Posts filed under 'BRAC Uganda'
No Ordinary Day
Not long ago, I was trapped in a mind numbing corporate cubicle, devoid of spirit, trading my time for money. I fantasized about days like this. Well, not exactly.
Grace didn’t tell me we were going into the field today. I was wearing my best clothes – navy blue slacks, a pressed white shirt and shiny black loafers, prepared instead for a day in the office. Naturally I was excited to join her and seized the opportunity without hesitation. “Nkokonjeru,” Grace replied when I asked her where we were going, “it’s not far.” She didn’t intentionally mislead me. Besides, it sounded like a lovely rural village. That much at least was true.
Old Taxi Park
Our saga began in Kampala’s old taxi park. The old taxi park is a chaotic, densely packed and altogether disorienting entanglement. I try to avoid it at all costs. That’s hard to do since all routes leading out of the city center originate at the taxi park and routes into the city terminate at the park. Even routine movement from say my guest house on Namirembe Hill on the southwestern perimeter of the city to my office in Kamwokya in the north central (about 6 km as the crow flies) requires a frustrating connection and a long delay through the taxi park, turning what should be a short commute into an hour-long journey that tests the limits of one’s patience and tolerance for discomfort. The Ugandan taxi system is not designed for the comfort and convenience of the passengers it serves.
The routine goes something like this: locate your taxi (white Toyota minivan, aka matatu) in a sea of thousands of identical others in a labyrinth of shouting barkers, hawkers and pedestrians. The taxi park is not ordered neatly into rows or equipped with clearly-marked signs or parking stalls, and there are no set schedules. With luck, you’ll eventually zero in on your van through a process of trial and error. Matatus, however, do not leave until they are full – a literal determinant not open to subjectivity: thirteen out of fourteen occupied seats is not full. If you arrive early, as Grace and I did on this unbearably hot day, you grab a seat, start sweating profusely and wait. And wait. And wait. We baked for nearly 40 minutes to medium-well until gleefully accepting our fourteenth victim. While this poor soul was lucky enough to avoid the long wait, he got the most uncomfortable seat – a fold-down jumper that he had to share with the conductor – all the way to Nkokonjeru. Either way, the taxi park exacts its price in misery.
Kampala’s notoriously bad traffic was especially awful this day. I craved movement, not for progress but for the breeze; instead, we roasted in agonizing stillness. We didn’t escape the grip of gridlock until Mukono, well outside the city limit, but freedom was fleeting. We immediately left the paved road (not to be confused with smooth) and joined a bone-jarring dirt road. Each time we hit a rut, or swerved to avoid one, I was bounced around painfully and frequently whacked my head. The van sounded like it was being ripped apart by the fissures, with deafening bangs. Seeking comfort on the “cushioned” seats was wasted energy. The driver, like most, was hard on the throttle and brakes, and the van’s suspension system was on strike. My legs grew fatigued from trying to brace myself – hard to do with my knees in my chest and unable to apply leverage.
Worst still was the dust from two weeks without rain. Constant clouds of thick blowing dust left no choice but to close all the windows. Lacking fresh air, the temperature inside the van sweltered. Closing the windows proved futile as plumes of dirt billowed in through holes, cracks and unsealed windows. I could barely see the front seat of the van as we raced down the abusive road. The limit of my endurance was being teased and I urgently needed relief. So I slid my window open. Big mistake! The other passengers, all Ugandan, shot me an aggravated look in unison while shouting at me in Luganda. I interpreted their response to my (obviously stupid) action as objectionable, and complied by closing my window. Grace thanked me. I couldn’t even access the water I had the foresight to bring – it was like trying to take a swig on a tilt-a-whirl.
Nkokonjeru
I was a physical mess and in wretched spirits when we finally arrived at Nkokonjeru. After being smashed incessantly against my cranium for two hours, my brain felt like one of the blended fruit smoothies a hawker tried to sell me upon debarkation. Dirt permeated everywhere – my eyes, nostrils, ears, teeth, hair, clothing and pretty much everywhere else, as I would find out later. My pressed white shirt was filthy brown and un-tucked and stuck to my reeking body. My blue slacks looked like some kind of hideous disco-era fashion. My shoes were no longer shiny or black. I was dehydrated from the unrelenting dry, dusty heat. In short, I was disgusting. “Not that far, huh Grace?”
But at least the torment had ended (for now). I was nearly euphoric to be out of the van, standing upright and breathing fresh air.
I’ve gotten used to being greeted as something of an enigma in remote rural villages, which of course, I am. I’m always welcomed as an honored guest; I’m usually chased by laughing school kids screaming “mazungu!”, and I’m frequently stared at cautiously and inquisitively by town elders, like I’m an unfamiliar predator. On this day, I was looked upon with horror, pity and comedy. One woman offered me a dirty rag to clean my face with. Another apologized – it’s the dry season, she reminded me. Several were laughing uncontrollably. I took no offense; I must have been quite a sight. They knew from a lifetime of experience what I had just endured. I think they were laughing with me, in empathy and camaraderie – a reminder that sometimes you just have to let go, accept the situation and enjoy the moment. Another powerful lesson learned in the field, of which I tried to heed.
When our meetings ended, Grace determined it was better for a soft, middle-aged mazungu (eg, me) to take a motorcycle taxi to Lugazi, seven miles away, where we could catch a taxi home on pavement and thus avoid reversing our hellish route. Grace got no opposition from me!
