Posts filed under ‘Tanzania’
When Primates Attack (And Other Tales of Fellows’ Mayhem and Adventure)
As the next round of Kiva Fellows finished their training, Nabomita, Zack, and Julie (KF5) met for a weekend getaway in Mombasa, Kenya. During our reunion, we came up with some words to live by both for successfully completing your fellowship and for happily taking a respite from the rigors of life at an MFI. Read on, for our pearls of wisdom.
1) Don’t let the signs fool you; greasing an Immigration Official’s palm can buy you entry into a foreign country
After 8 hours on a bus from Dar es Salaam, Nabomita and Julie reached the Kenyan border only to face the reality of parting with $50 each to enter the country (the equivalent of 250 delicious breakfast chapatis.) Luckily rules in Kenya—even those pertaining to immigration status—are flexible. After a few minutes of talking to the official who was clearly looking for some sort of entertainment (evident through his use of different cartoon voices for each passing visitor) he indicated that he might be willing to help us get into the country if we could make his Ramadan feast a nicer one. Watching him sip on a Fanta Orange at 3:30pm, we were naturally skeptical that he, in fact, had an Iftar in his future, but we decided to let it slide. We were able to buy our visas for $30 each and he even gave us his email address should we confront problems trying to reenter Tanzania. It was difficult to fathom how we would be able to use this address to solicit his aid if stopped at the border, but he handed us the post-it note with such gusto that it almost made us believe it wasn’t worthless.
2) Don’t be afraid to use your muzungu status to sneak in to 5-star resorts
On our first morning at our dodgy “cottage” down the beach, we felt the call of the resorts farther north and tried to wash the dirt out from under our fingernails well enough so that we could pass as luxury vacationers. The resort staff welcomed us suspiciously to join their exclusively European, golden-anniversary-celebrating clients. The only issue arose as we tried to maintain our tight $5-per-day budget while sipping on a glass of their $8 juice. Eventually we resorted to the only food there we could afford: a fresh coconut, the milk of which quenched our thirst while the meat sustained us until we got back to our side of the beach. The lesson here is that while you might be able to get in because of your status as foreigner, it does not necessarily mean you can afford to be there.
3) Don’t let the bottle fool you—spray on sunscreen still needs to be rubbed in
Julie—the palest member of the trio—made the tactical error of spraying herself with SPF 15 sunscreen without rubbing it in in an attempt to spare her hands from yucky sunscreen residue. Believing it would air dry, Julie looked down five hours later to see that she resembled a leper (no offense to lepers). The pattern of the sunburn was so random that it made one wonder if someone had taken a paintbrush to create sunburn abstract art on her legs and stomach. The next two days resulted in Julie’s new-found modesty as she alternated between applying soothing aloe and trying to hide the offending legs in long pants at the beach.
- Paintbrush strokes of sunburn and a geometric sternum burn (and pants to hide the offending legs)
4) Thieves are not only found walking through bustling markets. They can enter your room, and they don’t even have to be evolved
After a breakfast of champions (Nutella and crackers), the trio wandered the 50 meters to the beach while leaving their cottage door ajar. Upon returning a few minutes later, we walked in on 5 monkeys boldly making away with a yet unopened package of crackers from inside the room. That the monkeys knew the crackers were to be found under Zack’s moldy clothing demonstrates that they had been spying on us through the windows all morning and awaiting our departure. In an attempt to win his crackers back, Zack set peanut butter and biscuit traps but the monkeys knew better and stayed away to enjoy their feast. This was a harbinger of things to come (raw unedited monkey battle video forthcoming)
Stealthy monkey and the stolen crackers (he even has a cracker hanging out of his mouth)
5) When using your guidebooks keep in mind that they probably haven’t been updated in 5 to 10 years
Reading about the only Mexican restaurant in East Africa led the fellows to salivate over the thought of margaritas and guacamole for the five hours leading up to dinner. After taking three matatus, one ferry, and two tuktuks we finally arrived at the anticipated source of our greatest meal in Africa. Perplexed by the void where the restaurant should have been, we asked some loitering locals where we could find our enchiladas. After a few minutes of confusion as to what we were asking, the locals informed us that said restaurant was not only closed, but had closed in 2003, never to reopen. Having eaten nothing for the previous five hours in preparation for the grand feast, the ravenous fellows exclaimed in despair at the revelation. Unable to think clearly through the hunger we started wandering until we came upon an immaculate seaside restaurant—the kitchen of which was closed. Sure we would collapse before our blood sugar levels were restored, we made our way to the middle-school hangout of upperclass suburban Mombasa to satiate our hunger with bagfuls of movie popcorn and paneer pies. Never put your life or your stomach in the hands of Lonely Planet.
6) Just because you’re taking some time off does not mean you get to escape the hassles of Africa
After months of solo travel, the group discovered that even strength in numbers does not deter drunken suitors. Walking through Mombasa, Julie and Nabomita were berated by an incoherent local for being “thieves” and “robbers”. Despite being impressed that he knew both of those words in English, they sped up their pace. Undeterred, he followed them all of the way to the ferry, volume and rage-level increasing. “If he touches either of us, I’ll break his hand,” Julie affirmed to Nabomita. Her deadpan indicated that she might even be looking forward to having a violent outburst. Stepping up to play his role as Man of the Group, Zack tried to place himself between the offending man and the ready-to-pounce women. Unfortunately, Zack’s strategic positioning made him the victim of an ill-aimed blown kiss as the drunk man landed one right on Zack’s shoulder. Julie lunged, ready to fight, but Zack wisely told her that she need not jump—he liked it a little bit. At this point, we remembered that Africa’s hassles are typically as harmless as butterfly kisses.
7) You’re not alone; whatever bizaro experiences you’re having, one of the other fellows can probably empathize
From the moment Zack, Nabomita, and Julie met up, there was no lull in the conversation. Having experienced so much in our completed months in Africa, it was refreshing to tell our respective stories and find that even though we’d gone through them alone, many were shared experiences. From daily hassles to minor victories, work-related questions to poverty alleviation philosophizing, talking to people who could truly understand the work we’d been pouring ourselves into was incredibly therapeutic. If you connected with fellows at karaoke, the conference room, or the comfy sofas at Kiva headquarters, do what you can to stay in touch—and even better, take a long weekend to regroup. You’ll need it.
Much love,
Nabomita, Zack, and Julie
- Nabomita, Zack, and Julie (KF5) in Mombasa, Kenya
Flying and Hot Buns
Dala-dalas are Dar es Salaam’s form of public transportation. They are buses that run all over the city, charging about $0.30 per ride. There is no set schedule, and they typically only leave once they are full.
Although several Tanzanians warned me about taking dala-dalas during rush hour, I figured it was no big deal. So I would be squished and sweaty, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I took one from work to the city center and I even got a seat! At that point I was thinking, “Why did everyone make such a big deal? This is totally fine.” Then, as we pulled into the main bus station, I finally understood. A group of 20 people or so were running alongside the bus, hanging on by a few fingers and trying to squeeze through the closed door. Seeing what we were up against, everyone on the inside stood up immediately and headed towards the door. Once we finally slowed to a speed of 5 mph, the door was forced open and people pushed their way in as we attempted to push our way out. When it was my turn (and that’s all relative), I sort of leaped out of the bus. There were so many people trying to get on that I stayed perched in mid-air. One of my flip-flops managed to reach ground but I continued to float. A few words were thrown around, including Mzungu, and I finally managed to make a safe landing. But I wasn’t done yet. I was ready to do almost anything to get on the rare Masaki route dala-dala. When I saw it pulling in I ran with the rest of the crowd, throwing elbows and pushing my way through. I made it in the bus but wasn’t lucky enough to get a seat. I was told to sit on the ledge behind the driver, and with my leg in the crotch of the man across from me, I was feeling pretty comfortable and accomplished. But as the engine roared and we took off, I realized my butt was super hot. Not surprising considering I was sitting on the engine of a decrepit bus that my sister, Risa, wouldn’t dare enter due to safety reasons. It took about an hour with traffic, and although happily on the bus, sweat was dripping down my face and I worried my versatile gaucho pants were bound to be singed.
As I walked to work the next morning, I saw a fight go down on a dala-dala. People were yelling, punches were being thrown, arms were flailing – it didn’t look pretty. As men in collared shirts and ties climbed out of the windows, I realized my hot buns and flying experience was nothing in comparison.
To see loans currently being raised by Tujijenge Tanzania, click here: http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=87&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb
21 Days on the Road (Part 2)
(To see what happened during the first 11 days, see Part 1)
Day 12 (Warning: slightly disgusting content. Do not attempt to read while eating):
I just finished rubbing my heels with sandpaper for the last hour. It’s a long story how I got to this point, but it involves exclusively flip-flops/sandals and very dirty/dusty/sandy roads for 6 weeks. Basically, I gave up trying to wash or in any way care for my feet a few weeks ago. They were just always dirty. Even when I get home there’s just dirt everywhere so I gave up on my feet. The plan worked out fine until yesterday my right heel began to hurt whenever I put pressure on it. A problem because I do a lot of walking. So I decided to look at my heel (probably the first time I’ve done this in 6 weeks) and saw not only tons of seriously dead skin but also some major cracks—I’m talking into the depths of my flesh—in my heel. There was one in particular that stood out—just a huge crevice where my skin broke running the length of probably a half inch. So today I go to a pharmacy having no idea what the word in English is for that thing you scrape on your feet (like a nail file for your feet) and certainly not knowing the Swahili word. All I have going for me was the Swahili word for “foot” which also happens to include the leg so it is sufficiently vague. When I walk into the pharmacy and decide to scan for an item in the same family as my desired object, to my glee, I spot just the thing I am looking for! Glorious! I’m pretty sure the pharmacist has never seen anyone so excited about a foot-scraper. So I just spent nearly an hour soaking and scraping away the layers and layers of dead skin in the hope that it will ease the pain that the cracks are causing me. There’s still much more work to do there, but a girl can only touch her feet for so long in one day before she has to call it quits. I’ll get back to it tomorrow and hopefully this new hygiene regimen will prevent future fault lines in my feet. (Be thankful I forgot to take a picture of my foot in its most heinous glory or else I’d be posting it right here.)
Day 14:
After a 2.5 hour bus ride from Shinyanga, I arrive in Mwanza and decide to walk around the city. I turn onto a street that is amply occupied with other pedestrians only to have a man walking towards me reach for my face to rip off my sunglasses. Some would let it go at that (afterall, I really don’t even like those sunglasses) but unfortunately my animal instincts kick in and without thinking I begin fighting back for my glasses. We have a standing tussle during which he scratches up my arm and I commit to crushing the glasses in my grasp so long as it means he doesn’t win. All the while, the crowded street freezes to watch the muzungu woman wrestle her attacker. No one steps in to help, but they all watch. In the end I do win and walk away with all of my possessions intact (my brute strength didn’t even cause me to crush my glasses) and only minor injuries to my right arm. As strange as the attack is, so is the reaction I receive from local people to whom I mention it. One accuses me of lying, telling me that the city is safe and that would never happen. Another says that if a thief is caught in the act, everyone in sight will pummel him or her and retrieve the belongings then continue beating the culprit perhaps until death. I ask why, then, did no one step in to get him away from me after he grabbed my face. Unsure how to answer, he says that the man is probably a known drunk or crazy person who does this type of thing all the time so no one wanted to bother. Comforting. I decide not to mention the incident to any more locals.
Day 15:
Today I learned the effect that isolation has on me. Though there have people around me all of the time and I’ve met different BRAC staff every day, it wasn’t until today when I reunited with a fellow Kiva Fellow here in Mwanza that I realized the hole there had been in my communication. Glorious friendship, camaraderie, English language, and mutual understanding. Thank you, Nabomita! To celebrate, we are eating the biggest tilapia I’ve ever seen straight out of Lake Victoria (the source of the Nile River). I’m barely able to stop talking long enough to get the food to my mouth, but when I do it’s well worth it. I’m now fully convinced that the only way to eat fish is with your hands. As a person who never ate fish prior to my move here I don’t think I’d know how to pick out the bones (or eyeballs) using a fork and knife.
Day 16:
I’ve spent each of the previous two weeks training two branches in each region on how to begin using Kiva and generating Business Profiles for the Kiva website. In Mwanza, I am to train three branches in five days. I’ve gotten into a training rhythm and like the two branches in five days regimen, but I’m a little worried about how I’ll pull off three. What I’ve been doing is spending one day with a branch to go to the field and get to know the COs and branch manager. In the afternoon, once everyone has returned from the field, I launch into a presentation and training discussion on Kiva. Then the next day I go into the field with as many COs as I can and visit as many groups as possible to begin filling out business profile forms and taking pictures for the website. I plan on spending two days like this at each branch and then I have the fifth bonus day to spend a little more time with whichever branch I feel needs it. Part of the struggle this week will not only be making it to each branch on two different days (at the very least one afternoon to do the training followed by one morning to go to the field) but also locating the three branches and getting from place to place, as the three branches are spread out on all different sides of the city. It’s doable but there’s not much of a buffer should one of the mornings or afternoons not work out. If I weren’t in Africa the schedule I’ve created for myself would be totally doable, but it turns out I am in Africa and timing absolutely never works out a) as you expect; or b) as you need it to. In my perfect world, my week will go as follows:
Monday—morning: Branch 1; afternoon: Branch 2
Tuesday—morning: Branch 3; afternoon: Branch 1
Wednesday—morning: Branch 1; afternoon: Branch 3
Thursday—morning: Branch 2; afternoon Branch 1
Friday—morning: Branch 3; afternoon: Branch 2
The way I see it, if the week even goes 80% as planned I’ll still complete all of the trainings. Fingers crossed.
