Posts filed under 'Paraguay'
Shhh! Don’t tell Starbucks.
There exists a daily beverage that is more omnipresent and culturally dominant than Seattle’s most famous export. It’s a tea known as tereré and (hooray for American marketing) Paraguayans literally do not leave home without it.
Tereré is a loose-leaf tea that is always served cold. It involves no foams, whips, or syrups, and there’s definitely no decaf. Just mate tea, ice water, and, if you like, a mix of mint and lemongrass. As simple as it may sound, bringing these ingredients together is much harder than saying “grande coffee, no room” to the barista. Prepare tereré correctly (sift out the tea dust, crush the herbs to bring out their flavor, tilt the cup at the proper angle when you first pour your water) and you have yourself an incredibly refreshing, slightly stimulating, antidote to Paraguay’s absurd heat. Fail to do these things (or, alternatively, be a Kiva Fellow named Nick Cain) and you’ve got yourself a slightly bitter, mini-stew of floating tea. Like a good cappuccino, to get it right you’ve gotta finesse it.
But once you’ve prepared a good batch, you’re in business for at least a couple hours, and Paraguayans take full advantage of tereré’s staying power. Men, women, teenagers, police officers, grocery store clerks, construction workers, loan officers—everyone carries around a thermos (térmos) full of ice water and a tereré cup (guampa) as they go about their day.
Tea drinking authorities.
Thus, the tea has been ubiquitous in my daily routine as a Kiva Fellow. When I hop on a bus to head to one of Fundación Paraguaya’s branch offices, the driver always has his thermos by his side. Some buses even come equipped with their very own tea caddy: a person whose sole duty is to pass the driver his tereré whenever he requests it. By the time I arrive at the office and shuffle into the kitchen to prepare my morning Nescafe (I know, I know), one or two loan officers are already there crushing herbs and cracking ice cubes. And, of course, as is the Paraguayan custom, when I arrive at the home of a Kiva borrower for an interview I am always directed to take a seat in the shade and have a sip of tea (a custom that led to one particularly memorable moment).
Tea Caddy on Linea 11
When you’re handed a cup of tereré, it’s easy to see that all guampas are not created equal: some are made of wood, some of stainless steel, and others of the more traditional ox horn. But where they really diverge is in their decoration. Many are wrapped in leather, with the owner’s name or business emblem etched into the side. Just as common are those that come adorned with the logo of the owner’s favorite soccer club (also memorable: my soccer allegiance faux pas).
I’d guess that at least 90% of Paraguayans over the age of 14 own a guampa and térmos. Someone has to produce and sell them all, right? Hugo Ruiz, Cipriano Machuca, Graciella Grosella, and Mario Gomez are just some of the many entrepreneurs who have invested Kiva capital in businesses that sell a wide variety of guampas and térmos. Last week I spent some time with Alejandra Alvarez, a mother and an entrepreneur who manages her own business producing, decorating, and distributing guampas and térmos. Since learning the trade more than seven years ago, Alejandra’s business has grown steadily. Her profits helped her build a new, sturdier home on her property, and she currently employs five workers, one of whom is her son Cristian. On the day of my visit, Alejandra’s team was putting the finishing touches on a batch of Mother’s Day guampas so that one of her employees could load them up and deliver them to Ciudad Del Este, a town six hours to the east of Asunción. You can see more of my visit with Alejandra, as well as the guampas, in the video below:
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Nick Cain is in his 11th week as a Kiva Fellow working with Fundación Paraguaya. Based out of Asunción, he travels around the country meeting Kiva borrowers and sharing their stories. Feel free to send questions, comments, or requests for future blog topics to nick.cain@fellows.kiva.org.
6 comments 30 April 2009
The Feel-Good Line
I told myself I’d avoid writing a blog entry that involved too much rumination on the meaning of microfinance. Oops.
Before I left for Paraguay, I had a long conversation with Cara Gutterman, the first Kiva Fellow assigned to Fundación Paraguaya. In addition to giving me some insight into the food (fine) and the weather (very, very hot), Cara told me that many of the borrowers she met during her time in Paraguay didn’t seem to be lifting themselves out of poverty; in fact, they didn’t seem to be the poorest of the poor, but instead were a group of hard-working, above-the-poverty-line folks who used credit simply to maintain their level of income. (Cara wrote a great blog entry on this issue and what it suggests about the relationship between microfinance and poverty).
