Posts filed under ‘Tajikistan’
Should you lend via Kiva’s for-profit Field Partners?
By Rosalind Piggot, KF10, Tajikistan
Following the recent New York Times article questioning the interest rates charged in microfinance, I looked back at recent blogs by Kiva Fellows about interest rates and sustainability. In comments on those blogs and on Kiva’s lender team sites, a lot of people were asking: “Do I want to lend via a for-profit institution?” and similar questions. (more…)
Coup in Kyrgyzstan, business as usual in Tajikistan?
From my neighbors’ flat in Khujand, in northern Tajikistan, we watched images of Kyrgyzstan’s coup on Russian satellite TV. One woman was sitting in her dark shop illuminated only by flashlight, weeping. The mannequins that had once displayed her goods were now nude. In the next shot, another woman swept glass from the steps of her shop. “They smashed the windows… how will I feed my family now?… they took my things”, my neighbor translated her words.
With the Kyrgyz border just 30 minutes away by car from the city where I live, (more…)
When the Local Currency Falls, Microfinance Suffers
It has to be a devastating feeling to wake up one morning to find that 20% of your savings have vanished into thin air through no fault of your own. Unfortunately, that’s the reality that developing countries often have to deal with when their country’s financial systems are unable to keep the control over the value of their currency.
When I completed my Kiva Fellows placement in Tajikistan in early April, the local currency there was at around 3.80 Somoni to 1 USD. But something odd started to happen in the weeks to come. Somoni suddenly started to slide down and accelerated in May, until it hit its bottom on May 29th at 4.44 Somoni to 1 Dollar.
In other words, dollars suddenly became 17% more expensive compared to just 2 months earlier. Or 29% more expensive since the beginning of the year – just six months earlier.
Who’s Feeling the Impact?
Six Months Later: 10 Lessons Learned About Life, Microfinance and the Universe
Going full circle. Ferris Wheel in Bosteri, Issyk-Kul Lake Region, Kyrgyzstan
It was exactly half a year ago, on January 23rd, that I packed all of my belongings in one 30-pound backpack and left New York City for a 7 month trip to Central Asia and India. I only had a slightest idea of what the trip would wind being like and what exactly I’d be doing during all that time. I just knew that it was something that I had to try for myself, even if I couldn’t quite find and explain the reasons to others.
Low and behold, it’s now six months later and and I’m in the midst of doing my 2nd Kiva placement in Kyrgyzstan (after doing doing a Kiva Fellowship in Tajikistan and then a another job assignment in India). So, I figured that it would be a good time to stop and reflect on the experience and the lessons learned. With just four weeks left before heading back to the good, old U.S. of A, you definitely wonder about what this meant for you.
10 Lessons Learned About Life, Microfinance and the Universe (in no particular order):
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On Patience: Things take time to work. Over the last 6 months, I started work in 3 different organizations (2 for Kiva and 1 was for an independent, non-Kiva placement but also in microfinance). The first few weeks in every place can feel slow and sometimes awkward, as you struggle to find your place within the organization and figure out what you can contribute. Patience really is a virtue. (more…)
The Stories of 5 Micro-Finance Borrowers
At 7:15am in the morning, I got into a car with my MFI’s boss and three other employees. They were headed to Kurgan-Tube, a town about 150km from the border of Afghanistan, to check out a few things at their local branch and offered me to come along. Since this would be a good opportunity to meet with a few micro-finance borrowers in that area, I jumped at the opportunity.
When I got to the branch office, one of their loan officers offered to take me to a handful of his clients that were coming to an end of paying back their loans. These are typical micro-finance customers and the following are their stories:
Matluba Holboeva – Bazaar Vendor
Before the Civil War started in Tajikistan in 1992 and went on until 1997, while taking over 50,000 lives, Matluba Holboeva was a school teacher. When the war started, her salary stopped coming – the school administration simply withheld the payments from her and other teachers. Left with little choice and having to do something, anything, to put the food on the table, she started a little stall at a local market in Kurgan-Tube where she sold fine fabrics.
Instead of paying a monthly rent of 200 Somoni (~$52 at current rates), she purchased it outright for a hefty fee of 1,100 Somoni per square meter (around $300 per square meter). For over 14 years, she’s been selling fabrics at her stall now. She buys them in bulk in Dushanbe (capital city) for about 3 Somoni a piece ($.80) and then resells them at her stall for about 3.5 Somoni a piece ($.92) – making a small profit of just ~0.12 USD on each piece she sells (although there are more expensive items).
She took out her first loan from HUMO last year for about $1,000 for 6 months in order to purchase a bigger selection of inventory. She will be done with repayments next month. Using the increased profits that she realized from this loan, she was able to pay for the wedding of her child – something that every parent has an obligation to do for their kids in Tajikistan.
Did you know? Under the current environment, a teacher’s salary in Tajikistan is about $150 per month ($5 per day). Considering that it costs at least $500 per month to raise a family in the city – in terms of food, housing, transportation, etc. – it’s not surprising that many teachers are leaving the field or supplementing their income by selling goods at local markets.
Mashhura Hidirova – Bazaar Vendor
Ten years ago, Mashhura Hidirova had an opportunity to start her own business. She was living with her parents, as a new market was opening up in her town. She was able to get a good location for about 5 Somoni per day rent (around $1.25/day) – which is a typical price to pay at these markets.
She currently specializes in selling men’s pants – particularly jeans – out of her stall. She makes regular trips to Dushanbe (the capital of Tajikistan) where she buys her inventory – starting at about 25 Somoni for the lowest-cost jeans (around ~$6.50). When she resells them at her stall, she adds a markup of about 20-30% (e.g. same pair of jeans would sell for about $8). However, you won’t find any price tags on her products – or for that matter, any other vendor on the market. The prices in these markets are, in large, dependent on the buyer – their bargaining ability, their buying capacity, and so on.
Her biggest group of clients are students. Interestingly enough, she mentioned, the students these days are becoming more interested in formal pants, rather than jeans. This is mainly driven by the fact that many colleges and universities have a strict dress code – where students may be required to dress formally or they won’t be allowed in the class.
Mashhura is currently on her 2nd loan from HUMO – with just two months of repayments left. Using the profit she made after using the loans, she was able to fix her house and buy a washing machine.
Did you know? If you have good bargaining skills, you can get pretty good deals at the markets these days, as many vendors are forced to offer steep discounts to compensate for the decrease in sales and customers. The ripple effect of the world’s economic crisis touches upon developing countries, as much as the developed ones.
Mahmadi Alihanov – Taxi Driver
We’ve (myself – Kiva Fellow and HUMO’s loan officer) met Mahmadi as he was waiting in a taxi line at the bazaar to pick up new clients. That’s one of the most popular locations in Kurgan-Tube, Tajikistan, as people come out from the markets and need a ride home with their newly acquired goods. The ride in a taxi costs just 1 Somoni (about $0.25), but you’ll have to share the taxi with 3 other passengers – as it won’t leave until it’s filled to capacity.
Mahmadi invited us to sit in the taxi, as he didn’t want to lose his place in line, while he shared some details about himself and his business before and after the loan.
Before becoming a taxi driver, he worked in Russia in the construction sector for 6 years – as over a million Tajiks do. However, 5 years ago, he had to come back to Tajikistan for family reasons and wound up starting in this line of work. The job is very stressful, he said, as the traffic is difficult to navigate and you have to be always on your toes. Plus, working for 7 days a week for 12 hours a day, has its toll and can be tiring.
Each day, he carries about 80 to 100 passengers, which earns him about $20-25 per day (minus expenses). Using the loan from HUMO, he was able to convert his taxi to run on both gasoline and natural gas – which can be significantly cheaper, more efficient, and cleaner. Although this was certainly an expensive investment upfront, it will yield him significant savings on his fuel consumption in the long run.
Did you know? It costs about $350 to convert a vehicle to run on liquid (zhizhenij) gas or about $1,000 to make it run on natural gas. As Tajikistan has rich deposits of both, it is a much more economical form of fuel than gasoline – not to mention cleaner for the environment.
Karima Kahorova – Baker
The fragrance of baked bread permeates every corner on Karima Kahorova’s apartment. It’s no wonder, as she – along with the rest of her family – produce between 2,000 – 3,000 little bread buns per day.
Karima has a culinary degree from a local university that she received years ago. However, as opportunities to use it at a regular job are scarce in Tajikistan, she’s been working for herself for years. She works directly out of her apartment in order to save money that she’d have to pay on rent elsewhere. But it hasn’t been much of a problem in terms of finding clients, as she sells her finished goods in bulk to retailers that then resell it at a local bazaar. A bun from her costs just 20 diram ($0.05) – which is then resold at a market for about 25 diram ($0.06-0.07). A comparable product at a store would be about twice that cost.
She keeps the costs low by working long hours – sometimes, 24 hours a day if needed to fill the demand. The rest of her family helps out, as well – her husband and kids work in the business. But the conditions are difficult – the bulk of the production takes place in the living room, while two small stoves are in the bedroom. “It’s not ideal, but you have to do what you have to do,” she says.
She used her $500 loan from HUMO to stock up on supplies and raw materials, which cost cheaper in bulk. She’ll be done with her repayments shortly and is considering taking out another loan in the near future.
Did you know? When you go to any cafe or choihona in Tajikistan, you will always be served two things regardless of what else you order – a big, fresh pita bread and a pot of hot, sweet tea with lemon. If you are a guest, the host will always break the bread into smaller pieces and will pour the tea in your cup.
Sadbargul Faizova – Raises Livestock
Sadbargul, along with her husband, had one cow when she found out about HUMO’s micro-loans. She took out a 12-month loan for $800 in order to buy a 2nd cow, along with the feed for both of them for the winter.
When she took out the loan, a cow could be purchased for about 1,000 somoni ($260). However, due to the dollar getting stronger over the last half a year, the same cow could cost about 1,500 somoni today ($390). It also appears that they got a good return on investment, as one of the cows recently gave birth to a young, healthy calf.
Although Sadbargul has been doing this work her entire life, she has 3 young sons that she wants to provide an education to, so that they could have more opportunities when they grow up.
Did you know? Each of the Sadbargul’s cows can produce about 2 to 4 liters of milk per day, which can be sold for about 2 somoni per liter. This adds about $1-2 per day to the family’s income.
Parting Thoughts
Many of the borrowers are somewhat hesitant about answering questions and, oftentimes, the questions themselves seem to puzzle them.
Whenever I speak to a borrower, I always wonder about whether the loan helps them to grow the business – today, they have 1 cow, do they want to have 3 cows next year and 10 cows the year after?
The answer, surprisingly, is usually no. The profit from the increased business activity is usually used in consumer purposes – to fix up the house, pay for a wedding, etc. – and the business typically stays on the same level.
Then again, maybe the quality of life doesn’t depend on having 10 cows … and that’s just my Western mentality.
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* This post has been written by Boris Mordkovich, a Kiva Fellow working for 10 weeks in Tajikistan for MLF Humo and Partners. Check out currently fundraising loans by Humo and join Kiva Lending Team – Supporters of Tajikistan *
Show Me The Money – Where Do The Profits Go
Some of the borrowers I have met in the field
As I was visiting the MFI clients in the field, the borrower would often proudly annnounce that he or she was on their 5th loan… or their 7th loan… or even on the 9th one. Although this does show an impressive credit history, something about it was bothering me.
Before coming here, I had a few assumptions about what a business loan is all about. I pictured a budding entrepreneur who borrows money to purchase supplies or to expand inventory. They pay a relatively high interest rate (say, over 30%+ per year), but it’s worth it because it gives them a boost in their business. Without that loan, they’d either never have an opportunity to grow or it would simply take a very long time.
When the entrepreneur is done paying off the loan, he or she – hopefully – has a higher revenue stream, along with a bigger take-home profit. So far, so good – this is what I’ve been seeing among the borrowers.
But then, I imagined that they take the extra profit and plow it back into their business in order to take it to the next level. However, the reality on the ground was quite different than I expected.
Instead, many borrowers were using the increased profits they made as a result of a loan for personal purposes. One client fixed up their house. Another one used the money for a wedding. A third decided to put in a row of gold teeth. All valid uses. After all, the whole purpose of micro-finance is to help people increase their standard of living and all of these things do that.
But the thing that wasn’t adding up was that the entrepreneur was going right back to the MFI to take out an even larger loan and continue to pay the 30%+ annual interest on that money.
The big question that I’m struggling to answer is why aren’t the borrowers using the profits – that are interest-free – and putting it back into their business first? Granted, this would mean postponing the immediate benefit of using the money for consumption. But over the long haul, it would yield them a much better return and more opportunities to improve their standard of living, as they would avoid paying the interest. At 30% per year, that’s a significant amount in savings.
