Friday, March 28, 2008

La Paque and The Palu

I feel badly that I’ve neglected this entry for so long, lest any details slip my mind…however it is hard to focus on anything other than my stomach at the present moment, as I’ve had my first real encounter with an intimate bacterial intruder here in Togo. If I thought that my initial episodes of digestive malfunction were as uncomfortable as adjusting to my new diet would get, I was sorely mistaken…without going into the charming details, I will just say that by noon yesterday, after a sleepless night, I was so dehydrated I couldn’t see straight and couldn’t even keep any water down…trying not to be a fragile yovo, I waited to see if my symptoms would subside, but soon gave into my better judgement...

Yao and Jeanne from FECECAV and Papa Mensah took me to the clinic instead of the hospital because it was less crowded. It was on the outskirts of Kpalimé and I really wasn’t sure if I was going to make it through that bumpy and dusty ride. After assessing my fever and symptoms, the doctor decided that I probably had malaria, and sent me in for a blood test. He took my word for the conversion of Fahrenheit (on my personal thermometer because the one they had was not working) to Celsius and that was the last I saw of the doctor. For the rest of the day, three Ewe-speaking nurses tried to make me feel better. Through my haze I made sure, aided by the unrelenting attention of Jeanne and Mensah, that all of the needles were being opened from new packets and that they were sterilizing everything, which I had to ask them to do a few times…soon I had an IV of fluids in the arm and they had determined that I did not in fact have the palu (malaria.) They decided that I had some kind of infection, but didn’t do any further tests to figure out what it was…throughout the day I started to feel better, could keep some fluids down and felt less nauseous. Mensah, Jeanne and Yao told me over and over again that “Ça va aller” and “Du courage ma fille” (this will pass, hang in there) and as the solutions and medications fed into my veins, I started to believe them.

Now you’re probably all thinking why I didn’t press them to do more tests, figure out what was making me sick and for g-d’s sake, find the doctor. First of all, I did. No luck. The doctor was MIA and they kept on telling me that a white doctor was coming to the clinic later…why they thought that would matter still mystifies me…and where he ended up? Also a mystery. The nurses, one of which was a student and Mensah threw a fit when she tried to change the IV bottle (yes, no bags here, glass bottles for the IV drip,) were more interested in the Nigerian film they were watching in the other room than the fact that I was threatening to vomit on them if they didn’t tell me what the hell was going on. All I know is that whatever they did to me worked like a charm…I perked up like a banana tree in the rain. Soon I was able to joke with Yao about his driving on the way to the clinic, complain that the IV was hurting my arm and even think about drinking some juice…

They gave me an anti-malarial medication to take for the next 3 days because, although the test was negative, I still had a bit of a fever and they could not determine that it wasn’t the palu. If it wasn’t, and was instead some nasty amoeba attacking my guts, the solutions full of vitamins and strong antibiotics that they gave me while I was there should take care of it, and indicate that I will be ok in a day or so. The fact that neither the nurses, the doctor, nor my friends were at all panicked actually made me feel better. Sure they were concerned, I did not feel well at all, but immediately they knew I was not going to die and I just needed some Vitamin C and medicine to help my body fight off the attacker. At home, when I have a cut on my finger I immediately think that if I don’t get it checked out I am making a huge mistake and that it must be something serious. Although I have my reasons to be a bit paranoid about contracting weird infections, I think that we Americans need to recognize the phobic society we live in and remember that not every allergy is the end of your good health, and that its not really necessary to wipe down the Venetian blinds and the cats whiskers every day with anti-bacterial spray. All of that said, there are many reasons why my life expectancy is a lot higher most people born in Kpalimé…Although my stomach is not in its normal, steel-like state, I feel heaps better, minus the desperate craving for Ramen noodles and a bagel. We’ll see how it goes, and I am once again on the alert to avoid tap water and unsafe-looking fufu.

Anyway, back to La Paque, otherwise known as Easter. It is a big deal here, as you can imagine, with the religious fervor and all. There is no Easter bunny, Cadbury or pastel colored eggs, only a lot of Yesus Krist (Jesus in Ewe,) a lot of crucifying and a lot of ascending. The festivities began on Thursday afternoon, when I noticed a few my FECECAV colleagues changing into red shirts and heading off to church instead of their afternoon siesta. I soon figured out why. I was walking past Daniel’s wife’s boutique (where I head most days to buy bagged eau-glacé and Togocell cards) when I saw the heat outlining a sea of red slowly enveloping the road about a mile ahead. I noticed the policiers and the gendarmie stopping cars and motos and making them turn around, but had no idea what was going on. I asked my little friends Grâce and Jesu (Daniel’s children) to which they responded somewhat indifferently, “Oh it’s just the Catholics,” as if a vermillion procession of cross-bearing Africans takes over their street every Thursday.

Still a bit confused, I took out my camera and tried to discreetly snap some photos of the approaching parade. It was lead by a small boy, no older than 10 or 12, dressed in a red alter-boy’s uniform and holding a giant red-felt cross in the air over his head. He was followed by a group of children, all in red of course, and then a more disorganized and less homogenously dressed group of adults. As I was debating how to continue taking pictures even after being fiercely barked at by a policier, I wondered why it was taking them so long to arrive in front of Petit Suisse. Soon I noticed that as they processed, they stopped every few feet to kneel and pray, guided by a huge megaphone in the back of a white pickup truck, leading the mass in prayer and song.

On Friday, many people did not go to work, but of course the FECECAV crew was there. While the staff was a bit sparser than most days, the conscientious collectrices and cassieres continued to impress me with their diligence. I worked on writing new business descriptions until the electricity went out too many times and I decided to call it an early day.

Two of Akpene’s brothers, Theophile and Pascal, arrived at Petit Suisse to help with preparations for the weekend, when we would head up to the top of the mountains to celebrate Easter with Akpene’s family. She grew up with 2 sisters and 10 brothers in a village called Kouma, nestled in the rainforests on the other side of the mountainous hills that surround Kpalimé. Kouma is like most tiny African villages that I have seen, only not as hot and with lush panoramic views wherever you look. There is always a breeze at the top of the mountain, and I decided that if I were Togolaise, I would definitely have built my house there. There is a tiny marché in the center of town, a church, and some compounds and huts. Not a thriving commercial center. It is hard for people to get to Kpalimé or other towns to do shopping, which I understood after the drive up…the road got smaller and smaller, rocky and cavernous, and began to wind around the mountain at precariously acute angles. I wasn’t sure if our taxi was going to make it all the way there, considering the excruciatingly slow pace at which we were traveling to avoid the deep trenches and boulders, and the fact that the car itself appeared to be held together by a bungee cord strung between the two front windows…every time we heaved into and out of a pothole the car creaked so stridently I waited for the cracked windshield to shatter and the rusted body to cartoonishly split down the center and thud to the ground on either side. I contentedly sat and listened to the Ewe chatter of the 6 other people piled into the sedan with me and 40 minutes later we arrived in Kouma. We drove through the center, up an enormous hill (at about 3mph, literally) and down a footpath to Akpene’s family compound.