Now that I too have met some borrowers who fit this description, I spend a lot of time thinking about what they mean to the Kiva lender and to the Kiva brand—those familiar green leaves that stand for empowering the impoverished. (I’m definitely not the only Kiva Fellow to have tackled this or similar issues, as can be seen in an earlier post: Discussion on Microfinance). Questions abound: How would Kiva lenders feel if they got the impression that their money wasn’t going to someone who is impoverished, but instead to someone who might be considered a member of Paraguay’s lower-middle or working class? Are such loans misrepresentations of the Kiva brand? If so, where’s the feel-good line? At what point do we stop feeling good about the income level of the borrowers we support and start feeling worried that our money isn’t doing what we want it to do?
Kiva has facilitated more than $2 million of investment in the people of Paraguay, and each week that I spend meeting the beneficiaries of this investment, my feel-good line moves up a notch or two. Many of the borrowers that Fundacion Paraguaya reaches, especially the participants in FP’s Women’s Entreprenuership program, are extremely poor; and I’m still moved and energized when I meet a low-income borrower who, by combining capital with entrepreneurial instinct, starts making enough money to send all of her children to school. But I’m equally pleased when I meet someone like Jorge Romero, whose 18-year-old barber shop provides a solid, steady income for him and his family. Kiva money didn’t lift Mr. Romero out of poverty. Instead it strengthened an already stable business, supported a popular, visible storefront in the small town of Ita, and probably gave Mr. Romero, his partner, and his daughter the financial resources they needed to live just a little bit more comfortably. These aren’t the type of results that caught Oprah’s eye or made Kiva “The only non-profit that matters”, but they are the results that healthy communities are built on.
Jorge Romero at work in his barber shop
That’s because a loan to Jorge Romero isn’t just a loan to Jorge Romero. In any given month, he might catch a ride in Benedicto Gonzalez’ taxi, ask Juan Carlos Cardozo to build his daughter a new bed, or purchase tobacco sold by Maria Ines Bordon. These connections stir the economy and, more importantly, create opportunities for other Fundacion Paraguaya entrepreneurs to enter the market and start the climb towards financial stability. Were we as a lending community to reject borrowers like Mr. Romero because we didn’t think they were “poor enough,” we would mitigate Kiva’s ability to bring about larger scale, sustainable change in the communities where we invest our money.
So I think the brand is safe. Yes, the green leaves stand for the fight against poverty, but they also stand for growth, and if leaves are to stay vibrant and strong, they need an environment that nourishes the saplings along with the sprouts.
And where is the feel-good line? Let me put it this way, if one day Kiva changed its mission statement to read: Kiva’s mission is to connect people through lending for the sake of alleviating poverty and strengthening the middle class across the globe, I’d feel great about it, and I’d argue that you should too.
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Want to hear more from Paraguay? Join the rapidly-growing Team Fundación Paraguaya!
6 comments 3 April 2009
In Caacupé They Make Chipa
In Caacupé they make chipa. This mellow Paraguayan town, ensconced between beautiful green hills and canyons, is known for the small, biscuit-shaped snack, which is made with mandioca flour and cheese. You can find plenty of chipa in Asunción as well, but here it grows on the shelves of every food stall and floats through the streets on the heads of
Basilica de Caacupé
hardworking saleswomen. A soft, porous piece of bread chipa is not. If you tossed one in the direction of Caacupé’s other main attraction, the beautiful Basilica de Caacupé, you’d be putting the building’s structural integrity at risk. Nevertheless, they sell like hotcakes. Have one with a cup of Nescafe, and you’ve got a fine snack on your hands.