It’s difficult to put oneself in somebody else’s shoes and make a decision on what’s more important – a roof that doesn’t leak and a loaf of bread today or a two-story house and three loaves and a kilogram of beef next week. I don’t have the answer to that.
But there is even another caveat to the story that made me think. As I spoke to the borrowers, it turned out that most of them rarely kept any sort of a financial document where they’d record how much they made, how much they spent, and so on. All of this was kept in their heads.
While that may be sufficient for day-to-day operations, without a historical record, it becomes very difficult to project how much money one could make by funding the business using the profits rather than debt. As Bob Parsons, a self-made millionaire, once said – “everything that’s measured, grows.” Perhaps, the opposite is also true.
What do you think?
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* This post has been written by Boris Mordkovich, a Kiva Fellow working for 10 weeks in Tajikistan for MLF Humo and Partners. Check out currently fundraising loans by Humo and join Kiva Lending Team – Supporters of Tajikistan *
When The Collections Call Rings, How Do You Answer?
* image used for illustration purposes only; it is not an actual sign used by our MFI *
The end of the month is always a hectic period at my micro-finance institution. It’s considered to be a critical time to collect the late loan repayments, in order to reduce the amount of risk in the portfolio when the new month rolls around.
There are a number of meetings that take place among the loan officers and the management where the problem clients and groups – those that have not submitted their repayments on time – are discussed in detail. The mood is solemn at these meetings, as the situation is worrisome. Due to the economy affected by the worldwide crisis, more and more clients are becoming delinquent and are having trouble paying back their obligations.
The Collections Process
Typically, when a client is late, the loan officer personally delivers several written warnings to him or her to let them know about the late fees, which are relatively steep, and the consequences that may follow if the payment is not submitted promptly, such as the possibility of a lawsuit. Most of the clients react to these warnings and settle their debt, but not everybody. Thus, at the end of the month, there is an extra emphasis placed on collecting the repayments from these remaining “problem” clients.
Over the last few days, the loan officers have been paying daily visits to the delinquent borrowers. In fact, they even bring in an additional loan officer for reinforcement and effect. Oftentimes clients simply get used to their credit officer “pestering” them about the missed payment and not take it seriously any longer, so the extra support is meant to show how serious the situation really is.
Although today is Saturday, most of the staff has been working and making their rounds. The office stayed open as well, as the clients have been given a deadline to come in and submit their repayments by the end of the business day. As the day rolls to an end, many of the “delinquencies” have been resolved, so the staff starts to breathe easier.
It’s not the easiest part of the job for the loan officers, as that’s when they have to be a “bad guy” to a large degree. Many of their clients – even long-time reliable ones – are struggling to pay back their debts. For some, business has slowed due to the worldwide economic crisis. Others have relied on remittances coming in from Russia which has dried up recently. Although the MFI staff may sympathize, everybody has their job to do and the money needs to be paid back.
Conclusion
When you first learn about micro-finance, you learn about the impact that the loans have on the borrowers. You learn about the social value that the micro-finance organizations provide to their clients. And it’s all true – impact and social value are certainly there.
But because this is still a business and not a charity, things don’t always go so smoothly. As a micro-finance institution, you are caught between a rock and a hard place. Many MFIs, including the one that I’m working for, has a social mission to help the poor population and conducts its operations accordingly.
However, when the clients are struggling to pay back their loans, what should the MFI do? Do they attempt to accommodate the client, since – after all – their mission is to help the struggling population and not take their last money at the time of need? Or do they need to do whatever needs to be done in order to collect – as otherwise they can significantly jeapordaize their operations and the ability to serve more customers in the future?
What do you think?
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* This post has been written by Boris Mordkovich, a Kiva Fellow working for 10 weeks in Tajikistan for MLF Humo and Partners. Check out currently fundraising loans by Humo and join Kiva Lending Team – Supporters of Tajikistan *
How Risky Are MicroFinance Borrowers?
One of the reasons why so many people around the world are not eligible for traditional credit and financial services is because they don’t have any collateral to offer to the lender. However, ironically, collateral alone is often not enough anyway. If you look at traditional borrowers in the U.S., who take out mortgages while putting their house down as a collateral or other loans, the default rates are still quite high (even before the crisis).
So is physical collateral a necessity? Or can credit be given without it?
About 2 Percent
One of the big questions that people have when they first learn about microfinance is – what is the repayment rate? Oftentimes, people are sceptical that the poor actually repay their debt. In general, this can vary from organization to organization, but a 98% repayment rate or higher is typical. In other words, only 2% of the loans or less actually go into default.
So, how can it be that microfinance clients in Tajikistan seem to be more likely to repay their loans that typical borrowers in the U.S.? What measures do MFIs take to keep their portfolio-at-risk numbers low? What can be effective means of collateral when there is nothing physical a client can offer to the lender?
Solidarity Guarantee
One of the most common techniques used by many MFIs to secure their loans is to lend through groups, where every member of the group is responsible for the group’s repayments. In other words, if one borrower fails to repay, the others have to cover for him or her or the entire group suffers.
Why does that work? In part, because the groups do their own, internal analysis to determine who is trustworthy and who they will accept into the group. And secondly, when people have very little, the most important asset they hold is their reputation, so they have an additional interest in repaying their loan to maintain that.
Small, 3-person group. They can range from 3 to 10 people.
One of the credit officers told me a story about a client who was late on her payment. The loan officer went into her village a few times to tell the borrower about the consequences of a late payment. After a few visits, the borrower came into the office to pay up and asked him not to come to the village anymore because she was afraid of what people would think if they’d find out that she was late. Reputation matters.
One step at a time
Solidarity and reputation are important factors, but they are not the only motivators. Many new clients typically start off with small loans at first and need to prove their repayment ability before gaining access to larger amounts and better interest rates. At my MFI, it’s not uncommon to see clients on their 6th, 7th or even 9th loans – each one larger than the previous one.
One client that I’ve met (below), received her first loan for about 1,000 Somoni (300 USD), her 2nd one for 3,000 Somoni (900 USD) and was currently applying for her 5th loan for 5,500 Somoni. In a sense, this is a way for people to build a credit history in places where credit agencies, like Experian and TransUnion in the U.S., do not exist.
Lola Toshmatova, a bulk sunflower seeds saleswoman, is now on her 5th loan
Keeping your clients close
A very interesting risk-reducing technique that I observed at my MFI is the monitoring system that the credit officers have in place. For every new client that comes onboard, the loan officers visits them several times right after dispersing the loan to ensure that the loan was used correctly. But, moreover, they follow up with quarterly visits to evaluate the business and ensure that everything is going smoothly. This way, any problems are identified and dealt with early on.
I’d say that this level of attention is pretty unheard of in the United States. After all, when was the last time that the person at your bank visited you after you took out a mortgage or a student loan to see how you’re doing. Even though, the loan sizes here can be 100 smaller than in the West. Although this is a time intensive endeavor, this is one effective strategy to stay on top of your investment.
* This post has been written by Boris Mordkovich, a Kiva Fellow working for 10 weeks in Tajikistan for MLF Humo and Partners. Check out currently fundraising loans by Humo and join Kiva Lending Team – Supporters of Tajikistan *
Impact of the Economic Crisis in Tajikistan
The consequences and impact of the international economic crisis has spread into all corners of the world – and Tajikistan is no exception.
In some ways, the impact of the crisis has not been as felt here as in the West. Most of the people here did not have their life savings in the stock market nor were they taking out 50-year, 0% down, adjustable rate mortgages (in fact, 30 year mortgages are unheard of here).
However, the crisis is here too and the true aftermath may simply be delayed.
How does Tajikistan play a role in the world’s economy?
One of Tajikistan’s biggest exports is its low-cost labor. Although the numbers vary, it’s reported that almost 2 million Tajiks (in a country with a population of 7 million) currently work beyond the country’s borders – primarily in Russia, in the construction field. Most families out here have a brother or a husband or a father that went outside the country to seek employment, as opportunities here are scarce.
Last year, the official numbers showed over $2 billion was sent back to Tajikistan in remittances by migrant workers. That’s just the money transferred through official means – much more was passed through informally.
Thus, when Russia sneezes, Tajikistan catches a cold. As the crisis is beginning to severely impact Russia’s economy which subsequently results in a slowdown of construction projects, massive numbers of Tajik workers risk not being able to find work in the future. The true impact is not entirely clear right now, as workers typically head back home for the Winter anyway. But the question on everybody’s minds is – will they be able to find work again when the Spring rolls around? With the poor economy and Russia instituting lowering quotas on the number of foreign workers, this is questionable.
Strong Dollar & Micro-Finance
The other major issue that’s affecting the people is the currency fluctuation – particularly involving the strengthening dollar. On January 15th, 1 USD cost 3.4 Somoni. Today, on February 11th, you’ll have to pay 3.7 Somoni for the same Dollar – almost 10% more.
You'll find these currency exchanges on every block - sometimes, inside grocery or cell phone stores
Although the national currency is Somoni, most of the business dealings here are tied to the dollar in some way, shape or form. Many of the remittances are sent back in dollars. Whether you’re refilling your cell phone balance or taking out a loan from a bank, even if you’re paying in Somoni, the real price is in dollars. As the dollar has been costing more and more over the last few months, people ultimately have less money to spend.
As a result, this is spilling over into the micro-finance sector, as well. Particularly, there are several ways in how this manifests itself.
First of all, borrowers are now more hesitant about taking out loans. When they take out the money in Somoni, their debt is tied to the dollar. So, when the future exchange rate is uncertain, borrowers risk owing a lot more than they originally took out. Instead, they choose to wait it out and forego the loan for the time being.
Secondly, business is slower. It’s a fact that’s not exclusive to the micro-finance sector or Tajikistan, but even this small economy is feeling the impact. As a result, there is an increase in consumer loans, but a decrease in business-related ones. People need money to meet their needs, but are uncertain about investing into their businesses. It’s interesting to see how this will impact the activity on Kiva, as many lenders seem to prefer to fund business-related loans, rather than sponsor a wedding or home repairs.
Thirdly, on a larger scale, many MFIs, including the one that I work for, get the majority of their funding from the U.S. based sources, so they are also subject to the risk. They try to deal with it by passing on the risk to the clients or charging a slightly higher interest rate, but this results in a drop of clients. With fewer clients, the risk within their own portfolio increases.
The next few months will show just how bad the situation is and whether things will get worse.
* This post has been written by Boris Mordkovich, a Kiva Fellow working for 10 weeks in Tajikistan for MLF Humo and Partners. Check out currently fundraising loans by Humo and join Kiva Lending Team – Supporters of Tajikistan *
Why Doesn’t Lonely Planet Have a Guidebook on Tajikistan?
Pamir Mountains - Photo by Oytun Orguil
When I set out to research Tajikistan a few months ago, I figured that it would be challenging but didn’t realize exactly how difficult it would be to find accurate, up-to-date information on this small, land-locked country in Central Asia.
Aside from a single chapter in a Central Asia guidebook by Lonely Planet and a few websites, there is relatively little information available for those interested in traveling to Tajikistan.
As a whole, it’s not considered to be a big tourist destination (aside from the outdoor enthusiasts) – nor is there any real tourist infrastructure setup in the country. A few hotels in the capital, a couple of travel agencies organizing trips into the mountains, and that seems to be it.
Traveling to Tajikistan is relatively complex as well. It borders China, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Afghanistan – and most of these countries don’t make it easy for you to get there.
Map of Tajikistan
More About Tajikistan
Tajikistan currently has a little over 7 million people living there with about 80% of them being Tajik, 15% Uzbek, 1% Russian and 4% of other nationalities. The amount of Russians has been declining steadily over the years due to emigration. Plus, a large number of Tajik men go abroad to find work and sent remittances back to their families – in fact, remittances is one of the 3 major drivers of its economy (cotton and aluminum being the other two).
It’s currently one of the poorest countries in Central Asia and has one of the lowest per capita GDP among the 15% former Soviet Union republics – ranging between $1,000 – $1,800 (depending on where you look). Compare that to over $15,000 per capita in Russia or $48,000 per capita in the United States.
Although the the government claims an unemployment rate of just 2.4%, I’d make a wild assumption about the number being inaccurate. About 70% of people live on around $2/day. When a liter of gasoline costs about $1 or a liter of bottle water goes for $0.40c (according to Lonely Planet – I’ll verify!), it makes things difficult to say the least.