I had never been so happy to be on the back of a motorcycle. I enjoyed the smooth and comfortable ride, if even on dirt. Mainly, I treasured the freedom. A fine consolation, I thought, for the afternoon’s effort. The Mukono countryside is undeniably beautiful. The rolling hills to Lugazi wind through Elysium fields of sugarcane, tea and banana. The air was almost sweet and by now it had cooled comfortably. The fresh breeze was as rewarding and rejuvenating as a cool shower after hard labor. An ominous thought.
Without warning, the blue sky turned dark and we were overtaken by a tropical thunderstorm. Yes, the rain felt wonderful but the irony mounted. In the middle of nowhere, with no shelter to be found, I was helpless to resist. I reminded myself of the lesson the laughing ladies of Nkokonjeru taught me earlier, and I embraced the moment unconditionally and with laughter, in what could be one of life’s cherished moments. Certainly beats the heck out of an oppressive cubicle! We pressed on to Lugazi, where I arrived soaked to the bone and muddy. And, strangely, happy.
The return trip offered little respite. I was filthy, my clothes were saturated, and I was absolutely uncomfortable in the 3rd row of the battering matatu. When we passed the Kampala 15km sign, we came to a dead stop and sat motionless for over an hour. With daylight waning and no indication of impending movement (and a completely fatigued body and mind), I decided to complete my journey on a boda boda. Normally, I reserve bodas for rural backroads and short, relatively safe hops in the city. But this was not normal circumstances. I coveted hygiene and comfort, at any cost. Still, fifteen km on a boda was an unsettling acceptance.
After weaving in and out of opposing lanes of traffic, diverting onto sidewalks and popping wheelies for several km’s, the driver skidded into a petrol station and told me to give him money for fuel. I paid him the fare we agreed upon. He didn’t look to his right, the direction of oncoming traffic, when he pulled back out into the derby. The next thing I heard is the last thing you want to hear on the back of a bike: screeching car tires. How we avoided an inevitable collision, and worse, is a mystery. I think we jumped over a curb and slid into a power pole sustaining only minor scrapes and scratches.
Later that evening over a badly needed beer, I wondered if the effort and risk and suffering were really worth it, just to interview a couple of borrowing groups.
The answer is a resounding yes. I share this folly not just to humor and entertain you, but to illustrate a day in the life of a Kiva Coordinator, whose ordinary day is decidedly unordinary and who delivers extraordinary results.
Kiva Coordinators are a vital link that connects Kiva Lenders to Borrowers. They endure days like this one to bring Uganda’s rural poor into your living room and to put a face and personality on a funding request. Their work is exhausting, demanding intellectual and physical capacity. They travel near and far, and they work under tight deadlines and bear large responsibility. I found this one day in the field to be Blog-worthy; this is Grace and Gina’s everyday reality. After “scooping” stories in the field all day, it’s not atypical to find them writing up their interview notes well into the evening and on weekends so they can post them onto Kiva within deadline. Working hard for the poor.
Grace
Kiva Coordinators are unsung heroes. Grace (Pearl Microfinance) and Gina (BRAC Uganda) are talented, intelligent women – both attended top universities on scholarship. Their purpose, like most poverty workers I’ve met, drives them to excellence, regardless of the commitment and personal sacrifice asked of them. It would be a lot easier to stay seated at their desks. But ordinary wouldn’t suit Grace or Gina or any Kiva Coordinator. They thrive because they know that are a playing a unique role – there are less than a few dozen Kiva Coordinators in the world, and Grace and Gina represent two of them (the few, the proud). Kiva Coordinators hold a critical responsibility for attracting lenders by writing compelling borrower profiles, and retaining lenders by writing social and economic impact updates (eg, journals). Watching lenders on the Kiva website from all over the world react to “their” loan excites them, and witnessing first-hand how that loan transforms lives invigorates them further. Grace and Gina are changing the world, one long, hot trip over fiery, dusty, battering roads in afflictive matatus at a time. Their profit is pride and the dividends they receive far surpass the distress they withstand. I hope my slapstick tale helps bring them out of the shadows and into recognition. Ordinary people doing extraordinary things.
Gina
I commend BRAC Uganda and PEARL Microfinance for their vision and their commitment to Kiva. Kiva Coordinators are full-time salaried staff resources and, therefore, a long-term investment in their partnership with Kiva, and a further embodiment of their unwavering commitment to poverty alleviation.
It’s truly my great privilege and pleasure to work with Gina and Grace – two remarkable young ladies that I will miss when I return home. I’m proud to call them colleagues. Each one approaches her craft with professionalism, dedication and good cheer, and delivers the results expected by all stakeholders. Their energy inspires me. They are a reward of progress and I’m indebted.
11 comments 1 December 2008
A Ghost Called Specioza
They seem to always be where you are, which is to say everywhere, as repellant and inescapable as a maelstrom of gnats. Step around one and you bump into another. You politely wave them off and mumble “no, thanks” with a disingenuous smile. Making eye contact might suggest interest or intent; or worse, invite confrontation. So you learn to ignore them. Faceless, nameless, spiritless ghosts you look right through and beyond. They don’t appear in travel magazine teaser shots or in the imaginations those publications sell. Their sole purpose, it seems clear, is to detract and annoy and chip away at an otherwise fine day. You wish they would just go away and leave you alone.
In actuality, their purpose is survival and the well being of their children. I don’t imagine anyone aspires to be a street vendor, or enjoys the profession once it becomes them. Hawking is the exclusive domain of peasants. It is not a particularly dignified or satisfying means to an end, but one mandated by necessity. Hawking requires no training and little skill, except perhaps pushy persistence and physical endurance – this is a 14- hour-a-day, 7-day-a-week job. Hawkers own nary a thing of value – no shop, no land – just the bag of goods on their back which, in itself, is practically worthless. I can imagine few jobs more miserable.
