By Suzy Marinkovich, KF8 Peru & KF9 Bolivia

Twisted twining vining metal unrhythmic untamed unkempt and in comes the dust sweat and sticking to me tires thumping each rock unsettled plastic bag squeezed empty tossed out the window just a drop of papaya juice leaps back clings to the dirty car door parting from the white stretch of plastic mangling on wire scraps whose posture, never organized nor structured nor retreating but insistingly unfinished uncared for undone and meters behind she rests her worn hand with dirty fingernails on the back of her velvet skirt, flicks her foot backwards knocks a stone out of her rubber sandals, presses forward to check the corn, pounding sun hits a thirst for chicha it must be the corn that reminds, wander on to the cement stable over the manure dried and dusty walking cautious to storage bright orange plastic bucket brought in the kitchen, drink in the cup take a sip after first a splash on the soil, thank you Pachamama for the gifts you give. On Sunday on to the feria de ganado new ternera baby cow more milk, burning expense but its California cow genes worth their weight in silver the promise of more milk more money versus more mouths to feed its always tiresome, the more and more. Our needs don’t stop she thinks our needs increase I need to provide I’m in demand, must keep milking the cows keep working. Flash of heat and so dizzy, still the morning she feels the baby kick, stops to smile only for a flicker in a rare moment blinks and next.  She must toil forward labor on work more press harder no rest no stopping I hope my baby is okay her heart thumps she lost the last two, tried to be cautious but what part of her day strains the baby the most, either way she must labor on toil forward no time unused the love is there no she cant dream just hope her child hangs on hope he is a boy whose hands can work on the farm as she slows, the latest loan for the latest cow and the latest payment for the latest month why let herself dream of getting a milking machine she knows her husband wont no not until who knows it isn’t going to happen why dream when dreams are small and the smallest thing swimming in your belly is struggling to survive in your overworked body, its hard to give when you never got the chance to take, its hard to take when no one offers you money and no one trusts you.  the loan feels freeing but chaining but straining to pay each month the interest where did these people come from.  what will you do for me I don’t have identification I don’t own a home I don’t know how to read the paperwork, what will you do if I cant pay what will you do to me. But Im not going to lose this baby I cant bear another loss I cant work and lose and work and lose. Why do you trust me I cant even care for the child growing in me, why do you give me a chance why do you believe in me, never finished grade school I can hardly write its been so many years since I’ve had the need, why are you trusting me to repay you why are you giving me the chance. Why are you smiling at me, why are you here, why are you believing in me. Why are you giving.  Letting me do this.  I’ve no capital to my name nor education just working hands and mouths to feed, I have responsibilities but no way to care for them, no one believes I’m worth a dime but you do, you just appeared here, even with our impassible road.  Where did you come from, just please stay for dinner I am making chicken you are like family now please, only family could trust someone so much, you are giving me a chance please take my food, why do you loan to me I just want to suspect you but your smile your papers it feels real that you care, this isn’t my reality this isn’t even the hand of cards I was dealt.  I feel worthless now empowered once selfless and given the chance to be selfish.  Her mind flickers again for a brief moment that milking machine could be possible someday it really could let me just talk it over with my husband then he kicks again in my belly we are going to make it mom, we are going to make it together sign the paper, they are believing in you like I believe in you and its real.

Since I started with CIDRE this September, a brand new Kiva partner in Bolivia, I have watched this remarkable microfinance institution use the new funding from Kiva to venture into more rural and inaccesible areas.  I have helped — quite literally — get out of the car and clear the brush so that CIDRE’s car could get through washed out roads in unfamiliar territory.  I have sat in on several dairy cooperative meetings out in these areas, where CIDRE’s loan officers speak in Quechua about all CIDRE can offer the farmers.  I am truly honored to work with the incredible organization that is Kiva, because say what you might about its flaws, I have personally seen how the river of loans from Kiva lenders leads to reaching new areas untouched by the financial system.  I am humbled to have had the chance to meet these newest borrowers, and I can’t thank Kiva lenders enough for allowing our MFI partners to push frontiers and cross into the lives or the worlds’ most rural poor.

Click here to help fund a CIDRE borrower on Kiva.

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Suzy Marinkovich is a Kiva Fellow at CIDRE in Bolivia, the second of her three placements.  She has a wholehearted passion for microfinance, social justice, and poverty alleviation.  Suzy is most excited to listen to the incredible stories of Kiva borrowers in South America and let them know how much they continually inspire us all.

By Suzy Marinkovich, KF 8/9

As you may have seen, over the past couple of months Kiva has seen its first loans expire on the site.  Currently, I am in my eighth week of working with a brand-new Kiva partner, CIDRE, an MFI specializing in agriculture and livestock loans in Bolivia.  I mention this because I’ve noticed a significant portion of the loans that have expired or are close to expiration are from MFIs in Bolivia. I realize my opinion is skewed by having spent only a handful of days at Kiva headquarters followed by 5 months at two Kiva partners in South America.  As a result, I don’t have really have a great vision from the top – I don’t understand all the organizational elements in place to keep Kiva sustainably rolling.  I am just going to call it like I see it now, sun-drained from a long day spent on grueling rural roads, visiting incredibly inspiring Kiva borrowers and successful social projects CIDRE has had a hand in.

My understanding of the premise behind loan expiration is that it allows for Kiva to be more of a marketplace – where instead of making decisions on the end of Kiva, they are made on the end of the MFI and the funding choice is up to the lenders.  Thus, the website itself is designed to be like an Ebay for microloans, an intermediary between funders and the funded.

Here is my reasoning for why I personally believe the expiration of loans on Kiva could be detrimental:

1(a). To make an analogy with the child-sponsorship model (please bear with me as it’s stretch): imagine a marketplace for sponsoring children’s school loans, with the exact same design as Kiva.  At this hypothetical site, lenders like us could lend to cover school fees for children that would pay for middle or high school (in many countries, attending said schools requires paying school fees).  Children’s photos and biographies are thus posted to this hypothetical site, and we treat it like a marketplace. Then, as the site expands and more loans are posted, certain kids aren’t being funded – their loans expire on this site.  Then, you pull up the pages of all the children whose loans expired, and they are all kids who aren’t cute or aren’t fitting our notion of how a needy child should look.  As you can see, this is unfairly discriminant.

1(b). The positive idea behind Kiva-as-a-marketplace is to support the notion that only the most eligible borrowers get funded.  But, I think if we pay extra close attention to the “loans expiring soon” page, we may begin to see patterns.  For example, as I write this, the two loans closest to expiration are men and from Lebanon.  These loans are followed by several from Bolivia, which are in turn followed by a few from Peru (which could also be due to Kiva having more MFI partners in this area).  However, I don’t see any fruit sellers or women from Africa close to expiration, for example.  Now is a good time to reflect on Kiva’s core mission: “connecting people for the sake of alleviating poverty.” Does this show us that “lending for the sake of alleviating poverty” is actually, in practice, proving itself to look like “lending to certain people that fit our notion of poverty for the sake of alleviating their poverty”? And is this fair?

We can all agree that at times throughout history, capitalism has led to discrimination against certain classes and groups of people.  Minority rights cannot be left up to the voting majority; the constitution and the courts must protect them.  The clause “all men are created equal” was the premise most effectively used in the fight for civil rights, as it pointed out a gaping contradiction between the social reality and the constitution itself.  But ultimately, court cases like Brown v. Board of Education led to the expanded freedoms we now see today.  Otherwise, a simple popular vote may have found that the will of the majority (the ‘tyranny of the majority’), perhaps themselves raised with discriminatory beliefs, would’ve refused the minority group’s different interpretation of that clause.

Humans – even in mass – aren’t always right.  During Kiva Fellows training, we learned that certain stories are traditionally funded faster on Kiva than others (e.g. fruit stand vendors over taxi drivers).  If all other things are equal – meaning those two borrowers are suffering the same level of poverty and have an equal chance that the loan will vastly improve their respective businesses – is that ethical?  While fostering growth in the fruit stands is awesome, Kiva still has that mission to help the poor.  So is it okay to treat the poor like a market and only take care of some poor individuals over others because their businesses are more fashionable and appealing to us?  This is something for us to reflect upon.

2. Kiva encourages our MFIs to use the new funding to further one of Kiva’s goals: bringing financial services to areas that are traditionally left out of the financial sector.  So let’s say that in line with our goal, one of our MFIs reaches out to a new group of people, perhaps spending significant resources traveling to a rural village eight hours away from the nearest office.  Then, we don’t find these borrowers’ stories to be compelling enough to fund, and our MFI must forfeit services for the new group of people.

Now, I anticipate that one of the counterarguments to this point is that loan expiration is to reflect the will of the lenders.  This example allows us to turn away from the lender view and assume the perspective of MFIs on the ground.  We have all heard about plenty of charities who spend frivolously creating completely unsustainable projects in other countries; that is precisely why the lot of us were attracted to Kiva in the first place!  The example above could be detrimental to our relationship with our MFIs, not to mention our mission.  When we encourage an MFI to do something with our new funding, and then hold back the funding, we are looking at a waste of time and money on the part of the MFI.  Is that what we really want?

3.  Loan expiration might unintentionally incentivize our MFIs to begin embellishing their borrower profile descriptions, as more “dramatic” or “interesting” stories (e.g. woman lost her husband, makes artisan crafts, and has 8 kids) get funded over more “boring” ones (e.g. young, single man with a DVD shop and 2 kids).  Thus, if the MFIs see they are losing money to other Kiva MFIs who are posting great stories, they may begin to be less transparent with Kiva by embellishing their borrowers stories.  Transparency is the hardest to combat when there is a major stake at risk; in this case, it is much needed funding for the MFIs.  I think loan expirations could set Kiva up for transparency issues from our many field partner MFIs.  Logistically, this would be really hard to combat.

4.  My final point stems from a comment I read on a recently posted article that was critical of Kiva.  To paraphrase, the commenter was critical of the Kiva site because on the site, loan expiration appears to indicate the borrower doesn’t get funded.  In reality, all of the borrowers that we see on the site are already selected and funded beforehand by the MFIs, as it is the most efficient way for Kiva and the MFIs to work together (for a more in-depth explanation, click here).

