Posts filed under ‘KF6 (Kiva Fellows 6th Class)’
I quit my job for Kiva
It was the summer of 2008. As I sat and watched the stock markets crash around the world from my Cambodian apartment, I could not help but get nervous about my job prospects post fellowship. At that point, I felt like I’d made a mistake by leaving a great job in philanthropy to follow my heart by becoming a Kiva Fellow to learn how microfinance works on the ground. I remember when I told my family of my decision, they thought I was crazy. I was beginning to think they might be right. Watching US financial pillars crash and stock markets tumble each day, I worried and seriously asked myself, “What am I going to do once my time as a Kiva Fellow is done?”
Kiva Lenders Have Needs, Too
By Abby Gray, KF6 Togo and KF7 Senegal
Jacques, WAGES' Kiva Coordinator, and a colleague taking a boat to visit a Kiva client in a rural area.
Meet Jacques. He’s the Kiva Coordinator at WAGES, a microfinance institution (MFI) based in Togo, West Africa. Every day, a loan officer hand-delivers a stack of borrower information forms and a USB chip full of photos. Jacques has trained the officers how to fill out the forms, use digital cameras, and get borrowers to smile and display their merchandise proudly for pictures.
Jacques formats the pictures, writes the information into paragraphs, and uploads everything to Kiva’s website. Then, during the loan cycle, he reports repayments manually and visits borrowers to collect a progress update and take yet another picture.
The work is inefficient, tedious, and time-consuming.
But it’s worth it. (more…)
Power to the People
By Abby Gray, KF6 Togo and KF7 Senegal
How a Kiva Fellow Alumna’s non-profit organization, SunPower Afrique, is shedding light on MFIs in West Africa
“Beep,” complained my laptop, unhappy about its sudden switch to battery power. The fan above me whirred gently to a stop, no longer drying the beads of sweat incessantly forming on my forehead. “Page can not be displayed,” grumbled Firefox. My internet connection was gone, along with any hope I had of uploading my stack of borrower profiles to the Kiva website.
I walked out into the hallway and found the employees of my Senegalese microfinance institution slowly leaking out of their offices as well. We pulled up chairs in a circle, sat down, and prepared to sweatily twiddle our thumbs until the power gods had mercy on us, whether in ten minutes or ten hours.
An employee at FECECAV, a Togolese MFI, tracking loan repayments by hand. Many of FECECAV's branches operate without electicity.
Power cuts are a regular occurrence in West Africa, as in most parts of the developing world. Production and distribution of electricity are unable to meet demand, causing frequent rolling blackouts and interrupted service. For MFIs (and many other businesses), this means countless manpower hours lost, high overhead costs, low employee morale, a short shelf-life for office equipment and other low efficiencies in daily operations. These consequences are even more debilitating for MFIs who work with Kiva – the Kiva partnership depends on technology and internet connectivity to successfully fund loans for enterprising clients. Gasoline-powered generators, the obvious alternative, represent a significant up-front investment and are extremely costly to run and maintain.
So, what can be done to provide MFIs with a reliable source of power??
Enter Kira Costanza, the courageous Kiva Fellow Alumna, galloping in on her trusty steed named Solar Power!
Should all kids want to be a doctor or astronaut? Maybe…
By Milena Arciszewski, KF8 – Community Economic Ventures Inc. – Philippines
The backdrop for my ah-ha! moment
Yesterday I had a thoughtful conversation with a CEV Loan Officer, over a bowl of soup. She told me about a recent interview she had with a young boy. She asked him about his dream for the future, and was disappointed when he answered: “When I grow up, I want to be strong so that I can carry heavy boxes like my father.” This boy doesn’t dream about becoming a pilot, or a doctor, or an astronaut. He dreams of becoming strong so that he can carry heavy boxes.
The Loan Officer looked at me and said firmly: “The worst part of poverty here is that it takes away people’s ability to dream.”
One of my favorite quotes is by Martin Luther King, Jr: “If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’ There is a strange beauty to that boy who dreams of carrying heavy boxes. He sees honor in the job and his highest aspiration is to be strong so that he can do the job well. And that’s okay. It is not my place to judge his dreams or expect them to match mine. I responded to the Loan Officer that I think it’s a fine for him to have that dream, as long as it makes him happy.
“No, you don’t understand,” she answered. “That boy isn’t dreaming about carrying boxes because that will make him happy. He dreams of carrying boxes because that is all he knows. He is so poor that he doesn’t know what else to dream about.”
I had my ah-ha! moment. That’s why microfinance institutions exist. It’s not just about giving poor people the ability to grow their business. It’s about giving poor people the chance to live a better like so that they have the ability to dream.
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- A CEV borrower with her recycled goods
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- A CEV borrower poses with her baby pig
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- A CEV borrower poses before her rice field
Milena Arciszewski has a year-long Kiva fellowship. She is currently on her last placement at Community Economic Ventures, Inc. (“CEV”) in Tagbilaran City, Philippines. She has also spent time with Kiva partners in Bosnia and Kenya. For a list of CEV’s fundraising loans, click here.
Microfinance through New-York-Colored Glasses
By Abby Gray, KF6/7, Togo & Senegal (now in New York)
In Dakar, this ad provoked vandals to rebel against the culturally inappropriate image. In New York, it wouldn't get a second glance.
If you have to deal with culture shock after 8 months of living in West Africa, New York is one of the most dramatic places to do it. On one hand, the vibrancy and energy of pedestrian-filled, trafficky New York streets isn’t all that different from the dusty “rues” of Dakar. Colorful fruit carts still grace the sidewalks, and overhearing conversations in foreign languages is a daily occurrence. On the other hand, skyscrapers and giant billboards of half-naked models are everywhere, as are exorbitant price tags on everything from purses to sushi dinners.
Having completed my official Kiva duties, I am now doing research at the Financial Access Initiative (FAI), a microfinance think-tank of sorts. It’s a consortium of researchers from NYU, Harvard, Yale, and Innovations for Poverty Action, focused on expanding access to quality financial services for low-income individuals. (more…)
Upending microcredit: Cambodians use Kiva to lend to U.S. borrowers
This Wednesday marked a watershed moment for Kiva.org: borrowers from the U.S. made a well-publicized debut on the person-to-person microlending website. It left no doubt that microcredit, seen by many as the province of the poor, had arrived to serve Americans in need.
The floodgates are open, and they sluice both ways.
Kiva’s launch of lending in the U.S. has impassioned many, including a group of people in Cambodia near and dear to me — the staff of Maxima Mikroheranvatho, a Kiva partner microfinance institution where I was a Kiva Fellow from October 2008 to February 2009.
As Kiva ambassador-in-the-trenches at Maxima, one of the things I’d tried to impress upon them was the satisfaction I get out of being a Kiva lender. So when my posting at Maxima ended earlier this year, I’d settled on the perfect gift to help them understand this: a Kiva gift certificate.
Over our farewell dinner in Phnom Penh, I pulled out a printout of the Kiva gift certificate page and presented it to the senior managers at Maxima. As they’re in the business of microlending, minor disbelief ensued. Kiva!? Who would they lend to? When I told them that Kiva was considering launching in the U.S., excitement erupted.
What if Kiva had Green Microloans?
If Kiva had green microloans would you support one? Subsidizing initial costs allows borrowers to participate in projects that are beneficial for their business, health, and the environment.
Continue Reading 3 June 2009 at 07:42 ashleyolivia 34 comments
BRAC – like Risk, but without the risk
The concept of risk has been discussed by many, and often, over the past year, as citizens around the world voice their concerns about the global recession. Mortgage risk, loan risk, credit risk, bailout risk, risk assessment, risk of spending too much, risk of spending too little, and on and on. A lot of risky business (and not the underwear dance kind) has been going on and we are paying for it now in all too literal a way.
There is another kind of risk though; one that I think some of you may be familiar with. That’s right, it’s Risk, as in epic board game, world domination style Risk.
I have been thinking about this particular kind of Risk lately due to the fact that while working with the Kiva field partner BRAC, I cannot escape how much the organization makes me think of the game, with its trademark little army men taking control of continents and sweeping across the globe in the attempt to gain complete domination of the two dimensional board game-world.
Only in BRAC’s case, the army is not little plastic figures, but a human, benevolent BRAC army of Bangladeshis, Afghanis, Sri Lankans, Pakistanis, Southern Sudanese, Ugandans, and Tanzanians. And this is just the beginning – the army is growing, sweeping the globe, out to conquer the poverty of the world, one country at a time.
The figures in green represent BRAC, those in red...poverty.