In fairness, Uganda’s street vendors are not a nuisance; to the contrary, they are the most passive and unobtrusive hawkers I’ve experienced anywhere. They truly are ghosts – they are present and ubiquitous, but one hardly notices them, except for the sidewalk congestion they create. They are certainly not assaulting. Like all Ugandans, Kampala’s hawkers are respectful and courteous. Their presence adds color and energy to the city.
Kiva Fellows witness difficult things every day and we could easily fall prey to indifference. My job would indeed be easier if I could be purely analytical. But I can’t be. Instead, I’ve developed some tools for coping. One is bedside manner, which enables me to connect more personally and deeply with clients as they walk me through circumstances which are inevitably more wrenching than mine. Another is shifting my notion of ordinary, which of course is a relative state of being. What is ordinary half-way through my Fellowship would have seemed sensational six weeks ago. It’s easier to deal in ordinary. And finally, balance. Empathy is fundamental, but emoting pity is condescending and counterproductive. It’s almost always a delicate trade-off.
Still, interacting with borrowers in a dignified manner without falling apart is sometimes challenging and often depleting. Take Florence, a Pearl Microfinance borrower I interviewed last week. Florence is a 45 year old widowed mother of seven children who recently lost her small grocery shop, her only asset and sole source of income, to a senseless and random act of arson. As I prompted her to describe how she’s depending on Pearl to re-build her life, tears streamed down her cheeks and at times she was too choked up to speak. I found it difficult to push through the interview, but my task had a noble purpose and I came with my toolbox.
Some stories are even more difficult.
Specioza is an attractive and demure woman, not five feet tall. Her face is gentle and soft, almost youthful, and it does not reveal decades of hardship. She is soft-spoken and shy; yet she’s inexplicably inviting. She is pleasant and polite and gracious. The members of her BRAC borrowing group admire her – Specioza is one of its elected officers. She is dignified and commands an understated respect, not through her words but how she carries herself. Her strength, I sense, emanates from a lifetime riddled with loss. There’s a depth in her eyes not found in innocence and her smile signals anguish more than peace. Specioza is the kind of person you would want as your friend. I wanted to know more about her and felt cheated that time would not allow for such pleasantries.
Specioza is also a ghost.
Like most women in Uganda, she married young and began having children immediately. At the time, she and her husband were farmers in Mbarara, a town in rural southwestern Uganda, not far from the Rwanda border. There must be something fertile in the water in those parts – Specioza delivered an astonishing four sets of twins! One boy and one girl in each set, none of them identical. That same fertile water, however, must also be toxic – she lost half of her twins at birth and nearly perished herself during one particularly difficult delivery.
Uganda’s civil war was in its fragmented twilight shortly before Specioza’s youngest surviving twin was born. The family farm was doing well and Specioza and her husband wanted a way to help refugees in their country’s war-ravaged northern regions. They joined a program administered by the UN where they sold crops to the World Food Program for distribution to IDP camps in Gulu and surrounding districts. Occasionally, her husband would accompany the WFP on the 9-hour drive to Gulu and help distribute the supplies. On one such trip, he never returned.
When his convoy of WFP trucks arrived at Gulu, it was ambushed by LRA rebels in a well-orchestrated and bloody attack. The LRA was intent on preventing aid from reaching the people it was determined to eradicate, and it wanted the provisions to fortify its own forces. Like the parents of the orphans he was trying to keep alive, Specioza’s husband died a brutal and unceremonious death on the side of a road in an act of unthinkable savagery (the LRA’s use of inhumane and gratuitous torture is legendary).
When a wife loses her husband in Uganda’s rural villages, the late husband’s family – by a mystifying and disturbing tradition – excommunicates the widow from the family (and often community) and seizes the family assets. Women have no value unless attached to a man. So that she wouldn’t also lose her children to this twisted fate, Specioza fled Mbarara and left behind the only life she had ever known. She migrated to Kampala where the best prospects for work and her children’s education existed. She arrived with just the clothes on her back and her 4 children – scared, broken hearted and broke. She had never been to the city before. She was disoriented and terrified.
Specioza’s farming skills were useless to her in the city. In desperation, she took up hawking as her only viable and immediate source of income. The entry barriers are nil, requiring no land, machinery or skill and very little capital. She bought her first bail of used clothing at the Owino market near the public bus station the day she arrived, using borrowed funds from a money lender. Money lenders are legal loan sharks. They require full repayment within a few days and they charge exorbitant interest rates. Specioza sold that first bail in time to repay the money lender, but had barely enough left to feed her family. She didn’t like hawking, but figured it was only temporary and the most practical means to an end under the circumstances. She had no sales experience. Promoting her wares and competing against armies of peddlers made her uncomfortable.
In time, she learned where to find the most buyers and how to optimize her selection of used clothing items. As her sales climbed, it became easier to repay the money lenders and more was left over for family expenses. Eventually she could afford school fees, although it was always a struggle and frequently caused her to forego eating so that her children could. Not once did she accept charity.
Her first break came sometime later when a BRAC Uganda credit officer came to her village conducting a survey to identify new recipients for its poverty alleviation programs. Specioza fits BRAC’s profile: she is very poor but she’s economically active with a stable track record and she comes recommended from her community borrowing group. The latter is not insignificant. Since each borrower in a group is responsible for the total repayment of the group’s obligations, a recommendation is a vote of confidence by one’s peers and a testimony to their character and abilities. With the help of small loans from BRAC (300,000 Ush or $170), Specioza can now avoid money lenders. This improves her profits, which enables her to keep her children in school without sacrificing meals. It also gives her a buffer for bad sales days. Perhaps most importantly, she has the support of her group and the world’s largest microfinance NGO has her back. For the first time in many hard years, Specioza has hope.