Energy Crisis
On top of many financial and infrastructure issues affecting the citizens, the country has also been dealing with a severe energy crisises over the last few years. Although it has a lot of potential capacity through its hydroelectric plant, it winds up relying on importing electricity from its neighbors – as the water freezes in the Winter, at a time when the demand is the greatest.
Last winter, the situation got particularly difficult with temperatures reaching -20c and Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan limiting electricity supplies due to their own shortages. In the mountains, rivers froze, leaving hydropower stations without water needed to run their turbines. Electricity was rationed to about 9 hours/day in the capital and other major cities and only 3 hours/day everywhere else. In ’09, the situation seems less dire – but we’ll see what it’s like over the next few weeks.
Kiva Lenders and Central Asia
Going back to the microfinance aspect of things, one particularly interesting thing that I picked up at Kiva’s training this week is the overall trend towards Tajikistan and the whole region among its lenders. When a new loan goes up on Kiva, it has 30 days to get funded before it expires. Most of them get funded within 24-48 hours.
However, what’s interesting is that loans from Central Asia typically take longer to fund then, say, loans for Africa. Although generally all of them wind up getting the money anyway, lenders seem to prefer to lend to certain regions vs. others. I wonder if that’s because they are less familiar with Central Asia (it does get a lot less attention than other regions) or perhaps that poverty is viewed differently somehow in one place versus the other. The numbers are interesting.
Hopefully, I’ll get some insight into that over the next few months.
Signing off from United States! 
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* This post has been written by Boris Mordkovich, a Kiva Fellow working for 10 weeks in Tajikistan for MLF Humo and Partners. Check out currently fundraising loans by Humo and join Kiva Lending Team – Supporters of Tajikistan *
Kiva Fellows Training – the jigsaw puzzle of 1,000 pieces
Training: After a long day at the office, the last session is held at a park.
Hi there!
My name is Boris Mordkovich and I’m one of the 28 Kiva Fellows [in training] in the KF7 class. In just a few short days, I’ll be finishing up the training, getting my last-minute supplies and headed to the cold, cold winter climate of Tajikistan.
As we come to a close of our 3rd day of training, there is finally a small window of opportunity to take a breath and reflect on this week thus far. And let me tell you – there aren’t a lot of opportunities like this during the week!
The training is designed to prepare a new group of fellows for field work at their respective Micro-Finance Institutions (MFIs) all over the world. But this preparation is unlike any other – it’s training on steroids.
Kiva has a pretty difficult task of “training” 28 people for something like a Kiva fellowship – as everybody’s experience will be unique in many ways. The needs of the organizations we will all be working for will vary. The countries and cultures that we’ll all be visiting are different. And our skill sets also range tremendously which impacts the type of contributions we can do.
During the week, we all certainly get a chance to learn the inner workings of Kiva, its business model and how it interacts with its partners, lenders and borrowers. The training program provides a ton of information on all things Kiva. However, since we only have a week, each day winds up to be very intense. And then, the deeper you dig, the more you understand how complex and and unique Kiva’s platform is and the more questions you wind up having.
If there is one major thread that goes through every presentation and every session, its the need to be flexible and fluid. There is a lot of trust and responsibilities placed in the fellows – we are given a lot of freedom in how we are expected to do things. And that’s what, I think, will make this both very rewarding and challenging.
Micro-Finance sector and Kiva are still relatively new, so there are a lot of unknowns ahead – but as Leonardo da Vinci once said, “I have been impressed with the urgency of doing. Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Being willing is not enough; we must do.”
Till next time – direct from Tajikistan!
- Boris
АМЕРИКАНСКИ?
It’s 5am and the electricity has just come back on here in my Khujand apartment. I know because the sheet metal of the ‘70’s era space heater plugged into the wall has started to creak and crack as it warms. I’m not typically up at this hour but it’s D-day – my departure – and I’m anxious to get started on the 3 day, 5 country journey back home. Today Tajikistan to Uzbekistan, tomorrow Uzbekistan to Moscow to Amsterdam, and finally Amsterdam to… America.
I’ve grown accustomed now to calling my homeland, ‘America.’ Early on here I didn’t know what to make of the blank stares when I told someone I come from the US or the United States. I later learned that the term ‘United States’ connotes the former Soviet Union and its dozens of republics. Even before I arrived, I contemplated the reactions I would get considering Tajikistan is the northern neighbor and close cultural cousin of Afghanistan. “What do they think of Americans?” my aunt asked me before I left. I was stumped by the question but I knew I would soon find out.
I still remember from a decade ago the hordes of students in Europe with Canadian flags stitched into their packs. More than half were Americans in partial disguise, otherwise given away by the ballcaps and Tevas. You could always out them by trying to start a conversation about the Stanley Cup finals that year. I also remember resolving myself to avoid hiding who I was and where I was from and instead act as an informal ambassador to those I meet on my travels. Here in Tajikistan I was true to my pledge. Mostly.
The reaction I received as an American was absolutely 100% unwaveringly positive. In fact, it was so positive I had to wonder why. We hadn’t provided them any aid, hadn’t liberated them from an occupying power, hadn’t established close diplomatic ties, and they didn’t even have Coca Cola. Sure, they knew Chuck Norris and Michael Jackson but was that enough? After enough time here I finally figured it out.
Tajikistan is living proof of communism as a failed experiment. That conclusion isn’t based on any economic analysis or survey. It’s based on the overwhelmingly wasted talent of the population. The country has a 99% literacy rate but you don’t need to read to drive a cab. Doctors make the equivalent of $100 a month. Mothers of five sell gum and cigarettes on the street corner. It’s a long story, but the Soviet plan designated Tajikistan to produce cotton and the country was bred for just that purpose. The government here halfheartedly clings to the notion that there is such a thing as a cotton superpower, but deep down it realizes it has no viable industry or economy. Mostly what people want is the freedom to earn a living and pursue their talent.
Consider the fact that we ask our children, ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ (Some of us are still pondering that question well into adulthood.) We ask because it taps into what every child in America has; possibilities. When I talk with teenagers and young adults here about their future plans, inevitably they tell me it’s their dream to go to America. It’s not based on some infatuation with Levi’s and McDonald’s. It’s because in America they have possibilities.
As much as my ego would enjoy it, I realize it’s not me they love when their eyes light up upon hearing of my nationality. It’s that, in their mind, they instantly associate the word with every spark of ambition they’ve ever had in their short lives. Growing up I wanted to be a truck driver, a veterinarian, a metallurgist and a filmmaker. Instead I ended up a Kiva Fellow, but every one of those options was a real possibility for me. Some probably weren’t the most prudent career paths, but they were mine if I wanted them. Everyone else wants to be able to dream the impractical dream if they choose – and therein lies the appeal of America.
With sincere thanks to the good people at MicroInvest and all the friends I’ve made in Tajikistan, I’m signing off from Central Asia… for now. After the holidays I will be working with CEVI in the Philippines.
Martha Stewart would never survive Tajikistan
I had been planning for today’s lasagna lunch since the second week of my fellowship when one my colleagues asked if I could make his favorite dish from the U.S. How could I say no? This man had picked me up at the border, arranged my housing, and even helped me secure a SIM card and cell phone, among countless of other tasks. Lasagna was the least I could do, right? Right? In the end the lasagna required more than 10 trips to various stores and the efforts of approximately 12 people, in three countries.
When I made the commitment, I did not understand how difficult it would be to find the necessary ingredients. It wasn’t that I couldn’t find fresh mozzarella or ricotta cheese – I couldn’t find cheese, period. After many rounds through the market and trips to supposedly ‘Western-style’ stores, I came to the harsh realization that this dish was going to require some serious effort.
Luckily, I managed to secure some guests during my fellowship: I asked my boyfriend to bring a box of lasagna noodles and Jenny, who was visiting from Kiva, to bring along a bottle of Kraft parmesan – the kind that doesn’t need to be refrigerated. While in Uzbekistan, I scored a can of tomato paste and a packet of dried tomato sauce, which would replace the non-existent basil and oregano – all they have here is cilantro. I had planned to make my own ricotta, arguably lasagna’s key ingredient, but without a thermometer or buttermilk I was forced to give up on that plan as well.
So, as you can imagine, I was feeling pretty pessimistic about my opportunities for success. I stopped trying to find ingredients and started planning excuses to weasel out of the obligation. Feeling guilty, I decided to give it one last shot and wandered into a market not far from my office. I could almost hear the heavenly choir pouring down as my eyes rested upon a pile of ground beef (ground beef!) and two blocks of cheese: gouda and edam! It wasn’t exactly mozzarella and ricotta, but it wasn’t the Tajik salty soft cheese either.
Unfortunately, Western conveniences do not come cheaply and I only had enough money in my wallet to purchase the cheese. I also figured that, if I had been forced to eat meat for 10 weeks, it wouldn’t hurt them to eat vegetarian food for once. Proud and excited, I headed home to prepare the sauce and fixins…..that’s when it really got interesting.
1. I have one electric burner and no stove, which makes it pretty tricky to bake lasagna. It took a few tries, but I finally found someone to bring their stove, as well as a pan, into the office today (it’s not too big, don’t worry).
2. I don’t have a can opener, so I had to borrow one from my neighbor. After several minutes trying to figure out how to use it, I had to walk back across the hall, with my tail between my legs and ask for help. It’s never very empowering to ask for help in using a can opener. She clearly felt bad for me because, five minutes later, she sent her daughter over with a bowl of soup and some chocolates.
3. When I got to work this morning, my coworker asked what kind of meat would be in the lasagna. I explained that I had run out of money while shopping and had been unable to purchase the ground beef . Before I knew it, all of the men in my office had plopped down 5 somoni each (enough to cover the cost of the meat), saying “we want meat”. So, I ran back out to the store.
4. A coworker then arranged for the driver to take me home so that I could pick up the rest of the ingredients and cook the beef on my stove top. When I got there, the electricity was off – of course.
5. I headed back to the office to set up the stove and start baking the ground beef. Thank God that I made an obnoxious quantity of sauce the night before and thank God they made me go buy meat because the pan that my colleague had lent me was huge!
6. I got the lasagna into the oven at 11:20, which gave it just enough time to bake before the electricity went off at noon.
Well, somehow my ‘thank-you’ present for one of my colleagues turned into a celebration for the whole office. Everyone came – I ended up making lunch for over 30 people. Sadly, I didn’t get to take a picture of the final product because I got shoved out of the way so that someone else could serve it. But it was absolutely beautiful….and yummy! It didn’t taste exactly like lasagna, more like fancy cheeseburger lasagna, but it was wonderful! Everyone, including myself, had such a good time sitting around, eating, and chatting. Sitting there, looking out at my coworkers who I would soon say goodbye to, I started to fight back tears. Tomorrow is my going away party – but it couldn’t possibly be better than today’s event!
Thank you everyone for your support during this fellowship. Thank you for letting me share some of the amazing experiences and stories – I hope that I have inspired some of you to keep learning about this region.
Signing out……Carrie Ferrence with IMON International in Khujand, Tajikistan
Holiday Shopping in Tajikistan
It was a typical Sunday in Khujand. I slept late until 9am and wandered out for some breakfast and tea. I haven’t quite mastered the art of making instant coffee (ground coffee is non-existent) so I just don’t bother. I’ve had it in restaurants and with the right mix of crystals, sugar and water it’s not bad. A few minutes later the power clicked off. The daughter of the family I’m staying with said what I was pretty much thinking – “just another typical weekend in Tajikistan.”
There’s really not a lot to do here and even less with no electricity. I talked to her about movie theaters, shopping malls and golf. They definitely don’t have golf and apparently there’s a theater but “it doesn’t work” she said. The night before we had already discussed American shopping habits when the Russian news channel showed a clip of people bum rushing a Walmart somewhere in a non-descript American town. I was slightly embarrassed. With wide eyes they asked, “is it free?” because no other explanation could reasonably justify the frenzied swarm of humanity. It was difficult to explain Black Friday and why people with so much are so eager to acquire even more.
With remarkably nice weather for this time of year – sunny and in the 50s most days – we decided to venture out to the bazaar. The daughter had to buy a present for her teacher so I was the guinea pig testing all of the
Looking for bargains in Isfara bazaar
Chinese knock-off colognes. They had names like ‘Give N See’ or ‘Aqua di Go’ and sold for about 15 to 20 somoni (just over $5). My nostrils are still recovering. What struck me was the fact that, given the incomes here and the quality of goods, prices are extremely high. Most of it is Chinese-made and of even lesser quality than anything which makes it into the ‘everyday low price’ category in the US. Walmart looks like Nieman Marcus by comparison.
