry business (business #3). In the inner room, even darker than the first, with just a little light coming through a gap in the corrugated metal roof, Justine and I sat on a small sofa while Ruth sat on a mat she had woven and brought out other mats she had made and sells (business #4). She could have brought down one of three kerosene lanterns she keeps on top of a wooden breakfront that she rents out to people (business #5). In the lower right hand cabinet we could see several phones that she has used as pay phones, but the person she had employed to help her with that was unavailable. She was waiting to find someone to do that so she could start the payphone business again (business #6). To our right was a stack of baskets she had woven that she not only sells, but also rents out to people who are making a formal presentation to bridal families (business #7).
After a short visit, we went outside again to see Ruth’s grocery (business #8). Immediately to the right of the grocery is a small hut which is Ruth’s pub (business #9). We went into the pub, which is about 8’ X 10’ or thereabouts, where Ruth displayed her wares. (I asked if she had any waragi, or local brew, an alcohol made from sugar cane. She held up a bottle. Then she pulled out a plastic packet of vodka and said, “Mazungu waragi.” Yes, indeed.)
The first picture heres show Ruth standing between her grocery business and the entrance to the pub. You can also see the charcoal at her feet. The second picture shows her sitting in her pub.
As we left, Justine told me about some of Ruth’s struggle to make sure she pays her loans on time. She gave me this story as an example. Ruth travels out to the country to see to each shipment of charcoal, wanting to make sure to get good chunks rather than charcoal dust. One time, one of the coals was still burning and the whole shipment of charcoal burned before she even got it home. Because MCDT offers group guaranteed loans, Ruth could have said she simply couldn’t pay that week and depended on the other group members to pay for her. Instead, she got sugar cane on credit, chopped them into bite-sized pieces and bagged them, putting them out for sale near her pay phones (business #10). Somehow, she was able to scrape enough money together to pay back her loan each week on time. The dedication and integrity she has shown is simply remarkable. Goodness knows not every borrower is like that, but the fact is there are borrowers like this, and it is a real honor to meet them and know that these loans are making a difference when taken in conjunction with ability, spirit and will.
Final Thoughts
Does microlending work? That’s one of the questions that I wanted to answer as a Kiva Fellow and that’s the question I’ve been asked on numerous occasions since I returned to Seattle. After a couple of weeks of readjusting to the American pace of life, I’m prepared to provide an answer.
Yes, it works. But, it works differently than I thought.
When I left for Ghana, I had my preconceptions about microfinance. I was intrigued by how these loans could enable wealth creation for the working poor. Through my market-oriented frame of reference, I was hoping to see how a loan was helping an entrepreneur expand their business from a small market space and beyond. Perhaps, it is my American-bred fascination with innovation and aggressive growth, but I viewed the loans as an opportunity to invest in the next big idea in a small corner of the world. What I found out after three months in the field is that wealth is being created, but it’s a different kind of wealth.
While there are stories of how microfinance borrowers have used their loans to significantly expand their business, the majority of the stories are much more human, more real and, in the end, more meaningful. After interviewing more than one hundred borrowers and asking them how the loans have changed their lives, the most common answer was not about their business. Instead, it was about how the loan allowed them to help pay for their children’s school fees, put more food on their table, and pay for health insurance. Sure, the loans helped them increase their inventories, sales, and profits. But, more than creating wealth these loans are providing a type of social insurance to these borrowers. As a Kiva lender I am not simply financing a business, but financing a safety net.
And, in the process of answering one question, I realized I had answered another question. What does a profit-oriented social business look like? It looks like the single Ghanaian mother whose thriving roadside cocoa yam stand enables her to keep her business running and keep her daughter in school. A true double-bottom line. And its all powered by loans from Kiva lenders.
Fortune and Privilege
Higher education opportunities aren’t a reality for most females in Cambodia. Making it to university is a feat for the average male, let alone female. With limited household income, rural families have difficulties supporting their children through school, especially beyond a primary education. The odds for children to make it through secondary school will inevitably be dependent upon the school’s distance from the household: transportation to and from can be cost prohibitive. Take into account the large number of households that must pull their children out to support the family income, and the pool becomes even smaller. If a family is fortunate enough to have the funds and economic security to support a child through school, the luck of the draw ends here for the one or two of the lot who will be chosen and the male children will be prioritized for the privilege. Given this, I am always inspired to learn about the backgrounds of those who have made it against the odds and how much they relish their “fortune.’
Meet Chandeth Phon, Credit Officer at Maxima.
Q: How was she able to continue her studies to university, when so many others cannot?
A: She continued her studies until the 9th grade, at which point she returned home to support her family by weaving. Very driven in school, and never falling below the top 3 in her class, she was devastated when she had to quit. Watching her brothers continue their studies, although they lacked her focus and drive, made her all the more frustrated.
Three years later, upon finishing 12th grade, her friends were preparing to take the university entrance exam. As passionate as ever about continuing her education, Chandeth convinced her parents to let her take the test, and eventually talked them into letting her attend university.
She still remembers the day Mr. Kiry, Loan Manager at Maxima, crossed the river from Phnom Penh to visit her island. He was recruiting new staff members for Maxima. When asked if she would like to join the team, Chandeth jumped at the opportunity. One month after working at the MFI, she started attending university- resuming her education for the first time since 9th grade and holding her own in the classroom.
Q: How does she finance her education?
A: Now finishing her second year of university, she is able to pay for school on her own, thanks to the interest-free loans* Maxima offers its employees for education.
*60% of Maxima staff members are capitalizing upon the interest-free education loans to pursue continued studies. A typical day for most starts around 6 am with work ending around 5 pm. Then it’s off to school until 8:30 pm, followed by the commute home and a late dinner. While some credit officers attend classes on the weekends, those who don’t are back in the office on Saturday, working to promote microcredit offerings and recruit more KIVA clients.
The work of a credit officer never ends, but you won’t find one complaining. In fact, you hear the opposite. In the words of Chandeth, “I used to think I had no fortune in life. I was so unhappy I could not go to school and I did not want to weave. Now I think that I have great fortune… I am much more fortunate than others.”
Phal An is famous
Often when I visit clients with a loan officer, we show them a picture of their KIVA profile and explain that people around the world have read about them and helped to finance their loans. Upon seeing their pictures, many blush with embarrassment. (For many, it’s one of the few photos they’ve taken in their life.) After a second look, a huge grin usually appears and the entrepreneur proudly shows their profile to other family members or curious neighbors.
If the clients’ stories have become famous through KIVA, Phal An’s has reached stardom.
I recently got the privilege to do a journal update for Phal An. This came at the request of Inc.com, whose parent company helped to finance her loan. She was a wealth of information and extremely eager to share all- about her business, her credentials, the local operating environment and her loan’s impact… So much so, that she produced enough for a blog entry, a homepage feature story and a slideshow explaining her business operations.
She, like so many of the clients I visit, has an incredible story- waiting to be discovered. For practical reasons and efficiency purposes (read: we want to get as many updates up for you as possible!), journal interviews usually only scratch the surface. It was a treat to have an excuse to dig a little deeper this time- to learn more about the client’s reasons for borrowing and how the loan has played a role in her business expansion.
To find out more about Phal An, deemed the ‘the ultimate bootstrapper’ check out the following:
http://www.inc.com/articles/2008/05/kiva.html
http://www.inc.com/multimedia/slideshows/content/the-ultimate-bootstrapper.html.
In truth, she is just another KIVA borrower with an incredible story waiting to be told.
