Posts filed under 'KF4 (Kiva Fellows 4th Class)'
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.
2 comments 21 May 2008
“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.
3 comments 17 May 2008
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.
1 comment 9 May 2008
Cambodian “Gambling”
Most of the clients I visit make just enough money from their businesses to get by day to day. When you ask what their future plans or hopes are, some have none in sight- just repeating the same monotonous labor, day in and day out, to continue to put food on the table… challenging enough with the rising food inflation here (http://www.voanews.com/english/2008-04-21-voa21.cfm). If family members are sick (with an 8+ member household in a developing country- odds are someone will be sick), medical costs can make this prohibitive and put business activity on hold. That’s where Maxima often steps in with loans for start-up capital so the families can resume their business operations:
- http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=comment&id=20190&ent=43834
- http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&action=comment&id=30577&ent=47218
The great success stories come in when clients’ businesses have taken off to the point where they have excess—enough for monthly savings. Realizing the villagers never invest this money into a savings account, I thought this was a greatly missed opportunity to turn interest…. until I found out about Cambodian gambling.
Cambodian gambling, or tontin, is a “game” that villagers play when they have extra money. A tontin leader will form a group of friends or neighbors who pool their money into group savings. Much like a group loan, members take turns borrowing, starting with the group leader (the one in need of immediate capital who established the group). The twist comes becomes members can negotiate with each other to decide the interest rate they’ll pay, as well as the rate at which they’ll agree to be repaid. Depending on the timing, circumstances and loan use, they may vary. Playing tontin, members administer a self-regulated borrowing network. The network acts as an insurance system to provide members reserve funds in times of need or emergency, as well as a savings system and means to earn interest each time another person borrows.
While occasionally members will skip town with the money, this is rare. Rather, because members select each other from among friends and neighbors, they feel the system provides the best way to insure their money is safe and secure. Many villagers feel it is safer with each other than with a bank. In the ‘90s, Cambodia faced a meltdown with financial institutions. Banks were established overnight with minimal capital, and after collecting significant sums of money, they took off with the cash and closed just as fast as they opened. While the NBC (National Bank of Cambodia) now sets minimal capital requirements and the system is much more regulated, the scams are still too recent to be forgotten. Villagers burned by the past are still reluctant to trust the financial institutions with their investments and consider their self-made institutions more reliable and accountable. Not to mention, depending on their luck at the negotiation table, the interest rates can be even more favorable.
1 comment 30 April 2008
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
4 comments 26 April 2008
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.
2 comments 25 April 2008
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.
4 comments 22 April 2008
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?!
3 comments 21 April 2008
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.
Add comment 17 April 2008
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.
Add comment 11 April 2008
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