Most of Tajikistan is still very much a bazaar culture with everything from spices to shoes to stereos all selling within a short stroll. A kilogram of my favorite snack – peanuts covered in honey and rolled in sesame seeds – goes for 12 somoni ($3.50) A pair of jeans of no known provenance will easily run at least 60 somoni ($18) and goes up from there. Even cars are bought at the bazaar since there are no dealerships. A 2005 Chrysler 300 imported from New Jersey could be had for $25,000 which is almost twice the auction price in the US. The more reasonably priced cars are Lada or Opel but will still set you back a minimum of $3,000.
It’s great sport here to compare prices and I’ve had countless conversations about the cost of goods in the US versus Tajikistan. I have a newfound empathy for the campaigning politicians who get asked idiotic questions about the price of milk, eggs or bread. Until you’ve been asked, you don’t realize the challenge. Store brand or organic? How many liters in a gallon? By and large the reaction I get here is that things aren’t insanely more expensive in the US. The only cheap goods here are those produced locally and there aren’t many.
Car shopping at the bazaar
Part of the challenge in comparing prices is also the disparity in incomes. A one-way plane ticket to Dushanbe is about $60 which is wildly cheap by American standards. But talk to anyone here, and it’s a very rare trip. Adjusting for what’s called ‘purchasing power parity’ – an adjustment made to reflect exchange rates and the cost of local goods – Tajikistan’s per capita GDP was $1,356 for 2005. This ranks it 152nd out of 174 countries and on a par with Congo and Chad. A more amusing metric sometimes used is that of The Economist’s “Big Mac” index which compares the price of the McDonald’s burger from one country to the next. It would be more useful to this discussion if there was actually a McDonald’s in Tajikistan.
One of the looming challenges for Tajikistan – particularly given its nearly non-existent manufacturing sector and its cotton monoculture – is the difficulty in sourcing imports. Under the Soviet economy it was the beneficiary of imports produced elsewhere in the Union and often at subsidized prices. Now the training wheels are off and its economy is wobbling down the sidewalk. For a country bordering the world’s largest manufacturer of goods – China – you’d think Tajikistan would have access to a huge variety of its products. But that’s not the case at all.
With its landlocked location there are no ports of entry and the eastern mountain ranges peaking at over 7,000 meters make for hairpin roadways where passes are frequently snowed over during the winter. The international airport in Dushanbe boasts of a throughput of 200 passengers an hour and the national airline, Tajik Airlines, was at one point banned from entering the European Union on the basis of lax safety standards. Tensions are high with neighboring Uzbekistan and travel is severely restricted between the two nations. Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan is a major distribution point for Chinese goods but it’s a solid 24 hour round-trip by truck. Afghanistan is best known for sending opium – some 1.4 tons have been seized at the border this year alone – but it does supply some building materials to the south of the country. And Tajikistan is perhaps the only nation on earth where RC Cola is the market share leader presumably since Coca-Cola lacks a bottling facility.
It’s a bit surprising to walk through the bazaar of a 3rd world country and think to myself, “I could get better
Tashbubu spinning wool into yarn
quality at a better price in the US.” But for most manufactured goods, it’s true. Of course if you’re shopping for melons, bread, apricots or apples you’re absolutely in the right place. Wrapping up a melon and putting it under the tree just doesn’t seem right though. For the most part I’ve been checking out handcrafts which are unique to Tajikistan. Tashbubu, a Kiva client in the Kyrg enclave of Vorukh, makes amazing room-sized carpets from hand-spun wool priced at about 1,800 somoni ($500). In Istaravshan, craftsmen are well-known for handmade knives complete with ornate handles carved from sheep horns. These are the real treasures in Tajikistan and the lack of cheap imports does have one fortunate outcome; it keeps these people in business. Perhaps one day Tashbubu will find herself unable to compete with factory-made Chinese carpets, but for now her business is brisk.
There is no easy answer to the ‘right or wrong’ of globalization. Access to cheap goods is necessary but so is the maintenance of local industry. Tajikistan is still on the cusp and finding its equilibrium. On one street you’ll see men in traditional Tajik dress passing those in tailored suits. Donkey carts and SUVs rattle over the same potholed roadways. Milk is almost always organic and free range chickens are wandering the streets. It’s not exactly a shopper’s paradise, but it definitely has its appeal.
Sometimes the Most Boring Client is Really the Most Interesting
In the past week I have met with almost 50 clients, which is way more than I met in the previous six weeks combined. I should feel inspired and excited by that accomplishment, but I mostly feel tired and battered. That’s because all of the clients I met with were BORING! I’m not exaggerating – I didn’t have one interesting interview. At least, that’s what I thought in the days surrounding the visits….
When I meet with clients, I ask a bunch of questions about their business, family, and personal history in order to get a better understanding of the benefit they have experienced from working with a microfinance organization. The clients in and around my home base of Khujand haven’t exactly talked my ear off, but they’ve been surprisingly open and forthcoming with their responses. So when I took a week to meet with clients in the southern part of the country, I was shocked by their consistently brief and reticent responses. Here is a sample interview from the past week:
Me: Why did you decide to start a business?
Client: Because I wanted to.
Me: Why did you decide, after 9 years of owning your business, to apply for your first loan last year? Client: Because.
Me: What has been the impact of the loan on your business?
Client: It’s been good
Me: Can you provide any specific examples?
Client: No
Me: Do you have any goals for the next few years, for your business or family?
Client: No
It was the same thing, client after client. I wanted to scream – didn’t anybody have a wedding to pay for; a child to send to college; or a satellite dish to buy (all very typical responses to the goals question)? I pulled out every trick in the bag: rephrasing my questions; asking follow-up questions, smiling more; and talking about their family. But, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get anything out of these clients. We tried different communities, different branches, different translators and still nothing….the clients simply would not talk.
My first reaction was to chalk it up to the fact that microfinance isn’t always ‘sexy’. It isn’t always the glamorous success story that, as a lender, you hope to hear. My second thought was that this part of the country was simply more religious and therefor more reserved. But, I wasn’t satisfied with either of these explanations and decided to ask for some help from my IMON coworkers.
It turns out that the “boring clients” are a complex and emotional consequence of Tajikistan’s civil war, which erupted in 1992, just after the country had gained its independence from the U.S.S.R., and lasted until around 1997. The violence took up to 50,000 lives and resulted in widespread and devastating food shortages. While the northern cities were able to avoid most of the conflict and suffering, it was a different story in the communities I visited around Dushanbe and Sharituz. In these towns, up to 30-40% of the women are war widows; almost one hundred thousand people fled to neighboring Afghanistan; entire communities were burnt to the ground or otherwise destroyed; and most people lost their job or simply stopped getting paid. That’s why microfinance was so necessary and therefor so successful in Tajikistan. It helped individuals and communities create their own jobs and futures after the war.
When I went back through my interview notes, signs of the war and the ensuing reconstruction were glaringly obvious. I realized that most (indeed, almost all) of the clients had had some sort of career before starting their business: they were nurses, teachers, managers, government employees, factory workers, on and on. And they all said the same thing when I asked why they had started the business: “because I lost my job”. I also noticed that many of the women I interviewed were widows. Even my colleagues from IMON filled in part of the big picture. I had two translators: one to translate from English to Tajik and the other to translate from Tajik to Uzbek – because the English translator missed out on learning Uzbek when he fled to Afghanistan.
Even during our conversations, it was clear that the entrepreneurs had started their businesses in order to get back on their feet after the civil war, but I still couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t talk. I wasn’t asking questions about their deceased husbands or their burned down towns or their abandoned factories – I knew well enough to stay away from all of that. No, I was just asking questions about their current successes and their future goals – why wouldn’t they want to talk about that?
Because, I couldn’t join them for a cup of tea.
Tea is an integral part of the Tajik culture – we have it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between. It is the first thing you are offered when you enter someone’s home and, as an honored guest, your hosts will never allow you to pour it yourself. Most of the clients I meet with ask me to stay after the interview in order to have tea, even if I am meeting with them at the very busy central markets. This is such an open and giving culture that it feels very natural to accept the invitation and focus on issues other than work but, when I am representing Kiva, I always decline the offer. First off, my MFI has strict rules about never accepting gifts from a client. And secondly, even though I have all the time in the world to sit with clients, I am always joined by a translator and loan officer who have very busy schedules.
So it wasn’t that my clients wouldn’t talk, it’s that they wouldn’t talk right away. Unfortunately, you can’t always get the interesting story in a 15 minute interview and you don’t always have time for a cup of tea. And, when you have a business history that includes death, war, and struggle, you’re not always interested in ‘cutting to the chase’ and explaining how it’s all connected.
I’ve learned a lot of things during 7 weeks in Tajikistan, mostly that this country is way more interesting than it often appears on the surface. The people are a complex mix of religions, languages, experiences, and dreams for the future. And the more work you put into uncovering these complexities, the more you are rewarded. I’ve learned to slow down when I am at work and when I am communicating. And I’ve learned to establish more realistic expectations about success, because sometimes it’s less about the answers and more about the process of getting there. To truly succeed in understanding Tajikistan and the people who live here, you must find that balance – as a Kiva Fellow and even as a Kiva lender.
Click here to learn more about IMON’s work and clients. As always, thanks for your wonderful support!
Tajikistan’s Shadow Economy
Having researched Tajikistan’s economy prior to arriving here, I had a difficult time reconciling the numbers. It has a literacy rate of 95% and fairly high costs of goods like a developed country yet exceptionally low per capita incomes of some $340 similar to those of the poorest in the world. How does an educated population earn so little yet pay for goods clearly beyond its reach?
It is the Soviet legacy which has left most of the population over the age of 30 with a reasonably good education. Mothers and fathers subsisted on moderate civil servant salaries at the ubiquitous bureaucracies and public facilities spawned by the Soviet Union. Children were free to attend school and ultimately graduate to a sterile yet subsistence wage job in the government. Since independence, the cost of supporting the Soviet infrastructure has overwhelmed the tiny economy here which now consists mostly of agriculture such as cotton and fruit. Roadsides outside the city are littered with crumbling factories and the opportunities and incomes for civil servant jobs have dwindled considerably. As a result, the population scrambles to work multiple jobs, open side businesses and often puts children to work in an effort to subsist.
I happened to arrive in Tajikistan in the middle of the cotton harvest when the government conscripts thousands of school-age children across the country into picking in the fields. From September through
Picking cotton in the fields
October, classes are suspended and so are the teachers who work in the schools. I spoke recently with a temporarily unemployed teacher who explained that, when they are working, teachers here earn about $100/month or about 11 Somoni a day. To put that in perspective, a modest lunch here at a restaurant will generally cost about 7 to 10 Somoni. Not exactly a sustainable lifestyle. As a result, many teachers have left the profession in pursuit of better incomes. President Rahmon has made a big show of his “President’s schools” project where gleaming new buildings stand in stark contrast to the shabby apartments nearby, yet they sit dark and unused amid the dearth of teaching talent. Why not pay teachers more money instead of building new schools you ask? This is where the shadow economy kicks in…
Despite the $100/month wage, some teachers aren’t faring that poorly. It’s commonly discussed that some teachers will be mysteriously flush with cash around the time grades are awarded. And during cotton picking season, students can avoid the dismal conditions by securing a doctor’s excuse for around $100. I was told that, at the university level, the going rate for a PhD is around $2,000. What would one do with a PhD in Tajikistan which is worth the cost of $2,000? Teach at a university. As for construction, this process involves permits, bids, procurement of materials – in short, a lot of activities which provide more opportunities for government officials to skim dollars. Simply increasing teacher salaries doesn’t enrich anyone but teachers and they’re already getting theirs.
Seller of candies in the bazaar
For those teachers who refuse to supplement their incomes in such a way – and there are many – they’re resigned to working additional jobs or starting businesses. By far the biggest business here is simply called ‘trade’ and it consists of sitting out in the bazaar or by the roadside to sell food and merchandise. Many who come to MicroInvest seeking working capital for trade inventory are teachers or even doctors and nurses who suffer similarly low government wages. Because of its geography, poor infrastructure and the bureaucratic red tape of entering or exiting the country, goods are incredibly hard to supply here. Vehicles with Uzbek plates are not allowed into the country so product from Tashkent needs to transfer at the border. While there is a newly constructed bridge to Afghanistan – courtesy of US funds – there is little in the way of (legal) export coming from south of the border. The one bright spot is the newly constructed road from China which was constructed by the Chinese as a means to access the market here. But this former major waystation on the Silk Road is now at the far end of a lengthy supply chain and goods are marked up accordingly.
