Posts filed under 'Bolivia'
The Cows of Cochabamba
By Nick Cain, KF7 Paraguay
In Cochabamba, Bolivia, milk is quite literally the ticket to financial services and economic growth. Kiva lenders, meet CIDRE, your newest Field Partner in Bolivia. Last week I traveled from Asunción, Paraguay to Cochabamba, Bolivia to train CIDRE’s staff members on the Kiva platform, help them learn a little about the Kiva community, and make sure they had everything they needed in order to start connecting their borrowers to Kiva lenders.
- A panoramic view of Cochabamba
The staff was enthusiastic to get to work and learn more about Kiva, so Day One of my visit was all training sessions and PowerPoints. But on Day Two, CIDRE’s new Kiva Coordinator, Diego Cardona, and I set off for the outskirts of Cochabamba to meet some borrowers. Most of CIDRE’s loan products are geared to serve the region’s dairy farmers, a community of micro-entrepreneurs who own anywhere from 5 – 25 cows and earn income by selling milk to Pil, the region’s lone dairy corporation. Cochabamba’s dairy farmers are concentrated in a large swath of land behind the city’s airport. About 10 minutes after leaving CIDRE’s offices in the city center, paved roads gave way to a lumpy, dusty web of cinder-block houses and muddy cow pastures. Eventually Diego and I came to a stop, eye-to-eye with a couple of rather hefty bovines.
4 comments 16 June 2009
Goodbye Kiva!
Last week was my last week as a Kiva Fellow. As I sat in the cold air of the bar Emprender took me to celebrate the end of my time with their offices and the national Dia del Trabajador (or workers day), I realized how far I have come. And how hard it would be to sum up the personal aspect of being a Kiva Fellow. And equally hard to sum up what microfinance looks like to me.
Here is an effort to show what I mean. Take a look at an album I made of my favorite entrepreneur photos from my placement in Honduras and in Bolivia.
I had just spent a solid hour learning the lilted, stomping, righteous traditional dance steps from Emprender’s regional directors and office managers. I was casually discussing (in imperfect but newly fully functional Spanish) the future of Evo’s MAS party. It was at this moment, during a pause in the live band’s flute playing and guitar strumming that I realized I have learned this city from the inside out. That is, I can tell you where the used clothes come from and how much a cow stomach has been marked up by the seller (35%). Microfinance can be a problem and I worry about over indebtedness, and irresponsibly lending to people who can’t repay. I worry that perhaps we still aren’t reaching the poorest of the poor, and perhaps there is a better way to relieve poverty. Is lending just a construct of “The West” (whatever that is) that shouldn’t be exported to “The Rest” (whatever that is)? I still don’t know.
Looking back on my 6 months as a Kiva Fellow, the sum total is positive. Enthusiastic, creative loan officers and entrepreneurs. Shiny new ideas and optimism. Smiles, laughs and hope. Microfinance doesn’t just change the material position of a family, but their self-image. This idea of self-image bleeds into the national consciousness. It changes women, and it inspires a community.
Flora bakes bread and now sells directly to a school with a monthly contract. Her loan allowed her to commit to a certain amount of product resulting in this contract that evens out her income and lends some predictability to a life wrought with uncertainty. She told me to pass along specific thanks to Kiva lenders.
Flora with her oven
Ramiro was robbed and lost the material he needed to run his tire replacing business. His Kiva loan puts him back on his feet. He spent the whole interview talking about the future. A bigger store. Transmission replacement. Employing his brothers.
Ramiro
Story after story like these two have warmed my heart, and made me believe.
Personally, I learned that I can’t stop my feet from itching, and will probably spend the rest of my life in a constant state of building a home and then taking it down again- and that I like that as much as I hate it.
Morning in La Paz- Sierra cleaning house
I’ll never find a solution to poverty that fits in every way, and I’ll always have my doubts. Still, the fight for equality moves me, connects me, and I’ll never stop trying, thinking, working and exploring. Thank you Kiva for this opportunity.
**Sierra Visher is a Kiva Fellow (KF6) posted in Honduras with Prisma and Bolivia with Emprender. She is heading to Pisco, Peru to volunteer with MAD Volunteers. After that- the open road. You can follow her journey on her personal blog. **
4 comments 6 May 2009
Best for Bolivia
Bolivia’s political conflict, antics and struggle are very much a part of the day to day. But somehow, I haven’t really felt it. I know that in September of 2008 the situation was much more tense. Violence was on the rise. The US Ambassador was expelled. A potential civil war between the highly indigenous west supporting Evo Morales and the more politically conservative, often land-owning east seeking autonomy? Throw in the simplifying and mystifying fact that in Latin America, right now, you are with Chavez or you are with the US, and I am left constantly talking about Evo’s policies and in equal portion, American sins.