If Caacupé is the country’s chipa-duct, then its source is Barrio San Francisco (an appropriate name for a hub of Kiva activity), a neighborhood where almost all of the residents, and numerous Kiva borrowers, dedicate themselves to churning out hundreds of little bagels-in-disguise every day. Loan officer Freddy Bordon of Kiva partner Fundación Paraguaya (FP) took me to Barrio San Francisco this morning to meet with Francisca Burgos, President of the Kuña Aty Women’s Group. Francisca told me that she and her family members make about 900 chipa each day, working for hours next to the oven’s tremendous heat in Paraguay’s already oppressive summer sauna (when we chatted at around 9:00 am it was already over 90 degrees). It’s hard work, and microloans from Kiva allow the women of Kuña Aty and many of their neighbors to purchase their ingredients in bulk. Bulk purchases mean lower prices. Lower prices mean a higher income when sales are good, and breathing room when sales are slow. Pretty basic, but it works.
When we finished talking shop, Francisca was nice enough to walk me through the chipa-making process, which you can watch below (apologies for the quality of the sub-titles; they didn’t transfer to YouTube well. They’re a little better if you watch in full screen):
And a few more photos of Caacupé:
Taken outside the home of a borrower.
Drive-up service. Employees in uniform. It's the In-N-Out Burger of Chipa.
Freddy takes the moto through a stream on the way to Barrio San Francisco. I stayed dry on a bridge.
To keep an eye on what’s happening here in Paraguay and to learn more about Kiva’s partner, Fundacion Paraguaya, please join our rapidly growing lending team, Team Fundacion Paraguaya!
8 comments 4 March 2009
See You In Asuncion!
Kiva training is done. My bags are packed. I’m about as ready as I can be to make it from San Diego, to LAX, to Houston, to Buenos Aires, and then on to Asuncion, Paraguay. So, here I am, ready to depart for another meet and greet with customs officials, and it seems appropriate to spend a little time thinking and sharing about why, exactly, I’ve decided to hit the road again. On Kiva’s website, each lender creates a profile by providing his or her name, location, picture, and answer to the prompt “I loan because…” My lender page says that I loan because I believe in the power of empowerment. This idea, more than anything else, describes why I’m going to work for Kiva and why I wanted to learn more about microfinance.
Last year, when I was in Rwanda working for Orphans of Rwanda (ORI), it became very clear to me how microcredit could fill a critical niche in a developing economy. While ORI focuses on using university education to empower a small number of talented students to become competitive members of the country’s educated workforce (very important work in itself), I knew that thousands of young Rwandans would never have access to the type of support that ORI provides. Instead, those who cannot afford secondary or tertiary education struggle to find a foothold in their local economy–some will succeed and others will not. The women who sold fruit and vegetables on my street, the drivers of the local motorcycle taxis, and the owners of the small specialty shops that line Kigali’s downtown are all examples of people who have found a way to involve themselves in the local economy. But without access to credit, even the most entreprenurial-minded folks may not be able to endure setbacks such as a missed product delivery, a broken engine, or the appearance of new competition. A small loan can help those people stay afloat and out of poverty. When times are good it can help those entreprenuers grow their business, better support their families, and give themseleves the cushion they need to weather hard times. The concept is incredibly compelling, and the fact that Kiva lets individuals from all over the world empower one another by directly offering a loan to another person piqued my interest even more.
But does it always work the way it’s supposed to? Are there other benefits that we should pay more attention to? By serving as a Kiva Fellow in Paraguay, I hope to find out. Over the course of my four-month fellowship, I will meet over 100 borrowers. I’ll learn about Kiva’s partner in Asuncion, Fundacion Paraguaya. And, most importantly, I’ll do my best to share what I see, hear, and experience, with the rest of the Kiva community.
See you in Asuncion!
5 comments 6 February 2009
Challenging Questions, No Easy Answers
Visiting clients with Fundación Paraguaya hasn’t been exactly what I expected. Fundación clients aren’t being “lifted out of poverty.” They aren’t the poorest of the poor in Paraguay. Most of the time, their loans are simply maintaining a status quo, economically speaking. So far, I’ve visited clients based out of four branch offices, and they have a lot in common. Like many MFIs, Fundación clients are often repeat borrowers. They are already entrepreneurs before they receive their first loan. The classic example is the couple that owns the despensa, a small local grocery/variety store. When their stock gets low, they withdraw a loan in order to replenish their merchandise. Such loans do not necessarily enable them to grow their business, but it allows them to maintain their current level of success. Another example is the woman who has a tailoring business. At the beginning of the winter season, she applies for a loan to buy fabric to sew winter clothes. She needs to sell these clothes to provide for her family, and the loan ensures she has enough fabric to complete her orders, but it doesn’t change her business in any way. The question many people will ask in response to this disclosure is, “am I helping?” I think to find the answer to this question we need to go back to the purpose of microfinance, and the role of credit in alleviating poverty.