Okay, my analogy may be getting out of hand at this point. “Out to conquer the poverty of the world” is definitely too melodramatic, but the quantity and quality of BRAC’s global work to improve the lives of those living in poverty is undeniably striking.
Created in 1972 as a small-scale relief and rehabilitation project that was designed as a response to the consequences of the liberation war in Bangladesh, BRAC has since evolved into the largest southern NGO in the world.
With its programs in Asia and Africa, BRAC provides services to more than 110 million people. These services include: microfinance, health, water and sanitation, education, adolescent education and life skills, agriculture, livestock, and other social development programs.
Poverty is a simple word for a complex beast – BRAC works to improve the quality of people’s lives using a holistic approach, with strategically linked programs that address the causes of poverty from multiple angles. This might mean that within a microfinance group, there will be a health worker providing medical supplies for her group members or that down the street from a microfinance meeting a client’s daughter will be learning about gender issues at an adolescent club.
Signing Off from Senegal
My memories of the last eight months away from home are a jumbled mass of color, freedom, fear, patience, frustration, and energy – raw, shifting memories that have not yet arranged themselves into neat, packageable stories that I can pull from the shelf at parties when I get home.
Watching Obama's Inauguration Speech on the Togolese Roadside
I have tested my sense of self against new backgrounds, ripped away the familiar context of home to hold my idea of “Abby” up to bright new lights. I have sometimes been ashamed of my reactions to new stimuli, and sometimes proud. Catching myself swearing under my breath at street children who asked a little too aggressively for money was not my finest moment; insisting that the Kiva Coordinator not fudge the dates to make loans eligible for Kiva’s website redeemed me.
I have learned about how microfinance operates on a day-to-day basis and about the difficulty of managing work and relationships across distances and cultures. Telling an MFI employee she did not have the IT competency necessary to be the Kiva Coordinator and watching her eyes tear up was my first real introduction to the uncomfortable realities of managing people. These challenges of human nature, of judgment, failure and success, cross all cultural boundaries.
Sunset Behind a Baobab, the National Symbol of Senegal
I have changed in many ways. After struggling for months with my pocket French dictionary, and then, this morning, listening to myself rattle off yet another training in French on sending journal updates to Kiva lenders, I felt like I had tangible proof of how I’ve grown since September. Other ways I’ve grown are less easy to put a finger on, and most will continue to be elusive for many months to come.
A 25 pound sack of sugar.
Despite entrepreneurial skills, and dedicated work ethic many entrepreneurs are a single business mistake, illness, or natural disaster away from starting at square one.
Continue Reading 15 May 2009 at 10:21 ashleyolivia 3 comments
The Kiva-TLM Calendar
On my previous blog post, 77 is never too old to start a business, Jan commented that she would like to see the result of our TLM Kiva T-shirt Bonanza which took place last week (she heard about it by following TLM on Twitter, to do the same go here).
Fortunately, this also gave me the perfect excuse to express my thanks to Jan and John for their unwavering support of Kiva and the Fellows programme. For those of you who don’t know of them, Jan and John are professional grandparents from Calgary, Alberta, in Canada. In between their time grandparenting, lending on Kiva, chatting on Kiva Friends.org and driving the school bus (John), they find time to read and comment on almost every blog written by the Kiva Fellows. Their comments are consistently supportive, positive, and uplifting, and I’m sure have provided much-welcomed comfort for many blogging Fellows.
Jan & John (photo from their Kiva lender page)
Thank you Jan and John! I know I’ve really appreciated your kind comments. This thanks is also directed at the many other regular readers and commenters, and Kiva Friends who keep the blog going. Unilove that means you! J&J, I hope you don’t mind me writing about you and posting your picture, Kiva have trained me so well I feel like I should be getting releases signed everywhere I go.
This is sadly my last day as a Kiva Fellow and my last day with TLM. They’ve just showered me with gifts and taken me out for a slap-up lunch. I’ve sold my helmet and various other bits and bobs I accumulated along the way. Everyone has been incredibly friendly and welcoming here, they really really have. Don’t forget to check out the new TLM website – their first proper one in 12 years of operation, I know it’s basic but it’s the first proper website I’ve made too! And watch out for more TLM loans and video journals coming soon, plus a very special video project which will hopefully be happening in June (unfortunately I won’t be here).
And without further ado, I present the TLM-Kiva Calendar… coming soon to a store near you… maybe
January: TLM actually stands for Tanned Lending Machines. (l-to-r: Lambert, Ellen, Ida, Lenny, Shanty, and Herto)
April: The look this spring - Ice white Kiva t-shirts with customized limited edition TLM decoration
June: The Kiva Team (left to right: Kieran, Vience, Shanty, and Roni)
November: We never turn our back on a client (except to show them our Kiva t-shirts)
Thanks to Darren at Kiva for providing the funds for t-shirts. They will be worn many times I promise (looking around the office as I write this I can see a few in full effect).
Goodbye Kiva!
Last week was my last week as a Kiva Fellow. As I sat in the cold air of the bar Emprender took me to celebrate the end of my time with their offices and the national Dia del Trabajador (or workers day), I realized how far I have come. And how hard it would be to sum up the personal aspect of being a Kiva Fellow. And equally hard to sum up what microfinance looks like to me.
Here is an effort to show what I mean. Take a look at an album I made of my favorite entrepreneur photos from my placement in Honduras and in Bolivia.
I had just spent a solid hour learning the lilted, stomping, righteous traditional dance steps from Emprender’s regional directors and office managers. I was casually discussing (in imperfect but newly fully functional Spanish) the future of Evo’s MAS party. It was at this moment, during a pause in the live band’s flute playing and guitar strumming that I realized I have learned this city from the inside out. That is, I can tell you where the used clothes come from and how much a cow stomach has been marked up by the seller (35%). Microfinance can be a problem and I worry about over indebtedness, and irresponsibly lending to people who can’t repay. I worry that perhaps we still aren’t reaching the poorest of the poor, and perhaps there is a better way to relieve poverty. Is lending just a construct of “The West” (whatever that is) that shouldn’t be exported to “The Rest” (whatever that is)? I still don’t know.
Looking back on my 6 months as a Kiva Fellow, the sum total is positive. Enthusiastic, creative loan officers and entrepreneurs. Shiny new ideas and optimism. Smiles, laughs and hope. Microfinance doesn’t just change the material position of a family, but their self-image. This idea of self-image bleeds into the national consciousness. It changes women, and it inspires a community.
Flora bakes bread and now sells directly to a school with a monthly contract. Her loan allowed her to commit to a certain amount of product resulting in this contract that evens out her income and lends some predictability to a life wrought with uncertainty. She told me to pass along specific thanks to Kiva lenders.
Flora with her oven
Ramiro was robbed and lost the material he needed to run his tire replacing business. His Kiva loan puts him back on his feet. He spent the whole interview talking about the future. A bigger store. Transmission replacement. Employing his brothers.
Ramiro
Story after story like these two have warmed my heart, and made me believe.
Personally, I learned that I can’t stop my feet from itching, and will probably spend the rest of my life in a constant state of building a home and then taking it down again- and that I like that as much as I hate it.
Morning in La Paz- Sierra cleaning house
I’ll never find a solution to poverty that fits in every way, and I’ll always have my doubts. Still, the fight for equality moves me, connects me, and I’ll never stop trying, thinking, working and exploring. Thank you Kiva for this opportunity.
**Sierra Visher is a Kiva Fellow (KF6) posted in Honduras with Prisma and Bolivia with Emprender. She is heading to Pisco, Peru to volunteer with MAD Volunteers. After that- the open road. You can follow her journey on her personal blog. **
Social Gardening a.k.a. 77 is never too old to start a business.
by Kieran Ball, KF6 & 7
“Poor people are like bonsai trees”, analogises Professor Mohammad Yunus, “Even choosing the best seed of the tallest tree, if you plant it in a small flower pot it cannot grow big. Society is the flower pot, the system we have built that keeps poor people from growing. The seed of the person is as good as the tallest tree, but we must change the system to let each person grow to their potential.”
Whilst Professor Yunus failed to mention that bonsai trees look totally hip on most coffee tables, this is still my all time favourite microfinance analogy.
I was reminded of it today, when I met a good seed.
Mr Zakarias Rassi is a seventy-seven year old Kiva entrepreneur from Baun village, West Timor. He is the group leader of the Cemara C group. I was visiting to do a journal on this group’s progress with their cattle fattening loan, and this was my second meeting with Zakarias. This time, while we were waiting for someone to find his log book, myself and Shanty, the Kiva coordinator, had a nice chat with this talkative and highly entertaining gentleman.