Day 17:
A car wearing a bumper sticker declaring, “This Car is Protected by the Blood of Jesus” is simultaneously driving straight into opposing traffic at full speed and coming within inches of hitting multiple pedestrians. It is as though his faith that he is protected by Jesus permits him to drive recklessly, as no harm could find him. What about the pedestrians? What if they’re not protected by Jesus’ blood? Faith is one thing but watching it embolden this country’s drivers is a scary incarnation of religious devotion.
Day 18:
It’s a rainy day in Mwanza and I need to get from one branch to another to begin training another office. Rain wouldn’t be catastrophic except that the Regional Manager is here today and he’s offered me a ride to my next location on the back of his motorbike. We wait for the rain to pass enough for us to be able to take to the streets and after two hours we decide to go for it. We make it through ten minutes of the 30-minute ride when he pulls over and tells me he’s going here (as he points vaguely at the nothing that is next to us). By now it is raining again and we are well outside the city. In shock that he would leave me on the side of the road in the rain in the middle of nowhere I hesitate. Does he really intend for me to get off the bike? He does. He quickly pulls away further off the road and I have no choice but to begin walking in the general direction of the city. I look down to realize I’m covered in mud and filth that’s been kicked up by the motorbike and I’m getting even wetter as the rain comes down harder, but there’s no where for me to take cover. Eventually I make it to a daladala stand where a man ushers me under a shelter and asks me where I need to go. Thank you, my Swahili, for being advanced enough to allow me to talk about directions and destinations fluently! He gets me onto the proper daladala and tells the driver where I need to go. I hate being helpless but my dejection at my soaking state and abandonment allow me to resign myself to it and follow instructions. We reach a stop at which point the daladala driver tells me I should get off. He points to two students whom he says will lead me to my next daladala. In the end it takes five people and one hour to get to the branch. It would all be worth it if it weren’t for the fact that by the time I reach the branch, the staff has gone home as the work day is nearly over. All for naught.
Day 19:
As I said, I need the week to go at least 80% as planned. I knew that something would go wrong but there’s always a strange excitement as I wake up each day not sure exactly what it is that will disrupt my attempt at a plan. The good news is that if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that I need to remain only loosely committed to my plans, as any greater attachment will result in frequent disappointment. Today, Branch 2 is a problem. The Branch Manager has resigned so the branch is in turmoil. I’m wondering if I’m bad luck, as last week both a Branch Manager and a CO resigned on the day I was to train the branch. The Area Manager tells me I should not take it personally as turnover is not uncommon. It’s amazing the difference a solid Branch Manager makes. Without that authority figure to impose a sense of order and routine, things falls apart. COs still attend their meetings and collect their payments but air in the office is more chaotic. Clients coming to receive disbursements get into yelling matches with each other and the COs. The flow of the staff in and out of the office is constant so no one ever knows how to find anyone else. When I try to locate a particular CO, inevitably I am told that “there is a problem, she had to go.” I don’t even know what this means, but I’ve heard it numerous times. Of all of the things Branch 2 has to worry about, I’m not convinced that I can elevate Kiva on their list of priorities. I’m worried that the situation here might consume more than 20% of my plan and leave me unsuccessful, with perhaps 2 or 2.5 branches trained.
Day 20:
“What do you think of the way we collect loan payments?” It feels like a loaded question so I pause. I say something vague to which the Branch Manager responds “do you think it’s safe?” Ahh that’s what she’s getting at. And she has a good point. The method that BRAC employs to collect installments on loans is through weekly meetings at the Group Leader’s home that the CO attends. There, she collects payments—sometimes more than 1 million Tanzanian Shillings in a single day (equivalent of $1,000—a lot of money by local standards)—to bring back to the office. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the COs are women between the ages of 20 and 30 (per BRAC policy) and they make these collections alone. For the Branch Manager to bring it up echoes the concerns I have had as I repeatedly watch COs roll up wads of cash and stick them in their purses, in plain public view and seemingly vulnerable to any bystander should he or she decide he/she wants that money. In addition to safety concerns, the Branch Manager points out that these women do not make in one month nearly the amount of money they collect in a single day. What is to stop them from running off with it?
Day 21:
I am beginning this 16 hour bus ride with a woman more or less sitting on top of me. This would be totally predictable (afterall, what’s an African bus ride without a stranger sitting on your lap?) except that the seat next to her is empty. Why, I beg of you WHY, do you insist on sitting right up on me when there is a perfectly good and empty aisle seat right next to you??? Two hours later, we make a stop and someone sits in the empty seat which finally stops me from gazing longingly at the empty seat trying to will this woman to move. Every 4-5 hours we pull over on the side of the road in the middle of no where. These are bathroom breaks. As one may expect, it’s almost exclusively men who take advantage of these rests (the terrain is desert with no trees or high shrubbery to shield a person) with only the occasional extremely desperate woman partaking. Me, I strategically drank no water for two days so as to avoid this very situation. Wildy unhealthy? Perhaps. Was it worth it? Definitely.
As the clock strikes ten the bus enters familiar terrain. Dar es Salaam is upon us. After 16 sweaty hours, 2 of which were unpaved, and no real food or drink to speak of, we arrive at the bus terminal. As I disembark, to my shock and amazement two of my friends with whom I live are waiting at the door and waving and yelling excitedly. What a fantastic homecoming!
21 Days on the Road (Part I)
On August 24th I left Dar es Salaam for a 3-week trip to central Tanzania to train BRAC branches on Kiva in three other regions. Here’s a glimpse into the first 11 days of my 21 days on the road:
Day 1:
Seven hours on the bus from Dar es Salaam to Dodoma has kicked off with a traveling saleswoman making her pitch for soaps, toothpastes, and aloe vera at full volume to the entire bus for at least 30 minutes. Perhaps I would mind her hard-sell less if I were able to understand more than 1 out of every 12 words (I do learn, however, that “aloe vera” is the same in English and Swahili. Good to know). When I arrive in Dodoma I discover that the method used by the bus company employee to match bags to owners is to write in permanent marker on the front of the bag the seat the owner is sitting in. F-1 will forever be a memorable place for me.
The Branded Backpack
Day 2:
During an evening battle with hoards of mosquitoes I get to talking with the Dodoma Area Manager, a Bengali beginning his 5th month of a 3-year commitment in Tanzania. He comments on the number of mosquitoes here and compares it to the mosquitoes in Bangladesh. I mention that I am trying to avoid malaria and am taking medication at which point he interrupts me—there is medication for malaria???? At first I think he’s joking (after all, there is malaria in Bangladesh) and then remember I’ve never heard him make a joke. Attempting not to appear shocked, I try to explain that there are these things called prophylaxis that one can take while in a malaria-infected area to try to prevent contracting malaria. Unconvinced by this idea, he maintains a puzzled look on his face and says “malaria is not so bad. I’ve had it many times.” After our conversation ends I walk into my room and promptly take my Malarone.
Day 3:
After a successful training for one of BRAC’s Dodoma branches, it’s time to head into the field to begin collecting Business Profiles for the Kiva website with some of the Community Organizers (CO’s). As we prepare to leave, one CO asks me with little optimism if I know how to ride a bike. I respond that I do. The entire staff finds this extremely amusing (I’m not exactly sure why, but one week later I will have the same effect on another branch office when they learn I know how to ride a bike). Within 50 meters of beginning our journey in the abandoned, desert-like neighborhood, locals come out of no where to call in wonder at the muzungu on the bike. A muzungu on foot is one thing, but on a bike is a true novelty. Fifty meters later, I break the chain on the bike. Way to look like a bike-riding expert!
Day 4:
I spend the day visiting groups in a region more remote than any I’ve seen. The uproar my presence creates amongst children and adults alike is a distraction from the meetings we attempt to hold. Our first stop is at the home of a client next to an elementary school. Within five minutes of my arrival, the elementary school has emptied and stands outside of the house. Trying to be sociable, I go outside to say hi to the children who are eagerly trying to sneak a peak, but I miscalculate. The entire student body runs away in fear at my approach. With the help of some local women I coax them back and am able to speak with the kids a little, but none want to come within five feet of me, unsure what will happen. The awe at my presence continues as we walk to another client’s home. A small child sees me and asks if I am higher than God. Not sure what to make of a white person and having never seen one before, this particular child isn’t sure if I am worthy of worship. The Branch Manager and I quickly assert that I’m just like him and not to be worshipped.
Day 5:
Have you ever wondered what happens when you go through your closet and donate bags full of old clothes and shoes to charities? Well I have your answer. They go to Africa to be sold by small-business owners. The second lives of these clothes often come with a very different owner. The line between men’s and women’s clothing is erased as I see manly laborers spitting and pulling up their sagging pants, only to look at their shoes and find they are purple flip flops with sparkles and flowers. Men wearing women’s jeans is also a common occurrence. Other unexpected items have cropped up reminding me of home and making me wonder where the original owners are. Today it’s a BRAC client in a Harvard University t-shirt. Then one of the CO’s creates a stir in the office while we debate whether her new shoes are men’s or women’s. This is the first I’d heard any recognition that there is a distinction. When called upon to state my opinion on the white loafers I realize that they do look a little like men’s shoes. But then again, what’s the difference?
Day 6:
The contrast between the types of businesses BRAC’s clients own is illuminated. Visiting one business I am confronted with a fruit and vegetable stand brimming with every variety of both. I next visit a client’s vegetable stand that is located in front of her house and consists of no more than four tree branches supporting two planks of wood and shaded by a potato sack. She has some tomatoes and five bunches of bananas for sale.
Veggie Stand, V.1
Veggie Stand, V.2
Day 7:
Hit with a stomach bug, I do little poverty alleviation today. I have spent my week in Dodoma in a guest room at one of the BRAC branches here. On this, my last day before moving to another city, the entire branch staff comes into my room every few minutes to see how I am feeling. Unconvinced that constant company is the best way to rest and recover I want to be frustrated but can’t help but appreciate that there are people concerned about my well-being. Us lone-travelers rarely expect anyone to know or notice if something is amiss. In this case, the week spent with this staff has fostered a close bond. That, and I think they are a little freaked out seeing a foreigner sick. They try to convince me to go to the hospital, in part because no one wants to have my death on her conscience. The cook is particularly concerned as he frantically tries to feed me more food, despite that he is deathly afraid that his food is the cause of my problems.
Day 8:
Another bus ride—this time from Dodoma to Shinyanga. The bus departs two hours late and the ride lasts 7 hours. I begin panicking at the end of hour number 1 when we hit unpaved road. Fearing this means 6 more hours of intense bumpiness and massive wafts of dust attacking us through the windows (which we had to leave open or else we would roast to death) I trick myself into falling asleep during the most uncomfortable part of the ride. I wake up two hours later when we rejoin paved road and am thrilled that I’ve found such a constructive way to kill physically uncomfortable time.
Day 9:
It’s the subtle differences from region to region that reveal variances in inhabitants’ standard-of-living. Some generalizations based on my experiences: group meetings of the 20 individuals in a large group are all held at the home (or more specifically, in the yard) of the group chairperson. In Dar es Salaam, we attend group meetings where all members are seated on chairs in a circle. In Dodoma, the group chairperson brings out a large, immaculate woven mat on which all 20 members sit. In Shinyanga, groups squeeze onto tattered tarps not large enough to fit them all. Differences in the dress of the clients bear similar contrast. In Dar, it is not uncommon for the members to arrive in dresses, both western-looking and locally hand-made. In Shinyanga many women wear a combination of Kanga (local inexpensive died fabrics) and discarded t-shirts from America. There is a relationship between mat-style, dress, and the monthly income for each of these women. As we complete loan descriptions to be posted on Kiva’s website we ask what their monthly profit is prior to receiving a loan. In Dar it’s almost always above 150,000 Tsh (nearly $150) and even goes as high as 500,000 Tsh. In Dodoma, the women I meet typically earn a monthly profit of between 50,000 Tsh and 100,000 Tsh. In Shinyanga, most women I meet do not earn more than 20,000 Tsh per month (or $20).
Day 10:
“How old are you?” the CO and I ask one small group leader in Swahili. She confidently declares “31.” We proceed. “How old are your children?” Pause. Blank stare. Women sitting around the small group leader begin to try to puzzle through with her to identify the ages of her 8 children. She takes a guess at her oldest: 23. I let it slide for now, even though it seems quite unlikely that both of the ages she has answered could be correct. From there she tries to remember for how long she was not pregnant before having her next child: “21.” Then she says “19.” She pauses for a moment and asks how many she’s listed. Several minutes later, eight ages have been listed ranging from 4 months to 21 years. I hate to harp on this obviously difficult question but Kiva and its lenders find it implausible when they see ages listed that require the mother to have been under 10 years old when first giving birth. So I ask, “how old were you when you gave birth to your first child?” This she knows. “18” she says confidently. Ah, “so are you 41?” Hmmm. She’s unconvinced. She looks around. The women around her remain engaged in helping her deduce the answer. Finally a light bulb goes off as one of her friends says “yes, you’re 41!” Mystery solved.