But, back to the teacher shortage. With fewer teachers available the quality of education here has been declining. A starvation wage doesn’t provide much motivation for teachers and parents living on the edge of poverty increasingly see education as a luxury they can’t afford. Why pay for grades to graduate into an economy with no jobs rather than start working today to supplement the family income? For now the solution has been to start a business instead of rely on meager government wages. The hard reality of life here is that, in some cases, the few dollars a son or daughter brings home is the difference between eating or not. This is not a Monday-Friday, 9 to 5 economy.
Another aspect of the shadow economy supporting Tajikistan’s current state is the estimated 1 million Tajiks living or working abroad and sending money back to support families. On a daily basis I speak with women who have husbands or sons working in Russia where they may be able to earn multiples of the income they’d earn here in Tajikistan. Of course the cost of living in Russia is higher as well, but on balance they come out ahead with what they’re able to send home to the family. According to the government, remittances from workers abroad make up more than 25% of Tajikistan’s economy but some independent estimates put it at well over half.
In this kind of environment, microcredit makes a huge difference. Being able to purchase a few hundred dollars of goods at time makes the costly travel to Uzbekistan or Kyrgyszstan worthwhile. It allows the honest and hard-working to avoid stooping to corruption as a means of supplementing substandard salaries. And owning a side business allows those few teachers, doctors, nurses and other essential workers the ability to serve the community while withstanding the unsustainable wages.
Rob is a Kiva Fellow working in Khujand, Tajikistan with MLF MicroInvest. To learn more about MLF MicroInvest click here and if you would like to show your support for Tajikistan, please join the Kiva lending team, Supporters of Tajikistan
Celebrating the Election and a Wedding
I wanted to share two really beautiful events from the past week: celebrating the election and attending my first Tajik wedding.
The U.S. Election
Contrary to the excitement that most were feeling on election day, I was feeling lousy. Here we were, on the edge of something truly great, and I was not able to participate. Of all the elections in all of the world, why did I have to miss this one?
Tajikistan is 10 hours ahead of the East Coast, so it was fairly obvious that Obama was winning by the time I got into work on November 5th. Judging from e-mails and Facebook postings, I could tell that all of my friends and family were caught up in the excitement back home, regardless of their political leanings. But all I could do was sit at my desk and watch the little states on the CNN map turn red or blue. I felt so helpless and, worse, so far away.
Then it happened: McCain conceded and Obama accepted. I read the transcripts of the speeches, browsed through the pictures of the celebrations, and cursed the very very slow Tajiki internet connection for not letting me watch any videos. And, being the cheeseball that I am, I started crying – not a lot, just a few tears ran down my cheeks.
After a couple hours of throwing myself a pity party, I decided to take matters into my own hands and throw a real party. I grabbed one of my co-workers and headed out in search of the biggest, most chocolatey cake I could find. My co-worker even chipped in for a bottle of RC and Orange RC (another food tradition I don’t quite appreciate here: washing down sugar with more sugar).
We set up the conference room and then went around to each office and invited all of the staff to help celebrate. At first, they didn’t realize what was happening and assumed that it was my birthday. But once I explained that I was throwing an election party, they got even more excited.
In good Tajik tradition, I had planned a lovely little speech in order to explain the reason for the celebration (mostly to explain that this was in no way an endorsement of Obama by myself or by Kiva). But my speech would have to wait: everyone wanted to express their hopes and prayers for my country first: “I hope that your country finds peace and happiness” “I hope that the people in your country will move out of the economic crisis and be able to make more money” “I hope that he will be the best president ever” and on and on and on. I was just blown away – I’m here to help support economic development in Tajikistan and they’re praying that people in the U.S. find wealth.
I felt really blessed and surprised that everyone cared so much. I don’t think they cared too much that Obama won, they seemed to care more about what the election would mean to the people in the U.S. And, not for the first time since arriving here, I felt really privileged. I felt the weight of what it means to be from the U.S. and the responsibility that that can bring. But, most importantly, I no longer felt pity for myself for being here instead of back at home.
A Wedding
I should start this section off with a disclaimer: I’m not a big fan of weddings. I’m not against the concept of weddings, I just don’t like how much stress and money goes into preparing what should be one of the happier moments of your life. And, unfortunately, the extravagance that accompanies most weddings in the U.S. is not a foreign concept here in Tajikistan. Up until last summer, the happy couple would be expected to throw an exuberant, multi-day affair with 500-1000 of their closest friends.
I know what you’re thinking: you don’t even know 500-1000 people, right? Well, that’s because you’re not thinking hard enough….you’re forgetting that you need to invite your brother’s coworkers and your neighbor’s aunt. In addition to feeding all of them, you would be expected to provide housing and cover travel expenses for those who were visiting from out of town. Families have gone into debt, or sent their men off to work in Russia, just to pay for their children’s weddings.
I will admit, 500-1000 people is over the top, no matter what country you’re from, but what are you going to do, make it illegal? Well, that’s what the President of Tajikistan decided to do last summer. He set a cap of 150 people for all wedding celebrations (and funerals….because, yes, they can be equally as debt-inspiring). Considering these recent constraints, I was feeling pretty flattered to be invited to my first Tajik wedding.
Overall, it was a pretty amazing event. The bride and groom were welcomed by loud horns and drums; the guests were fed approximately 8-10 plates of food each (notice how the plates are stacked on top of one another in the pic); the families danced for several hours straight; and the bride spent the entire evening bowing in gratitude to the guests. As always, everyone was a gracious host to me: I was invited to sit at the head table, was welcomed by many of the families’ elders; and learned how to dance. Despite my general disdain for weddings, I had a great time.
Although, in the event that you one day find yourself at a Tajik wedding, I will offer you some sage advice…..if someone asks if you would like to congratulate the bride, kindly decline. Otherwise, you will find yourself standing on a podium, with a microphone in hand, making a speech for the new couple, whose names you do not know.
Here’s a short video of the horns, dancers, and bowing bride:
The incredible shrinking country…
Tajikistan is quickly becoming a nation of women and children… and a diminishing number at that. The low incomes and lack of jobs have resulted in more and more men leaving for Russia to send money back to the family. With a minimum wage here of 20 Somoni a month ($6 US), people are working multiple jobs, opening side businesses, working abroad and generally doing whatever it takes to survive. Inflation is clicking at about 20% and the price of bread is $1 a loaf. Imagine a loaf of bread in the US at $150 – a rough equivalent as a percent of the monthly minimum wage. People here dream of going to Russia, America, anywhere, somewhere.
Traditionally the families here are large and many from the older generation have a half dozen or more
Gavkhar is a Kiva client - she sells recycled aluminum
siblings. I met with a Kiva client last week – Gavkhar – and she lived together with her 11 children and grandchildren huddled in a cinder block building which lacked electricity for 16 hours of the day. The stairway was so dark we had to use our cell phones to light the way and I traced my hand along the crumbling wall. For most of the last century, Tajikistan had the highest birth rate of any of the Soviet republics. But younger families are having fewer children because of the difficulty in providing for them. In the market stalls you can buy a single diaper for 1 somoni (30 cents) and they are reused ‘until the tape loses its stickiness’ by replacing the absorbent liner with cloth.
What’s far more noticeable than shrinking family sizes is the number of absent husbands and fathers who leave for Russia to find work. Many of the women in the Chkalovsk market told me their husbands had been gone for months or even years. In some cases they simply disappeared and the money stopped coming. Most take jobs as laborers working construction jobs in the city. Tajiks are generally looked down upon in Russia and have been victims of many racially motivated violent crimes. There is even a Russian sit-com which features a caricature of a Tajik laborer, often bumbling and incompetent. In reality there are many highly educated Tajiks here, but there is more money to be made as a workman in Russia than there is teaching at a university in Khujand.
Nearly everyone here will confide that they want to leave for Russia, America, somewhere, anywhere else. Estimates are that somewhere around 1 million Tajiks are living abroad – roughly 15% of the population. Standing out in the cold earlier this week waiting for approval of my visa registration, I mingled among the modest crowd of Iranians, Afghans, and Uzbeks. A man from Kyrgyzstan who spoke English asked me, ‘Why are you here? Nobody comes here.’ He was visiting family.
This sentiment is even more prevalent in the winter and already the power was on and off several times yesterday here in the MicroInvest office. My fingers are numb and I wear my down jacket sitting at my desk. Occasionally I’ll lean back, blow on my fingers, and wonder how I ended up here. But every
Accordion on the square - daily life goes on in the winter
Kiva client I meet reminds me that there is a real need for credit here and that it does make a profound difference in their standard of living. Tajikistan’s poverty looks like drudgery and everyday hardship – families split apart, sharp minds reduced to swinging hammers, shivering in dim candlelight. But despite it all, people find a way to survive. Early in the morning the buses are overloaded with women bringing satchels of goods to market, students arrive at school, and officeworkers wipe the dust from their shoes. Life goes on and, while the country lacks enough fuel to heat their homes, there’s more than enough fuel behind the dreams of those wanting to move on from the conditions here and find a better life somewhere, anywhere.
Rob is a Kiva Fellow in Khujand, Tajikistan working with MLF MicroInvest. For more information on MicroInvest, please follow this link.
For a slideshow of Tajikistan photos you can visit here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/29346838@N05/sets/72157608467919856/show/
Tajikistan’s “White Gold”
It’s easy to tell when cotton season has arrived in Tajikistan, not because of a change in temperature or rainfall but because university students start disappearing from the city. Each Fall universities throughout Tajikistan come to a standstill as hoards of students are sent to do unofficially mandatory labor in the cotton fields. They are often paid little or not at all; are forced to abandon their studies and jobs; and risk loosing their diploma if they decide not to go. While this practice is officially illegal in Tajikistan, it is still widespread and devastating.
Tajikistan’s economy and culture are dominated by cotton. The industry employs roughly 50% of the country’s labor force, accounts for 15% of its exports, and is the biggest contributor to Tajikistan’s GDP. Everyone here has a story about how cotton has affected their life, their family, or their job. It is everywhere and it affects everyone. It even affects IMON, the microfinance agency that I am working for as part of my Kiva Fellowship.
A couple weeks ago 2 of my colleagues at IMON, also students at the local university, were called to work the fields. They were only given a few hours to prepare for a difficult two week venture: it is likely they will work long days without rest, sleep in the fields, become exposed to dangerous pesticides, and receive little in the way of nourishment. They could always pay the $100 bribe, a steal by most Western standards (including my own), but a hefty sum for the average Tajikistan worker.
A dark cloud slowly crept over the office as that day progressed. Almost everyone identified with the futility of the situation – they had also been forced to pick cotton and knew what the students were in for. The managers at IMON tried to pull some strings in order to free their employees from the assignment. But several hours spent making phone calls was only partially successful: one of the employees was able to shirk the responsibility but the other, one of the Kiva staff, was forced to leave. In addition, another staff person was asked to abandon their own job and take over the student’s Kiva responsibilities, including posting the month’s available loans on the Kiva site.
And it’s not just students that have been ordered to pick cotton. The IMON deputy director’s wife has also been called into the fields. As a doctor and a government employee, she is required to pick cotton one day a week during the season. She is older than most of her fellow pickers and is only able to pick around 10 kilos a day. And what does this established doctor receive for her day’s work in the fields? Around 74 cents! It costs her twice that amount to take the bus to and from the field, in addition to the lunch she must purchase for herself.
Since that day, I have learned more about cotton than I ever thought was possible. I’ve heard countless opinions on what’s wrong with the system and how the government should fix it. But, the deeper I dig, the more I realize just how complex the situation really is.
Is it the fault of the government?
In most cases the cotton farmers do not own the land on which they farm. They lease the land directly from the government, which in turn sets fixed prices on the cotton. The government also exercises strict control over what is grown on the land and in what quantity. While other crops like potatoes, melons, and wheat are often much more profitable to grow, the government has imposed unrealistic quotas that require farmers to dedicate most of their land to cotton.
Publicly, the government opposes student labor but they tend to turn a blind eye this time a year. They see cotton as a way for Tajikistan to compete globally. After all, the country is still recovering from a devastating civil war in the early 90′s and, previous to that, decades under the heavy hand of Soviet control. Their economic development has since relied heavily on agricultural exports, especially cotton. But their ability to remain competitive in this market is constantly constrained and challenged by the global downward push on prices.
Is it the fault of the farmers?
Farmers stepped in to develop the cotton industry after the Soviets left and have faced difficulties in finding the local investment needed to make much-needed upgrades to their equipment. They instead have been forced to seek outside financial investment from ‘futures companies’ that set strict and unreasonable quotas for the farms. If at the end of the season a farmer has not met those numbers they are subjected to high interest rates on the initial loans, which they cannot begin to pay off until the following season.