I don’t want Specioza to go away. She is not a parasite. She’s just a very hard-working mother trying to raise her kids and help them thrive under profoundly difficult circumstances. She has a face – a beautiful face, and a name and a soul. She, like all co-called ghosts, is a living, breathing human being who’s doing her level best with the bad cards she’s been dealt. She has purpose, hopes, dreams, thoughts and feelings and a voice, just like you and me. Perhaps she’s selling something I want to buy; if not, she would certainly offer a smile. But if I treated her like a transparency, I would never know and I would forfeit a unique opportunity to connect with a wonderful human being.
Specioza is not trying to annoy anyone; she’s only trying to eat. Ultimately, we’re all selling something, whether trying to convince others of our ideas or get people across the room to notice us. Trade connects people across continents and cultures. Supply would not meet demand efficiently without promotion of goods and services and, thus, markets would not work. It makes no difference to me if sellers are pedigreed “suits” sitting behind desks in San Francisco skyscrapers or uneducated peasants like Specioza trying to survive on the bustling streets of Kampala. Hawking may not be the most dignified profession, but successfully raising a family in the context of Specioza’s life is the most honorable thing I can think of.
I’m thankful to BRAC for recognizing Specioza’s needs and supporting her determination. And giving me the opportunity to meet her.
9 comments 16 November 2008
MDG3
Poverty is a riot of inconsistencies and mysterious shades of complexity. Today, after a long week in the field, I’m wondering how anyone could possibly work their way out of the despair they inherited with birth when so many forces conspire against them, especially women.
Poverty is defined as a condition of unacceptable material deprivation, according to a particular society’s standards of what’s acceptable and what’s not. Poverty is widely acknowledged to be a multi-dimensional condition; however most efforts to measure its extent and severity focus on income poverty. Income poverty is measured in relation to a level of income or consumption designated as the minimum needed by a household to avoid poverty. National poverty lines differ by country. Low-income countries like Uganda typically set their poverty lines at the estimated cost of physical subsistence – a bare-minimum diet, plus a modest addition for necessities other than food. The causes of poverty are numerous but a significant root cause is gender disparity; specifically the ability and access that women have to productive assets and services.
In 2000, every country in the world and all leading development organizations agreed to eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) to halve world poverty by the year 2015. The eight MDGs are:
- Eradicate extreme poverty and hunger
- Achieve universal primary education
- Promote gender equality and empower women
- Reduce child mortality
- Improve maternal health
- Combat HIV/AIDS, malaria, and other diseases
- Ensure environmental sustainability
- Develop a global partnership for development
Many believe MDG3 – equality for women – is the most important MDG. Empowerment of women is not just about justice or being nice (which I naively assumed). All other MDGs depend upon MDG3: unless the situation of women is purposefully and radically shifted, achieving the other MDGs will be impossible. Women are the key to reducing poverty. World Bank studies show that agricultural production would increase by 20% if women had the same access to resources as men. Investing in women makes economic sense and is a prerequisite for development.
Uganda experienced rapid economic growth over the past two decades. Real gross domestic product (GDP) increased an astonishing 6.5% per annum on average since 1990. Yet, over the same period, 32% of Uganda’s households remained in poverty and 20% are chronically poor. Moreover, 11% of the poorest households moved into poverty for the first time, and there was no measurable increase in the middle class. The country’s population has doubled to thirty one million since the mid 1980’s, the median age is fourteen.
The national planning framework that guides public actions to eliminate the incidence of poverty in Uganda, consistent with the MDGs, is called Poverty Eradication Action Plan, or PEAP. Among a host of human and economic development strategies, PEAP acknowledges the strong correlation between gender disparities and economic progress, and sets forth policies to eliminate gender gaps under the Uganda Gender Policy (UGP). In addition to PEAP and UGP, the national government has enacted strategies to perpetuate its growth and economic development with programs to empower women, improve transportation infrastructure and utility services, and promote rural access to financial services.
The challenges are immense. Take infrastructure as one obvious example. Traffic control systems are non-existent and the roads are very poor – only main roads are even partially paved. Most roads even in the capital city of Kampala are dirt and driving on them is difficult and slow. Traffic is constantly choked and frequently stopped motionless in utter logjams (which, incidentally, seem to always occur at the apex of the day’s heat). Traveling even short distances often seems like an odyssey. Many of the borrower groups we meet are in villages that are only ten or so kilometers outside the city limits, but visiting them can take well over an hour even in a private vehicle and much longer on public transportation. In Uganda’s non-urban areas, the supply of electricity is fragile. There are no ATM’s or Internet. No running water or sewage systems. At night, its pitch dark except for the ambient light of kerosene lanterns and cook stoves. Imagine the effort required just to go to the bank each week, as MFI borrowers must do to safeguard their earnings from thieves and inflation. Transportation and infrastructure are obvious impediments to economic development.
The statistics on gender equivalency are even more disturbing and consequential:
§ Sixteen percent (16%) of women are married by age 15 and 53% by age 18. The average Ugandan woman is married at age 17.
§ Sixty percent (60%) of women aged 15-49 experience physical violence and 39% suffer sexual violence. Sixteen percent (16%) of the violence occurs during pregnancy. Over 40% of women have suffered domestic violence.
§ Social norms and values condone gender discrimination, perpetuated by low levels of education and limited access to information. Abuse of rights is socially acceptable.
§ Fifty five percent (55%) of MFI borrowers are women; yet women constitute 72% of commerce. More men than women are successful in credit applications and women usually receive smaller amounts, restricting their ability to acquire and control livelihood assets and resources such as land, information and technology, business skills and financial capital.