In front of an ancient banana forest, there were 3 huts and a stone barn-like structure surrounding a square dirt yard with an enormous mango tree. Also in the yard were fufu bowls and mallets, a few wooden chairs and tables under an open air, palm-roofed shelter, and several goats and a mangy dog milling about and panting. Under the shelter sat about 8 shirtless men passing a bottle of clear liquid around the table, an older man in traditional African garb and thick, black-rimmed glasses, and 2 women holding children. We could hear the smack and suction of fufu pounding in the distance as we peeled ourselves out of the car.

I was soon introduced to the brothers (whom I discovered were drinking Sodabi at 8am – the dangerously strong local alcohol distilled from palm wine) who were all as friendly and welcoming to me as Akpene always has been. They were thrilled by my African outfit that Akpene finished in time for me to wear and tried (in vain) to get me to try the Sodabi before heading to church. After the introductions, Akpene was angry that no one was ready to go to church, and started off down the path in a huff. At Mensah’s pleading eyes, I accompanied her down into the village where the service had already started. Along the way, we passed another mass going on with about 20 people singing in a tiny, open-walled building overlooking the valley. We also saw a cat dragging a dead chicken across the cratered path and woman with a tumor on her neck the size of a soccerball…(another reason it is hard to live in Kouma…no doctors nearby…not that this is the first time I have seen a medical emergency like this left completely unattended. People just can’t even think of trying to pay for a consultation…)

The church service was much more subdued than in Kpalimé, and completely in Ewe. The pastor recognized my presence a few minutes after Akpene and I had found our seats, and thanked me for being there. I thanked him in Ewe and felt proud for of myself for the next 15 minutes. There was less mongering for donations than in Kpalimé and a much more intimate atmosphere. People sang in groups of 5 or 6, simply standing up in the audience and breaking into a cappella psalms in 4 part harmonies. There was an offering of a live chicken and a basket of fruit, both of which sat in silence in front of the altar throughout the service. Shortly after we arrived, a visibly intoxicated man wandered in through an open side door and started yelling something in Ewe. As the pastor beckoned him to kneel in front of him and began gently speaking, the audience began to titter, the atmosphere somewhere between condemnation, lighthearted pity and outright humor. After a few minutes, several smiles from the pastor and murmurs of approval from the audience the man rose and, giving thanks to everyone in the room, stumbled out into the blinding sunlight.

After the service (which was long, considering I did not understand it and don’t really believe in the whole New Testament thing…) we walked out into the heat of mid-morning which, to my dismay, does still penetrate, even in Kouma. We greeted some of Akpene’s friends and relatives, all of whom commented with glee on my outfit, and walked back to the house. A group of half-naked children singing the classic, “yovo yovo bonsoir! Comment çava, merci!” followed me, begging for a photo. As I took out my camera about 12 more children came out of nowhere and jumped in front of the lens. It continues to send shivers up my spine every time they squeal in a mixture of disbelief, delight and terror when I show them the digital photo of themselves. It is entirely tragicomic, because while this is the highlight of their day and I can’t hold back my smile, it is so unfair that these children, who are just as curious and enchanted with childhood as any other, will never have the opportunities they are entitled to.

When we arrived back at the house the celebration had already begun. The family was so grateful to be together that I felt privileged to be a witness to their happiness. There were three generations present, all of whom welcomed me as a sister and a daughter. We ate fufu à la chevre (goat,) which was a delicacy for them, but difficult for me to eat as it was very fatty and, as with most meat here, comes complete with bones, teeth and skin. I managed to get about a quarter of it down and gave the rest to the brothers (the role of the brother as the dinner table garbage disposal seems to be universal,) who happily polished it off.

During and after eating, the Sodabi, whiskey and beers were passed around and people began to clap and sing. Sodabi is sweet and potent, and burns all the way down. I was glad to have tried it, but it definitely won’t become a habit…it isn’t as prevalent in Kpalimé or in larger towns, much more in remote villages where people really have nothing else to do…that said, not everyone is a drunk. When there is no football or golf to watch, no vacuuming to be done, no fancy games or technology to be found, people make their own entertainment. This has been something that has refreshed me since I arrived here – you can give an African child a spot in the dirt, a rock or a flat tire and they will be happily entertained for hours. Much nicer than the brats throwing temper tantrums in FAO Schwatrz because their spoiled playdate has a more recent version of Sony Playstation…

Throughout the afternoon, the younger brothers appeared to be the ringleaders of the singing and carrying on, but when grand-frère (the oldest brother) came over and jokingly grabbed the bottle of Sodabi out of Ferdinand’s (the youngest brother) hand, he shook with fear. One of Akpene’s brothers is deaf, yet hung in the background or sat in a chair next to his father smiling at me the entire time. The father of the brood sat in a chair under the mango tree, quietly surveying the scene and cracking a less than toothy smile every few minutes. Abigail, the youngest granddaughter who is 2, called out yovo and threw popcorn at me until settling into my lap, which gave me an excuse to sit down (the energy these people have never cease to amaze me and I was pooped by mid-afternoon.) I ate a huge bowl of rice in the afternoon and Akpene and Ferdinand got in a sort of rice-fight, which involved shoveling it into each other’s mouths, which the chickens and goats were happy to clean up after. One of Akpene’s brothers is deaf, yet hung in the background or sat in a chair next to his father smiling at his family the entire time. I was so grateful to have them grin and call me sister, to grab my hand and dance me around the clapping circle of chanting and singing, and to take part in an unorchestrated and genuinely joyful celebration.

We did not sleep over in Kouma, as our driver had waited for us, and we trekked back down the mountain at sunset, arriving in one tired and sweaty piece.

The next day, Theophile, Pascal and Ferdinand were back at Petit Suisse on their way back to Lomé. Theophile is an accountant at a school, Pascal repairs refrigerators and desperately wants to come to the US, and Ferdinand is a policier in training…sadly, like most people in Togo, while their appearance is one of dignity, none of them earn enough money to contribute to the medical care their parents desperately need, and who live in isolated poverty on the top of the mountain. We played cards and Edito (the authentic version of Mancala, as it is an Ashanti game and originally comes from Ghana) all morning, Theophile winning and knowing it every time. He must have done something magnificent in his past life to have that kind of luck…we had a fancy lunch on the roof of the hotel with a table cloth, salad appetizers (which I knew I shouldn’t have eaten and may have contributed to my sickness) and sparkling grape juice. They said some prayers and I said the motzi, although no one knew what on earth I was saying and, bizarrely, no one asked…

After lunch, the brothers got ready to leave and called me into their room. I had no idea what was coming and hoped I hadn’t done anything to offend them. Instead, they handed me a wrapped gift. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do. I explained that I didn’t need or deserve any gifts and I did not want to take anything from them, at which they protested vehemently and said that this is the Togolese way. I know that this is true, but continue to feel uncomfortable with this kind of generosity as I know that, although I am not rich, I have it so much better financially than any of these people just by nature of my birth…through my tears I opened the package to reveal 2 beautiful African outfits that Pascal had picked out for me in Lomé, to remember their family and the time I spent with them. For one of very few times in my life that I can remember, I was speechless.