Kiva does put a time clock in red that counts down to loan expiration.  Some of you may be thinking, “yeah, but it’s not that confusing, I understand how it works.” Let’s take a look at one of our popular lending teams, Late Loaning Lenders.  The team page says that they loan because they “hate to see loans being left unfunded on Kiva. If the Field Partners feel that the entrepreneur deserves to be funded, so do we.”  Then in the ‘About us’ section, it reads, “Loans that are nearing expiry won’t get funded if they don’t get noticed. We try to find them and get them noticed.”

Because our MFIs pre-qualify and pre-disburse each loan on the site, these borrowers do get funded even if they expire on Kiva.  Their MFI will have to front the capital itself instead of using Kiva capital, which of course is less than ideal for the MFI.  But, it does not effect the individual borrower you are looking at.

It is worthwhile to think more in depth about the biases we carry when selecting loans.  My sister and brother-in-law, for example, rightfully chose not to fund butcher shops because they are both vegetarians.  We all deserve the right to make that choice.  But, lets think about choices we make unconsciously.  For example, the lot of loans close to expiration from Bolivia: are there some internal biases we might have against Bolivia?  Or do we simply not know much about the country? We would have to wait a while in order to reliably discern whether or not such patterns are emerging, so I am fully aware that this point is very hypothetical.  Nevertheless, I think it important to examine now rather than later.

The last charity I worked for was heavily criticized for its use of “poster children,” i.e. children in wheelchairs on posters meant to ‘guilt’ people into giving; as a result, there were protests at fund-raising events and vital dollars were lost. Hindsight is 20/20.  I hope this post at least helps us get our wheels turning now so that we can ensure that we are doing the best thing for our lenders, borrowers, MFIs, and Kiva as a whole.

Suzy Marinkovich is a Kiva Fellow at new Kiva partner CIDRE in Cochabamba, Bolivia, the second of her three placements.  She has a wholehearted passion for microfinance, social justice, and poverty alleviation.  Suzy is most excited to listen to the incredible stories of Kiva borrowers in South America and let them know how much they continually inspire us all.

By Adam Kemmis Betty, KF9, Bolivia

Kiva’s website provides a wealth of statistics for curious lenders, but one unfortunate and disappointingly uncontroversial omission is the altitude at which the loan was disbursed. With the average borrower living at 4,150 m (13,615 ft) above sea level, I’d be willing to bet that Pro Mujer Bolivia would be a good place to start in any search for Kiva’s highest microloan (any challenges from Peru or Kyrgyzstan?).

On top of the world: El Alto, Bolivia

A very silly competition indeed, I hear you say. How wrong you’d be: in Bolivia, height matters. In La Paz, for example, the altitude at which someone lives is a pretty sure indication of their wealth.  The rich have largely vacated the downtown altogether, opting to move to suburbs down the hill where the air is warmer and considerably more breathable. Perched on top of the canyon is El Alto, one of the poorest cities in the Americas and where Pro Mujer was born. Despite being only a few hundred miles from the Equator, average temperatures year-round hover around 40°F, a chilly proposition when you consider that central heating and insulated housing are unaffordable luxuries for most.

Giant slayers: Brazil were no match for the home side this weekend

For visitors to the city, height really matters, and not just because your toothpaste exits voluntary from its tube. Just ask the Brazilian football team: the five-time world champions limped home last weekend after suffering a 2-1 defeat to a jubilant and thoroughly acclimatised home side. After two weeks in La Paz as a Kiva Fellow at Pro Mujer, I still half-crawl into every meeting (which is inevitably on the top floor of the highest building in sight), gasping for air and water and marvelling at the relative composure of everyone else present. In fact, maybe looking for that highest loan isn’t such a good idea after all…

Bring up the average height of Kiva’s loans by clicking here to lend to a Pro Mujer borrower!

By Suzy Marinkovich, KF9

“Gender-based violence … is ubiquitous in much of the developing world, inflicting far more casualties than any war. Surveys suggest that about one third of all women world-wide face beatings in the home. Women aged fifteen through forty-four are more likely to be maimed or die from male violence than from cancer, malaria, traffic accidents, and war combined. A major study by the World Health Organization has found that in most countries, between 30 and 60 percent of women experience physical or sexual violence by a husband or boyfriend.” – Nicholas Kristof

When my husband and I were making our way overland to Bolivia, we took a ferry across a small part of Lake Titicaca.  On the other side, we stood around some market stalls waiting for our bus to come off the ferry, and all of a sudden we heard yelling behind us escalate to screaming.  We spun around to see two female market vendors arguing about one encroaching on the other’s selling space.  The words quickly turned to blows, and in a matter of seconds the women were in the dirt, punching each other and ripping each other’s hair out.  People just stood around, even smiling as if being entertained.  Before long, I screamed for someone to break them up.  A foreign traveler next to me whispered in English one of those sentences that rings in your ears for a long time because, at the time, you are so stunned you can’t think of a genius rebuttal fast enough.  He said, “let them fight, that’s just how it is down here.”

I was appalled by the man’s words, because violence is everywhere – and how dare he make an evaluation on a diverse and hard-working nation’s people only minutes after he’d crossed the border.  In Ayacucho while at FINCA Peru, I learned that domestic violence is just another part of life for many of our borrowers.  In one instance during my time there, a police officer was beaten by a woman while responding to a neighbor’s report of domestic violence.  The woman beat the police officer because she wanted him to let her husband continue beating her; she said she “deserved it.”  I disagree with “that’s just how it is down here”; instead I’m convicted that poverty has a lot more to do with these patterns globally than individual cultures themselves.

On Friday, during a 12-hour day in the field meeting with CIDRE’s many rural borrowers, I met one of those couples I could have just stayed with for the rest of my fellowship.  They have an absolutely incredible story – entirely nurtured by microfinance.   Nicanor, the husband, showed me papers produced by some ancient typewriter; it was his loan paperwork from his first loan from CIDRE, taken out in 1981.  The way he treasured it, I felt like I was looking at something that should be in a museum.  This man started with two cows and now runs a giant farm with a large cement stable for his cows.  He even has one of the few mechanical milking machines in the area, which have helped put an end to the years that his aging wife Evangelina has spent milking the cows from dawn til dusk – by hand.

Nicanor and Evangelina have three wonderful children, all studying in private trade schools.  But what struck me most about the couple was their love for each other.  After our loan meeting, Nicanor insisted we all go out for drinks – which of course meant two rounds of 40-ounce cervezas for each one of us.  We talked about how CIDRE has brought him from a tough chapter, having only two cows and no home, to the present situation where he can end his work day in time to enjoy a few beers at the local restaurant.  As we drank, Nicanor shared some Quechua spiritual beliefs and local legends that had us all laughing, then he got to talking about Hotel Mil Estrellas (Hotel of One Thousand Stars).

Nicanor said that Hotel Mil Estrellas was when a Quechua couple who lives out on a rural farm slept together out in the fields and under the stars.  A phrase borne of both humor and the beautiful pastoral scenery, he began sharing stories about his friends and their stays at Hotel Mil Estrellas.  Then, his elderly, traditionally dressed wife Evangelina smirked and held her right index finger to her lips – while blushing, as if to silence him.  With a wink, her husband said, “don’t worry, I won’t tell them OUR stories.”

It was precious seeing them look at one another, able to look fondly at their past and reflect on it in the present with a smirk.  I realized in that moment that it’s something I haven’t seen nearly enough down here.

Friday, after work, my husband and I were cooking in the kitchen and making up dance moves to Feist’s “I feel it all,” which was playing on our crappy travel speakers connected to his iPod.  We were laughing and in that moment – it hit me.  We have the time to have moments like this.

Poverty forces many to transition from one job to the next, or awake at dawn to labor 12 straight hours only to crash on a bed and do it all over again the next day.  They literally toil until they can make ends meet.  Money is so strapped that every financial decision is so well-critiqued it becomes an argument, an argument that can get so serious so quickly that it evolves into violence.  The powerlessness of poverty is so defeating that the blame game is inevitable.  The husband begins by blaming his wife for forgetting something small, and years later it’s her fault he didn’t have a son, it’s her fault that the house has nearly no furniture, and it’s her fault that they are poor.

In some conversations, we talk about how microfinance is empowering, and in others we talk about how poverty is powerlessness.  What is extraordinary is watching the two come together in one once-powerless family, now able to stop work in time for a beer and a look in each other’s eyes.  That is not a gift we are capable of giving, but it is one often borne of the financial gift that we do give through Kiva.  We can be enablers, enabling a family to climb out of poverty enough to stop work at 7pm, turn on the radio, and dance around together in the kitchen.

Click here to support fundraising borrowers at CIDRE!

Suzy Marinkovich is a Kiva Fellow at new Kiva partner CIDRE in Cochabamba, Bolivia, the second of her three placements.  She has a wholehearted passion for microfinance, social justice, and poverty alleviation.  Suzy is most excited to listen to the incredible stories of Kiva borrowers in South America and let them know how much they continually inspire us all.

By Suzy Marinkovich, KF9 Bolivia

We can’t get enough of them.  We love them so much that they even have their own lending team of fans and a discussion on KivaFriends.  Whether they are made of straw or soft fabric, bowler, flat-brimmed, or a tiny saucer looking thing on our borrower’s heads – we just love them.

There is an old English adage that says, “If you want to get ahead in life, you should get yourself a hat.”

I like hats, and I’ll wear one every now and again – maybe for Opening Day in Del Mar or during a long hike to beat the heat (and, of course, during San Diego Padres baseball games).  But down here, it’s an essential part of your everyday cholita’s wardrobe – it’s her piece of flair, her fashion statement, and it’s also almost always a statement about where she comes from.  Her hat may very well give away her hometown – and whether others see her as a Cochabambina or an Ayacuchana, for example.

When I saw our “Women in Hats” lending team, I was in love!  I promise not to get all deep on you, but I thought it was such a cute, simple way that cultures across the world can come together through Kiva – by celebrating even the simplest of accessories.  It also conveys why loaning on Kiva is so fun (and addictive) for us!