Microfinance provides access to credit for those who would otherwise be unable to attain it. Fundación clients would be rejected by large banks, who won’t give loans without collateral, and for whom the administrative costs of such a small loan are not worth their time. So, yes, we are providing credit to those who need it, and would not otherwise have it. And we are helping them maintain their business and provide for their families.
The question about whether Kiva loans are helping them grow is another question all together. When I ask loan officers what they think their clients need to be more successful, the answer is “skills.” Most Kiva clients are under-educated and do not have a sense of how to grow their business. In Banker to the Poor, Muhammad Yunus, argues that, “not one single [Bangladeshi] borrower requires any special training. They either have already received this training as part of their household chores, or have acquired the necessary skills in their field of work.” (p 205) I disagree with this completely, at least in the context of the clients I have seen in Paraguay. Many clients engage in retail work, which is not something you learn in the way you may learn to weave or farm. The joke amongst the interns at Fundación Paraguaya is that every client is engaged in copycat retailism. Any successful business, whether selling food or jeans, is seen by community members as their ticket to success, and soon there are 4 people selling women’s underwear on the same block. Anyone who has studied the basic principles of supply and demand will immediately see the flaw in this strategy.
Often, the inability to achieve economic stability is more subtle. Take the couple I met who have two businesses selling grains and vegetables – one in the city and one 150 km away, where their four oldest children live and work during the week. They take turns returning every other weekend to help with the business and spend time with their children. The country business is more profitable, and they would love to move there permanently, but they are afraid to leave their stall in the city. If the country business is not enough to support the family, they will have given up a good location in the city center, which is not easy to re-obtain. So they continue to split their time, working 14 hours, 7 days/week in two businesses. As they have for 23 years.
Many, many FP entrpreneurs have 2-3 businesses and work 12-18 hours every day to provide for their families. And they are doing ok; they are not the poorest members of society. But there is so much potential for more. What if they could have just one business, and work 10-12 hours/day?
Fundación Paraguaya does have skill-building programs. They run an agricultural high school, in which they teach economics as well as farming skills (I hope to blog more about this amazing program later on). All the women’s groups are required to attend a skills-building class quarterly, where they practice skills like balancing a budget, and how to save. Fundación Paraguaya is also starting a program to work with the children of borrowers, to teach them the skills to be successful entrepreneurial adults. It doesn’t reach everyone, but it’s a start.
My work as a nurse is driven by my belief that healthcare is a human right. Muhammad Yunus believes that credit is a human right. If you agree with him, then you will continue to loan to these entrepreneurs, who are some of the most hard-working, deserving people I have ever met. But it doesn’t mean microcredit, or Fundación Paraguaya, or Kiva are perfect. They are but one piece of the puzzle to solve poverty.
5 comments 16 July 2008
Para-where? Paraguay.
When I told people I was going to spend my summer in Paraguay, I got mostly blank looks. Unlike Jessica’s panic-inducing internet search results for Nigeria, my results were mostly, well, nonexistent. After all, Paraguay doesn’t have Machu Picchu or the “most dangerous road in the world”. It doesn’t have Patagonia or the Galapagos. No Buenos Aires or Rio de Janeiro. Mostly it’s just an unknown country with a name similar to Uruguay. Paraguay? That’s the one in the middle of South America or on the coast? Reminds me of when I moved to California from New Hampshire, a small state often confused with it’s more progressive neighbor, Vermont. NH? That’s the one that’s big on the top or the bottom?
But Paraguay has a unique place in South America. As one of only two landlocked countries (Bolivia is the other), it is often referred to as the Heart of South America. It’s one of the most homogenous countries in Latin America – with most of the population ethnically mestizo (mixed Spanish and indigenous Guarani Indian descent). Most people speak a mix of Spanish and Guarani, which makes understanding the language here, for those who are auditorially challenged such as myself, something to get used to! It’s also one of the poorest countries in South America, and this is where Fundacion Paraguaya comes in.