“Ashia, Sister” – Words & Working in Bamenda
I am proud to say that I have earned two blisters in the last week: one from hand-washing my clothes (I’ve now learned to really scrub ‘em), and another from pulling the kernels off corncobs. As a woman who has earned most previous blisters from breaking in new hiking boots or rowing crew, both luxury sports of a sort, this feels different.
Work in its many forms is so deeply ingrained in the culture in Bamenda that it takes shape in language. In pidgin, you would not believe how frequently the words “struggle” and “suffer” are used, usually not as self-pity but rather as matter-of-fact. When someone is getting by, they are “managing.” I suspect you may have to hear these words pronounced in Bamenda to get their full meaning.
My favorite new word is “ashia,” a way of greeting, sympathizing with, or appreciating someone who is working hard. The response, if you are a bit confused, as I was the first few times I received an “ashia”, is a simple “thank you.” The best parallel may be saying “bless you” when someone sneezes in the U.S. – although my sneezes here (which I’ve managed to suppress over the years so that they actually sound like the word “achoo”) tend to elicit laughter, since “achoo” is a favorite kind of soup in Cameroon.
Ashia has become a special word because there is no direct translation. It expresses something that I cannot express in my English – although when I tried to explain this to some people here, they tried to explain to me that “ashia” is English, meaning here that it is not from any one of the many dialects spoken in the Northwest Province, but is rather part of the common language, pidgin English.
Once I finally convinced my coworkers at GHAPE that we really don’t have the word or anything like it in the U.S., discussion ensued. Calista (the accountant) asked, “Well, how do you appreciate someone?” I struggled and pondered for the better part of five minutes, and finally offered the possibilities of “thank you”, “good work”, or “good luck,” none of which capture “ashia.” Could you say “Thank you” to a stranger on the street who you saw pushing an especially heavy load?
I’ve discovered that “ashia” is the best way to break the ice of being an obvious stranger. Naturally, as two of very few white folks in Bamenda (I may have seen two or three other white folks in the whole time I’ve been here), we stick out. By this time, five months of travel through West Africa later, we’re used to sticking out and everything that comes along with it – “You are welcome!” How is Cameroon?” “Come here!” “Where are you going?” “White man!” and many other things regularly shouted at us on an everyday walk to the market.
But, at a certain point, like one month into our stay in Bamenda, the desire to just be part of the scene grows. Since we can never be invisible, I’ve got a couple of tricks to break the ice or turn the tables. When an adult shouts, “White man” or once in a while acknowledges gender and says, “White woman,” I usually shout back “Black man!” This brings laughter that I find pretty refreshing after 26 years marinating in P.C. land, U.S.A. When it’s a child shouting, “White man!” and usually pointing, I either make faces and point back at them, or sing the song I’ve just learned, apparently a childhood favorite of everyone in Bamenda:
White man, white man, white man,
White man with a long nose,
Since my mother born me,
I’ve never seen a white man!
It doesn’t get much better than that for winning laughter and respect.
As far as fitting in goes, well, “ashia” is the best. I can catch someone’s eye as they’re toiling over some project, pronounce an “ashia,” and immediately feel some kind of communion. The communion is enhanced if I adapt the Bamenda way of addressing folks as “sister”, “brother”, “auntie”, “mami”, “pa,” etc.
The same day that we discussed the word “ashia,” Auntie Calista (the GHAPE accountant) asked me, “What do you say if you want to give someone respect?” This question also left me without a good response. Of course, we have “sir” or ma’am” but to my American ear now used to Cameroon, these both sound awfully formal. When we say “sir” or “ma’am” it is usually in a formal context, almost pushing someone away from us as we offer respect. In Cameroon, these respectful terms are add-ons to someone’s name and at least in feeling bring them closer. To an older woman or a woman I want to respect, I can say, “Auntie” or “Mami” (pronounced like mommy). To an older man, I can say “Pa.” To a woman about my age, I can say “Sister.” All these show respect and immediately break the ice for me, a “stranger” as they say here.
Not that there’s much ice in Cameroonian culture. Using these terms of respect, I don’t feel like I’m dancing the who-can-out-polite-who dance that I’ve felt in other parts of the world. I don’t ever feel like I’ve given someone offense. And, nearly every argument or serious discussion I’ve witnessed in Cameroon ends in laughter, usually a burst of it that comes out mid-rant as if someone has suddenly heard themselves talking or seen things form a bird’s eye view and finds it all hilarious.
This is a culture I enjoy settling into.
Livestock Bazaar
Families in rural Azerbaijan are heavily reliant on farm animals, often just a handful of sheep and a cow, for food and income. Microcredit loans allow enterprising individuals to scale up animal raising activities so that excess milk, cheese, wool, and offspring can be sold for a profit. But where does one go to buy a cow or a half dozen sheep? I learned that once a week as many as 4,000 farmers congregate with their animals to exchange ownership at the Livestock Bazaar. Kiva’s field partner, Aqroinvest arranged for me to meet a client and conduct an interview at the bazaar. With the help of another fellow we filmed our visit to the sprawling animal market.
Cambodian “Gambling”
Most of the clients I visit make just enough money from their businesses to get by day to day. When you ask what their future plans or hopes are, some have none in sight- just repeating the same monotonous labor, day in and day out, to continue to put food on the table… challenging enough with the rising food inflation here (http://www.voanews.com/english/2008-04-21-voa21.cfm). If family members are sick (with an 8+ member household in a developing country- odds are someone will be sick), medical costs can make this prohibitive and put business activity on hold. That’s where Maxima often steps in with loans for start-up capital so the families can resume their business operations:
- http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=comment&id=20190&ent=43834
- http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=comment&id=30577&ent=47218
The great success stories come in when clients’ businesses have taken off to the point where they have excess—enough for monthly savings. Realizing the villagers never invest this money into a savings account, I thought this was a greatly missed opportunity to turn interest…. until I found out about Cambodian gambling.
Cambodian gambling, or tontin, is a “game” that villagers play when they have extra money. A tontin leader will form a group of friends or neighbors who pool their money into group savings. Much like a group loan, members take turns borrowing, starting with the group leader (the one in need of immediate capital who established the group). The twist comes becomes members can negotiate with each other to decide the interest rate they’ll pay, as well as the rate at which they’ll agree to be repaid. Depending on the timing, circumstances and loan use, they may vary. Playing tontin, members administer a self-regulated borrowing network. The network acts as an insurance system to provide members reserve funds in times of need or emergency, as well as a savings system and means to earn interest each time another person borrows.
While occasionally members will skip town with the money, this is rare. Rather, because members select each other from among friends and neighbors, they feel the system provides the best way to insure their money is safe and secure. Many villagers feel it is safer with each other than with a bank. In the ‘90s, Cambodia faced a meltdown with financial institutions. Banks were established overnight with minimal capital, and after collecting significant sums of money, they took off with the cash and closed just as fast as they opened. While the NBC (National Bank of Cambodia) now sets minimal capital requirements and the system is much more regulated, the scams are still too recent to be forgotten. Villagers burned by the past are still reluctant to trust the financial institutions with their investments and consider their self-made institutions more reliable and accountable. Not to mention, depending on their luck at the negotiation table, the interest rates can be even more favorable.
We be thankful we arrive fine for Cameroon. Or how the cross-Africa dash came to a welcome pause in Bamenda.
Cameroon. For us, it is the end of a long road. Since we left the U.S. in December, Dave and Megan have set foot in 13 countries, 11 in Africa. Our overland trek started in Casablanca and took us through Morocco/Western Sahara, Mauritania, Senegal, The Gambia, Mali, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, Benin, Nigeria, and finally here, Bamenda, the capital city of the Northwest Province, altitude above 1000 meters, surrounded by mountains, green, lush, and yes, the beginning of the “light” rainy season.