Although I am not feeling so great right now, the past week has made me so happy to be experiencing Togo in the way that I am. After meeting the Peace Corps crew, I know how different my experience is than theirs, and I am incredibly lucky to have met such wonderful people that have taken me into their lives and daily routines. When I was sick yesterday, my friends from FECECAV were there with me all day and everyone from the quartier stopped by last night to see how I was feeling (word spreads like wildfire around here!) Whatever cravings for some normal food and over-the-counter drugs I am experiencing right now are balanced out by the satisfaction I am getting from this adventure.

This Saturday will be one month since I left New York. It feels like so much less, although my Mom says it feels much longer haha. This weekend I am going to chat with the Peace Corps couple in Kpalimé about doing some work with them at their MFI when I am finished with FECECAV in 2 weeks. I am also hoping to travel up north to see more of Togo before I come back sometime at the end of April/beginning of May, depending on who comes to visit me.

I miss you all! It is definitely lonely here sometimes by myself, and I send you all my love. Paix partout.

K

PS – I had a dream the other night in French…I woke up and realized it immediately

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Critical Assesment Numero Deux – Kiva in Week 4

Curious as to what my fellow fellows are experiencing in their respective assignments, I have been sending out some emails to several of them, containing some of my observations and thoughts about the program. Their responses have been very interesting – some vindicating, some defensive, some indifferent – but mostly supportive of my desire to disclose my candid evaluations and interested in communicating their own. It is so uplifting to see a group of intelligent and inquisitive people out there making their way in a program that leaves much room for growth and improvement. While some have been more proactive than others in voicing these opinions, some have been more ready to work within the existing parameters, and some are more accepting of the underlying benefit of our Kiva work, we all are here with a shared desire to help these MFIs achieve their social mission more efficiently. I was glad to hear from these individuals, who are experiencing very similar situations as I am, and it was particularly illuminating to hear them support some of my larger misgivings about the program’s conceptual foundations and methodology. As my “bosses” at Kiva have been less than responsive, nor interested, in discussing any of my constructive (really!) questions and concerns, it was entirely necessary to hear some real voices encouraging my inquiries and engaging with me.

Qualm #1: So what’s so bad about trimesters?

Kiva requires each MFI to send a financial report on the 15th of every month, with particular information included. Now, first of all, I completely understand the need for MFI cooperation with Kiva policies on financial data. This is essential to the process of auditing and maintaining transparency….but here is the gap that exists: FECECAV has 11 branches throughout the Maritime region of Togo, ranging from Lomé in the south all the way to Atakpamé and Adéta in the north of the region. Their reach is extensive and widespread, in order to reach the maximum number of districts and therefore clients in need of credit. Importantly, 5-7 of these offices to do not have electricity. If one takes a step back and contemplates the complexity of accruing, organizing and centralizing the financial data of the entire organization, this is an almost superhuman task. Of course FECECAV does it, it must, to balance its books, reconcile budgets and maintain credibility as a financial institution. In a society without reliable power, let alone email and internet access, this is complex and difficult. FECECAV has opted to centralize financial data at the Kpalimé office through the use of USB ports, for those offices with computers and/or electricity, and the old-fashioned copy-and-carry method for those branches without power. These offices literally bring their entire accounting department to the Kpalimé office to transfer their financial data to the central system. Instead of doing this every 30 days, which would be far too inefficient and would hinder their ability to provide high-caliber services, FECECAV does it every trimester. It has worked for them for years and is not far off from many businesses around the world who have far more resources with which to do their accounting...since FECECAV has been on Kiva since December, it had a third-trimester financial report for October, November, December (and they did a projection for January) ready to go. However, now they need to turn in a specialized financial report for February and it’s not ready yet…it won’t be until the end of the month. Carol told me on the phone the other day that it is urgent that they turn in this February financial report, that she has spoken to Daniel about it several times, it is late (it was due on the 15th) and that she wants me to see what is going on. When I discovered that it just wasn’t ready yet due to the process involved in creating these trimester reports, and their distress at not being able to turn it in on time this time around, I again felt guilty and confused. Why should Kiva again be making a mountain of work for these MFIs?

I was worried that if FECECAV didn’t turn in this report, all of our efforts in trying to increase our monthly funding limit through journaling (which as I have already described, and as a Kiva lender myself can verify, is fairly inconsequential in the re-funding of loans on the Kiva site and should not carry such weight in the risk model nor in the fellows program,) creating precise business descriptions and quality photographs would go down the tubes as a result of tardy financial reporting – which obviously doesn’t look good…Therefore, I explained that we should try to quickly draw up a February report to send to Carol as soon as possible. Like that first day, when I pulled Rogier away from the clients lining up at his door to visit 10 Kiva clients, I felt disappointed in Kiva’s lack of attention to daily realities as well as a fundamental discord with Kiva policies when viewing them in action on the ground. To reinforce these emotions, I was faced with some opposition from Olivier, the finance director, and Daniel, who explained what an undertaking this would be. However, as always, they acquiesced…what choice did they have? Olivier spent an entire day working on the report, it was there on my computer the next morning, and Olivier did none of his own work that day.

One could chalk this up to a little hard work goes a long way, and there are certain things one must do to benefit from something great…but when it comes down to it, there is a very fine line between being helpful and being a burden here. It must truly be up to the individual MFI to decide, is it worth the hassle? If only that question were easily answerable…I will return to this difficult issue in a few minutes...

Ambiguity aside…if Kiva wants a thorough and transparent report, wouldn’t it be in their interest to wait another 10 days to have the most robust and well-calculated data?

Qualm #2: Journals, Journals, Journals

Last Thursday, I went out with Rogier to visit about 15 more Kiva clients for journals. Since I posted those 12 journals on the site 2 weeks ago, about 20 lenders responded to them…it was quite dramatic to see their animated reactions to FECECAV’s clients through my journal entries, which was of course encouraging. I attempted to translate some of this to Daniel and he was thrilled. In conjunction with his desire to increase FECECAV’s monthly limit, he made it a priority for me to visit clients with Rogier, who is the one who chose these clients for the site and knows them best. Although it kills me to drag him away from the applicants lined up at his door, if le directeur says go, we go. Obviously I was excited to be going out on the moto again, taking photos of clients to please Kiva lenders and witnessing FECECAV’s impact firsthand, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit selfish (Kiva and otherwise) and concerned about this kind of work. I sincerely hope that in the end FECECAV will benefit from it all…

So we tried to leave twice. It was almost 11am, and Rogier said in a flurry that morning when I asked if we were still on, that he would try to be ready at 9:30. I didn’t bother him of course, but when he saw me sneaking to the bathroom around 10:30, he smiled and said, “I’m ready! I’m ready!” He’d had his helmet on for about half an hour, but people kept calling him back into the office. He is such a hard worker, and exactly what the ‘Agents de Credit’ are supposed to be – which I observed about him on the first day and was only reinforced in the training.