While readers of Lonely Planet may not flock to Paraguay, anyone interested in microfinance is immediately drawn to Fundacion Paraguaya (FP). FP has an intern program for interested individuals from around the world, and this is the group I am currently living with. A dynamic group including University students and Fullbright scholars, representing multiple countries, they have come to learn about FP and microfinance in Latin America. And FP has much to teach. I have much to learn.
And so, after 30 hours of travel and 4 days on the ground, I am acclimating once again to life in the developing world. Hard work and lots of play…bustling work weeks and sleepy weekends. By far the hardest challenge so far has been the abrupt switch from summer to winter. I think I have the distinction of being the Kiva fellow located the furthest south of the equator (someone correct me if I’m wrong), and I have to admit I’m a little envious of these hot and sweaty blog entries ☺
To see all currently fundraising loans from Fundacion Paraguaya on Kiva.org, please click here.
7 comments 1 July 2008
Cambio de tema
Hi All!
Its been a long and exciting week, and I’m just now finding some time to write. I hope you enjoy the chronicles of Argentina and Paraguay…note: photos will come in a seperate entry tomorrow:)
Buenos Aires, Argentina
I’ve dreamed about Argentina ever since I got to the point with my Spanish that I was able to tell the difference between a North and South American accent. Between Mexico and Nicaragua. Peru and Colombia. I’m not quite sure what it is, but there’s something completely irresistible about Argentine culture. Maybe it’s the vibrating jjjaah’s that litter their speech like little bits of cookie dough in Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Maybe it’s the memories I have of listening to the Fabuloso’s “Basta de llamarme asi” while bouncing around in the back of Central American buses. Or maybe it’s the fragrant Malbec wine that I first tasted years ago while in a tucked away in a tiny restaurant in San Francisco’s mission district.
Whatever it is, when I found out that I had to fly through Argentina to arrive in Paraguay for a visit to our field partner, Fundacion Paraguaya, I made sure my layover was as long as possible. The compromise: 9 hours. Just enough time to pop out of the airport, see a little of Buenos Aires, have a meeting, eat some meat (yes even I ate some here!) and drink a little wine before heading back to the airport. 9 hours it was. Or so I thought…
Wednesday
Touching down in Buenos Aires I brush the hair out of my face, do a few stretches and try my best to shake the red-eye haze off after a relatively quick but very delayed flight from Lima. Its 9am and I’ve got an hour and a half to get through customs, taxi over to Bob Hannan, Kiva’s Argentine guru and tireless supporter’s, house, and show up at a meeting at the Beccar Varela offices in downtown Buenos Aires. The meeting has been arranged as a short and sweet gathering of the microfinance players who are interested in learning about Kiva, sharing their experiences with me, and having a bit of an informal “charla” about the government and central bank regulations that plague the sector and strictly regulate outside investment in the country.
A bit on the regulations: Argentina’s near impossible for Kiva to work in. The capital movement restrictions are horrendous—a 30% “encaje” on all oncoming funds, a minimum time period of 1 year for all outside investment, a long and tedious NGO exception application process, and on top of that an upcoming election that stalls any budging in the state-level regulations. Having been in talks with a local law firm whose offices we’re scheduled to meet at today for at least a few months, I’m confident that it will be quite some time before anything will be worked out here. Thus the scheduled meeting is less about business, and more about ideas. What could we do together? How might we be able make this work?