Our arrival in Cameroon three weeks ago occurred in several stages.
• First, crossing the border from Nigeria to Ekok, Cameroon, a process involving conversations with passport checks by no fewer than 8 border officials.
• Second, discovering that the guidebooks had not lied, and that the road from Ekok to the next major city, Mamfe, is in fact “terrible.” We departed Ekok at about 5:00 PM, crammed into a car dwarfed by its oversized wheels, makeshift rear-wheel drive, and jacked-up suspension – and arrived, mud covered, via motorbike, 63 kilometers later, in Mamfe at about 6:00 AM. In between: a bonding experience with our driver-cum-auto-mechanic and fellow passengers, involving a borrowed battery, siphoned petrol from the tank directly into the carburetor, and hours of pushing and pulling (with a rope attached to the front axle) through a series of mud traps with 8 foot walls of mud on either side carved out by the rains and previous vehicles.
• 
Third, from Mamfe to Bamenda, another 127 kilometers on a slightly better road in a much better vehicle, we bore witness to the “raw power” of four-wheel drive beyond Jeep Cherokee commercials. We sat in the open-air back of the pickup with ten or so other passengers and, though the trip took another 12 hours, we were content with good company and fantastic views of farms nestled in the rainforest, and across the mountains we were gradually climbing. Midway, a tree with an 18-inch trunk blocked our muddy path, but through geometry, rope, and 8-cylanders, our Toyota managed to pull it aside – take that weekend warriors! Of course, it rained, and as predicted, the air turned cooler as we approached Bamenda, so that we were happy to arrive as night fell.
The folks at GHAPE, our host organization, had been awaiting our arrival for days, and Loveline, the field manager, rushed to the bus station to meet us, greeting each of us with a hug, and quickly scooped us into a taxi back to the GHAPE office/house compound. There, we were greeted by about ten smiling faces, mostly women of many different ages – from 16 to 70, we would later learn – and ushered into our apartment in the compound. For her part, Megan can honestly say that she has only experienced welcome like this from her parents when arriving home the first few times from college to find her room newly cleaned and rearranged, food specially bought for her consumption.
Our two room apartment was perfectly outfitted – tables and chairs, living room set, stove, dishes, pots, buckets for dish washing, broom, bed, wardrobe, radio, TV and DVD player. Within moments, we had guests in every chair of the apartment, were reviewing names for the second time, trying to guess just who-was-who and what role each played, and brewing a pot of tea on our stove. Learning that Dave loves eggs, a man named Michael (who we later learned is the brother of GHAPE founder Bernadette) practically snapped his fingers and two-dozen eggs miraculously appeared.
That was Friday night, and we quickly learned how hard-working GHAPE – and most of Cameroonians – are. Work began at 8:00 AM the next morning, with a meeting of all the staff: Loveline, field manager; Donald, Fointama, Mercy, Josephine, and Bridget, credit assistants; Calista, accountant; and two volunteer workers, Mr. Eric and Hostensia. At first we thought this meeting was specially called for us, but in fact GHAPE works not only a 7:30 AM to 5:00 PM week workday, but also a half-day on Saturday mornings.
Saturday afternoon and Sunday introduced us to our neighbors – the immediate, extended, and adopted family of GHAPE founder Bernadette, a mostly female family, led by “Mama,” a warm and hilarious septuagenarian. By the time we returned from the food market and Megan from the cyber, where she sent the requisite “we’re safely out of Nigeria and at home in Cameroon” email, the other ladies of the house were helping Dave to properly wash and prepare his vegetables for dinner-making. Pascaline then lent us a grinding-stone-cum-cutting-board and helped Megan to prepare dinner, including the new (for us) “bitter leaf.” By evening, we had 17-year-old Abigail and 10-year-old Fru sharing food with us in our room and watching The Gods Must be Crazy with us on bootleg DVD (thank you, Nigeria!).
Sunday morning, Megan was collected at a quarter of eight to accompany Pascaline and Mama to mass at the Catholic Church down the road. She had her first practical lesson in the local Pidgin English, listening to the Kenyan priest, himself not a native speaker, read the mass: “We be listen for we lord and he talk say he helup all he piking (children). We be thank he for we protect and guide.” Walking home, Pascaline laughed when Megan proudly announced that she could understand much of the mass, and explained that the priest spoke more slowly and clearly than any native speaker. She is right. If either of these subjects piques your fancy, don’t worry, as we will certainly be writing more on religion, which infuses every aspect of life here, and language, which fascinates at least one of us, in future chapters.
Until then,
Send your comments and questions
(We promise to respond), and
Finance a loan for a GHAPE member
(We’ll write more about them soon)!
~Megan & Dave
The mission to be social
As my fellowship nears its end, I’ve purposely taken time to step back and revisit my original reasons for deciding to quit my job, stuff my apartment into a dusty storage unit, leave family and friends and fly to Ghana. One of my goals was to see the impact of commercialization on an MFI’s social mission.
Recently, Sinapi has confronted this issue head-on when it started the process of converting from an NGO to a formal financial institution. Like many MFIs before it, Sinapi wanted to change its business structure in order to receive more commercial financing as well as to take client deposits. Many of the expected benefits were cited for this decision including new financial discipline in the organization and the potential to open new markets and reach more borrowers. Likewise, I heard many of the expected negatives including the burden of debt-servicing and the pressure by commercial lenders to alter or downscale the social mission of the organization. But, it was the impact this organizational change had on the lender / borrower relationship that I never really considered. Or as I like to call it – the impact on the organization’s mission to be social. In Sinapi’s case, the mission to be social was a key driver in its decision to slow its transformation process.
During the weeks I’ve spent out in the field, the one thing that continually strikes me is how the loan officers and the clients are more family than business partners. There are, of course, the smiles that will last a lifetime for me. But, there are also warm hugs between loan officers and clients – when’s the last time you’ve hugged your banker? There are the handshakes that last minutes not seconds. There are clients who attribute their recent success to joining the Sinapi family. There are the times after group meetings when we would pack into Sinapi’s Toyota van and take the clients back to their home – inevitably I’d find myself in the center of a group of giggling middle-aged women laughing at my attempts to communicate in Twi. And back at the branch there is the open arrangement of the office. There are no tellers. No walls between the officers and clients. Instead, clients walk into the office – some with their business on their heads – and are welcomed to the officer’s desk.
But, as Sinapi’s formalization plan was initiated and branches were converted into a more traditional banking layout, the relationship with clients evolved. Clients became more hesitant to approach the officers. They felt that they couldn’t come to the branch in their work clothes. They were intimidated by teller windows. The Sinapi family was gone. Warm hugs were replaced by the cold creditor-debtor relationship we are all know too well. So, the aggressive formalization plans were halted and the family atmosphere I’ve witnessed here returned to the benefit of everyone involved.
Yet, I know the pressure to become more formal will not disappear anytime soon. The supply of microfinance services needs to scale to meet the demand. It will be up to successful organizations like Sinapi to find ways to meet this challenge but keep the Sinapi family intact.
Photos from Kampong Cham
Last month I had the chance to shadow a couple HKL credit officers at the Kampong Cham branch, an hour and a half northeast of Phnom Penh. Since my responsibilities here in Cambodia are mainly training and implementing the Kiva process rather than write journals, I was excited to get out and meet the people who make microfinance happen. I have nothing but the highest respect for Mr. Virak and Mr. Vo, who ride around the hot, dusty countryside four days a week helping prospective clients process loan applications. And they manage to look sharp while they’re at it, which is a challenge with a heat index around 105. Unfortunately, I lost my little notebook along the way, so all I have are the photos I took.