Les Agents de Credit are the reason(s) that FECECAV clients repay their loans. Each agent is an integral piece of the FECECAV structure, and are committed to its success. One big risk or bad client can raise the entire organization’s rate of defaulted loans, with a frightening domino effect. They are taught calculations to recognize their Portfolio at Risk (PAR) and the hows and whys of keeping this at the lowest possible percentage. They carry out these missions with a mentality of practical zero-tolerance. Daniel and Robert l’Inspecteur (the director of audit control and fraud) emphasize the intolerance for lenience and sensitivity, and the magnitude of their role in FECECAV’s continued success. Robert put it like this, and I think it describes the consequence they place on the shoulders of les Agents to prevent delinquence and guarantee repayment: “Il faut penser d’un credit en retard comme un virus que nous attaque (We must think of a late payment as a virus that is attacking us.)” Daniel went on to reinforce this statement, adding, with zest as always, “Like a disease, it needs to be quarantined! Or it will contaminate the others!” This illustrates the FECECAV methodology, which is why it is so successful. If a client is late, they cannot get away with it. There are no excuses for late payments (as Daniel says with a vigorous scowl and a shake of his pointer finger, “Je ne veux pas ecouter ‘Seulment’ (I don’t want to hear, ‘but only!’)”) and there is no justification for sensitivity – no matter if the person in question is your wife, or your best friend, or your own son. Don’t wait for them to come to you, and if you don’t catch them the first time you go knocking on their door, go back three more times until you do or until they are too embarrassed to keep avoiding you.

Rogier is a model for them all. He’s an exemplary Agent de Credit and fantastically devoted. He and I got onto his motot (he is quite impressive on that thing as well…Athanase told me that he used to drive a taxi-moto) and were about to pull out onto the road when he saw someone speed by, yelled at them to stop frustratedly and then turned and hurriedly yelled “Leves toi! Leves toi! Je reviens! (Get up, get off! I’ll be right back!)” As I jumped off his moto he spun off, nearly colliding with an approaching scooter, in pursuit of the client. He returned 3 minutes later, a woman on the back of his scooter and ushered her into his office. She must be late on a payment, or he needs some information from her to finish her application. It could be a number of things, but as witnessed over and over again, this is the kind of thing he does so well. He draws out motivation from people’s veins as if he were a lab technician, composes lyrics of success and drives people to drag themselves out of poverty by not defaulting on those loans. As M. Yunus says, this is their chance and they do not want to fail, they cannot afford to fail. And Rogier really wants these people to pass the test they and FECECAV have put themselves up to, and it is his responsibility to reinforce, reprimand and literally chase them down to make sure they are victorious.

We visited 12 clients in 2 different quartiers of Kpalimé, but only managed to see about 7. We missed a lot of them unfortunately, as they were at school, at the marché, etc. and I could see the dissatisfaction cloud Rogier’s face. I had wasted a lot of his time and we were both frustrated. Near the end of our list, we stopped at a crumbling wall leading into a compound (being the courtyrard surrounded by windowless huts that I described in my last blog.) He grinned and said, “C’est chez moi. (This is my house.)” We went inside and he introduced me to his sister and his nieces who were making fufu, as well as his father who recently had a stroke and was lying on a sheet on a hard cement floor. It really breaks my heart sometimes to see even the strongest, most put-together people I know here living in conditions of complete and utter poverty. But at the same time, it I almost started to cry from sheer happiness when Rogier proudly brought me into his home, smiled at his family, and through his gleaming eyes and the bounce that is forever in his step, maintained his commanding dignity.

* * *

I wrote three journals with Louise after my trip out with Rogier. It was agonizingly slow, to say the least. She types slower than my Dad, obsessively edits as she goes along and saves the document after each sentence. I do not want to rush her (and she probably saves like that since they cut the current every few hours haha) but it took all of my patience to sit there and help construct each excruciating phrase. Unfortunately, after 1.5 hours and 3 journal entries, I was not convinced that she could do it herself. We will try again to do a few more...

But here is the qualm: It is tricky to try to explain the conversations that I had with clients in the field and then have her write the journals…far less than ideal. However, Louise is is one of the few people here that might have an hour each week to work on journals, which is why Daniel selected her. She is not a field worker like Rogier or a collectrice, and is not connected to the details of their daily lives, their loans or their businesses. It has nothing to do with her abilities, but she for sure will not have as much to add to a journal as someone out in the field every day. It would have been much more efficient had I been writing the journal with a field worker, who could say, oh yes, she forgot to mention it in the interview, but she was able to buy a new door for her house with the profits from her business! This is what the journals are supposed to be…not me and the CEO’s secretary copying and pasting phrases because we don’t have enough information for a good journal, because we don’t know the clients as well as someone in the other room…

Qualm #3: Peer to Peer? That’s all Greek to me…

I’m almost finished I promise. But this is the most important part, please read on :)

Something else I have noticed and am unnerved about is that the comments that lenders write in response to journal entries are all in English…in reverse, everything is translated from local languages into English for lenders to read, even if it takes extra time. I understand that they cannot lend money if they can’t read the business description, but is it not as important for these MFIs to see the impact of their journal entries? If the end goal of the journaling process is to truly create a peer-to-peer relationship between lenders and borrowers, shouldn’t both parties have the same rights to translation services and be able to effectively communicate with each other? In addition, why would FECECAV continue to write journal entries if they cannot read the responses from lenders that represent the impact of their hard work? It would be much more effective if the lender comments were translated back into the language of the business descriptions so that not only the field partners, but also the borrowers themselves – to whom most of the comments are personally addressed! – can be made privy to them.

Kiva prides itself on the relationships it builds between lenders and borrowers, but as far as I can see, this is a one-way street. Lenders benefit from the satisfaction of new photographs and updates in journals (when they are completed,) but no one seems to pay attention to that fact that no borrower has ever heard of so and so from Highland Park, IL, who writes them a comment in English, on a website on the internet, on a computer with electricity…Not every lender is rich, hence to practical and miraculous $25 loan, and can’t afford to fly to Togo to visit Essi Bongo in Kpalimé to show her that they are proud of her for combating her poverty and are supporting her every step of the way. Therefore, it is Kiva’s responsibility to fulfill this part of its mission, which I do not think is happening right now in this respect (which is kind of a big deal…) More effort needs to be made in bringing this process full circle if Kiva is to continue carrying the torch of the peer-to-peer lending process, because right now it is not a reciprocal relationship by any means. And it cannot rest on the shoulders of the field partner, because although they are receiving loans at 0% interest, this should not make them indebted to Kiva, almost prisoners to its policies – because of course they will bend over backwards to receive this “free money,” it helps them financially of course, but I do not feel that is it fair to guise it as anything more than a business relationship, because on this end, that is all it is.

In conclusion, I do not think that Kiva consciously attempts to dupe MFIs into accepting their non-lucrative, no-strings-attached, gesture of goodwill through interest-free loans. I am not saying this at all, and do not want to seem like I am perpetually complaining about an organization that does a lot of good. I am trying to be constructive truly, but every few days I notice something else, and it has been very frustrating for me to see the fissures that exist in Kiva policies in regard to REALITY.

To return to my earlier point…it is up to the individual MFI to decide for themselves whether the extra effort to work with Kiva is truly worth the burden it places on their staff and the toll it takes on their operational capacity for a relatively small bite (this will vary of course) out of their portfolio. However, I do not necessarily think that this is a fair choice, nor a position that I would ever want to put an organization like FECECAV in. Do the benefits of obliging our MFIs to make such a multifaceted and difficult decision, without a clear indication of which direction will yield more positive results, outweigh the costs?