Zakarias Rassi sitting on his doorstep with the piglet that follows him everywhere
Zakarias stands a modest five-and-a-bit feet above the ground he has spent most of his life earning a living from. His mouth is constantly bright red from chewing on betelnuts (I tried one this week, the most bitter thing I’ve ever tasted) and his sun-beaten leathery brown skin does not do justice to his still clearly nimble and strong body.
Interesting fact number one: Zakarias has twelve children.
We started out with regular journal questions – how is the cow doing, is it getting fat, has it improved your life. He told us that he is a farmer by trade, but that this is his fourth cattle loan from TLM because it is a good way of supplementing his income. With the profit from selling his cows he has been able to buy a pig, send his remaining dependent children to school, and buy new clothes and shoes (no sign of these).
He says that he is able to get loans from TLM because they know he is diligent and intelligent. Of that I have no doubt. After seventy-seven years in a country where life expectancy for men is sixty-six, and still going strong, I guessed old Zakarias had more tricks up his sleeve than just a couple of cattle loans. I asked what they were.
Interesting fact number two: Zakarias has three houses and four motorbikes.
Zakarias told us that he had been a farmer in the same village since he was very young, but that on the side he has had several other business ventures to keep him going. In 1976, when he was in his forties, he started playing the stock market. The livestock market that is! (Sorry Kristy for stealing this excellent pun). He was buying and selling cows and pigs and abiding by the golden rule of trading: buy thin and sell fat.
Zakarias with his latest investment
By saving his profits he managed to purchase three houses in his village. He also bought four motorcycles which he lends to his sons who are motor-taxi drivers. I asked if he charges them for the use of the bikes. With a glint in his eye he told us that all revenues are returned to him, and if his sons need to buy anything for themselves, he decides whether to give them the money for it.
Before this he sold rice, vegetables, and fruit. With the proceeds of his current cattle loan, he plans to set up a kiosk and diversify his skill set further. It’s never to late to start something new.
Interesting fact number three: At the tender age of seventy, Zakarias married his second wife, aged seventeen.
If Zakarias lived in the UK he would probably be a wheeler dealer named Del Boy, a true rags-to-riches tale of hard work and shrewd decisions. But in a village in West Timor, owning three small wooden houses doesn’t equate to holidays in Florida and golf course membership. In fact, Zakarias and his wife still work every day in the fields tending to their crops and livestock, and his house is a tiny dark shack with none of the creature comforts you’d associate with a triple home owner.
Perhaps if Zakarias had lived on the other side of the small mountain range, in Kupang city, he would have several successful businesses and bigger, more luxurious houses by now. Perhaps if he had grown up in the USA, he’d be spending his later years relaxing on his yacht in the Bahamas rather than working in a field.
To expand on Yunus’ analogy, microfinance cannot change where your seed is planted. But it can give you a bigger pot to grow in. And get rid of some of those little ties that stop your branches from sprouting. Kiva and Kiva lenders are helping to make the pots bigger and better, and removing the ties – social gardeners working towards a larger global forest of entrepreneurs.
I now see why Professor Yunus did not expand on his analogy.
Zakarias is an example of how microfinance can reach individuals who really value the opportunity, but also a reminder not to expect miracles. Despite four consecutive loans, a good level of intelligence and diligence – even if he does say so himself – and a lifetime of hard work and saving, Zakarias still works long days in the field and lives in a wooden hut. Mind you, he has supported twelve children.
The real benefits will probably come generations down the line when his children who were able to go to school because of his cattle loans can get better jobs and send their children to university. I wonder if they will realise that it was all down to Great-Grandad Zakarias, the savvy entrepreneur and hard-working farmer from Baun village.
Zakarias is a client of TLM, one of Kiva’s newest field partners in West Timor, Indonesia. To view all TLM clients that are currently fundraising, go here.
68 is never too old to learn to read.
One Dominican farmer I met had even unknowingly signed over the title of his land because he was unable to read the document he was signing.
Continue Reading 2 May 2009 at 13:52 ashleyolivia 5 comments
Best for Bolivia
Bolivia’s political conflict, antics and struggle are very much a part of the day to day. But somehow, I haven’t really felt it. I know that in September of 2008 the situation was much more tense. Violence was on the rise. The US Ambassador was expelled. A potential civil war between the highly indigenous west supporting Evo Morales and the more politically conservative, often land-owning east seeking autonomy? Throw in the simplifying and mystifying fact that in Latin America, right now, you are with Chavez or you are with the US, and I am left constantly talking about Evo’s policies and in equal portion, American sins.
Chavez and Evo
This was true this week when I met Don Lorenzo, who with a loan in his wife’s name, makes cholita hats. He asks me within the first five minutes a simple question: do you believe in the indigenous people of Bolivia? Simple. Yes.
Don Lorenzo and His Hats
So why does my government choose to burn down the coca fields, not only an ancient custom but also a competitive product on the capitalist global stage? I’m well versed in this- first, Don Lorenzo, I disagree with the US government’s war on drugs. But I can help explain some of the complex internal politics that have led to our obsession with curbing supply, and often ignoring demand. Second, we should make a distinction between the government of a country and the people of a country. I will do the same in the way I view the Bolivians.
An error. NO! Don Lorenzo sees himself perfectly reflected in his government. Evo is the face of the people. He understands their culture, their dreams, their hopes. He is one of us. Don Lorenzo says he has been molding, steaming, cutting and selling these hats, an image of indigenous Bolivia for his whole life, and Evo makes him even prouder every time his wife dresses in her pollera and sombrero and hits the streets to sell these beautiful products. I am Bolivia, says Don Lorenzo. So, by extension, Sierra is the US. The US government that is. Will it work to explain that electing an African American in some ways carries the same meaning for us as electing Evo was for them? I hesitate to call Obama an indigenous leader, but will “community organizer” transfer?
Bolivian Congressional Building
Probably not. I steer clear of the conversation, sweeping a wide arch that includes questions about where felt comes from and how his father learned the trade, but inevitably land roughly on, “so you are in support of Evo?”. “Are you?” he returns. Flat. Well. I don’t know. Like most places, the truth about what’s best and what’s worst lies somewhere in the forgotten in-between. Do I think Evo is good for Bolivia?
Several little points, primarily as anecdotes, come to mind. First, every person over the age of 65 gets 200 Bolivianos a month. This is practically nothing, but it feels like something. It feels like the government cares and that’s not nothing. He is fighting for literacy. Signs everywhere say, “Un Pais Libre de Analfabetismo”, a country free of illiteracy. Good effort, but I know several illiterate people. Still, they can take classes for free…if only they had the time. A rebirth of kids speaking Aymara. I love the thought that languages can be preserved, and something in me lights up when I hear Atajo’s lead singer rapping in Ayamara, even if it’s against the Yankees stealing his identity. More people than ever are employed by city governments to clean up and preserve immaculate plazas. And aren’t they pretty? Makes me proud to be here, like I know a secret- Bolivia is really beautiful.
San Pedro Plaza
But there are several little things that worry me. First, that he keeps changing the constitution so he run again. And then maybe again and again. Hunger strikes, Evo sitting on his floor munching coca, are an effective way to get congress to pass his measures. Corruption hard to measure but still a real force.
And the grey area. A perfect example is the fractura system. Each person in Bolivia has a section of their salary withheld and they can only use it in places that offer fractura. Or a receipt. To be able to offer a receipt, and thus attract customers, the business must both register with the government and pay taxes. This encourages the formal sector, and raises money for the state. A good thing. Except its hard to offer fractura, and most small businesses can’t. And it hurts. Not the woman on the corner selling just a few dozen oranges a day, but it does hurt a Kiva client who dries and packages chili peppers and wants to start selling to incorporated supermarkets. Plus, it seems to infringe a bit on one’s liberties to be told where they can shop. But oops, that’s my American-ness again.
Kiva Entrepreneur's Chili Peppers
And really, how does the political situation here affect business? For Don Lorenzo, his business is, in part, a political expression. Still there aren’t that many jobs, and people become business owners not because they want to, but because they have few options. The market appears saturated, but how could I possibly measure that with my limited tools- a camera and a notepad? I found out partway through my visit that his wife, Mercedes wasn’t at home because she was in a big march down the main street expressing general support for Evo. I asked how often she does this, and was surprised with the answer. Whenever her association requires.
Most small businesses like Don Lorenzo and Mercedes’ are part of a neighborhood association, that pools money to keep the street they sell on safe, and mostly clean. The have meetings once a month and are organized. Its one of the parts I like most about small businesses here. But whenever the director (a member of Evo’s MAS party, always) says they have to march, or blockade, they pick up and do it. If they don’t, the association issues a fine -they can’t sell their products for 1-3 days. Political participation in support of Evo is thus compulsory. Good thing Don Lorenzo and Mercedes believe in it. Otherwise this would be corruption, and an infringement on individuality. But oops, that’s my American-ness again.