§ Thirty two (32%) of the overall population lives below the poverty line. Higher proportions of women-headed households are chronically poor and more move into poverty than male-headed households and are more likely to sell assets to avoid moving into poverty.
§ An estimated 13%, or 1.8 million children, are orphans. Forty percent (40%) live in poverty.
§ Eighty three (83%) of women are engaged in agricultural production, yet only 25% control the land they cultivate. Women own only 16% of the registered land. The majority of women only have use rights determined by the nature of the relationships they have with a make land owner – her father, husband or brother.
§ Women suffer very high time burdens in pursuing their livelihoods. Women work an average 15 hours a day compared to men who work only 9, and women bear the brunt of domestic tasks. The time and effort required for these tasks, in almost total absence of even rudimentary domestic technology, is immense. This has negative consequences on food safety, household income, children’s education, participation in community life, health and productivity.
§ The overall illiteracy rate is 32%; 24% of men are illiterate compared to 38% of women.
Clearly, women in Uganda are at a measurable disadvantage. Fortunately, Kiva works with three exemplary partner MFIs in Uganda that are attacking poverty using methodologies consistent with the MDGs and PEAP. BRAC Uganda, Pearl Microfinance and MCDT Sacco each employs an entirely different approach, but they share three common and significant distinctions: (a) focusing on the lower half of the economically-active poverty spectrum, (b) delivering financial services to rural areas, and (c) providing programs designed predominately for women.
Their programs are working. With the help of Kiva and its local MFI partners, some remarkable people somehow find a path to prosperity, despite overwhelming and seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Meeting them is like receiving a gift. Magdalena is one such person. The enormity of her disadvantage and the context of her life are difficult to comprehend, but it’s impossible to not be amazed and inspired by what she’s accomplished.
Magdalena grew up in an orphanage, abandoned by her biological parents at birth. She lived there until she was 14, when she was required to go out into the world on her own. Imagine being alone in the world, penniless and partially educated, at the tender age of fourteen. Not long after leaving, she was married and starting a family of her own. When asked about her husband, she replies only that “he’s around somewhere”. She is reluctant to share more. He seems to be an uncomfortable topic for her, so I don’t inquire further. In addition to her other hardships, could Magdalena also be a victim of domestic abuse? It’s statistically probable.
A typical boy's quarter
Ten years ago, she lived in poverty in a small, cramped “boy’s quarter” with her four children. To make ends meet, she rented space in a friend’s nearby clothing boutique, and offered alterations and tailoring for the shop’s customers. Her dreams at the time were to complete her children’s education, establish a business of her own and build a family home. They would seem like pipe dreams, given her situation.
Around that time, Magdalena took out a small loan from Pearl Microfinance and a purchased a used Singer sewing machine. Soon, using her savings and another loan, she opened her own small studio. Over the years she steadily built her business and today has established herself as the premier clothing maker in her village. Her studio is attached to her home and is stocked with a wide selection of fabrics, patterns, buttons and threads. She has four sewing machines, two employees and a large and loyal clientele that she has earned through superb craftsmanship and her friendly, honest customer service.
Some of her clients come from as far as Kampala for her fashion designs. Magdalena’s studio is not easy to find, despite sitting less than a hundred yards off the main highway. It sits on a narrow, rutted dirt track, tucked behind a primary school, and there are no street markers or signs advertising her business. But that doesn’t impede her customers from finding her.
Magdalena at work in her studio
She proudly shows me a Gomese, a traditional Ugandan dress, she recently completed and explains the profit model to me: the fabric costs about 35,000 UGX, the buttons and thread another 10,000 Ush (in total, about $23) and requires over 4 hours to make. Her profit margin is 20,000 Ush ($11). Not all her items are this expensive. Her typical profit is 5,000 to 7,000 Ush for everyday garments like school uniforms and skirts. Her backlog is extensive. She keeps a ledger for each order, accounting for costs, fabric, style, materials, client name, measurements and completion date.
In the ten years Magdalena has been a microfinance borrower, she has never missed a single loan payment or failed to pay school fees. She borrowers between 400,000 and 1,000,000 Ush ($216 – $541) depending on the current business cycle, and invests her loans in materials, fabrics, thread, machine repairs and maintenance, employee salaries and improvements to her studio.
Magdalena's beautiful new home
After years of dedicated hard work and vision, and with the loyal support of Pearl Microfinance, Magdalena has achieved unprecedented happiness, pride and success in the face of a lifetime of adversity that would render most people hopeless. All four of her children have completed their college education and are working professionals. Magdalena now cares for two disabled orphans, giving them the loving, nurturing childhood that eluded her. Her clothing business is thriving. She has money in the bank. And, her dream of building a lovely new home where old one-room buy’s quarter once stood is now a reality.
Magdalena embodies entrepreneurial and microfinance success. Hers is a story about the delicate balance between triumph and tragedy. She proves that hope, persistence and a helping hand are common threads that connect us all, and that lead us to our dreams. Magdalena’s life has woven through extremes in suffering, adversity and achievement. For me, she is an enduring symbol of inspiration on the sublime tapestry of humanity. For all of us, Magdalena illustrates the significance and importance of MDG3. She helps me see that the friction which opposes my life’s ambitions is insignificant by comparison and thus gives me the perspective to find my way forward. That is Magdalena’s gift to me, for which I am thankful.
I encourage you to look at Kiva’s partner page to learn more about Pearl Microfinance, BRAC Uganda and MCDT Sacco. You’ll discover amazing organizations staffed with teams of intelligent, purpose-driven, devoted people who are attacking MD3 and truly changing the world. Like Magdalena, they inspire me and give me hope that poverty will one day be a human condition of the past.