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

16Mars – Yovo à l’eglise

So I think that this experience deserves a blog entry all of its own…

I was invited to go to church this morning with Daniel and his family, and I accepted with enthusiasm. Grace and Jesu were so excited that I was to accompany them, they talked about it all week and I told me that people would sing and dance…I had all of these images of Africans praising the lord, singing at the top of their lungs and filling the church with the glorious music and spontaneous dancing…to be honest, these reveries were for the most part fulfilled…I wish I were feeling a bit more eloquent right now to describe it, but I just woke up from a nap (I was finally able to partake in the afternoon siesta because I got up at 6am today to go to the damned service…)

We walked for 25 minutes into town in the early morning heat, which is always less bearable than the blazing sun of the afternoon for some reason – maybe it is because it is an abrasive contrast with the cool of the night, and that there is no qualifiable breeze to speak of in the morning, and the sun is just in that spot in the sky that is unavoidable and blinding. I was walking with the kids and their grandmother and I was wearing my jeans, as I needed to be as covered as possible in the church, and was sweating right through them. I thought we would never arrive at our destination. Sunday mornings in Kpalime are like a colorful, slow-moving pilgrimage to mass…everyone who is capable and “respectable” goes to church…those that don’t are very poor or just not religious, but that doesn’t seem to be so well-accepted here, and instead stand outside the church trying to sell treats, juice and plantains to churchgoers. People wear their most colorful and expensive cloths, the one day of the week that every part of everyone’s outfits match. Women wear the same cloth as their pagnes around their heads and a lot of men even wear colorful, patterned shirts and pants. I love these outfits the men wear – much more sensible in this heat than Western suits or jeans. All of the women wear gold earings and matching bracelets and necklaces, which you never see them wearing during the week. I find it so hard to picture these women, sashaying over dirt floors and crumbling walls, putting on their Sunday best. It is paradoxical at best, how religion and Jesus has this power over people in the poorest places in the world, if not more so…

When we arrived at the church, which was a huge boxy structure with tall ceilings, cement floors and walls and otherwise plain architecture, we were greeted by rambunctious children filing into their service (which is separate from the adult service) and men and women separating onto separate sides of the church, filling the sparse pews. Brown paper cutout letters lined the walls in several places depicting pslams as wallpaper borders, and white signs that read “Jesus est roi,” were the only other decorations in the room. Aside from the rickety wooden pews there was very little furniture in the room, giving it a even larger presence than it would have filled up a bit more…in the front of the room there a cement “shelf” that extended along the length of the far wall and out about 10 feet on each side. A clear plastic pulpit stood unaccompanied in the center of the “altar” and a few plastic and wooden chairs sat against the wall. On either side, about 30 men and women sat in plastic chairs and on benches, the choirs, there were two of them, and a full band next to one of them.

At first it sounded like everyone was talking to each other, gesticulating and chatting loudly. When Daniel’s wife and I found our seats towards the front of the room I realized that people were not talking to each other…they were talking to Jesus, or G-d, or someone…they were praying. All at once, all out loud. As everyone’s eyes around me were closed I took the opportunity to do some observing. Everyone around me was praying more passionately than I have ever seen…they were having full on conversations with their savior, some in Ewe, some in French, but all at a heightened emotion that was almost frightening. They were reaching outstretched hands towards the ceiling, begging, pulling their hair, crying, shouting, shaking, squealing, asking fervently for their “Papa Papa Papa” and for “Jesus!”…whispering, rocking and sobbing, smiling and waving white handkerchiefs, spilling out into the aisles to embrace the presence of whatever it was that had overtaken them . If I had questioned any of them as to what that was, theyn would’ve been incredibly confused, because here, almost everyone is a Christian and Jesus loves everyone. Daniel said that to me after the service, that Jesus loves me, and I was just kind of like, um thanks?

Soon, as if on cue, the murmuring and outright yelling ceased to a dull roar and people pulled themselves together for the service. I waited with exhilaration for the angelic voices of Africa to take over and impart to me whatever joy these people were basking in….but instead I noticed that the sopranos were flat, they were not blending at all and their a cappella rhythm was all off. I closed my eyes and tried tohear the glorious sound I was looking for, but it didn’t come…I was just starting to feel disappointed when their voices slowed and with a slight pause, in came the djembe…it was as if the entire chorus suddenly woke up and came alive. They began to clap and sway, in that way that only West Africans can. These people just need rhythm, it is in their ancestry, in their culture and pumps through their veins. They are just not the same without it. I began to feel my cheeks tiring from the huge smile on my face as everyone around me stood and began to dance and sway with the chorus. I moved a bit to the rhythm, finding myself incredibly jealous of the naturally coordinated and flawlessly sensual hip movements of the 6 year old girl in front of me. After the first song, they went right into another and women began to dance their way up to the large open space in front of the altar, dropping change into the collection bucket and forming a large circle of shuffling and bouncing color. No men joined the circle, it was strictly segregated, but women of all ages closed the vibrant ring and brought it round and round. Some had babies tied to their backs, whose feet bopped up and down with their mothers’ hips. I loved it, there was so much emotion and so much energy. And I always thought church was boring…

After a few more songs, and many francs later, the pastor came onstage and began to preach into a microphone. He spoke in vigorous French and another pastor translated it into Ewe for the audience. The first thing he did was ask for money to pay for several clergy members to attend a conference in Lomé…now I am generally very cynical about religion and how it divides people, brainwashes people and otherwise deprives motivated human beings of personal agency and motivation...but I was shocked to see the money-grubbing that went on in this church in one of the poorest countries in the world…the pastor (and I’m sure that he is a perfectly nice guy, well-intentioned and pious) was wearing a Western suit and gold rings gleamed on several his fingers…I know that he is not as poor as these people, the profession of a pastor is well-paid here.

(Pause for a little anecdote: When I was at Daniel’s house the other day he received a phone call from the hysterical husband of his cousin – or something – who had just built a house for his new wife. She had recently become very religious and had gotten very close with the pastor of her church. Troublingly, she had recently given almost all of her money to the church, at the urging of her pastor…what’s worse, she ran out of money, and her pastor suggested that to make up for the money she couldn’t give, she could donate her house to the church…and she wanted to do it, which was why her husband called Daniel in a tizzy, who suggested that he call her father. Daniel and his wife were furious, and we proceded to have a heated conversation about the abuse of congregations by rich pastors and the problems associated with giving money to the church…)

So anyway, while I seethed about the pastor’s shameless beseeching for 1000francs from the poorest of the poor, in the name of the lord, he began his sermon. While it was more interesting than most church services I have been to, the sermon part is pretty much universal….it is really just the same old prosthelitizing, and the Jesus-stuff always makes me a bit uncomfortable, but it was still more zealous and enlivening than most speeches I’ve heard given in churches, and the audience participation and enthusiasm was truly passionate (given I’ve never seen evangelists or been to a gospel mass in harlem – which both have their roots in Africa anyway.) There were two little girls who became fascinated with me, probably one of very few yovos to venture into their Sunday mass, and were climbing all over me throughout the service, touching my fingernails and my ears with bewilderment and adoration. One of them kept on smelling my hand, as if my skin would have a different scent from hers since it was a different color. The other, whose mouth was half full of the rotting remains of baby teeth, climbed onto my lap and stayed there for the entire service, continually turning around to look at me and smile proudly.