I grab my bag, hop in a taxi, and am whisked through the beautiful streets of Argentina’s Palermo Viejo neighborhood. Cafes line the alleyways, people dressed in fashionable clothes strut along the sidewalks. I gaze out the window of the cab wide-eyed~ sure doesn’t feel like Latin America anymore… Showing up at Bob’s door at least 2 hours late, we jump into another cab and are soon downtown and in a boardroom with folks from Radim (the local microfinance network), Planet Finance, Beccar Varela, some other microfinance gurus, and a visiting intern. I’m greeted warmly and we get into an animated discussion about the regulations, and how Kiva could possibly work here. Step one~ jump through the loops to negotiate an exception to the 30% tax rule because we’re an NGO, Step 2~ find and vet a few reputable institutions to work with, Step 3~ Step up a complicated escrow agreement to manage Kiva funds in country in order to be in compliance with the rules, Step 4~ engage in continual lobbying with the government to lighten the regulations on the movement of foreign funds, which, as far as I can tell, are vestiges of the lingering fears of another crisis such as the one that rippled through Argentina in late 2001. Possible, yes, but not probable in the near future. It’s a bummer really. That the government has to make it so hard for an organization such as Kiva to support those of their citizens that need it most….
We chat for an hour or two, I share a bit about Kiva, and then its off to play tourist. Bob and I have an amazing lunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on some pedestrian side street where the 80 year old waitress calls me darling, grabs my hand multiple times, and wont stop bringing us amazing samples pancitos con queso before we even get our wine. I love it here!
I’m then off to the airport and in line for my boarding pass when, to my surprise, I’m told that I have to have a visa and will not be permitted to board my plane to Asuncion. What!?! I almost start crying there on the spot. “No, no, tienes que estar equivocado, no me han dicho nada,” I plead, “nada!” But to no avail. I call the consulate and they’re closed for the day. I fight with the airport staff that can clearly do nothing to help me. So I resign. It’s back to Buenos Aires!
The night, I wish I could write, was full of tango and milanesa and wine with attractive men. But no. So completely exhausted from 2 days without sleep I instead walk the streets a bit and then can do nothing more than crash onto my hotel bed and fall deep asleep. Ah well, next time I’m in Buenos Aires…
The morning and I’m up early. To the consulate. To the bank. To the passport photo office. Back to the consulate. To my hotel. To a great lunch spot. Back to the consulate. And I have it~ my very own Paraguayan visa! So by 4pm I’m on a plane and en route to the mysterious country known for…well, what is Paraguay known for? Sounding like Uruguay? Having a really big river that provides lots of power? Beef? A long dictatorship? Mate? I’m not quite sure, but if you know then respond to this blog with a comment☺
Asuncion, Paraguay
The Asuncion airport is a stark contrast to the flashy Argentine one that I got to know so well in the last few days. Its small, humble, cozy. I’m met by a smiling gentleman holding a sign that reads my name, and am delighted to learn it is Luis Fernando Sanabria, Fundacion Paraguaya’s microfinance director and my primary contact that I’ve come to know via skype and email in the last month of our budding partnership. Luis Fernando grabs by bag, leads me to the car, and gives me the lowdown on the revised agenda for my shortened visit—a dinner at Martin Burt, the director of Fundacion Paraguaya’s, house, a visit to their agricultural school, meetings with a few of the women’s groups, a visit to the central offices, and a mini-tour if time permits. All in 36 hours. Sounds good to me, I chime in, smiling and thinking to myself, I’m glad I took last night to get some rest…
It’s to the hotel and then over to Martin’s house for an introduction to the Kiva Paraguay team. The former mayor of Asuncion and current head of what has to be Paraguay’s most dynamic and exciting NGO to work for, Martin is the kind of person whose stories are so good and energy is so positive that you wish you had a tape recorder to catch everything he says. We’ve met once before, in the brightly lit Grove café on Chestnut Street in San Francisco, but this time I get a much better idea of his character. In his home, with his wife and extended Fundacion Paraguaya family. He greets us with a hug and a glass of wine, and we sit by the fire in his living room as the guests arrive and the smell of dinner cooking dances through the house.
I’m made the guest of honor (weird!) and we share a great dinner, followed by a most delightful session of Latin American guitarra played by the real guest of honor, el troubador Javier. The poetry comes out and we take turns reading our favorites snippets from Neruda, Hernandez, Whitman, Lorca. Mine is a Neruda love sonnet, read in Spanish with the backdrop of melodic guitar. The picture displayed here should paint the scene☺!
A few hours and a many Quilmes beers later, we bid farewell and make plans for my hotel pick-up early in the morning. It’s been a fabulous welcome to this quirky South American country!
To be continued….
3 comments 16 July 2007
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