Day 11:
When first looking up BRAC Tanzania clients on Kiva you may be struck by something: almost every picture is a group of women standing indoors against a blank wall looking miserable. I came here wondering why this is so universally the case for BRAC’s clients, and today I’ve found my answer. I’m training my 5th branch and for the 5th time, I see that the CO’s have never before held a camera. I’m trying to illuminate the nuances of making the subjects smile and arranging them outdoors so that they look more natural, all the while the COs can’t for their lives figure out how to get in the viewfinder the portion that they are hoping to photograph (I guide their hands to tilt the camera up slightly). Natural-looking pictures will have to wait—for now I’m more concerned with the heads of the clients making it into the shot.
Now, onto the next 10 days! To see all of BRAC Tanzania’s currently fundraising loans, click here.
Homeless in Dar
Fresh off the plane, I arrived in Dar es Salaam eager to begin work with Tujijenge Tanzania as a Kiva Fellow. First task: find accommodation for the year. Without Craigslist Tanzania, the whole process promised to be daunting.
It was. Here are some of the reasons:
Go to a real estate agent, he charges you $20 for a tour of available properties. But after showing you a gaggle of multiple bedroom apartments after you ask for a single room you get the sense he’s just showing you anything and everything to get his money. “I said my budget was $600, this place costs double that!”
In addition, Dar es Salaam traffic is as horrendous as the beltway around Washington DC, but without smog checks. A few places I’ve taken a fancy to might be only 5 miles from work, but without my own mode of transportation, I’d have to take a bus to the city center, then switch onto a bus heading back the general direction I just came from – with just a slight change in angle.
Then there are the too-good-to-be-true houses where rent is $500 with air conditioning and hot water. You arrive to find a hot apartment with cold water. They say they can install an a/c unit and water heater, but it will take two weeks and the rent will be $800. Good grief. With rent being paid 6-12 months in advance, chances are you’ll be sweating all year but at least you will have cold showers to cool you off.
I saw one house I really liked. I was told the rent was $500 so I thought I could bargain down to $400. When the owner saw that a Mzungu (white person in Swahili) wanted the place, the price quickly inflated to $900…way beyond my budget. Do you see a dollar sign on my forehead? All the landlords here sure do.
Then there are the “dalali.” These unscrupulous real estate hacks are known for pulling a range of stunts to scam you. Word spread fast around town that I was looking for a place. Subsequently I’ve been contacted by several dalali. As dodgy as they are, I am desperate. So I tried a few out. If they miss your call, they call you back and let it ring long enough so you see they called. That way you call them back and they save precious cell phone credit. They tell you to meet them somewhere and then show up late and stick you with their taxi bill. They could take a bus for much cheaper but they don’t care, remember the dollar sign on my forehead? Often, a dalali says he has an apartment to show you but when you get there, tenants who have paid through December are comfortably living there. Sometimes they drag you through several cafés desperately searching out the owner’s sister’s boyfriend’s friend’s mother who has the key. You wait half an hour then they say you must come back tomorrow, but in truth there is no apartment to see. Really they are just wasting your time … and theirs. I can’t understand why they do it at all, they don’t make any money from the whole shenanigan.
And as everything takes so long to accomplish, after an entire day of searching for housing, you realize you’ve seen only two places. But you’ve spent $10 of credit on your phone and $15 on fuel.
Oh yeah, and add the Swahili language barrier to all of this.
“Bado ninatafuta nyumba ya ndoto yangu…” (Still looking for my dream home…)
While I continue searching for housing, you can support the borrowers of Tujijenge Tanzania by using the following link: http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=87&status=fundRaising&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb
A Study in Contrasts
Dar es Salaam. The city is an assault on the senses. Flying into Nyerere International airport, my first glimpse of Tanzania, and indeed of Africa, is incredibly beautiful – mile upon mile of azure ocean clings alluringly to a sandy coastline, clusters of coconut trees spring up from between houses with maroon and blue roofs, and an incredible profusion of blood red hibiscus infuse the entire landscape with color and vibrancy. Quite simply, it is breathtaking. Little wonder then that the city’s name translates into ‘abode of peace’ in Arabic, named so by Arab sailors who arrived here after months on the Indian Ocean to be greeted by pleasant weather (for most of the year!), fertile land, and incredibly hospitable locals.
Mambo from Dar es Salaam! My name is Nabomita and I am fortunate enough to be spending the next few months working at SELFINA (Sero Lease and Finance Ltd.) here in Dar. Dr. Victoria Kisyombe founded SELFINA in 2002 with the goal of providing Tanzanian women, many of whom are excluded from land and asset ownership due to local customs and traditions, with access to micro-credit. Most of SELFINA’s customers use their loans to start or infuse fresh capital into small businesses. In an economy where unfortunately even college graduates find it an uphill task to find gainful employment, these loans provide women with the opportunity for self-employment and the ability to support their families.
SELFINA’s office is located just off of Old Bagomoyo road, in the Mikocheni B area of the city. The impression that one is left with driving down Old Bagomoyo road, besides the vista of the ocean within walking distance, is of imposing ten feet tall padlocked gates and hired security shielding stately mansions and the people who live in them from the hoi polloi on the street. One could be forgiven for thinking that much of the city’s population lives sequestered behind barricades in absolute luxury.
This could not be further from reality. My visit to a client this week took me into the heart of the Vingunguti Miembeni settlement and showed me just how humbly many Tanzanians live. To get to Vinunguti, one must take a dala-dala or local bus down Uhuru road and then walk about a mile to the entrance of the settlement. Our client, Neema Damasi, met us at the entrance and led us through the confusing maze of winding streets that led to her general store. To call these dirt paths ‘streets’ is misleading. With no concession to modern city planning, the paths slope up and down, and around at random. No more than a foot wide at any point, people walk through them in single file. During the rainy season, the lack of drainage means that the dirt road is flooded with not just mud but also with overflowing sewage and excreta from outdoor latrines. Not surprisingly, the settlement recorded 130 cases of cholera outbreak in 2003 (the last year for which I was able to find credible data). All along the paths and in sudden clearings that one stumbles across, people have built their homes. A vast majority of these are made of wood and have tin roofs, but a few people are fortunate enough to be able to afford concrete. Despite having 14 deep wells dug by the government and other private companies, most of the water is saline and unfit for consumption. Drinking water is supplied by the Water and Sanitation Authority twice a week at midnight. Residents with taps at home are able to store the water in buckets for later consumption, while others must purchase drinking water from vendors. 77% of the population of the settlement earns less than 60,000 Tanzanian Shilling or $52 per month. With almost 69,000 people (2002 census) crammed into an area of 32 hectares (less than 1/10th of a square mile), Vingunguti is one of Africa’s urban ghettos. Despite being only fifteen miles inland from Old Bagomoyo road, it is a completely different world in here. Walking into this was an overwhelming and humbling experience, as I’m sure you can imagine. I had seen poverty before but not on this scale, and definitely not this up close and personal.
Our client Neema Damasi rents a small store deep in the heart of Vingunguti from which she runs a grocery business. Earlier this year, she was selling traditional African cloth on the streets for extra income. Prior to that, she ran a tailoring business in 2006. Because up to 53% of Vingunguti’s population is informally employed in small businesses and petty trading, it is not uncommon to switch your trade fairly often. If landlords can find someone to pay more rent on your store than you currently do, you can be evicted – contract or not. Neema is actually doing very well when compared to the average resident of her neighborhood. She requested a loan of 300,000 Tanzanian Shilling from SELFINA in January of this year in order to purchase more fabric in wholsesale for her cloth business. When business did not pick up after a couple of months and a store became available inside Vingungiti, Neema sold off her fabric inventory and used this money to pay rent for and stock her grocery store. Her store sells everything from rice and beans to toothpaste and batteries – given the unusually high population density of Vingunguti and the universal applicability of her wares, business is doing well. During the thirty minutes we spent at her store, she made three sales. True, one of them was selling about a big ladle-full of cooking oil to a customer for 10 cents (probably just sufficient to cook that evening’s meal and all that the woman could afford), but small sales add up. Neema is now earning about 200,000 Shilling ($172) a month from her business, almost four times what 80% of her neighbors make. Only 7% of Vingunguti’s population earns over 100,000 Shilling a month, so she is one of the wealthiest in her area.
Neema’s husband runs another grocery store inside Vingunguti and I am hopeful that between them, they earn enough to provide for their three children and the fourth on its way.
I must admit that one of my concerns prior to coming into the field was that I would find that microfinance was not really helping the poorest of the poor, that it was not effectively reaching those who most needed access to credit. Sitting in the comfortable SELFINA office during my first week and observing clients coming in to make monthly payments did not exactly allay my fears – these women did not look desperately poor to me. After visiting Neema and noticing the marked difference between her and her neighbors, I have become much more convinced of the power of small amounts of capital to make a huge difference. I have also had the opportunity to visit other clients and seen how they live – often as many as six people to a single bare room with no electricity and running water. Conversing with them has revealed that most of them wear their best clothes, take two or more dala-dalas, and spend upto three hours commuting to the SELFINA office every month to make their loan repayments. THIS is how desperate they are for credit. In a society where there are not very many opportunities for formal employment, these women must carve out their own paths to a livelihood. For many, Dar es Salaam does not quite live up to the meaning behind its name, but organizations like SELFINA are doing a fantastic job to try and change that.
To support SELFINA and women like Neema Damasi, please click here:
http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=90&status=All&sortBy=New+to+Old&_tpg=fb
New businesses are constantly being added so please check back frequently!
P.S. – I have attached a picture of Neema Damasi and her grocery store, as well as a picture of an adorable and precocious young Vinunguti resident who posed and pranced like a model, as she demanded that I photograph her. 
I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar
When I first began working in Washington D.C. on Capitol Hill, my initial impression was horror that the country was being run by a bunch of 20-somethings. At 23, I was solidly within the median age range and even felt old when I saw peers walking around with short skirts, finding myself thinking “how inappropriate!” It didn’t take me long to become accustomed to the age range of Hill staffers and soon it even made sense to me that they’d all be so young. The hours were grueling, the work was exhausting, and without energy, enthusiasm, and a youth-like belief in our country a person could not be sustained to carry out his or her tasks.
On my first day at one of BRAC’s branches I had a similar moment of shock at the young faces of the staff. In all of the books I’ve read about microfinance and all of the anecdotes I’d heard through the Fellows Blog and other avenues, I had created an image in my head of a wise, 50-something person distributing loans to the poor, compassionately working to help them lift themselves out of poverty. While the loan officers I’ve met are certainly compassionate, they are not at all 50*. At the first branch I met exclusively 20-somethings. Thinking it might be an anomaly, I visited a second branch only to find more of the same. So far all of the loan officers I’ve met have been young, energetic, driven 20-something women. As one of those myself, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know these women and seeing what brought them to this job. The more I learn about them and their work, the more I understand why I was so wrong to have been surprised.
Much like Capitol Hill, the work of a loan officer requires massive stores of energy. Arriving at work at 7:00am daily and leaving no earlier than 6:00pm, a loan officer spends, on average, the first 5 hours of every day walking on dirt and sand roads, up hills and over streams to meet with her clients. When she returns to the office, she fills out mountains of paperwork documenting the transactions that took place in the field. As MFI branches are often located in remote locations–even those branches around the city–loan officers frequently have long commutes in the overcrowded daladalas to and from work each day. It is not uncommon for them to spend more than an hour and a half in each direction.
One loan officer mentioned to me that she is getting married in November and when she does, she is not sure she’ll be able to work at this job anymore. She says her husband won’t want her working such long hours, and as she starts a family she will have to be home more than this job allows. Worried that I would judge her for this assertion, she quickly added that “You don’t know Africa–it’s different here than America. My husband will not want me to work so much. I want to start a family.” She is right that I have a lot to learn about Africa, but the idea that the job would not be conducive to starting a family does not make me look at Africa’s culture as chauvinistic. On Capitol Hill I encountered much of the same thing (now, whether or not the Hill’s culture is chauvinistic is a different matter). When visitors would marvel at the youth surrounding them in the office my simple explanation was that we have to be young–that if we had families we could never do all that is required of us here. For a loan officer, the same is true.
Meeting these loan officers, the dual purpose that MFIs serve has been illuminated to me. The women (BRAC employees almost exclusively female loan officers–this may differ at other MFIs) are bright and ambitious. Some have finished their A-levels and are preparing for university while others hold Bachelors degrees. All of them care about Tanzania and want to stay in the country but the universal chorus is that finding a good job in Tanzania is difficult. Some of them came upon their work not necessarily out of a deep-seeded passion for microfinance but more practically as a means to make a living and have a good job. They all agree that their positions with BRAC are good for them and they’re happy to have a stable income with a respectable organization. While the power of microfinance may not have been their first reason for coming to BRAC, their investment in and compassion for the women they serve is obvious. BRAC, then, is not only providing poor people with access to capital, but it is creating jobs (several hundred throughout the country) for Tanzania’s brightest young women. As it does so, BRAC is promoting the country’s stability and future success from multiple levels of affluence, helping women from all backgrounds work to earn a living.