After saying goodbye, and eliciting a few friendly laughs with my attempt to bid farewell in Aymara, I was in a taxi on the way to visit a friend when we bumped into Mercedes’ march. It was big. Lots of color and guns. A zebra is knocked down by the crowd. People dressed as zebras direct traffic in La Paz with happy faces and fancy dances. This is Evo’s attempt to “re-educate” people about traffic manners, and its harder to fight a zebra than a police officer. I open the door of a cab to help the zebra up when a riot cop sprays the mob with tear gas.
Zebra hard at work
Burn. My nostrils afire, my eyes burned shut. Have I really just been tear-gassed in La Paz? Where did the plaza with the flowers go, and my favorite egg lady? Where are the tuba players and the children with the icecream? A different world descends and my nearly blind taxi driver drops me above the blockade, near a gorgeous church where a friend is waiting. I’ve been told cigarette smoke binds to tear gas and helps. A non-smoker, I chock back two, trying to blow the smoke into my own eyes and sit it out. I was 100% fine 20 minutes later. The zebra was fine.
Now amidst Evo’s crys for international investigation of a plot to assassinate him, I find myself wondering still, what is best? The only conclusion that I can come to is, like the surreal moment when I’m helping a man dressed as a zebra move out of the street of half-hearted protestors, facing a cop in full riot gear spraying gas generally through a crowd, I am out of my element. I am not in a position to evaluate what is best for Bolivia.
Although, I did like sharing in Don Lorenzo’s pride, and will forever remember his smile more vividly than a blurry taxi ride.
Don Lorenzo and Sierra
Sierra Visher is a Kiva Fellow (KF6) from California on her second placement in Bolivia with Emprender. All funding loans from Emprender can be found here. Sierra can be reached at svisher@gmail.com, and enjoys hearing from Kiva lenders!
How Sierra Found Her Glasses
Emprender has two offices in Cochabamba and three in Santa Cruz. Both these cities have a distinct character, and reputation that precedes them. The Cochabambinos, or “ “Bambinos” (best nick name ever right?) are known for their gigantic plates of food. Everyone tells me that I would eat a lot in Cochabamba, and that I would find the climate perfect. In Santa Cruz, I would find people of a totally different culture. The kind that whistle at the women in the street, take off dancing at a moment’s notice, men with mojo and women with hot blood. All ferociously against La Paz’s beloved Evo Morales. I’m told that when I travel to the other parts of the country, that I would understand the background of Bolivia, what goes on behind the scenes. They couldn’t have been more correct. In the last few days, I’ve really learned about what goes on behind the scenes….and…under the table.
I was ushered into the station at 7am in the morning by screaming, bartering women in the Cochabamba station and rapidly found myself down 30 Bolivianos, and carefully stowed into the top seats on a bus, or floata, to Santa Cruz. The seats directly above the driver are incredibly beautiful. A huge surround seat window gives you the feeling you are flying above the road, the panoramic views simply take you’re breath away. I wondered, how did I score this!! I soon found out.
Window Views
The beautiful windows in this seat don’t open. Though I had space, a comfy seat and, of course, the view, I have never been so hot in all my life. The windows acted as a green house, and the little space got hotter and hotter and hotter. People, bags, food and even a dog in a box filled the aisle- there was no where to go. Luckily, in Bolivia, people come running to the window to sell you coolish jello at every stop, so I slurped my way down the road. The worst part though was that my glasses kept fogging up in the humidity became unbearably slippery, so I hung them on the curtain.
Nearly 16 hours later, I arrived in Santa Cruz, flopped out of the bus covered in sweat and filled with jello to wait in the heat for Julio, Emprender’s regional director to meet me at the bus station. I normally keep my cool (pun intended) in these kind of situations, but something unnerves me about Santa Cruz. Everyone has told me that this is a really dangerous station, and I’m just a little flustered. Which pocket has the big bills and which is the small? Do I have all my electronics? Did I keep that tiny scrap of paper they handed me when I boarded, and now inexplicably want back? When I get to the hotel, I realized that in my fluster, I left my glasses on the bus!
Though I’m not supposed to be running around a bus station at night, I pop into a cab and rush over for the price of 30 Bolivianos (a 10 minute drive that cost the same as the 15 hour bus). I run around the whole station looking for someone from the Trans Copacabana line. I find a friendly worker who after asking me to marry him, or provide sexual services, tells me that I arrived in bus 81, parked down this alley way. Keys between my knuckles, taxi driver following me at the rate of 5 Bolivianos, I make my way down the ally way plastered with anti-Evo posters. The drivers are at dinner, and are probably drunk, says a neighbor driver. I can return by 6 am to catch them.
The next morning I am there by six with another expensive taxi driver waiting in the parking lot (other taxis aren’t safe at this hour apparently) in the pouring rain trying to find my bus. Its not there. The ally is, but the bus is not. Trying to be as quick as possible, I run towards toward the main terminal to ask for information and I crash right into a line of barbed wire mysteriously strung between two trees. Maybe I should mention that without my glasses, I can’t see.
The bus has gone on an unexpected trip and won’t be back until night, several loads of passengers have been collected and everyone, six different people I’ve consulted, tell me there is no way they are still aboard. A pair of frames like that can be sold easily here. A last ditch effort, I leave my number with Juan, an assistant with Trans Copacabana who seems helpful, has told me I’m beautiful, and I make my tired, wet, bloody, dirty way back to the hotel to rush into the shower before I have to leave for the office.
Chasing Buses
Like modern miracle, at lunch, Juan calls – they found my glasses!! For a fee.
I ask how much, he says, “a small amount” and my phone cuts out. Rober, the Emprender loan officer I’m with, kindly accompanies me to the bus station, and waits with his car while I follow Juan to the bus. An error. I should have gone with Rober, who might have known what my glasses would cost. When I get there, they bring me down my glasses, and putting them on, the world seems clearer. I realize I have no idea how to pay a fee, or a bribe, or whatever it is I have to pay. Not expecting to have to pay this kind of thing, I don’t have the best denominations. I have a 20 B note, or about $3, and a 100 B note, which is about $14, which is a bit of money here. I rarely spend 100Bs in one setting. I give the driver the 20. He looks at it, scoffs throws it in the mud and trumps off. I feel terrible I want to do whats right. Is it right to pay? Is it right not to? Juan picks it up, tries to make me feel better, but explains that the driver was expecting at least 50, oh, and that he himself expects an additional amount. Can I ask for change? 100 Bs is a lot of money for me, and I’ve already spent hours in the mud, tons of money on taxis, I’m all cut up from the barbed wire, I was at the station late last night, and at 5 o’clock this morning and now this!? I miss the lost and found boxes so common in the US. Where is the little drawer behind the counter?
The driver won’t look at me, or stop grumbling loudly to his buddies “Gringa blah blah blah Gringa blah blah”. I leave the 20 B plus the 100 B (because I have to pay Juan something) with Juan asking him to share because the driver now won’t take anything I hand him and keeps throwing it in the mud. And looking at me with a combination of repulsive lust and hate. Will Juan share? I feel like a bumbling cultural idiot, I ashamed I can’t do what seems to be normal all over the world, and what looks so easy in American crime movies- passing slippery money from hand to hand, no one noticing. At the same time, I’m furious that I should have to. Who knows if it resolved. Glasses in hand, or rather, on face, my last pair of pants thoroughly wet, Rober and I take off for the next Kiva client.
Later, I met a group of women today who really brought it all into focus. One of them sells cosmetics for Avon and needed a loan to pay a fee to them that she feels is unfair. One of them was unfairly fired from her job as a babysitter and is trying to make ends meet by selling sweets from her home. One of them has a husband who is a bus driver who is constantly working more hours than is legal, and because his company doesn’t pay insurance for the truck, only the cargo, a recent accident has devastated their family, and they needed a loan. Rober and I have a long conversation about how lawyers are all crooks and their only ability is to suavely do what I couldn’t – pay bribes. Later I learn from one loan officer that El Torno, a town outside of Santa Cruz, where Emprender has an office, is suffering from a corrupt mayor who avoided corruption charges by signing up with Evo´s party, now he´s a true Masista. This is of course what everyone believes, but the truth is probably somewhat more nuanced.