After the sermon there was another session of praying, much like at the beginning of the service, but even more ardent, as people were all jazzed up from the sermon and the music and dancing. By this time it was hot as hell in the church, women were fanning themselves with their bibles (written in Ewe!) and small children were getting quite cranky. People all around me began to cry, begging even more fervently for Jesus to listen to them. Their faces were almost desperate, twisting under the weight and intoxication of religious zeal. They cried loudly and rocked back and forth, shaking their palms manically, reaching for the spirit that had completely overtaken them…while I have never had, and don’t necessarily believe in this kind of religious experience as a result of something so contrived and almost ulterior as a church service, I envied them somewhat…there was one woman in front of me who kept on letting out this shrill call to her Papa, desperately seeking his love and attention, and then sobbing uncontrollably, as sweat rolled down the sides of her face and her smooth, dark brown back. Another was whispering something over and over and over and over, tears streaking down her face and collecting in a large drop on her chin before dripping onto the hot concrete. One of the singers in the choir, overwhelmed by something, began to scream, shake her head and thrash about, finally collapsing into the floor in some kind of Jesus-induced epileptic fit…now I don’t know about that one, but…

The difference is that these people really have something to pray for…not that someone like me doesn’t, but I imagined them praying for survival and for strength, and this is really what g-d is for, and I am happy that they have this release and this hope, however blinding. And I really hope that g-d, my g-d, their g-d, the g-d of the planet and the continents and of history, any g-d, heard that room full of people, who so deserve to have their prayers heard, to keep their hope burning with passion, and to keep them and their families safe.

Week 2(ish) - Smitten with Kpalimé, Impressed with FECECAV, and Settled in la Petit Suisse

Another long one…you all know I love to talk, I can even do it from 3000 miles away :)

FECECAV grows a little bit more every day…not to be unoriginal or clichéd in saying something like that, but really they do. Since I have been here the office has modernized and progressed before my wide eyes. There are fans in every office now, hanging from the ceiling that is. They were installed in 4 or 5 offices on my first few days here. This makes a huge difference, for who can work well in this heat…The “IT guy” is here every other day, installing cd-roms and usb ports on various computers. For the past 3 days there has been a carpenter here building a closet in Daniel’s office, where his files are randomly clumped in a corner. Daniel says that in the coming weeks they are going to install a “permanent” internet connection on a few computers here, still dial-up of course, but they will pay a bill each month instead of having to call Illico and cross their fingers each time they want to post a business on Kiva. This is real growth, and it is so invigorating to be a witness. I’ve been lucky to have worked with a lot of small NGOs and community organizations, so this kind of humble progress isn’t completely foreign to me, but having come from IPA, I feel like I have been re-stimulated. Nothing is stagnant anymore, evolution is palpable and advancement is precious.

Since last week I have really focused my work here on Kiva, as I do know that if I can teach them how to use it efficiently, it will benefit them in the end. However, with little or no guidance from Kiva, I am taking the initiative to do it in a way that fits with FECECAV’s existing program, and am continuing to help with whatever tasks they need done urgently…when I told my Kiva “boss,” who is based in Paris and doesn’t feel the need to talk again until the end of next week, that I wasn’t as gung-ho about Kiva anymore and about my observations since arriving, her reply was a curt “I’m sorry to hear that.” I have made a schedule for the next three weeks and everyone seems to be happy with it…I think it is targeting exactly the right people, with the right tasks, and the right information to make it as easy and effective as possible. I am creating all kinds of working documents for them to use to create business descriptions and journals more easily because of my concerns that I do not want them to be taken away from their work to be doing this…but if they do, they get more free money…here is the dichotomy…

I am going to train at least 4 people in the office on all of this, to build their capacity so that any particular person is not overwhelmed with it and so that they can continue to do their other work. So far it is going really well! I have been working with Athanase and Olivier for the past 2 days on new business descriptions for the clients whose photos we took in Aventonou last week. We write them together in French, while I make sure they understand what needs to be included and what is effective, and then transfer them to my computer (with the USB port that I gave them!!) where I am translate them into English for the site. Throughout the process, I am capturing frequently used phrases about the town and certain professions, skills, foods, etc. and collecting them in a document which I will leave here for them. Then we post them on the Kiva site to be funded, which always happens by the next morning, if not sooner.

However, my American, particularly New York, work ethic is starting to clash a little bit with my FECECAV co-workers…sometimes they move sooo sloowwwlllyyy and I’m like COME ON PEOPLE we have WORK to do. I am generally a fairly high energy and efficient person, but I don’t think it’s that out of the ordinary. But most here at this office think I am insane. They think I am asking them for the freaking moon.

Between having to wait for the internet to load pages for 5 minutes and constant interruptions, irrelevant questions and digressions, I sometimes feel like I am about to lose it. So I take a little break, count to 10 and remember that this is not normal here…I have become incredibly patient with the internet and the electricity, which goes off a few times per day, sometimes taking your last hour’s work with it. The internet is bought on a card, and when your time runs out it just shuts off, no matter what it was that you were working on – au revoir. Hard to believe, that I, of all impatient people, could become accustomed to this, but it is so. However, I don’t have that kind of patience with things that I think I can control. After being here a week and seeing exactly how things run and where my focus should be, etc. I want to DO it now! And I am trying so hard, a little too hard I think…I need to be a bit more aware of the fact that my colleagues aren’t “things that I can control,” and that this is not why I am here…I need to work with them, at their pace (although really, this means that I should be here for a year…) I’m already behind schedule!!!!

This is mostly due to the fact that before we can really get started I have to teach efficiency…I have to show people how to copy and paste instead of re-typing things. I have to show how to use a USB port, and most of the time there is some problem with the computer or the cable (if the electricity hasn’t been cut, that is) and we have to do it three times to get it right. Not to mention just a lack of capacity…the fact that we have to carry the printer around from office to office each time we need it doesn’t help…

However, after most of the first week observing, in three days I’ve managed to train two people fully on business descriptions and posting on the site (including the creation of the working documents to make this all easier) and posted all of the journals that I wrote for the clients I’ve visited since I’ve been here. I have no more patience left, haha, but I’m so happy I got some stuff done. For the rest of the week and next I will do the same with more people in the office, but I can only do about 3 businesses with each one if I want any space left to be on the site…which is not really enough for them to truly understand it, but as I have already said, Kiva is totally out of touch with what’s going on here…

I did a presentation this morning for 30 loan officers, comprised from Kpalimé’s office and an office on a farm nearby that does not have electricity. I was really nervous actually, which never happens to me with public speaking, or in general for the most part…however, I guess it was understandable considering it was about Kiva, a subject I’m truly not that comfortable being seen as the sole authority on, and that it was in Togolese French, in front of a lot of strangers that are much older than I. I also had a rough assignment…try to explain a peer-to-peer internet microfinance lending platform to a group of people who have never been online before…

After my presentation, something magnificent occurred. It was Africa…where else would a highly organized group of professionals impulsively break out into song in thanks to a yovo for coming here and trying to help them. All of a sudden people were swaying their hips, clapping and singing, some with their eyes closed and hands raised, thanking g-d in Ewe for bringing me here and for this beautiful day. I was enchanted and blown away.