Is it the fault of the universities?
Many argue that the universities do not have to force the students to work in the fields – it is illegal, right? In addition, the universities have been charged with withholding payments that the students receive for their time in the fields. These funds are instead used to purchase books and supplies that they can’t normally afford.
Is it the fault of banks?
Farmers argue that they would be able to break the downward cycle if they simply had access to equitable funding. They would be able to repair and upgrade their equipment, thereby allowing them to improve the efficiency of their operations and produce a higher quality product that can earn more on the global market. But most reputable financial agencies within Tajikistan won’t provide these loans because they don’t want to get involved with the issue of forced student labor.
Breaking Free
The reality is that it is not the fault of one agency or one group. And the problem cannot be resolved unless all of the main players step up and work together.
In the meantime, we will just have to wait. My co-worker was supposed to be gone for two weeks, but that time has already come and gone. The staff at IMON is hoping that he will back soon, although many worry that he could be gone until December…..that’s how long they were forced to work in the fields when they were in college.
Want to learn more?
Check out this recent article in the NY Times and this report by the International Labor Rights Forum.
Thanks again for all of your support – Carrie Ferrence, working with IMON International in Tajikistan.
Peace, love and under ‘stan – ding
Mosque Near Panjshanbe Bazaar
Tajiki ‘standing, that is. If I’ve learned anything in my 36 hours in Khujand, Tajikistan, it’s that trying to understand the local culture, language and history is like drinking from a firehose. The challenge is muted, however, by the extreme kindness of the people here and their willingness to make you feel at home. Here at Microinvest the feeling is that of a family more than a workplace. This morning my desk was graced with a platter of cookies and candies and friendly faces greeting me in proud English. At noon yesterday we all took lunch in the dining area – a hearty borscht of meat, potatoes, cilantro and carrots along with fresh bread and the ubiquitous cup of hot tea. Last night I was treated to the Tajik national dish of Pilaf with green apricots and a tomato salad mixed with conversation on topics ranging from the economy to religion to family. Clearly food is the social lubricant and I’ve been more than content to sit, talk and eat for hours on end.
Tomorrow I’ll journey to Asht which is a district in the north bordering Uzbekistan. Once out of the city, the roads here are peppered with wandering cattle and donkey carts. Occasionally there will be a man on the side of the road selling gasoline from glass jars or a small stand with fruits for sale. The craggy mountains are a striking backdrop to the vast cotton fields where students are now spending a two month ‘vacation’ from school where they each pick up to 60kg a day of the national crop. Many adults in Tajikistan have left the country to find work in Russia or the US and so students are conscripted to supplement the local labor pool. I’ve already heard many stories here of educated people who are unable to earn a reasonable salary as nurses or teachers. Instead they have found it is more lucrative to be a business owner or entrepreneur rather than rely on meager government wages. There is reluctance by some to borrow money and they try to avoid having their neighbor merchants know about their loan. But I’ve already heard many ‘rakhmats’ (thank you) for the opportunity Kiva lenders have provided to business owners.
A Kiva entrepreneur conducts her business in the bazaar
There is an interesting mix in Tajikistan between local traditions, Muslim religion, the legacy of having been a Soviet state and the influence of more modern (‘western’) conveniences and customs. In Tajik homes, meals are traditionally taken seated on the floor cushioned by a korpacha - a colorful blanket filled with local cotton – but some have recently purchased sofas and kitchen tables. Russian language is becoming less prevalent and Tajik is now emphasized as is English among the younger generation. Daily prayer is common yet so is alcohol consumption. Many marriages are arranged and the expectation is that one should have a spouse and children before the age of 25. Television seems to be predominated by music videos. I caught some Justin Timberlake the other evening but mostly it’s Tajik performers in traditional dress. There seems to be more awareness sometimes of current events outside of Tajikistan than inside. I was asked whether the US economic crisis had affected me. In turn, I asked what the feeling was regarding the IMF’s commentary on Tajikistan’s misstated finances. Nobody really knew much about it. It seems like nationalism is making a comeback and the Russian influence is waning, but there’s no clear direction on how the country will evolve from here.
Overall, there is an overt sentiment among most people that it’s a hard life in Tajikistan and the debacle of last year’s electricity shortages is still fresh in their minds. They frequently talk of moving to America or other countries as nearly 1 million Tajiks have already done. Yet they retain an ability to distinguish government from nation. Tajikistan has its history and traditions and customs which are worthy of their pride despite the shortcomings of its infrastructure, leadership and economy.
Rob is in Khujand, Tajikistan working with MLF MicroInvest. You can also join the Tajikistan lending team at http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=1317
My first week in Tajikistan
I have to be honest, I was slightly terrified to become a Kiva Fellow, to travel halfway across the world to a place I had to look up on a map. Don’t get me wrong, I signed up for all the right reasons: I really believe in the way that Kiva operates, I wanted to delve deeper into the world of microfinance, and I thought that a three month sabbatical might help me gain some perspective.
But I also had a lot of little voices building up in the back of my head that didn’t think this was such a good idea. I felt uncertain: I don’t speak Russian or Tajiki, I’m not too familiar with this part of the world and, the last time I checked, the winters can be pretty harsh in Central Asia (I live in Seattle – the heaviest coat I own is a fleece). I felt selfish: I have a lot of responsibilities, including a mortgage, that don’t go away just because I do. And, I felt scared: I’m really happy with my life and where it’s headed, so why would I want to leave it behind?
So it is still amazing to me that I am here…. in Tajikistan.
And I’m happy to report that after a week on the ground I am glad that I followed my heart and not my fears, because I’ve already had some pretty beautiful experiences. The kind of experiences that tend to happen when you’re in a new environment and more aware of what’s taking place around you. And, the kind of experiences that make it worth traveling half way across the world to a place you have to look up on a map, no matter how scared you might be.
My Tajik Suitor
I have found that sitting in a main plaza is one of the best ways to pass time in a new city. You get a birds eye view of the culture and might even run into a future friend. But this past Saturday I was there mostly to enjoy the sun. It was a gorgeous 70 degree day and the plaza was bustling with strolling young couples, children playing with soccer balls, and old men telling stories to each other.
I was writing in my journal when an older gentleman sat down on the bench next to me and immediately started talking, undeterred by my inability to participate in the conversation. When I tried to explain that I am American and don’t speak Russian or Tajiki, he became even more excited. In an almost theatrical performance of full body gesticulations, he began relating an apparently epic story about the United States. Seriously, this story had everything: airplanes, people dancing, and quite possibly a love interest, it’s hard to say.
He kept asking questions and I kept apologizing for my language shortcomings. Eventually he realized that we would never be able to communicate with words, so he reached into his bag and pulled out a bundle of roses. He slipped the flowers into the front straps of my backpack, smiled, and walked off.
My Tajik Mother
For the first few days after I arrived my apartment didn’t have much water and by the weekend it had none. So when I came across an old woman resting on the platform outside of my room, I decided to jump right in and get to the bottom of the situation. I tried miming a faucet and then a shower, both to no avail. Frustrated, I ran back in to get my Russian dictionary, realizing too late that she had taken this as an invitation to come into my apartment. Oh well, I thought, run with it. She vigorously nodded in understanding as I showed her the dry faucets in my shower and sink. She too broke into pantomime, describing how they were working on the pipes and that the water would be back on tomorrow.
She then proceeded to walk through the rest of my apartment, approving of some things (like my mini fridge) and questioning others (like my tv). Her last stop was my eating nook, where I had collected all of my market finds: rice, garlic, fruit, tea, and nuts. She started fiddling with all of the bags, which took me by surprise. My first thought was that I had offended her by not offering her anything to eat. But I quickly realized that she wasn’t helping herself to my food, she was simply arranging it in a way that would best preserve them. She wrapped the nuts up tightly, opened the bag of dried apricots so that they could air out, and put the bread in a bag. We introduced ourselves a little more and then “Tuitja” smiled, patted me on the arm, and headed home.
My Tajik Friend
On Saturday night I discovered that women don’t really hit the town after dark. After 20 uncomfortable minutes walking around by myself, feeling like a woman of ‘loose morals’, I turned back and went home. Which is why, when Sunday night rolled around, I was happy to settle in early to read and knit.
The sounds of horns and drums from outside my window quickly distracted these efforts. I tried to ignore them but it wasn’t long before they were joined by loud chants and I was forced to investigate. I threw on a coat and practically ran downstairs where, to my surprise, I ran right into a wedding procession in the courtyard.
As I stood watching the group of revelers loudly escorting the new couple to their home, a young girl approached me and asked me in clear English if I would like to go closer. I explained that I didn’t know anybody and would prefer to stay back but she grabbed my hand anyway and took me to a small patio where we could watch the men sing and dance around the fire. When the party started to die down she took my hand again and introduced me to her best friend and five younger sisters.
It wasn’t much. The whole event didn’t last more than a half hour. But she was so kind and reassuring, that I immediately felt more confident in my prospects for fitting in here.
I’m sorry for the lack of pictures. I mistakenly brought the wrong camera cord but hope to have some pictures on the blog by next week. Thanks for your support.
Carrie Ferrence, working with IMON in Khujand, Tajikistan
Let the countdown begin….
Personally, I really enjoy preparing for a big trip to some far away place. There are so many unknowns: what will I see, who will I meet, what will I eat, and what type of terrifying illness will I suffer? But preparing for three months in Tajikistan has been a bit different.
With only a little more than two weeks until my departure, I still have a some pretty important items to secure – like a visa and some very very warm clothing. I am cramming to learn some essential Russian and Tajiki phrases so that I can actually get myself from the airport in Tashkent, Uzbekistan to my home in Khujand, Tajikistan. And, I still have a few more steps to wrapping up my most recent venture: learning to eat meat (particularly goat and lamb) for the first time in 10 years. Despite all of the unknowns and the very full ‘to-do list’, I am excited to get started.
Right now I am finishing up the most important step of my preparations – training to become a Kiva Fellow. I am currently at Kiva’s offices in San Francisco with around 30 of my fellow Fellows. We have spent an intense week learning the intricacies of Microfinance, Kiva operations, and working with our Microfinance Institutions (MFI).
I am excited to be working with IMON, which has a reputation for being an established and well run MFI. IMON supports entrepreneurs throughout Tajikistan by providing them access to high-quality financial services and products. They work with a variety of projects in the trade, manufacturing, and agricultural fields. Click here if you’d like to see current fundraising opportunities for their entrepreneurs’ loans.
Kiva’s “Mission” – It’s about the burritos
I’ve been immersed in the mission this week – San Francisco’s Mission district. Block after colorful block surrounds Kiva’s office at 18th and Folsom where we’ve been gathered just prior to our departures throughout the world. And while you can find virtually any type of cuisine in the area – from Salvadoran to Vietnamese to Senegalese – it’s really all about the burritos. Last night’s sampling was a bulging toasty tortilla jammed with spicy al pastor courtesy of El Farolito on 24th and Mission. Taqueria Cancun is just a short 5 blocks away where the carne asada super burrito lives up to its name.
As much as I enjoy the burritos, I’ll soon be several thousand miles away from the Mission and writing about the best eatery in Khujand, Tajikistan. I have no idea what to expect and my only experience with Tajik cuisine is reading about it from ‘The Google.’ Something called cheburek is described as a deep-fried dough cake filled with ground lamb, spices and onions. Hmmm, sounds a bit like a burrito? Maybe not… but I’m confident that I’ll put on a few pounds to insulate against the bitter Tajikistan winter. And of course there’s the vodka, but that’s for another post.
I’ll be working with MLF MicroInvest which is one of the largest partners representing over $1 million in Kiva loans. Anyone with a particular interest in Tajikistan can join the new Tajikistan lending team and load the MicroInvest RSS Feed into their RSS reader to stay up to date when new loans are posted from MicroInvest.
Abdugaffor and Me
“Hello Daniel. How are you? I remember you said that you were willing to help some of my students out with their English lessons and…well, I have a nephew whom I would like you to meet.”
It was 9am on Monday morning. I was drinking Nescafe and checking email, when the MicroInvest English teacher came in to see if I was still willing to fulfill the pledge that I had made the day before to give some of the locals a chance to chat with a native speaker. I was expecting one, possibly two hours of tea with an eager, fresh-faced teenager, a Central Asian devotee of American culture who listened to hip-hop and watched old reruns of “Friends” on Russian TV. What I got was something far different. What I got was Abdugaffor. A 38-year-old doctor-turned-“biznezman” with anti-Semitic tendencies and a David Letterman-like gap between his two front teeth, Abdugaffor did not fit my preconceived mental image of the typical English student. He was not amongst the Western-looking vanguard of Tajik youth, but was instead a well-intentioned, yet bumbling caricature of his country’s isolation from the rest of the world, earnest in his efforts to learn English and clueless about America and the world in general in a simultaneously endearing and shocking, “Borat”-esque sort of way.