*Note to all of the 50-somethings reading this: I am not calling you old. Please take to heart my image of you as wise and ignore any other possible readings of this post.
To see BRAC’s currently fundraising loans, click here.
Three Languages and Nothing to Say
I never thought I would move to Tanzania to learn about Bengali culture, but then again I never thought I’d eat octopus for dinner so sometimes one must adjust expectations. How have I happened to find myself sitting in an office shared by one Bengali woman, one Tanzanian woman, and me? Such is life at BRAC Tanzania’s country office.
BRAC Tanzania is one of the international legs of the Bengali NGO BRAC (formerly Bangladesh Rural Advancement Committee). Started in 1972, BRAC has grown to be the largest NGO in the world and employs over 100,000 people in Bangladesh alone. They have programs beyond microfinance like agriculture, health, education, and economic development. Recently, BRAC has started to spread to other parts of the world, like Tanzania, Uganda, and Sierra Leone. BRAC Tanzania began in 2006 and is growing rapidly. The country office is in Dar Es Salaam, where I am based, but they currently have more than 55 microfinance branches throughout the country and expect to expand to 80 branches by the end of the year. The way that BRAC maintains standardization is to bring Bengali staff to its new country offices to implement BRAC’s practices and policies, which is how I have found myself sharing an office with such an international group.
I had my first day on the job just over a week ago and my first impression was that either there had to be some significant communication difficulties or I was surrounded by some seriously language-adept people. A Bengali walked in the room, said hello to me, and then started speaking to his Bengali colleague in Bangla. A few minutes later, a Tanzanian came into the room, said hello to me, and started quickly discussing something in Swahili with his Tanzanian colleague. The language where the three cultures are intended to meet is English, which would be great for me in that I’m fluent—but unfortunately that’s not quite how it seems to work. Occasional words are exchanged from Bengali to Tanzanian and vice versa, but each culture largely sticks to itself due to ease of communication.
The language barrier is indicative of a wider cultural divide between the Tanzanians and the Bengalis in the office. The Bengali staff is in Tanzania for the sole purpose of establishing a strong organization in this country. They moved here on a temporary basis from Bangladesh and left their families behind to work to create a solid foundation for the organization here. The Bengali staff lives upstairs in the same building as the office—and given the close proximity of work and home, it seems they do little besides work and sleep. The office is located off the main street and surrounded by high fences and shrubbery so it feels something like a compound secluded from the dust, noise, and daladalas (the local minibuses) of the rest of the city. They work, eat, and sleep all within the compound. Instead of taking the weekend to explore the city, they work. The whole staff is expected to be in on Saturdays, but the Tanzanians (and I) are given Sundays off. When I got in to work Monday morning I asked a few Bengali coworkers if they got to rest the previous day and all said no, they had been working all day.
For the Tanzanians, on the other hand, this is a job. That is not to say that they don’t care about it or are not dedicated—but this is where they live and their lives extend far beyond the walls of the office to where their families, friends, and homes are. They work during normal business hours (usually 8:30am to 4:00pm) but then they go home to attend to the other aspects of their lives. If I leave the office at 5 or 6, the Bengali staff is still working, without any sign of letting up for the evening. The priority among Tanzanians seems to be family first—I have seen evidence repeatedly of the strength of the family unit. I spent a few days in one of the rural branches outside of Dar Es Salaam last week and one day, one of the employees came in to work several hours late. Explaining where she had been, she said she had to help her sisters with a problem that had arisen. This 23-year-old woman had previously informed me that their parents are dead and as such, she is the maternal influence in her sisters’ lives. That she would miss a half day of work to help them with a problematic situation was not surprising to her Tanzanian supervisor. The importance of family was reinforced the next day, “salary day” (a.k.a. pay day), when the employee’s sisters came to the office so that their big sister could give them some money. On salary day, the whole family benefits—the employee does not keep it for herself.
So, what is the effect of all of these cultural differences on BRAC’s microfinance operation in Tanzania? I hate to disappoint you, but I think it’s too soon to say. Preliminary observations make me wonder how the organization will change or shift as the Bengali’s gradually phase out (which they intend to do as they eventually put the control of the country operation in the hands of Tanzanians). I want to know if the work is affected by the fact that the people at the top are somewhat disconnected from the country itself by virtue of the presence of a “compound”. I want to know if an operation and its standards that originated in Asia can translate smoothly into African culture. Finally, I want to know if a Bengali, a Tanzanian, and an American can meet somewhere in the middle to find our common ground.
Want to see more? Click here to see BRAC’s currently fundraising loans.
TIA
TIA
A Tanzanian friend, who stays at the same guest house as me, came up with an expression that can be used to make any frustrating, confusing, or illogical moment in Africa, funny. TIA (this is Africa!). I can’t even remember the origin of this phrase (bad referencing I know), other than that my friend said it on the way home from a club one night, and made me believe that it was a commonly used expression in Dar es Salaam (N.B. sadly my gullibility cannot be attributed to drunkenness, it’s a special characteristic of mine, despite my supreme intelligence). This gullibility led to me using ‘TIA’ at will, until I realised that no one knew what it meant! I confronted my friend, who broke down and admitted that he had made it up himself and just wanted to embarrass me (although further research tells me he may have lifted it from the movie Blood Diamond). The minor embarrassment it caused has been well worth it though, because TIA has saved my sanity a number of times since.
Example #1: Dana Lunberry, my fellow Fellow in Dar, accompanied me on a trip to train an MFI’s staff on how to use the kiva system. The staff were professional, punctual, receptive, hospitable, kind (they gave us gifts), and generally wonderful (so much so that we finished the training a couple of days early). Until our second-last day. Usually we were picked up from our guest house at around 8am. On this particular day, we didn’t hear from our hosts until 11am (this wasn’t so strange because everyone realised there wasn’t really much to do, and we had been on an epic adventure the day before – involving a five hour drive to Lake Malawi with a fish flying along next to us in a plastic bag tied to the car to prevent it spoiling. The flying fish was subsequently presented to the manager and cook at the beach resort, who agreed to cook it for us. BYO fish was a new concept for us, but our hosts couldn’t understand our amazement and hysterical laughter).
Back to us waiting at the guest house. Our host rang and asked us if we were ready, because they were on their way to pick us up. “Of course”, I replied, cheekily using an expression often used out of context here in TZ, usually in cases where the implied obviousness of the situation does not exist, and where a simply yes would suffice (in this case, at 11am, I feel my polite “of course” was justified). So Dana and I waited, and waited, and WAITED! Until 4pm, when we decided a) to go for a walk, and b) to stop speculating as to why someone would say they were on the way to pick you up and then not show up. ALL DAY! As we observed later, neither of us ever suspected that a fatal accident or other form of emergency had occurred. Maybe we’ve been here too long. Anyway, the next morning one of the staff members showed up unannounced while I was still in the bathroom. Dana answered the door, and after the usual polite greetings asked, “So, what happened yesterday?”
“What yesterday?” our host replied.
“HOW YOU NEVER CAME TO PICK US UP YESTERDAY!” (Ok, Dana did not shout, she never does, I just couldn’t resist writing it because it would have been really funny if she had).
Our unnameable host: “Oh, we decided you were tired and needed to rest”.
???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
When Dana relayed the conversation to me later, I asked her what she said. “Nothing”, she replied, and anticipating my hot-tempered reaction to her non-response, added “What can you say to that?”
“TIA!” we chorused in unison.
Disclaimer: I love Africa, and Tanzania, and SELFINA, but I have gone beyond the ‘culturally sensitive’ stage of accepting everything I come across (although TIA is a form of acceptance). It’s now gloves off when it comes to cultural observations and criticisms, and in my experience most Tanzanians find it funny and refreshing (maybe because I’m just as critical of my own culture!)
N.B.: More examples to follow – I can guarantee that ahead of time!
This is why I’m here
I have been in Dar es Salaam working with SELFINA for almost 6 months now, and my experience has been somewhat different to that of most other fellows. Unlike most fellows, I have not been going out into the field to visit clients. I have been based in SELFINA’s head office working on integrating kiva’s requirements into SELFINA’s existing processing, e.g. adding kiva-specific surveys to the loan applications. My goal has been to develop an efficient system for posting, journaling, data collection and filing (e.g. Ben Elberger, Dana Lunberry, and the excel master Alec Lovett and I coded an excel template to automatically generate client profiles).
So, for almost all my time here I feel like I’ve been working on the ‘system’, and have become disconnected from the personal and inspirational aspect of client interaction. My mind has been filled with numbers not faces. I’ve processed hundreds of clients, but have not known any of them. Until now…
Planet Rating last week came to conduct a rating of SELFINA, which as has been explained in previous blogs, is an assessment of an MFI’s practices and performance, the result of which affects their reputation and their standing with banks, NGOs, kiva, and other lenders. Kiva took the opportunity to have Planet Rating conduct an independent audit of the kiva portfolio, which required visiting 30 kiva clients at their businesses and homes.
A full day driving around Dar es Salaam, from the reasonably prosperous salons and cafes of Sinza and Ubungo, to the tailoring shop built in a shipping container in one of the remote, dirt-tracked villages of Mbagala, showed the full spectrum of kiva clients and their differing living conditions.
All of the women were strong and inspiring, but two stick out in my mind. The first was Salome, the seamstress in the shipping container (which we found only after driving through a ‘toll gate’ of the tree variety, that was manned by local youths wanting to be paid for the work they were doing on the waterlogged ‘road’). Salome welcomed us as we clambered down the grassy slope to her shop, set against a backdrop of a maize farm, palm trees, and that day, a beautiful blue sky. She explained that she had moved her shop here from one of the busier urban shopping areas, as the rent there was too high. When I asked her if she had enough customers in this location she replied “Ndiyo, nashukuru Mungo”, meaning ‘yes, I thank God’. A sense of calm radiates from her, despite a bad cough, and the fact that she is a widow trying to raise two children alone. Their education is her priority, and she spends a good portion of the profits from her business on private schools fees.
After leaving Salome, we drove through the nightmarish traffic jams that characterise early evening Dar es Salaam. We reached the home of Catherine Kimaro at around 7.30, and despite the fact that she was busy helping the children with their homework and preparing dinner, she welcomed us with a big smile. The two children, Neema and Tumaini had mixed reactions, Tumaini’s a rather indifferent ‘shikamo’ (the greeting used to address someone older than you), and Neema’s, a rather more dramatic play act, involving hiding and feigning shyness at the sight of the mzungu (white person), which she couldn’t keep up for long; ten minutes later she was holding my hand. Catherine is a nurse, who has just started a new position at Tanzania’s National Hospital, but runs a small pharmacy to supplement her income (which is very modest, like that of many government workers). She touched me not because she was one of the poorest or most desperate clients, but because she had worked hard to avoid that situation. She brought us to her tiny shop (no more than 5 square metres), and showed us the small fridge she had purchased with her loan (which she is using to refrigerate certain medicines). She demonstrated her desire to repay her loan on time, if not early, by telling us that just the day before she had gone to the SELFINA office, and made a double repayment, putting her a month ahead. In addition, Catherine had put aside a fifth of her loan as security in case something went wrong with the business and there were months she was unable to make repayments.
It was a joy and a privilege to meet these women, and I hope to be able to do it more often.
I am now in Mwanza, training SELFINA’s staff here, and generally spreading the kiva love. It’s a beautiful city set on the shores of Lake Victoria, with lots of nice bars and restaurants (those who know me well can feign shock at the fact that I have managed to find most of them in just three days!). My favourite, Villa Park, is just a five minute walk (or stumble) from my hotel, a beautiful wooden banda-style place that is characteristic of most Tanzanian bars. This is where I met Ana.
Ana is a big, friendly woman, and she has been serving me most evenings. We have managed to communicate in Swahili (I’m very good at ordering food and drinks, but it all goes a bit downhill after that), and I’m starting to feel at home due to all the hellos and welcomes I receive when I arrive. Last night Ana asked me what work I am doing here. When I replied with ‘microfinance’ her face lit up. She told me that she has a business sending the popular Lake Victoria fish to Dar es Salaam, and that she needs a loan (it turns out that last year her former friend and business partner took all the money from the business and fled to Uganda). She told me that she is just fighting to raise her three children, and the truth of this was evident in her eyes, and in the hand gestures she used to communicate and emphasise every explanation (not to mention the fact that she works as a waitress seven days and nights a week, and still manages to run another business).
I gave her my number and SELFINA’s details, and I lost count of the number of times she said thank you. When the staff from SELFINA arrived, I introduced them to her, and they gave her further details and advice, as well as a warm invitation to come to the office and apply. As I listened to them talking, I let my spirit take a step back, and one thought came into my head and remained there, ‘This is why I’m here’.
After indulging in some self reflection and congratulation, I returned to the conversation, to here again “Nashukuru”. Ana said she was so happy, she thanked me, she thanked the SELFINA staff, and she thanked God. And since we’re all a team, I just wanted to pass along some of the thanks.
Sorry, Officer, I just don’t do fines.
Days go by and I often forget how life in Africa can be so different than life in the States. Events from this past weekend remind me that I am going to really miss Tanzania when I leave in June.