The first client we met. At first I thought all this was trash, but it turns out she operates a recycling business.
This man repairs and sells used motorbikes.
The proud recipient of an HKL loan for farming tools. Mr. Virak on the right.
Pulling the correct file…
Checking the name…
…and climbing the stairs.
Discussing the provisions of their loan. This process can take anywhere from 10 minutes to a half hour.
Mr. Virak tells a joke in Khmer.
Loan documents are always signed using the client’s right thumbprint.
Credit officers like Mr. Virak use motos to visit clients because roads in rural Cambodia are usually little more than rutted dirt paths.
A barang with a camera is a strange sight in these villages.
Sometimes the loan documentation process can be a little tedious, especially in the stifling heat.
This entrepreneur was proud of the bicycle she purchased with her HKL loan. She uses it to collect cans, bottles and other recyclables around her village. She said the investment has noticeably increased her income.
She was in such a friendly mood that she wanted me to take a photo of her whole family.
The last clients of the long day.
Many thanks to Mr. Virak and Mr. Vo for showing me what they do.
Lost in Translation
Last week I had a heated discussion with a minibus taxi conductor. The locals that witnessed this event rarely see anyone losing their temper, let alone raising their voice in public. Genevieve and I have been using the same bus route for a number of weeks now and, while at first we paid slightly more than the locals, it’s now obvious that we know the price and all the conductors charge us appropriately.
I was having a bad day, I shouldn’t have let myself get frustrated in this way, and I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again. The argument went something like this:
“Are you going to Bugolobi Market?”
“Yes, 700 Shillings”
“700? You’re joking. We use this route every day and it’s always 300”
“It’s 700 now”
“We’ll pay the same price as everyone else. 300. Can you let us on please?”
He obstructed our path.
“If you come on this bus you pay 700”
“We’ve been in Kampala a while now, we know the price. It’s always 300. It’s not even far to Bugolobi. How can you charge us 700?”
“If you don’t pay 700 you can’t come. We are leaving now”
He signalled to the driver by tapping on the roof of the minibus twice with the palm of his hand. The bus started to edge away.
“Hang on. We’ll do it for 400. Come on – be fair”.
“700 or you stay”
We were meeting people in Bugolobi and we’re already late for them. It would take around half an hour to walk or three minutes on the bus. It was dark. There were no pavements for pedestrians along that road. It had been raining. We really didn’t want to have to work but we also didn’t want to have to pay extortionate prices. We’re volunteering here. We’re not earning an income – it was actually more than we could afford.
“We’re late and you’re making everyone else late. We’ll pay 500. Let us go please”.
He double tapped the bus again and they edged off a little further.
“You will pay 700”.
“No way are we paying 700. We’ll pay you the fair price, 500. OK?”
“700 or we go now?”
We refused his attempts to con us for the final time, shaking our heads as the minibus pulled away from us.
We walked in the dark, along the wet, busy and polluted road for 30 frustrating minutes, dodging truck headlights, treading in puddles of sewage and generally wishing we could have afforded to say yes to the extra 200 shillings he wanted us to pay.
Our friends were waiting for us at the restaurant. No-one expects anyone to be on time here – not even close to being on time. Anything with an hour of the time planned is deemed to be “on-time”. A delicious pizza topped with creamy feta and Italian olives, and a couple of cold Club Beers later and we couldn’t even feel our wet trousers and had forgotten all about the nasty con tricks of the minibus conductor.
A few days later I remembered back to the argument and actually thought about the amount of money that we were arguing about and preferring to put ourselves through the annoyance, rigour and sweat over.
I went over the conversation we had with the conductor, this time converting the shilling amounts into English pounds…
“Are you going to Bugolobi Market?”
“Yes, 20 pence”
“20 pence? You’re joking. We use this route every day and it’s always 9 pence”
“It’s 20 pence now”
“We’ll pay the same price as everyone else. 9 pence. Can you let us on please?”
He obstructed our path.
“If you come on this bus you pay 20 pence”
“We’ve been in Kampala a while now, we know the price. It’s always 9 pence. It’s not even far to Bugolobi. How can you charge us 20 pence?”
“If you don’t pay 20 pence you can’t come. We are leaving now”
He signalled to the driver by tapping on the roof of the minibus twice with the palm of his hand. The bus started to edge away.
“Hang on. We’ll do it for 12 pence. Come on – be fair”.
“20 or you stay”
“We’re late and you’re making everyone else late. We’ll pay 15 pence. Let us go please”.
He double tapped the bus again and they edged off a little further.
“You will pay 20 pence”.
“No way are we paying 20 pence. We’ll pay you the fair price, 15 pence. OK?”
“20 pence or we go now?”
We refused his attempts to con us for the final time, shaking our heads as the minibus pulled away from us.
We walked in the dark, along the wet, busy and polluted road for 30 frustrating minutes, dodging truck headlights, treading in puddles of sewage and generally wishing we could have afforded to say yes to the extra five pence he wanted us to pay.
Absurd isn’t it?!
Baku is Burning
The biggest holiday in Azerbaijan is Novruz. This spring event has its roots as a pre-Islam New Year celebration. It officially begins on the spring equinox but the celebration ramps up much earlier with large street bonfires every Tuesday for the month preceding Novruz. Each week represents a different element: earth, water, air, and fire. Much of the community comes out for the bonfires to socialize and listen to music. Tradition calls for fearless youth to jump across the bonfire regardless or how large it is. On one occasion I witnessed a boy run through a fire along a burning pole until he could leap the last 3 feet to the other side. I was coerced into making the leap over a much more manageable fire only to learn that once is not enough, three leaps is keeping with tradition. After four weeks of bonfires, and all the scrap wood has been burned, the Novruz holiday finally arrives with a full week of vacation for the entire country.
Novruz is also important for Azerbaijan’s small businesses. Many of the Kiva borrowers I visited were making business decisions based on their sales projections during the holiday. One client had pre-shorn three sheep with the hopes of selling them for butcher at a higher price during the holiday. All of the Kiva trading clients had stocked up on inventory for their shops. Some of the special items included small fireworks, nuts, and festive pots of wheat. This is a very enjoyable time to be in Azerbaijan.
Final thoughts on Ghana
I’ve been back in Chicago for about 2 weeks now and have had time to sit and digest my Kiva Fellow experience. Going into this I tried to keep a completely unbiased and open-mind about microfinance. I’m a huge supporter of microfinance, but I have heard critics argue that it does little to actually lift people out of poverty. So I tried to take my opportunity to see first hand how it affects borrowers.
During my 2-month stay in Cape Coast, Ghana I had the privilege to meet over a hundred borrowers successfully running their own businesses. I heard stories of individuals being able to pay their kids’ school fees because of their loan, a life-long farmer opening up a general store when she became to old to work the fields simply because of her loan, and businesses expanding and profits increasing because of a couple hundred dollars. During all my interviews and meetings I never once heard a borrower say they were unhappy they took the loan. Not one person thought the loan had hurt their business, but many had ideas and suggestions on how to improve the microfinance process. One on-going theme I saw was that the large group loans aren’t that popular with individuals because they often find it hard to find 10 reliable entrepreneurs to join their group. They often suggested to make the groups smaller and to have individual loans available. The reason MFIs have group loans is for security. Since no collateral is ever collected, social pressure is used as a way to ensure collections, but having cookie-cutter plans and principles that hinder borrowers will only hurt a MFI in the long run. Another common theme was interest rates.