Chavez and Evo
This was true this week when I met Don Lorenzo, who with a loan in his wife’s name, makes cholita hats. He asks me within the first five minutes a simple question: do you believe in the indigenous people of Bolivia? Simple. Yes.
Don Lorenzo and His Hats
So why does my government choose to burn down the coca fields, not only an ancient custom but also a competitive product on the capitalist global stage? I’m well versed in this- first, Don Lorenzo, I disagree with the US government’s war on drugs. But I can help explain some of the complex internal politics that have led to our obsession with curbing supply, and often ignoring demand. Second, we should make a distinction between the government of a country and the people of a country. I will do the same in the way I view the Bolivians.
An error. NO! Don Lorenzo sees himself perfectly reflected in his government. Evo is the face of the people. He understands their culture, their dreams, their hopes. He is one of us. Don Lorenzo says he has been molding, steaming, cutting and selling these hats, an image of indigenous Bolivia for his whole life, and Evo makes him even prouder every time his wife dresses in her pollera and sombrero and hits the streets to sell these beautiful products. I am Bolivia, says Don Lorenzo. So, by extension, Sierra is the US. The US government that is. Will it work to explain that electing an African American in some ways carries the same meaning for us as electing Evo was for them? I hesitate to call Obama an indigenous leader, but will “community organizer” transfer?
Bolivian Congressional Building
Probably not. I steer clear of the conversation, sweeping a wide arch that includes questions about where felt comes from and how his father learned the trade, but inevitably land roughly on, “so you are in support of Evo?”. “Are you?” he returns. Flat. Well. I don’t know. Like most places, the truth about what’s best and what’s worst lies somewhere in the forgotten in-between. Do I think Evo is good for Bolivia?
Several little points, primarily as anecdotes, come to mind. First, every person over the age of 65 gets 200 Bolivianos a month. This is practically nothing, but it feels like something. It feels like the government cares and that’s not nothing. He is fighting for literacy. Signs everywhere say, “Un Pais Libre de Analfabetismo”, a country free of illiteracy. Good effort, but I know several illiterate people. Still, they can take classes for free…if only they had the time. A rebirth of kids speaking Aymara. I love the thought that languages can be preserved, and something in me lights up when I hear Atajo’s lead singer rapping in Ayamara, even if it’s against the Yankees stealing his identity. More people than ever are employed by city governments to clean up and preserve immaculate plazas. And aren’t they pretty? Makes me proud to be here, like I know a secret- Bolivia is really beautiful.
San Pedro Plaza
But there are several little things that worry me. First, that he keeps changing the constitution so he run again. And then maybe again and again. Hunger strikes, Evo sitting on his floor munching coca, are an effective way to get congress to pass his measures. Corruption hard to measure but still a real force.
And the grey area. A perfect example is the fractura system. Each person in Bolivia has a section of their salary withheld and they can only use it in places that offer fractura. Or a receipt. To be able to offer a receipt, and thus attract customers, the business must both register with the government and pay taxes. This encourages the formal sector, and raises money for the state. A good thing. Except its hard to offer fractura, and most small businesses can’t. And it hurts. Not the woman on the corner selling just a few dozen oranges a day, but it does hurt a Kiva client who dries and packages chili peppers and wants to start selling to incorporated supermarkets. Plus, it seems to infringe a bit on one’s liberties to be told where they can shop. But oops, that’s my American-ness again.
Kiva Entrepreneur's Chili Peppers
And really, how does the political situation here affect business? For Don Lorenzo, his business is, in part, a political expression. Still there aren’t that many jobs, and people become business owners not because they want to, but because they have few options. The market appears saturated, but how could I possibly measure that with my limited tools- a camera and a notepad? I found out partway through my visit that his wife, Mercedes wasn’t at home because she was in a big march down the main street expressing general support for Evo. I asked how often she does this, and was surprised with the answer. Whenever her association requires.
Most small businesses like Don Lorenzo and Mercedes’ are part of a neighborhood association, that pools money to keep the street they sell on safe, and mostly clean. The have meetings once a month and are organized. Its one of the parts I like most about small businesses here. But whenever the director (a member of Evo’s MAS party, always) says they have to march, or blockade, they pick up and do it. If they don’t, the association issues a fine -they can’t sell their products for 1-3 days. Political participation in support of Evo is thus compulsory. Good thing Don Lorenzo and Mercedes believe in it. Otherwise this would be corruption, and an infringement on individuality. But oops, that’s my American-ness again.
