Posts filed under ‘KF5 (Kiva Fellows 5th Class)’
The Last Time I Was Considered Tall I Was 14 Years Old
I proudly remember how for the first 2 years of high school I was considered quite tall and got to stand for the annual class photo. From the 3rd year onwards however I was eclipsed as puberty prevailed in others. From then on I sat in the front row, demurely folding my hands in my lap. Not that I am short – I am 167cm tall – which by western standards makes me an average height. I would also describe my build as average – you will have to take my word for it as I have no intention of publically disclosing any vital statistics! So I pretty much blend into the crowd. But in Vietnam I am tall. In Vietnam I would go so far as to say I am Amazonian. In Vietnam I am exotic.
This week I have been contemplating what it’s like to be - what I romantically like to call - exotic. I have yet to reach the stage where I do not notice that people outright stare and heads turn as I walk by. I do not live or work in the tourist centre or in a heavily expat populated area and have yet to encounter another westerner as I walk my home and office neighbourhoods. The reactions of the children particularly delight me as they look in awe. The more confident ones wave and shout “hello” and when I respond back with a “hello” and a wave they squeal with delighted laugher. The shier ones stare with quiet concentration as they peak out from behind their parents’ legs. Even though I am an obvious object of attention, I have never once felt remotely scared as the attention is either of a curious ( what is she doing here? is she lost? ) or delighted ( how wonderful! a westerner is here! ) nature.
Even simple things like demonstrating proficiency with chopsticks are an act of diplomatic wonder. I try to tell them that Australians eat a lot of Asian food and we all have basic chopstick skills, but still they are enchanted. My name also scores brownie points, as ‘Xan’ and ‘Thi’ are not uncommon Vietnamese syllables. In fact Thi is a very common middle name, so when people see my name written out they exclaim “your name Vietnamese”. I quite like the way it is pronounced ( “Suntee” ) and have no problems responding when that name is used.
The reactions that humble me most are when I go to the villages to visit the Kiva clients. There a westerner is definitely exotic! Word spreads as I attend a community meeting or go to a client’s home and from nowhere an army of children appear and a choir of “hello, hello, hello” reverberates. The SEDA staff introduce me and I am automatically given VIP status – the best chair is dusted off, fans are brought out turned on and pointed in my direction, cups of tea are thrust into my hands and refilled the split-second they are empty. The first few times I tried to tell them to please ignore me and not make a fuss, but that provoked even more fuss, so now I have learnt to graciously accept and thank my hosts for their hospitality. I think that throughout the entire length of my stay, the pride, hospitality and industriousness of our clients will continue to humble and inspire me.
To see more loans from my Kiva clients, please click here.
An Excel-lent Time in Cambodia
For the past few weeks I have been doing a lot of data entry. Panith, the AMK Kiva coordinator, and I have been going through all the Kiva business descriptions so that we could enter their account numbers into an excel worksheet. This will allow us to easily track payments of all the Kiva loans. (AMK just got out of pilot stage with Kiva, so they’re still incorporating it into their business.) If I had been doing this for another job I probably would have been bored out of my mind, but going through all the data for three of AMK’s provinces turned out to be quite interesting. It gave me a chance to do a very, very basic analysis of the impact of microfinance by looking at the loan histories of many clients. Many clients have paid off one, two, or even three loans, taking out a higher balance each time. Some clients started out with loans as low as 10,000 KHR (less than $2.50). I was actually very surprised to see the number of loans that were less than $10. Through village banks and group loans, AMK has allowed their “poorest-of-the-poor” clients to build up their credit history so that they can eventually take out larger individual loans.
Since I’m on the topic of numbers, I should share this wonderful story with you guys. While I was out in Kandal province for a Kiva-specific training, I heard an interesting story about interest rates. AMRET is the largest MFI organization in Cambodia. They offer loans at a 4% monthly-rate. AMK started offering loans in one of the villages that AMRET operates in. AMK offered loans at a 3%-monthly interest rate, so AMRET had to lower its interest rate in that village. 1% may seem very small, but over the year that adds up to 12%. If you’re a client who can only take out 10,000 KHR, that interest rate difference is huge. If microfinance institutions are going to really make an impact in fighting poverty, they need to lower their interest rates by improving their efficiency. Kiva is helping MFIs improve their efficiency by offering 0% loans, versus the 12% loans that other institutions offer MFIs. Paul Luchtenberg, the CEO of AMK, believes Kiva will truly help AMK achieve its social mission. He just hopes that Kiva funds will account for a larger percentage of AMK’s total portfolio (right now it accounts for less than 3%).
Click here to see all the loans from AMK that are currently fundraising on Kiva.
I’m sorry because I haven’t gone out into the field in the past week, so I don’t have any pictures of microfinance in action. I did stop by Angkor Wat this weekend so enjoy these pictures of Ta Prohm Temple:
A W.A.S.P. in Nigeria
I am a WASP – white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant. My parents rarely yelled, spankings were rare and more painful for my mother than me and requests were granted only when accompanied by the obligatory “please” and followed by “thank you.” On Sundays my family sat in well-ordered pews quietly listening to sermons, bowing our heads in silent prayers and rising (as directed) to sing hymns from notations in a book. At school my friends and I were scolded for being late in an effort to train us all in the expectations of the culturally dominant WASPs who value time commitments and punctuality.
For a WASP, Nigeria is a challenge. It is a harsh culture (by my comparison) with none of the comfortable social rules of home. People bark orders that pang on my eardrums. Daily prayers are shouted with chaotic fervor. Ten a.m. means noon…or one…maybe 3pm. People are friendly once one breaks through, but few smiles are plastered on to pretend that there is a fondness for you that is not there. In all of this there is good and bad.
At first I feared that I had signed up to spend 3 months among people who were rude – a people who had no respect for one another. Little things grated on me. Things like being told, “Give me your flash drive” when I expected a softer, “May I borrow your flash drive, please” or having “Are you getting me?” “Am I clear?” and “Do you understand?” snapped at me in between thoughts as if I were a mentally retarded child with an impatient teacher. I’ve come to realize that this is a Nigerian’s way of ensuring that their numerous accents, languages and dialects don’t inhibit communication with me as well as each other. Just as I have accepted that the tones in which people speak, constantly reminding myself that they are not mad, rude or intentionally aggressive…they are Nigerian.
Almost 6 weeks in, I’ve learned to accept and adapt. I’ve quickly been trained to know that the “diplomatic” presentation of my thoughts and/or requests will fall on deaf ears. I must be direct and blunt – using the kind of tone that my mother would employ when she caught me watching TV rather than doing my chores…after three requests. I am most successful when I am truly annoyed with the person to who I am speaking. In church or during morning prayers, I’ve concluded that closing my eyes, bowing my head and following my own tradition is still more comfortable. Waving my hands, knitting my brow and punctuating my prayers with an energetic “In the name of Je-sus!” is too distracting and feels forced. “My way” seems to be accepted. And when I’m feeling saucy, I’ll demand a “please” before submitting to a task or an “I beg-o” as they say in Nigerian Pigeon English. There is a happy balance to everything and I am finding that space and becoming a Nigerian WASP – my skin is thinker and I’m more likely to bite.
A Day in Prison
Two weeks ago FAPE launched a new program. After months of fighting bureaucracy, they finally got permission to give loans to female prisoners at the Centro Preventivo de Rehabilitación Santa Teresa (loosely translated, the Santa Teresa Prevention Center for Rehabilitation). The program was kicked off with a weeklong training called ISUN (Inicie su Negocio or Start your Business). Thirty-two women participated in this course, which is a joint effort from the Coordinadora Nacional de Microempresarios de Guatemala (the Guatemalan government’s national office on microenterprise), the Guatemalan Ministry of Economy, and FAPE, with most of the funding coming interestingly from the Government of Taiwan. I had the opportunity to attend one day of the course and then returned for the graduation. And yes, I was there to interview a client for a Kiva loan.
The whole experience was very interesting and quite bizarre. Santa Teresa is a low security prison, where women (there is also a men’s prison within the compound, but I didn’t visit that) are detained while their trials and sentencing are pending. Most of the women are there for either drug-related crimes or money laundering. Many of them have been there for several years, simply waiting for their cases to get through the bureaucracy of the courts.
Entrance into the prison was remarkably easy. I was with Sergio, the director of FAPE, and all he had to do was show a copy of a letter from the director of the prison, and we were allowed in right away. It was interesting to note that the “official document” that allowed us to drive right past the sign that no cars are allowed was actually a poor copy of a faxed letter – really not very official looking at all. We had to wait a little outside the entrance into the women’s prison, but only because the sign-in registry wasn’t at the front desk yet. Once we were admitted, I handed over my passport in exchange for two stamps on my forearm, which were evidently the temporary mark of a free person. I was eventually patted down, but only once we were well inside the prison, as that was the first time we passed a female guard. I had my camera in my pocket, which aroused suspicion when they felt it, but upon seeing the poorly faxed letter, once again we passed through without question – they didn’t actually even look at what the large thing in my pocket was. I’m definitely curious if the lackadaisical security is the same for everyone, or if I would have had a more thorough inspection if I weren’t American. I suspect so.
Sergio and Me in Prison
Once we were actually in the prison, I was struck by how much it didn’t feel like a prison; although I didn’t see any of the rooms where the women actually
Kids and Clothes - A Typical Scene in Santa Teresa
live, which I have heard are far from pleasant. The views are quite nice, beautiful lush mountains on the edge of the city, clothes of all sizes hang out to dry
in the sun, little kids wander around (yes, children are allowed to stay with their mothers in prison until the age of 4, but once they turn 4 they are sent to an orphanage if they don’t have family to go to), all the women are dressed just like you would see a group of random women out in town, although no traditional clothing at all.
It was really fun to watch and even participate at bit in the ISUN training, which was very interactive and the women participated very enthusiastically. There was a lot of laughter and camaraderie, and it really just didn’t feel like the preconceptions I guess I have about how a prison should feel. At one point the course involved an activity where the women were divided into groups, given some random supplies, and told to create a business in 20 minutes. Evidently when this course is taught elsewhere, the teachers bring a whole host of materials to be used to make some sort of product to “sell.” However, because we were in prison, the amount of supplies, and especially things like scissors, was quite limited. It was really fun to see them all working together and coming up with such different ideas for what they would use their bits of paper, string, glue, and markers for. Once the 20 minutes were up, the teachers, Sergio, and I were supposed to be customers and visit each business to see if we were interested in “buying” anything. One group made a catalogue of clothing and conducted an “international fashion show” of their clothing, as they had a Nicaraguan, a Russian, a Colombian, and Guatemalans in their group. I got targeted to “buy” their hypothetical clothes and it was hilarious to see them fake wine and dine me. And with Sergio along as my husband for the day, I “bought” some clothes with his credit card. The whole thing was quite funny and the ladies really seemed to be having such a good time. Other groups made things like address books, greeting cards, and random little toy things out of yarn that were actually really cute. After the activity each group talked about what businesses they came up with, what they sold, and why they thought they did or didn’t do well with their sales. And then we, the consumers, got to talk about why we did or didn’t buy the various items. It was a fun and seemingly very effective way to get everyone thinking about what all they need to consider when starting up a business, from consumer preference, to advertising, pricing, competition, etc.
One Group Planning Out Their Business
Products on Display
Creative Advertising
Sergio and One of His Purchases
While the training was really interesting on its own, I eventually got to the task I came there for: to interview a prisoner for a Kiva loan. It was very interesting to talk to her and she really was more appreciative of the chance to get a loan than almost anyone I’ve talked to yet. While we didn’t talk in detail about why she’s in prison, it has something to do with money laundering and her mother and cousin are in with her for the same. They’ve been in for a whopping four years waiting for their sentencing and can now leave as soon as they can pay their fines – 50,000 Quetzals each, which is less than $7,000, but totally cost prohibitive for them. They have a lawyer and are working to get the fines reduced, but if they can’t then they’ll be transferred to another prison to start serving out their fines – at a rate of 25 Q a day, so almost 5 ½ years, on top of the 4 they’ve already spent waiting around for their trials and finalizing the fine. Wow.
So other than the really interesting training and hearing more about the inefficiencies of the Guatemala justice system, it was also fascinating to learn a little more about how and why prisoners have businesses from within prison. Karina, the lady I was interviewing, talked about how bad the food that the government provides is and that they really do have to find ways to supplement what they’re given. From what I understand, it’s not bad just in terms of taste, it really is just very poor quality, small quantity, and relatively void of nutritional value. The prison has regular visitor’s days, and many prisoners have family members that bring them food, snacks, and necessities such as toilet paper. Some people, however, like Karina and her mother and cousin, do not have any family nearby, and are therefore left with the only option of purchasing additional food and necessities from within the prison, where prices are easily double what they are outside.
Lesvia, Me, and Karina with My Gifts
Karina and her cousin work making arts and crafts like those shown in this picture, which they gave to me to thank me for coming, and Karina has a business selling juice to the other ladies in the prison. Previously she had been able to use another lady’s freezer to cool the juice down, but that lady left and took her freezer. Obviously Karina can sell a lot more juice if it’s cold, so she is requesting a loan from FAPE to buy a refrigerator and more juice. It was interesting to hear about the networking that she was able to do from within prison, shopping around for the best deal she could find on a used refrigerator and jumping through all the hoops necessary to get permission to bring it into the prison.
She also talked quite a bit about what they’ll do when they get out. They don’t have a house or anything, don’t have any money, and will have a hard time getting formal jobs of any kind because of their criminal records. Karina really is working hard, between her arts and crafts and the juice sales to try to get a little money together to get started when she gets out. It was also really interesting to talk with her about her plans for the future and her dreams. She has all sorts of ideas for businesses she would like to start and has very clearly had lots of time to really think different ideas through and strategize.
Overall, it was a really interesting experience. In many respects, these women are absolutely not typical microfinance clients. Beyond the obvious distinction that they are in prison, every one of them can read and write and have had far more education than most FAPE clients, or microfinance clients in general. Nevertheless, in some respects they really aren’t all that different. They certainly have very limited resources at their disposal, and have faced and will continue to face many challenges in terms of building a life for themselves and their families. Many will leave prison with very little, if any, money in their pockets to get started with their lives again. What’s so exciting about what FAPE is doing here though, is that now 32 of these women will be leaving with a little more knowledge about how to start a business. And for those that will be receiving loans from FAPE in the coming months and starting their own businesses from within prison, they’ll potentially have a little more money to get started with, and will have gained some experience managing a business in what actually is a decently competitive market within the walls of the prison.
Obviously many people may have reservations about lending money to prisoners, and that’s certainly understandable. But at the same time, after having seen how excited these women were to have a chance to learn about starting up business and to potentially have access to some resources to really start doing something productive with their time in prison, I would certainly feel comfortable loaning my own money to these women. As I said before, Karina really was so incredibly appreciative of the fact that FAPE is willing to take a chance and invest in these women and I have no doubt in my mind that she will do all that she can to rise to the challenge and fulfill her side of the deal.