On Saturday, I was driving to a friend’s house when I was stopped by a policeman who flagged me down from the side of the road. In Swahili, he asked for my license and then asked for me to show him that the brakes, lights, windshield wipers, etc. work. Seeing that everything worked properly, he started talking about something outside the car. Unfamiliar with these Swahili words, I got out to see that he was pointing to rust on the side of the car. He led me around the car to point out all the spots that had some rust. I replied in English (due to my limited Swahili) that it’s true, that it is an old car. He told me that the rust was “a problem” and that I would have to pay a fine of 20,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $18). Flabbergasted, I responded saying, “I’m very sorry, but I don’t do fines. Please just take me to court.” We argued about it for a few minutes. He kept saying that court was unnecessary, but I insisted that I preferred going to court. He then left with my license to deal with another driver. Returning five to ten minutes later, he asked if I was ready for the fine papers. I said no, and insisted that I just wanted the court date. Having grown up in East Africa, I know all too well of the common occurrence of “kitu kidogo” (Swahili for the polite way of asking for a bribe). At that moment, I remembered that humor was probably my best tactic. In broken Swahili, I laughed saying that receiving a court date was better for me since I would just get the owner who I borrowed the car from to show for court. He then laughed with me and finally he let me go.
Sunday brought me more amusement. I was walking from my home to the grocery store to buy some margarine when I met an eleven-year-old girl named Mariam on the road. She struck up conversation with me since we were walking in the same direction. Although she was from my neighborhood, she looked like a typical village girl, all except for the fact that she was wearing slippers instead of walking barefoot. She had a sarong wrapped around her over a ragged, oversized dress. On her head, she carried a large, heavy plastic bucket of rice which she was taking to the mill to be processed into flour for her mother’s roadside snack business. She rejected my offer to assist her with the bucket and made her own offer to carry my umbrella.
Walking side-by-side, we used up all the Swahili I know. Going an extra half-mile out of her way, she accompanied me to the grocery store, located (ironically) at the most modern mall in Tanzania. The contrast between this girl, with the big bucket on her head, and the westernized mall around us intrigued me. After buying the margarine and some chocolate, as was her request, we then walked to complete her chore down some muddy back roads where chickens dart across the street. Somehow, at the end of the walk, I felt like we were two peas in a pod.
Making friends and laughter with strangers is an everyday experience here that I will dearly miss when I go. Life in Tanzania is lived in a sense of community in which people prefer to sit with strangers than to sit alone. I find that if I am ever alone at a roadside restaurant waiting for a friend, people who come in and see me by myself often choose to join my table although there are empty ones nearby. Not only do they want to “alleviate” me from my aloneness, these strangers courteously welcome me with a “karibu” to the food they have ordered. Life, I am ever finding out, becomes richer and more amusing when we all accept each other as peas in a pod.
You know you are in Tanzania when… (Vol. II)
1. You are constantly told to eat more ugali so you won’t be so skinny.
2. Cell phone towers are more common than traffic lights.
3.5. And this:
4. The most common phrase you hear is “Hey mzungu! Taxi?”
(“mzungu” is Swahili for “white person”)
5. A short cab ride can cost up to 3,000 TZS, but no worries…that’s only $2.
6. The vernacular has enough common greetings to fill a dictionary, but locals resort to English to explain that they are “busy.”
7. KC & JoJo, Shania Twain and WWF Wrestling are popular.
8. You usually use laundry detergent powder to wash your hands in restaurants.
9. Riding three people on a small Chinese motorbike is safer than riding certain bus routes.
10. The internet is so slow it takes 25 minutes to post this blog.
You know you are in Tanzania when…
Hopefully, this is just volume 1 of “You know you are in Tanzania when…” blogs. I am banking on contributions from Dana and Johannah, the other TZ fellows for the next volumes…
1. Coworkers frequently walk by and casually mention that they have malaria.
2. The most common question you are asked is: “Are you a Muslim or a Christian?”
3. Gospel music plays full volume during the workday.
4. During traffic jams, 2-lane roads become 6-lane highways courtesy of drainage ditches, school yards, and storefronts.
5. Cell phone airtime is billed per second.
6. Getting a seat on the bus during rush hour requires running at a full sprint or climbing through a window.
7. Children greet you with: “Good morning,” no matter the time of day.
8. You get better cell phone reception than you do in the U.S., but you have no access to running water.
9. Your bus hits a biker and drives away.
10. Your taxi driver can watch TV, make videos and play music with his cell phone, but his taxi has no radio, A/C, seatbelts, locks…and often, no gas.
Meet a Loan Officer
Loan officers are an integral part of the microfinance process. Without the hard work of loan officers, reaching the poor with financial services would not be possible. However, loan officers typically do not get very much attention. With that in mind, I thought it would be interesting for you to meet a friend of mine at YOSEFO to help give you a better understanding of how loan officers fit into the microfinance process.
At YOSEFO, each loan officer is assigned a community center. There are 13 centers serviced by the Dar es Salaam branch scattered throughout the urban area, primarily in poorer communities. During the week, each loan officer travels to their community center to have sessions with their clients. Each session consists of 40 clients, so loan officers typically meet with at least 400 clients every week. While conducting the community banking centers they collect repayments, disburse loans, and deal with issues that clients are facing. After traveling to the field, officers return to the YOSEFO office to record and process the transactions that took place throughout the day. The process can be tedious, but is crucial to ensure that collections, disbursements and defaults are recorded with the greatest possible accuracy.
Name: James Mwenda
Age: 27
Hometown: Njombe, Tanzania (Iringa Region)
YOSEFO Center: Vituka
Educational background: B.A. Geography and Environment
Favorite food: Ugali and Beef
Interests: Football, Traveling, Seeing new places, Singing, Gospel music
Future plans: I hope to return to University and obtain an M.B.A. in Human Resources Management
On working as a loan officer:
“Working as a loan officer is a challenging, but rewarding experience. I work with a very diverse group of clients that have different backgrounds and characteristics. My clients all respond to issues differently, and so it is often a challenge to learn how to deal with each client appropriately.
Not long after clients receive loans, I am able to observe improvements in their standard of living. It is not difficult to see actual physical improvements in my client’s live as a result of receiving loans. For example, some of my clients have been able to pay school fees for their children, and others have been able to purchase land for the first time. It is also rewarding to see my client’s ability to pay back loans improve over time as they graduate to larger and larger loans. Ultimately, working as a loan officer gives me the opportunity to learn the process of community development. I am able to actively organize and spearhead social development in the community.”
Kibiti Stars
TANZANIA. Last week, I was given the opportunity to train BRAC Tanzania staff on Kiva in Kibiti, which is located about 150 km outside of Dar es Salaam. Riding from the noisy, congested (yet still completely lovable) city to the luscious green countryside brought refreshment to my senses.
Kibiti is a small agricultural town on the way to one of the famous game parks in Tanzania, thus making it a popular stopping point for people passing through. The center of town is the highway, and life for its residents seems to revolve around what the highway brings and takes away.
The town has no electricity, although electric lines run right through the town toward another destination. I asked someone why Kibiti wasn’t receiving any electricity from the lines, but the only answer I was given is that the government is still working on it. As a result of the lack of electricity (except for generator usage), the stars that night were indescribable.
I, along with the two BRAC staff who accompanied me, stayed that one night at the nicest guesthouse in town. A room cost 4,000 Tanzanian Shillings (about $3.50). The guesthouse even had running water and a generator which I was told runs after dark for 4 hours each night. I was surprised that night when the generator remained running past the 4 hour mark. Only afterward did I realize that they had kept it running just for me, the foreigner. As soon as the light in my room went off, the generator went off. In the morning, I asked the BRAC staff if it was normal for the generator to be on so late and was told no. I felt guilty because my stay probably cost them more in generator fuel than the $3.50 it had cost for the room. Once again, because of my skin color and Tanzania’s value of gracious hospitality toward foreigners, I was given undeserved privilege.
The town had one main restaurant, where the customers pretty much have to order most items a day in advance. In the town, there were also the typical street cafes, where women sell plates of rice, beans, and stew. The BRAC staff and I sat at one of the street cafés for some after-dinner tea that night and found out that the seller had been one of BRAC’s former clients. Last year, the woman had taken a 100,000 Tsh (about $90) loan from BRAC in order to buy more cups, plates, and food stock for her business. She had been able to pay back the loan, but in the end, it hadn’t benefited her business that much because the demand for her food is so low in the town. She told us that the only way her business survives is by selling a plate of her food at 600 Tsh (about 55 cents) whereas the other places sell at 800 Tsh and above. Each night, she has her regular 12 customers– bachelors living in the town. Her daily profit is 3000 Tsh. She acknowledged that unless she upgrades her café by building a structure and providing seating, she will never be able to attract more customers. Although she has fear about whether or not she would be able to pay back another loan like the last one, she agreed that borrowing smaller loans could potentially help her business move slowly toward her dream. She seemed so happy to talk to us about her struggles and probably thankful that she had exceeded her 12 customer limit for the night. I too was thankful. Her ginger tea was delicious, and I was thankful that that night we were able to become a small part of her amazing story.
The president is coming…
This past weekend was very exciting for Tanzania. As a part of President Bush’s tour of Africa, he visited Dar es Salaam. It was the first visit by an American President, since Clinton’s visit in 1998.
With typical Tanzanian hospitality, Dar was ready for the occasion, and I couldn’t help smiling… Banners were strung up that featured the Stars and Stripes crossed with the Tanzanian flag, and welcomed “Your Excellency President Bush.” Billboards were scattered throughout the city featuring a panorama of Kilimanjaro, with an artist’s rendering of Bush’s head emerging from the snow at the top of the mountain. My personal favorite was a woman’s dress that I saw on the bus: it was emblazoned with headshots of President Jakaya Kikwete and Bush connected with a screen-print that read “Lasting Friendship.”
Being one of the few (read ‘only’) white males near where I live, I frequently have humorous encounters with locals. When I am walking on the street, locals often point at me and exclaim “Bush!” It is made funnier by the Tanzanian pronunciation of Bush, which is something more like “Booshee.” A couple of times, street vendors have pulled me aside and asked me in a hushed tone if I am with the FBI. On Saturday, I was walking with a friend, and we encountered a group of Tanzanian boys. After greeting them, one asked me, with wide-eyes, if I was “the one that they call Bush.”
Of course, the reaction to the visit was really quite mixed, although the government clearly wanted to things to go smoothly. Journalists (in the English press, I can’t read Swahili…yet) showed a healthy amount of criticism and journalistic freedom. The result was a productive dialogue on a number of issues related to the Bush presidency ranging from African development economics to the Iraq war. Notably, there was considerable skepticism regarding the motive of the grant that Tanzania received during the visit. However, President Kikwete certainly welcomed the $700 million grant, which was earmarked for infrastructure development and disease prevention. Fortunately for him, the grant tripled the amount that was stolen from the government’s coffers in the most recent scandal, which felled the Prime Minister and forced Kikwete to dissolve the cabinet when it was revealed two weeks ago.
In only a short time, I have been received an exciting introduction to African politics. It has allowed me to step back and experience politics from a new perspective. Tanzanians are quite interested in current events, and I have had ample opportunity to discuss issues and take in a diverse range of opinions – an invaluable learning experience.
When it rains, it pours.
Literally. Last Tuesday was the first day it rained since I have been in Dar. There was no warning drizzle or gradual acceleration. Rather, the sky opened with a clap of thunder, and rain came down that sounded more like gravel than water as it pounded the thin tin roof over my head.
The roof belonged to YOSEFO’s center in the Tandika community. I am told that Tandika is best referred to as an “unplanned urban settlement,” although the vernacular would suggest otherwise. Inside the center, client meeting were conducted by the light of a single candle – terms dictated by a local power outage.
Tandika is a neighborhood of Temeke, one of the poorest urban areas in Dar. There was a noticeable contrast between the Tandika center, and the Vituka center I described in my first blog…
Edson Charles, YOSEFO’s credit officer assigned to the community explained that Tandika’s clients were almost exclusively women. Most of the women run small food shops, and receive loans that are often small in comparison to clients in other areas. However, with hard work and assertiveness, the loans often enable them to improve their family’s standard of living markedly, especially relative to the status quo in Tandika.
On the road out of Tandika, the bus wove between a maze of giant potholes full of water, and neglected mounds of gravel waiting to fill them. By this time, the rain water had reached critical mass and could qualify as a creek as it coursed between the road and clusters of storefronts. Most of the stores had no protection against the rushing water, and even the few with small doorsteps could not stop the water from seeping in and pooling on the floor. With this image in mind, it is not hard to understand why self employment in Dar is no easy task. However, it is encouraging to know that the idea behind microcredit – the idea behind Kiva and YOSEFO – is that access to a small amount of capital can provide just enough to enable a microentrepreneur to turn the corner.
Dr. Victoria Kisyombe, Director of SELFINA
Mambo from Dar es Salaam! Mambo to the staff at Kiva, my fellow Fellows, our MFI partners, kiva lenders, and anyone else who wants to jump on the kiva rollercoaster. My apologies for failing to share my impressions of SELFINA, Dar es Salaam, and Tanzania for almost two months. The only excuse I can give is that kiva.org has been too generous with its posting limit, kiva lenders have been too generous and quick with their support, and the subsequent workload has kept me too busy to even think about blogging!