After saying goodbye, and eliciting a few friendly laughs with my attempt to bid farewell in Aymara, I was in a taxi on the way to visit a friend when we bumped into Mercedes’ march. It was big. Lots of color and guns. A zebra is knocked down by the crowd. People dressed as zebras direct traffic in La Paz with happy faces and fancy dances. This is Evo’s attempt to “re-educate” people about traffic manners, and its harder to fight a zebra than a police officer. I open the door of a cab to help the zebra up when a riot cop sprays the mob with tear gas.
Zebra hard at work
Burn. My nostrils afire, my eyes burned shut. Have I really just been tear-gassed in La Paz? Where did the plaza with the flowers go, and my favorite egg lady? Where are the tuba players and the children with the icecream? A different world descends and my nearly blind taxi driver drops me above the blockade, near a gorgeous church where a friend is waiting. I’ve been told cigarette smoke binds to tear gas and helps. A non-smoker, I chock back two, trying to blow the smoke into my own eyes and sit it out. I was 100% fine 20 minutes later. The zebra was fine.
Now amidst Evo’s crys for international investigation of a plot to assassinate him, I find myself wondering still, what is best? The only conclusion that I can come to is, like the surreal moment when I’m helping a man dressed as a zebra move out of the street of half-hearted protestors, facing a cop in full riot gear spraying gas generally through a crowd, I am out of my element. I am not in a position to evaluate what is best for Bolivia.
Although, I did like sharing in Don Lorenzo’s pride, and will forever remember his smile more vividly than a blurry taxi ride.
Don Lorenzo and Sierra
Sierra Visher is a Kiva Fellow (KF6) from California on her second placement in Bolivia with Emprender. All funding loans from Emprender can be found here. Sierra can be reached at svisher@gmail.com, and enjoys hearing from Kiva lenders!
10 comments 24 April 2009
How Sierra Found Her Glasses
Emprender has two offices in Cochabamba and three in Santa Cruz. Both these cities have a distinct character, and reputation that precedes them. The Cochabambinos, or “ “Bambinos” (best nick name ever right?) are known for their gigantic plates of food. Everyone tells me that I would eat a lot in Cochabamba, and that I would find the climate perfect. In Santa Cruz, I would find people of a totally different culture. The kind that whistle at the women in the street, take off dancing at a moment’s notice, men with mojo and women with hot blood. All ferociously against La Paz’s beloved Evo Morales. I’m told that when I travel to the other parts of the country, that I would understand the background of Bolivia, what goes on behind the scenes. They couldn’t have been more correct. In the last few days, I’ve really learned about what goes on behind the scenes….and…under the table.
I was ushered into the station at 7am in the morning by screaming, bartering women in the Cochabamba station and rapidly found myself down 30 Bolivianos, and carefully stowed into the top seats on a bus, or floata, to Santa Cruz. The seats directly above the driver are incredibly beautiful. A huge surround seat window gives you the feeling you are flying above the road, the panoramic views simply take you’re breath away. I wondered, how did I score this!! I soon found out.
Window Views
The beautiful windows in this seat don’t open. Though I had space, a comfy seat and, of course, the view, I have never been so hot in all my life. The windows acted as a green house, and the little space got hotter and hotter and hotter. People, bags, food and even a dog in a box filled the aisle- there was no where to go. Luckily, in Bolivia, people come running to the window to sell you coolish jello at every stop, so I slurped my way down the road. The worst part though was that my glasses kept fogging up in the humidity became unbearably slippery, so I hung them on the curtain.
Nearly 16 hours later, I arrived in Santa Cruz, flopped out of the bus covered in sweat and filled with jello to wait in the heat for Julio, Emprender’s regional director to meet me at the bus station. I normally keep my cool (pun intended) in these kind of situations, but something unnerves me about Santa Cruz. Everyone has told me that this is a really dangerous station, and I’m just a little flustered. Which pocket has the big bills and which is the small? Do I have all my electronics? Did I keep that tiny scrap of paper they handed me when I boarded, and now inexplicably want back? When I get to the hotel, I realized that in my fluster, I left my glasses on the bus!
Though I’m not supposed to be running around a bus station at night, I pop into a cab and rush over for the price of 30 Bolivianos (a 10 minute drive that cost the same as the 15 hour bus). I run around the whole station looking for someone from the Trans Copacabana line. I find a friendly worker who after asking me to marry him, or provide sexual services, tells me that I arrived in bus 81, parked down this alley way. Keys between my knuckles, taxi driver following me at the rate of 5 Bolivianos, I make my way down the ally way plastered with anti-Evo posters. The drivers are at dinner, and are probably drunk, says a neighbor driver. I can return by 6 am to catch them.