So, I decided to do a little light research into this hat phenomenon.  Since I arrived in Bolivia from Peru, the hat styles have definitely changed.  These ones are usually small bowler hats and I cannot for the life of me figure out how they seem to defy physics by not flying off their owner’s heads. Sometimes they are tilted off to the side, sometimes they add a solid 10 inches to a woman’s height – which I guess lends itself to the aforementioned English adage.

I began by Googling “bowler hats Bolivia” and soon found out that they’re called a “bombin” down here.  When I Googled that however, all I got were a bunch of articles on bombings (since Google was certain I made a typo) and some Wu Tang Clan lyrics about “bombin’ buildings.” I take it that bombin hats aren’t a typical Google search.  Regardless, I dug a little deeper and here’s a synopsis of what I found:

The bowler hat – or bombin – has been worn by Quechua and Aymara women in Peru and Bolivia since the 1920s, when it was introduced to Bolivia by British railway workers.  Rumor has it that the hats were found to be too small for their intended recipients, so they were then distributed to the locals.  For many years a factory in Italy manufactured the hats for the Bolivian market.  Now, however, they are produced internationally.  This seems to be the most popular theory of bombin origination.  (Main source: Wikipedia.org)

Another rumored and uncorroborated bombin hat theory involves an over-order of bowler hats by an enterprising salesman, who supposedly convinced the Bolivian locals that the wearing of hats would increase their fertility.  Whether that was once the belief or not, you may be relieved to know that this rumor certainly isn’t prevalent today.

To rewind and broaden our subject a little, it’s worth noting that in the aftermath of the 1781 pan-Andean rebellion against Spanish rule, colonial officials forbade the use of indigenous dress, hoping to suppress any identification with an autonomous Indian culture (Source: Lesley Gill, “Proper Women and City Pleasure: Gender, Class, and Contested Meanings in La Paz”).  I learned in Cuzco that all of the styles we see today, from women in hats, skirts, and blouses to men’s pants, came originally from the Spanish.  They saw the Andean people wearing what they considered to be odd attire: long, floor-length, and simple gowns.  It was decided that the Andeans should dress more like the peasantry attire prevalent in feudal Europe.  As a result, Andean people embraced the new styles while paying homage to their own cultures by using bright, woven colors and uniquely styled hats.  Those are what we see today and classify as uniquely South American; which they are, but it’s interesting to know where it all began.

Although detailed historical information on changes in dress throughout the 19th century is not available, we do know that during the early 20th century, urban Aymara women wore the so-called Panama hats, which were actually produced in Ecuador. These hats were subsequently replaced by the contemporary derbies sometime after World War II. The most fashionable brand—Borsaline—was produced in Italy, and even after the firm closed its Italian factory, it opened one in La Paz exclusively for the Bolivian market. (Source: Caiiavesi de Sahonero 1987)

I tip my hat to the various sources from which I drew upon to write the paragraphs above.  Please feel free to comment on this post with your own hat facts (and rumors)!

Lastly, if you find yourself drawn to lovely women in stylish hats, we can help you.  Just click here.

Sonrisas y abrazos desde Bolivia (smiles and hugs from Bolivia)!

Suzy Marinkovich is a Kiva Fellow at new Kiva partner CIDRE in Cochabamba, Bolivia, the second of her three placements.  She has a wholehearted passion for microfinance, social justice, and poverty alleviation.  Suzy is most excited to listen to the incredible stories of Kiva borrowers in South America and let them know how much they continually inspire us all. Click here to support fundraising borrowers at CIDRE!

By Suzy Marinkovich, KF9

My husband walked in to the CIDRE office this Tuesday around 5pm, smiling big but smelling awful. Everyone crowded around and asked, “Mateo! Como le ha ido?” – “How was your [first] day?” I could tell they were worried all day when they had asked me if I heard from him, but I knew he was fine. They may worry that this gringo from the States, who is still very much learning Spanish, can’t hang in ‘el campo’ (the farm). But Matt loves that kind of stuff.

My husband is a veterinary technician back home, and is currently applying to veterinary school. When he agreed to come join me on this 8-month adventure, both of us worried about what it would look like for him – as we had zero plans and no idea where I’d even be come second and third placement. But the experience has been as remarkable for him as it has for me. At CIDRE, the loan officers set him up with the very veterinarians who take care of the CIDRE borrowers’ precious bovine. I’ll discuss his dirty work with more detail in another blog post – but let me just give you a taste… his first day involved delivering a baby calf and neutering pigs. Just another day at the office, right?

Click the pic: it's a shameless plug for CIDRE's new lending team!

CIDRE is one of Kiva’s brand-new Latin American partners, and is extremely well-respected here in Bolivia. The founder, Alvaro, does a wonderful job operating the business and his plans for CIDRE’s growth are both tangible and exciting.

Hours after I arrived here in Cochabamba last week, I began mysteriously throwing up over and over again. In a delirious state and in the hands of my husband, I made it to the hospital – where I was promptly hooked up to fluids.

I was finally able to leave the hospital after spending two painfully sleepless nights there.

So, as every person hopes and dreams when they apply to be a Kiva Fellow, I met the executive staff and loan officers from CIDRE while lying on a hospital bed hooked up to an IV. As soon as they got word that their Kiva gringa was already in the hospital, they felt responsible for me and rushed to be by my side. They gave us their cell phone numbers and told Matt to call them “in the middle of the night” if anything happens to me. Of course I was fine, but the experience was definitely an ice-breaker.

More than anything, my first week highlighted what a family CIDRE is and how important Kiva is to them. CIDRE was very excited to help Matt with finding volunteer work within their network, as well as caring when they found me in the hospital. Their kind attention and excitement to have us here has been very contagious. As a brand new partner, this funding from Kiva has already thrust a door wide open to the tiny microfinance institution that they never thought possible. At my first day at work, Alvaro shared with me all the exciting plans they have in the pipeline – including contracting five new Kiva Coordinators!

We always think about how our borrowers benefit, and how we benefit, but sometimes we think of MFIs as just the ‘middle man’ between the two. I think we can also wear a smile about how exciting the new money and partnership is for the MFI as well as its employees and partners, who can now take this free capital and use the interest on it to expand in to even more socially oriented projects. As we all know, development is multi-faceted and there are a multitude of factors that need to be aligned at once to promote progress.

But just take Alvaro’s decision to hire 5 Kiva Coordinators for example. In South America’s poorest country – five Cochabambinos are no longer unemployed thanks to the affect of Kiva’s capital!

Click here to support fundraising borrowers at CIDRE!

Suzy Marinkovich is a Kiva Fellow at new Kiva partner CIDRE in Cochabamba, Bolivia, the second of her three placements.  She has a wholehearted passion for microfinance, social justice, and poverty alleviation.  Suzy is most excited to listen to the incredible stories of Kiva borrowers in South America and let them know how much they continually inspire us all.

By Cynthia McMurry, KF8 Ecuador

Over the past year, I have learned valuable lessons about life, gotten to know myself better, greatly enriched my understanding of microfinance, observed the workings of the informal economy in Latin America, been touched by many clients’ stories and experiences, and been proud to represent Kiva at four different MFIs in three South American countries.

Some of my favorite moments, though, have absolutely nothing to do with microfinance. They’re little cultural quirks, lifestyle adaptations, or just silly everyday things that make me smile, remember that I am not from here, and cherish the experience that much more.

Some of my favorites:

Best heckle: Anyone who’s as white as me and who has tried to run in public in Latin America knows what it’s like to be heckled. You usually get whistles, catcalls, and hear things like, “Faster!” “Run!” and “ONE two three ONE two three.” After a while you learn not to pay too much attention and to instead focus your energy on watching out for dogs and traffic.

Out running in Trujillo at 7am one morning, a driver stuck his head out the window and yelled “Yuquitas peladas!” (“Little peeled yuccas!”), a metaphorical reference to the whiteness of my legs. By far the most creative heckle ever, plus I’m impressed that he was able to think of it so quickly (especially that early in the morning) and stick his head out of the car window while driving and avoiding traffic mishaps. Kudos.

Best street foods: Grilled plantain with cheese (Ecuador), giant corn on the cob with cheese (Cusco), hand-churned muyuchi ice cream (Ayacucho), cow-heart kabobs (Bolivia/Peru).

Pati, a Kiva client in Cochabamba, grills up some cow-heart kabobs

Luzmila, a Kiva client in Ayacucho, dishes out some hand-churned ice cream

Best market find: “Peanut paste” in Ecuador, which is supposed to be used to cook cow’s stomach. When I told the woman I buy it from that I add salt and eat it on bread with jelly, she looked at me like I was nuts. Crazy gringos.

Best healthy eating tip: A loan officer in Santa Cruz, Bolivia once invited me to a glass of caldo de caña (sugar-cane juice), a thick, murky brown liquid that is sickeningly sweet, like drinking a glass of maple syrup. He says, “It’s all natural, don’t worry. They don’t add any sugar to it.”

I’m waiting for this to take off as the next fad diet in the States.

Best religious insight: A conversation I had with a loan officer:
Her: What religion are you?
Me: Oh, I’m not religious.
Her: Why not?
Me: Well, I just have a hard time believing that just one of the world’s religions has all the right answers and all of the others are wrong.
Her: Yes, but if you think about it, the one thing they have in common is that they all lead you to Jesus Christ.

Best financial advice: Hoard change (thanks, Dan Kahn). You’re only as rich as the amount of change in your pockets.

Most humbling idiomatic realization: I will never be done learning Spanish. Every time I think I’ve got it down, I change locations and chalas become sandalias become become zapatillas, or lapicero becomes bolígrafo becomes pluma becomes esfero, or caña becomes chaque becomes resaca becomes chuchaque. And aguacate and palta keep switching back and forth.Where on my resume should I indicate that I know four different words for pen?

Second most humbling idiomatic realization: After two months in Ecuador, I still don’t know how to ask for the kind of bananas I want without pointing. I don’t understand the difference between a platano, a banano, a guineo, a maduro and an orito. If anyone has pictures with labels it’d be greatly appreciated.