Perhaps the best way to introduce SELFINA (Sero Lease and Finance Ltd.) is to introduce its founder, director and ‘Mama’, Dr. Victoria Kisyombe. Originally from Mbeya, a beautiful and cool mountainous region in the South-West of Tanzania, Victoria completed her primary and secondary education first in Mbeya, followed by Morogoro, and finally Kenya. She returned to Tanzania to attend the University of Dar es Salaam, where she completed a bachelor degree in Veterinary Science in 1983. After completing her degree Victoria returned to her hometown of Mbeya to work as a vet, where her skill in dealing with livestock made her very popular amongst the largely agricultural community. In 1986 she was awarded a scholarship by Edinburgh University to complete a Masters degree in Veterinary Science.
Upon her return to Tanzania in 1987, Victoria began working on an intergovernmental project, which involved providing livestock to disadvantaged individuals and families as a source of income generation or subsistence. This position provided Victoria with an insight into the difficulties faced by many Tanzanians, particularly women. As is the case in much of Tanzania, many of the women she came across did not own any assets; their land, houses, household items, and agricultural equipment and produce, were inevitably owned by their husbands or a male family member. Consequently, it was, and remains, difficult for Tanzanian women to access finance.
Victoria and her colleagues tried to incorporate into their program, strategies to address the gender inequality and poverty they encountered. They began to insist that the women hold joint ownership of the livestock the program provided, and also encouraged widows and single mothers to participate. In addition, they expanded the program and began providing small loans, marketing advice, and business training to women running non-agricultural businesses.
In Victoria’s own words, all of this was an ‘eye-opener’ to the volume and variety of problems faced by women, but also to what a big difference just a little support can make. This is where her vision of an NGO to foster women’s empowerment began. In 1995 she established Sero Business Women’s Association (SEBA), named after a cow called Sero that was left behind by her late husband. Sero the cow supplemented Victoria’s paltry salary and provided milk for her one year-old daughter. Victoria hoped that SEBA (and later, SELFINA), would provide the same support and source of hope to the many women it served as Sero the cow had to her and her children.
SEBA’s first programs included providing business training, legal advice, health workshops, and forums on gender issues such as Female Genital Mutilation. But after providing business training to over 7000 women, Victoria realised that a lack of capital remained the major impediment to women’s empowerment, progression, and escape from poverty. SEBA needed a finance wing.
In 2002, Sero Lease and Finance Ltd (SELFINA) was born (or, to be more accurate, incorporated as a Limited Liability Company), following the successful implementation of a pilot microfinance project by SEBA. During the early years SELFINA struggled to access finance, not only because it was a new organisation, but because it loaned only to women and was directed by women. An important initial source of funding was the Tanzanian Government’s Small Enterprise Loan Facility (SELF). Efficient management and repayment of these funds made attracting further capital a little easier, and slowly but surely SELFINA has established an excellent credit history and large portfolios with institutions such as Bank of Africa, CRDB Bank, FBME Bank, ETIMOS of Italy, and the African Development Foundation (ADF).
SELFINA’s loan products are an innovative alternative to standard loans. In response to the fact that many women lack tangible collateral assets, SELFINA introduced a product called microleasing. Using microleasing, SELFINA, after consultation with the client, purchases a piece of equipment required for the client’s business. SELFINA owns the piece of equipment and leases it to the client until the final repayment is made, at which point ownership of the item is signed over to the client. SELFINA recently introduced a new product called ‘sale and leaseback’, in response to a need for working capital by many of its clients. Under this system, SELFINA purchases assets or equipment from its clients, in essence extending a loan to them, and then leases the same items back to them. Fortunately for the clients, the items are only physically seized by SELFINA if the client fails to make her repayments!
SELFINA now has over 6,000 clients and a portfolio of over US$3 million, and this is due to the tireless work of Victoria and a number of dedicated staff members (I should mention, so as not to be too biased, that we do allow men to work here and that many of them are extremely hardworking – a big shout out to Robbie Mageta). However, it is Victoria who is usually the first to arrive at the office and the last to leave (late at night). Even then, she frequently brings work home with her and regularly works on weekends. And despite the constant stress of never-ending loan applications for which there is not enough funding, meetings with bank managers to negotiate funds for these applications, phone calls day and night from clients, partners and staff members, Victoria always manages a big smile and always has time to discuss any problem, personal or professional. As Robbie once said to me, “she’s a strong woman”. That’s an understatement! Simply put, there are not enough synonyms for ‘inspiring’ to describe Victoria and what she has achieved.
The future? “To loan to more and more women!” says Victoria excitedly. And with her in charge, you can be sure it will happen.
The view from SELFINA’s Office (now you know why we don’t mind working long hours!).
Week 1
It is difficult to adequately describe the contrast between the frozen homogeneity of suburban Minneapolis which I left, and the noisy and chaotic vibrancy of Dar es Salaam. I traveled through five airports over the course of three days, and touched down in Dar es Salaam on Sunday in a jet-lag induced daze. Not quite knowing what to expect, I shouldered my touristy hiking backpack, and walked out of the international arrivals terminal – directly into the middle of a political demonstration
Thousands of Tanzanians were crowded around the doors of the terminal and on top of trucks, waving banners for the Civic United Front and shouting slogans in Swahili through megaphones. I found out later that Ibrahim Lipumba, popular opposition candidate returning from an appointment at the UN had been on the same flight from Nairobi.
It was certainly a fitting introduction to Tanzania.
I am new to blogging. In fact, I recently made the mistake of calling it a “weblog.” So think it best for me to ease myself in. Of course, it is difficult to pick out just one thing to write about; I am overwhelmed by the overabundance of new experiences. But I traveled to Tanzania to experience the impact of microfinance, so I think it only makes sense to start there.
The Vituka neighborhood of Dar es Salaam is where I first met microfinance clients. YOSEFO has a community-banking center in Vituka. Vituka is a typical East African suburb, with dusty dirt roads and winding paths between clusters of small shops and houses. YOSEFO’s center in Vituka is in one such cluster.
On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, loan officers travel to Vituka to meet with clients. YOSEFO’s clients receive loans in groups of five, and eight small groups make up each 40-member community-banking group. The organization of the process is quite impressive. Two loan officers run the meetings with clockwork-like precision. As clients entered and left the meetings, I was able to speak with many of them through George, who helped with translation. I have been familiar with the concept of microfinance and the anecdotal success stories that accompany it for some time now. However, hearing the stories first-hand was a completely new and exciting experience.
I went away wishing that I spoke Swahili, so I could understand more thoroughly the successes, challenges and failures that each entrepreneur described. Despite the barrier, I was able to learn and understand a surprising amount about the experiences of each businessperson.
For the time-being…for the foreseeable future, I will have to be content speaking through a translator. My Swahili is progressing at a snail’s pace – although, I have been able to learn numbers, which has worked wonders for my street cred.
I’m fairly certain that every day here is going to contain an adventure, or at the least, a story. I’ll be trying to put the good ones up here…
Panadol, Anyone?
It would seem that time with Kiva is flying by when I think about my remaining 4½ months left here in East Africa. Almost 4 down, almost 4 more to go. I have been receiving updates from friends in Chicago about their frigid weather and feel grateful even for Tanzania’s thick humidity. I prefer sweating to shivering any day. The bright red flowers on the trees are so beautiful here, and passing by moneys playing by the side of the road on my way to work makes me smile.
I am now helping out at two MFIs– Tujijenge Tanzania and BRAC Tanzania, which have distinct and contrasting personalities when it comes to operation. BRAC, where I’ve been working part-time for the last month, is the largest NGO in the world– I am told. BRAC originated in Bangladesh, and although it only came to Tanzania in 2006, it already has 40+ branch offices around the country. While there are 14 branch offices in Dar es Salaam alone, my work mostly consists of posting business profiles on the internet and occasionally training branch managers on the interviewing process. Besides learning about the extensive work of this well-established NGO, my favorite thing about BRAC is being able to practice the Bengali I had learned in 2006 while living for 6 months in Kolkata, India.
Tujijenge, on the other hand, is small, and for this reason, feels personal (for an institution that is). The first few months of working there, I enjoyed talking with the clients and interviewing them for the Kiva business profiles. Also, the Tujijenge staff are so wonderful and have allowed me a glimpse of the beauty of Tanzanian culture.
One thing that comes to mind was the discovery of what went into their weekly newsletters regarding my presence as a westerner at their office. Over the past 2-3 months, I’ve become friends with the marketing staff person, Ann, who writes the weekly newsletters. Not long ago, I caught her laughing at something she was reading on her laptop and asked what was so funny. In response, she asked me if I had read the last October newsletter written the week I had just begun working at their office. Since the newsletters are mostly in Swahili, and thus the answer was obvious, she proceeded to tell me what she had written. Apparently it had been a difficult week for the head accountant, Mariam, whose office I had been using to do my work (since then, I have moved to Ann’s office due to internet access). During this first week with Tujijenge, there was also another non-Swahili speaker named Sam in Mariam’s office, who had been brought from Uganda to work on the computer software. As a result, the newsletter went something like this:
Staff member Kiloko: ‘Mariam, why are you looking so ill this week?’
Head accountant: ‘I have been taking Panadol everyday this week (Panadol is one of Tanzania’s leading Tylenol’s) . I turn to one side and say, “Yes, Sam, the computer is…” and I turn to the other and say “Hello, Dana, how are…?”’
Completely confused about why this was funny, I probed Ann with questions. I finally came to understand that taking Panadol is a joke among Swahili-speakers for when they are required to speak English and don’t feel comfortable doing so.
The interesting thing I’ve found here in Dar es Salaam is that using English is rarely required for many Tanzanians, even at the work place. While their initial interview for a job is often conducted in English, it is common for the rest of the job to be done purely in Swahili. The same is true at Tujijenge, where the staff speak Swahili to each other and to their clients. It is only for visitors like me that they must remember the English they were taught from their schooling days.
Ann told me that the Panadol joke was well known around Tanzania, and that even the previous day, a visitor had used it when visiting the office. Ann had invited him to join her and me in her office, but he refused saying that if he did, he would first have to go out and buy a big tub of Panadol. Previously oblivious to this humor, for which I now realize I am often a main cause, I have since then decided to start taking advantage of their clever Panadol joke. One day, while addressing all of the loan officers about Kiva information, I told them that if they had any questions, they could approach me anytime. I then added that if they preferred, they could ask the questions to my partner/translator instead, which might save them from first having to go out and buying Panadol. They all laughed and I felt a strand closer to understanding their culture.
Swahili Blunders
Learning more about Tanzanian culture has been a fascinating journey thus far. Like most things in life, the more I learn, the more I discover how little I know. As my relationships slowly deepen with my colleagues at Tujijenge Tanzania and with other new friends, I’m beginning to gradually pick up more insights into their culture– their high values of community and unity, and how everything seems to happen according to the belief “if God wills” –a phrase used frequently in everyday interactions (and especially to explain the common occurrence of when things don’t happen as planned).
One of my favorite parts of the day is chatting with staff at the office during lunch and tea times. My translator (a woman in her fifties) and I are now on a level of friendship where we can swap stories that amuse each other due to our cultural differences. I am shocked by her stories about polygamy and witchcraft, and other intriguing topics. Among many other things, she is shocked at my American interaction with my parents, finding it hard to believe that I no longer have to ask permission to stay a night at a friend’s, etc. She also laughs at my “indifference” toward my current wardrobe– a mixture of traditional Tanzanian wear and some typical American business-casual. She has nicely pointed out to me which clothes she thinks look “bad” on me. Ironically enough, her favorites are my western clothes– the ones that conceal my efforts to try to fit in culturally. They are also the clothes that (for some strange reason) make me look really young here and have often given me the “student discount” when riding public transportation!!
While I have been trying to pick up the language, I have had many moments of embarrassment in this difficult process. Here are a few of my Swahili blunders for you to enjoy:
- Once, I told my translator in a van taxi to “sit on her butt.” After she and the entire van laughed at my ignorant rudeness, I learned that this phrase was falsely indicated as being proper in my Say it in Swahili book.
- Another time in a van taxi, instead of asking a client if he had a wife, I accidentally used a word that would generally mean an “old woman.” As if this wasn’t bad enough, in this specific context, I found out that I was really asking him if he had a “mistress.” Although forgiving of my blunder, he understandably didn’t want to answer any more of my questions in the crowded vehicle!!
- One time, out on the field, I unknowingly asked a client if she could “manage her husband.”
- On the way to work one morning, a guy walking past on the road joked with me that I was his “mchumba” or fiancé. At the time, I mistook the word for “chumba” meaning “room,” and so nicely agreed with him, thinking he was referring to something about the location of where I lived. He responded overly happy, so when I reached the office, I had someone clear the confusion for me. Fortunately, I haven’t run into him again since!
- This past Thursday at the office, I accidentally told a client, “Please, sit down on your one, small bottom.”
I have quickly learned in these past two months that Tanzanians are not only friendly, but they are very forgiving as well. For my sake (and for Kiva’s reputation!!), you should be happy to know that I have just started taking weekly Swahili lessons! My tutor, a neighbor of mine, is a government-paid teacher who holds a master’s degree but has yet to earn a salary indicating this credential. To support his family, he and his wife constantly search for additional odd jobs to get by– a common story I have encountered here.
