Making the most of Medex
19 September 2008
As I wrote in my last blog entry, my weekend’s planned excursions included a climb up the tallest statue of Jesus in the world (disappointing—turns out he’s closed on Sundays) and a hike in nearby Tunari national park. It also included an unplanned visit to the Clinica Belga Boliviana, the fanciest-sounding hospital in my Lonely Planet guidebook. I had learned the hard way that angry dogs really do bite you in the butt, just like countless cartoon mailmen. I told the clinic’s emergency room attendant that I’d been attacked by a wild dog in the woods and wanted a rabies shot. “Sure, take a seat,” he told me. I winced—talk about adding insult to injury.
Feeling his pain
After 30 minutes or so, a doctor called me in. I told her what had happened: I was hiking in a national park, minding my own business and enjoying my Saturday afternoon, when four dogs started barking at me then attacked me out of nowhere, one of them managing to rip out a small chunk of my bum. I expected to be applauded for having the good sense to go get my rabies shot immediately after having been bitten by a strange dog in the woods, but instead the doctor just clucked her tongue.
“You know, the best thing to do in these situations is to control the dog. Could you go find this dog?”
I was confused, not sure if she was actually asking me to go out alone in search of the potentially rabid dog, who was roaming free in a national park some 45 minutes away, probably gloating over the tiny piece of a gringa’s butt he had won earlier that day. I told her I really wasn’t comfortable capturing the dog and bringing him back to the clinic for observation. The doctor sighed again, and tried to convince me that this vaccine would be a hassle:
“It’s expensive… you’ll have to come back 5 times… you might get jaundice… you really don’t think you could find this dog?”
I was starting to feel kind of silly and spoiled. Why had my parents never taught me any useful skills, like animal trapping? Thirteen years of violin lessons weren’t doing me much good right now. But, as spoiled as I felt, I was determined to get my shots. After having written a report on rabies for Mrs. Cornwall’s 9th grade health class, I had definitively decided that I did not want to die from rabies.
After some poking and prodding, the on-duty doctor finally called the dog-bite-specialist-doctor at home. I caught some whispered snippets of their conversation:
“Hello, Doctor? So sorry to call you at home… foreign girl here… wild dog in the woods… told her to control it, but… doesn’t want to go find it…. I know… I know… Yes, OK, thank you doctor.”
She turned to me. “All right, show me the wound.”
Finally, I thought. I tried to moon the doctor as respectfully as possible and hopped onto the stretcher. Just as she started to clean up the bloody mess, a call went out over the PA system: the doctor was needed to attend to a patient arriving by ambulance. I was left, alone and exposed on a stretcher, for what felt like an eternity (but was probably 30 minutes). Various hospital personnel wandered in and out of the room, seemingly oblivious to my delicate situation as a half-naked, potentially rabid foreigner. Well, at least this will make a decent blog entry when it’s all over, I thought to myself. Not quite Jessica-getting-malaria-in-Nigeria-good, but decent.
Things turned out my way in the end—the good doctor returned, bandaged my bum, gave me my first of five rabies shots, and sent me on my way with just a slight limp and some holes in my pants (and my butt) to show for my afternoon adventure. Now I’m following the locals’ (and T.R.’s) advice to always use Big Stick Diplomacy. Not my favorite foreign policy in U.S. history, but it sure does the trick with Bolivian dogs.
To see all AgroCapital clients currently fundraising on Kiva, click here
Cochabamboozled
5 September 2008
I have eaten more in the past six days than in my previous five weeks in Bolivia. Cochabambinos pride themselves on living in the eating capital of Bolivia, and the third question people ask you after “What’s your name?” and “Where are you from?” is usually “How do you like the food?” The local specialty is pique, a big pile of beef, chicken, sausage, hot dogs, tripe, chicharrones, hard-boiled eggs and udder (udder!) stacked 8-12 inches high on a bed of french fries. Ronny and Paola, AgroCapital’s Credit Manager and Kiva Coordinator, were good enough to take me out for a culinary introduction to Cochabamba soon after my arrival. Thanks to the pique, my planned envigorating evening jog turned into severe food coma and falling asleep at 7pm with all of my clothes on. This microfinance thing is exhausting.