New Friends
Its not that the country is so ramp with corruption that small businesses can’t get ahead, but rather that it happens often enough that it appears no one trusts the system. They don’t trust the political system, or the economic system or any of the promises that have been made to them by most institutions. Despite all this by at the end of the day, as Rober helped me over a slippery slope, I realized, maybe trust can begin with your solidarity group, and then with your bank. Then with your neighbor, your employer, your political party, and with your country. I felt a little bit more cheery, and felt like I could see.
Welcome, Kiva, to West Timor!
West Timor is the country equivalent of Robert Downey Senior. The usual reaction is “West Timor? I didn’t know there was a West Timor. But I’ve heard of East Timor so I suppose it makes sense”.
And indeed it does make sense, especially if you live here. West Timor, formerly a Dutch colony until it was un-clogged in 1945, is on an island towards the eastern side of Indonesia (Timur conveniently means “east” in Indonesian) but, it should be stressed, not the most easterly island as that is Papua and or West Papua (to clarify please see www.google.com), and is attached to East Timor, who (in)famously fought for and gained independence from Indonesia in 2002. It forms part of the Indonesian province of East Nusa Tengarra, the poorest of all thirty-three provinces in Indonesia. It is also home to TLM, one of the newest Kiva field partners.
Tanaoba Lais Manekat (“Serve With Love”), or TLM for short, is a Christian organisation founded by the protestant church in 1994. Around eleven thousand clients are recipients of the TLM loans (and love) within the province. Some of the fortunate ones will shortly be receiving some Kiva love too!
TLM are aiming to grow their operations and client base rapidly, and Kiva is a big part of these plans. They are currently in their pilot phase so if you manage to find one of their loans before it’s fully funded, count yourself lucky! TLM loans are so hot right now.
In return for your loans, TLM are showcasing a unique-to-Kiva cashless cow-fattening loan where the borrower receives a skinny cow and one year later shares the profits from the sale of the (hopefully) fatter cow. Your repayment is genuinely dependent on how much a cow eats. Will you find a cash cow? Or will you be left crying over spilt milk?
We need your help to get fat!
Below is a video introduction to TLM featuring a trip into the beautiful Timor countryside and some heroic tree climbing.
Ways to support TLM:
Join the TLM lending team on Kiva
Follow TLM on Twitter! Kiva Coordinator Shanty, probably the only twitterer in West Timor, will be keeping TLMs twitter feed updated with all of their Kiva activities. Be the first to know when new TLM loans are posted!
Check out all TLM loans currently fundraising on Kiva here and make a loan!
Kiva Fellowships are unpaid voluntary positions and I totally forgot to do any fundraising for mine. If you would like to help me out in any way, you can donate to me here. I wish I’d thought of this earlier. Thank you. Kieran
Good-bye for now, Kisumu
“Be late, but get there”
This sticker, prominently displayed on the dashboard of the Mombasa bus, did not inspire much confidence that we would reach our destination in a timely manner, but it at least reassured my safety a bit more than another common sticker – “drive it like you stole it.”
Occasional Frequent maniacal driving aside, you are also most likely already aware of the fact that things in East Africa rarely operate in a way that someone from the United States (my home country) might call prompt. This has proven to be a way of life that is right up my alley.
While consistently late to most things in the U.S., here I have been “right on time”, and dare I say even “early” to many events. As someone who was once told by a professor that time doesn’t apply to me, African polepole time (slowly slowly) is something I can get down with.
So, in the “be late but get there” spirit, here I am, much belatedly, writing a blog post to say goodbye to K-MET and my first Kiva placement.
I write this now from Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, my second Kiva placement, but I am transported by my thoughts back to Kisumu, Kenya to the K-MET office, to the farewell lunch where some weeks ago I said goodbye to my friends and coworkers.
Mama Monica, K-MET's Executive Director and me (with my gift of necklace and bracelet/arm band)
It is awkward to know that an event is in your honor, when really you feel as though it should be the other way around, that you should be the one treating your hosts who were so kind for four months. This awkward feeling intensifies when you realize that after lunch your co-workers will go around in a circle and each one will say something about/to you, while everyone else stares directly at you.
My cheeks were pink, yes, but as each friend said goodbye to me, I tucked their words away in my memory, needing to save them, to keep their smiles and the long days we spent together with me always. It is hard to explain how touched I was by some of the things said to me that day, how much the friendship of everyone at K-MET has meant to me.
- John Asuke is one of the most hardworking, admirable men that I have ever met. He carries K-MET’s microfinance department on his tai kwon do trained back, working even with typhoid fever. And he has some sweet dance moves.
When I stood up to say a few words, my mind drifted over the last few months.
There were, of course, small moments of difficulty and discomfort, illness and confusion, grapples with identity and development work, as well as much larger moments of grief and mourning – the sudden death of friend and co-worker Alice Otieno, (the office is lacking your bright laughter, Alice) and the deaths of my two grandparents (your cactus, planted 38 years ago in Nakuru, is huge now, I wish I could have told you) – that made my heart clench tight on a number of days.
As these darkened clouds of memory billowed in my mind, other, brighter, memories joined them, crowding, jostling, calling out for recognition.
Memories of the comfort, care, and love given and received in time of sadness and grief, scalding morning chai, field visits to spirited borrowers, bumpy dirt roads, music and more music, squabbling roosters in the yard, Indian food with friends, stone faced babies, nights spent looking at the stars, dirty garbage everywhere, bright bougainvillea flowers, the smell of burning trash, hot nyama choma and cold Tusker beer, silhouettes of women carrying water up winding burnt orange paths as dusk falls over Kenyan hills, layers of dust and sweat covering skin, kind helpful strangers, haggling for mangos, stories of humor and strength in difficult situations, wind rushing on the back of a motorcycle, elaborate handshakes and fist pounds, laughter, tenacious grips on life, love, and family, Obama calls in the streets, the hum of sewing machines, real hugs, the intimate glimpses into people’s businesses and lives, their hopes and challenges, and small moments of complete bliss – the feeling of being in the exact place I was meant to be in for that moment.
Together, all these moments have woven themselves together to make an indelible impression on me. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to be a part of people’s lives in Kisumu and to have them become a part of mine.
- This borrower group in Mombasa, Kenya includes many enterprising women who hold steady jobs and have created their own small businesses in order to supplement their primary income
- Bernard, Kiva Borrower, lost his business during post-election violence last year when his sewing machine was stolen. He fled the area for months, then returned to start again, buying a new machine with a K-MET loan
I like to think that I will be back in Kisumu some day, to breathe in that dusty lake breeze and have some fried tilapia and ugali with my friends, catching up on all the stories I have missed.
So oriti ahenya for now, Kisumu and K-MET. Thank you for all that you have given me; I hope that I have been able to give something back.
How Dominican Republic Loans Help Haitians
Kiva Haiti loans are on their way, but until then you can…
Continue Reading 23 March 2009 at 14:34 ashleyolivia 8 comments
A Day in El Alto
El Alto is the place where microfinance pretty much started in Latin America and it has held my interest for years. This cold, wind-swept city is an incredible phenomenon of urbanization, globalization, and pretty much any other -ization you can think of. La Paz, the city proper, sits in a bowl high up on Bolivia’s altiplano. Here, the city is protected from some of the bitter cold and wind. High up above the city, the flat plateau-like city of El Alto, is where the city’s poorest residents live, work and get by. A place washed by persistent, filthy, rotten poverty.
On the Edge of El Alto
Despite the cold, the sun at this altitude not only burns me instantly but imbues everything with a surreal light. Perhaps this is why El Alto struck me as one of the most colorful, vibrant places I’ve ever been. Markets are pouring out of windows, stands, corners and the very faces of El Alto residents. This desire to sell, to move, to change seems to me the very essence of El Alto. Most residents have come from “el campo”, or the country, looking for a better life. They stopped here and did their best. Now this sprawling, freezing metropolis of nearly a million people is a city unto itself boasting an apparently famous youth hip hop movement (must learn more about this), industries budding on every corner, a re-constitution of traditional art now mixed with urban vibes, music, family and of course- the market. Here is where we find Kiva funded clients.
El Alto Market
I met Saturnina and her husband Eufrin. She had so much to say about how Emprender needs to lower their interest rates, that I couldn’t get a word in edge wise. I had the long list of Kiva questions to run through, but standing there talking to her, the sun searing my back, through the shirt I have, the sweat slipping down my back and soaking the top of my jeans, I just didn’t get to them. I recently learned you can sunburn through your clothes. This is a first for me. I suddenly felt my eyes tracking, my mouth cracking and my feet swelling. Too much walking in too much sun for too long with too little water. I ended the conversation, walked promptly to the juice lady behind me and drank three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice one right after the other. Despite not asking my normal questions, I learned from Saturnina, dressed in colorful clothing and mysteriously with some sort of leaves stuffed in her ears, that she has several loans from many MFIs and while Emprender’s interest rates of 39% annually are the lowest she pays, they are still too high. Duh. How do we lower them? She is over-indebted and I’m reminded again of the limits of microfinance.