Most evenings I return from FECECAV tuckered out from the heat and exhausted from the strain of speaking African French and using all of my patience, both of which are getting much much better! Mensah and Akbene are always waiting for me when I get back, ready to prepare my dinner and chat. Akbene has become a bit like my mother. She is very caring and loves the female company that I bring to la Petit Suisse. She has told me that it is hard for her to be the only woman around, as very few come to the hotel. Some of her friends come by every now and then, but mostly it is she and I, as it’s not really safe to go out much after dark. She now insists on calling me “ma fille” (my daughter.) Women have it pretty rough here, I must say, but more on that kettle o’ worms another time…

Last night dinner was a huge pile of dry, plain spaghetti (but spaghetti nonetheless) with an equally large and equally dry pile of ground beef on top…I scraped off most of the beef and woofed the rest of it down. Mensah now sits beside me while we it, noisily munching on his dinner, every five minutes slamming on his glass with his knife and a stern “FelIZE!” (his apprentice.) Akbene sits close by squealing like a child at the stupidly dramatic French soap opera that comes on every night at this time. She LOVES it, it is so funny. If Felize, the poor thing, doesn’t come running by the time Mensah has finished chewing he starts rapping on his glass again, more testily this time, until Felize bursts through the door in a fluster with an annoyed yet worried look on his face. It is pretty hilarious, he is around 17 I think, and just wants to be lazy, but Mensah will not leave the poor kid alone for a second. He runs a tight ship, but I see right through him 

Before dinner, Akbene took me to her friend Veronique’s house across the street, which is similar to most in the region – more like a compound, a community center …a few shacks with curtains for doors and windows (for some reason there is no glass here…it is probably expensive, hard to transport and easily smashed) surrounding a courtyard where there was a fire for cooking and some palm leaves for shelter from the weather. Chickens and a scraggly cat milled about, continually, desperately searching for scraps. Veronique and her two children (I think, it is always hard to tell who are actually the children around here, as so many people are orphaned or transferred to another family member, etc. Everyone is everyone else’s grand-soeur ou petit-frére…thus the massive community. It’s really a beautiful thing) were just beginning to make Fufu. It was really interesting to see the process from start to finish. And I helped! I used the huge wooden mallets (they are about my height) to pound those yams from a starchy-potato-like mixture into a thick, sticky paste. They all thought me pounding fufu was damned near the most hilarious thing they had ever seen. I always enjoy being the object of a good laugh. Seriously.

I then watched Veronique take the smoked fish off the fire and pick off the bad parts, the eyes, the gills and, throwing those towards the cat’s gleaming eyes and twitching whiskers, dumped the rest into the boiling pot of tomatoes, onions and jalepenos (all of which was rinsed in the semi-clean-looking water next to it, I guess it’s fine if you’re boiling it but….) Then Akbene thought it would be funny to take a picture of me holding the smoked rat (which was sitting nearby for tomorrow’s fufu lunch) over the pot. I made a semi-disgusted, semi-confused face in the photo, which is pretty much how I felt, and one of Akbene’s friends, not Veronique, but the one who lives across the courtyard and comes frequently to la Petit Suisse to visit, almost lost it. She is this stunningly beautiful woman, huge and soft, with the most perfect features and shining, mischievous eyes. Ewe tumbles out of her mouth like candy and I love to listen to her speak to Akbene in that boisterous and immeasureable African-woman language to which no one but themselves can truly be privy. I must find out her name because she also has a laugh that rivals Rogier’s (my colleague at FECECAV who has, hands down, the best laugh I have ever heard in my life) and an appetite that rivals my brother’s.

It’s funny how things are already becoming familiar here…I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and need to blink a few times in the pitch black to remember where I am…I am starting to expect the lights and fans to quietly cease a few times a day, and anticipate the grumble of my air conditioner every morning as the power is cut just before 6am…I am getting used to certain smells...I don’t recoil as much at the intoxicating odor of smoked mackerel being prepared for fufu, and it doesn’t faze me anymore when thick smoke fills the afternoon air, always managing to find it’s way into the FECECAV office and my hotel room, with that all-too-recognizable (and which I initially thought I would never get used to) aroma of burning garbage and charcoal…that smell is Togo to me, more than any other. It’s weird how it has become almost comforting…

I am also becoming accustomed to particular sounds…the beepbeep and high-pitched motors of scooters driving far too quickly and haphazardly on Kpalimé’s crumbling roads. The rhythmic, computer-generated jingle of the Channel24 (the French news channel that is often the only one that comes in during the day, or at all…) topographic map that scans the entire globe and reports local temperatures at lightning speed…that crazy insect that sounds like a broken fax machine and comes out just as dusk begins to fall…and the Ewe, that at first made me feel so isolated, but now brings a beam to my face every time I hear its mutterings dance through curtains and open doors. Those doors that are always open.

But it is still hot as hell, and I continue to drink tons of water, which is obviously rare among the Togolese…everyone here at FECECAV laughs when I go to buy more and calls me, good-naturedly of course, a thirsty yovo. And I still really want a Caesar salad…

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Finallement! L'internet! ça marche!

Week one – Lomé to Kpalimé

So maybe the blog wasn’t the greatest idea…considering that today is the first day that the internet connection has been fast enough to upload it, haha. And now, with literally almost 40 pages written in my journal and on my computer, it is exceedingly difficult to decide what to impart here in cyberspace. I will do my best, and for the rest, you will have to just anxiously anticipate my return :)

Oh and congratulations in advance to anyone who actually makes it to the end of this long message, it is hard to squeeze it all in...

After a few rough days of transition, adjustment to the oppressive heat and humidity, and recognition and acceptance of real isolation, I am in love with this country. Togolese are more friendly and hospitable than I ever could have imagined – a small smile from me lights up their eyes, they grin back and immediately wish me a bonjour, comment çava! They are some of the happiest and real people I have ever met, and I love how it makes me feel, especially now that I feel like I fit in. It was hard at first to realize exactly where I was, how far from home, how disconnected (technologically and otherwise) from the developed world…but I have now embraced it and am feeling much more comfortable.

The landscape is gorgeous here in Kpalimé. Lomé, where I was for the first day, was much more dusty and dry, but here it is lush and green, palm trees and banana plants everywhere, vibrant colors slapped on every structure and don’t even get me started on the fabrics…In the words of Maya Angelou, a true "riot of colour"...it is incredibly refreshing. The poverty is real, but not harsh or dismal, just humbling. Here it is truly l’habitude, and is does not debilitate. Smiles are more brilliant and eyes more vivid than I have ever seen…and I do not say that lightly, or with an ounce of clichéd romanticism.

Daniel, the CEO of FECECAV, met me in the morning after my flight arrived (FECECAV’s driver, Yao, picked me up at the airport and brought me through dusty dirt streets of Lomé to a “hotel” close to the airport) and we passed a busy day in Lomé. It was a total blur, culture shock and all, and I will have to revisit it later. I have now been in Kpalimé for almost a week, and am infatuated with it. I am so lucky to have been placed here, as it is the most beautiful place in the country, so they say, and so I have seen thus far…I have been to about 5 other villages already, which has been amazing, the visit FECECAV’s other offices and clients and has given me an opportunity see more of the country.