Caught between two worlds , the stable Soviet society in which he had come of age and the cutthroat(sometimes literally), winner-take-all world of “kapitalizm” into which his country has been unwillingly thrust in the early 1990s, Abdugaffor is, in certain ways, representative of his generation. He was in medical school in Dushanbe when the brutal Civil War broke out and had to abandon his studies due to this violent struggle for the reigns of power in the newly formed Republic of Tajikistan. When he finally received his degree, salaries for medical professionals had plummeted to below subsistence levels, and Abdugaffor spent six years in the local hospital, working for a pittance before calling it quits. The $40 he received every month didn’t provide him with much of an incentive to stick with his chosen profession and the exigencies of life led him to a career in the bazaar, the only viable option in the constrained economic landscape of Tajikistan. Throughout the course of my time here I have interviewed dozens of individuals trained as economists, engineers, mathematicians teachers, etc., who now work baking bread, selling children’s clothing, or hawking watermelons at a stall in one of the countless markets of northern Tajikistan. The refrain of wasted talent is a constant one. In Abdujaffor’s case, however, the bazaar allowed him to discover his knack for business, and he now has three shops within Panjshanbe Bazaar, selling various food products. Business for him is good as evidenced by his silver ’97 Mercedes.
Here in Tajikstan, the Mercedes is de rigueur for anyone who can afford it, a conspicuous status symbol that doesn’t necessarily mean that one is rich, just not poor. There must be more “Mare-say-days” (as they say the name here) per capita here than anywhere else on earth, most of them coming from the Baltic states where used and damaged vehicles are repaired before being shipped off to the marketplaces of Central Asia. In this part of the world people tend to care less about performance than they do about image. As long as it has the classic emblem on the hood, what’s underneath is not much of an issue and these casualties of Europe’s roads are thus given a second life in the “’stans.”
At 5pm, the time of our first meeting, I walked out onto Sharq street, the bright and chaotic thoroughfare where MicroInvest’s offices are located, lined with a jumble of food-stalls and smoking shashlyk grills, and packed full of speeding minibuses and porters pushing their overloaded carts through the incessant pedestrian traffic. Two minutes later, a silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb, its middle-aged driver turned off the engine, excitedly leaped out of the vehicle, and vigorously shook my hand, exclaiming in slow and labored English, “Helllloooo. My name Abdugaffor. Very niiiice to meeeeet youuu.” A slightly mischievous, yet bewildered smile lit up his face as I returned the greeting, annunciating every syllable to make sure my new pupil understood me.
“I am very glad to meet you too. My name is Dan. I am from America, from Washington, the capital of the United States.”
“Ohhh…veeeery niiiice. I am very happy… very, very happy that you are teach me English. Let’s….EAT!”
What followed was a night of non-stop food accompanied by a endless cups of green tea. The first two hours were spent at the depressing Tajiki-Turkey café, a “fusion” restaurant that turned out to be a dimly lit cavern whose fading green walls probably hadn’t been painted since Stalin died. The conversation started off fairly simply. I asked Abdulgaffor what his favorite food was. “Fried…SHEEP MEAT!” he responded enthusiastically. “Yes..fried sheep meat very good..very tasty…I like. But not very good for you. I doctor so I know these things.”
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“I doctor for children. But I not very good doctor!! Hahahaha,” he said playfully poking me with his elbow and giving me that mischievous smile that was slightly disconcerting. I silently thanked God that I never had to use the Tajik healthcare system.
Next stop was meal number two, this time at Abdugaffor’s friend’s house in a distant part of the city. Plov was served, copius amounts of alcohol were consumed by our hosts, and Tajik poetry was recited. All around me were drunk doctors, practicing their poor English and telling me about the virtues of the USSR and traditional Tajik medicine.
“European Union, Soviet Union….same thing!,” the man sitting next to me exclaimed.
“We Tajiks,” one of the more inebriated ones began, “We discover everything before Europeans. The great Avicenna, one thousand years ago he say baby need to drink milk from mother…and now all Europeans say same thing. They steal from Tajiks! What do they know? Nothing, that’s what!”
The evening was a typical night out in Tajikistan, a heady stream of overwhelming and boozy hospitality, and I left late that night with Abdugaffor demanding that he pick me up after work the next day, same time, same place. Having little choice, I reluctantly agreed.
The following evening, when the Mercedes pulled up right on time, I saw that Abdugaffor had brought along one of his friends, probably to show him that he was actually meeting with a real, live American. We proceeded to my favorite restaurant in town, that wonderful oasis of deliciousness called “Zaitun,” where I had, to say the least, one of the more interesting meals of my life. Abdugaffor began by asking me questions about America such as the following gem that seemed to be taken straight from a script written by Sacha Baron Cohen: “My friend, he live in America. I think he live in Los Angeles. He tell me that he kill sheep in yard and then police give him fine.” A look of earnest confusion swept over his face and he asked “Whyyyy?!! Why not allow kill sheep in yard in America?”
After then going through a 30-minute explanation of what to do in an American airport (“You give the customs agent your passport.” “And then?” “And then he stamps it.” And then? “And then you go to collect your luggage.” “And then?……”), our comedic conversation took a turn for the worse when Abdugaffor and his friend jumped headlong into the subject of Jewish conspiracies.
“You know Putin is Jew and Medvedev, he also Jew.”
“No they’re not,” I futilely replied.
“Yes, they are! So is Bush and…what his name?… oh, Al Gore, he also Jew. You not know? America is Jewish country!”
His friend then piped up, “Why Hitler no like Jews?”
“I don’t really know, that’s a very complicated question and I don’t have time to….”
Abdugaffor immediately corrected the record. “No, no, no, Hitler not that bad. It just story…skazka like we say in Russian. It just skazka made up by the Jew.
Being a Jew myself I was left somewhat speechless at this moment, my face was bright red and my ears were hot. I had heard of people spewing such nonsense before, but it is one thing to read about it and another to experience it laid out in front of your own two eyes in a strange country, with strange people, after too much plov and green tea. My head was spinning and I needed to calm down before I did something I would regret. I just shut my mouth and waited until the tirade had subsided until I berated Abdugaffor’s ignorance in English that was spoken too quickly for him to understand. He drove me home soon afterwards, and at this point I thought that my days with Abdugaffor were over. I was wrong.
A week later I picked up my phone and was greeted by an excited voice on the other end asking, “Oh, Daniel, how are you? It Abdugaffor! You remember me?”
“Of course. How could I forget?”
“Oh, good…veeeerrrry gooood, I happy you remember me. What you do this evening? I want meet with you and practice …ENGLISH!”
Although our last meeting had left a bad taste in my mouth it was hard to say no to his boyish enthusiasm and I chalked up his previous comments to the ignorance that can come from living in such an isolated place like Tajikistan. I didn’t sense any hostility from him, just an utter lack of understanding about the world, that in many ways was a product of his environment. I decided to give him another chance, and as time passed I became less frustrated with Abdugaffor’s narrow view of things and just tried to learn what I could, observing him with a degree of detachment that helped me deal with some of his more unsavory remarks. Things went quite smoothly for several weeks, and I was beginning to think that maybe Abdugaffor was even somewhat “normal.” Needless, to say, these false illusions were shattered fairly quickly when at one of our recent dinners he dropped the following bombshell:
“Ohhh, in America you have lots of gay. It very baaaad…men sleep together, very very bad. In Tajikistan, we don’t have. I never met gay in life. In America you need to….cut them!” he says making a slashing motion with his right hand.
“Cut them? You mean kill them?! But they’re human beings!”
“Yes, yes…zarezat nado!,” he said affirming his opinion in Russian, “Need to kill the gay. Maybe you can cure them, but if not….” He left this sentence hang ominously in mid-air as he made the slashing motion again.
As I picked my jaw up out of my soup I realized that the old Abdugaffor was still alive and well and that maybe some cultural gaps were never meant to be bridged. Yet, what is so strange is that despite his incredible statements of ignorance he could not have been more kind or generous (at least to me, that is). Although I am viscerally opposed to his philosophical viewpoints and I feel that people should be held accountable for their opinions, I have learned to simply throw my hands up and accept Abdugaffor, like so many things in Tajikistan, warts and all.
Five Things I Love About Tajikistan
1. Tajiki-what?: Being an American in Tajikistan means that you are in a country that few of your compatriots have ever heard of, let alone traveled to. You are a curiosity everywhere you go and the lack of Westerners gives you the opportunity to act as kind of a mini-ambassador, answering all of questions that Tajiks have been waiting, sometimes their whole lives, to ask an American. Especially in the small towns, I attract a crowd of onlookers whenever I’m conducting an interview with a Kiva client, gawking at me as if I’ve just arrived from the moon. It is quite fun to be suddenly elevated to such pseudo-celebrity status and when I speak people listen to every word with an incredible amount of interest. I’ve been asked by mothers to marry their daughters, I’ve had a child named in my honor, and the usual response by my driver when we reach some kind of checkpoint or roadblock is to loudly exclaim to the soldiers or policemen on duty “We’ve got an American in the car!” and the problem just disappears. I relish the time I spend teaching others about America, answering their numerous questions and asking them in turn a litany of my own questions about their country. Because Tajikistan is so far off the beaten track the cultural exchange that occurs here is really intense and you experience travel in a way that people rarely do anymore in a world where there are so few places left to discover.
Me with my good friends, the Tajik Border Guards
2. Hospitality, re-defined: Trust me, you don’t know the meaning of the word until you’ve been to this far-flung outpost of former-Soviet Central Asia. Everyone wants a little piece of the new Yankee on the block and over the past several weeks I’ve felt a little bit like a human pinball, bounced back and forth through all the different feats of generosity that my wonderful, yet often overbearing hosts can throw at me. My patience, my Russian language skills, the strength of my gastrointestinal system, and above all my appetite have been tested in ways that I never thought possible . Exhortations to “EAT!” and “DRINK!” are shouted at me like I’m in some kind of Central Asian bootcamp with Tajik babushkas playing the role of drill sergeant as I try to get the mounds of plov and shashlyk down my throat without choking to death. Even after what I think are my Herculean efforts to consume everything my hosts have offered me, I’m usually ridiculed with a typical “Ha! My grandson, he’s not even a year old, and he eats more than you!” or “What, are you not hungry? Do you not like our Tajik food?” It is an utterly exhausting endeavor to “go as a guest” in Tajikistan, but it is a wonderful and often hilarious experience nonetheless. You learn the real meaning of generosity, when you are given a feast of epic proportions by someone who makes $100 dollars a month and has several children to feed. Even though I consider myself a fairly giving individual, I feel like a real Ebenezer Scrooge in the face of such kindness. Despite the fact that it’s not always the most delicious meal and you may add a few inches to your waistline in the process, being a guest in Tajikistan will open you up to a new level of hospitality that you will never forget.
mmmm...yummy
3. Melons, melons, and more melons: Central Asia is known for its melons, especially in summertime when the bazaars are packed with pyramidal stacks of the ubiquitous fruit. Almost every meal either begins or ends (sometimes both) with slices of fresh watermelon (tarbuz in Tajik) that are amazingly sweet and delicious. As a guest here in Tajikistan, I am usually forced to eat about half a gigantic tarbuz at every sitting, and sometimes they throw in a regular yellow melon just for good measure that far outshines the comparatively bland honeydew and canteloupe that we have become accustomed to in the states. You could live here on melons alone, especially during the hotter months when there is nothing as refreshing as laying down on the tapchan (a traditional raised square platform where Tajiks do most of their eating) with melon juice sloshing around your stomach as you sip green tea and drift slowly into a lazy afternoon siesta.
Me and the Wonderful Watermelons of Tajikistan
4. Apricot heaven: I have to admit that I’m a huge fan of apricots, but never in my life did I think that I would stumble onto the apricot mecca that is northeastern Tajikistan. The area around the city of Isfara is the epicenter of the apricot world where over 40 varieties of the fruit are grown on the seemingly endless orchards that surround you as you drive into the countryside. Everywhere you look you see the deep orange hue of fresh apricots drying on huge pieces of cloth underneath the summer sun. Women kneel over and remove each pit by hand that they then dry and roast in order to eat the almond-like nut inside. While interviewing clients outside of Isfara I asked my loan officers if we could stop and take a look at some of the orchards. They kindly granted my request and with permission of the local farmer I giddily ran around, plucking the ripe fruit from low hanging branches and sampling the amazing gift of Mother Nature that is the Tajik apricot. Dried, the apricots serve as a kind of local currency that people can barter or sell when they need some extra cash. Therefore, not only are apricots delicious, they are a kind of safety net for families in this part of the country during the harsh and economically uncertain winter months.
