22 Avril - Français à la Togolais

My French is completely different than it was when I arrived here…language is a fascinating thing. My mom noticed it the first time she heard me say Merci to someone on the street while we were talking on the phone, about 2 weeks after my arrival. She gasped, saying Kira! Did you just roll the “r” in Merci?!

I quickly realized that no one could understand me when I swallowed and hacked out my Parisian/Quebecoise sounding R’s and rounded out the ends of my biens and bonjours. Much worse, people thought I was French! This is one of the biggest insults I can receive here, which I also quickly realized…when people find out I am American and not French (or Belgian or Swiss or another French-speaking, European country) they are thrilled. They are also always shocked that I speak French, which makes total sense, considering that Americans aren’t the world’s most renowned for embracing foreign cultures, particularly languages (must we remember Pat’s Steaks…)

The hesitation-bordering-on-full-out-disdain surrounding Les Françaises is partially due to the horrific legacy of colonialism, but more (as with most European countries) a result of their utter lack of effective development assistance and general interaction with modern Togo. However (and I have really heard this kind of praise from so many people here) when people start to go on and on about how wonderful Amerique is and all we do for Africa I can help but wonder…Don’t they remember slavery?! It really shows the desperation and trusting optimism for anyone who is here to help them…which makes me a bit sad, but at the same time does make me a bit more confident in the real impact of my country’s work around the world. IPA and my work at the UN jaded me a bit about the US’s contributions to the World Food Programme, USAID, African Development Banks, and the most well known international NGOs, which, for all of their shortcomings and disastrous faults, are there, when everyone else is gone, to care for the world’s most desperate populations. Sure, China provides instant gratification in the form of sandelettes and shiny cellphones, but at what cost? And what about sustainability? If there is no cost-benefit analysis that exists in their favor, there is no way they will go on. And most European countries can’t say that they have done either!

I’d like to think that what makes us different is our attitude, and that Americans, like me, have grown up in a culture of diversity and globalization, as opposed to the rampant xenophobia and racism that clouds so much of Europe’s much more recent past…but really, what about the lynchings that still go on in the Southern US? What about the silent and appalling segregation of our urban centers and schools? What about the fact that our economy would collapse in a day if it weren’t for illegal immigrants and Texans and (even East Coast Republicans!) still want to build a 20-foot-high wall to keep those damned Mexicans out…so maybe it is just some of us. But here in Togo, I have seen the impact of a few, and it makes me a little bit more content.

But back to our discussion of language, a much less loaded topic…or is it…

Influenced by Ewe, Kabye and other indigenous languages, Togolese French just sounds so cool (I know that isn’t so eloquently put, but I have no better words for it.) The West African accent, which I have completely taken on, is characterized mostly by the rolling of the “r’s” and by the tonal nuances taken from Ewe. Conversation is highlighted by woops and high-pitched sighs that signify excitement, surprise or frustration and a distinctive clicking in the back of the throat to express annoyance or anger (which is often substituted for a lip smack that sounds like it has been sucked back into the mouth.) When you are laughing too hard you draw out the 2 syllables “ah-WO!” while grabbing your burning abs.

The usage of French here very much reflects West African lifestyle and culture, manifested in commonly used phrases and slang. European/Conventional French sounds totally out of place here and I half recoil/half giggle when yovos use adjectives like “sympa” (nice) and “super!” and verb phrases like “faire le footing” (to go for a run.)

I have created a little dictionary below, of the most common ones, and I hope you all get as much of a kick out of it as I did making it :)
(the things I sometimes resort to when I have nothing to do and no electricity, haha…)

1. Ça va aller/ Ça ira
Literal translation: It is going to go/it will go
Meaning: This too shall pass; It will be ok
Usage: To provide comfort, strength and optimism through adversity; Any time from a cut on your finger, to a lack of rain, to a death in the family or a bad bout of palu, to generally feeling frustrated or disappointed; often used in conjunction with “Du Courage” (see below) This phrase is listed as number 1 for a reason, I hear it 800 times a day. I really see this phrase as a microcosm of life and reality in Togo – shit happens, but we’ll get through it, we always do. It is both beautiful and tragic.