The next morning I am there by six with another expensive taxi driver waiting in the parking lot (other taxis aren’t safe at this hour apparently) in the pouring rain trying to find my bus. Its not there. The ally is, but the bus is not. Trying to be as quick as possible, I run towards toward the main terminal to ask for information and I crash right into a line of barbed wire mysteriously strung between two trees. Maybe I should mention that without my glasses, I can’t see.
The bus has gone on an unexpected trip and won’t be back until night, several loads of passengers have been collected and everyone, six different people I’ve consulted, tell me there is no way they are still aboard. A pair of frames like that can be sold easily here. A last ditch effort, I leave my number with Juan, an assistant with Trans Copacabana who seems helpful, has told me I’m beautiful, and I make my tired, wet, bloody, dirty way back to the hotel to rush into the shower before I have to leave for the office.
Chasing Buses
Like modern miracle, at lunch, Juan calls – they found my glasses!! For a fee.
I ask how much, he says, “a small amount” and my phone cuts out. Rober, the Emprender loan officer I’m with, kindly accompanies me to the bus station, and waits with his car while I follow Juan to the bus. An error. I should have gone with Rober, who might have known what my glasses would cost. When I get there, they bring me down my glasses, and putting them on, the world seems clearer. I realize I have no idea how to pay a fee, or a bribe, or whatever it is I have to pay. Not expecting to have to pay this kind of thing, I don’t have the best denominations. I have a 20 B note, or about $3, and a 100 B note, which is about $14, which is a bit of money here. I rarely spend 100Bs in one setting. I give the driver the 20. He looks at it, scoffs throws it in the mud and trumps off. I feel terrible I want to do whats right. Is it right to pay? Is it right not to? Juan picks it up, tries to make me feel better, but explains that the driver was expecting at least 50, oh, and that he himself expects an additional amount. Can I ask for change? 100 Bs is a lot of money for me, and I’ve already spent hours in the mud, tons of money on taxis, I’m all cut up from the barbed wire, I was at the station late last night, and at 5 o’clock this morning and now this!? I miss the lost and found boxes so common in the US. Where is the little drawer behind the counter?
The driver won’t look at me, or stop grumbling loudly to his buddies “Gringa blah blah blah Gringa blah blah”. I leave the 20 B plus the 100 B (because I have to pay Juan something) with Juan asking him to share because the driver now won’t take anything I hand him and keeps throwing it in the mud. And looking at me with a combination of repulsive lust and hate. Will Juan share? I feel like a bumbling cultural idiot, I ashamed I can’t do what seems to be normal all over the world, and what looks so easy in American crime movies- passing slippery money from hand to hand, no one noticing. At the same time, I’m furious that I should have to. Who knows if it resolved. Glasses in hand, or rather, on face, my last pair of pants thoroughly wet, Rober and I take off for the next Kiva client.
Later, I met a group of women today who really brought it all into focus. One of them sells cosmetics for Avon and needed a loan to pay a fee to them that she feels is unfair. One of them was unfairly fired from her job as a babysitter and is trying to make ends meet by selling sweets from her home. One of them has a husband who is a bus driver who is constantly working more hours than is legal, and because his company doesn’t pay insurance for the truck, only the cargo, a recent accident has devastated their family, and they needed a loan. Rober and I have a long conversation about how lawyers are all crooks and their only ability is to suavely do what I couldn’t – pay bribes. Later I learn from one loan officer that El Torno, a town outside of Santa Cruz, where Emprender has an office, is suffering from a corrupt mayor who avoided corruption charges by signing up with Evo´s party, now he´s a true Masista. This is of course what everyone believes, but the truth is probably somewhat more nuanced.
New Friends
Its not that the country is so ramp with corruption that small businesses can’t get ahead, but rather that it happens often enough that it appears no one trusts the system. They don’t trust the political system, or the economic system or any of the promises that have been made to them by most institutions. Despite all this by at the end of the day, as Rober helped me over a slippery slope, I realized, maybe trust can begin with your solidarity group, and then with your bank. Then with your neighbor, your employer, your political party, and with your country. I felt a little bit more cheery, and felt like I could see.
4 comments 17 April 2009
A Day in El Alto
El Alto is the place where microfinance pretty much started in Latin America and it has held my interest for years. This cold, wind-swept city is an incredible phenomenon of urbanization, globalization, and pretty much any other -ization you can think of. La Paz, the city proper, sits in a bowl high up on Bolivia’s altiplano. Here, the city is protected from some of the bitter cold and wind. High up above the city, the flat plateau-like city of El Alto, is where the city’s poorest residents live, work and get by. A place washed by persistent, filthy, rotten poverty.