10 comments 7 November 2008
Public Transport in Uganda: Be aware!
I came across a flier this morning that I found as humorous as I did frightening. I wanted to share it with you, perhaps deepening your insight into just one of the many day-to-day rituals of being a Kiva Fellow in the field. This is a sequel, of sorts, to my earlier blog. I promise to move away from (no pun intended) the transportation theme!
I paraphrase:
Public Transport in Uganda: Be aware. Be very aware!
Over 2,000 people are killed each year on our roads. In terms of all fatalities and injuries, 42% are passengers, 33% are pedestrians and 14% are motorcyclists.
Your choices for public transportation include:
1. Matatu
A Matatu is a minibus, which holds up to 14 passengers. Matatus operate long a fixed route, stopping anywhere along the way to pick up passengers. They are almost always in poor condition, recklessly driven and without insurance cover or a licensed driver and don’t value their lives. Matatus are one of the primary contributors to the increasingly unsafe road conditions in Uganda. They are characterized by*:
§ Overloading of passengers – ü
§ Driving above the speed limits – ü
§ Swerving between traffic – ü
§ Disregard for other rnotorists and traffic laws – ü
§ Driving on pavement – ü
§ Driving under the influence of alcohol and drugs – ?
§ Inexperienced drivers – ?
(*Note: items followed by a ü are ones I’ve personally experienced after just a few days.)
If you choose to use Matatus:
§ Wear a seatbelt
§ Get out if you don’t feel safe
§ Tell driver to slow down
§ Avoid overloaded taxis
2. Boda Boda
A Boda Boda is a motorcycle taxi, typically a Honda 50 and is often in poor condition with no helmet for its passengers. Although they are a cheap and quick form of transport, Boda Bodas are renowned for their reckless behavior. Common examples*:
§ Riding through red lights – ü
§ Riding too fast – ü
§ Riding on the wrong side of the road – ü
§ Riding on sidewalks and road islands – ü
§ Often bike is in bad repair – ü
§ Swerving between traffic – ü
§ Complete disregard for other motorists – ü
(*Note: items followed by a ü are ones I’ve personally experienced after just a few days.)
If you choose to use a Boda Boda:
§ Wear a helmet
§ Choose a bike in good repair
§ Tell driver to slow down
§ One passenger per bike
The flyer then goes on to list emergency numbers and location of hospitals and clinics.
I’ve been to New York many times and have some legendary taxi stories. Yet, I’ve never seen a flier like this in NYC. New York cabbies are mere plebes compared to these guys in Kampala…
1 comment 7 October 2008
A Wet Ride on a Boda Boda
The 41 km road from the airport in Entebbe to Kampala is an endlessly spreading slum, the road choked with traffic and with boda-bodas and minibuses that serve as public transportation and which obey a vague set of driving rules. The banks of the road are littered with broken-down vehicles and garbage, and burning piles of garbage, and with ramshackle-looking developments. I can’t tell if they’re incomplete or if they’ve been left to deteriorate; every structure has heaps of sand and rocks and blocks surrounding it. The warm equatorial air is thick; the sun filters down through perpetual ground strata of dust and emissions. More people travel on foot than on machine, usually burdened with great loads of fire wood, fruit or large bags of rice. People appear busy; yet there are no obvious signs of commerce in the endless succession of convenience stores, restaurants, barbershops, clothing boutiques and other roadside kiosks roofed with umbrellas. This slum, like slums everywhere, carries the acrid smells of hydrocarbons and garbage, and unpaved roads lined by tin-roof concrete shacks with dirt floors. I’m reminded of Indonesia, Nepal and Bolivia. We pass a handsomely dressed woman urinating behind a road sign, and a desperately thin dog sniffing for scraps among the garbage – it appeared more vermin than companion. A ball gets away from a couple of children and I watch it bounce through an open sewage gutter and out onto the road. Vehicles don’t stop for kids, maybe they honk without slowing.
I feel viscerally puzzled and disturbed. The Africa of my imagination is a vast expanse of lush jungles and open savanna teeming with the continent’s iconic creatures. I knew Uganda was impoverished; afterall, that’s why I’m here. But here, poverty is as much a part of the scene as the banana trees and cumulus clouds. Africa is poverty. Breathing, smelling, feeling; indeed, being among poverty is an assault on my sense of humanity and morality. It’s shocking and difficult to confront, let alone absorb and process. I lose myself in philosophical and conflicting thought: How does this happen? Is this a product of exploitation by wealthy nations and, if so, the result of the comfortable lifestyle I enjoy? I’m thankful, if not guilty, that I won the lottery of life at birth being born in America. Why did I elude such a miserable fate? Am I just lucky or do I hold an obligation? I question my reason for wanting to be here and wonder if I can endure three months. Surely I can last 12 weeks, these poor souls are serving a life sentence. Most have never left their village. At this moment, I realize my life was easier when I was unaware and unconcerned with such things as poverty. It’s impossible to get that back.
Suddenly panic strikes. I haven’t yet arrived in Kampala and I realize the scale of poverty here is far beyond my capacity to effect. I came to learn and experience, yes, but I came mainly, perhaps naively, to make an impact, to help alleviate poverty, to make lives better, to try to equalize the gross misallocation of opportunity. There can’t possibly be anything I can do — I feel like a doctor must if called to treat an epidemic with only a single vial of penicillin.
But I must try.
I look for inspiration and courage in a book called “Mountains Beyond Mountains”, the wonderful story of Dr. Paul Farmer who has devoted his life to providing free health care to individuals in absolute poverty, the poorest and most neglected. Surely, the central plateau of Haiti, where Farmer works, is much worse that Kampala. If he can live there year after year, then I can certainly manage a few months here.