Eventually the training was finished for the day and we got ready to leave. Interestingly, on the way out I was given my passport back but before they would
Mark of a Free Person
let me leave they insisted I roll up my sleeve to show them that I did in fact have those apparently all-important stamps on my forearm. This particular day was a visitor’s day at the men’s prison next door, so as we headed out we saw all the action associated with that. There were tons of people everywhere, with all the women in skirts, as that’s an actual requirement to visit the men’s prison. The street outside the prison building, but still within the compound, was lined with little stores and eateries doing booming business for all the people that had come in from other areas and wanted to provide their friends/family members in prison with goodies and a decent meal. A very interesting scene overall.
While I’m certainly no expert in prison systems anywhere, I have had the opportunity to visit prisons in Mexico and Bolivia prior to this trip to Santa Teresa. And all of these prisons had very limited resources and prisoners did what they could to supplement what the government provides. Out of necessity, people start up businesses and because the governments provide so little, there is significant demand for basic products. The fact that FAPE has initiated a program to help the women of Santa Teresa start up businesses, not just through offering them loans but also through working with the Guatemalan government to provide training in starting up a business, is really such a fascinating way to help facilitate business development within this market and, more than anything, start giving opportunities to women that want to make changes in their lives but have very limited opportunities to do so.
Since businesses in prison, and especially loans to prisoners, are such foreign concepts to many of us, I’m really interested to hear what Kiva lenders think about this project and I hope to receive some comments here if anyone has any interesting thoughts on the matter.
Stories you won’t read on Kiva
There is a lot of talk here and elsewhere as to whether or not microfinance (or any kind of aid for that matter) works. Is what anyone says the truth or just perceptions and opinions? It would be nice to have a definite answer, but it always seems a little more complicated than that.
In my past experience working with volunteers and in nonprofits, I noticed how this lack of certainty over results can trigger cynicism pretty quickly. Most people in this line of work want to prove that what they do leads to something good happening, and they also want to feel good all the time about what they do. It’s probably just natural, but it’s also not possible, at least not all the time. The need for instant gratification can be a hard thing to escape, and can lead many people to become bitter, quit, or just stop trying very hard.
I wanted to share this story of Safija, not a microcredit client but a woman who participated in Žene za Žene’s job skills training program, in part because it’s one that many here would not have heard otherwise. Sometimes you never know what your time, donation, or gesture will mean to someone else. It’s great that results can be shown on places like Kiva, but there will always be lots of stories we don’t see. We may just have to assume that good things are more likely to happen when we try to do something rather than nothing, whether we know the final outcome or not.
There are people in the world who need access to money and an opportunity to get somewhere. Some of their stories end happily, but some don’t. We can try to help each other out, or not. We can be hard on ourselves, but keep trying to do better. What else is there to do?
Safija’s Story
Safija is a 56 year old woman, originally from the town Srebrenica. Srebrenica was the site of the largest genocide of the war in Bosnia, where in one day over 8,000 Muslim men and boys, including Safija’s two sons, were murdered by Serbian forces. After the war Safija returned home only to find her house destroyed. She felt haunted by memories of her sons, who she felt she could see and hear everywhere she went, playing football, asking her to make them their favorite sandwich.
Life for Safija was intolerable for those first years in Srebrenica. She was planning on leaving town when she found out about the training & educational programs at Women for Women International. Joining the program gave Safija a chance to connect to other women in a way she had not been able to in years. Since the war many communities in Bosnia remain strictly divided on ethnic lines, and this is especially true of Srebrenica. During the training program Safija met many Bosnian Serb women from her town, who she thought she would never be able to speak with. But after hearing their stories she learned that they are women and mothers, just like her, who were as powerless to stop the fighting as she was.
Between her meetings with the Žene za Žene program and her new business ventures, Safija’s days were suddenly filled with activity. Through her sponsor she was given financial support to learn a new trade, and she decided to focus on breeding poultry and turned this into a profitable business. She also now makes marmalade to sell to the kids in her village.
Safija was also grateful to receive a donated cow, not just because it helps with her income, but because it gives her something to come home to. It makes her happy, she says, to have this cow, as she feels that she has someone who she can care for and talk to again, just like a child. Safija admits she still has bad days, but she has learned that while she may still suffer from all that she lost, she is not alone anymore. She knows now that there is always a way to find the will to go on.
To lend to a Bosnian women, click here (NOTE: more businesses to be posted daily. Check back!)
*********************************************************************
Since there is a lot of Bosnia in the news these days, here is a frontline piece done that gives a pretty thorough background on Karadzic & the conflict itself. For those who want to learn more see below.
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/karadzic/
Playing Chicken and Other First Impressions
Beep! Beep beep beep! This is the natural sound of the habitat that is downtown Hanoi. There is an endless cacophony of horns – sometimes short and squeaky, other times longer and more insistent. There is no aggression intended – the horn is to warn the pedestrian or cyclist ahead that their motorbike ( more of a scooter really ) or car is bearing down on you and that you should not pick this moment to change direction. Driving in Hanoi should be classified as an extreme sport. Insert small confession – I have actually ridden as a passenger on the back of a few motorbikes. An important motorbike wardrobe hint – trousers or long flowing skirts and dresses are the best attire for bikes. A slim fitting skirt that sits below the knee requires you to sit a dainty side-saddle, which reduces passenger confidence in direct proportion to skirt width! On any street corner you will see a local lying on his motorbike. As soon as a westerner materialises, he will arise from his slumber and shout “motorbike madam, motorbike madam”. The bargaining routine begins ( he says “30,000 Vietnamese Dong”; you say “too much, too much” ) and when agreement is reached you have secured yourself a cheap form of transport suitable for short distances when the sweltering humidity make walking a less palatable option.
Crossing the street in Hanoi could qualify as an Olympic sport as it takes skill, concentration and practice to master. First thing to know is that the few pedestrian crossings that do exist are laughably redundant so don’t even attempt to cross at them. You could grow old waiting for a suitable lull in traffic, so adopt a nonchalant manner, stare straight ahead and step into the ocean of motorbikes and bicycles and voila! It will be like Moses parting the red sea and the traffic will manoeuvre around you. Do not under any circumstances change course. This could tempt the natural traffic order to be thrown off its balance and who knows the consequences.
Food is to be found everywhere in Hanoi and there are people partaking all hours of the day, sitting on pavements on little plastic chairs eating a variety of noodles, vegetables and meats. One of my favourite parts of the day is lunchtime when I join my colleagues for lunch at their local haunts. Our office is a 15-20 minutes drive south of downtown and I am confident that our neighbourhood does not feature in The Lonely Planet. I love it as it is such an authentic experience. As my confidence grows I want to try the Vietnamese version of the local pub – they are called bia hois and consist of lots of little plastic chairs on the pavement or a large open space where lots of locals sit and drink lots of cheap beer. There seems to be a bia hoi on every street. One thing is for certain – whoever has shares in the local small plastic chair manufacturing company is getting a great return on investment!
The most unusual thing I have seen to date are actually dentists. Why dentists you ask? Because dentistry appears to be a spectator sport in Hanoi – they are all glass and big open spaces and from outside you look straight in and see the patient sitting in the dentist chair, mouth wide open with a white-coated person hanging out their mouth! My fancy is also tickled by the local barber shop – all you need is a spot on the pavement, an old mirror, nail with which to hang up on a nominated wall, a chair, scissors and presto – you are in business. The Vietnamese could start a business anywhere out of anything – they are the MacGyvers of entrepreneurism! It’s one of the reasons why I am so happy to be working for Kiva in Vietnam facilitating loans to people who have so much ingenuity and initiative.
To see loans for some entrepeneurial Vietnamese, click here http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=85&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb
Three Languages and Nothing to Say
I never thought I would move to Tanzania to learn about Bengali culture, but then again I never thought I’d eat octopus for dinner so sometimes one must adjust expectations. How have I happened to find myself sitting in an office shared by one Bengali woman, one Tanzanian woman, and me? Such is life at BRAC Tanzania’s country office.
BRAC Tanzania is one of the international legs of the Bengali NGO BRAC (formerly Bangladesh Rural Advancement Committee). Started in 1972, BRAC has grown to be the largest NGO in the world and employs over 100,000 people in Bangladesh alone. They have programs beyond microfinance like agriculture, health, education, and economic development. Recently, BRAC has started to spread to other parts of the world, like Tanzania, Uganda, and Sierra Leone. BRAC Tanzania began in 2006 and is growing rapidly. The country office is in Dar Es Salaam, where I am based, but they currently have more than 55 microfinance branches throughout the country and expect to expand to 80 branches by the end of the year. The way that BRAC maintains standardization is to bring Bengali staff to its new country offices to implement BRAC’s practices and policies, which is how I have found myself sharing an office with such an international group.
I had my first day on the job just over a week ago and my first impression was that either there had to be some significant communication difficulties or I was surrounded by some seriously language-adept people. A Bengali walked in the room, said hello to me, and then started speaking to his Bengali colleague in Bangla. A few minutes later, a Tanzanian came into the room, said hello to me, and started quickly discussing something in Swahili with his Tanzanian colleague. The language where the three cultures are intended to meet is English, which would be great for me in that I’m fluent—but unfortunately that’s not quite how it seems to work. Occasional words are exchanged from Bengali to Tanzanian and vice versa, but each culture largely sticks to itself due to ease of communication.
The language barrier is indicative of a wider cultural divide between the Tanzanians and the Bengalis in the office. The Bengali staff is in Tanzania for the sole purpose of establishing a strong organization in this country. They moved here on a temporary basis from Bangladesh and left their families behind to work to create a solid foundation for the organization here. The Bengali staff lives upstairs in the same building as the office—and given the close proximity of work and home, it seems they do little besides work and sleep. The office is located off the main street and surrounded by high fences and shrubbery so it feels something like a compound secluded from the dust, noise, and daladalas (the local minibuses) of the rest of the city. They work, eat, and sleep all within the compound. Instead of taking the weekend to explore the city, they work. The whole staff is expected to be in on Saturdays, but the Tanzanians (and I) are given Sundays off. When I got in to work Monday morning I asked a few Bengali coworkers if they got to rest the previous day and all said no, they had been working all day.
For the Tanzanians, on the other hand, this is a job. That is not to say that they don’t care about it or are not dedicated—but this is where they live and their lives extend far beyond the walls of the office to where their families, friends, and homes are. They work during normal business hours (usually 8:30am to 4:00pm) but then they go home to attend to the other aspects of their lives. If I leave the office at 5 or 6, the Bengali staff is still working, without any sign of letting up for the evening. The priority among Tanzanians seems to be family first—I have seen evidence repeatedly of the strength of the family unit. I spent a few days in one of the rural branches outside of Dar Es Salaam last week and one day, one of the employees came in to work several hours late. Explaining where she had been, she said she had to help her sisters with a problem that had arisen. This 23-year-old woman had previously informed me that their parents are dead and as such, she is the maternal influence in her sisters’ lives. That she would miss a half day of work to help them with a problematic situation was not surprising to her Tanzanian supervisor. The importance of family was reinforced the next day, “salary day” (a.k.a. pay day), when the employee’s sisters came to the office so that their big sister could give them some money. On salary day, the whole family benefits—the employee does not keep it for herself.
So, what is the effect of all of these cultural differences on BRAC’s microfinance operation in Tanzania? I hate to disappoint you, but I think it’s too soon to say. Preliminary observations make me wonder how the organization will change or shift as the Bengali’s gradually phase out (which they intend to do as they eventually put the control of the country operation in the hands of Tanzanians). I want to know if the work is affected by the fact that the people at the top are somewhat disconnected from the country itself by virtue of the presence of a “compound”. I want to know if an operation and its standards that originated in Asia can translate smoothly into African culture. Finally, I want to know if a Bengali, a Tanzanian, and an American can meet somewhere in the middle to find our common ground.
Want to see more? Click here to see BRAC’s currently fundraising loans.
Death of a Client
On Friday, three members of the GHAPE office went to the funeral of one of our members, Bih Josopha. She was 48 years old and left eight children behind, four of whom are under the age of 14. The daughter had come to the office to inform us of her passing on Thursday, immediately after it occurred, and we decided which office members would go and pay dues. For GHAPE members, attendance at a fellow member’s funeral is compulsory, punishable by a fine. Some of the members were a little discontented when the burial was
food from the GHAPE members
three hours behind schedule, but most of the members wanted to show their respect for a friend. Many of the women made food to feed the GHAPE members during the funeral and also to contribute to the grieving family. A lot of work that was put into the funeral to make it happen only a day after the death, but it seemed that everyone pulled their strength together, understanding the need for the effort.
When we were doing the training to become Kiva fellows, one section of the training was about being sensitive to social interactions among office members. Maybe, as Americans, we would find ourselves more physically affectionate than locals would feel comfortable being, for example. It was a good lesson to take into the field, to be very observant of the way my colleagues acted before asserting my own personality. After all, it’s better to come off a little cold in the beginning, than to make everyone around me feel uncomfortable with the way I’m acting. It turned out that the GHAPE office members are just as physically affectionate as I am, but I took a couple weeks before letting myself be that open with them. I wanted to make sure that it was ok within office politics to joke around and play. Going to a funeral was a challenge of a different kind for me. Not only was I given little observation time beforehand, I was there as a detached member of the company she owed money to and the only white person in attendance. (The loan was forgiven, as happens upon deaths within GHAPE) I did my best to imitate an appropriately somber demeanor, but not be weepy. I didn’t know the woman, but I was really sad to see her young children so overwhelmed with grief. Part of the Cameroonian burial includes music and dance, however, which lifts people’s spirits and brings some light into the ceremony. In this way, friends and family leave the funeral having grieved for the loss, paid respect, rejoiced in the life of the person, and praised God for what they have remaining in their own lives.
musicians after the burial
I had been wanting for some time to go to what Cameroonians call a “Cry Die,” which is the commemoration of a person’s death. I haven’t been to one yet, but I hear that many of the tribes come to support the family and dance and play music on the day in honor of the deceased. As a student of African dance, I am very interested in seeing how the Cameroonian tribes dance and drum and a Cry Die has been recommended to me for this particular display of tribal culture. I hadn’t understood that a funeral service would include dancing and drumming as well, but now I’ve seen that it does. Upon arrival at the funeral, Mercybertha, Fointama, and I were shown in to see the corpse of Bih Josopha, before she was placed in her coffin. I wasn’t extremely comfortable with seeing her, let alone photographing her, but my boss at GHAPE said I had to take pictures to make a good journal for the Kiva lenders. Fointama had a camera of his own and was unabashedly documenting the entire event. Somehow I felt a little more self-conscious wielding the camera in light of the fact that I was a foreigner. Later in the process of the burial, there was dancing around the newly-packed grave, and as a GHAPE member, I was asked to come into the dancing circle and sing with the other GHAPE members. I tried to look around and determine whether I should be animated or sad or somber, but I really got no definitive answer from those I saw around me. Some were smiling and singing whole-heartedly, others were doing more of an obligatory march around the grave, while not singing at all. I didn’t want to be too animated, for fear of
disrespecting the death, so I did a side-to-side step behind the others and didn’t sing. I hope that I didn’t offend anyone by not participating as much.