On the Edge of El Alto
Despite the cold, the sun at this altitude not only burns me instantly but imbues everything with a surreal light. Perhaps this is why El Alto struck me as one of the most colorful, vibrant places I’ve ever been. Markets are pouring out of windows, stands, corners and the very faces of El Alto residents. This desire to sell, to move, to change seems to me the very essence of El Alto. Most residents have come from “el campo”, or the country, looking for a better life. They stopped here and did their best. Now this sprawling, freezing metropolis of nearly a million people is a city unto itself boasting an apparently famous youth hip hop movement (must learn more about this), industries budding on every corner, a re-constitution of traditional art now mixed with urban vibes, music, family and of course- the market. Here is where we find Kiva funded clients.
El Alto Market
I met Saturnina and her husband Eufrin. She had so much to say about how Emprender needs to lower their interest rates, that I couldn’t get a word in edge wise. I had the long list of Kiva questions to run through, but standing there talking to her, the sun searing my back, through the shirt I have, the sweat slipping down my back and soaking the top of my jeans, I just didn’t get to them. I recently learned you can sunburn through your clothes. This is a first for me. I suddenly felt my eyes tracking, my mouth cracking and my feet swelling. Too much walking in too much sun for too long with too little water. I ended the conversation, walked promptly to the juice lady behind me and drank three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice one right after the other. Despite not asking my normal questions, I learned from Saturnina, dressed in colorful clothing and mysteriously with some sort of leaves stuffed in her ears, that she has several loans from many MFIs and while Emprender’s interest rates of 39% annually are the lowest she pays, they are still too high. Duh. How do we lower them? She is over-indebted and I’m reminded again of the limits of microfinance.
Saturnina and Eufrin
For lunch, I had the single foulest food I’ve had yet. And I have had goat head soup. Charquecan is llama meat dried in the sun until it resembles beef jerkey. The word jerkey, coincidentally, comes from charque. Then you shred the llama meat and serve it over homily and dehydrated potatoes, or “chuño” with a chunk of what appears to be mostly rotten cheese and a hardboiled egg. It comes to you looking like a big bowl of hair with an egg. I sat with Alberto, a really nice, unusually single loan officer who is probably the kindest person I have met here. Loves charquecan, and is stoked that I’m shoveling it in my mouth with equal proportions of fanta. He says he’s worried about the poverty in his country and wonders how long it can go on like this. “Estoy orgulloso de ser parte de la solución”, or I’m proud to be part of the solution. It was like he was speaking straight to my heart.
Alberto, an Emprender Loan Officer
We return to the office where I pull myself together, organize a bit, and prepare to leave. Suddenly the confusion. Its my first day in this particular field office and everyone is worried. How will she get home? Can she understand the buses? She has her computer, can she make it to the bus stop? I knew what I was doing. I could see the stop from where we were standing. I just needed to get going so I’d arrive back home in the La Paz, or “the hole” before dark. After some commotion, a kiss on every face I’m off. Except. The security guard truly cannot handle me walking alone and insists on putting me in a bus to take me two blocks to where I catch the other. There is literally nothing I can do about it that would be appropriate. He flags one down, opens the door, negotiates with the bus driver and literally helps me into the front seat like my dad on the first day of school. I take these buses constantly, and am proud not to be a fumbling idiot in them. I have never felt so white, or so incapable of organizing my own time. The bus immediately turns down a different road. I ask to get out and the bus driver says, no, he has to first make a U turn. Suddenly I’m lost. Its getting dark. I am carrying a camera, a computer, a video camera and some money in the middle of El Alto. Sigh.
About 45 minutes later, after many conversations I get to a bus that takes me mostly in the right direction. I’m in. Its steaming with people’s warm breath in the frozen air. Cholita’s bowler-hats blocking my view. Its warm and as I start to drift off BAM! We blow a tire. Standing in the hail 45 minutes later somewhere between El Alto and La Paz, trying to catch another bus with the throng of Bolivians, I am reminded of how convenient everything in the US is. The metro with its predicted arrival times, clean and orderly. I’m frustrated, but I have some sort of inner calm that comes with knowing that I’m going home to a warm house with food in the fridge. Not just tonight, but always.
6 comments 22 March 2009
Sitting Some Days
Some days as a Kiva Fellow totally rock. Its like, “snap, snap, snap!” You are in the groove, making good decisions, few cultural errors, you are visiting clients, streamlining internal processes, inspiring the staff of Kiva’s partners, making connections and generally rocking out. Here is a quick video I made of a day during which I visited clients.