During my stay in Cape Coast, I often had local individuals start conversations with me and want to know what I was doing in Ghana. When I told them I was working with a microfinance organization, almost everyone immediately said, “Oh, but the interest rates are so high!!”. I always took the time to explain why the interest rates were high, but no one seemed interested in my economics of microfinance speech, they were only concerned with how interest rates would affect them, and rightly so.
MFIs provide extremely valuable services in countries all around the world and have helped millions of people improve their lives. However, much more can be done to lower interest rates and further help the very people microfinance is aimed at helping. This is exactly why Kiva is so beneficial. Providing MFIs with 0% interest loans, these institutions can finally think about making steps to further help their clients that otherwise would not have been possible. I believe Kiva needs to be aware of this and make every active effort to encourage partner MFIs to lower their interest rates once they have become comfortable with raising money on Kiva. Right now Kiva is doing their part to help MFIs overcome certain barriers in raising low-cost funds, but these MFIs need to be held responsible with providing clients reasonable interest rates.
My stay in Ghana has been a priceless experience and I am only further convinced microfinance is the way to end poverty, but much more needs to be done to ensure the borrowers are the ones receiving the real help.
Getting Deeper into a Microfinance Institution
I’ve been working with Hluvuku in Mozambique for a month now and had the chance to live for at least a week in 3 different branches (including the headquarters). I was lucky enough to live the day-to-day life of a small branch office with only one loan officer and to witness a transition of portfolio, as this loan officer, Paula, was moving back to a bigger branch and a recently promoted 1st year loan officer, Luciano, was taking over her portfolio. By than it was crystal clear the huge importance of a loan officer at the microfinance world: without their knowledge of local people and local culture, a microfinance cannot work. How would Luciano know what to write about the person’s character without the guidance of trusted people Paula appointed? And how would Hluvuku disburse a loan to someone they don’t know if they can trust and if it will pay back? Quite interesting the dynamics between a loan officer and a microfinance institution… It is almost as if each officer was an institution by itself…
However, I really got deeper into Hluvuku after Bernardo, the founder and general director, asked my help to review their 2007 annual report before it went to their board of directors. The first thing one would notice is how profitable Hluvuku was in 2007, even with substantial increase in expenses due to the opening of a new branch office (which is still not profitable). The obvious question to Bernardo, that in fact I didn’t have to make, he answered before I even started talking, was: if Hluvuku is a non-profit, had social projects and still had a lot of profits, what are the next steps to the organization? What to do with the money? How to think about financial projections and sustainable growth?
I had the most interesting 4-hour conversation with Bernardo ever. He shared all his knowledge of the microfinance world, all he learnt during seminars he attended all over the world and his views on Hluvuku’s future. Yet it was not clear to me he is prepared for a sustainable growth and to move forward without major risks. Bernardo does not count with a knowledgeable board of directors and he actually has reduced academic background (he never went to university). My basic knowledge of microfinance, yet reasonable knowledge of finance, let me to think that a significant reduction in the interest rates charged is possible. Today they charge between 35% and 55% annual interest rate (depending on the industry and loan use), calculated on a decreasing basis over the outstanding loan. After hearing a few complaints from clients I visited, I came to the conclusion Hluvuku does have margin to reduce it. On the other hand, Hluvuku could use this profit to increase their social efforts (such as the soccer team or the help to create water holes for communities that do not access water) and therefore reach more people than just their clients, and at the same time protect itself against any downturn and need of own capital.
I wonder how other MFIs around the world are dealing with this “good” dilemma. And I wonder what is the future of MFIs in Mozambique, Africa and in the world. Any comment or guidance is highly appreciated!
On a completely different subject, yesterday I met a client and while walking to her house to take her picture in front of the house she is building, she mentioned that her family was against her marriage in the beginning because her husband was poor. She was raised in the capital Maputo and her father was a carpenter, but gave all the 6 children access to school and basic needs. And that was enough for her to be richer than her husband. They have been married for 13 years and today her family loves him. Nothing like putting life into perspective, no?!
Ate mais.
A Loan as an Inflationary Hedge
I’ve visited over 100 clients in the past two months and one of the most common responses to “how are you going to use this loan” is “I’m going to buy in bulk.” At first, it appeared to me that perhaps this is a common impulse to overstock inventory so a customer never walks away empty-handed. But, I was quick to learn that this bulk purchasing phenomenon is not driven by concern about product supply but rather inventory cost. Here, in Ghana, there is an omnipresent concern over creeping inflation. And with Zimbabwe in the news this week and the accounts of inflation rates exceeding 100,000%, it seems inflation is becoming a center of conversations here as well.
Officially, the government recently raised its benchmark interest rate for commercial banks to 14.25% as a result of inflation that had risen to around 13.2%. But, what has been more interesting is how it creeps into my daily life. Like every gas-dependent American, I at first noticed it in the rising gas prices at the petrol stations. Soon, the taxi drivers were trying to raise their fares (taxi fares are not metered, but highly negotiable). At work, the company’s cook insisted on a pay raise as the cost of her food was increasing. On the corner outside our office, the lady who sells me lovely bananas with small bags of peanuts started selling me three bananas for 20 pesewas instead of four bananas. And, now the President of Ghana is at the Africa-Indian summit telling the world that rising food prices threaten to stall Ghana’s development achievements of the past several years.
It is in this environment that a loan provides an important hedging tool for the working poor. By giving an entrepreneur the cash to stockpile their inventory they guard against these price hikes. I, of course, thought to myself – “what happens if the price goes down though.” Joshua, the Kiva Coordinator, only smiled at me, “prices never go down.”
My Muzungu Man
We entered the wooden hut that served as the meeting room for Rubaga Women’s Group, desperate for some respite from the Kampala sunshine. It was much cooler inside, despite the absence of windows and surprisingly, the thin gaps between the planks of wood let in a cool breeze. So we sat down and were grateful that the women were able to make enough room for us to squash between them. Our sense of personal space has been altered since we came to Uganda and we no longer feel uncomfortable to be pressed up against smiling strangers on buses, in queues at the check out counter in the supermarket, or anywhere really.
There were ten or so women, ranging in age from mid twenties to late forties. When you consider that the average life expectancy for a Ugandan is 51, you realize that the older women were actually senior citizens. Not that anyone acted or looked old. There was so much teasing and laughing that it could have been a group of school girls. They were all mothers, many of eight or so children. And the woman who had only one child, was scolded light-heartedly that she should be working on having more. Incidentally, she was also the one with the largest and most successful business. But more on the link between family planning and economic advancement another time.
As we worked our way through the list of names and interviewed these lovely women, a pattern emerged. It’s a familiar story here. A woman has several children with one man – who is often her husband but sometimes not. He leaves her for a younger woman, and the responsibility for childrearing falls entirely on the woman’s shoulders. A variation of this theme is that the man dies, often of AIDS, leaving her with several children to raise on her own. Add to this, the fact that many also take in orphans, nieces and nephews whose parents have died of AIDS. So we seemed to be in a nation of incredibly hard-working, resilient women who are bringing up the next generation single-handedly in the harshest circumstances.
But you wouldn’t guess that life was so very hard. There were infectious smiles and laughter and sense of dignity and pride that was inspiring. But we were sweating in that wooden hut, still recovering from the dusty journey to this part of town. So Adam offered to buy some sodas – for me, and after half a second’s thought, for all the other women here. It’s a small gesture, but it was much appreciated by all. Especially the one whose shop it was where Adam where made this bulk purchase. We could see how this sale would be helpful, when many of the clients have told us they make the equivalent of five dollars a day.