Saturnina and Eufrin
For lunch, I had the single foulest food I’ve had yet. And I have had goat head soup. Charquecan is llama meat dried in the sun until it resembles beef jerkey. The word jerkey, coincidentally, comes from charque. Then you shred the llama meat and serve it over homily and dehydrated potatoes, or “chuño” with a chunk of what appears to be mostly rotten cheese and a hardboiled egg. It comes to you looking like a big bowl of hair with an egg. I sat with Alberto, a really nice, unusually single loan officer who is probably the kindest person I have met here. Loves charquecan, and is stoked that I’m shoveling it in my mouth with equal proportions of fanta. He says he’s worried about the poverty in his country and wonders how long it can go on like this. “Estoy orgulloso de ser parte de la solución”, or I’m proud to be part of the solution. It was like he was speaking straight to my heart.
Alberto, an Emprender Loan Officer
We return to the office where I pull myself together, organize a bit, and prepare to leave. Suddenly the confusion. Its my first day in this particular field office and everyone is worried. How will she get home? Can she understand the buses? She has her computer, can she make it to the bus stop? I knew what I was doing. I could see the stop from where we were standing. I just needed to get going so I’d arrive back home in the La Paz, or “the hole” before dark. After some commotion, a kiss on every face I’m off. Except. The security guard truly cannot handle me walking alone and insists on putting me in a bus to take me two blocks to where I catch the other. There is literally nothing I can do about it that would be appropriate. He flags one down, opens the door, negotiates with the bus driver and literally helps me into the front seat like my dad on the first day of school. I take these buses constantly, and am proud not to be a fumbling idiot in them. I have never felt so white, or so incapable of organizing my own time. The bus immediately turns down a different road. I ask to get out and the bus driver says, no, he has to first make a U turn. Suddenly I’m lost. Its getting dark. I am carrying a camera, a computer, a video camera and some money in the middle of El Alto. Sigh.
About 45 minutes later, after many conversations I get to a bus that takes me mostly in the right direction. I’m in. Its steaming with people’s warm breath in the frozen air. Cholita’s bowler-hats blocking my view. Its warm and as I start to drift off BAM! We blow a tire. Standing in the hail 45 minutes later somewhere between El Alto and La Paz, trying to catch another bus with the throng of Bolivians, I am reminded of how convenient everything in the US is. The metro with its predicted arrival times, clean and orderly. I’m frustrated, but I have some sort of inner calm that comes with knowing that I’m going home to a warm house with food in the fridge. Not just tonight, but always.
Life is Beautiful in Bénin (Doucement, Yovo!)
An appreciation for the people and culture of Bénin
Continue Reading 17 March 2009 at 06:58 farmers2foodstamps 4 comments
Why I Can Buy Maimouna a Sprite
Today was my first day of work at IMCEC, a Senegalese MFI based in Dakar. I’m working out of their offices in Thies, a smaller, hotter, dustier, and boringer city about an hour and a half from Dakar. IMCEC currently manages the Kiva partnership in a very decentralized way, and is having a lot of trouble meeting their $80,000 a month fundraising limit – in January they only posted $7,500-worth of loans on the Kiva site. What a waste of free capital!
Happily, they just hired a woman to manage the Kiva process. It’ll be my job to train her and to help IMCEC set up a system that takes advantage of the interest-free capital provided by Kiva in the most efficient way possible. What a fun challenge!
Me with Madame Mbaye, the new Kiva Coordinator
In the meantime, I’m living with one of the IMCEC employees, Marie. After work today, I decided to go for a walk and explore the neighborhood a little bit.
It’s easy to forget that you’re white when you walk around with your African friends and coworkers. This is not the case, however, when you walk around alone.
Every male between the ages of 8 and 28 feels it is necessary to yell things at me that I don’t understand. It’s even more frustrating because some of them are legitimately nice, and if I don’t respond, it’s ME who is being rude. So, I do my best to choose between complete ignorance, a slight smile, or a polite “Bon soir.”
During the short two-minute walk from my house to the little soda shop, one guy earned a response by addressing me with a polite, “Bon soir, mademoiselle.”
“How nice,” I thought.
“Bon soir,” I said.
“Mademoiselle, ou madame?” he asked, as we passed each other (i.e., am I married?).
Sigh. I turned my head behind me to look him directly in the eyes and said, “Madame.”
Then we both laughed, and I felt ok about life. As I turned onto the main road, a little girl started walking next to me, maybe 9 years old. I said hi, asked her what her name was (Maimouna), and kept walking. At the store, she stood next to me the whole time. She was very polite, not asking for anything, and I think not expecting anything. I chose a Sprite for myself, two for my homestay family, and an extra one.
Now, after being in Africa for four months, I am tired of constantly being torn about whether to give or not to give. I’ve seen various philosophies that my friends and acquaintances have adopted. Some give constantly, always buying gifts of food or alcohol or n’importe quoi, and, surprisingly, earning the genuine love and respect of people around them. Some never give, complaining about the annoyance kids who “guard” their cars while they are in the parking lot and then ask for a bit of money afterwards. My Togolese friends used to give regularly to the people begging on the sides of the road, literally throwing change at them as we passed.
The other day I was in a pick-up truck in the absolute middle of nowhere with a Senegalese friend. We passed two women and two children on the side of the road. I have to admit – I didn’t even see them there. My friend did, however, and he stopped the car. “Can we take them?” he asked me in French.
“Of course,” I said.
We drove them to the nearest town, which is where we were going anyway. It was far – maybe half an hour or more. As they got out of the car, the sun was setting. If we hadn’t helped them, I have no idea how they ever would have gotten where they needed to go.
As the last woman got out of the car, she said something in Wolof, the local language.
“What did she say?” I asked, as we started on our way.
“She said that we will never know what we just did for them,” my friend told me.
***
Back to the soda shop. I considered all the reasons not to give my little friend a soda – I don’t want her to think that every time she sees a white person, she might get something from them. That is a real, real concern for me. I also don’t want to make myself feel good just because I do something that involves literally no sacrifice and that I am able to do just because of where I happen to have been born.
So, I can’t give Abozu my camera. But sometimes you just want to buy a little girl a soda. So I handed Maimouna the Sprite and told her to study hard in school.
I haven’t figured out my life philosophy on giving or not giving. But there are lines we all have to draw, and when you’re drawing those lines, it doesn’t hurt to remember that you might never know what you are really doing for someone else.
***
I am a Kiva Fellow, Class of KF6/7, serving three months in Lome, Togo, and three more in Thies, Senegal. Please check out my current MFI, IMCEC, and see all of their fundraising loans here!
Sitting Some Days
Some days as a Kiva Fellow totally rock. Its like, “snap, snap, snap!” You are in the groove, making good decisions, few cultural errors, you are visiting clients, streamlining internal processes, inspiring the staff of Kiva’s partners, making connections and generally rocking out. Here is a quick video I made of a day during which I visited clients.
Some days…ie, today, are not so snappy. I got to one of Emprender’s field offices to find that they really didn’t have time to take me to visit clients like I had thought, and as we planned together. So far, Emprender has been more strict about adhereing to the daily plan we nailed out on day one than me, so I didn’t expect this change. I come without computer, in sneakers, jeans, sweater, rain jacket, plastic bags for electronics and lots of pens. I sit down, still not totally getting it that we aren’t going anywhere today and start to “observe”. Which means……make sure my eyes stay open.
Without preparation, besides being available for casual, around the water cooler conversations about Kiva, there is little capacity training I can do, and no one has time for me anyways. I ended up observing a few groups repay their loans (not Kiva clients), and a group prepare for a disbursment (again, not Kiva clients), and I managed to eat an enormous bowl filled will boiled chicken feet, but other than that. I sat there. For 6.5 hours. No book.
Kiva Fellows looking to pump me up, and my own internal dialogue tell me, “This is very normal, and your physical presence actually does create connections between Emprender and Kiva. It is important not to undervalue the importance of observing their processes and becoming a familiar sight. You can learn a lot that way about how the office functions, and use your experience with the group loans to write a general blog post about Emprender”. Its true, I know. But still.
So far, I’ve been truly surprised by the productivity, so I won’t beat myself up over today. But its still good to note, despite climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro, massively re-working the way Kiva is implemented, connecting on a deeply personal level with clients and generally saving the world- some days, a Kiva Fellow just sits.