Those look like oritos hanging back there, but I wouldn't put money on it

Best way to ask for directions: Most anywhere I want to walk to is immediately deemed too far away and/or too dangerous for a lolita like me to go on foot. In order to avoid answers like “Walk to the corner, hail a cab and tell the cab driver that’s where you want to go,” I’ve learned to strategically rephrase my requests for directions. Instead of asking, “How can I walk to this place?” I ask “How might Antonio Banderas ride a scooter to this place?”

Best way to tell Ecuadorians apart geographically: One day at the beach with the local branch manager, he pointed out that it’s easy to distinguish locals from people from Quito who are in town on vacation. I looked around and wasn’t so sure I could tell, so we started guessing with passers-by. He nodded to one middle-aged man, lounging in the back of his pickup truck with a tank top pulled up to his chest, exposing his sizeable beer belly, which he rubbed fondly.

“What about that guy?” said Fernando.
The gentleman in question looked pretty tan. “Mmmm… local?” I guessed.
He laughed. “A local would NEVER do that, Cynthia.”
“What? I’ve seen tons of guys from the coast strutting around showing off their guts,” I responded, confused.
“Yes,” he said, “but never in Lycra.”

Land of Lycra: Quito at dawn. Why was I awake at dawn? My neighbors have roosters.

Cynthia McMurry is a fourth-time Kiva fellow working with brand new Kiva field partner Fundación Espoir in Cuenca, Ecuador. Previously she worked with Fundación AgroCapital in Bolivia and FINCA Peru and Asociación Arariwa in Peru.

To search for currently fundraising loans from Fundación Espoir on Kiva, click here. No currently fundraising clients? Please check back soon! In the meantime, you can join Espoir’s Kiva Lending Team here.

By: Nilima Achwal, KF8, Bolivia

While taking pictures throughout Bolivia of Kiva clients, colleagues, and friends, I’ve noticed a theme. Most people don’t smile. No matter if it’s a jolly loan officer who loves his job, the cleaning girl that always peers curiously over my shoulder at my laptop and brings me mate de coca, or good friends hanging out after work. The second I take out my camera, in fact, the second before I click the shutter, the grins vanish. Ironically (and maddeningly), the second the flash is out, the subject in question almost always smiles or laughs.

It’s not that people scowl for pictures. They just present themselves in a professional, even “cool” way. In their minds, it makes no sense to grin like an idiot just because someone is taking their picture; it’s just not that exciting. Also, since digital cameras are not nearly as ubiquitous here as in other countries, some entrepreneurs get nervous and tell me to wait while they quickly fold their hands in their laps, take off traditional indigenous hats, and look “proper” before I take the picture.

That’s a better-case scenario. Sometimes entrepreneurs don’t want their picture taken at all. I think this has something to do with not wanting to be viewed as attractions. They usually agree to it when I explain that the lenders want to meet them.

What does this mean for the pictures of Kiva entrepreneurs that make it on to borrower profiles and journals? Personally, while taking journal pictures I casually make a little joke or cry “Say whiskey!” (the Bolivian equivalent of “Say cheese”) to get them to giggle, though they try to force back the laughter. After one such occasion, I showed the photo on my camera screen to the group, and one of the young women burst out laughing, teasing her friend, “Look at Marisol, she’s looks like she’s laughing in the picture.”

I always feel the need to convey the warmth and friendship I have experienced with the borrowers so that lenders can experience it too, and the simplest way to do that is through a picture with smiling faces. In real life, we think of smiles as a symbol of acknowledgment and friendship that surpasses language and cultural boundaries.

The conflict comes in when we think about how the borrower wants to present herself to the world. If the borrower feels more comfortable looking professional and hat-less, however much we would be fascinated by a smile and a hat, who are we to force our hegemonic cultural norms on others? However, it could be true that a picture of a smiling entrepreneur brings in funds quicker than would a picture of a seemingly depressed looking man or woman. And isn’t empowering people to pull themselves out of poverty the ultimate goal? But at the same time, by urging entrepreneurs to smile for pictures in order to bring in more lender dollars, we might almost be using our economic power to once again impose our cultural norms on other people.

I’m not saying I am going to stop encouraging borrowers to smile for pictures. To tell you the truth, I like pictures of smiling people. I’m just a little bit more conscious now of my immediate instinct of suspicion of people that seem cold or depressed in photos.

Nilima Achwal is a Kiva Fellow who is working with several branches of Fundación AgroCapital in Bolivia this summer. Lend to an AgroCapital entrepreneur now!

By: Nilima Achwal, KF8 Bolivia

I rode on the back of a motorcycle with a loan officer while going to visit Kiva clients on the outskirts of Cochabamba, Bolivia. As my hair blew in the wind, I took in the tranquil green pastures, spotted cows grazing, and women in colorful skirts strolling down the dirt road. When we stopped, I exclaimed, “I love this part of town!” “Really?” the loan officer answered in shock. “I thought you would be horrified; this is the poorest section of town.”

I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. True, I had noticed that the area was very poor, but I had thought it was beautiful how each home had its own chickens and livestock and the residents wore traditional clothing. I suddenly felt ashamed, as if I were viewing this community like a sheltered tourist who did not fully realize or empathize with the economic realities of its inhabitants. But on the other hand, isn’t it necessary to see the beauty in poor communities and its people? Isn’t that what inspires me to help them?

I realized that the conflict I was going through has something to do with the specific idea of poverty that the developed world has. Earlier that day, when I was showing a Bolivian colleague my blog post on the Lonely Planet Bolivia website, the first thing to pop up was a picture of the perfect poverty poster child: a chubby-cheeked Bolivian girl with desperate eyes and dirty hair (with absolutely no offense to Lonely Planet—I agree that there are almost always more positive pictures on the site and in the books.) My colleague was understandably upset. “I don’t understand why every time people talk about Bolivia, all they show is the poverty. There are many beautiful and interesting places here.”

She made a very good point. The images of the developing world that dominate the perceptions of most Americans, that is, those that are propagated by the media, are of dire poverty, filth, and crime. This is most likely not a malicious attempt to malign other nations, but a reflection of the stories that sell. People are fascinated by extremes and probably like the reassurance that their own country is the best place to live. Then I realized why I was feeling conflicted–I did not want to be fascinated by my first exposure in Bolivia to what American ideology has taught me is Poverty: women in plaid skirts, men in farmer hats, donkeys, and dirt roads. I did not want to be a tourist of poverty.

I realize now that that is not the reason I liked the poor section of Cochabamba. On the contrary, I saw the care that went into the mini-farms and dairy businesses that the residents owned. I saw laughter, camaraderie, and hard work. If this community of people did not find anything either wrong or shameful about how they lived, why should I? I had no reason to pity them or be horrified at their “condition.”

At some point, the images of poverty that we constantly receive from television and movies stop enhancing our worldview and start becoming disrespectful to the citizens of those nations. We need to be careful not to lump all residents of the developing world into the big black box called Poverty. Not only do developing nations have a million other aspects to them besides their poverty (like colleges, concerts, sports, architecture, cultures, sub-cultures, natural wonders, technologies, and innovations,) but even their poor are surprisingly diverse. The fact is that the Kiva entrepreneurs I’ve met have had many, many different lifestyles and occupations. I have met butchers, make-up saleswomen, and store owners. Some entrepreneurs have televisions and DVD players but no running water. Some entrepreneurs ask me for the Kiva website address, while other people in their very group do not understand what the Internet is. Almost every entrepreneur I meet in Bolivia has a cell phone, though almost no one has a land line. They are elderly women, families, recently married couples, and young individuals just starting out. The faces of the Kiva entrepreneurs within Bolivia are amazingly varied, and I dare to say that the vast majority of their children have neither dirty hair nor sad eyes.

Nilima Achwal is a Kiva Fellow who is working with several branches of Fundación AgroCapital in Bolivia this summer. Lend to an AgroCapital entrepreneur now!

By Nilima Achwal, KF8 Bolivia

On my second day in La Paz, I braved the high altitude and made my way to Calle Sagarnaga, the main tourist shopping street. As I trudged up the slippery cobbled street, a skinny middle-aged man carrying a folder easily kept pace beside me and urged me to take a look at his paintings. Since I only needed an excuse to stop climbing, I stopped, and the man started sifting through painting after painting of indigenous women wearing a myriad of hats and shawls and pointing out the corresponding figures on the street. I soon learned that his name was Jorge and he wanted to give me an introductory course on indigenous Bolivian dress. “See that woman there?” He asked excitedly, “She’s single. You can tell by the color of her shawl. She’s also originally from Cochabamba, not La Paz. ” In a span of five minutes, the vendor had given me a proud summary of the dress and customs of some indigenous groups of three different Bolivian cities.

Then came the question that  I dreaded: “Where are you from?” Ever since I arrived in La Paz, I have been inundated by anti-American rhetoric, like the highway barriers that read “Yankees Go Home; El Alto Se Respeta [expletive]” (El Alto respects itself) repeatedly over the several kilometer stretch of road that passes right in front of the AgroCapital office, in the suburb of El Alto. The American ambassador in Bolivia was kicked out just last fall. In addition, I fully expected the price of his paintings to miraculously increase three-fold as soon as I answered that question. But taken in by this man’s sincere interest, I answered quietly, “Los Estados Unidos.”

Then came: “Are you just travelling or are you here for social work?”

“Social work,” I answered.

Jorge flashed me a toothless grin and looked me in the eye. “Gracias.”

It touched me that a stranger to whom I had nothing to offer was grateful for my work. In turn, I asked him about his work. He has painted his entire life. “Lo hago por cariño,” he explained—I do it out of love. Love for his people, his culture, and his country. His intense appreciation of the beauty of his heritage carries him through day after day of hard work and absolute economic uncertainty.

I decide to buy a small, colorful painting, and he charges me 15 bolivianos, or slightly more than two dollars. After assuring me that he has change, I hand him a 100 boliviano bill (14 dollars), or more than even the average-income Bolivian makes in an entire day of work. Before I realize what is happening, he tells me to wait one moment with his folder, and he has disappeared down the steep, crowded street to go get change.