Mpaka baadaye “until next time,” Dana
Inspired in Tanzania
Greetings from Dana in Dar es Salaam, where I have been placed with Tujijenge Tanzania! In this past month, it’s been exciting to see the initial partnership form between Tujijenge Tanzania and Kiva, as they work together to provide loans to their clients. My officemates get so excited when they see all the different profiles on the Kiva website of people from all over the world who have become lenders to their clients. My translator/partner and I have now completed over 30 interviews of entrepreneurs, 26 of which have already been posted online and their loans completely raised. It’s truly amazing how fast people respond on the Kiva website– loan amounts being raised in hours, even minutes. I am currently fascinated by the Kiva model– how individuals around the world are brought together online– and wonder if it could be expanded to serve other areas of need besides microfinance.
A week ago Saturday, I visited an oncology hospital with the women from my church community group, which has been meeting weekly for Bible study. I found the hospital, which is located next to the president’s palace, to be a place of little hope. Because it is a referral center where patients come from all over the country when rejected by local hospitals (which don’t have the means to treat or often even diagnose the cancer), the patients come during the last stages of their life. By the time they reach this hospital, their cancer has generally spread all over the body and is irrevocable.
During our 2 hour visit, I spent my time in the children’s ward where 20 beds were lined single file against the two walls. I tried talking to the kids and their mothers with my limited Swahili as I sat with them on their beds (single beds that are each shared by two patients and their two mothers every night). Many of the children had lost an eye (left uncovered) due to lymphoma and had other such cancer treatment remnants. The ones with any energy left in their bodies enjoyed our small gift of a pencil and notebook. I took turns drawing pictures with a girl named Vicky, around 9-years-old. They were all so precious.
In my opinion, the hospital lacks the equipment and resources it should have primarily due to financial priorities. With so much need in Tanzania, this hospital is left with not enough beds, medicine, and basic machinery– although it is the primary oncology hospital in the country! The machine that checks electrolytes has been broken for 2 years and has yet to be repaired, which would cost about 2 million shillings (about $1,800). The machine that should work to position people properly for radiotherapy has yet to be bought, thus leaving the patients with unnecessary side effects such as intestinal and bone marrow decay. The situation is that at this hospital, even if more clients were to receive proper treatment and prolong their lives even by a few extra months or weeks, there would be no room for them anyway. Since the clients are literally on their deathbed, who can blame anyone for the prevailing attitude that money could be spent better elsewhere.
I left the hospital depressed, but also inspired. There are people out there who care about injustice and often don’t know how to tangibly help. Maybe in the future, the Kiva model– through the use of the internet– will prove to bring more awareness of ways they/we can get involved with issues that may feel so distant.
A few days in Tanzania
Last week I had the pleasure of taking a few days off from my duties as a Kiva Fellow to go on safaris in Tanzania. I joined my uncle and cousin who were on vacation from the US; they travelled with a group of about 15 other people.
I left Nakuru early Friday morning for Nairobi. I had beat my uncle and his group there, so I checked into a room and explored a bit – the hotel, the shopping mall across the street, etc. I also checked to see if the bookstore would have Harry Potter 7 – to my delight, they did and I ordered a copy for myself and for my cousin. (We were a bit disappointed the next morning when we picked up the books though – we expected crazy lines and tons of kids dressed as wizards, but no dice. I guess that mania is only in the US and UK.)
The group arrived – we all had lunch at Sarit Center, the shopping mall. We ate in the food court. It was unlike any food court in the US – the food was actually really good in terms of quality. Also, after you order your food at the counter, you sit down and have your food brought to you – waiter service at a food court! We had a mixture of Indian food and pizza – after weeks of having the same combination of beef stew, rice and other Kenyan dishes, it was a welcome change.
Friday night all the kids (I use that word just to distinguish from adults; I was the youngest of the kids) went to this club Gipsy’s a block or two away from our hotel. Apparently it’s really popular in Nairobi, but mostly with the local Indian crowd. There were some foreigners/tourists and local Africans, but it was a lot of Indians. Indians in Kenya have always been part of the upper class and it was no more obvious than it was here. All of the Indian 20-something-year-olds at Gipsy’s were driven there in chauffeured cars, studied abroad in England or the US and only came home in the summer where all they did was party and spend their parent’s money. Most of them lived in huge houses with servants, servants who were invariably Kenyan Africans. After spending the past month meeting and interacting with people at the bottom of Kenyan socioeconomic ladder, being in the lap of luxury made me a bit uncomfortable.
On Saturday afternoon, those of us who were interested went to Carnivore. Carnivore has been named one of the world’s 50 best restaurants and is a huge tourist attraction. The restaurant is really more of an all-encompassing experience. It is one of the few places that has a license to sell game meat. Years ago, before so many animals were endangered, you could go there and eat lion, zebra, buffalo, giraffe, etc. Unfortunately, poaching and hunting have threatened so many species. The only exotic thing we got to eat was ostrich meatballs. Still, it was a great experience and the rest of the meat – chicken, pork, beef, and lamb – was extremely succulent and tasty.
We left Nairobi early Sunday morning, around 8 am. Our week’s travels had been booked through Sunny Safaris. All 18 of us got into this big green bus and started our drive South. We drove until we hit the Kenya-Tanzania border, where we had to stop to fill out paperwork and get our Tanzania visas. There were a bunch of safari groups there trying to get in the country and the office was obviously understaffed and overwhelmed.
It was here that I realized fully one of the biggest things that I’ve learned in Africa. It’s kind of similar to the acceptance and understanding that Leonardo DiCaprio’s character has when he sighs “TIA mate, this is Africa” in Blood Diamond. We ended up waiting at the border for over an hour. About 15 minutes in to that wait, most of the people in our group (and the other groups) were complaining. They were used to American/Western standards of efficiency, but also the fast pace of American life. I just sat quietly on the steps outside the office and people-watched and relaxed. Talking to a good friend of mine who is spending the summer in Cairo, we have both realized that while the slow pace of life here in Africa can sometimes be infuriating and inefficient, it is also a welcome change from the breakneck speed of life in America. It’s a good thing to not always be on the run, to not always be trying to meet the next deadline or living life as a slave to your watch. I’ve learned that if I can’t check my email 5 times a day, I’ll survive. And the time that I waste on Gmail and Facebook, I can use instead to read a book or just enjoy a lazy and relaxed Sunday afternoon.
Something that I also realized as the week went on was how how culturally insensitive and spoiled those of us in the developed world can be. I was already uncomfortable riding through towns very similar to those I visited Kiva clients in (mud “roads”, tin-roof shacks, children dressed in rags running barefoot through the street) in our luxurious Land Rover jeeps with plenty of food and water at our fingertips. It just didn’t feel right on some level. At every slight bump in the road – both the literal and figurative road – along our journey, I could hear people in our group complaining. Heaven forbid that one night you didn’t get perfectly warm water. And how can you possibly complain at the quality of food you are having in luxury lodges every night – buffets complete with salad bars, desserts, a variety of entrees, breads, soups, etc – when the towns you drove past earlier in the day were filled with people who are struggling to make ends meet and get enough food to make it through each day? How can you be rude to and annoyed by the Maasai women who try to sell you their painstakingly hand-crafted curios and goods? Don’t you realize that selling those necklaces is their sole source of livelihood? It’s fine if you don’t want to buy one, but you don’t have to be rude and talk down about the women when you are back in the comfort and luxury of your Land Rover
Okay, I’m done ranting.
Once we passed the border, we drover further south to the town of Arusha. (This is where we transferred from the big bus to three Land Rovers.) Along the way we drove through the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro. From Arusha, we set out after lunch for Ngorongoro Crater – a huge crater created 1.2 million years ago when a volcano exploded. The crater is about 19 kilometers in diameter and from the floor to the rim rises the same height as a 70-story building. On our drive up to the lodge (several lodges are built around the crater’s rim) we stopped at an observation point. The view was breathtaking. No matter how many pictures I took, they were severely inadequate. My words cannot describe how gorgeous it was and when I look at the pictures, they really don’t capture the whole scene.
All I can do is urge you to find time in your life to visit this place and see for yourself. A bit farther along the drive up, there was a full-grown male lion just chilling on the side of the road. We drove up like 10 feet away from it and took a bunch of pictures.
He was so majestic and regal – when you’re that close, you understand why lions are the kings of the jungle. It’s also then that you realize just how sad and pathetic lions and other animals that are held in captivity (in zoos for instance) are compared to an animal in the wild.
The next morning we woke before the sun so that we could watch the sunrise over the crater.
Watching that sunrise, I realized a few things. First, I think this was the first time in my life I had ever watched the sunrise. Second, and much more profound, I felt completely at peace. No thoughts stirred in my head and no emotions beat in my heart. I just stood. I was. That’s it. And it was unbelievably and indescribably serene and soothing. Looking back on that moment later in the day, and even now, I realize how special it was. It’s very rare to find a moment in time where you can just be. At every such similar moment in the nineteen years of my life, and I’m talking about moments where you can feel right there in the moment that it is special and should be cherished and appreciated – well, at every one of those moments up until that sunrise, I had always tried to match the profound nature of the moment with some kind of profound thought or decision or emotion. I thought it necessary to try and come to some life-changing decision or realization about my life – about what I was doing, where I was going, etc. Of course, whatever I would think or resolve in the moment was hollow and contrived and frankly, unnecessary. It was only watching this sunrise at Ngorongoro that I understood that you don’t need to match the beauty of the moment with a beautiful thought. You can just sit and enjoy it and be better for it. Don’t get me wrong – I did try to come up with something as I stood on that lodge balcony. And I’ll admit that I was spurred on by thoughts of grandeur inspired by reading Harry 7, in which Harry makes so many big decisions and realizations and what not. But after a few fruitless minutes, I quieted my head and just basked in the growing warmth of the sunlight on my face.
As I stood, I was joined by Paavan, one of the guys on the trip. We struck up a conversation about how beautiful the landscape around us was. I admitted that I have never really been religious in my life and have never really bought the idea of a supreme being creating earth, but rather subscribe to the scientific theories of the Big Bang and planet creation that I learned in my Science-B core last semester. Still, in that moment, I came the closest I ever have to believing in the power of a divine hand shaping the world around me.
The rest of the day was spent on a game drive through the crater floor and then a several hour drive to the Serengeti. We saw another lion, a herd of zebras, wildebeests, a lioness and two of her cubs, hyenas battling vultures for a carcass, elephants, tons of different birds, and hippos.
To see a sampling of all the pictures of the landscape and animals, go to http://picasaweb.google.com/tanuj.parikh/Tanzania
As we drove to through the Serengeti to that night’s lodge (we stayed in a different one every night), the landscape kept changing. Sometimes there were a lot of trees and a river or two, or rolling hills, and other times it was just flat and completely empty plains. When we hit a stretch of vast nothingness for as far as the eye could see, I opened my laptop and tried to connect to the internet via the GPRS network I could access on my cell phone. Lo and behold – it worked. I was able to send a quick few emails to family and close friends. I couldn’t help but smile at how modern technology has shrunk the world – riding in a jeep surrounded by absolutely nothing except open land I could still connect to people half a world away.
Along the drive, we stopped at a Maasai village. We were all taken to see the inside of the huts they live in and were treated to some traditional dances. I even joined in on the dancing a bit, which is more of a jumping to a beat created by the humming and cat-calling of the rest of the group which is assembled in a semi-circle around you. Apparently, that village was also located near the spot where the oldest human skeletal remains were found. At least I think that’s what one of our driver-guides was trying to tell us.
The next two days were relatively uneventful. We went on a bunch of game drives, but didn’t get to see too many exciting things. One of the other jeeps saw a lion kill a zebra. We all got to see a cheetah. We also saw the last bits of the annual wildebeest migration. It’s one of the last great animal migrations on earth. Every year, hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of wildebeests migrate from the Serengeti across the Tanzania-Kenya border to Maasai Mara, and then come back a few months later.
Thursday morning we returned to Arusha and after lunch headed back to the Kilimanjaro foothils for the Capricorn Hotel, supposedly the oldest hotel still in operation in East Africa or something. Unfortunately because it was so cloudy we couldn’t see the actual peak of Kilimanjaro. After stopping at the hotel to drop off our bags, we took a short drive to a nearby waterfall. After climbing down (steps had been carved in to the rocks) to the base, we took pictures and stuff. Then a few of the guys and I got the brilliant idea to go for a swim. I don’t know why, but I’m glad we did. The few of us who swam definitely enjoyed that waterfall infinitely more than the people in our group who just took pictures.
This week I’ve been back at Eb-F’s head office in Nakuru, meeting clients. I depart for Mombasa, a city on the Kenyan coast this weekend. Then in the middle of next week I’m off to Nairobi again. Eb-F has branch offices in both of those locations.
Sudden Death in Dar
I’ve only lived in Dar for a few weeks and only know a handful of people but each week I’ve been here someone I know has lost a family member of friend without warning.
First my roommate’s uncle lost a daughter at the age of 2. She went to sleep and didn’t wake up — no symptoms, no warning. The worst thing is that this is his third daughter ini a row to die before reaching the age of three.
The following week my colleague’s friend’s father died instantly of a heart condition. The next week someone I met at dinner told me about his neighbor who was instantly killed in a car accident. The list goes on, six weeks and six sudden deaths. The life expectancy for Tanzania is only 44 years according to the UN. If my experience is any indication, I have plenty of examples of people who did not live to beyond that age. It’s quite different than the 79 year life expectancy for the US.