Death carries a different tone in Cameroon, from what I have experienced. The family that I live with has nine children, four of their own and five orphans who are cousins or friends of the family. The orphans all lost their parents at young ages. Three of the five are siblings and they lost their father first to an unknown disease and then a few years later, lost their mother to brain cancer. They said they never expected to lose their father AND their mother, but it just happened that way. Medical care is not very good here and for something as delicate as brain cancer, there’s really no hope of being cured. I’ve heard the women here talk angrily and disdainfully about the inaction doctors take for hopeless cases, usually these decisions are made upon little more than a basic inspection of the patient. The orphans who I live with are very sympathetic and wonderful people, but they themselves have expressed how death no longer affects them as it used to. They say they can hear of a death or go to a funeral and feel little more than pity. Death is so common here, and unnecessary, preventable deaths are part of everyday life. It seems to me that people try to make a way of celebrating the person’s life and incorporating a hopeful element into the ceremony, so that the event isn’t so bleak.
Bih Josopha died after six weeks of complaining of chest pain. Her brother explained to me that he had taken her to get an x-ray, but had been unable to diagnose her from what he saw in the results, not being a doctor himself. Josopha had been taking care of her eight children alone, after her husband left her, and the four young children now have to find somewhere to live. The brother has seven children of his own and is already stretching his resources. Maybe Josopha’s older children will be able to take care of the younger ones, suggested her brother. The family is not as fortunate as those orphans living in my house, with more affluent relatives to provide a home, an education and affection for them. The outpouring of support I saw, just for the funeral service, will hopefully carry on to help the family afterwards.
A funeral is not something I can say I was happy to have the chance to experience. A death is always going to be a sad thing for me. I would like to say, rather, that I felt grateful to the family to let me attend this ceremony. I’m trying to be sensitive to where my presence is welcome and where it is not, with the understanding that perhaps not all things should be made accessible to foreigners. With this, I extend to the Kiva lender what I hope is a respectful little glimpse into what happened here on Friday and what happens here in Cameroon.
Highs and Lows
As my fellowship continues to fly by, I’ve had many, many positive experiences, and really only one low point, which I’ll get to after reporting a little on my latest work. I’ve now been at FAPE for two weeks and it’s been fascinating to see the similarities and differences between the two organizations I’ve had the privilege of working with. FAPE is a much smaller organization than Friendship Bridge and FB has access to many more resources, as they are based out of Colorado and therefore have various sources of U.S. support. FAPE is a completely local organization, with a purely Guatemalan staff and board of directors. As a relatively small (less than 3,000 clients), local organization, FAPE has historically been quite limited in the loans that they can offer. Traditionally they have only offered group loans and in relatively small amounts (averaging about $250 per person). Over the years, they have acquired quite a few really good clients that have repeatedly demonstrated their ability to pay off their loans. As their businesses have grown (thanks in part to their loans as well as their entrepreneurial abilities and hard work), many of these clients have started to outgrow the small loans that FAPE has historically been able to offer. The organization clearly doesn’t want to lose these great clients, but their hands have been tied as they simply haven’t had the resources to offer larger loans. And then along comes Kiva. FAPE is now utilizing the partnership with Kiva to offer a new product: individual loans of up to $1,200. It’s been really great to interview the clients that have worked with FAPE for several years getting smaller group loans, and to hear how excited they are to now have access to more credit. While microfinance is clearly supposed to be, well, micro, these clients are taking what amounts to a relatively large sum of money to them to take larger steps in growing their businesses.
Between my time at Friendship Bridge and FAPE, I’ve interviewed over 80 clients to hear about how they’ve used their loans to invest in their business. Most of the time they’ve used the credit to buy more stuff to sell – more pigs or chickens, more inventory for their convenience store or their clothing sales, more thread and fabric for traditional weaving and embroidery. While all of these investments are clearly exactly what microfinance is about, in talking with the recipients of these relatively larger loans I’ve heard stories of even larger successes where these clients are strategizing to maximize the use of their money and investing in things with more long-term benefits. A few clients proudly reported that they had been able to pay off the last bit of the debt for their land, so now their earnings from their agricultural work are truly theirs. Other successes include paying off their market stall or being able to make a downpayment on a store of their own. As I interview these clients that have received substantially larger loans, a common theme is that they want even bigger loans. In general, they each have some sort of big purchase that they dream of, be it a truck to help them deliver their products to their customers, a house of their own for their often very large families, or a real store where they can sell their products in the formal sector, with the taste of a larger loan, they repeatedly ask for more. It definitely has me thinking about the delicate balance in microfinance, or lending in general, between the advantages of graduating to larger sums (such as discounts from buying in bulk, etc.) versus what is appropriate and responsible to give to people with few resources. While the clients clearly want more and can benefit from more, MFIs bear the tremendous responsibility of identifying what are reasonable amounts to lend to an individual. And that brings up another issue that Sergio, the director of FAPE, constantly mentions; that microfinance is not about credit reports and business records, it’s about the people. When FAPE looks into lending to a new person, they go out and meet with that person, see where they live, take a look at their business, or at least talk face-to-face about their business ideas. And when they decide to lend to an individual, it’s not really the business they are investing in, it’s the person. Overall it has been really interesting to hear this perspective and wonderful see FAPE making such good use of their partnership with Kiva to help their best clients even more.
On a completely different note, not all of my experiences have been positive. The vast majority have been amazing, but there was one low point recently and the worst part is not what happened to me, but the fact that this is a threat that so many people in this country have to deal with everyday. Last week I was on a bus, traveling with a FAPE loan officer from Guatemala City to the neighboring department of Chimaltenango, when five men with guns boarded the bus, shut the door, instructed the driver to keep driving, and proceeded to rob everyone on the bus. Overall it was as unbelievably harmless for me as such an experience can possibly be. I gave them the money I had in my pocket, which amounted to less than $2, and later they came back by and took my watch. As the lone token gringa on the bus I absolutely should have been their biggest target, so I sat and patiently waited for them to come by and take my backpack, with my camera and cell phone among other things, my wedding ring, and whatever else they might find valuable with close inspection of the foreigner. For some reason that is beyond human comprehension, that never happened. They really hardly paid any attention to me and after taking a few other people’s bags and many wallets and cell phones, they got off the bus and we continued on our trip. The loan officer I was with (Gloria) called FAPE to report the incident, and I immediately had several phone calls from a very concerned Sergio and other coworkers.
Incidences such as this are not uncommon in and around Guatemala City. I was well aware of that fact before I arrived, and I really had prepared myself mentally to be fine with handing over anything I have on me at any given time. So the robbery of my material possessions was really not all that traumatic. And other than the discomfort of seeing somewhat fake-looking guns being waved in the air and listening to general threats that they’d shoot somebody, I was subjected to no physical danger. The most disturbing part of the day was not the robbery itself, but all that I heard afterward. During the rest of the bus ride I heard story after story from other people on the bus, including Gloria, about all the robberies they had been subjected to; in their homes, their places of work, and on the road. And throughout the rest of the day as I headed to various interviews, Gloria mentioned the robbery to all we encountered and the reactions were all the same; everyone was so concerned that I had been subjected to this side of Guatemala and everyone had a similar story to tell.
So while it was unpleasant, in an odd sort of way I’m glad I had that experience. I’m here to experience the real Guatemala. I’ve had the privilege of getting dozens and dozens of small glimpses into the lives of some of the poorest of the poor in this country. And this incident, most unfortunately, really is a part of the lives these people lead. While I appreciate all the concern everyone expressed about how unfortunate it was that I had to experience that – me as a foreigner giving my time to help the people of Guatemala – what’s way more unfortunate is that this happens all the time to people who have so much less than I do and can so much less afford to have the little that they do have taken from them. I am so incredibly privileged to know that at any moment I could have any material possession I have taken from me and that I can replace it relatively easily. My only concern is my safety, which is certainly a valid concern for anyone in that situation, but really that’s it. However, 56% of Guatemalans live below the poverty line. That means that more than half the people in this country don’t have the minimum level of income needed to achieve an adequate standard of living. So to have any amount of money taken from them is so much more devastating, not just because it’s a scary experience, not just because they worry about their safety, but because they are often struggling to feed their families and keep a roof over their heads and having money and other possessions robbed from them really may result in missed meals for their children. So while I appreciate all the concern that I had to experience this, more than anything I am grateful to be that much more aware of the challenges people face in Guatemala and am reminded for what seems like the millionth time since I’ve been here of how lucky I am to have the life that I do.
Zakierík mis Amigos (Buenas Dias my friends),
My First week in Guatemala and already very impressed! Don’t know where to start because it seems I am here already a while when counting the many adventures I already had!
My long flight from Europe through several US places brought me to Guatemala City in the evening. I was picked up from the airport by a very friendly man called Viktor who brought this exhausted woman to the hostel for me a lovely horizontal rest after being wake 24 hours! The next day the mini-van brought me to Antigua where I had 2 hours to wonder around before leaving to Panajachel. Antigua is a beautiful city and – correct me if I am wrong- stated as cultural inheritance by Unesco.
Driving through the Mountains for a couple hours brings you to lovely Panajachel on the shore of lake Atitlan. This is the place I will stay the next couple of months and seeing it while driving towards it is already warming my heart. I am being dropped off at Friendship Bridge or Puente de Amistad as the Guatemalans say. I am meeting Jorge there; my main contact. We head towards the hostel. Unpack and straight to work!
The following day I get a brief introduction and we hit the road towards Sololá. This is half an hour’s drive with a bus or in the back of a pickup-truck when you miss the bus; like we did. Sololá is known for it’s traditionally dressed both man and women. Women dressed in traditional clothes, the patterns and colors according to the region they are from are seen all over Guatemala but the men aren’t wearing theirs so much anymore. They have only kept their hats. But not in Sololá: there you see the beautifully dressed man everywhere. I will work with the Sololá branch of Friendship Bridge a lot because they cover a large section of the region in need in the highlands from there.
The day before yesterday I have switched my first hostel for a lovely little apartment. The new house is one I was passing by in the morning and thought: if that could be my house… well there I am now and I feel very happy there! It’s a small studio with my own little kitchen and it’s at the end of a nice hammock bridge a bit outside of the busy town of Pana.
But let me tell you about work; at my first meeting in Sololá I felt like a giant in a porcelain closet. In the Netherlands I am certainly not one of the tallest but the women here reach barely my shoulder and speak hardly any Spanish but mostly Quiché or are so shy they don’t say they speak Castillano. I wish I could speak some of their language to tell them how stupid I feel I can’t speak their language. Most of the women have had more micro finances and this way they managed to take control over their own life’s more bit by bit. We smiled a little bit to each other and when the pictures were taken we felt a bit more comfortable all together. The young –maybe 5 year old- son of one of the women was passing me over and over again while putting his hand shortly on my knee and look at me. It was the quietest thing to see how his curiosity won from his shyness!
The next day we took a bus to Santa Clara where Jorge would show me the art of interviewing once more. The journey took about 2,5 hours and the waited another hour on a small doorstep because the loan officer was held up. This wasn’t a problem; this way Jorge and I had a bit more time to get to know each other since we are going to work together the next 3 months. The dependence on the facilitadoras as the loan officers are called here is big: they only know the streets or houses the meetings are held. There are no street names or directions. These ladies speak the local language and are well known by the entrepreneurs because they also take care of the additional trainings such as credit control, hygiene, create more self esteem, and even sometimes gymnastic lessons as we found out that day! The people in Santa Clara are very open and we were buenas-diassing our way through the streets there: the people would even wave if you were out of reach of their voice. I caught myself staring at beautiful clothing ones and the man was waving at me to say hi. I think he didn’t see my red face after… This interview went very different from the other one because the women were very open and laughing a lot. They were very much at ease in that little backroom of one of them, and to see how Jorge connects with these women was inspiring too!
Afterwards a drive back with buses and mini-vans and on the way Jorge told me I was going to go to a meeting by myself the next day. I would be picked up at the Sololá branch at 8.30 by someone. What a surprise the next morning to see it was these two Maya women who picked me up. The two were entrepreneurs and sisters. Luckily for me they did speak Spanish and as soon we were on the streets they grabbed me by the arm and started babbling while doing some shopping before we all jumped in the bus to Nahualá. What a darlings were these two sisters Maria Magdalena -and Isabel Tamriz Chovon. And its still a nice surprise when out comes the nice cell phone and other things you didn’t expect of their traditional blouses.
Everybody in the bus was surprised and curious how I knew these two women and another woman from San José started questioning me about that. Funny: I was the gossip of town for a moment. When we arrived, almost all of the 23 women of the group were already there so I got started right away with using my new learned words: zakierík lé nubí Chanti. (Buenos Dias my name is Chanti). The women were happy and surprised I had learned some of their language and gave me a little applause! After that the question if they would understand Castillano? Well that wasn’t the case at all but luckily the loan officer was very willing to translate for me. In the beginning there was a bit hesitation but later on there was enthusiasm to answer my questions. After half an hour I walked out of the door with nice content to write my first business description! I was immediately followed by one of the sisters asking if I would be alright to find my way back. The sweet sweet woman was worried and not without a reason. I had to take a tuktuk towards the petrol station and from there buses to a sharp crossing and from there change buses into Sololá. Her explanation made it all easy and after another big hug I left feeling very humble how such a big cultural difference sometimes is not in the way of making new friends!
Sweet greetings from beautiful Guatemala
Chanti
My crazy boda-boda adventure
This past week Opportunity International-Wedco was able to finally report its loan repayments on Kiva and to its lenders (after pausing during the post-election crisis). Now I can jump into coordinating visits to do journal updates. Special thanks to the sick excel skills of my MPM, Ben Elberger.
I wanted to share a quick funny story from my travels. Many of the fellows have mentioned the various forms of transportation that we get to take around our locations. In Kenya, matatu, tuk-tuk, and boda-boda’s are the transportation staples. Last week I was heading home after leaving Kenya’s own version of Wall-Mart, Nakumatt. I took a boda-boda because I had loaded up with a couple gallons of water.
As we were going I noticed that my boda-boda driver was sweating, a lot. I’m not talking about the light sweat from a warm day, I’m talking about the kinda sweat you’d see glowing fiery red or neon green in a Gatorade commercial. While sitting behind him on the bicycle I couldn’t help but focus on the sweat droplets form around his ear lobe and I got a bit worried when I imagined it slowly flying back into my eye. So I asked him if he was feeling sick. He replied “I don’t feel so good”. Sure enough right after he uttered the last syllable the collection of droplets on his ear flew back and was aimed to hit right between my eyes. Quickly I ducked my head causing my bag with a big water jug to fall to the side of the bike throwing off the balance of the boda-boda and rubbing against the rusty spokes of the wheel. He hit the brakes yelling something unmentionable in Luo while I stuck out both my feet and thankfully we safely stopped. It was a close call and I’ll make sure to not bring large full water jugs with me the next time I take a boda-boda and make sure my driver isn’t under the weather.