I mentally kick myself. I only blame myself for letting him run away with my bill. My logical mind tells me not to waste my time and to give those fourteen dollars up for lost. But something keeps me rooted to my spot. He told me to watch his paintings. I have a responsibility to wait for him and make sure nothing happens to his work.

I wait. Three minutes, five minutes. I feel like an idiot; a lost-looking foreigner just standing on the side of a crowded street. By the time ten minutes pass, I am ready to shed my idealism and leave.

Jorge, in his bright red shirt, comes striding up the hill, pushing through tourists and vendors, eighty-five bolivianos in hand. He happily scurries up and hands me enough money to pay for eighty-five bus rides within the city of La Paz.

It’s the pride he takes in his work that inspires and energizes me. It’s the respect for other human beings (and their money) that this pride demands of him. This is not an isolated incident; I’ve seen this deep pride in many vendors and Kiva entrepreneurs in Bolivia. It’s rare for anyone to change her prices much in La Paz—the product is worth what it’s worth. Similarly, the value of her work is non-negotiable.

I feel safer and more comfortable here than I have in any other developing country, and it’s because, as a loan officer explained to me once, “Bolivians think you’re the same as them.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Every day, headlines decry the Yankees that want to buy Bolivia’s natural resources, that use their economic power as a political tool, that ostensibly instigate rebellious political groups. Get them OUT, demand The People. We hate Americans. And every day, I am treated graciously, thanked for my work, respected, and taken in like an old friend.

Where is the line between individual and entity? A shared moment of trust between two strangers from different lands can be far more powerful than the suspicion between governments and nations. It’s only at the individual level that we can toss out generalizations and recognize our common humanity. Kiva is about creating connections between individuals; it’s about creating thousands of mini-moments of trust, even love, between two people very far away in every regard. It’s about my trusting Jorge to bring back my eighty-five bolivianos, and his knowing that I value the work that he has created. And the individual level is exactly where we must start now, when our governments and economies are more inter-connected than ever before.

It’s not possible to for us to toss out all of our age-old feuds, hatreds, and resentments towards other communities and countries. All I’m asking is that we each just share a moment with another individual that we may have no reason to trust.

Anti-American graffiti in front of AgroCapital office

Nilima Achwal is a Kiva Fellow who is working with several branches of Fundación AgroCapital and their clients in Bolivia this summer. Lend to an AgroCapital entrepreneur now!

By Nick Cain, KF7 Paraguay

In Cochabamba, Bolivia, milk is quite literally the ticket to financial services and economic growth.  Kiva lenders, meet CIDRE, your newest Field Partner in Bolivia.  Last week I traveled from Asunción, Paraguay to Cochabamba, Bolivia to train CIDRE’s staff members on the Kiva platform, help them learn a little about the Kiva community, and make sure they had everything they needed in order to start connecting their borrowers to Kiva lenders.

A panoramic view of Cochabamba

The staff was enthusiastic to get to work and learn more about Kiva, so Day One of my visit was all training sessions and PowerPoints.  But on Day Two, CIDRE’s new Kiva Coordinator, Diego Cardona, and I set off for the outskirts of Cochabamba to meet some borrowers.  Most of CIDRE’s loan products are geared to serve the region’s dairy farmers, a community of micro-entrepreneurs who own anywhere from 5 – 25 cows and earn income by selling milk to Pil, the region’s lone dairy corporation.  Cochabamba’s dairy farmers are concentrated in a large swath of land behind the city’s airport.   About 10 minutes after leaving CIDRE’s offices in the city center, paved roads gave way to a lumpy, dusty web of cinder-block houses and muddy cow pastures.  Eventually Diego and I came to a stop, eye-to-eye with a couple of rather hefty bovines.

Outside the home of one of his clients, Diego told me a bit more about how dairy farmers are able to access CIDRE’s financial services.  It was a classic lesson in how the microfinance industry finds innovative ways to bring credit to those who are usually shut out of the financial system.  Without bank accounts or formal financial documents, receipts or tickets from Pil are the best and often only way that the farmers can prove their income.  CIDRE’s loan officers told me that these tickets, which show how many liters of milk a farmer sells to Pil each month, are critical to the evaluation of each borrower’s eligibility for a loan.  Depending on their income and other assets, most farmers are also required to put up some or all of their cows as collateral for the loan.  Thus, for every new client, loan officers have to make the rounds at the cow pasture, snapping photos of each animal to ensure that CIDRE can tell them all apart.

Kiva Coordinator Diego Cardona documents collateral for a client's loan

With access to a loan, CIDRE’s clients are able to buy more food for their cows or invest in new animals, both of which can be leveraged into higher milk production and an increase in income.  According to Diego, CIDRE has found that farmers who are able to acquire 10-12 cows or more are most likely to increase their income, while those with fewer tend to make just enough money to sustain themselves and their business.  By tapping into the funding made available by Kiva lenders, CIDRE will be able to extend their reach even further into Cochabamba’s dairy farming community.

I hope you’ll join me in welcoming CIDRE to the Kiva community.  Their first set of loans should be up on the site soon, so keep an eye out for those cows!

Nick Cain recently finished a 16-week placement with Fundacion Paraguaya.  He promises to still wear his Kiva t-shirt when he gets home.

Posted in All, Bolivia, CIDRE, KF7 (Kiva Fellows 7th Class) Tagged: blogsherpa, Bolivia, CIDRE, cochabamba, dairy production in bolivia, kiva in bolivia, microfinance in bolivia, nick cain ]]> http://fellowsblog.kiva.org/2009/06/16/the-cows-of-cochabamba/feed/ 4 nickcain Cochabamba, Bolivia COW ID Extra Income Cochabamba's Most Famous Landmark http://fellowsblog.kiva.org/2009/05/06/goodbye-kiva/ http://fellowsblog.kiva.org/2009/05/06/goodbye-kiva/#comments Wed, 06 May 2009 16:56:08 +0000 Sierra Visher http://fellowsblog.kiva.org/?p=4427 ]]>

Last week was my last week as a Kiva Fellow. As I sat in the cold air of the bar Emprender took me to celebrate the end of my time with their offices and the national Dia del Trabajador (or workers day), I realized how far I have come. And how hard it would be to sum up the personal aspect of being a Kiva Fellow. And equally hard to sum up what microfinance looks like to me.

Here is an effort to show what I mean. Take a look at an album I made of my favorite entrepreneur photos from my placement in Honduras and in Bolivia.

I had just spent a solid hour learning the lilted, stomping, righteous traditional dance steps from Emprender’s regional directors and office managers. I was casually discussing (in imperfect but newly fully functional Spanish) the future of Evo’s MAS party. It was at this moment, during a pause in the live band’s flute playing and guitar strumming that I realized I have learned this city from the inside out. That is, I can tell you where the used clothes come from and how much a cow stomach has been marked up by the seller (35%). Microfinance can be a problem and I worry about over indebtedness, and irresponsibly lending to people who can’t repay. I worry that perhaps we still aren’t reaching the poorest of the poor, and perhaps there is a better way to relieve poverty. Is lending just a construct of “The West” (whatever that is) that shouldn’t be exported to “The Rest” (whatever that is)? I still don’t know.

Looking back on my 6 months as a Kiva Fellow, the sum total is positive. Enthusiastic, creative loan officers and entrepreneurs. Shiny new ideas and optimism. Smiles, laughs and hope. Microfinance doesn’t just change the material position of a family, but their self-image. This idea of self-image bleeds into the national consciousness. It changes women, and it inspires a community.

Flora bakes bread and now sells directly to a school with a monthly contract. Her loan allowed her to commit to a certain amount of product resulting in this contract that evens out her income and lends some predictability to a life wrought with uncertainty. She told me to pass along specific thanks to Kiva lenders.

Flora with her oven

Ramiro was robbed and lost the material he needed to run his tire replacing business. His Kiva loan puts him back on his feet. He spent the whole interview talking about the future. A bigger store. Transmission replacement. Employing his brothers.

Ramiro

Story after story like these two have warmed my heart, and made me believe.

Personally, I learned that I can’t stop my feet from itching, and will probably spend the rest of my life in a constant state of building a home and then taking it down again- and that I like that as much as I hate it.

Morning in La Paz- Sierra cleaning house

I’ll never find a solution to poverty that fits in every way, and I’ll always have my doubts. Still, the fight for equality moves me, connects me, and I’ll never stop trying, thinking, working and exploring. Thank you Kiva for this opportunity.

**Sierra Visher is a Kiva Fellow (KF6) posted in Honduras with Prisma and Bolivia with Emprender.  She is heading to Pisco, Peru to volunteer with MAD Volunteers. After that- the open road. You can follow her journey on her personal blog. **

Bolivia’s political conflict, antics and struggle are very much a part of the day to day. But somehow, I haven’t really felt it. I know that in September of 2008 the situation was much more tense. Violence was on the rise. The US Ambassador was expelled. A potential civil war between the highly indigenous west supporting Evo Morales and the more politically conservative, often land-owning east seeking autonomy? Throw in the simplifying and mystifying fact that in Latin America, right now, you are with Chavez or you are with the US, and I am left constantly talking about Evo’s policies and in equal portion, American sins.

Chavez and Evo

This was true this week when I met Don Lorenzo, who with a loan in his wife’s name, makes cholita hats. He asks me within the first five minutes a simple question: do you believe in the indigenous people of Bolivia? Simple. Yes.

Don Lorenzo and His Hats

So why does my government choose to burn down the coca fields, not only an ancient custom but also a competitive product on the capitalist global stage? I’m well versed in this- first, Don Lorenzo, I disagree with the US government’s war on drugs. But I can help explain some of the complex internal politics that have led to our obsession with curbing supply, and often ignoring demand. Second, we should make a distinction between the government of a country and the people of a country. I will do the same in the way I view the Bolivians.