When Adam left the meeting hut to buy the drinks, the women all turned to me to chat –the way women chat with each other when there are no men around. They all said “Look how lucky you are. You Muzungus, your men stay with you and help you. Ugandan men have babies with us and leave us for younger chicks. Or they die and leave us alone”. We went around the table and counted the number of widows and single mothers. They were by far the majority. So this is why the women were so touched by Adam’s gesture. Not only did he offer to buy drinks, but he also got up from his seat, walked out into the heat of the day and fetched them for us all.
Our visit had shown these women something that was so foreign to them. We were a couple who spend all our time together (neither of us are planning to leave anytime soon!) and a man who is kind and generous and willing to get up and do something for his wife and the other women around him. But I just couldn’t feel smug. My blessing felt merely bitter sweet. It seems so unfair that my experience of marriage is something these women can only dream about.
So I guess we can add that to the long list of inequalities in this world…
Goodnight Serenades
This is why I love my office…
The other day at work, my colleagues found out I have a cell phone. They immediately took turns getting my digits- wanting my phone # ‘just because.’ Some who are hesitant to use English will call and hang up as a “just wanted to say ‘hi’” gesture. Better yet, others will leave SMS messages.
For the past week, every night, I’ve gotten a goodnight text, tucking me into bed if you will.
“Hello lady. Finish your dinner? How about it? Ok good night from your good driver. See you on your dream.”
“How are you Jessica? SokSabBay? Are you happy today? Ok good night! Best regards!”
“Hi Jasika sleep yet? Doing? R u busy much? R u tired? R u hote? Dinner ready? I have dinner ready. N sleeping. Good nigh n Sweet dream 2. Bye.”
Tonight, they culminated in a lullaby. Yes, a goodnight serenade. You can’t make this stuff up:
“ ()”..*()
How do you do…..
‘o’ ‘o’ ‘o’ ‘o’ ‘o’
,?, ,?, ,?, ,?, ,?,
Run, run to bed…
()”..^()
(,*,.)
Smile for ur
Lovely
Night….
0 
* Sings alone
4l *
// *
Sweet dreame lady”
The Perfect Day
Just one epic of a post to depict a day in the field:
Only after experiencing the lows can you fully appreciate the highs. While everyday in the field is an incredible experience, some days are absolutely exhausting- mentally. The 8 hours in 90 degree sun dressed like I’m observing purdah is fine… off-roading on a moto… dodging trees and making u-turns in 6 “lanes” of traffic… breathing like I’m on a ventilator through my helmet when sand storms of dirt cover the air… all fine- I actually enjoy these experiences. But some client interviews can be like pulling teeth… with my hands tied. When a loan officer accompanying me is rusty on the English, getting one solid answer can take a good 15 minutes. (It will come only after I’ve rephrased 12 times, used vivid hand gestures, given two to three examples, written out the words on paper, and asked 15 round-about questions that eventually lead to the golden concept. The Khmers are a special breed too: they always appear to know what you’re asking – e.g. the tuk-tuk driver that swears he knows your street, but takes you down one-way roads for a solid 20 minutes. For this reason, I often sit through 5 minute explanations translated from totally unrelated questions… and practice as much self-control as possible to appear engaged and interested, while trying to keep my train of thought and simultaneously search for ways to reword my original question.) Patience is an **invaluable** virtue in Cambodia and I recognize its value regardless of how frustrated I get. After all, any translation at all is a thousand times better than the data I’d have otherwise, and it’s my own dumb fault that I’m interviewing Khmers without knowing Khmer. I’m indebted to any loan officer that has the patience to sort through it all with me, and I have no doubt it’s equally- if not more- exhausting for them. To make matters more complicated, for both the loan officer and me, some clients will share their life stories, while others prefer yes/no answers, or vague and indeterminate ones that leave you right back where you started.
The first few weeks were a challenge. Some told me business was great (the price for their goods had shot up so they were making more money) but when I pushed further, they’d say the contrary (their costs had also increased so they were struggling to turn a profit or break even). I’ve finally figured out the best questions to get the best answers, and with the help of a few colleagues, got a survey form in Khmer.
Today– the form wasn’t even necessary. My loan officer, Lux was incredible, and the work was so effortless. The answers were golden: partially because of his translation, partially because the entrepreneurs we met were full of success stories. One had figured out a brilliant market opportunity for selling $100 dresses in rural Cambodian villages:
http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=about&id=20186
Another had made a business investment to double production and now makes 40% more per month- even after loan repayments:
http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=about&id=24513
On top of this- the people were PHENOMENAL. While all Cambodians thus far have been a joy to meet and hospitable and doting beyond belief—the clients today, and even the random villagers we met along the way, were icing on the cake. We went an hour out of Phnom Penh long national road 6A to visit villages of Khmer Muslim communities. Around 95% of Khmers are Buddhist, so these communities are rarities—and complete gems!
When we arrived at the first house, our client was just getting back from a shower, so she asked us to meet her around the back of the house, in the common area between all the homes. Lux and I found a congregation of 6 already there, and joined them on the slated wood platform in the shade. Immediately, more and more villagers and children flocked around to watch and listen to our conversation. Lux explained two of them were Kiva clients as well, and when I replied “Ohhhhhh!” and quickly found out, in their language, I was saying “Nooooooo!” Despite this, they were still excited to have me, and as I spoke, the kids got a kick out of repeating “Ok,” “Ok,” and every English word they recognized. Then I looked to my side and saw a group of dozen women and children huddled over pots. When I asked what they were doing, I was told preparing for a wedding- the cooking alone takes 2 days. They saw I took interest, and within 10 seconds, had a bowl of the sweet cake and mint tea ran over.
The interview started when the client appeared, with each pause between questions there was a new comment from the crowd for Lux to translate:
“He wants to learn English so he can talk to you.”
“He’s staying to stare at your face. He wants his daughter and son to have the same. ‘Sa-at na,’ he says.” (I heard this three times throughout the day, to which I replied, “No- I want my children to look like yours!”)
We got in two more interviews before lunch, and I had one client “beg of me” for my nose. Interesting. Over lunch, Lux and I talked about the village leaders and their plans for the community. He says, “Right now, they’re trying to work on gender… like Hillary!” (Translation: gender empowerment.) Then he asks me if I like to go on walks with my roommate at night. (The office has found out I have a – brace yourself- male roommate, another Kiva Fellow. When I say he is my friend, they interpret it as “friend.”) I’ve discovered this is a way of asking if my roommate’s my husband (what all boyfriends are referred to as) and I’m assuming long walks at night is the thing to do if you’re a couple. I respond, “I go on walks with all my friends.” And now, he probably thinks I’m a prostitute.
When we got back on the road, before we could find the last client’s home, three ladies sitting on the side of the road invited us to sit down and talk. The eldest lady, sweet as can be, couldn’t stop rubbing my arms, as if they were a good luck charm or the feet of St. Peter statue. ( I know the St. Peter analogy doesn’t work really well bc she’s Muslim… at first I was going to go with a Buddha belly, but that wasn’t much better either…) They insisted, “Svai, svai” and brought me sweet mango to eat, not forgetting water either. We were wrapped up in conversation (read: they were impressed with the 10 khmer words I know and teaching me new words from their own language) when we heard a loud commotion. A boy had crashed his bike on a rock, fallen off with his food, and was picking it back off the ground when a bystander explained what happened. Evidently the Muslim villages see “Europeans” even less than the others, so the poor boy had been distracted staring and it caused him to wreck. So not only do I eat them out of house and home, I cause road injuries now too!