Well that is my quick story, although it is nothing to the stories Nabomita could share. Also, I promise that after some comprehensive time in the field my next post will be more substantive regarding the post-election violence in Kenya and its impact upon Kiva funded businesses.
1 August 2008 at 15:31 Zack Turner, KFP Coordinator 1 comment
The Little Things That Make Me Smile and Scratch My Head
There are a number of things here in Nigeria that are just different enough to bring laughter and puzzlement to my days…
“Oyibo” – Wherever I go, people call out “Oyibo.” Naturally, I initially thought this meant “hello” or served as some sort of greeting. I suppose it is a greeting of sorts, but literally means “white person.” It isn’t an insult, just a way to get my attention and a wave. Generally oyibos remain in Lagos, the business capital, or Port Harcourt, where the oil flows. I’ve seen two other oyibos in my first month here in Benin City – not many. I’m certainly an anomaly. I wish I could capture the curiosity and discovery that I see in the eyes of the children I meet. They look at me with a deep attention. Every movement is watched. Every action is noted. For many, I am the first white person they have seen outside of the manufactured distance of a television screen. They are excited and confused. Some try to stay very still as not to let on to their interest. Others creep up next to me and casually rub against my skin or run around giggling with their siblings, beaming smiles on their faces.
Divine Businesses – Nigeria, and especially Benin City, is a very religious place. In the north of the country Islam reigns. In the south, various Christian denominations rule, ranging from Pentecostal to Baptist, Catholic to Apocalyptic. The seriousness of faith is evident just driving down the road passing signs displaying religiously themed business names. Some are expected (e.g. Christ’s Bookshop and Religious Store). Some make me smile in their randomness (e.g. God’s Time Aluminum Co.). Others make me laugh out loud with comical plays on words (my favorite, God’s Power Electrical Supplies).
“This House is Not For Sale” – you will find these words scribbled in paint across houses throughout Benin (and probably Nigeria). From a Western perspective this seems odd. If it is not explicitly stated that the house is for sale, then why would it be assumed otherwise? Why would the aesthetic of one’s home be sacrificed to clarify this seemingly intuitive statement? The answer: fraud within the family. Apparently it is not uncommon for one family member to try and sell the house out from under another.
Soup – Tired of eating a diet based primarily on an endless variety of starches, one evening I decided to order “soup and salad.” Both of these words are used in relation to Nigerian food, however, “salad” is more of a cabbage garnish topped with a dollop of mayonnaise and soup is not spooned into ones mouth, but eaten as more of a sauce with pounded yam and other cassava-based starchy staples. One orders their starch as the main and specifies which soup for flavor (like ordering rice with a side of salmon or a whole grain sandwich with turkey). The difference is subtle, but important. To me, my order of “soup and salad” seemed to me to be a smart alternative to a carb overload, but the looks I got were riddled with confusion and amazement. The restaurant staff was so baffled by my order that it was on the house. From what I can tell as a result of my questioning, an equivalent order in America might be a bowl of alfredo sauce with a side of parsley and an orange slice.
The Nuts and Bolts
Part of the reason I signed up for the Kiva Fellowship was to see how microfinance actually works on the ground. You can read all the books on microfinance, but that couldn’t make up for never seeing it in action with your own eyes. After getting an understanding of AMK’s operations from their nice air-conditioned central office (where I just finished making them an Excel macro to keep better track of their Kiva loans), I knew I had to see the loan officer in action to really understand the pros and cons of microfinance.
Saphanith, Elena and I stopped by Au Village, the home of two Kiva entrepreneurs, Mrs. Kim Eng and Mrs. Eak Maong. Both entrepreneurs received their loans recently (which is why my journal updates on them are rather meek). We went to their village bank meeting. Here’s a quote from AMK’s website that describes the village bank:
|
AMK’s flagship product is the solidarity group loan product, which offers flexible repayment terms where clients can borrow and repay at any point during the cycle. AMK’s end-of-term repayment product is delivered to members through a solidarity group lending methodology. These village solidarity groups are called Village Banks (VBs) and constitute the group loan delivery mechanism; they are in effect a “Village Association” or “Village-level client group”. The potential clients self-select themselves into solidarity groups of 4 to 6 members and these, in turn, are organized into VBs of 4 to 12 groups (or 20 to 60 clients). Being part of a self-selected solidarity group entails that three to five other villagers trust the loan applicant to let him/her join their solidarity group. All loans are guaranteed by the respective group members and appraised and approved by AMK’s Credit Officer (CO) and the Village Bank President (VBP) before the disbursements take place in the presence of the group members and AMK’s Area/Branch Manager. |
As I mentioned in my last post, each village bank has a president who is elected by the villagers and facilitates the functions of the village bank. When we showed up at Au Village, Ly Chandara, the loan officer was busy collecting payments from many of the villagers. Most of the loans were end of term loans, so the loan officer was collecting mainly interest payments. Nevertheless this took a lot of time. All the clients did not come at the exact time, after they came he had to calculate how much was paid and how much interest they owed. Once they paid up, the loan officer had to do a lot of counting because they mainly gave him small bills 100, 500 and 1000 riels (worth 2.5 cents, 12.5 cents and 25 cents respectively).
Ly Chandara, an AMK loan officer, collecting payments from Au Village Bank members
The village bank meeting was very close to Mrs. Kim Eng’s little shop, so we stopped by for a visit. We saw all the goods that she was able to buy with her loan. She told us about her husband’s death. He had gone to Angkor Wat, and when he came back he became really sick. She thinks that he probably died of food poisoning. She was pregnant at the time of his death, which was ten years ago. Despite all of this she is able to support her family and I wish her the best of luck!
Mrs. Kim Eng and her well stocked store
Smiles!
We then went to Mrs. Eak Maong’s residence. She showed us the new pigs that she bought with a Kiva loan and a gigantic pig that she was getting ready to sell. Her pig breeding business has been doing very well, and she hopes to increase her profits with the pigs she bought using her Kiva loan!
Mrs. Eak Maong and her new pigs
Is this a pig or a small elephant?
Before we left, Saphanith and Elena also got lessons from another Au Village bank member on how to make Num Thnot cake. Num Thnot cake is made out of palm fruit and plam sugar. It is wrapped in banana leaves and then steamed. The first step is to make a box out of a strip of banana leaf and a toothpick. This is what Elena and Saphanith tried to learn.
Elena and Saphanith in the background, while the master Num Thnot maker shows them how it's done.
I don’t want to rush to make any conclusions, good or bad, about microfinance based on my two visits into the field, but hopefully after spending some more time (and learning some Khmer!) I will get a better sense of what microfinance, AMK, and Kiva are accomplishing and what they could improve upon. In the meantime, here’s another animal picture for KivaFriends members.
Oink Oink!
Click here to see all the loans from AMK that are currently fundraising on Kiva.
From the city, into the field: views from a motorbike
To see a complete list of MAXIMA’s clients who live in rural areas such as this one, please click here.
My First Ugandan Fight
Yesterday I was not in a fight, but rather saw my first fight in Uganda. This fight was over a woman – me. However, it was not between jealous lovers. Rather, the fight was between two taxi drivers vying for my fare.
In Kampala, if one doesn’t have a car or is too scared to drive (me), there are two other forms of transportation to get around. One option is to take a boda-boda which is a motorcycle. The other option is to take a matatu which is a shared van that is licensed to carry 14 people, but usually has upwards of 16 people crammed into the small van.
At MCDT, we usually travel via matatu as this is the cheapest form of transportation. Loan officers and I catch the matatu at the taxi stop by the Kampala branch. Yesterday, Rose and I headed to the taxi stop to catch the Jinja Road/Kampala Road matatu. These matatus show up constantly, and there are usually at least two waiting there upon our arrival like there was yesterday. At each stop they wait in hopes of filling up their matatus with passengers before heading to the next stop – this wait can be anywhere from 30 seconds to 10 minutes.
Matatus love muzungus (white people) as they tend to not know the proper prices (there are no real set prices – one just needs to know how much to pay) and can be pressured into paying higher prices. When I travel on matatu, I go with a loan officer who doesn’t let the conductor (the one in charge of collecting passengers and money) overcharge me. Rose, being the ever-conscious loan officer she is, not only protects me from being charged too much, but also bargains to ensure she can save MCDT even the smallest amount. Yesterday was no different.
As we set off on our way yesterday, we headed to the taxi stop and stood there with a look of not caring in an attempt to get the conductor to lower the price. Two conductors were vying for our business until finally one conductor offered us the ride for 300 shillings rather than 500 shillings. We immediately boarded his matatu and Rose was very satisfied with her powers of persuasion. Unfortunately, the matatu conductor that lost our business was not impressed.
Immediately after we boarded, the matatu conductors started arguing and the one whose we did not board began sliding our van door closed so no one else could board, clearly angered by our decision not to ride with him. Our conductor was getting more and more annoyed with this behavior but mostly ignored him and kept opening the door and acquiring passengers. The other conductor got even more angered by this and then started pushing our matatu driver. The pushing was not to be tolerated and the two drivers exchanged more heated words and harder pushes. Through this entire altercation, people barely watched as apparently this is “normal” behavior for matatu conductors.
Finally, our conductor boarded our van and our driver started the engine intent on moving onto the next stop. The other matatu conductor would not have this and stood in front of the van, not allowing us to pull into the two lane traffic. Our driver, used to the treacherous driving conditions in Kampala, was amazingly able to maneuver around the angry conductor trying to standing front of our van. However, seeing that our driver was heading onto the street and away from the angry conductor, the driver of the other matatu (and apparently the partner-in-crime of the angry conductor) then pulled into the street and positioned the van horizontally so that both lanes were blocked and no traffic could pass.
Eventually, all passengers including Rose and I got off the matatus and boarded other vans. These matatus and the other traffic started passing the feuding matatus by driving on the sidewalk. I have no idea how long the vans stayed feuding and basically blocking traffic, but what I realized was something more personal: In the 8 weeks I have been here, little now surprises me and my patience has increased incredibly. I now know I will eventually end up at my destination, I just have no exact idea how or when.
http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=112&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old_tpg=fb
The Expectation of Innovation
Microcredit undoubtedly represents a creative and original response to poverty. But I think that somewhere along the way, the innovativeness of the idea seems to have translated into an expectation of novelty and ingenuity for all “small-scale entrepreneurs.” I was reminded of this recently while reading a report published by IBM that described microcredit recipients as “creative” and “entrepreneurial.” While I’m certainly no expert on the subject, my time in the field has reinforced my belief that microloans do not generally enable budding entrepreneurs to realize innovative business ideas. Although there’s always an exception to the rule, the loans seem to help ordinary individuals start or expand one-(wo)man enterprises that resemble many other businesses in the marketplace. I don’t believe that this fact diminishes the significance of the loans. Yet I do think that the common media portrayal of microfinance’s potential is out of line with the reality on the ground. I have to wonder if this gap between expectation and reality (as I see it, at least), will eventually hinder the microfinance movement.
Personally, I have to admit that the first time I looked on Kiva, I was a little disappointed. The opportunity to make a loan directly to another individual excited me, of course, but the nature of the projects seemed so provincial. Profile after profile showed conventional businesses with the loan purpose listed as “expanding her business” or “purchasing more goods for sale.” I had wanted to help someone who was doing something new and different. Something more than simply buying goods in bulk at reselling them for a small profit. Perhaps I’m all alone in this respect, but I suspect that many Kiva lenders have the same initial response. Working with CRAN this summer, however, I have had the opportunity to witness borrowers’ modest businesses firsthand, and to learn from them about the nature of work in the informal sector. It has been an eye-opening experience and has helped me to understand the importance of “purchasing more goods for sale.”
In my interviews with clients (most of whom are traders), I always ask how they got into their line of work. I hear two common choruses. Either they inherited the trade from a parent, or they observed the market, noticed a particular set of goods selling quickly, and decided to start selling it themselves. In doing the latter, they instinctively respond to market trends—which always impresses me, but there’s no apparent attempt to define a new niche for themselves or to offer creative solutions to conventional problems. Take the sale of bread, for instance. Generally speaking, there are 4 types of bread in Ghana: sugar bread, tea bread, butter bread, and brown bread (all of which are delicious). And on any given commercial street in Cape Coast, you’ll likely find one or two bread stands, two or three breakfast stands, and seven or more general stores, all selling some combination of these four breads. Why, I’ve wondered, if bread is so popular, does no one experiment with other types of bread? Perhaps a loaf with a crispier crust, a heavier dessert bread, or a good ole fashion banana bread? Why hasn’t CRAN helped a client open a banana bread stand, when all of the ingredients are so abundant?
I suspect that there are many explanations for this—and I’m interested in learning more about them—but I think that the risk involved in any entrepreneurial undertaking represents one major factor. Innovation seems to require that both the buyer and the seller have some breathing room in their expenses. Someone living at or below the poverty line can likely not afford to charter a new path in the bread market. If a poor baker invested all of her capital into an experimental batch of bread that flopped, the result could be disastrous for her and her family. With minimal savings and no official safety net, it could mean that her children go without much food or schooling indefinitely. Furthermore, if the start-up capital came from a microloan, then she’d be saddled with debt too. And from the buyer’s perspective, testing out a new kind of bread may seem risky and unnecessary. Why take a chance with the unfamiliar when a second loaf of bread cannot easily be bought, and when the conventional loaf fills her children’s stomachs just fine? Without the cushion of savings or disposable income, the price of innovation seems to increase significantly. Experimentation seems to become a luxury reserved for the well-off.
So, the risk of innovation may encourage poor individuals to open businesses whose success has already been demonstrated. Beyond the risk factor, however, I think that the nature of the informal sector also encourages the duplication—and the constant desire for a loan to “buy more goods for sale.” The informal economy in Cape Coast comes as close as I’ve ever seen to perfectly competitive market. The barriers to entry, for one, are almost non-existent. Although profits generally increase as one’s supply increases, someone can start a business with only enough inventory to fill a small basket. Such women carry the baskets on their heads and walk door to door searching for customers. With no red tape or minimum requirement of capital, hundred of sellers in the marketplace, and nearly identical products, everyone ends up a price taker. They charge the market price and not a pesewas higher; if they do, they’ll lose their business to the person half a block away selling the same thing. As a result, everyone ends up with slim profit margins. Yet expansion provides a straight-forward way of making more money. With a slim profit margin on each good sold, her profit slowly accumulates as she sells more of the same stuff. The basket carrier seeks to set up an informal stall; the stall owner wants to open a sturdy kiosk; and the kiosk saleswoman aspires to expand into a modest shop.