An error. NO! Don Lorenzo sees himself perfectly reflected in his government. Evo is the face of the people. He understands their culture, their dreams, their hopes. He is one of us. Don Lorenzo says he has been molding, steaming, cutting and selling these hats, an image of indigenous Bolivia for his whole life, and Evo makes him even prouder every time his wife dresses in her pollera and sombrero and hits the streets to sell these beautiful products. I am Bolivia, says Don Lorenzo. So, by extension, Sierra is the US. The US government that is. Will it work to explain that electing an African American in some ways carries the same meaning for us as electing Evo was for them? I hesitate to call Obama an indigenous leader, but will “community organizer” transfer?

Bolivian Congressional Building

Probably not. I steer clear of the conversation, sweeping a wide arch that includes questions about where felt comes from and how his father learned the trade, but inevitably land roughly on, “so you are in support of Evo?”. “Are you?” he returns. Flat. Well. I don’t know. Like most places, the truth about what’s best and what’s worst lies somewhere in the forgotten in-between. Do I think Evo is good for Bolivia?

Several little points, primarily as anecdotes, come to mind. First, every person over the age of 65 gets 200 Bolivianos a month. This is practically nothing, but it feels like something. It feels like the government cares and that’s not nothing. He is fighting for literacy. Signs everywhere say, “Un Pais Libre de Analfabetismo”, a country free of illiteracy. Good effort, but I know several illiterate people. Still, they can take classes for free…if only they had the time. A rebirth of kids speaking Aymara. I love the thought that languages can be preserved, and something in me lights up when I hear Atajo’s lead singer rapping in Ayamara, even if it’s against the Yankees stealing his identity. More people than ever are employed by city governments to clean up and preserve immaculate plazas. And aren’t they pretty? Makes me proud to be here, like I know a secret- Bolivia is really beautiful.

San Pedro Plaza

But there are several little things that worry me. First, that he keeps changing the constitution so he run again. And then maybe again and again. Hunger strikes, Evo sitting on his floor munching coca, are an effective way to get congress to pass his measures. Corruption hard to measure but still a real force.

And the grey area. A perfect example is the fractura system. Each person in Bolivia has a section of their salary withheld and they can only use it in places that offer fractura. Or a receipt. To be able to offer a receipt, and thus attract customers, the business must both register with the government and pay taxes. This encourages the formal sector, and raises money for the state. A good thing. Except its hard to offer fractura, and most small businesses can’t. And it hurts. Not the woman on the corner selling just a few dozen oranges a day, but it does hurt a Kiva client who dries and packages chili peppers and wants to start selling to incorporated supermarkets. Plus, it seems to infringe a bit on one’s liberties to be told where they can shop. But oops, that’s my American-ness again.

Kiva Entrepreneur's Chili Peppers

And really, how does the political situation here affect business? For Don Lorenzo, his business is, in part, a political expression. Still there aren’t that many jobs, and people become business owners not because they want to, but because they have few options. The market appears saturated, but how could I possibly measure that with my limited tools- a camera and a notepad? I found out partway through my visit that his wife, Mercedes wasn’t at home because she was in a big march down the main street expressing general support for Evo. I asked how often she does this, and was surprised with the answer. Whenever her association requires.

Most small businesses like Don Lorenzo and Mercedes’ are part of a neighborhood association, that pools money to keep the street they sell on safe, and mostly clean. The have meetings once a month and are organized. Its one of the parts I like most about small businesses here. But whenever the director (a member of Evo’s MAS party, always) says they have to march, or blockade, they pick up and do it. If they don’t, the association issues a fine -they can’t sell their products for 1-3 days. Political participation in support of Evo is thus compulsory. Good thing Don Lorenzo and Mercedes believe in it. Otherwise this would be corruption, and an infringement on individuality. But oops, that’s my American-ness again.

After saying goodbye, and eliciting a few friendly laughs with my attempt to bid farewell in Aymara, I was in a taxi on the way to visit a friend when we bumped into Mercedes’ march. It was big. Lots of color and guns. A zebra is knocked down by the crowd. People dressed as zebras direct traffic in La Paz with happy faces and fancy dances. This is Evo’s attempt to “re-educate” people about traffic manners, and its harder to fight a zebra than a police officer. I open the door of a cab to help the zebra up when a riot cop sprays the mob with tear gas.

Zebra hard at work

Burn. My nostrils afire, my eyes burned shut. Have I really just been tear-gassed in La Paz? Where did the plaza with the flowers go, and my favorite egg lady? Where are the tuba players and the children with the icecream? A different world descends and my nearly blind taxi driver drops me above the blockade, near a gorgeous church where a friend is waiting. I’ve been told cigarette smoke binds to tear gas and helps. A non-smoker, I chock back two, trying to blow the smoke into my own eyes and sit it out. I was 100% fine 20 minutes later. The zebra was fine.

Now amidst Evo’s crys for international investigation of a plot to assassinate him, I find myself wondering still, what is best? The only conclusion that I can come to is, like the surreal moment when I’m helping a man dressed as a zebra move out of the street of half-hearted protestors, facing a cop in full riot gear spraying gas generally through a crowd, I am out of my element. I am not in a position to evaluate what is best for Bolivia.

Although, I did like sharing in Don Lorenzo’s pride, and will forever remember his smile more vividly than a blurry taxi ride.

Don Lorenzo and Sierra

Sierra Visher is a Kiva Fellow (KF6) from California on her second placement in Bolivia with Emprender. All funding loans from Emprender can be found here. Sierra can be reached at svisher@gmail.com, and enjoys hearing from Kiva lenders!

Emprender has two offices in Cochabamba and three in Santa Cruz. Both these cities have a distinct character, and reputation that precedes them. The Cochabambinos, or “ “Bambinos” (best nick name ever right?) are known for their gigantic plates of food. Everyone tells me that I would eat a lot in Cochabamba, and that I would find the climate perfect. In Santa Cruz, I would find people of a totally different culture. The kind that whistle at the women in the street, take off dancing at a moment’s notice, men with mojo and women with hot blood. All ferociously against La Paz’s beloved Evo Morales. I’m told that when I travel to the other parts of the country, that I would understand the background of Bolivia, what goes on behind the scenes. They couldn’t have been more correct. In the last few days, I’ve really learned about what goes on behind the scenes….and…under the table.

I was ushered into the station at 7am in the morning by screaming, bartering women in the Cochabamba station and rapidly found myself down 30 Bolivianos, and carefully stowed into the top seats on a bus, or floata, to Santa Cruz. The seats directly above the driver are incredibly beautiful. A huge surround seat window gives you the feeling you are flying above the road, the panoramic views simply take you’re breath away. I wondered, how did I score this!! I soon found out.

Window Views

The beautiful windows in this seat don’t open. Though I had space, a comfy seat and, of course, the view, I have never been so hot in all my life. The windows acted as a green house, and the little space got hotter and hotter and hotter. People, bags, food and even a dog in a box filled the aisle- there was no where to go. Luckily, in Bolivia, people come running to the window to sell you coolish jello at every stop, so I slurped my way down the road. The worst part though was that my glasses kept fogging up in the humidity became unbearably slippery, so I hung them on the curtain.

Nearly 16 hours later, I arrived in Santa Cruz, flopped out of the bus covered in sweat and filled with jello to wait in the heat for Julio, Emprender’s regional director to meet me at the bus station. I normally keep my cool (pun intended) in these kind of situations, but something unnerves me about Santa Cruz. Everyone has told me that this is a really dangerous station, and I’m just a little flustered. Which pocket has the big bills and which is the small? Do I have all my electronics? Did I keep that tiny scrap of paper they handed me when I boarded, and now inexplicably want back? When I get to the hotel, I realized that in my fluster, I left my glasses on the bus!

Though I’m not supposed to be running around a bus station at night, I pop into a cab and rush over for the price of 30 Bolivianos (a 10 minute drive that cost the same as the 15 hour bus).  I run around the whole station looking for someone from the Trans Copacabana line. I find a friendly worker who after asking me to marry him, or provide sexual services, tells me that I arrived in bus 81, parked down this alley way. Keys between my knuckles, taxi driver following me at the rate of 5 Bolivianos, I make my way down the ally way plastered with anti-Evo posters. The drivers are at dinner, and are probably drunk, says a neighbor driver. I can return by 6 am to catch them.

The next morning I am there by six with another expensive taxi driver waiting in the parking lot (other taxis aren’t safe at this hour apparently) in the pouring rain trying to find my bus. Its not there. The ally is, but the bus is not. Trying to be as quick as possible, I run towards toward the main terminal to ask for information and I crash right into a line of barbed wire mysteriously strung between two trees. Maybe I should mention that without my glasses, I can’t see.

The bus has gone on an unexpected trip and won’t be back until night, several loads of passengers have been collected and everyone, six different people I’ve consulted, tell me there is no way they are still aboard. A pair of frames like that can be sold easily here. A last ditch effort, I leave my number with Juan, an assistant with Trans Copacabana who seems helpful, has told me I’m beautiful, and I make my tired, wet, bloody, dirty way back to the hotel to rush into the shower before I have to leave for the office.

Chasing Buses

Like modern miracle, at lunch, Juan calls – they found my glasses!! For a fee.

I ask how much, he says, “a small amount” and my phone cuts out. Rober, the Emprender loan officer I’m with, kindly accompanies me to the bus station, and waits with his car while I follow Juan to the bus. An error. I should have gone with Rober, who might have known what my glasses would cost. When I get there, they bring me down my glasses, and putting them on, the world seems clearer. I realize I have no idea how to pay a fee, or a bribe, or whatever it is I have to pay. Not expecting to have to pay this kind of thing, I don’t have the best denominations. I have a 20 B note, or about $3, and a 100 B note, which is about $14, which is a bit of money here. I rarely spend 100Bs in one setting. I give the driver the 20. He looks at it, scoffs throws it in the mud and trumps off. I feel terrible I want to do whats right. Is it right to pay? Is it right not to? Juan picks it up, tries to make me feel better, but explains that the driver was expecting at least 50, oh, and that he himself expects an additional amount. Can I ask for change? 100 Bs is a lot of money for me, and I’ve already spent hours in the mud, tons of money on taxis, I’m all cut up from the barbed wire, I was at the station late last night, and at 5 o’clock this morning and now this!? I miss the lost and found boxes so common in the US. Where is the little drawer behind the counter?