So about this elusive FECECAV…my job is much different than I expected, and I think that this added to the difficulty of adjusting to my life here. Turns out (shocking, I know) Kiva has not a clue what is actually going on on the ground and what the realities of these MFIs are…I figured this out on the 2nd day and at first decided I would leave. It was too overwhelming. Let me start at the beginning…

FECECAV works like a well oiled machine. They have a detailed organizational structure, well maintained procedure, a development plan for the next three years, and international partners. They do their job incredibly well and do not really need to me to advise them on how to run things more effectively, use microfinance model more productively, etc., which is part of the reason I thought I was here…Every day there is a line of clients out the door to see Rogier, the head Loan Officer, to obtain new loans and set up their credit history. There are also clients lining up to pay at les caissses. I am so impressed with them and after being here a week can really see how much good they are doing for the people of Togo. I am honored to be able to experience it.

The main problem is this. It is twofold.

1) I am not a microfinance person, not a finance person at all really. And Kiva made it seem like this would not be a problem AT ALL. They truly gave no instruction on how these businesses run, particularly geographically specific information, except for a couple of background readings which, for the most part, went over my head with financial jargon, complex data on interest rates, PPP, etc. I am fairly disappointed in the preparation they provided and the fact that they truly did not create any type of plan for when I got here…if I hadn’t emailed Kiva a few days ago, they wouldn’t have even known I was here, that I didn’t die in a plane crash or something…but enough about that, here these concerns seem selfish and unimportant.

2) The real issue is this: FECECAV has been on Kiva since December. That’s all. Therefore, they are still in the pilot phase and do not have a lot of money invested in Kiva nor many clients on the site. They have a manual and completely understand how to use it, they are internet literate, can follow directions, and really get it. So that reason for me being here is moot, except for a few tiny things which I discussed already with Daniel. No problem. Therefore, for me to really be of any use to them, they have to TRAIN me on their organization and on microfinance. How is this helping? They have loads of clients lining up at the door and I am supposed to take them away from that to go find the 10 clients or so in Kpalimé that are listed on the Kiva site? I do not think that this is efficient or helpful. Instead I am an interruption, a hindrance to their work, and they are so hospitable, friendly and eager to please me that there is no changing the fact that I am more of a burden to them than an addition (although they probably don’t think so.) I really would’ve expected more of Kiva in this regard, to see where and when this kind of work is needed – for example with MFIs that have a larger Kiva portfolio and need help only with journaling. Or to realize that updating rich Americans on what has happened to their money is not really a priority on the ground, where the important thing is to fund more people and change more lives. And as we all know, periodic updates do NOT in any way effect the funding of loans in the Kiva site…they are all funded in minutes, and Kiva’s biggest problem is keeping enough loans on the site for people to eat up.

I have a few clients from which that I collected data this morning. Rogier left a line of clients at his door to take me out in town to visit them. Which is great for Kiva, but I really don’t think that these are FECECAV’s priorities and I feel that it is very wrong to be doing it – as they will never say no, of course, Kiva is giving them free money!

FECECAV’s model is incredible…They are a cooperatif, a coop. This means that they have an Assemblé Génerale, which I like their Board, and is made up of clients. This ensures that everyone has an investment in the organization. Fantastic. This is the way development should be. In this way, les clients sont aussi les proprieters. I can’t imagine any type of bank doing this in New York…these people are amazing. And it comes from their culture of cooperation, interdependence and community. It has changed my life, really, in only 5 days. My spirit and mentality feel at home here, where people want to work together, care for each other and always smile at each other, no matter how hot and tired they are.

FECECAV serves the maritime region of Togo, which is in the middle and goes down to the coast, near Lomé. They have 11 offices, which all report to the central office in Kpalimé. They have over 14,000 clients…and I think less than a hundred are on Kiva…

So I made a decision, and changed my strategy. I am here for FECECAV. And this is what will help people here. I talked to Daniel about my observations, my new plan, and why I feel this way. He couldn’t have been more pleased. He says that I understand la réalité du microfinance en Afrique. I think he really needed to hear this from me. When we got back to the office, he sent me in to observe Rogier, who was filling out “Dossiers du Crédit” for clients. These green booklets, which they must buy for 200F, are there credit reports. These are real here, not some mysterious document online that visa checks up on and Equifax charges for each trimester…these are the documents that allow you to feed your family. How ironic that I don’t have any credit…

So since I finally took a leap, decided what I was going to do, that I will stay here for the next month, and told Daniel and the others about my revalation and new strategy – Daniel gave me some work. He had me sit with Innocent, or Ino as they call him, the first person you see when you come into the office, who is in charge of entering numbers and data into a computer. The poor thing sits there all day typing numbers into a screen and is interrupted every 5 seconds by someone asking him where is la caisse, and ends up staying until 8pm because he doesn’t have 2 minutes of peace to count and has 12 collectrices give him more information 5 minutes before he is ready to leave. I sat with Innocent for about an hour and added up numbers in columns…I was so elated to have something to do, but after a few minutes the numbers began to blur, I had to add them multiple times pour les verifier, and I really felt for the guy. He is one of the younger ones here at FECECAV, and works so unbelievably hard. I promised him that tomorrow I would bring him a pack of gum and would help him again, for which he was so grateful.

Today is Sunday, a quiet day here, as most are à l'eglise in the morning. I have been invited to attend mass next weekend, for which I am incredibly excited (Daniel's children, who are obsessed with me because i gave them NYC keychains, told me that people sing and dance throughout the service.) Yesterday, three of the FECECAV guys that I have become most friendly with, Yao, Athanase and Olivier, took me up into the mountains east of Kpalimé to see the view of Ghana and the hidden rainforest with its butterflies and waterfalls...and the FECECAV girls, who wander around Kpalimé en masse, have shown me around town a bit too, to drink a Flag or an Awooyoo (the 2 most popular Togolese beers.)

I have been eating fairly well, although the meat (TEGAN) has been a bit hard to swallow, literally, and the Togolese dishes are definitely hard on the digestive system...good thing I am an adventurous one...i must admit though I had to stop short of trying the Fufu (national dish of yam paste, which tastes salty and bland but çava, with different sauces) à la RAT sauce...i kid you not, there was an actual claw on the plate and i just could not do it...i have eaten it many other times though with potent fish sauce, tough chicken and even lamb...oy...

The proprietor of my little hotel, la Petit Suisse, (which costs around 8doll. per night) and his wife have really taken me in and have been so helpful. Their names are Mensah and Akbene. Akbene calls me her "petit fille" (little daughter) and insists on doting upon me at every second. This attention is frequent from many here in Togo (I am pretty much a celebrity as i am one of very very few yovos - white people - here and people yell yovo!yovo! at me all the time, particularly the kids who want me to take their photo) which is sometimes sweet but makes me feel very uncomfortable sometimes too because i feel that they are the one who deserve that, not me!

D'accord, i had better try to post this exceedingly long message because it will most likely take the remaining time on my internet card to upload...sorry folks no photos, but i have lots and cqn't wait to share with you all.

All my love and hope to be in touch again soon!
à la prochain,
K