So that’s what I’ve seem in the field so far. Individuals don’t take out loans to start new, creative businesses. They access credit in order to enlarge their inventory. The traders want to buy more goods for sale; the fishmongers want to buy more fish; the bakers want to purchase more ingredients. It’s not glamorous but it seems to be the pragmatic reality of microfinance. Expecting more from the financial service may be dangerously wishful thinking.
Five Things I Love About Tajikistan
1. Tajiki-what?: Being an American in Tajikistan means that you are in a country that few of your compatriots have ever heard of, let alone traveled to. You are a curiosity everywhere you go and the lack of Westerners gives you the opportunity to act as kind of a mini-ambassador, answering all of questions that Tajiks have been waiting, sometimes their whole lives, to ask an American. Especially in the small towns, I attract a crowd of onlookers whenever I’m conducting an interview with a Kiva client, gawking at me as if I’ve just arrived from the moon. It is quite fun to be suddenly elevated to such pseudo-celebrity status and when I speak people listen to every word with an incredible amount of interest. I’ve been asked by mothers to marry their daughters, I’ve had a child named in my honor, and the usual response by my driver when we reach some kind of checkpoint or roadblock is to loudly exclaim to the soldiers or policemen on duty “We’ve got an American in the car!” and the problem just disappears. I relish the time I spend teaching others about America, answering their numerous questions and asking them in turn a litany of my own questions about their country. Because Tajikistan is so far off the beaten track the cultural exchange that occurs here is really intense and you experience travel in a way that people rarely do anymore in a world where there are so few places left to discover.
Me with my good friends, the Tajik Border Guards
2. Hospitality, re-defined: Trust me, you don’t know the meaning of the word until you’ve been to this far-flung outpost of former-Soviet Central Asia. Everyone wants a little piece of the new Yankee on the block and over the past several weeks I’ve felt a little bit like a human pinball, bounced back and forth through all the different feats of generosity that my wonderful, yet often overbearing hosts can throw at me. My patience, my Russian language skills, the strength of my gastrointestinal system, and above all my appetite have been tested in ways that I never thought possible . Exhortations to “EAT!” and “DRINK!” are shouted at me like I’m in some kind of Central Asian bootcamp with Tajik babushkas playing the role of drill sergeant as I try to get the mounds of plov and shashlyk down my throat without choking to death. Even after what I think are my Herculean efforts to consume everything my hosts have offered me, I’m usually ridiculed with a typical “Ha! My grandson, he’s not even a year old, and he eats more than you!” or “What, are you not hungry? Do you not like our Tajik food?” It is an utterly exhausting endeavor to “go as a guest” in Tajikistan, but it is a wonderful and often hilarious experience nonetheless. You learn the real meaning of generosity, when you are given a feast of epic proportions by someone who makes $100 dollars a month and has several children to feed. Even though I consider myself a fairly giving individual, I feel like a real Ebenezer Scrooge in the face of such kindness. Despite the fact that it’s not always the most delicious meal and you may add a few inches to your waistline in the process, being a guest in Tajikistan will open you up to a new level of hospitality that you will never forget.
mmmm...yummy
3. Melons, melons, and more melons: Central Asia is known for its melons, especially in summertime when the bazaars are packed with pyramidal stacks of the ubiquitous fruit. Almost every meal either begins or ends (sometimes both) with slices of fresh watermelon (tarbuz in Tajik) that are amazingly sweet and delicious. As a guest here in Tajikistan, I am usually forced to eat about half a gigantic tarbuz at every sitting, and sometimes they throw in a regular yellow melon just for good measure that far outshines the comparatively bland honeydew and canteloupe that we have become accustomed to in the states. You could live here on melons alone, especially during the hotter months when there is nothing as refreshing as laying down on the tapchan (a traditional raised square platform where Tajiks do most of their eating) with melon juice sloshing around your stomach as you sip green tea and drift slowly into a lazy afternoon siesta.
Me and the Wonderful Watermelons of Tajikistan
4. Apricot heaven: I have to admit that I’m a huge fan of apricots, but never in my life did I think that I would stumble onto the apricot mecca that is northeastern Tajikistan. The area around the city of Isfara is the epicenter of the apricot world where over 40 varieties of the fruit are grown on the seemingly endless orchards that surround you as you drive into the countryside. Everywhere you look you see the deep orange hue of fresh apricots drying on huge pieces of cloth underneath the summer sun. Women kneel over and remove each pit by hand that they then dry and roast in order to eat the almond-like nut inside. While interviewing clients outside of Isfara I asked my loan officers if we could stop and take a look at some of the orchards. They kindly granted my request and with permission of the local farmer I giddily ran around, plucking the ripe fruit from low hanging branches and sampling the amazing gift of Mother Nature that is the Tajik apricot. Dried, the apricots serve as a kind of local currency that people can barter or sell when they need some extra cash. Therefore, not only are apricots delicious, they are a kind of safety net for families in this part of the country during the harsh and economically uncertain winter months.
Apricot time!
5. A Mild Cult of Personality: President Emomali Rahmon’s obsession with himself is something that I both love and hate simultaneously. For a foreigner like myself it is one of the more hilarious aspects of being in Tajikistan, yet as I laugh at his silly portraits and statements hanging everywhere in the cities and along the roadsides, I am also sad for the people who are stuck here with this post-Soviet despot and can’t take these curious monuments as lightly as I can. One of my favorite pastimes here is to make fun of Rahmon’s attempts at being a “man of the people,” when it is obvious, especially with $6 billion sitting in a Swiss bank, that the people are really the last thing on his mind. At the main intersection here in Khujand there is a jumbotron that plays a non-stop montage of Rahmon’s sojourns amongst the citizens of Northern Tajikistan, cutting ribbons, visiting schools, kissing babies while crowds of people clap in rhythym, standing in a wheat field and feeling the crop with his own hands, giving speeches surrounded by gigantic picutes of (guess who?) himself, and receiving various awards for basically doing nothing. Over and over again the largest screen in the city plays this vacuous film when they could be using it for some useful purpose, but alas, logic and common sense are often scarce commodities amongst the leaders of Central Asia. The type of humor that comes from watching this display of extravagant narcissism is bittersweet and stems from a certain exasperation one feels when the system is so stacked against change that the only thing left to do is laugh at the absurdity of it all. But, laugh I do, and even though it is tinged with sadness, seeing this strange form of political expression is endlessly amusing and fascinating.
What a great guy! (President Rahmon is the one on the left)
Beautiful Cambodia
I’m regularly taken aback by the beauty that I witness all over Cambodia. However, I am hesitant to write this blog for one reason: I could never fully recount the beauty of the landscape, people, and culture, neither through words nor photographs. Life in Cambodia has been surprisingly humbling and incredibly rewarding, so I hope that I can convey at least a glimmer of my experiences of the country. I’ll do my best to highlight a few of the aspects of Cambodian life and culture which I most appreciate.
Cultural Persona: Pride, cheer, concord – these elements are pervasive in Cambodian culture. Perhaps it’s a result of the past national turmoil, which forced strangers to band together as family for the purpose of survival. Perhaps it’s because the culture is rooted in Buddhist influence, and therefore traditionally devoid of consumerism, deceitfulness or cynicism. Perhaps I shouldn’t try so hard to explain why, but rather appreciate it for what it is.
Three cousins. They stick together, so don't try to mess with them!
Resourcefulness: By necessity, Cambodian people have had to develop an extremely opportunistic and enterprising way of life. It is rare to see a resource go wasted, whether that resource is food, raw material, machine, or manpower.
Driving through Phnom Penh I saw this truck loaded to the max with metal brackets AND people
Tradition: Despite the difficult modern history of Cambodia, including national devastation by the Khmer Rouge regime, Cambodia has maintained strong cultural traditions. Out in the countryside you can find communities living in the same manner in which they lived before the dawn of motorized transportation, electronics, and other modern comforts. Even in the urban centers, many people still live in close accordance to Buddhist, Muslim or other traditional principles.
A Family business in Kampong Chhnang - the daughters are already expert at pottery
Cuisine: An often overlooked aspect of Cambodia is the delicious Khmer cuisine. Cambodian dishes require natural ingredients and items from the surrounding landscape, and often incorporate animal parts or creatures often overlooked by Western culture. If you can overcome your preconceptions, you can enjoy the cuisine like the Khmer people do.
An array of Khmer dishes for sale at the local market
History: There is no more obvious way to illustrate the spectacular history of Cambodia, than with one of the many magnificent temples at Angkor. The complex of ancient temples at Angkor Wat is the kind of place that you have to visit to fully appreciate, but the grandeur of the temples is clear in any picture, nonetheless.
Ta Prohm Temple, near Angkor Wat
Sometimes life here feels surreal to me, as if I am on the set of a movie (the temple of Ta Prohm near Angkor Wat was, in fact, a set location for the first Tomb Raider movie). Often, It’s not until I skim through my photographs that I realize how uniquely beautiful are the people and their country.
Click here to see all loans from HKL that are currently fundraising on Kiva
Life of Kiva Clients in Bosnia: The Amateur’s Version
The smell of a farm is one thing that is familiar to me, but not much else is. It’s amazing how removed you can be from a process that is so central to life, but it’s true. Feel like I should take some kind of crash course in farming, something that would qualify me to report on the majority of the businesses here. But I’m not qualified and that’s that. This is the amateur’s version of the life of Kiva clients in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Farming is not a business, it’s at least 10 businesses wrapped into one. These women manage everything, from the planting of seeds to the final selling at the market. What they don’t sell they use to feed their families and keep their animals alive. They share barns & supplies with their neighbors, trade food, and keep each other afloat. There is a lot of talk about sustainable living these days, but the only time I have witnessed it is here in Bosnia.
It’s tempting to glamorize the life of a farmer, but since it’s anything but I should stop that right here. 14 hour days are the norm. The weather can be unkind, and there go your crops. A cow dies, your flock of sheep are wiped out by disease, and there goes all your income. It’s a job in the end, like any other, but a lot less forgiving. I don’t know how they cope with that ongoing disappointment, with the fickle nature of fate. I wonder if they get any kind of joy out of their work, like many city dwellers imagine they would. But these women have a lot to deal with. There is not a lot of time for all these questions.
It is awkward to be the outsider here, this strange intermediary between the lender and the borrower, and my awareness of this gives me pause whenever I meet with clients and try to explain what I’m doing here. Many get a kick out of seeing their business profile, but I wonder what they really think about all that goes on behind this. What continues to amaze me most about Kiva is what it has created—an amazingly dedicated lending community, a force of nature itself. I want to tell clients that there are many people so interested in hearing everything they have to say. That they send their hopes & wishes to them, via comments on a website. It’s hard to explain this phenomenon at all, even in English.
I feel lucky to be in this strange & wonderful position, to be here at all, to be able to meet these clients. But the distance between any two people can be small yet great at the same time. There’s a lot I wish to know about these women, but not a lot I can know. I just wish they could all just speak to you for themselves, and tell you what they really thought.
Here at least is what I think. The women I meet are strong and they are fighters. They find new ways to make the most out of their land every day. They have better business sense & work ethic than you can imagine. They take care of their family, and they look out for each other. They are kind & gracious despite all the bad luck they’ve had. And they all deserve better luck than they have had. Though I may not be doing a good job in communicating anything here, I hope they know that they have a lot of people on their side, and that the world has not forgotten them.
To fund a new business from Zene za Zene, click here (if these run out more will be posted soon!)
Zehra, Kiva Client
Sadika, Kiva Client, with her family
Vesna, Kiva Client, with her daughter
Emira, Kiva Client, with her husband
Redžiba and Namka, Kiva Clients, also neighbors & distant cousins
Finest Poyo in Sierra Leone
Musa Kamara is a simple man. He lives in small hut in a remote region of the Sierra Leone jungle. He lives with his wife and daughter under a palm-branch roof that he built himself. For food he grows a few vegetables in his garden and hunts his own bushmeat. Musa gets almost everything he needs for his family from the jungle. Maybe you would expect it, maybe you wouldn’t, but Musa is an extremely happy man. If you ask him why, he’ll probably say it’s because he has the finest poyo in Sierra Leone.
Musa and His Daughter
It was Wednesday at twilight when I first saw Musa. I was in the passenger seat of a white Land Cruiser, traveling down a dirt road that looked more like a shallow, red clay river. We were returning from Dogolaia village where I had interviewed rice and okra farmers near the Guinean border. I was hanging out of the window, watching the jungle pass by when Musa came into view through the palm trees. He was sitting on a wooden stool in front of his hut. He was shirtless and smiling. With a Krio accent he said, “Got de finest poyo in Salone.” And that was all. I shouldn’t have even been able to hear him over the engine of the Land Cruiser. But I did.
Finest poyo in Salone? Constantly on the lookout for that authentic drinking experience abroad, I couldn’t pass this up. I had heard of poyo before I arrived in Sierra Leone. Poyo is a slang term for palm-wine. An alcoholic drink extracted from palm trees and revered for its deliciously relaxing effects. I got the driver to hit the brakes and we backed that cruiser up to Musa’s hut.
“How de body?” “De body fine. Kushe.” “Kushe” “Tapped dis an hour ago.” Then he proceeded to pour a mug full of whitish liquid. Honestly, I was revolted. It looked like a cup of soapy water with globs of snot floating in it. Top it off with bits of bark and gnats swimming in it. Musa had a huge grin on his face, but I’m sure my face was contorted in disgust. You have got to be kidding. This was going to take some convincing. So what is the big deal with this poyo?
Musa Tapping a Palm Tree
The process starts with Musa finding the right palm tree. The liquid is stored inside the trunk and can be tapped about once a year. There is a whole art (which I won’t pretend to know) of selecting the tree at the right time. Tap the tree when the poyo is too young and it will be overly sweet and weak in alcohol. Tap the tree too late, and the poyo will have fermented too long and taste sour. You can also do some distilling outside the tree trunk, but that’s not Musa’s style. He likes to keep things organic.
Once Musa has the perfect tree ready, he climbs it with a strap made out of old palm branches tied together. It looks like it is going to snap at any second… but Musa doesn’t seem to mind even when he is over 30 feet off the ground. When he gets to the top of the tree he pulls out his tap. It is a very simple wooden carving that he hammers into the trunk of the palm tree. Once he pounds it into the right spot, out flows the poyo. It’s as simple as that. No filtering, no aging, no refrigerating. Just tap and drink. That’s where all the delicious floaters come from.
With Musa standing in front of me pouring the sap into a plastic mug, I was starting to get a bit nervous. The mug looked filthy and the poyo looked like it might kill me. I was actually thinking more about what diseases I could get from drinking out of this guy’s mug than anything else. But Musa brought me back to attention by filling me in on an African tradition. The pourer always takes the first taste. Always the pourer. With a grin, Musa put the mug to his lips and took a healthy swig. “Dats fine poyo.” The look of sincere pleasure on his face as he said this had me convinced. My turn.