Pique
I’m lucky enough to get a tour of Bolivia along with my Kiva fellowship, since I’m spending time at three different AgroCapital branch offices: a month in El Alto, a month in Cochabamba and a month in Santa Cruz. There’s a lot of tension between different regions in Bolivia, namely between the eastern, resource-rich “half-moon” regions that want autonomy and the western highlands, which are poorer, mostly indigenous Aymara, and back the Evo Morales government and its socialist agenda. El Alto is almost 100% behind Morales, Cochabamba is somewhat divided, and Santa Cruz is mostly against Morales. It’s painful to see how much time and effort is spent on regional bickering and political posturing in a country where there’s so much to be done in terms of infrastructure and development. And as far as I can tell there’s no easy solution in sight–though more than 60% of the country backs Morales, accoring to the August 10th referendum, the other 40% controls most of the country’s wealth and natural resources and doesn’t plan on ceding them any time soon. This rich-poor, east-west dichotomy goes way back, as does a tradition of corrupt politicians and dictators who serve the wealthy elite. Bolivia has seen 193 presidential coups in its history as an independent nation (an average of one every 10 months, according to Wikipedia), so many that the presidential palace is known as the Palacio Quemado (”burned palace”). I asked one of the loan officers what he thought of the current government and he responded, “Well, it sure has lasted a long time.” This made me smile–my government sure has lasted a long time too, but that’s not exactly on its list of merits for me ;).
Bolivia is a beautiful country, making all of the hard times it’s fallen on even more tragic. Weekend excursions have taken me on a glacier climb, hiking and eating trout on beautiful Lake Titicaca–this weekend looks like a climb up the world’s tallest statue of Jesus and a trip to the Tunari national park. And probably a few generous portions of meat and potatoes.
Climbing the Chica Colla glacier with Dan, Doug, Martin and Emmett
Lake Titicaca
Bolivin´ at high altitude
17 August 2008
During Kiva orientation, we each had to name our biggest fears about the fellowship. I said I was nervous about not fitting in—I’d learned to adapt pretty well while living in Chile for a year and on my best day I could pass for Chilean, but I knew living in Bolivia would be another story. As soon as I set foot in El Alto, however, I realized how silly my worries were as this fear was immediately eclipsed by another—the constant feeling that I was about to be run over by a minibus.
El Alto is a really vibrant, mostly indigenous Aymara city on a plateau above the valley of La Paz. The neighborhood I’m living in is called La Ceja (“the eyebrow”) because it’s perched right on the rim, about to spill into the city valley. I’ve never seen so much life packed into so little space before—virtually all of my needs can be met without going outside of the two square-block radius around my hostel. Buses to anywhere in Bolivia, international flights, four different microfinance banks and at least one regular bank, quinoa juice, whole limbs of animals in jerky form, you name it. Like Cara and Chantal, I’ve found that Spanish only gets me so far here. Many alteños, especially older folks and recent migrants, speak Spanish as a second language to Aymara. I had hoped to be really good at picking up Aymara, but as it turns out I’m totally useless.
At home in the U.S., two of my tried-and-true maxims are “I’ll take whatever’s cheapest” and “They wouldn’t sell me that if it were really dangerous.” However, after a month in Bolivia (and a handful of broken down buses, a bout with food poisoning and an attempted trip up a narrow mountain road in a snowstorm on a minibus with no snow tires), my mom will be happy to hear that I’ve reluctantly retired these maxims and replaced them with “Is this really a good idea?” There doesn’t seem to be a regulatory agency for much of anything in Bolivia, which leads to delightful labeling like that of my favorite Bolivian beer, El Inca: “An iron-laden beer tonic recommended by the most renowned doctors for anemic, weak and convalescent persons.” Another one of my favorite claims was by a boy on the bus from Oruro to La Paz who was selling powdered maca (a Bolivian root vegetable)—“Do you feel tired? Weak? Jittery? Anxious? Lackluster? Señores y señoras, I have the answer. Maca, señores y señoras, will cure what ails you. Maca is the most potent vegetable known to humanity. Señores y señoras, maca prevents osteoporosis and cancer. It cures anemia, señores y señoras. It is a stimulant, señores y señoras; it is a tranquilizer. It cures impotence, señores y señoras—maca has been called the Bolivian Viagra by international experts. Señores y señoras, maca is used by NASA scientists in the United States to ensure the vitality and heartiness of their space astronauts. And I’m here to offer you, señores y señoras, three envelopes of miraculous maca for just 30 bolivianos.”
One morning, about two weeks ago, I awoke and walked outside my room at the hostel where I’m staying, only to nearly walk into a giant hole with a two-story drop (pictured). Confused, I asked the nice young guy at the front desk what was with the giant hole outside my room. “Oh, that—just wanted to let some more light in,” he replied, equally confused as to why I would ask a question like that.