This week, the death hit closer to home. Yesterday Cecy told me that Anna, the woman who owned the food shop on the corner, had died the night before. This loss was more personal because I had gotten to know Anna and her husband over the past few weeks. I had purchased many things from Anna and always enjoyed exchanging Swahili greetings with her. Her eldest son was old enough to learn a little English and she would always prompt him to greet me with “Good Morning” or “Hello.” Sometimes he would say “Hello, Muzungu” in the cutest voice and wave. Her youngest son was still breast feeding, and one time she interrupted his meal to take care of my order. The little one looked up at me, slightly forlorn, probably wishing he could return to his meal in peace. I tried to make that transaction very quick! Anna’s husband and I also were on friendly terms and had shared a few beers with him and the other men from the neighborhood one Friday evening. I really couldn’t believe that this young woman could be gone.
Cecy told me the story of Anna’s last evening. She wasn’t feeling well so she closed the stand at 7pm and went to a friend’s house. She decided to go to the clinic to see if she had malaria. So she strapped her baby on her back, left her eldest boy with a neighbor, and set out with a young friend for the clinic. She hadn’t made if far when she suddenly collapsed, hitting her face as she fell to the ground. The friend picked up the baby and ran back to the house screaming that Mama Anna had fallen and was unconscious. Friends found a car and picked her up and took her to the hospital. She had blood coming out of her nose and mouth. Shortly after she arrived she died. The doctors said she had had a heart attack. She wasn’t even 28 years old.
All of this sudden death starts to wear down a person. It seems like there is more death here than I experience in my day-to-day life in the U.S. Life is hard in Tanzania. The tropical climate and limited access to medical care can make small illnesses life threatening. And then there are the other conditions that cause premature death that may have been found and treated with access to the right medical care.
I think about those boys who lost their mother so suddenly and I get very sad. Tonight Cecy and I will go over to pay our respects to the family. It’s tradition to give money to the family as well. But I know all too well that no sum of money can replace a beloved family member, wife or mother.
Nairobi Red Eye
I wish this was a story about an overnight flight to Kenya, but it’s not. I literally have red eyes. It’s a bacterial infection of the eye which turns the whole eye red. The eye swells and it’s quite uncomfortable and there is a bunch of mucus that comes out of the eye. Yeah, it’s really gross.
I’ve seen many people around Dar with “red eyes” and my roommates warned me against shaking hands with people I meet because the disease is so contagious. They warned me to always, always wash my hands if I touched anyone. I’ve been following their advice and using my antibacterial moisture wipes to keep myself clean, even though I feel like a complete stereotypical tourist (carrying bottled water is bad enough). I found out later that even the Minister of Heath and Social Welfare has advised the public to stop shaking hands in order to combat the illness.
But then my roommate, Cecy, caught the red eye virus from a woman at work. She came home with it on Friday night. By Saturday both of her eyes were almost swollen shut. She kept glasses on and I kept my distance, but I wasn’t too surprised when Sunday morning my right eye started feeling uncomfortable. A few hours later the eye was swollen and itchy and red.
By Monday the infection had spread to the right eye. My roommate had some medicated eye drops to use and I cleaned the eyes with salt water (which is recommended). By Tuesday the eyes weren’t much better, so I went to see a doctor. She gave me new eye drops, in case the Cecy’s had been infected, and told me things should be better in a few days.
By Wednesday the eyes were not swollen by the whites of the eye were blood red. I can imagine this infection is particularly rough for individuals with a lot of vanity because you look like you look quite devilish during this phase of the illness. It’s hard to go out in public until your eyes return to white, soI stayed home another day. People here believe that you can catch this illness by just looking at someone with red eyes so they avoid eye contact with you (reality is that you can only catch it through touch).
It’s Sunday now, a week from the beginning of this whole ordeal, and my eyes are still slightly red, but for the most part I’m back to normal. For most people the illness only lasts a few days but I had a particularly bad case. But even the best case scenario — just a a few days off work and having to buy medical eye drops ($3-$5 a bottle) to treat the illness – can have serious implications for a family trying to make it here. Most of the citizens of Dar already have so many challenges to overcome in their everyday life that the last thing they need is a case of Nairobi Red Eyes.
Thousands of connections
Imagine a world without Walgreens, Macy’s, Banana Republic, Nordstrom’s, Blockbuster, Ethan Allen, Starbucks, Wal-Mart, Home Depot, Safeway or Whole Foods. Instead of driving to your favorite mall or grocery store to buy clothes, food or supplies from a salesperson working for a corporation, you walk down the dirt road to your local market to buy goods from a neighbor, friend or acquaintance. Instead of one-stop shopping, you stop at several different stores to pick up all the supplies you need, relishing each transaction by engaging in conversation and slowly passing over the bills and coins for payment. Each purchase you make goes directly to supporting their family. And you count on them coming to your stop when they need the things you sell. This is the cycle of loyalty that I’ve observed during my time in Dar es Salaam and I have to admit, it’s a bit refreshing.
Dar is a big city, over four million people, and yet the suburbs of this city still retain a strong sense of community. Most of the suburbs I visit are only a few kilometers out of town, yet it can take over an hour or more to travel from the city center because of the constant traffic jams. So even though members of these communities could go downtown to the big markets and wholesale stores to buy their goods at a cheaper price, the transport costs are prohibitive. As you travel down the main road of any neighborhood you pass several shops competing to sell you the same types of goods. You’ll find hardware supplies, furniture stores, groceries, butchers, salons, pharmacies, clothing stores, movie rentals, internet cafes and restaurants. Sometimes I wonder how all of these businesses make money, since there is so much competition. But each business doesn’t need to make more than enough to support one family.
In addition to these store-based businesses, there is another tier of business-minded individuals who try to eek out their living by selling just one item. It’s common to find young men walking abound the city selling only samosas or tea or small bags of peanuts. There are women and men who walk the residential neighborhoods with baskets filled with one product (fish, lettuce, bananas) hoping to entice you to buy that one item from them by shouting their offerings while they walk past your door. This economy includes so many of these micro transactions. Even cigarettes are sold individually at the local cold drink stand. Every space for a middle man has been exploited and developed into an enterprise. This is done out of necessity, not choice.
Sure, there are a few corporations in Tanzania – banks, mobile phone providers, prepared foods and drinks, utilities – where you must buy services directly to cover their costs and staff. But even some of them have outsourced their distribution of goods to small businesses. You buy a mobile phone voucher from a local shop or guy on the street and bottled food from the micro grocery on the corner of your block.
As I observed this interdependency, I tried to cut my ties to my old ways. I stopped buying at one of the few supermarkets in town and started purchasing things from my local store. I walked the streets of my residential area trying to spend money with each business I passed along the way. I rented movies, had my bangs trimmed, bought mangos from the mango guy and lettuce from the lettuce lady. I met the people of my neighborhood. We shared smiles and elementary Swahili sentences. I handed over the money with respect, enjoying counting coins and handling grubby bills. When my purse was empty and my hands were full, I went home satisfied and feeling more accepted.
Is this more personalized economy better than what we have in the US? I’m not a trained economist but I know that Tanzania has not seen their economy grow for many years, so it’s not a model to strive for. Is this more personalized economy better for the soul? Absolutely.
Meet a serial entrepreneur
When you enter a YOSEFO community bank you are sure to encounter business owners facing every stage of the business life cycle. Some entrepreneurs are just getting their ventures off the ground and are using their loan money to purchase their first sewing machine, food stuffs or rent a salon space. Other businesses are flourishing, sales are growing and customers are becoming more regular. A few businesses are on the decline; higher prices for goods or a new industry regulation could be making it hard to maintain profits. And if you’re lucky, you’ll get to meet the veteran business owners – those that received their first loan money from YOSEFO 8 or 10 years ago. They have been around long enough to grow their first business and subsequently started other successful businesses. Leonard Lusungu would fall in that category and I had the pleasure of talking to him today in the Vituka community of Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.
Leonard took his first loan years ago and used the money to purchase a deep freezer for his small grocery. Over the years, he has reinvested his business income and borrowed more money to expand his grocery store and establish a local restaurant and pharmacy. In addition to those businesses, he raises cattle and operates a bus service. He employs over 20 people in all of his businesses yet manages all the operations in a relaxed manner. When I asked if feels a lot of pressure because he owns several businesses and employs so many people, he just smiled and told me that he’s found good managers to run the operations of each of his businesses, leaving him free to continue to think of new ways to make money. His next venture will be a wholesale beer and soda store.
Leonard has been a good client for YOSEFO over the years and now borrows funds ten times the amount of his first loan. Not surprisingly his needs have changed over the years. He is now interested in making it easier to increase the amount of money he can borrow and wants to make larger loan payments less frequently. I imagine tenured microfinance institutions are finding distinct customer segments emerging and now have to determine how to make their model more flexible to meet the needs of these high-value customers.
When I asked Leonard why he enjoys running his own businesses, I wasn’t surprised by the answer because it mirrored the feelings that other small business owners in the US had been telling me for years. It’s the fact that his work will almost directly determine his success and income. He also mentioned that he enjoyed the freedom of coming and going without having to report into a boss. His flexible work schedule allowed him to take his four kids to school in the morning – something that most fathers he knew were not able to do.
I left Leonard’s restaurant inspired by the power of microfinance. Leonard told me that without the community bank he would not have been able to achieve his dreams — professionally and personally. His business income has paid for a home in Dar es Salaam and a second home in his home land in the Kilimanjaro district. All four of his children are thriving in primary school and he’s able to take care of his extended family. By sending capital to well-run microfinance institutions, like YOSEFO, Kiva Lenders are helping men and women, like Leonard, down the path towards achieving their life’s dreams.
Challenges for entrepreneurs in Tanzania
The entrepreneurs that apply for loan money in Tanzania face all the typical challenges of a small business in the United States or Europe – recruiting and training staff, marketing their business to new and existing customers and finding suppliers with good prices – but they also have to contend with another set of challenges associated with operating in a country that doesn’t have a reliable infrastructure. Their unpredictable working environment became crystal clear to me on Saturday as I spent the day idle without power or water in my home in the Sinza neighborhood of Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. I have to admit I was slightly frustrated that the absence of utilities resulted in a day filled with inefficiency. I had started the day with a list of items I was hoping to accomplish and now was only able to get a few things done.
But throughout the day I was also thinking about Sauda Kivike, a salon owner that I had met the week before. Saturday’s were her busiest days – she had twice the clientele as during the week – and for a growing salon a missed Saturday could mean the difference between profit and loss for the month. As a business owner she counted on 24 days in the month to make money and if one or two of those days are lost to infrastructure problems, it could dramatically change her financial outlook for the month. Even if Sauda and other business owners in Tanzania did all the work necessary to have staff and supplies ready and customers interested in their services, at the end of the day they weren’t guaranteed to make money if there was no power or water that day. Imagine the frustration!
But I also remembered that Sauda was able to operate her salon that day because she had already invested in the infrastructure necessary to overcome these additional obstacles. She used the Kiva loan money she received five months prior to purchase a generator to power her hair driers and buckets to hold spare water. So with or without running water and electricity, Sauda was able to make money on a busy Saturday. In the future when I read through the business descriptions of Kiva entrepreneurs who need funds for their business, I now have a stronger appreciation for the impact that a generator can have on a business that operates in countries like Tanzania.
Roxanne in Tanzania
Hi, I’m Roxanne Miller from San Francisco, CA. I am a Kiva Fellow volunteering this summer with Kiva’s partner Youth Self Employment Foundation (YOSEFO) in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. I arrived in Tanzania in the middle of May and will be working here until the beginning of August.
The first two weeks have been amazing and I’m learning so much from this experience. Swahili and English are the national languages of Tanzania but Swahili is much preferred over English, so I’m first trying to learn enough Swahili to hold a basic conversation and be able to navigate the city. Tanzanians learn English in secondary school and all university classes are taught in English, but not everyone had the opportunity to learn English or remembers the language. Luckily this language barrier hasn’t kept me from meeting Kiva entrepreneurs. Rodney Chubwa, the manager of the Kiva program for YOSEFO, has been serving as my translator. During our interviews it’s been easy to hear the enthusiasm in the voices of the Kiva entrepreneurs when they talk about their business, even if I can’t understand the words.
I am lucky to be living with four Tanzanian women in their home in a suburb of Dar es Salaam. They are sisters whose ages range from 23-31. I work with their aunt, Happy Sambega, at YOSEFO and she arranged for me to stay with them during my time here. I am learning so much about Tanzanian culture from them and they like to hear my stories about American culture as well. We watch cable TV together (American Idol is one of their favorite shows), cook dinner (I’m learning to cook East African meals and eat food with my right hand), and go shopping (the second hand clothing stores here are fantastic). Living someplace where you don’t speak the language can be isolating, but with my roommates I don’t feel lonely. A few weeks into the trip the only thing I find myself really missing is Mexican food. The grocery stores here don’t stock tortillas or black beans; I did find a bottle of El Paso salsa, but it cost $7 USD!
I’m looking forward to sharing with you more about living in Dar es Salaam, working with YOSEFO and meeting Kiva entrepreneurs this summer. Tutaonana! (Goodbye in Swahili)