Apricot time!
5. A Mild Cult of Personality: President Emomali Rahmon’s obsession with himself is something that I both love and hate simultaneously. For a foreigner like myself it is one of the more hilarious aspects of being in Tajikistan, yet as I laugh at his silly portraits and statements hanging everywhere in the cities and along the roadsides, I am also sad for the people who are stuck here with this post-Soviet despot and can’t take these curious monuments as lightly as I can. One of my favorite pastimes here is to make fun of Rahmon’s attempts at being a “man of the people,” when it is obvious, especially with $6 billion sitting in a Swiss bank, that the people are really the last thing on his mind. At the main intersection here in Khujand there is a jumbotron that plays a non-stop montage of Rahmon’s sojourns amongst the citizens of Northern Tajikistan, cutting ribbons, visiting schools, kissing babies while crowds of people clap in rhythym, standing in a wheat field and feeling the crop with his own hands, giving speeches surrounded by gigantic picutes of (guess who?) himself, and receiving various awards for basically doing nothing. Over and over again the largest screen in the city plays this vacuous film when they could be using it for some useful purpose, but alas, logic and common sense are often scarce commodities amongst the leaders of Central Asia. The type of humor that comes from watching this display of extravagant narcissism is bittersweet and stems from a certain exasperation one feels when the system is so stacked against change that the only thing left to do is laugh at the absurdity of it all. But, laugh I do, and even though it is tinged with sadness, seeing this strange form of political expression is endlessly amusing and fascinating.
What a great guy! (President Rahmon is the one on the left)
Notes From Tajikistan
My experiences here in Tajikistan over the past several weeks have run the full spectrum of human emotion. I have laughed with astonishment at the absurd amounts of food that have been forced down my throat, stuffed like a pig all in the name of “hospitality”; I have been saddened and amazed by the industry of young porters who abandon school at the age of ten, forgoing their childhoods in order to earn a couple dollars a day carrying fruit, bread, and meat through the vast, chaotic scene of the Panjshanbe bazaar; I have been humbled by the sheer generosity and kindness of people, who despite receiving a salary of less than $200 per month, give this privileged American almost everything they have, asking for nothing in return; I have smiled with joy when the kids at my apartment block treat me like a minor celebrity, running up in small groups every time I come home from work, excitedly shouting the few English phrases they know mainly “Hello!” “What is your name?” “Goodbye!”; and I have gawked in astonishment at the sheer indifference of the government to the plight of its people.
Tajikistan is severely lacking in natural resources, and the hydroelectric power that used to be a significant asset is now dwindling away due to low water levels. The country is primarily dependent on cotton and other agricultural products, remittances sent back from the more than one million Tajiks who work in Russia, and the significant amount of drug trafficking money that is pumped into the economy thanks to its location directly north of Afghanistan, the world’s largest opium producer. Some estimates say that as much as 50% of the economy here is connected in some way to narcotics. Tajikistan is not a country that can solve its economic problems through purely physical solutions, such as the building of more dams or factories, but it can only hope to get out of its financial doldrums through the creation of significant human capital. Although it may sound cliché and trite, the country’s future will be determined by the quality of its educational capacities, and judging by my own amateur survey of these institutions, there is certainly a lot of work to do.
Modern Tajikistan is a land that is intellectually parched, despite laying claim to a rich history of scholarship. While brilliant men of a bygone era such as Avicenna and Rudaki are celebrated throughout the country with countless billboards and monuments in their honor, schools and libraries literally crumble into oblivion. Many teachers receive minimum wage salaries of 60 Somoni (less than $18) per month, and I have talked to a number of former educators who, due to their inability to live on such a pittance, have had to abandon their chosen professions in order to sell clothing or fruit at the local market. Surely, the poor state of Tajikistan’s educational system is a symptom of a country in dire economic straits, yet I can’t help but feeling that it is question of resource allocation as well. You never seem be more than an hour’s drive from some kind of presidential palace, and in the capital, Dushanbe, an eminently wasteful series of fountains and opulent buildings, called the “Palace of the Nation” project, are being built at tremendous expense. I recently read on the Radio Free Europe website that the country’s last synagogue as well as dozens of houses were demolished, leaving hundreds of people homeless in order to make way for this towering monument to governmental narcissism.
While Tajikistan’s scarce resources are spent on gold leaf and marble, university libraries lack books and adequate internet connections, elementary schools often go unheated during the bone-chilling winters, and college students spend the months of September and October picking cotton in miserable conditions for no money whatsoever. On a recent tour of one of the best Russian-language elementary schools in Sughd Oblast, I saw a sign hanging in the main hall with a quote from President Emomali Rahmon that proclaimed, with sad irony, “Our society needs to value its teachers!” Sure, the Prez has made some slight gestures of compassion such as doubling the monthly minimum wage from 30 to 60 somoni, yet everyone I talk to here tells me that such an increase has been futile due to the concomitant rise of prices. Unfortunately, it seems as though the despotic Rahmon and his inner circle would prefer to cultivate their own bank accounts rather than cultivate the next generation of Tajik minds.
Surely, it is easy for me to criticize this struggling Central Asian state from the lofty heights of American privilege, and the truth is that all societies, to a different degree, suffer from a similar pathology. We, in the United States, also pay our teachers poor salaries and devote vast sums of money to frivolous expenses. I include myself among those who have become accustomed to the waste that all too often accompanies our abundant lifestyles and in no way do I intend to escape from my share of the guilt by pointing the finger at President Rahmon and his cronies. Yet, for me, my experiences in Tajikistan have shed a much harsher light on the problem, bringing into sharper relief the contrast between the haves and have-nots, and making the obvious indifference of the government and the overt opulence of the rich much harder to stomach. I have also come to understand, on a more profound level, the inestimable importance of an educated civil society, of an open media, of the ability to cut against the grain of established thought, to openly challenge old ways of doing and seeing in order to take a collective step forward in the quality of our lives. From my vantage point of halfway around the world I can see more clearly the intellectual dynamism that makes America that country that it is and I can also see the stagnation that occurs in places that lack such fertile ground for open expression.
Being here in Tajikistan, I am prouder than I have ever been of those who shout at the top of their lungs to get us to pay attention to what is going on the world. Writers such as The New York Times’ Nick Kristof, philanthropists such as Bill Gates, and organizations like Kiva, all play a role in prying open our often parochial minds to the reality of the human condition across the planet. While in the larger scheme of things Kiva’s reach may still be limited, dwarfed at times by the immense scale of global poverty, it surely doesn’t seem that way to the Tajik seamstress who was able to buy an electronic sewing machine or to the toy merchant in Khujand who just doubled his stock of merchandise thanks to a Kiva loan. For these people, Kiva’s reach is tremendous, profound, and personal and the stories of their success shine through the gloom of government graft and profligacy to illuminate one small corner of this poorest of post-Soviet nations. In a place where exasperation can swallow you whole, these myriad stories of hope remind me of the eminent worthiness of microfinance, of Kiva, and of the struggle against global poverty.
To see currently fundraising loans from MLF Microinvest on Kiva.org, please click here.
The Road to Khujand
It’s 5:30am and after lying in bed all night, sleepless from both the strange Central Asian bacteria inhabiting my stomach and the sheer excited anticipation of my coming journey, the time has now come for what will be one hell of a ride. Kenjal, my trusty driver, arrives on time in his battered, white 4WD, his gold teeth shine in the morning sun as he greets me with the traditional “Osolom Aleikum!” “Vy gotovi? (Are you ready?),” he asks me in his thick Tajik accent. “Da, konechno, poyekhali!” (Yes, of course, let’s go!”) I reply with an enthusiasm that reveals the true extent of my American naïveté. And we’re off! Cruising past the suburbs of Dushanbe, I gaze out through the cracked windshield at the denizens of this small Central Asian capital getting ready for the hard, hot day ahead. Women with unibrows (some kind of fashion statement here, no joke) sweep the streets with handmade brooms as children ride to and fro on the backs of donkeys, smiling amidst the dirt and the poverty in which they have been fated to live the rest of their young lives. Kenjal, gregarious even at this ungodly hour, begins to interrogate me about my life in America with an intense curiosity that is understandable given the fact that there are only 450 of my compatriots (including embassy staff) currently living in this far off outpost of the former Soviet Union.
“Are you married?” he asks me to kick things off (typical first question in a country where family really is everything).
“No, I’m not married,” I curtly reply, knowing exactly what’s coming next.
“YOU’RE NOT MARRIED?!!” Kenjal is simply astonished. “And how old did you say you are again….25? A man your age should be married, you should have five kids by know.”
“I know, I know” I say giving him a response I have already practiced a few times, “It’s just that in America we get married later in life. We grow up a lot more slowly than you do in Tajikistan. It’s a very different culture. So, are you married?”
He smiles mischievously and says “Of course! Not only am I married but I have TWO wives. One in Khujand and one in Dushanbe. I also have nine kids.”
“Wow,” I say, still recovering from the shock of the whole polygamy thing. “Two wives and nine kids, you must be a busy man! Is it normal in Tajikistan for men to have more than one wife?”
“No, not really. But, you have to understand, I’m a bit of a hooligan.” He gives me a knowing wink and continues, “I don’t have that many kids, at least not for a Tajik. During Soviet times Tajikistan was famous for having the highest birthrate out of all the republics. My brother, for example, he has 19 kids… all from one wife!”
I keep smiling although at this point my heart is going out to that poor, poor woman somewhere in the Tajik hinterlands who has spent most of her adult life in a constant state of pregnancy. I take a break from our strange conversation and look out at mountains growing steeper and more beautiful with every minute. Wide, flat, and nicely paved, the road at first is sheer pleasure. This is Central Asian sightseeing at its best, its most luxurious. I’m loving every minute of it as we get deeper in the countryside, the river beside which we are traveling now nothing but pure whitewater. About an hour and a half into the drive, the road is still paved and I’m thinking to myself, “This isn’t so bad,” when we hit our first delay in the journey. “Kitaitsi rabotayoot,” (the Chinese are working), Kenjal tells me, and for the rest of our trip he will utter these two words like a Buddhist mantra.
Apparently, the Tajik government contracted out a series of major improvements on the M34(the “highway” between Dushanbe and Khujand) to a Chinese construction firm and all of a sudden there they are , these Kitaitsi who will be our companions for the next 11 hours. They work like automatons, welding, digging, hauling, laying concrete, asphalt, tar, gravel…I’ve never seen such roadwork in my life. And the conditions in which they live…my God! Felt tents that look like nomadic encampments litter the barren hillsides. It’s like some kind of industrial revolution-era workcamp, a place where men work so hard that the life simply oozes out of them. Even for the Tajiks who are accustomed to tough conditions, the filth in which these unfortunate Chinese make their meager livings is simply shocking.
First delay..not so bad…15 minutes for a little dynamiting operation. 20 km later, after passing President Emomali Rahmon’s highly gaudy roadside palace (I think this is number 11 or 12…slightly reminiscent of a certain Iraqi dictator who also had a penchant for overdone architecture and numerous residences) the asphalt reaches its end and the fun begins. We enter the Anzob Tunnel, an unventilated work in progress that feels like going down a mineshaft. No lights, no ventilation, just a lot of old Soviet trucks spewing toxic diesel fumes as we maneuver through the small lakes created by mountain streams gushing out of the rock face. After the tunnel we hit our second delay…a lot worse than the first. We eat plov(national dish of rice, carrots, and some kind of meat) and drink green tea amidst the breathtaking scenery of the Fan Mountains as the Kitaitsi lay asphalt on the road for 3 hours. Sheer drop-offs of thousands of feet keep me awake and terrified for the next 180km as we maneuver through the treacherous heights of the Shakharistan Pass. All along the steep mountainsides the wrecked and rusted carcasses of unfortunate vehicles provide silent, eerie tesimony to the hazards of the M34. I breathe deeply and trust Kenjal…even though he is slightly crazy and can’t hear very well, he sure knows how to drive. Finally, we descend down our last mountain and cruise the broad, flat plains of Northern Tajikistan. Soon, a big smile comes to my face and the sweat on my palms begins to dry up…after 350km of the worst roads I have ever traversed in my 25 years, I have reached Khujand at last!
To see currently fundraising loans from MLF Microinvest on Kiva.org, please click here.