Kiva Loves Maxima
Sunday at the tombs
Man, it seems like the Ugandan fellows have taken over the blog! I probably should wait my turn but I wanted to tell you about an encounter I had last Sunday.
One of the great sites in Kampala is the Kasubi tombs where the Buganda kings are buried, and so on Sunday in search of touristy adventure, I went.
It’s not a very big place overall, about the size of a baseball field (to use a comparison comfortable to me), with a few huts in it. The largest is where the kings are buried behind a fig bark cloth hung from the ceiling in a place referred to as the forest. I had to wear the skirt for my individual tour, which was led by a young man named Nicholas.
I learned about the 52 pillars in the hut, representing the 52 clans of the Buganda; I learned about the table and two chairs sent by Queen Victoria which caused such an uproar when it was suggested that the king and “the” queen should sit in them, as the king had I can’t remember how many wives. I saw the preserved remains of the leopard that had been the pet of King Mutasa (I believe), but had gone wild after his death.
Nicholas told me all of this, informed and placid, and as we approached the end of the tour he asked me what I did. I told him about Kiva and about microfinance and Nicholas became tremendously animated. “I make juice,” he said, “And this is just the kind of thing I need!”
We sat down in the front office as I passed along the names of the MFIs that I knew about in Kampala, since Life in Africa isn’t offering loans at this time. He gave me his phone number and email address and then took me on an entirely additional tour of the Islamic School right next to the tombs where he sells the juice he already produces.
Nicholas seems to me to be just the kind of person microfinance is around to serve: an entrepreneur with drive but not quite the capital he needs to do the job. He showed me some of the juice packets left lying around empty and introduced me to the headmaster who showed me around: boys dorm, girls dorm, classrooms, and the school building that used to be a mosque: the first mosque in Kampala.
Talk about microfinance opening doors! I didn’t know it meant that quite so literally!
The picture shows Nicholas (left) and the headmaster in front of the first mosque of Kampala.
A conversation to ponder
Yesterday, while walking home from work, my husband and I fell into a rhythm that kept pace with a young man who was walking in the same direction. In the big city I come from, people tend to avoid making eye contact when they chance upon strangers in the street. In a country town, people tend to acknowledge each other with a friendly nod or brief smile. Ugandans will smile openly, say hello and ask how you are. They will even wait for your reply and expect you to enquire the same of them. And then, if your Luganda is good enough, or if they speak English, a light and friendly chat will take place. So of course when this happened yesterday, it came as no surprise. Nor was it unusual that the Joseph, as the young man introduced himself, was gently spoken and so very polite. I should point out now that Uganda appears to be an incredibly safe country, where we can walk without fear along most roads – knowing that the laptop in your bag would prove to be a curiosity rather than a potential windfall. So we feel very comfortable ignoring our mothers’ advice about talking to strangers here.
We told Joseph that we were on our way home from work and asked him if he was doing the same. He was well dressed, with perfectly polished shoes, so it seemed to be the logical assumption. Joseph was in fact going to his brother’s house, where he was staying for a while until he found work. He explained that his brother had a job, but was struggling to support his own wife and children so he could only impose on them a while longer. Joseph told us about his home town in the east of Uganda. How beautiful it is, and how he plans to stay in Kampala for a few years to make some money and then return there to start a family.
While he told us his story, Joseph spoke positively, with the confidence that he would find a job soon. His hardship was simply a fact of life in Uganda and nothing to be pitied. In fact, Joseph said that he was very lucky to be blessed with the ability to read and write English well and the strength to do many physical jobs. He also had the good sense to make the most of this chance meeting with two Muzungus – Joseph asked if he could give us his phone number in case we came across anyone who might be hiring staff. I couldn’t think of a more reasonable request. And that’s the Ugandan way – gentle and honest, with no hint of aggression.
This is not the fist time a Ugandan has asked if we know of anyone who can give them a job, but it is the first country where I have heard this request so many times. And I find this quite incredible. In one of the world’s poorest nations, we are not swamped with beggars or children demanding pens or sweets, or by people eager to show us their medical conditions in the hope that we will pay for their treatment. Just the dignified request for an honest living.
Something to ponder anyway…
Uganda – Great Expectations
I thought I knew what to expect when we arrived in Uganda. We’d been to Africa before – to Tanzania, Malawi and Zambia – for six weeks as part of a round the world backpacking trip. I fell in love with the continent then, and vowed to return. Next time, I promised myself, I’d do something worthwhile there, rather than just appreciate Africa’s beauty with the eyes of a traveler. It took a year, but my husband, Adam, and I have returned. And that worthwhile thing we’ve found is to become Kiva Fellows at Pearl Microfinance in Kampala, Uganda.
So after spending a week here, and only three days at Pearl, what surprises have I had? Do I dare share my insight after such brief exposure to both the country of Uganda and my first glimpse of microfinance in action? I do, I do, but with the disclaimer that things will be turned on their head soon enough. With every new experience, no doubt I will deepen my understanding of Uganda, the Ugandan people and the reality of microfinance in the field.
First Impressions
I could write reams about the wonderful landscape of Africa. The lush greenery and gentle golden light are part of the reason I am drawn here. And coming from the harsh land of Australia, all sun burnt and drought-stricken, the intensity and number of different shades of green and the rich red soil, this really is paradise found. But Kampala is a bustling city of one million people, so would it be fair or sensible to expect it to live up to my glorious expectations? Well, yes and no. The city centre is bumper to bumper cars, trucks and buses, most of which pump out huge plumes of black smoke which look and smell like they’re instantly reducing your lifespan.
This heavy traffic is known in Ugandan English as ‘jam’, an abbreviation of ‘traffic jam’. Obvious, you say. Well, not so clear to this Muzungu (white person), who is only just starting to tune her ear to the different African vowels and new words that pepper the English spoken here. So not only will we attempt to learn Luganda, but we’ll be learning Ugandan English while we’re here too. One word which I have heard many more times than I expected was ‘sorry’. Ugandans have broadened its meaning so that now it is used as an expression of concern and sympathy. It’s been said to me when I’ve dropped something or slipped, to a barman who smashed a glass, and as a outcry when our mini-bus taxi drove passed a car accident. What a lovely adaptation of a word that so many of us have so little time for is our busy western lives.
So yes, there is traffic and pollution in the city centre. Yet the people in the streets are all smartly dressed, with their clothes pristinely clean and perfectly pressed. They certainly put our wardrobes to shame! And cleanliness is a thing that requires much work here. Kampala is covered with fine red dust that gets into everything – eyes and ears, under finger nails, into computer keyboards, cell phones, you name it, there’s that red dust there. The dust has even found its way to the peaceful suburbs which lie a mile or so to the north of the city center. But there it only seems to add gentleness to the landscape, tempering the stark blackness of the bitumen roads. Here, there are gentle hills (which prove to be much less gentle when navigated on foot in the heat of the midday sun), and beautiful views over the city center as well as other equally picturesque hills which make up this part of town. And this is where our microfinance partner is located, which I must admit did come as a surprise. I had hoped to be able to walk to work, but never had I dreamed it would be along paths which meander around hills covered in dense greenery, with the busy city center of Kampala at their feet. We are lucky enough to have found an apartment (with minimum of fuss), which is half an hour walk from Pearl Microfinance, so we wake up to a most pleasant amble past smiling, friendly faces on our way to work. It hasn’t really rained since we’ve been here, so I’m not sure I’ll find the journey as much fun in the mud slides that are bound to result. So I’ll cling on to my fantasy a while longer.