The driver won’t look at me, or stop grumbling loudly to his buddies “Gringa blah blah blah Gringa blah blah”. I leave the 20 B plus the 100 B (because I have to pay Juan something) with Juan asking him to share because the driver now won’t take anything I hand him and keeps throwing it in the mud. And looking at me with a combination of repulsive lust and hate. Will Juan share? I feel like a bumbling cultural idiot, I ashamed I can’t do what seems to be normal all over the world, and what looks so easy in American crime movies- passing slippery money from hand to hand, no one noticing. At the same time, I’m furious that I should have to. Who knows if it resolved. Glasses in hand, or rather, on face, my last pair of pants thoroughly wet, Rober and I take off for the next Kiva client.

Later, I met a group of women today who really brought it all into focus. One of them sells cosmetics for Avon and needed a loan to pay a fee to them that she feels is unfair. One of them was unfairly fired from her job as a babysitter and is trying to make ends meet by selling sweets from her home. One of them has a husband who is a bus driver who is constantly working more hours than is legal, and because his company doesn’t pay insurance for the truck, only the cargo, a recent accident has devastated their family, and they needed a loan. Rober and I have a long conversation about how lawyers are all crooks and their only ability is to suavely do what I couldn’t – pay bribes. Later I learn from one loan officer that El  Torno, a town outside of Santa Cruz, where Emprender has an office, is suffering from a corrupt mayor who avoided corruption charges by signing up with Evo´s party, now he´s a true Masista. This is of course what everyone believes, but the truth is probably somewhat more nuanced.

New Friends

Its not that the country is so ramp with corruption that small businesses can’t get ahead, but rather that it happens often enough that it appears no one trusts the system. They don’t trust the political system, or the economic system or any of the promises that have been made to them by most institutions. Despite all this by at the end of the day, as Rober helped me over a slippery slope, I realized, maybe trust can begin with your solidarity group, and then with your bank. Then with your neighbor, your employer, your political party, and with your country. I felt a little bit more cheery, and felt like I could see.

El Alto is the place where microfinance pretty much started in Latin America and it has held my interest for years. This cold, wind-swept city is an incredible phenomenon of urbanization, globalization, and pretty much any other -ization you can think of. La Paz, the city proper, sits in a bowl high up on Bolivia’s altiplano. Here, the city is protected from some of the bitter cold and wind. High up above the city, the flat plateau-like city of El Alto, is where the city’s poorest residents live, work and get by. A place washed by persistent, filthy, rotten poverty.

On the Edge of El Alto

Despite the cold, the sun at this altitude not only burns me instantly but imbues everything with a surreal light. Perhaps this is why El Alto struck me as one of the most colorful, vibrant places I’ve ever been. Markets are pouring out of windows, stands, corners and the very faces of El Alto residents. This desire to sell, to move, to change seems to me the very essence of El Alto. Most residents have come from “el campo”, or the country, looking for a better life. They stopped here and did their best. Now this sprawling, freezing metropolis of nearly a million people is a city unto itself boasting an apparently famous youth hip hop movement (must learn more about this), industries budding on every corner, a re-constitution of traditional art now mixed with urban vibes, music, family and of course- the market. Here is where we find Kiva funded clients.

El Alto Market

I met Saturnina and her husband Eufrin. She had so much to say about how Emprender needs to lower their interest rates, that I couldn’t get a word in edge wise. I had the long list of Kiva questions to run through, but standing there talking to her, the sun searing my back, through the shirt I have, the sweat slipping down my back and soaking the top of my jeans, I just didn’t get to them. I recently learned you can sunburn through your clothes. This is a first for me. I suddenly felt my eyes tracking, my mouth cracking and my feet swelling. Too much walking in too much sun for too long with too little water. I ended the conversation, walked promptly to the juice lady behind me and drank three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice one right after the other. Despite not asking my normal questions, I learned from Saturnina, dressed in colorful clothing and mysteriously with some sort of leaves stuffed in her ears, that she has several loans from many MFIs and while Emprender’s interest rates of 39% annually are the lowest she pays, they are still too high. Duh. How do we lower them? She is over-indebted and I’m reminded again of the limits of microfinance.

Saturnina and Eufrin

For lunch, I had the single foulest food I’ve had yet. And I have had goat head soup. Charquecan is llama meat dried in the sun until it resembles beef jerkey. The word jerkey, coincidentally, comes from charque. Then you shred the llama meat and serve it over homily and dehydrated potatoes, or “chuño” with a chunk of what appears to be mostly rotten cheese and a hardboiled egg. It comes to you looking like a big bowl of hair with an egg. I sat with Alberto, a really nice, unusually single loan officer who is probably the kindest person I have met here. Loves charquecan, and is stoked that I’m shoveling it in my mouth with equal proportions of fanta. He says he’s worried about the poverty in his country and wonders how long it can go on like this. “Estoy orgulloso de ser parte de la solución”, or I’m proud to be part of the solution. It was like he was speaking straight to my heart.

Alberto, an Emprender Loan Officer

We return to the office where I pull myself together, organize a bit, and prepare to leave. Suddenly the confusion. Its my first day in this particular field office and everyone is worried. How will she get home? Can she understand the buses? She has her computer, can she make it to the bus stop? I knew what I was doing. I could see the stop from where we were standing. I just needed to get going so I’d arrive back home in the La Paz, or “the hole” before dark. After some commotion, a kiss on every face I’m off. Except. The security guard truly cannot handle me walking alone and insists on putting me in a bus to take me two blocks to where I catch the other. There is literally nothing I can do about it that would be appropriate. He flags one down, opens the door, negotiates with the bus driver and literally helps me into the front seat like my dad on the first day of school. I take these buses constantly, and am proud not to be a fumbling idiot in them. I have never felt so white, or so incapable of organizing my own time. The bus immediately turns down a different road. I ask to get out and the bus driver says, no, he has to first make a U turn. Suddenly I’m lost. Its getting dark. I am carrying a camera, a computer, a video camera and some money in the middle of El Alto. Sigh.

About 45 minutes later, after many conversations I get to a bus that takes me mostly in the right direction. I’m in. Its steaming with people’s warm breath in the frozen air. Cholita’s bowler-hats blocking my view. Its warm and as I start to drift off BAM! We blow a tire. Standing in the hail 45 minutes later somewhere between El Alto and La Paz, trying to catch another bus with the throng of Bolivians, I am reminded of how convenient everything in the US is. The metro with its predicted arrival times, clean and orderly. I’m frustrated, but I have some sort of inner calm that comes with knowing that I’m going home to a warm house with food in the fridge. Not just tonight, but always.

Some days as a Kiva Fellow totally rock. Its like, “snap, snap, snap!” You are in the groove, making good decisions, few cultural errors, you are visiting clients, streamlining internal processes, inspiring the staff of Kiva’s partners, making connections and generally rocking out. Here is a quick video I made of a day during which I visited clients.

Some days…ie, today, are not so snappy. I got to one of Emprender’s field offices to find that they really didn’t have time to take me to visit clients like I had thought, and as we planned together. So far, Emprender has been more strict about adhereing to the daily plan we nailed out on day one than me, so I didn’t expect this change. I come without computer, in sneakers, jeans, sweater, rain jacket, plastic bags for electronics and lots of pens. I sit down, still not totally getting it that we aren’t going anywhere today and start to “observe”. Which means……make sure my eyes stay open.

Without preparation, besides being available for casual, around the water cooler conversations about Kiva, there is little capacity training I can do, and no one has time for me anyways. I ended up observing a few groups repay their loans (not Kiva clients), and a group prepare for a disbursment (again, not Kiva clients), and I managed to eat an enormous bowl filled will boiled chicken feet, but other than that. I sat there. For 6.5 hours. No book.

Kiva Fellows looking to pump me up, and my own internal dialogue tell me, “This is very normal, and your physical presence actually does create connections between Emprender and Kiva. It is important not to undervalue the importance of observing their processes and becoming a familiar sight. You can learn a lot that way about how the office functions, and use your experience with the group loans to write a general blog post about Emprender”. Its true, I know. But still.

So far, I’ve been truly surprised by the productivity, so I won’t beat myself up over today. But its still good to note, despite climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro, massively re-working the way Kiva is implemented, connecting on a deeply personal level with clients and generally saving the world- some days, a Kiva Fellow just sits.

I arrived in Bolivia on Sunday to the happy sounds and bright colors of Carnaval. The whole country was busy with their week long celebrations before lent. This Christian country incorporates many indigenous beliefs. Nearly all the entradas, or parades, that made getting from the airport to my apartment really difficult, are to honor some deity related to the earth, the sky, hell or food. Many offerings are made throughout the drunken mayhem. Water balloons and super soaker 5000s arm every child on every corner. The streets were filled for days with the sounds of fire crackers, screaming children and traditional music. Every person’s eyes were glazed with the happy film of Paceña, the local beer in La Paz. Though adjusting to the crazy altitude where fires don’t light and pasta doesn’t cook since water boils at such a low temperature, I partook as best I could.

Women wear over 30 skirts to show off their textile skills

This kind of break is clearly needed. The Bolivian staff at Kiva’s partner MFI, Emprender, work long, hard hours. Bolivians are known for their clear, slow Spanish (lucky for me), and their serious affect. I find this to be very true in this office of solemn faced workers. At first I was intimidated, but not more than 5 minutes had passed when they started to make straight faced jokes, that I’m proud to say I understood. I am so welcomed and comfortable in their office. Though serious and solemn, the Emprender staff feel an intense connection to the social aspect of their work. Christian, the young doctor who manages Kiva in Emprender is happy to pass along his responsibilities to a new Kiva Coordinator and focus full time on his health program. Starting shortly, Emprender clients can opt into a health insurance plan, pay slightly more at every loan repayment, and receive health services. I look forward to attending the opening. Around every corner I find a new plan for improving the lives of Emprender’s clients. They have an integrated approach to microfinace that is refreshing and inspiring.