Un Puñado de Dólares/Une Poignée de Dollars
Cette vidéo retrace le chemin d’un crédit de 25 dollars depuis Londres en Angleterre jusqu’au village de Preak Tomao au Cambodge. Kiva.org est un site web qui permet aux internautes de prêter de l’argent aux plus démunis dans les pays en voie de développement et grâce à ce prêt de se sortir eux même de la pauvreté.
Este video sigue el camino de un préstamo de $25, que va desde Londres hasta el pueblo de Preak Tamao en Camboya. Kiva.org es una página de Internet que permite a usuarios como tú y yo prestar dinero a gente necesitada en países en desarrollo, con el fin de ayudarlos a salir de la pobreza.
Continue Reading 5 March 2009 at 18:53 kieranball 6 comments
Kiva Fellows: My Virtual Family
Not every day as a Kiva Fellow is a good one. There are days when I wait for seven hours for a credit officer to be available to take me to the field to collect journal updates for only two clients. There are hours of intermittent internet in which I am able to load less than one page. There are the clients I meet about whom I would be inspired except that after doing the math I’m not convinced they’ve found a way to run their businesses with a net profit. Luckily, after more than 7 months of victories and setbacks, I think I’m in the black.
Small moments compensate for unpleasant hours. A coworker’s delight at a weak attempt at their local language can be contagious. The look of recognition on the faces of loan officers to whom I just presented a new template keeps me going for days. And the shy request by a client to have a picture taken with me makes me feel that my presence is appreciated.
On top of the ups and downs of the day-to-day, though, there is another secret to my contentment: the Kiva Fellows. In ways both tiny and massive, unexpected and enormously appreciated, having a virtual community of fellows makes my life infinitely better. During training in June, I left four days at Kiva HQ disappointed that after meeting so many fascinating and fun people I would ultimately embark on this fellowship solo. I only wished we could all be placed at the same MFI. Kiva said no—that would sort of defeat the purpose. Time and again, however, I’ve been able to turn to them for all manner of support despite great distances between us.
Three Fellows (Zack, Nabomita, and me) in Mombasa, Kenya--brainstorming about Kiva and how to save the world
Not sure how to shrink a photo? Wondering if anyone has an effective training Power Point presentation? Curious about coping mechanisms for language barriers? For all manner of information—from the recreational to the professional—fellows have proven to be an essential resource.
And as it turns out, Kiva has good judgment. As my Fellows class, KF5, has gradually finished up in the field, I despaired that I’d be left alone without my network of compatriots. I was entirely wrong. When I risked deportation from Tanzania, I was able to call on a KF6 and stay with her in Kenya for a week—all arranged having never met. From there I went on to intrude on another Kiva Fellow whose acquaintance I had never made but who quickly became an indispensable friend. The prospect of Christmas and New Years alone in Africa was depressing so three KF6ers and I ignored the fact that we did not know each other and made plans to travel Africa together to be in the company of people whom we knew would soon be friends.
On the job in Kisumu, Kenya--I met and stayed with Sarah
New Year's in Kigali, Rwanda--in the good company of Fellows Ankush and Sarah
Whether it’s crossing African borders to see one another or participating in email chains that gain momentum and garner nearly 50 responses from fellows in the same boat, I couldn’t live without the other fellows. It’s possible that I’ll never actually be in the same room as some of the fellows with whom I’ve been in frequent correspondence. Others I’m quite sure will persuade me to cross one or more countries just to see them again. Whether in Cameroon or Cambodia, Bolivia or Tanzania the fellows play a significant role both in helping me to get through the day and in helping me to add the most possible value to Kiva and my microfinance institution placement. There’s nothing like a real, live human resource to advise, commiserate, support, and amuse. Thanks for keeping me sane, fellows!
Jara and I did a joint staff training when we were both placed in Tanzania
Fellows recovering from a hard day's work in Dar es Salaam
To see all of Vision Finance Company’s currently fundraising loans, click here or join the Vision Finance Company lending team.
Julie Ross is currently serving as a Kiva Fellow at Vision Finance Company in Rwanda. In December she completed her first placement with BRAC Tanzania.
K.I.S.S.
KISS is more than just one of the great bands of the last half century (if you disregard the ‘Unmasked’ era), it’s an acronym introduced to me by a grade school teacher which – unlike most of what I learned in school – has stuck with me through the years. It stands for Keep It Simple, Stupid. Whether it’s in areas of communication, design or organization, the KISS philosophy is sage advice.
I’m fortunate enough to have internet access in my apartment here in the Philippines and I had high hopes for networking my WiFi-enabled cell phone and my laptop to share the connection. But I soon found that this was anything but simple. To paraphrase the great Walter Sobchak, I was entering a world of pain.
A world of pain
In the spirit of KISS I’ll spare the tech talk but mention that making a Skype call from a WiFi phone over an ad hoc network required understanding of such things as ipconfig /all, DTMF and Fring. It wasn’t a trivial endeavor but I eventually had my Alexander Graham Bell moment.
With all this technological horsepower at my disposal I had to somehow exploit it beyond just a basic phone call. That’s when I ran across Qik, a service which allows you to broadcast live cellphone video to a website for the purpose of what some call ‘lifecasting.’ It’s something of a voluntary Truman Show scenario and makes the huge presumption that the minutiae of your daily life is of interest to anyone beyond yourself. I started to run across all kinds of similar companies with similarly dubious services which rely on the edge of technological capabilities. After hours of research I had to tear myself away from Google… and embark upon my least favorite chore; hand washing.
It was then that I started to wonder why so much time and capital gets invested in marginally useful – and increasingly complex – innovations while the majority of the world lacks affordable access to simple, everyday conveniences. Even when attention is given to serving developing markets, the solutions are often costly, complex and focused on silicon or software (witness One Laptop per Child).
Only after living for a period of time in the developing world did I fully appreciate the challenges it presents. The time consumed by hand washing clothing for even a small family is a half day’s work. In countries like the Philippines, less than half the population owns a refrigerator. In Tajikistan I ran across a substantial number of websites which just don’t function at all when you’re connecting at speeds of roughly twice that of dial-up. ”Lifecasting” is not really on the list of priorities.
Smith's MIT lab (courtesy Christian Science Monitor)
I’ve lately been fascinated by the work of Amy Smith of MIT who is a pioneer in the “appropriate technology” movement aimed at addressing the unique needs of developing world populations. Her work has led to innovations such as a screenless flour mill eliminating the need for costly, hard-to-replace screens and an oil drum incinerator which makes charcoal from corn cobs. In her “7 Rules of Low-Cost Design” she advocates spending a week living on $2 a day to better understand the local needs. It’s an entirely different thing living in local conditions on a local budget than it is to visit as an affluent tourist.
So, shutting down my laptop and networked cell phone, I fill the sink with room temperature tap water and carefully choose the clothes I can afford to hang wet for the next day or two. In the span of a few minutes I transition from 21st century mobile warrior to 1950′s era American housewife.
If just a fraction of the venture capital allocated to pushing to the absolute limits of technology was instead invested in creating simple, low-cost solutions to enhance the lifestyle and productivity of those in the developing world, the economic payoff could be infinitely greater. Perhaps the big question is, payoff to whom? These kinds of initiatives won’t put billions in the hands of a few. But they could drastically improve the lifestyle and living conditions of millions of people around the world. Entrepreneurship is the engine of progress and, pointed in the right direction, can have a profound social impact.
Instead of working so hard to create a need or solve problems which don’t exist (lifecasting?), let’s address the basic needs of the global population first. To the capitalist I say you’re empowering millions to become more productive and ultimately increase output and consumption. To the social activist I say you’re leveraging the wealth of the developed world to level the playing field. Who would disagree?
Kiva Fellows: News from Cambodia
Kiva Happy Hour in Phnom Penh
I once heard that Kentucky Fried Chicken conducted a market survey on their brand and found that the words “Kentucky”, “Fried”, and “Chicken” each had negative psychological associations. Hence the change to the more deliciously ambiguous “KFC”.
If this is true, then “Kiva Happy Hour” must surely invoke feelings of warmth and joyous goodwill in most people. Take one fuzzy “innovative-slash-fantastic” organisation, add cheap drinks and nice people, and, as we say in England, Bob’s your uncle… good times.
This is precisely what happened in the Foreign Correspondents Club in Phnom Penh on Thursday in the third week of February. Thanks to everyone who came and to Sanjaya Bagopunyasena for doing most of the organising.
A Fine Fellow
Teresa Dunbar (KF5), right, sells Kiva like a pro. Kiva borrower photos show in back.