Some days…ie, today, are not so snappy. I got to one of Emprender’s field offices to find that they really didn’t have time to take me to visit clients like I had thought, and as we planned together. So far, Emprender has been more strict about adhereing to the daily plan we nailed out on day one than me, so I didn’t expect this change. I come without computer, in sneakers, jeans, sweater, rain jacket, plastic bags for electronics and lots of pens. I sit down, still not totally getting it that we aren’t going anywhere today and start to “observe”. Which means……make sure my eyes stay open.
Without preparation, besides being available for casual, around the water cooler conversations about Kiva, there is little capacity training I can do, and no one has time for me anyways. I ended up observing a few groups repay their loans (not Kiva clients), and a group prepare for a disbursment (again, not Kiva clients), and I managed to eat an enormous bowl filled will boiled chicken feet, but other than that. I sat there. For 6.5 hours. No book.
Kiva Fellows looking to pump me up, and my own internal dialogue tell me, “This is very normal, and your physical presence actually does create connections between Emprender and Kiva. It is important not to undervalue the importance of observing their processes and becoming a familiar sight. You can learn a lot that way about how the office functions, and use your experience with the group loans to write a general blog post about Emprender”. Its true, I know. But still.
So far, I’ve been truly surprised by the productivity, so I won’t beat myself up over today. But its still good to note, despite climbing Mt. Kilamanjaro, massively re-working the way Kiva is implemented, connecting on a deeply personal level with clients and generally saving the world- some days, a Kiva Fellow just sits.
10 comments 6 March 2009
Carnaval Crazies and Office Calm
I arrived in Bolivia on Sunday to the happy sounds and bright colors of Carnaval. The whole country was busy with their week long celebrations before lent. This Christian country incorporates many indigenous beliefs. Nearly all the entradas, or parades, that made getting from the airport to my apartment really difficult, are to honor some deity related to the earth, the sky, hell or food. Many offerings are made throughout the drunken mayhem. Water balloons and super soaker 5000s arm every child on every corner. The streets were filled for days with the sounds of fire crackers, screaming children and traditional music. Every person’s eyes were glazed with the happy film of Paceña, the local beer in La Paz. Though adjusting to the crazy altitude where fires don’t light and pasta doesn’t cook since water boils at such a low temperature, I partook as best I could.
Women wear over 30 skirts to show off their textile skills
This kind of break is clearly needed. The Bolivian staff at Kiva’s partner MFI, Emprender, work long, hard hours. Bolivians are known for their clear, slow Spanish (lucky for me), and their serious affect. I find this to be very true in this office of solemn faced workers. At first I was intimidated, but not more than 5 minutes had passed when they started to make straight faced jokes, that I’m proud to say I understood. I am so welcomed and comfortable in their office. Though serious and solemn, the Emprender staff feel an intense connection to the social aspect of their work. Christian, the young doctor who manages Kiva in Emprender is happy to pass along his responsibilities to a new Kiva Coordinator and focus full time on his health program. Starting shortly, Emprender clients can opt into a health insurance plan, pay slightly more at every loan repayment, and receive health services. I look forward to attending the opening. Around every corner I find a new plan for improving the lives of Emprender’s clients. They have an integrated approach to microfinace that is refreshing and inspiring.
Christian working in Emprender's Main Office
Our time together has been thoroughly planned, and I look forward to recounting the successes Emprender has here, the struggles I might encounter, and the face of microfinance in Bolivia. I can’t wait to meet the clients. I expect solemn faces barely hiding the color and excitement just below the surface that greeted me on my arrival.
4 comments 26 February 2009
Making the most of Medex
As I wrote in my last blog entry, my weekend’s planned excursions included a climb up the tallest statue of Jesus in the world (disappointing—turns out he’s closed on Sundays) and a hike in nearby Tunari national park. It also included an unplanned visit to the Clinica Belga Boliviana, the fanciest-sounding hospital in my Lonely Planet guidebook. I had learned the hard way that angry dogs really do bite you in the butt, just like countless cartoon mailmen. I told the clinic’s emergency room attendant that I’d been attacked by a wild dog in the woods and wanted a rabies shot. “Sure, take a seat,” he told me. I winced—talk about adding insult to injury.
Feeling his pain
After 30 minutes or so, a doctor called me in. I told her what had happened: I was hiking in a national park, minding my own business and enjoying my Saturday afternoon, when four dogs started barking at me then attacked me out of nowhere, one of them managing to rip out a small chunk of my bum. I expected to be applauded for having the good sense to go get my rabies shot immediately after having been bitten by a strange dog in the woods, but instead the doctor just clucked her tongue.