Good Sign in the Poyo
He handed me the mug and I looked in side. Besides there being a healthy amount of “stuff” floating in the mix, there was a dead honey bee bobbing on top. Musa explained that was a good sign. The poyo was just so tasty that the bee fell in, got drunk, and died. Who can argue with that?
I held the poyo up to my nose and took a deep inhale. I was strangely shocked. Nothing like the smell of coconuts or pineapple here. You won’t even believe what it smells like. The strongest aspect of the smell reminded me of a pungent pickle relish. Think of something similar to a freshly chopped up palm leaf. On top of that, there is a woody smell in the poyo… something that imitates a savory beef aroma. Put it together and you have a drink that smells oddly like a McDonalds value meal. I’m not kidding.
So with no more procrastinating I drank up, paying attention to avoid the bugs. The taste followed the smell… a watered down milky drink, with a woody relish flavor. It sounds awful. But actually it wasn’t that bad. I could immediately tell that it was an acquired taste. The loan officer with me, who is something of a poyo connoisseur, was next up. We took his taste and pronounced, “That’s very fine poyo.” It doesn’t get fresher than that he said. If you get it in town, it would probably be diluted with sugar water. This was the good stuff.
Sharing the Finest Poyo in Salone
Not to break tradition, we pulled up stools in front of Musa’s hut and shared a couple liters of poyo. At times I’ll admit I was choking it back. But the stories were good and the drink had an endearing disgustingness to it. After paying Musa for his poyo, we headed on our way back to Kabala.
Would I drink poyo again? Well… I wouldn’t buy it at Starbucks. A liquid hamburger just isn’t at the top of my list. But in the middle of a jungle, listening to stories in Krio as the sun goes down… pass me another mug.
Chicks and Dirt Roads
On Friday, Sophanith, Elena and I went to visit the Thea Chhin group, to do a journal on the group leader, Thea Chhin. The journey to Sala Khom Village was quite long. We left AMK‘s central office in Phnom Penh early in the morning and the drive to the branch office in Kampong Chhnang took about an hour. There we were greeted by the branch manager and we switched from our car to a pickup truck that was able to handle the village roads. As soon as our truck started driving on dirt roads, I was reminded of a road trip I took during college with my friends to Havasupai Canyon in Arizona. To get to the canyon we had to take a dirt road that was labeled “primitive road.” There was no such sign in Sala Khom Village.
Primitive road sign from my college road trip
The road to Sala Khom village
After another hour of driving, we arrived at the house of the village bank president where we were informed the village bank was meeting a few hours later. The VB president is elected by the other village bank borrowers. They organize village bank meetings and handle problems that villagers have with repayments or interest rates. While we were waiting I took some pictures of chicks (the animal type!) for KivaFriends members to enjoy.
Chickies!
As the clients started to trickle in, eventually Thea Chhin arrived. She is currently pregnant and is expecting a child in September. Sophanith interviewed her using a questionnaire form Elena developed with him. Hopefully this questionnaire will be used by loan officers as they interview clients for future journals. (At AMK we are still working on integrating Kiva’s needs into their business structure). I took a picture of her and she smiled! Adam, an Australian volunteer for AMK who does a lot of graphic design work for them, has been taking pictures of Cambodians but has had a hard time getting them to smile. When Cambodians pose for pictures they usually have a serious face (like in the business description).
Thea Chinn, another Kiva Success Story!
I wasn’t able to get a picture of her with her business, because she was busy at the village bank meeting. On my next visit to a village I’ll try to get pictures of clients next to their businesses.
This is the journal update I wrote on Thea Chhin which describes how the loan has changed her life:
|
With the loan that she borrowed, Mrs. Thea Chhin was able to buy more vegetables to resell and her husband was able to buy more parts for his motorcycle business. This increased their profits which has improved the living conditions of her family. She has also bought some kitchen equipment. Her three children are doing well; two are working at the same jobs that they had, while the other is still in school. Mrs. Chinn is currently saving some of her money because she is expecting another child in September. The rest of the group is also doing well. Another member has bought fruits from Poy Peth and vegetables from Phnom Penh to sell at the local market. This is an end-of-term loan, so Mrs. Chinn has not made any payments on the principal, but next month she will have to repay the loan in full. She has made every monthly interest payment on time, as has the rest of the group. Just so you know AMK’s default rate is virtually zero. The few loans that are not repaid (less than 0.1%) are mostly those that are written off due to the death of the entrepreneur. |
Click here to see all the loans from AMK that are currently fundraising on Kiva.
Oil & Elbow Grease
My small black notebook is quickly filling up with lengthy scribble detailing the businesses and lives Kiva lenders are touching in Nigeria. The ever-present entrepreneurial spirit in this country fascinates me while the big-picture political economy boggles my mind.
To put it all in context, Nigeria is the world’s 6th biggest oil producer. Oil revenues constitute over 95% of Nigeria’s export earnings and 85% of the government’s revenue (at US$50 billion in 2006). However, there are frequent power outages, the roads are slow and hazardous riddled with potholes and 57% of the population lives below the poverty line. Few Nigerians see any benefit from the large oil resources. The majority of people are left to fend for themselves, operating an informal economy with more than its share of challenges.
Nigeria is a nation of entrepreneurial middlemen and women. The example of the yam supply chain for Benin City (commonly known as Benin) illustrates this clearly. Yam wholesalers travel once a week to northern Nigeria to purchase yams from the farmers, a journey that takes 4 to 5 days. After purchasing the yams, they mark every one with their unique symbol in blue chalk. Twenty to thirty wholesalers from Benin will pool resources and hire a large lorry to carry the goods back to a large empty plot of land where they will sort and sell their goods. The wholesalers ride rickety 15-passenger vans back, just as they went. From there, local market vendors will purchase the yams and take them to various markets around Benin to sell at a markup. Some of these larger vendors will attract another level of business and sell to small-time yam vendors who provide to the smallest markets on the outskirts of town.
Most things work this way. Boys on the street sell cell phone recharge cards that they buy in packs of 10 from a wholesaler. If they sell them all, they will earn a profit of less than $2. They may spend a few days trying to turn a profit. Women travel to Lagos, a 328-mile five-hour drive plagued by potholes and traffic, to purchase fabrics that they sell at their market stalls or hawk them through the streets. Men may do the same, but for tires or refurbished electronics. Having capital to purchase goods upfront is a common and constant challenge. It takes a long time to build up enough saving to be self-supportive (that $2 profit on phone recharge cards, for instance, comes at an initial cost of $34). Upward mobility is difficult for even the hardest working Nigerians. Microloans are helping. And they are not just benefiting the individual, but are instrumental to the functioning of an economy driven entrepreneurship rather than large-scale logistics. It is exciting to meet recipients of microloans and help tell their success stories, however, the ever-present shadow of a corrupt government and unfilled potential is a constant disappointment.
A man who shall remain nameless on this blog commented to me that Nigeria was lucky to have no natural disasters that threaten their economy – no hurricanes, no earthquakes, no tsunamis. But that they have something worse – Nigeria’s natural disaster is the government. Instead of losing hundreds of homes to a tornado once every few years, they lose billions of dollars to corruption every year. I think about how quickly Nigeria could change if oil money was allowed to trickle down to the common citizenry. The impact of a major roads project, for instance, could have a tremendous impact on job creation and economic efficiency. An overhaul of the Power Holding Company Nigeria, commonly referred to as “Please Hold Your Candle Now” (formerly called the Nigerian Electrical Power Authority or “Never Expect Power Again”) would increase efficiency and lower the cost of doing business. A well-educated workforce could make Nigeria, Africa’s most populous country, competitive in an international market and create true upward mobility. But until there is a significant shift in the political culture of Nigeria, everyday challenges will continue to inspire the most impressive entrepreneurship through hardship and necessity and my black notebook will continue to be full of heartening stories of microfinance to share with the Kiva community.
Currently, Nigeria’s oil production and capacity are equal to that of the United Arab Emirates.
To see all currently fundraising loans from LAPO on Kiva.org, please click here.
Feeling like a stranger in my home country…
I can’t believe 3 weeks have gone by and I still haven’t blogged sharing with all of you my experience so far. I’m truly sorry for this but I’m hoping to redeem myself and be able to write and describe everything I’ve lived this past days. So back to the beginning…..
I believe (not sure if I’m totally right) that I’m the only fellow who is working in her own country. When I first applied to Kiva’s fellowship program what was in my mind was to go somewhere in Asia, be it Cambodie or Vietnam, or maybe Indonesia. I started conversations with Kiva staff, but when they saw I was Mexican and of course fluent in Spanish, they explained to me that I would be really helpful in a Latin American country, where I could leverage my Spanish facilitating and improving the communication between the MFI/its clients and Kiva. At the beginning I was a bit discouraged by the idea, since I really wanted to be a fellow combining both, a thorough learning about Microfinance with a different and authentic traveling experience. Somehow, being back in Latin America was not that interesting for me. After some conversations with Kiva, I actually started liking the idea and even asked them to place me in Mexico. I had been one year away from home studying in Australia, so going back for the summer didn’t sound that bad. As I accepted the placement in Mexico, I lost the idea of a “traveling experience” and got really excited just about being in the field of Microfinance and at the same time volunteering for my own country. When I was told that the MFI was in San Cristobal de las Casas, I even got more excited. Last year, I had visited this beautiful colonial town only for the weekend since I had to go back to work in Mexico City. Despite my family’s efforts to convince me to stay, I kind of got out by saying that someday I would come back and have a long stay here, since I had loved it!. So when Kiva announced me I would be placed in San Cristobal, the puzzle started making sense. I became really thrilled about the idea but as I said before the traveling concept escaped my mind. I got here thinking I would feel at home. That there would not be any cultural challenge, no adaptation or no shocks as when you travel in different countries having constant experiences all day long, seeing people, places and things that you had never seen before. As for me? I had been in San Cristobal, I am Mexican and I’ve traveled quite a bit around my country, so in terms of cultural challenge it wouldn’t be that interesting. And, how wrong I was…thus, the title of this blog!
I got to San Cris (as local people call it) on a Monday. The following day I started at the local MFI, Alsol. I met Karina, she is the one that kindly arranged everything for me: where I would be staying, where I would be working, and introducing me to everyone in the office. It was a really fast and informal introduction but it was good enough for the first day. I met more than 40 people in less than 30 minutes, so that made it hard for me to remember names and responsibilities, but through the 3 weeks I have been working with them, I have come to know pretty much everyone at Alsol. So many things to talk about Alsol (an amazing MFI in so many ways) but I’ll probably leave that for my next blog.
So going back to the whole experience… in less than a week I was exposed to a different face of my country. Yes I knew Mexico is a developing country, yes I had visited poor communities and had done social service with them, yes I knew we do live in a non-equitative country, where there is 20 million people living in extreme poverty while 80% of the country’s wealth is distributed amongst 5% of the population (including the wealthiest man in the world) But, one thing is to know and a different thing is to acknowledge it, to see it, to just live it. Its not just poverty that has shocked my mind, it is also the ignorance and the state of acceptance in which people live. I knew Chiapas is the poorest state in the country and I knew of the 4 million people from Chiapas, 1 million is indigenous people who live in marginal conditions and segregated from the rest of the country. Yes, all the facts where there…but not the images. It is so easy to play blind, to live your daily and satisfactory life, to hear things but not really process them. The opportunity I have had through this fellowship has been so unique; it has just unfolded my eyes showing me a different Mexico.
Alsol only lends to women, most of them coming from indigenous communities. Some communities are close to San Cris others are 2 hours ride away from the city, just beautiful sites of a rural Mexico that very few people get to see. Yes there is indeed some charm from what I have seen. People who have been holding to their roots for ages, living like they lived centuries ago: harvesting, weaving, embroidering…..but at the same time people who have been forgotten in time. Maybe I did not travel to a far away continent but I did enter a time tunnel in my own country. I never saw this coming. Last time I experienced something similar was traveling through Myan Mar, what an amazing feeling it was to be transported through time, I never thought this could happen in the same way so close to home.
There is so much I have learned from and about the indigenous people. Just to start: there are seven different languages spoken in the region. Each community has a defined language…be it tzoltzil, tzeltal, maya, chol, tojolabal …Each has its own traditions, clothing, economic activity and religious rituals. Traveling from one community to the other is just like changing countries. The first thing you distinguish is the change in clothes; each community has its own clothing, varying its embroidery and its colors, all of it reflecting their history and local traditions. Then, even if they speak the same language, the tones and conjugations vary (making it almost impossible to learn one language). Their attitudes also vary. If you go to Chamula, people are very reluctant from strangers, they don’t talk to you nor allow you to take pictures of them. If you go to Zinacantan (15 minutes drive from Chamula) they are traders, so they embrace tourism and external commerce, they are way more open and inviting. Most of the women I’ve met barely speak Spanish, this has been both, fascinating but at the same time frustrating. How can they live in a country with out speaking the official language? Some people say they are trying to conserve their own roots, traditions and language. But I believe this is a tremendous barrier between them and the rest of the world. Also is a lack of ability from the government to design education programs where they can learn Spanish and at the same time they can conserve their own language. Interviewing these women has been one of the most challenging tasks of my entire life, especially when I was not prepared for it. I thought Spanish would be more than enough to do these interviews, but I have had to use translators in order to be able to communicate with them. Also they see me as a tourist, the other day I was asked if I was American (they actually used the word “gringa”) which made me laugh a bit, specially when I have dark skin, dark hair and dark eyes….but I look so different for them that they never thought I would be of the same nationality. Also, most of them are so shy; they feel really intimidated by an outsider. After some days of practicing I’ve kind of learned how to break the ice, sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t. All of these women just amaze me. Despite the harsh conditions they live in, they don’t give up, they are so hard working, so enthusiastic, even (despite their shyness) manage all the time to be smiling. I have met 18 years old girls that were married at age 15 and have more than 3 children.
Lucia and her children
Most of the time these women are breastfeeding a child. That is something that can not escape my mind. These women travel miles from their houses to join the group’s meeting. They arrive sometimes barefoot, carrying and breastfeeding a child, and followed by 2 or 3 or more of their kids. They say hello to the loan officer and give him the payment. Then they just stay standing (still carrying and breastfeeding their child) waiting for the others to complete their payments. No words spoken, no complaints. All I see is a proof of their responsibility and compromise. Also a look of gratitude for the opportunity to participate in the borrowing programs with Alsol.
Just to conclude (I just realized how long of a blog I’m writing) the experience has been the most exciting, challenging and rewarding traveling experience I’ve ever had, with all the needed ingredients to call it “traveling”, where for me everything is new and everything is different, making me feel like a foreigner or stranger and all these just taking a one hour flight from home. I hope to write to all of you really soon….. “Texacomic” (my way of writing “see you later” in Tzoltzil).