All profits from the sale of Kiva shirts are being lent on Kiva to borrowers in Cambodia
Hollie the designer with Katie Davis, KF7
Kiva Fellows new and old (I mean old as in KF6, not age ok?)
Sophany and Sophanith of AMK
Talking about microfinance and enjoying it
Limited Edition Kiva T-shirts
Step aside Gucci… microfinance t-shirts are SO this season. Hitting the runways (mainly of airports in West Timor and Phnom Penh) are the brand new limited edition Kiva “Loner/Loaner” t-shirts. Designed by Hollie Harrington of London, and produced in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, these shirts will add a dash of microcredit chic to any outfit.
Are you a loner or a loaner? Or perhaps even a lender?
If you would like one of these t-shirts there are a few left over in the AMK office in Phnom Penh. Otherwise contact me and I can send you the design files so you can get them printed locally. But only if all profits are re-invested on Kiva!
Kiva Fellows struck by lightning
Kiva Fellows Ball, Briggs, and Dunbar looked Danger squarely in the eye and said “Not today, we’ve got Kiva work to do!” when their plane was struck twice by lightning en route to their new assignments. Thanks to the Flip cameras distributed by Kiva and in true Kiva Fellows tradition this near-death moment was, of course, captured on video. OK so I added sound effects.
Flip video cameras: So simple, even a racoon can use it
Successful applicants for the Kiva Fellows programme generally need to be a bit tech savvy to handle the equipment they will use in the field. But the new Flip video cameras that were issued to KF7 are reputedly simple enough that even monkeys can use them.
Upon hearing this, I reacted as any sensible person would. “Sure, but how about racoons?”.
"How do you paws this thing?"
Note to Kiva: No Flip video cameras were harmed in the making of this video.
Reaching out to the (almost) unreachable
I really struggled for a catchy title on this post but failed miserably. Hang in there – I promise it gets better.
One of the nagging questions I’ve always had about microfinance is – how does it scale? It’s particularly relevant here in the Philippines where Community Economic Venture’s (CEV) maximum loan is $450. A typical loan officer has about 350 clients who are often scattered across the countryside down dirt roads in distant communities. On a recent trip to Mindanao I had an opportunity to find out the nuts and bolts of how your dollars reach halfway around the world to the most remote borrowers.
After a day’s worth of plane flights, ferries, buses and motorbike rides I found my way to one of CEV’s community-run “cluster” houses outside of Trento in Agusan del Sur. The clusters consist of up to 30 local clients who take on the responsibility of managing the respective members’ loans. It’s governed by elected board members and by-laws and the group generally meets weekly to not only collect repayments but to discuss matters of importance to the community.
Inside the San Jose cluster house
This gesture of community empowerment is one of the ways in which CEV scales its operations. Loan officers often consult with the cluster chairman to determine creditworthiness or loan amounts for individual members. The group is accountable for one lump repayment representing the entire cluster and has some discretion in managing any deliquencies. It also serves as a forum for credit training and education which is one of the key distinctions between CEV and its competitors.
I had the opportunity to sit in on a meeting of the San Jose cluster and talk a bit about Kiva and what we do. The members were fascinated by the idea of distant lenders providing funding for their loans. But in the spirit of geniune hospitality the atmosphere was less about business and more about getting to know one another. I was asked pressing questions such as, “do you like chicken and rice?” and “when will you be coming back?”
Most of the San Jose cluster is engaged in rice or hog farming and the village sits on the edge of a massive rice field. Mindanao is often called the “Land of Promise” due to its rich soil and vast resources. Trento is well-known for its foray into organic farming and the mayor’s book on the topic was featured prominently in my pension house. Irenea Hitgano took on a bold challenge in pioneering organic methods in her community, even offering to pay for any losses incurred by farmers if the new practice failed.
I put together an admittedly shoddy video to chronicle a visit to a cluster house. It was shot with a cell phone and won’t win any cinematography awards, but the essence is there. Enjoy:
potato chips
Greetings from Zacatecas, capital city of the state of Zacatecas, Mexico! 
I have spent the better part of the week camped out in this fine colonial city to continue to bring ADMIC journal updates to Kiva lenders. Yesterday, I met Maria de la Luz and learned about her family’s potato chip making business.
This should have been a fantastic journal update for some Kiva lender but sometimes the great work of a microfinance institution (mfi) like Mexico’s ADMIC is not funded by Kiva dollars. As I am sure has happened to other fellows, the microfinance partner staff are so excited to introduce you to one of their most interesting and industrious clients that you are swept up in the moment only to return to your laptop after lots of walking, two buses and a taxi to discover (gasp!) of the 18 Maria de la Luz’s using ADMIC/Kiva funds for their business, the Maria de la Luz who makes potato chips in Zacatecas is not one of them. So in honor of all of ADMIC’s work, this a Kiva fellows blog entry. Not to mention I will take advantage of more room for pictures to share the story.
Six years ago Maria de la Luz, her parents and her brother began a potato chip making business. Her brother had worked for another person making the chips and convinced the family to get involved. The brother is no longer a part of the business but Maria de la Luz and her parents are still doing the daily labor of making the chips. For those of you have traveled in Mexico, you have likely seen folks selling chips in clear brand-free plastic bags, on the side of the road, in front of schools, on the bus, in the market. I always just thought folks bought huge bags of Lay’s and broke them down into smaller bags for re-sale. Maybe that happens, but I may have just been missing some of the finest potato chips Mexico has to offer.
Maria de la Luz and her family buy potatoes by the ton- typically six tons- to last them just about two months. The process is reasonably simple using only potatoes, oil and salt, but incredibly labor intensive. It sounds like simple but check out these pictures to get an idea of the work.
Every morning her parents are up by 7am cleaning the potatoes and removing the skins. I got there in the afternoon, so missed this step. Here are the potatoes they keep for the process.
the potatoes awaiting...maybe another two weeks worth
The potatoes are put into a slicer for…slicing. The pieces fall into a vat where they are cleaned.
From there the slices are poured into a huge vat of boiling oil presided over by her mom. The oil is changed a couple times a day to ensure it is fresh and the flavor consistent. When the color is right, Maria de la Luz’s mom sweeps them out of the fryer and sets them aside for cooling, a dash of salt and ole! potato chips!
scooping the potatoes from the fryer
Maria de la Luz then takes the boxes to the shop and bags them up for distribution.
I hope the scrappy pics do some justice to the work that I got to see. This family barely breaks even if the cost of potatoes or oil gets to high. They appreciate the loans from ADMIC. It has allowed them to purchase potatoes when times are rough and the equipment they needed to get the business started. ADMIC has been providing microloans in Mexico for over thirty years. They have branch offices throughout the country. ADMIC is one of Kiva’s long standing partners for the last 2.5 years.
Best- Megan
Beans, rice and a lot of Esperanza (Hope)
After approximately a year of waiting I finally made it to my destination: the micro finance institute (MFI) Esperanza/Hope International located in balmy, beautiful Santo Domingo! Kalie Gold (another Kiva Fellow) and Analin (Kiva Coordinator) have been gracious enough to show me the ropes, and there is plenty to do. Right now we are currently working on designing a short training course for getting better profile pictures, more journal updates, getting documents sent on a timely manner, etc.
I was really excited to learn that Esperanza/Hope International are getting ready to launch Kiva loans from Haiti! I am really, really excited that I will be part of this amazing opportunity. As many of you know Haiti, the least developed country in the Western Hemisphere, has been experiencing severe economic recession. This has resulted in the majority of its residents to live in extreme poverty. To give you an idea of the situation the current gross national income (GNI) is currently only $560 (USD). Haiti is also severely deforested, with estimates of approximately only 2% of the country forested. The economic and environmental conditions make Haiti a destination of UN Peacekeepers, and development organizations.
We will be traveling to Trou du Nord, Haiti to interview Kiva borrowers. I am unsure of how many loans will be posted. But I am confident that Kiva members will snap them up quickly so keep your eye out for the Haiti loans! I hope you will participate in the important challenge of alleviating poverty one micro loan at a time!
Esperanza/Hope International Central Office in Santo Domingo
This afternoon I had the pleasure to see a group of 5 women receive their loan money. I have to say when I saw the women get their money and talked to them about what they planned to do with their loan I got a bit emotional. One woman planned to sell men’s shoes, another a fruit stand, and another clothing. It is such an amazing thing to see these women get a chance at something more. One of the women told the loan officer that in two years she was going to have a bought a car by then and was going to stop by and pick him up! Now that’s confidence.
Analin, Kalie and I
Loan officer dispersing the loan money.