“You know, the best thing to do in these situations is to control the dog. Could you go find this dog?”
I was confused, not sure if she was actually asking me to go out alone in search of the potentially rabid dog, who was roaming free in a national park some 45 minutes away, probably gloating over the tiny piece of a gringa’s butt he had won earlier that day. I told her I really wasn’t comfortable capturing the dog and bringing him back to the clinic for observation. The doctor sighed again, and tried to convince me that this vaccine would be a hassle:
“It’s expensive… you’ll have to come back 5 times… you might get jaundice… you really don’t think you could find this dog?”
I was starting to feel kind of silly and spoiled. Why had my parents never taught me any useful skills, like animal trapping? Thirteen years of violin lessons weren’t doing me much good right now. But, as spoiled as I felt, I was determined to get my shots. After having written a report on rabies for Mrs. Cornwall’s 9th grade health class, I had definitively decided that I did not want to die from rabies.
After some poking and prodding, the on-duty doctor finally called the dog-bite-specialist-doctor at home. I caught some whispered snippets of their conversation:
“Hello, Doctor? So sorry to call you at home… foreign girl here… wild dog in the woods… told her to control it, but… doesn’t want to go find it…. I know… I know… Yes, OK, thank you doctor.”
She turned to me. “All right, show me the wound.”
Finally, I thought. I tried to moon the doctor as respectfully as possible and hopped onto the stretcher. Just as she started to clean up the bloody mess, a call went out over the PA system: the doctor was needed to attend to a patient arriving by ambulance. I was left, alone and exposed on a stretcher, for what felt like an eternity (but was probably 30 minutes). Various hospital personnel wandered in and out of the room, seemingly oblivious to my delicate situation as a half-naked, potentially rabid foreigner. Well, at least this will make a decent blog entry when it’s all over, I thought to myself. Not quite Jessica-getting-malaria-in-Nigeria-good, but decent.
Things turned out my way in the end—the good doctor returned, bandaged my bum, gave me my first of five rabies shots, and sent me on my way with just a slight limp and some holes in my pants (and my butt) to show for my afternoon adventure. Now I’m following the locals’ (and T.R.’s) advice to always use Big Stick Diplomacy. Not my favorite foreign policy in U.S. history, but it sure does the trick with Bolivian dogs.
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7 comments 19 September 2008
Cochabamboozled
I have eaten more in the past six days than in my previous five weeks in Bolivia. Cochabambinos pride themselves on living in the eating capital of Bolivia, and the third question people ask you after “What’s your name?” and “Where are you from?” is usually “How do you like the food?” The local specialty is pique, a big pile of beef, chicken, sausage, hot dogs, tripe, chicharrones, hard-boiled eggs and udder (udder!) stacked 8-12 inches high on a bed of french fries. Ronny and Paola, AgroCapital’s Credit Manager and Kiva Coordinator, were good enough to take me out for a culinary introduction to Cochabamba soon after my arrival. Thanks to the pique, my planned envigorating evening jog turned into severe food coma and falling asleep at 7pm with all of my clothes on. This microfinance thing is exhausting.
Pique
I’m lucky enough to get a tour of Bolivia along with my Kiva fellowship, since I’m spending time at three different AgroCapital branch offices: a month in El Alto, a month in Cochabamba and a month in Santa Cruz. There’s a lot of tension between different regions in Bolivia, namely between the eastern, resource-rich “half-moon” regions that want autonomy and the western highlands, which are poorer, mostly indigenous Aymara, and back the Evo Morales government and its socialist agenda. El Alto is almost 100% behind Morales, Cochabamba is somewhat divided, and Santa Cruz is mostly against Morales. It’s painful to see how much time and effort is spent on regional bickering and political posturing in a country where there’s so much to be done in terms of infrastructure and development. And as far as I can tell there’s no easy solution in sight–though more than 60% of the country backs Morales, accoring to the August 10th referendum, the other 40% controls most of the country’s wealth and natural resources and doesn’t plan on ceding them any time soon. This rich-poor, east-west dichotomy goes way back, as does a tradition of corrupt politicians and dictators who serve the wealthy elite. Bolivia has seen 193 presidential coups in its history as an independent nation (an average of one every 10 months, according to Wikipedia), so many that the presidential palace is known as the Palacio Quemado (“burned palace”). I asked one of the loan officers what he thought of the current government and he responded, “Well, it sure has lasted a long time.” This made me smile–my government sure has lasted a long time too, but that’s not exactly on its list of merits for me 
.