Letting the light in
There’s a lot of improvisation in everyday life here – which can be fun or frustrating, depending on the circumstances – and serves as a continuous reminder of just how orderly and predictable my life usually is. Last week, for example, we were heading back to El Alto from La Paz, and halfway there the driver told us we couldn’t go any further because the alteños had taken to the streets in an impromptu pro-Evo rally. So we got out and walked along the shoulder. Along the way, we noticed that an awful lot of drivers had gotten out of their cars and were taking apart the highway median by hand so that they could turn their cars around—this was a standard, sturdy metal freeway median with big bolts the size of my fist! It never would have occurred to me that such a thing could be taken apart by hand, much less that this was the logical solution to being stuck in traffic. But when in Rome (or El Alto)…
All in all, Bolivia has been a great experience and quite the adventure. I’ve really enjoyed my first week working with AgroCapital, my MFI, and have been really impressed by the hard work of both the loan officers and the clients I’ve met with. I was also lucky enough to meet up with Partner Development Specialist Dan, retired Kiva Fellow Cara and her husband Engineer Sam in La Paz—it was great to see some familiar faces.
Looking forward to writing more soon!
To see all AgroCapital clients currently fundraising on Kiva, click here
Caminante no hay camino, se hace el camino al andar
28 June 2007
ProMujer, Bolivia
Hi All!
I’ve spent the last few days meeting with MFIs based in La Paz, explaining the Kiva model, talking with their teams, and most important of all, visiting their operations in the field. Here are some bits and pieces of my adventures….(excuse the poor quality of photos, I switched cameras today and it should be better going forward..)
Monday
My alarm sounds and I awake from a deep sleep, dreaming I am back at home. I’m immediately disoriented as I look out the window and see the towering valley walls dotted with lights that stare back at me as gaze out my 5th story window into the pre-dawn light. Rolling out of bed I get ready, head downstairs, and grab a minibus that takes me to the ProMujer Bolivia offices.
As we near the offices, my head wizzes with a cocktail of emotions–two parts excitement, one part nervousness, two parts facts I’m trying not to forget, and a generous splash of 12,00o ft headache. But no time to think! I’m out of the minibus and stuck between 4 lanes of blaring traffic. Phew, that one almost snagged my scarf. Whoops, theres another minibus overflowing with people. An arm here, a leg there. I smile and remind myself how much I love the madness of the developing world.
We spend the morning going over the common questions–How to payments work? Who uploads what information? How do we manage this and not change our operations? Which of our 80,000 (!) women borrowers do we select? 4 hours later I emerge into the afternoon sunlight with the next few days laid out and a meeting with another prospective partner, AgroCapital, on the horizon.
So its back downtown. I meet Jorge Nodas at my hotel, a delightful gentleman and the director of another of the largest MFIs in Bolivia, AgroCapital. We go to the same restaurant I dined with Jose and Miguel in the night before. The server gives me funny looks. Another man in a black suit, huh? I shoot him back a glance with my eyes…thats right! this is how I roll:) Jorge is delighted by our model–he’d never heard of it before but with a little help from some friends, we convinced him to carve out an hour for Kiva. He left bubbling with ideas, and as I write this I’ve already received their completed application. Less than 48 hour turnaround. Thats got to be a record.
So the day concludes with frantic email writing, a Spanish version of “Piratas del Caribe” in the local theater, and a walk through the cobblestone alleyways to check out the colonial architecture and feel the pulse of La Paz’s 2 million people as they got about their evenings.
Tuesday in the field
Up at dawn again and barreling up the mountain to El Alto with ProMujer’s Regional Director, Gabriela, I listen to stories of the organization’s beginnings and try not to choke to death from the fumes that stream into the backseat of our minibus. We make a couple switches, and then hop out on the carretera and stroll up the alley to their regional offices. Through the windows I see crowds of women dressed in long, thick blankets. A bright sign gleams from the second story of the building, “Programas para la Mujer.” We’ve arrived.
It doesn’t feel like this is the program that has served thousands of women in 5 countries. That is revered as one of the most successful initiatives of its size, earned global respect for its pioneering work with the poor. Nope, just feels like a cozy community center.
ProMujers methodology is based on peer group solidarity: Credit is issued in groups of 15-25 women that form “asociaciones,” which are then broken into 4 or 5 “grupos solidarios” of 4 women each. All of the women in each association must know eachother before entering the program (a proven solidarity group methodology), and together they work to approve eachothers loan sizes, develop their business skills, serve their families, and work their way, cycle-by-cycle, out of poverty.