Christian working in Emprender's Main Office

Our time together has been thoroughly planned, and I look forward to recounting the successes Emprender has here, the struggles I might encounter, and the face of microfinance in Bolivia. I can’t wait to meet the clients. I expect solemn faces barely hiding the color and excitement just below the surface that greeted me on my arrival.

As I wrote in my last blog entry, my weekend’s planned excursions included a climb up the tallest statue of Jesus in the world (disappointing—turns out he’s closed on Sundays) and a hike in nearby Tunari national park. It also included an unplanned visit to the Clinica Belga Boliviana, the fanciest-sounding hospital in my Lonely Planet guidebook. I had learned the hard way that angry dogs really do bite you in the butt, just like countless cartoon mailmen. I told the clinic’s emergency room attendant that I’d been attacked by a wild dog in the woods and wanted a rabies shot. “Sure, take a seat,” he told me. I winced—talk about adding insult to injury.

Feeling his pain

After 30 minutes or so, a doctor called me in. I told her what had happened: I was hiking in a national park, minding my own business and enjoying my Saturday afternoon, when four dogs started barking at me then attacked me out of nowhere, one of them managing to rip out a small chunk of my bum. I expected to be applauded for having the good sense to go get my rabies shot immediately after having been bitten by a strange dog in the woods, but instead the doctor just clucked her tongue.

“You know, the best thing to do in these situations is to control the dog.  Could you go find this dog?”

I was confused, not sure if she was actually asking me to go out alone in search of the potentially rabid dog, who was roaming free in a national park some 45 minutes away, probably gloating over the tiny piece of a gringa’s butt he had won earlier that day. I told her I really wasn’t comfortable capturing the dog and bringing him back to the clinic for observation. The doctor sighed again, and tried to convince me that this vaccine would be a hassle:

“It’s expensive… you’ll have to come back 5 times… you might get jaundice… you really don’t think you could find this dog?”

I was starting to feel kind of silly and spoiled. Why had my parents never taught me any useful skills, like animal trapping? Thirteen years of violin lessons weren’t doing me much good right now. But, as spoiled as I felt, I was determined to get my shots. After having written a report on rabies for Mrs. Cornwall’s 9^th grade health class, I had definitively decided that I did not want to die from rabies.

After some poking and prodding, the on-duty doctor finally called the dog-bite-specialist-doctor at home. I caught some whispered snippets of their conversation:

 “Hello, Doctor? So sorry to call you at home… foreign girl here… wild dog in the woods… told her to control it, but… doesn’t want to go find it…. I know… I know… Yes, OK, thank you doctor.”

She turned to me. “All right, show me the wound.”

Finally, I thought. I tried to moon the doctor as respectfully as possible and hopped onto the stretcher. Just as she started to clean up the bloody mess, a call went out over the PA system: the doctor was needed to attend to a patient arriving by ambulance. I was left, alone and exposed on a stretcher, for what felt like an eternity (but was probably 30 minutes). Various hospital personnel wandered in and out of the room, seemingly oblivious to my delicate situation as a half-naked, potentially rabid foreigner. Well, at least this will make a decent blog entry when it’s all over, I thought to myself. Not quite Jessica-getting-malaria-in-Nigeria-good, but decent.

Things turned out my way in the end—the good doctor returned, bandaged my bum, gave me my first of five rabies shots, and sent me on my way with just a slight limp and some holes in my pants (and my butt) to show for my afternoon adventure. Now I’m following the locals’ (and T.R.’s) advice to always use Big Stick Diplomacy. Not my favorite foreign policy in U.S. history, but it sure does the trick with Bolivian dogs.

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I have eaten more in the past six days than in my previous five weeks in Bolivia. Cochabambinos pride themselves on living in the eating capital of Bolivia, and the third question people ask you after “What’s your name?” and “Where are you from?” is usually “How do you like the food?” The local specialty is pique, a big pile of beef, chicken, sausage, hot dogs, tripe, chicharrones, hard-boiled eggs and udder (udder!) stacked 8-12 inches high on a bed of french fries. Ronny and Paola, AgroCapital’s Credit Manager and Kiva Coordinator, were good enough to take me out for a culinary introduction to Cochabamba soon after my arrival. Thanks to the pique, my planned envigorating evening jog turned into severe food coma and falling asleep at 7pm with all of my clothes on. This microfinance thing is exhausting.

Pique

I’m lucky enough to get a tour of Bolivia along with my Kiva fellowship, since I’m spending time at three different AgroCapital branch offices: a month in El Alto, a month in Cochabamba and a month in Santa Cruz. There’s a lot of tension between different regions in Bolivia, namely between the eastern, resource-rich “half-moon” regions that want autonomy and the western highlands, which are poorer, mostly indigenous Aymara, and back the Evo Morales government and its socialist agenda. El Alto is almost 100% behind Morales, Cochabamba is somewhat divided, and Santa Cruz is mostly against Morales. It’s painful to see how much time and effort is spent on regional bickering and political posturing in a country where there’s so much to be done in terms of infrastructure and development. And as far as I can tell there’s no easy solution in sight–though more than 60% of the country backs Morales, accoring to the August 10th referendum, the other 40% controls most of the country’s wealth and natural resources and doesn’t plan on ceding them any time soon. This rich-poor, east-west dichotomy goes way back, as does a tradition of corrupt politicians and dictators who serve the wealthy elite. Bolivia has seen 193 presidential coups in its history as an independent nation (an average of one every 10 months, according to Wikipedia), so many that the presidential palace is known as the Palacio Quemado (“burned palace”). I asked one of the loan officers what he thought of the current government and he responded, “Well, it sure has lasted a long time.” This made me smile–my government sure has lasted a long time too, but that’s not exactly on its list of merits for me .

Bolivia is a beautiful country, making all of the hard times it’s fallen on even more tragic. Weekend excursions have taken me on a glacier climb, hiking and eating trout on beautiful Lake Titicaca–this weekend looks like a climb up the world’s tallest statue of Jesus and a trip to the Tunari national park. And probably a few generous portions of meat and potatoes.

Climbing the Chica Colla glacier with Dan, Doug, Martin and Emmett

Lake Titicaca

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During Kiva orientation, we each had to name our biggest fears about the fellowship. I said I was nervous about not fitting in—I’d learned to adapt pretty well while living in Chile for a year and on my best day I could pass for Chilean, but I knew living in Bolivia would be another story. As soon as I set foot in El Alto, however, I realized how silly my worries were as this fear was immediately eclipsed by another—the constant feeling that I was about to be run over by a minibus.

El Alto is a really vibrant, mostly indigenous Aymara city on a plateau above the valley of La Paz. The neighborhood I’m living in is called La Ceja (“the eyebrow”) because it’s perched right on the rim, about to spill into the city valley. I’ve never seen so much life packed into so little space before—virtually all of my needs can be met without going outside of the two square-block radius around my hostel. Buses to anywhere in Bolivia, international flights, four different microfinance banks and at least one regular bank, quinoa juice, whole limbs of animals in jerky form, you name it. Like Cara and Chantal, I’ve found that Spanish only gets me so far here. Many alteños, especially older folks and recent migrants, speak Spanish as a second language to Aymara. I had hoped to be really good at picking up Aymara, but as it turns out I’m totally useless.

At home in the U.S., two of my tried-and-true maxims are “I’ll take whatever’s cheapest” and “They wouldn’t sell me that if it were really dangerous.” However, after a month in Bolivia (and a handful of broken down buses, a bout with food poisoning and an attempted trip up a narrow mountain road in a snowstorm on a minibus with no snow tires), my mom will be happy to hear that I’ve reluctantly retired these maxims and replaced them with “Is this really a good idea?” There doesn’t seem to be a regulatory agency for much of anything in Bolivia, which leads to delightful labeling like that of my favorite Bolivian beer, El Inca: “An iron-laden beer tonic recommended by the most renowned doctors for anemic, weak and convalescent persons.” Another one of my favorite claims was by a boy on the bus from Oruro to La Paz who was selling powdered maca (a Bolivian root vegetable)—“Do you feel tired? Weak? Jittery? Anxious? Lackluster? Señores y señoras, I have the answer. Maca, señores y señoras, will cure what ails you. Maca is the most potent vegetable known to humanity. Señores y señoras, maca prevents osteoporosis and cancer. It cures anemia, señores y señoras. It is a stimulant, señores y señoras; it is a tranquilizer. It cures impotence, señores y señoras—maca has been called the Bolivian Viagra by international experts. Señores y señoras, maca is used by NASA scientists in the United States to ensure the vitality and heartiness of their space astronauts. And I’m here to offer you, señores y señoras, three envelopes of miraculous maca for just 30 bolivianos.”

One morning, about two weeks ago, I awoke and walked outside my room at the hostel where I’m staying, only to nearly walk into a giant hole with a two-story drop (pictured).  Confused, I asked the nice young guy at the front desk what was with the giant hole outside my room. “Oh, that—just wanted to let some more light in,” he replied, equally confused as to why I would ask a question like that.

Letting the light in

There’s a lot of improvisation in everyday life here – which can be fun or frustrating, depending on the circumstances – and serves as a continuous reminder of just how orderly and predictable my life usually is. Last week, for example, we were heading back to El Alto from La Paz, and halfway there the driver told us we couldn’t go any further because the alteños had taken to the streets in an impromptu pro-Evo rally. So we got out and walked along the shoulder. Along the way, we noticed that an awful lot of drivers had gotten out of their cars and were taking apart the highway median by hand so that they could turn their cars around—this was a standard, sturdy metal freeway median with big bolts the size of my fist! It never would have occurred to me that such a thing could be taken apart by hand, much less that this was the logical solution to being stuck in traffic. But when in Rome (or El Alto)…

All in all, Bolivia has been a great experience and quite the adventure. I’ve really enjoyed my first week working with AgroCapital, my MFI, and have been really impressed by the hard work of both the loan officers and the clients I’ve met with. I was also lucky enough to meet up with Partner Development Specialist Dan, retired Kiva Fellow Cara and her husband Engineer Sam in La Paz—it was great to see some familiar faces.

Looking forward to writing more soon!

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