In reality, it’s not all misery. After all, this is the Pearl of Africa. I strolled by Namirembe Cathedral this morning. It’s an imposing but beautiful structure. It sits atop a lovely and well-manicured hill overlooking most of Kampala. It is Sunday and worship services are in progress. I couldn’t help but peek inside. It is packed with worshipers adorned in their Sunday best, men wearing ties and coats and women in colorful floral dresses and matching headdresses. These are proud and dignified people, and devoted to their faith. Here is the finest choral group I’ve ever heard. Absolutely beautiful, mesmerizing and soothing. I reluctantly begin to see value in faith. Perhaps it gives answers and strength and hope to those who are suffering, and a sense of community. An usher invites me warmly to join the congregation, but I decline; I’m in bush clothes and a 4-day beard – it would seem disrespectful.
I discover a few other unexpected pleasures my first day in Uganda: one, peanut sauce over rice, matoke (mashed plantains steams in banana leaves) and coffee. Delicious! Two, mosquito nets. There’s something romantic about them (think “Out of Africa”); I find it conspicuously satisfying to see a mosquito buzzing around me, but powerless to strike!
Shortly after settling in, I took a motor taxi (“boda boda”) to try and locate BRAC’s office. I could see on a rudimentary map that it was not far. Riding shotgun on a motorbike is a cultural experience; today, a rather unsettling, in fact, terrifying one! My driver, Eric (the name he gives us “mzungus” so we can pronounce it) is a friendly guy, 28 years old with a wife and young daughter. I wonder why he takes such unnecessary risks, swerving repeatedly into the lane of oncoming traffic, avoiding head-on collisions and certain death by mere inches. Within minutes, the sky darkens and opens up with a dramatic display of thunder and lightening. We take shelter under the corrugated tin roof overhang of a roadside convenience shop. I’m relieved to be off the bike and in relative safety. I’m captivated by the torrent; I’ve never seen rain this hard. The street is flooded within minutes. I then take notice of the store’s proprietor. She’s an attractive young woman with her adolescent daughter in tow. I ask if I can buy water, but she doesn’t speak English and I see she doesn’t have any anyway. Her store must cater to locals. She sells subsistence items like soap, flour and canned goods. I wonder if she’s a microfinance borrower. Naturally, then, I want to know her story. How’s business? What did she buy with the loan proceeds? How has the loan impacted her and her daughter’s lives? Her store has a concrete floor and a metal roof, it’s clean and well-stocked. She and her daughter wear nice clothes and shoes. They don’t appear to be ill or malnourished. I wonder how far she has come, and how far her daughter will go. It’s with this thought, looking in this young girl’s eyes, that the hope and meaning of my Fellowship is restored. I don’t need to solve global poverty, but maybe – with luck – my presence here will help just one person triumph in her struggle over poverty and reach a day that holds greater promise than this one.
I wonder what my days in the field will be like. Its the rainy season in Uganda.
12 comments 6 October 2008
From KF6 Training in San Francisco: a practice blog
Everyone is this is room is an experienced traveler. Collectively, we’ve ventured to the farthest corners of the globe. Most have spent time in the developing world. Yet, the excitement level is off the charts as we prepare for our adventures. I’m humbled by the extraordinary company I find myself so privileged to among. The learning challenge surpasses my expectations; there’s so much to learn! This the type of volunteer challenge I’ve been seeking. One that satisfies a profound social mission while providing a meaningful life expereince and a rare opportunity to get under the skin of an entirely different culture. Like any adventure, I have goals but little concept of what to expect. Things will unfold as they will. But I must say that JD (our exceptionally talented trainer) and team are doing an amazing job turning us from civilians to capable Kiva Fellows — these guys are he real deal! What an impressive organization!
I’ll be traveling to Uganda on October 1 to work BRAC. My excitement is tempered only by stress caused by the long list of things I still need to get done before leaving for 3 months. It seems every item I cross off my list of things to do, 2 or 3 new ones are added. It’s endless! Visa’s, vaccinations, lodging, research, PA2 practice, waterproof ziplock bags, extra batteries, etc – ugh!
I hope I will be a great Fellow. I hope I will advance the ball, if just a bit, in the war against poverty. I hope I will return a better man – wiser, more humble and compassionate and with greater clarify as to my purpose and priorities. 
And I hope I can find a job quickly in January!
In haste. My next blog entry will come from Uganda, sometime in the first half of October. I’m tryinig to imagine what that will be like ….
3 comments 18 September 2008
One Day in the Life of a Microfinance Branch Manager
Nabwire Carolyn, Manager of BRAC Uganda’s Kalerwe Branch, awakens at 5:30 each work day. A devoutly religious person, she spends the first half hour of each day in prayer. Next she prepares her two children for the day. Joshua, age 4, attends pre-school and Ester, age 2, goes to day care. Carolyn prepares breakfast for the children and her husband, Joseph, who is a computer programmer and web designer. At 6:30 Joseph departs in the family car to drop the children off at school on his way to work.
Carolyn walks to the Kalerwe Branch. BRAC requires branch managers and credit officers to live within the boundaries of their branch. Given the overburdened and unreliable public transportation system in Kampala, and the fact that the BRAC work day begins precisely at 7:00 am, this is a wise policy.
On this day, Carolyn was met at the branch office by five credit officers and Mr. Emma, the branch support staff. Olive, Demali, Annette and Jackie are micro-finance C.O.’s. Ms. Raymond is a newly hired credit officer assigned to launch an individual loan program at the branch.