I join meetings where women are learning about financial documents, debating the size and type of a loan of their peers, blessing the groups’ loan with cane sugar and prayers before distributing it out to the members. I sit with a special group of 4 as they work out the terms of the 12th loan cycle (!). Some of them pictured here, these borrowers have been with ProMujer for over 6 years, and all attested to the change the program has made not only in their income, but also in their lives. We laugh, listen to eachother, and play with the multitude of kids running about. I think to myself how proud I am also be a woman, and to be accepted into their group for the day.
As I head back down into the city, I stop by the national office for a few meetings with the financial teams. The day fades as we gab about numbers and projections, finalizing the partnership that will soon serve hundreds of women, and make it possible for this program to grow to new areas, and support more families. I glance up from my computer to see a poster with beautiful pictures of women dressing in flowing scarves, robes, brightly colored blankets. The millenium development goals are listed—Eradicate Extreme Poverty and Hunger. Improve Maternal Health. Promote Gender Equality. Develop a Global Partnership for Development. Noble goals indeed. Daunting really. But I think to myself, if anything is going to change the course of our world, it will be a critical mass of people, each chipping in just a little bit for the good of all. Just a bit. Like maybe, 25 bucks:)
Until next time…..
Microcredito en la ciudad mas alto del mundo
26 June 2007
Hello all!
Michelle from the Kiva Partnerships Team here, representing South America and the Kiva staff;) I’ve so enjoyed reading all of the fellows posts, and am excited to now add my own stories to the mix!!
I’ll be traveling on behalf of Kiva for the next 3 weeks through Bolivia, Peru and Paraguay, with a brief (9 hour, but yep already have a meeting lined up!) stop in Argentina. I’ll be meeting with new and potential partners about Kiva, and will also be visiting two of our superstar MFIs that are already on the platform, IMPRO and Fundacion Paraguaya. I hope to blog every few days, so keep checking back!!
So, the first day: I arrive yesterday to the outskirts of La Paz. Touching down on the runway I gaze out at the expanse of crumbling adobe and brick building, dotted with red rooftops and tiny corner shops, women with heavy blankets wrapped around their backs and traditional hats, dust everywhere, the horizon stretching far into the distance until it intersects with the distant Andean peaks. This is la Cuidad El Alto, the birthplace of microfinance in Latin America, and home to over 1 million of Bolivia’s 9 million people.
After grabbing my bags I grab a taxi and descend from El Alto down into the valley that is La Paz. Weaving through los “Barrios Populares” that line the steep hillsides overlooking the city, I glimpse houses teetering perilously on steep cliffsides, held up by poor foundation that could go at any moment–these are the ex-miners, farmers and coca growers of the country, whose livelihoods and those of the families they support are just as tenous as the foundation of their homes. They are the barrios where Quechua and Ayamara are still spoken, where EVO is painted atop crumbling facades, where Andean socialism thrives. They are home to many of Bolivia’s poorest families.
Arriving in the city, I check into my hotel, take a few hour nap and enjoy some coca tea–yes it does numb your mouth a bit, no it doesn’t do much more than than. I then meet up with the directors of IMPRO, Miguel and Jose Jimenez, and we pop over to a neighborhood cafe where we enjoy a huge meal of trucha and rice and beans. We gab for hours about their work, the Bolivian market, their thoughts on commercialization, future goals, the partnership with Kiva. As we speak, I realize the neighborhoods we passed coming into the city are home to many Kiva clients. It is, indeed, a small, small world, and I take a moment to be grateful for all of the many factors that make our work possible–computers, our generous lender base, local heroes like Jose and Miguel, women and men who, although they have no assets, can be trusted with a loan from far-off investors.
The story of IMPRO is a great one: Jose and Miguel are brothers, and after leaving the commerical banking sector 15 years ago, Jose joined up with a team of volunteers to launch IMPRO, which now serves over 1,200 borrowers, and is well respected for its social orientation in city and outskirts of La Paz. I immediately get the impression that we’ve made a good choice with these folks, and as I hear them tell their stories of a modest beginning, and a passion for their work, I can’t help but smile and think of the Kiva team back home!
During dinner a Spanish reporter who recognizes Jose pops over to our table. After a few blank stares from the Jimenez brothers side, the reporter identifies himself as the gentleman who had interviewed Jose a few years back about his work with the poor during the oil protests of the 2004. They smile, gab, and catch up, and the reporter leaves a DVD with us to check out his latest work. During the conflict a few years ago, IMPRO was one of the few organizations that supported the borrowers in unstable areas during the protests, helping to bring stability to their lives and support their enterprises and families. They were spotlighted in a piece that not even Jose had seen, so the three of us left excited to see what he had put together.
Late into the night and its time to head home. I bid farewell to Jose and Miguel, and we set a date to meet up later in the week. In the morning, its off to ProMujer….