Now in Cameroon
Tuesday was the last day that the former Kiva Fellows, Megan and David, spent at the GHAPE office. The going-away party was really sweet with a board members lunch and gifts of gratitude. The main office in Bamenda is located in a family compound, with an open central area for recreation and cooking. The whole office spent the afternoon preparing the meal of Njama-njama (cooked greens), fufucorn (starchy white food), and chicken that had been freshly slaughtered from the coop out back. Our feast was a celebration for the new friends who had been living and working closely with GHAPE as the first foreigners from Kiva. More than anything, the staff talked about all the advances that Megan and David had initiated in the three months that they’ve spent here in Cameroon. Among other things, they created an office network, so that staff doesn’t have to use flash drives between the various computers when switching machines. My mind was racing, partly with excitement, partly with anxiety about all the things that I want to achieve in this Microfinance Instititute while I’m here.
my new favorite flower
I expected to meet amazing people working at the GHAPE office, but the people I’ve met here have exceeded my expectations. This last week at the branch office, we had meetings to go to every morning with the various centers. The meetings were around 6:30 am every day, which meant that I woke up around 5 to get ready. Upon awakening, I found the three other members already awake each day, putting together records and crunching more numbers for the mid-year report. I’m truly inspired by each staff member and am planning on doing staff profiles to add to their Kiva page. They each deserve special mention, but especially the young Field Manager, Loveline Neh, has captured my respect and admiration. Everyone’s days end between 5 and 8pm, and the office is open on Saturdays, making it a long but successful week for everyone. During all of the adjustment in the office, I’ve also been trying to find my footing in the town of Bamenda, where I’m staying with a family who I connected with through Cameroonians I met in New Mexico.
me with the neighborhood kids
If you’ve been to Africa before, you’ll know that using squat toilets, carrying water for bucket bathes, and dining with your hands are all part of the daily routine. Having been in Senegal in January, I feel like I hardly left, although the cold and rainy weather of Cameroon reminds me that I’m in a different country. I’m startled that the city is as chilly as it is and especially in the mountain town, I felt like I was in the Rockies. I wear a wool sweater and have my rain jacket in my bag at all times. The red earth of the North West Province (which I think is a product of the rapid oxidation of iron in the soil) turns to slippery mud slides with all the rain and has presented its own unique challenge on top of learning to dodge taxi drivers while walking. I have a comical video that I’ve tried (and failed) to upload demonstrating how traction is a learned capability. The experience was a great introduction to Cameroon, reminding me to be humble in the face of tasks as basic as walking. I’ve been so appreciative of the time I’ve overlapped with Megan and David because they’ve caught me up on everything they had to discover from scratch about GHAPE. I still have a lot to figure out, but I got a pretty good start. This week, I’m starting interviews with clients, going to individual work sites and verifying loan amounts while trying to gather personal information for journals to post on the Kiva site. As I expected, I’ve been meeting amazing people and I can’t wait to write about them so I can introduce them to Kiva lenders. These first two weeks have been very busy, but I’m happy to put in every hour I can.
¡Adios Puente de Amistad, Hola FAPE!
My time at Friendship Bridge has come to an end and I’m off to Guatemala City to start the next phase of my fellowship with la Fundación de Asistencia para la Pequeña Empresa (FAPE). Before I launch into my work at FAPE, I’ll attempt to reflect back on my time with Friendship Bridge a bit.
First of all, being a Kiva Fellow is fantastic work. I’ve spent much of my time traveling around a beautiful country, meeting with incredible women, and talking with them about their lives, their businesses, their loans, and pretty much whatever else they want to tell me about. I can’t imagine many other circumstances where I would have the opportunity to talk with so many different people and hear so many different interesting and sometimes heartbreaking stories. It’s been an honor to be able to do this and I sincerely hope that I’ve been able to effectively pass on glimpses into these people’s lives through the journals I’ve been writing and posting on Kiva.
In terms of working with Friendship Bridge specifically, I can’t imagine a better introduction to microfinance in Guatemala. All of the staff I worked with were absolutely wonderful and it was such a pleasure getting to know them both personally and professionally. More than anything, I have been so struck with how true to the social mission the organization and its staff are. Friendship Bridge’s mission is as follows: “Friendship Bridge provides microcredit and education to help women and their families create their own solutions to poverty.” I was given a copy of a MicroRating International rating report for Friendship Bridge shortly before I started working with them, and one line jumped out at me when I first read it over. This microfinance rating agency stated that “Friendship Bridge’s mission and vision permeate the organization.” After having spent just six short weeks with the organization, I believe that “permeate” really is the perfect word to describe how their mission influences their work.
Obviously the financial component is the most substantial ‘product’ that they offer. However, along with every loan there is heavy emphasis on education, not only for the women receiving the loans, but perhaps more importantly on the education of their children. Time and time again I’d ask the women receiving loans from Friendship Bridge if their children are in school, and the vast majority proudly answered yes. However, some reported that they can’t currently send some or all of their children to school because they don’t have enough money to pay the small registration fees and to buy the required school supplies. It makes me sick to think that these costs don’t amount to much more than I easily spend on a good night out in the States. Nevertheless, almost every single woman I have spoken with over the last couple of months stated that their top priority is fighting for their children to have a better life, and one of the most important steps in that fight is helping them get good educations. It’s amazing to witness microfinance in action, seeing women have access to a little credit to build their businesses in an attempt to ‘create their own solutions to poverty.’ But it’s been even more amazing to see how much that impact can spread. Not only can these small loans help women build their microenterprises, but they can also help them give opportunities to their children that they themselves never had.
Yes, I do realize the praise is excessive here. No, microfinance is not a panacea and Friendship Bridge certainly isn’t perfect. Nevertheless, they are an organization with a noble mission, and are largely staffed with people truly dedicated to that mission. It’s been a privilege to get to share in that mission for six short weeks, and I’ve learned much and gained respect and appreciation for microfinance and the women of Guatemala that I will carry with me for years to come. Now I’m off to meet a whole new staff and see a completely different organization in action. While I am, of course, very sad to say goodbye to Friendship Bridge, I’m thrilled to move on to the next phase and learn more about microfinance, the people of Guatemala, and poverty alleviation in action.
But first, one final shameless plug for Friendship Bridge! For anyone interested in learning more about this fantastic organization, visit their website at www.friendshipbridge.org. And if you want to lend to their incredible clients, you can see what’s currently fundraising on Kiva here: http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=55&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb.
Challenging Questions, No Easy Answers
Visiting clients with Fundación Paraguaya hasn’t been exactly what I expected. Fundación clients aren’t being “lifted out of poverty.” They aren’t the poorest of the poor in Paraguay. Most of the time, their loans are simply maintaining a status quo, economically speaking. So far, I’ve visited clients based out of four branch offices, and they have a lot in common. Like many MFIs, Fundación clients are often repeat borrowers. They are already entrepreneurs before they receive their first loan. The classic example is the couple that owns the despensa, a small local grocery/variety store. When their stock gets low, they withdraw a loan in order to replenish their merchandise. Such loans do not necessarily enable them to grow their business, but it allows them to maintain their current level of success. Another example is the woman who has a tailoring business. At the beginning of the winter season, she applies for a loan to buy fabric to sew winter clothes. She needs to sell these clothes to provide for her family, and the loan ensures she has enough fabric to complete her orders, but it doesn’t change her business in any way. The question many people will ask in response to this disclosure is, “am I helping?” I think to find the answer to this question we need to go back to the purpose of microfinance, and the role of credit in alleviating poverty.
Microfinance provides access to credit for those who would otherwise be unable to attain it. Fundación clients would be rejected by large banks, who won’t give loans without collateral, and for whom the administrative costs of such a small loan are not worth their time. So, yes, we are providing credit to those who need it, and would not otherwise have it. And we are helping them maintain their business and provide for their families.
The question about whether Kiva loans are helping them grow is another question all together. When I ask loan officers what they think their clients need to be more successful, the answer is “skills.” Most Kiva clients are under-educated and do not have a sense of how to grow their business. In Banker to the Poor, Muhammad Yunus, argues that, “not one single [Bangladeshi] borrower requires any special training. They either have already received this training as part of their household chores, or have acquired the necessary skills in their field of work.” (p 205) I disagree with this completely, at least in the context of the clients I have seen in Paraguay. Many clients engage in retail work, which is not something you learn in the way you may learn to weave or farm. The joke amongst the interns at Fundación Paraguaya is that every client is engaged in copycat retailism. Any successful business, whether selling food or jeans, is seen by community members as their ticket to success, and soon there are 4 people selling women’s underwear on the same block. Anyone who has studied the basic principles of supply and demand will immediately see the flaw in this strategy.
Often, the inability to achieve economic stability is more subtle. Take the couple I met who have two businesses selling grains and vegetables – one in the city and one 150 km away, where their four oldest children live and work during the week. They take turns returning every other weekend to help with the business and spend time with their children. The country business is more profitable, and they would love to move there permanently, but they are afraid to leave their stall in the city. If the country business is not enough to support the family, they will have given up a good location in the city center, which is not easy to re-obtain. So they continue to split their time, working 14 hours, 7 days/week in two businesses. As they have for 23 years.
Many, many FP entrpreneurs have 2-3 businesses and work 12-18 hours every day to provide for their families. And they are doing ok; they are not the poorest members of society. But there is so much potential for more. What if they could have just one business, and work 10-12 hours/day?
Fundación Paraguaya does have skill-building programs. They run an agricultural high school, in which they teach economics as well as farming skills (I hope to blog more about this amazing program later on). All the women’s groups are required to attend a skills-building class quarterly, where they practice skills like balancing a budget, and how to save. Fundación Paraguaya is also starting a program to work with the children of borrowers, to teach them the skills to be successful entrepreneurial adults. It doesn’t reach everyone, but it’s a start.
My work as a nurse is driven by my belief that healthcare is a human right. Muhammad Yunus believes that credit is a human right. If you agree with him, then you will continue to loan to these entrepreneurs, who are some of the most hard-working, deserving people I have ever met. But it doesn’t mean microcredit, or Fundación Paraguaya, or Kiva are perfect. They are but one piece of the puzzle to solve poverty.
Welcome to Phnom Penh!
After a wonderful 25-hour journey from New York, I finally made it to Cambodia! My first order of business was to get my visa at the airport, but that turned out to be a breeze. I filled out a visa application and it was passed along a line of 8 Cambodian officials who were seated in a row behind a counter. After 15 minutes and $25 I had my 30-day business visa (which I have to extend soon). When I left the airport I had to make the very difficult decision between a $9 taxi ride or a $7 tuk-tuk ride. The guy selling tuk-tuk rides made a compelling argument, that he had the cheaper ride, but with all my baggage I decided to splurge on the taxi. The drive into Phnom Penh reminded me a lot of my parent’s home country, Sri Lanka. Just like in Sri Lanka, the roads are shared by wheel-barrows, trucks, and everything in between. The only difference is that Cambodians drive 25 mph slower (which is a ver y good thing!). In Sri Lanka I had to get use to buses accelerating to 65mph, swerving around tractors and tuk-tuks, and then braking hard when we came to a traffic jam.This lead to many accidents on the road, a few which I have taken part in
I was suppose to meet Paujo,an American who works at AMK, outside my apartment. I was taking over Paujo’s place while he’s visiting the states until September. When I got to the street where his apartment is located, I was a bit early so I stopped at a sports bar which is located around the corner. I used the wi-fi at the bar to reach Paujo. After three Tiger beers and a lengthy discussion with the Australian who runs the bar about the sports bar business in Cambodia, Paujo arrived. I grabbed lunch with him, his girlfriend and Elena (the current AMK-Kiva fellow). After my first delicious Cambodian meal, I was ready to pass out. Unfortunately the power was out when I got back to my place, so for a while I was roasting in my bed without a fan. Eventually the power came back on and I fell into a deep sleep. I woke up at 9 PM to fireworks. I quickly ran to the window to make sure taht it in fact was fireworks and not gunfire or bombs (with elections around the corner you never know what can happen!) I later learned that the National Museum, which I live next to, has fireworks on occasion. I managed to go back to sleep, only to wake up again at 2 in the morning, damn jet-lag. I tried to go back to sleep but I couldn’t, so I watched a movie on my laptop to kill time. When the sun rose I got dressed and headed out to AMK.
I arrived at the office before most of the staff had come in, but eventually I met Sophanith, the AMK Kiva coordinator. He introduced me to the entire staff, which was about 30 people, in 5 minutes, so I forgot most of their names really quickly. As a former teacher, I learned that it helps to learn names if you see them on paper, so I got to learn the senior staff’s name by looking at AMK’s financial report which has their names listed. Sophanith has been writing most of the business descriptions for AMK, and according to Elena (the other AMK fellow) his English has improved a lot since she’s been there. He is a hilarious guy, and in the future I should devote an entire post to him so taht you guys can get to know him. The staff at AMK is really, really friendly. AMK is new to Kiva, but they have a well established business. I read in their annual report that they became a profitable business in less than a year. What also makes them stand out from other MFIs is their dedication to social performance. The board of directors has created two standing committees, the audit committee and the social performance committee. These two committees allow AMK to balance their social mission with their financial self-sufficiency. Elena and I will talk more about their social performance and research work in our posts to come!
One thing which I’m going to have to get use to (not that I should be complaining) is our two-hour lunches. The workday here is from 7:30am-5pm with lunch from 12pm-2pm. During my first lunch, I ate my meal quickly like I usually do and I was walking quickly back to work. Elena had to slow me down, but we still got back an hour early. However, today I made good use of my lunch break. At 12pm, I noticed the All-Star game was in the 12th inning, so I hopped on a moto and went to that sports bar near my house. I managed to catch the the last 3 innings of the game. It was great! (Once I get to learn some Khmer, I promise I will be having more Cambodian experiences!)
This is a becoming a long post, but before I sign off a quick note about AMK’s delinquency rate: Kiva recently took off AMK’s delinquency rate on their profile page. The reason behind this was many of the loans that AMK had posted on Kiva were end of term loans, which means that they get repaid at the end of the loan instead of monthly payments. Kiva didn’t have a way to designate end of term loans, so when monthly payments were not coming in AMK’s delinquency rate went up. Their actual default rate is less than 0.1%. AMK has now switched all of the loans they post on Kiva so that they can avoid this problem in the future. You guys should check out some of the loans that are posted by AMK on Kiva.
Also, I haven’t taken my camera out yet, but I will be going out onto the field on Friday! So hopefully I’ll get some pictures up for you guys to enjoy!
My American Dinner (What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger)
Turkey, stuffing and beer.
BBQ ribs, corn on the cob and beer.
Beer with a side of beer, with beer on top.
When trying to think of what authentic American dinner I could cook for my host family to show my appreciation of their hospitality, I thought of some of my favorite wholesome, nutritious, typical American dinners, which I listed above. But then I thought better of it, as my family here has three kids 18 and under, and what role model would I be if I served ribs to kids? They could poke an eye out with those things. And turkey? Too much tryptophan and you may never wake up. And I can’t have that on my conscience.