Bolivia is a beautiful country, making all of the hard times it’s fallen on even more tragic. Weekend excursions have taken me on a glacier climb, hiking and eating trout on beautiful Lake Titicaca–this weekend looks like a climb up the world’s tallest statue of Jesus and a trip to the Tunari national park. And probably a few generous portions of meat and potatoes.
Climbing the Chica Colla glacier with Dan, Doug, Martin and Emmett
Lake Titicaca
2 comments 5 September 2008
Bolivin´ at high altitude
During Kiva orientation, we each had to name our biggest fears about the fellowship. I said I was nervous about not fitting in—I’d learned to adapt pretty well while living in Chile for a year and on my best day I could pass for Chilean, but I knew living in Bolivia would be another story. As soon as I set foot in El Alto, however, I realized how silly my worries were as this fear was immediately eclipsed by another—the constant feeling that I was about to be run over by a minibus.
El Alto is a really vibrant, mostly indigenous Aymara city on a plateau above the valley of La Paz. The neighborhood I’m living in is called La Ceja (“the eyebrow”) because it’s perched right on the rim, about to spill into the city valley. I’ve never seen so much life packed into so little space before—virtually all of my needs can be met without going outside of the two square-block radius around my hostel. Buses to anywhere in Bolivia, international flights, four different microfinance banks and at least one regular bank, quinoa juice, whole limbs of animals in jerky form, you name it. Like Cara and Chantal, I’ve found that Spanish only gets me so far here. Many alteños, especially older folks and recent migrants, speak Spanish as a second language to Aymara. I had hoped to be really good at picking up Aymara, but as it turns out I’m totally useless.
At home in the U.S., two of my tried-and-true maxims are “I’ll take whatever’s cheapest” and “They wouldn’t sell me that if it were really dangerous.” However, after a month in Bolivia (and a handful of broken down buses, a bout with food poisoning and an attempted trip up a narrow mountain road in a snowstorm on a minibus with no snow tires), my mom will be happy to hear that I’ve reluctantly retired these maxims and replaced them with “Is this really a good idea?” There doesn’t seem to be a regulatory agency for much of anything in Bolivia, which leads to delightful labeling like that of my favorite Bolivian beer, El Inca: “An iron-laden beer tonic recommended by the most renowned doctors for anemic, weak and convalescent persons.” Another one of my favorite claims was by a boy on the bus from Oruro to La Paz who was selling powdered maca (a Bolivian root vegetable)—“Do you feel tired? Weak? Jittery? Anxious? Lackluster? Señores y señoras, I have the answer. Maca, señores y señoras, will cure what ails you. Maca is the most potent vegetable known to humanity. Señores y señoras, maca prevents osteoporosis and cancer. It cures anemia, señores y señoras. It is a stimulant, señores y señoras; it is a tranquilizer. It cures impotence, señores y señoras—maca has been called the Bolivian Viagra by international experts. Señores y señoras, maca is used by NASA scientists in the United States to ensure the vitality and heartiness of their space astronauts. And I’m here to offer you, señores y señoras, three envelopes of miraculous maca for just 30 bolivianos.”
One morning, about two weeks ago, I awoke and walked outside my room at the hostel where I’m staying, only to nearly walk into a giant hole with a two-story drop (pictured). Confused, I asked the nice young guy at the front desk what was with the giant hole outside my room. “Oh, that—just wanted to let some more light in,” he replied, equally confused as to why I would ask a question like that.
Letting the light in
There’s a lot of improvisation in everyday life here – which can be fun or frustrating, depending on the circumstances – and serves as a continuous reminder of just how orderly and predictable my life usually is. Last week, for example, we were heading back to El Alto from La Paz, and halfway there the driver told us we couldn’t go any further because the alteños had taken to the streets in an impromptu pro-Evo rally. So we got out and walked along the shoulder. Along the way, we noticed that an awful lot of drivers had gotten out of their cars and were taking apart the highway median by hand so that they could turn their cars around—this was a standard, sturdy metal freeway median with big bolts the size of my fist! It never would have occurred to me that such a thing could be taken apart by hand, much less that this was the logical solution to being stuck in traffic. But when in Rome (or El Alto)…
All in all, Bolivia has been a great experience and quite the adventure. I’ve really enjoyed my first week working with AgroCapital, my MFI, and have been really impressed by the hard work of both the loan officers and the clients I’ve met with. I was also lucky enough to meet up with Partner Development Specialist Dan, retired Kiva Fellow Cara and her husband Engineer Sam in La Paz—it was great to see some familiar faces.
Looking forward to writing more soon!
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4 comments 17 August 2008
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