We’ve been out of Kampala on two field visits, to the town of Jinja, at the source of the Nile and to Mukono, which is about 30 miles away. The drive took us through the most vivid green landscape, through forests and plains, with that vast African sky always overhead. When we stopped to buy some water and grilled bananas, we were descended upon by a swarm of vendors, who stood as close as they could to the car windows, gently presenting their goods. There was no pushing or aggressive selling you might expect with such a horde, but the Ugandans appear to be a most polite and considerate people. Not once have I heard a raised voice, or seen anything other than consideration for others. Not on crowded 14 person mini-bus shared taxis, on streets jammed with cars while motorbikes navigate the traffic around pedestrians side-stepping open man-holes. There seems to be enough room for everyone, never a need for a push or a shove. There’s even thoughtfulness from the motorbike taxi (boda-boda) drivers, while touting for business. Ok, so pulling up on the pavement right in front of where we’re walking isn’t the most polite way to get our attention, but when we decline the offer of a hair-raising ride through traffic sans helmet, we’re simply smiled at, and allowed to walk on in peace.
Ugandans are softly spoken and hushed even in a crowd. But that quiet countenance lights up as you greet someone in the street. Not necessarily with a simple ‘hello’, as we greet each other in the west, often passing by before waiting for a response. Ugandans seem to ask “How are you?” and show genuine interest in the response. They will wait for your reply before continuing on their way, and reward you with a huge smile if you ask them yourself. I feel as though it is a culture that times itself on a more human scale than we do in the west, so things take as long as they take (which is usually longer than we’re used to), but in a way that the human element is not ignored. I think we can learn much from this, and perhaps it’s something that the ‘developed world’ has forgotten on its quest for, well, development.
I had expected a strong sense of modesty and propriety that I’ve experienced elsewhere in Africa. So of course, I packed modest clothes and planned to behave myself. But the Ugandan sense of physical modesty seems to concern itself with legs and not shoulders or even breasts, as I had expected. While the long skirts were an obvious choice, I am thrilled to know that I can wear sleeveless tops in this hot and humid climate, but slightly less pleased that I didn’t actually bring any. The greater surprise, where correct behavior is concerned, is the way a husband and wife can interact in public. Not only are public displays of affection perceived as mildly pornographic, but hand-holding or even just close proximity to one’s spouse may cause offense. Not that anyone has actually told us that they’re offended, or reproached us in any way. We’ve just been met with nervous giggles and down turned eyes when we’ve commit such a faux pas. I discovered this first when we squashed into a shared taxi, with four of us expected to share three seats. The obvious solution (to me at least) was to squash up next to my husband and sit almost on his lap. Surely this would be less awkward than cuddling up to the stranger next to me? That’s when I experienced 13 embarrassed Ugandans giggling uncomfortably at us two inappropriate Muzungus. It was a gentle, yet effective way to tell us we had crossed over that imaginary line.
Encounters with microfinance
So was our first trip into the field – our first window into the reality of microfinance – what I had expected? Yes, on first glimpse, it is just as I had imagined. We met a group of 31 men and women in Jinja, each of whom runs their own business, who were receiving their group loan on the day of our visit. We were greeted by a round of polite (and gentle, always gentle!) applause. We were the Muzungu face of Kiva, the source of their much needed funds, which have found their way across the globe to their group in Jijna.
These were hard working people, many with several businesses but still struggling to meet the rocketing costs of school feels for their children. So many of them care for nieces and nephews who have been orphaned by AIDS, in addition to their own children, and it was not uncommon to learn of 15 people living in one house. Everyone we spoke to was determined that all of their children, as well as their other dependents, complete school. And school fees are incredibly expensive here, so this seems to be a key reason why they’re seeking loans. We asked some of them what they did in their spare time and were met with blank faces. When I’m not at work? I’m asleep of course. And we think we have it tough with our annual leave and public holidays! Yet they were positive about the future and all had dreams for their children to find professions they enjoy and live an easier life.
So has my first glimpse of Uganda shaken my preconceptions, my high hopes for a land of beauty and a warm and gentle people? Incredibly, I can say that the experiences of my first week in Kampala have been overwhelmingly positive. No doubt there will be people and events that will challenge my idyllic view of life here, but today I am so delighted to be here.
And what of our purpose here – of microfinance and Kiva in action? So far, I can say that It’s most certainly worthwhile and it really is changing people’s lives. I feel so privileged to be able to meet with these strong and hard-working people, to talk with them and learn about their experiences. It’s not something that can really be done as a traveler and I’m excited to be able to share it with the Kiva lenders.
Sinapi! Abapa! Sinapi! Enkoso!
During the last month, I’ve visited quite a few courtyards, backyards, sideyards, and frontyards. In each one, I can usually count on two things. One is that someone in the group rises to find chairs for the loan officers and myself and places these chairs in a cool, shady spot. The other is the Sinapi cheer. A loan officer walks into the meeting area and shouts, “Sinapi” and claps twice. In response, the group members yell, “Abapa” (Good Seed). This cheer goes through several more iterations with different responses and the group sits down.
But, recently, in one group, the loan officer’s “Sinapi” was met with silence. The officer tried again and only met silence again. She then smiled, sat down, and walked through the cheer with the group. Another Sinapi employee sitting next to me explained that this was a new group and had only completed the first week of the four week orientation. I thought to myself that if my past experiences could shed any light on the future, the officer’s cheer would be met with a rousing response by the end of the orientation.
Sinapi’s orientation process is a fine example of how microfinance is not simply loans, but much, much more. Not unexpectedly, the orientation process includes concepts such as basic bookkeeping and loan financing. What is telling, however, is that before any of these business concepts are even introduced Sinapi spends considerable time talking to the group about their individual family life and about Sinapi’s core values (Integrity, Respect, Stewardship, and Commitment to the Poor). They explain how these core values not only guide Sinapi’s operations but should also guide their own businesses. They talk to the group about the importance of schooling, health, and instilling responsibility in their children. They ask them if they are having any family troubles or troubles with neighbors. And while much of this is motivated by the social mission of Sinapi, it is also in Sinapi’s financial interest to have healthy, happy clients who can repay on time.
A fine example of the blended relationship between social mission and financial mission is the wonderful work of the Kiva Coordinator, Joshua Opoku-Mainoo. Before he was asked to coordinate Sinapi’s Kiva efforts, he worked as a loan officer in their Takoradi branch. As part of his work, he decided to integrate health insurance registration into the orientation process.
As a backdrop, three years ago, the Ghanaian government instituted a national health insurance scheme with the goal of registering the entire nation. At this point, the registration process is being implemented on a voluntary basis. For those who are at the lowest income bracket, the annual premium is about 7 cedis (7 dollars) a year. However, many of these individuals were not registering with the scheme and many of them were Sinapi clients.
As a loan officer, Joshua understood that poor health was a significant cause of repayment problems. After all, sick clients don’t pay. And sick clients with big medical bills definitely don’t pay. By implementing registration into the orientation process, Josh was not only hoping to minimize health bills and sickness, but also expecting a reduction in repayment issues. The results are in. After instituting the process, the Takoradi branch has now seen a marked drop in repayment issues related to sickness and medical bills. Due to the success of this pilot, Sinapi is taking steps to integrate the insurance registration process into all of its orientations nationwide. It is in efforts like this that I’m seeing how it’s possible to use a microloan to support a broader social mission.