So I went back to the drawing board with these slight limitations in mind:
1. I can’t cook. Not even a little bit. Although, I’m a wizard with the microwave.
2. There are no microwaves in this part of Bali.
3. There’s very little food that one would consider to be truly American in origin.
4. When I invite people over to sample my cooking, I typically eat alone.
I went by taxi to find inspiration and ingredients at the Carrefour, which is a large Euro styled supermarket close to the airport in Denpasar. After spending a solid hour roaming the aisles, I had a cart full of mismatched ingredients and a large inflatable donkey. Oddly enough, the donkey was for display only and not for sale (What kind of country is this???).
When I went to the kitchen to prepare the food, the family crowded around to see what wild concoction this crazy American would cook up. As all three people who have seen me cook might have guessed, I went with pasta, green beans, corn and spiced things up with some meatballs and marinara, topped with parmesan cheese and a little pepper and salt. As I didn’t want to scare this family more than the sight of me pummeling 3 pounds of raw ground hamburger meat into submission already did, I was forced to forsake my usual habit of cooking all pasta and veggies in one pot*, albeit with much sadness and spiritual discomfort. I understand that spaghetti and meat balls is Italian in origin, but like many things of European descent (bad hair, colonial imperialism, Jackie Chan, etc.) I feel like we’ve had it long enough to call it American.
After everyone was served, provided with a bottle of ice cold Coca-Cola and prepared for the worst, we had our usual pre-meal prayer, albeit with a more somber tone than usual. And at last… we dug in. Forty five minutes later, no one had fainted, gagged or faked a seizure. Some even dared to say they liked it. Great success!!! For dessert we had neopolitan ice cream served on ice cream cones, which, oddly being the only thing I didn’t make, was a huge fan-favorite.
In the photo below, notice how I wisely took the photo before a single bite was taken. Poor souls, if only they knew the fate that awaited them. In the picture, DINARI’s Executive Director, Nyoman Irianto Wibawa (nicknamed Pak Alit), is sitting on the far left and is joined from left to right by his daughter Monica (18), the family nanny Sari, his wife Ibu Neni, DINARI field officer Daniel, Pak Alit’s daughter Ayu (age 15), and his son Komang (14). 
So with the success of the first night, I’m looking to do another rendition, and I’m looking for suggestions. Please note the four limitations stated above and understand that the family has a stove with two burners (no oven) and a medium sized fridge, if that helps. Any thoughts?
If you would like to learn more about DINARI’s work in Bali and fund a loan through Kiva, please click on the following link, and then select “See all loans from the field partner>>”: http://www.kiva.org/about/aboutPartner?id=82&_tpg=din
* Editor’s note: Cooking veggies and pasta in the same pot is a glorious, glorious thing that creates cleaning efficiencies (saving one to two pots) and spiritual bliss. All you do is cook your pasta, and then when it is almost ready, just add in your frozen veggies. It makes a nice addition to the pasta, and goes well with the red sauce and parmesan. Please know that you will likely be met with resistance by doing so. My roommates have even threatened to organize an intervention. But please be heartened in knowing that many truly revolutionary, life changing innovations have first been met with staunch resistance, as we’ve seen with male designer jeans, the forward pass and George Michael’s solo career.
FVP in Nuevo Laredo: building confianza
Two weeks have passed since I started work at Fundación Para La Vivienda Progresiva, or Foundation for Progressive Housing. I am still very much in absorption mode, so for now I will rely on broad strokes to paint the picture of what FVP is all about.
The organization is located right across the border from the U.S., with offices in the border towns of Nuevo Laredo, Ciudad Acuña, and, soon, Piedras Negras. In short, FVP helps people in the border region to build housing and to start or grow small businesses. Housing is in its title because FVP started in 2002 as an affiliate of Cooperative Housing Foundation (CHF), an international NGO based in the U.S. It was initially founded to address the housing crisis that had resulted partly from the large post-NAFTA migration of Mexicans to work in industries along the border. FVP is now independent from CHF, but the latter continues to advise the FVP on its development.
Housing is a big part of its heart and soul, but FVP has grown into an organization that addresses more than just housing. FVP’s work is dedicated to improving the livelihood of Mexicans of modest means who live in the border region. As one of their leaders explained to me, grinding poverty – not knowing where the next meal is coming from – is not nearly as common here as in other parts of Mexico. But poverty persists in this relatively affluent region, what he called pobreza patrimonial, which I will badly translate as something like a “poverty of assets”.
In other words, even if a family is getting along from day to day, their stability can be fragile. FVP builds up the foundation on which its clients stand, providing tools to actually build a foundation – housing loans – and to strengthen their source of income – small business loans. I will talk about this concept more in future posts.
For FVP, this means more than just giving a loan to an individual or household. It means creating a relationship with each client and helping them to build their business or their home up over time. Enduring growth, they call it here.
The organization’s work philosophy is to make borrowers feel like they are all part of a common project to improve their way of life – and you can see this in the way that the loan officers interact with the clients.
Please flash on your mental screen your picture of a “Loan Officer”. I know I had my own preconceived image, warts and all. And I have friends who work as Loan Officers. Now put it to the side for a moment.
Now imagine Mireya, a Loan Officer at FVP. She is by trade an accountant, she knows her numbers, and she dresses in a business suit, but that is where the similarities with my former image of a loan officer end. Mireya drives her hatchback car out to neighborhoods that paving has not yet reached, braving the rain and seeming to instinctively avoid the flooded streets most likely to swallow her car (we actually saw a truck here that was completely taken down by a pothole, so this is no joke).
When she arrives at clients’ homes or businesses, it has the feel of a cousin stopping by, not a financial officer. Even when she talks shop – getting an update on a business or helping to open a new loan – she and the client have a rapport that is more collaborative than hierarchical. Somehow, she does all of this without getting a speck of dirt on her light tan pants. I, meanwhile, look like I have been in a mud wrestling match.
We were fed tamales on our last stop, and stayed for almost an hour at the client’s house. Mexicans don’t feed tamales to people they don’t like.
The example of Mireya is emblematic of how FVP works. They emphasize forming a connection with clients that will extend beyond a loan, they try to treat each client as a special case, and their rule of thumb is to be honest and transparent with the client about all aspects of the loan process.
Can you imagine this from a bank? I have known loan officers in the U.S. at banks and mortgage companies who have really stretched themselves to help out their clients. I am sure they exist here, too. In general, though, banks are a place where many of the clients do not feel welcome, much less a place they would seek out as a source for a loan.
The conventional wisdom, amongst FVP clients and staff, is that most clients would not get a loan from a bank. I am still unpacking the reasons for why this is the case, if, in fact, it is true. Is it that they don’t qualify for a loan – that the bank’s requirements are too stringent or inflexible for the small entrepreneur without much collateral? Is it that banks are just not interested in giving out loans less than, say, $10,000 pesos ($1,000 dollars +/-)? Or is it that clients just don’t seek out a loan from a bank, because they are afraid of a bank or have a perception that the bank won’t serve them? Are there other small entrepreneurs that do go to banks for a loan, i.e. is it just that I am looking at a skewed sample?
It is probably a little bit of all of these depending on the situation. How it breaks down is something that I will explore over the next couple of months. So far, though, my instinct is that most of FVP’s clients just would never ask a bank for a loan. From initial conversations, it seems like most clients – mostly poor or working poor – just do not consider a bank loan one of their options.
Turn on that mental screen again. Imagine that you have a wealthy great-aunt who has historically has spurned your siblings in public, didn’t invite you to parties because she assumed you couldn’t afford the formal wear, and made you feel really uncomfortable when you walk into her house. Would you ask her for a loan?
Similar reasons have been offered up by the thirty-some clients with whom I have spoken: they don’t think that the bank would give them a loan, they view banks as a friend of the wealthy and the middle class, not the poor. And they just feel downright uncomfortable when they enter a bank.
Just to dilute my speculation with some empirical evidence, I looked at some of the research that has been done. A 2004 World Bank study estimates that only 23% of adults in Mexican cities have a bank account. The percentage of urban Mexicans that access bank loans, I would guess, is much less. (The percentage that has bank accounts in NYC and LA, for instance, is about 2.5 times this, at approx. 63%)
So, back to FVP. Their strategy is largely a response to this feeling of alienation. In the neighborhoods where they work, confianza is king. Confianza is a great word, a combination of a few concepts. It is trust, but also good rapport, a social familiarity amongst people. And it is these tendencies that bind people together in these neighborhoods, if I am reading things right. In other words, FVP’s strategy follows the contours of the way that people actually relate to each other in poor and working class neighborhoods of Nuevo Laredo. Their tactics build up confianza, so that the client trusts them and grows to count on them for collaboration in the project of improving their livelihood in an enduring way.
From what I can tell from some other Fellows’ blogs, this tendency is characteristic of other quality Kiva microfinance partner institutions around the world. They are not just micro-versions of banks giving out micro-loans – their approach to working with people is fundamentally different from the typical banking institution.
Now, I feel remorseful about being hard on banks. But that is probably a requisite way to kick off a microfinance blog, since microfinance is largely about providing financial services to those excluded, for whatever reason, from the traditional financial sector. I am not anti-bank. My work in the U.S. is in developing affordable housing in cities, so I fully recognize that responsible banks are essential to the well-being of communities in my own country, as well as being necessary for the health of our economic system. Here in Nuevo Laredo, I’m looking forward to seeing how all of these different models fall on the continuum of financial services available to the working poor.
To right the balance, I promise that this week I will enter at least one bank with an open mind and ask a loan officer some questions.
We’ll see if I get fed any tamales.
Next up: Nuevo Laredo incremental housing improvement 101
(Featuring many photos!)
To see all currently fundraising loans from FVP on Kiva.org, please click here.
Notes From Tajikistan
My experiences here in Tajikistan over the past several weeks have run the full spectrum of human emotion. I have laughed with astonishment at the absurd amounts of food that have been forced down my throat, stuffed like a pig all in the name of “hospitality”; I have been saddened and amazed by the industry of young porters who abandon school at the age of ten, forgoing their childhoods in order to earn a couple dollars a day carrying fruit, bread, and meat through the vast, chaotic scene of the Panjshanbe bazaar; I have been humbled by the sheer generosity and kindness of people, who despite receiving a salary of less than $200 per month, give this privileged American almost everything they have, asking for nothing in return; I have smiled with joy when the kids at my apartment block treat me like a minor celebrity, running up in small groups every time I come home from work, excitedly shouting the few English phrases they know mainly “Hello!” “What is your name?” “Goodbye!”; and I have gawked in astonishment at the sheer indifference of the government to the plight of its people.
Tajikistan is severely lacking in natural resources, and the hydroelectric power that used to be a significant asset is now dwindling away due to low water levels. The country is primarily dependent on cotton and other agricultural products, remittances sent back from the more than one million Tajiks who work in Russia, and the significant amount of drug trafficking money that is pumped into the economy thanks to its location directly north of Afghanistan, the world’s largest opium producer. Some estimates say that as much as 50% of the economy here is connected in some way to narcotics. Tajikistan is not a country that can solve its economic problems through purely physical solutions, such as the building of more dams or factories, but it can only hope to get out of its financial doldrums through the creation of significant human capital. Although it may sound cliché and trite, the country’s future will be determined by the quality of its educational capacities, and judging by my own amateur survey of these institutions, there is certainly a lot of work to do.
Modern Tajikistan is a land that is intellectually parched, despite laying claim to a rich history of scholarship. While brilliant men of a bygone era such as Avicenna and Rudaki are celebrated throughout the country with countless billboards and monuments in their honor, schools and libraries literally crumble into oblivion. Many teachers receive minimum wage salaries of 60 Somoni (less than $18) per month, and I have talked to a number of former educators who, due to their inability to live on such a pittance, have had to abandon their chosen professions in order to sell clothing or fruit at the local market. Surely, the poor state of Tajikistan’s educational system is a symptom of a country in dire economic straits, yet I can’t help but feeling that it is question of resource allocation as well. You never seem be more than an hour’s drive from some kind of presidential palace, and in the capital, Dushanbe, an eminently wasteful series of fountains and opulent buildings, called the “Palace of the Nation” project, are being built at tremendous expense. I recently read on the Radio Free Europe website that the country’s last synagogue as well as dozens of houses were demolished, leaving hundreds of people homeless in order to make way for this towering monument to governmental narcissism.
While Tajikistan’s scarce resources are spent on gold leaf and marble, university libraries lack books and adequate internet connections, elementary schools often go unheated during the bone-chilling winters, and college students spend the months of September and October picking cotton in miserable conditions for no money whatsoever. On a recent tour of one of the best Russian-language elementary schools in Sughd Oblast, I saw a sign hanging in the main hall with a quote from President Emomali Rahmon that proclaimed, with sad irony, “Our society needs to value its teachers!” Sure, the Prez has made some slight gestures of compassion such as doubling the monthly minimum wage from 30 to 60 somoni, yet everyone I talk to here tells me that such an increase has been futile due to the concomitant rise of prices. Unfortunately, it seems as though the despotic Rahmon and his inner circle would prefer to cultivate their own bank accounts rather than cultivate the next generation of Tajik minds.
Surely, it is easy for me to criticize this struggling Central Asian state from the lofty heights of American privilege, and the truth is that all societies, to a different degree, suffer from a similar pathology. We, in the United States, also pay our teachers poor salaries and devote vast sums of money to frivolous expenses. I include myself among those who have become accustomed to the waste that all too often accompanies our abundant lifestyles and in no way do I intend to escape from my share of the guilt by pointing the finger at President Rahmon and his cronies. Yet, for me, my experiences in Tajikistan have shed a much harsher light on the problem, bringing into sharper relief the contrast between the haves and have-nots, and making the obvious indifference of the government and the overt opulence of the rich much harder to stomach. I have also come to understand, on a more profound level, the inestimable importance of an educated civil society, of an open media, of the ability to cut against the grain of established thought, to openly challenge old ways of doing and seeing in order to take a collective step forward in the quality of our lives. From my vantage point of halfway around the world I can see more clearly the intellectual dynamism that makes America that country that it is and I can also see the stagnation that occurs in places that lack such fertile ground for open expression.
Being here in Tajikistan, I am prouder than I have ever been of those who shout at the top of their lungs to get us to pay attention to what is going on the world. Writers such as The New York Times’ Nick Kristof, philanthropists such as Bill Gates, and organizations like Kiva, all play a role in prying open our often parochial minds to the reality of the human condition across the planet. While in the larger scheme of things Kiva’s reach may still be limited, dwarfed at times by the immense scale of global poverty, it surely doesn’t seem that way to the Tajik seamstress who was able to buy an electronic sewing machine or to the toy merchant in Khujand who just doubled his stock of merchandise thanks to a Kiva loan. For these people, Kiva’s reach is tremendous, profound, and personal and the stories of their success shine through the gloom of government graft and profligacy to illuminate one small corner of this poorest of post-Soviet nations. In a place where exasperation can swallow you whole, these myriad stories of hope remind me of the eminent worthiness of microfinance, of Kiva, and of the struggle against global poverty.
To see currently fundraising loans from MLF Microinvest on Kiva.org, please click here.