The Kalerwe branch recently celebrated its one year anniversary. Carolyn, Annette, and Jackie have been there since the first day.
Carolyn related to me the difficulty of opening a new microfinance branch in Kalerwe. There are about ten different microfinance institutions operating within her branch boundaries, which extend out about a three mile radius from the branch office.
BRAC follows the same procedure whenever a new branch is opened. The first step is to conduct a survey of every household in the area. Carolyn and her credit officers expanded concentrically from the office in ¼ mile increments, not missing a single residence.
The BRAC survey asks basic questions of residents to determine their relative wealth compared to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Carolyn took her survey results to the LC1, the local elected official who oversees most activity in the area. The two of them went through the surveys and the LC1 used a red pen to check off the lowest 50% of residents in terms of wealth and income. Anyone with an existing loan from another Microfinance Institution was eliminated from consideration.
The households with the red checkmarks were BRAC’s initial target customers. Carolyn and her staff went back to those homes to invite the female head of household to an informational meeting. Their initial greetings were not always positive. Many MFI’s have operated in this area, promising much and delivering little. The BRAC staff was able to overcome much of that distrust and skepticism at the informational meetings.
Groups were formed consisting of four to five subgroups of five members each. The sub-group members were friends and neighbors who were required to guarantee each other’s loan repayment.
When I asked Carolyn about her best day as a BRAC Manager, she said it was the day she disbursed her first loan, just six weeks after opening the branch.
After one year, the Kalerwe branch is nearing full capacity. The maximum number of members served by a BRAC branch with 4 microfinance credit officers, assuming a maximum of 30 members per group and three group meetings a day for 5 days, is 1,800 members. The current membership roll at Kalerwe stands at approximately 1,400.
When I asked Carolyn about her worst day at work, she told me about the time it flooded and she had to slog through mud and flood water to reach her group meeting, only to stand on a table once she arrived.
The part of the job Carolyn enjoys the most is attending group meetings. Like snowflakes, no two meetings are the exactly the same. She finds them interesting and usually amusing. If she is having a bad day, she says she forgets her troubles at a group meeting.
Carolyn believes in BRAC. When I asked her what makes BRAC different from the other Microfinance Institutions operating in her territory, she replied;
1. BRAC’s interest rate is lower.
2. They do not ask for collateral.
3. They keep overhead down to about 10%, loaning the remaining 90% to poor borrowers.
4. They do not make members feel inferior. Members interact freely with a respectful staff.
5. The objective is poverty reduction and empowering women, not profit.
6. They loan money to poor women who have been denied credit by other MFI’s.
7. At meetings all members sit on the ground on mats in a horseshoe or circular pattern, which she believes is unique and indicative of BRAC’s spirit of equality and group dynamics.
One of Carolyn’s primary duties is to prevent loan fraud. Every afternoon and between morning meetings, she personally interviews loan applicants at home and at their place of business. On the home visit, Carolyn listens for comments from neighbors and assesses the applicant’s living conditions. She confirms the size of the family and the marital status of the applicant. Not only is she there to approve or deny the loan, she also has to determine an appropriate loan amount. Loaning too much money places an unnecessary strain on the borrower and creates a temptation to use excess money for personal purposes.
At the applicant’s place of business, Carolyn fills out a loan appraisal form as she critically examines the business. She asks questions, examines inventory, and tests equipment to confirm it operates.
Another valuable source of information is feedback from the members of the borrowing group, especially her sub-group of four loan guarantors. Although these women might be reluctant to speak publically against a loan application, they often approach Carolyn or her Credit Officers in private with their concerns.
Finally, the applicant’s credit officer conducts a separate but identical loan assessment.
After conferring with her C.O., Carolyn signs a loan approval which is sent to her Area Manager and Country Office for review. In one year and approximately 1,400 loans, the Kalerwe branch has not had a single uncollected loan.
Another of Carolyn’s major responsibilities is to train and develop her credit officers. Most BRAC employees are green; joining the company with no previous microfinance experience. Carolyn is proud that several of her C.O.’s have been promoted since the branch opened.
Carolyn attends three group meetings each morning. Her role is to observe and double check the C.O.’s work. She randomly samples five pass books against the computerized collection sheet to confirm the C.O’s entries. She also evaluates the C.O.’s conduct of the meeting, including promptness, attendance, and meeting content.
Recently, BRAC Uganda partnered with Kiva.org to raise 0% interest funds for BRAC. The Kiva model is based on “peer to peer” lending from individuals in developed countries to poor borrowers in developing countries. The model requires a digital picture of the borrower as well as a written profile of the borrower and the business purpose of the loan.
Branch Managers have responsibility for collecting this information. Carolyn has quickly become an expert using a digital camera at group meetings.
The manager and C.O.’s arrive back at the branch at about noon. They spend the next hour counting and reconciling loan repayments from the morning meetings against the computerized collection sheets.
At 1:00 pm disbursements begin. All members whose loans have been approved are scheduled for a loan disbursement appointment. The women are called into the office one at a time from a waiting room. After the member signs loan documents, Carolyn confirms her identity, signs the documents releasing the money, and records the loan in the member’s pass book. The credit officers then disburse the loan amount from funds collected that day.
After lunch, Carolyn typically conducts loan due diligence, visiting homes and businesses of prospective borrowers.
The BRAC business day ends at 4 pm. Before leaving the branch Carolyn must enter all collections and disbursements into BRAC’s proprietary RADAR program on the office computer. Next, she prints computerized collection sheets for the group meetings scheduled the following day. Once that task is complete, she returns home to her family, fully prepared for a fast start at 7:00 am the next day.
4 comments 21 January 2008
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