2. Ou bien?
Literal translation: Or good/well
Meaning: Right? Don’t you agree?
Usage: Posed as a question and similar to the Canadian “eh,” this useful little phrase is often added to the end of a sentence to gauge consensus and others’ opinions of what you have just said. It is also used in reverse, as a response if you really agree with someone (“I know, right!?”) Robert, le Directeur d’Audit et Controle, is a big fan of throwing an “ou bien” at the end of his biggest points during trainings and presentations, to make sure that everyone understands his statement and/or is paying attention. People often use this phrase with me when saying (sometimes with a big grin, sometimes in utter seriousness,) “You’re going to leave that laptop with me when you leave! Ou bien?”

3. Il faut aller et revenir (Ewe : MaheMAva)
Literal translation: You must go and return
Meaning: Go so that you can come back!
Usage: Whenever anyone leaves in the morning, goes out to run and errand or is in a hurry to get somewhere. I put this one in Ewe too because it was one of the most important phrases I learned here. It is a striking testament to how people enjoy each others’ company and wish them well, so that they can return safely home (which is also sad, because life is hard, and simply making it through the day and coming home to your family can sometimes be difficult.) Daniel’s wife always says this to me in the morning when I scurry past the boutique, trying to get to work on time amidst the flurry of greetings.

4. Du courage
Literal translation: Of courage
Meaning: Be strong! You’ll get through it.
Usage: Often employed as a little joke when people complain unnecessarily about the heat or a mosquito bite (usually directed at me…haha,) “Du Courage” is similar to “ça va aller,” but is used more specifically to express understanding of suffering and to provide, literally, courage, strength and endurance. This is used to encourage someone with a tough job (aka a woman who has to walk 5 miles into town every day from her village with a huge bucket of tomatoes on her head, a baby tied to her back and 2 toddlers trailing behind her,) whose child is sick or whose entire livelihood has just been destroyed in a bush fire.

5. On es là?/Tu es là ?
Literal translation : One is/You are there ?
Meaning: Are you ok? Is everything good?
Usage: Anytime someone looks confused, troubled, tired or otherwise spacey; often used when it is particularly hot, the electricity has been out for hours, or someone has made a long trip. This phrase is also a good example of the West African use of “on” (one,) which is more often than not used in place of “je” (I) or “tu” (you.) I have started doing this a lot too – instead of saying “Je vais manger” (I am going to eat,) I’ll say “On va manger” (One will eat.) As I said, language is a fascinating thing…

6. Doucement
Literal translation: Carefully
Meaning: Be careful/Go carefully
Usage: Whenever someone revs their moto too agressively, trips, bumps into their desk or falls and breaks their leg (note that there is no discerning between the pains involved with these things…one of the peace corps girls went on about this angrily, saying how it drives her crazy that when she is in pain from stubbing her toe the Togolese will simply say, “Oh hunny, doucement!”) I think it is hilarious. Needless to say, people say this to me numerous times a day, in my graceful state, tripping over cords and tree roots, knocking over chairs and struggling with the FECECAV gate. I’m sure you’ll all love this, and I will never live it down, but due to my constant poise and elegance, Athanase has taken to calling me “Gracia.”

7. Bonsoir
Literal translation: Good evening
Meaning: Good “afternoon”
Usage: Anytime after 11am. In Kpalimé, if it is possible that you have already eaten your midday repas or have just said Bonjour too many times already, it is perfectly legitimate to start saying Bonsoir. I was initially very confused by this phenomenon, but now have started doing it myself, shocking every European I meet, greeting them with a Bonsoir! at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The Togolese nature of this trend is also apparent in its use in the children’s song, “Yovo yovo bonsoir! Cava bien? Merci!” that they chant in a sing-songy, nursery rhyme type melody anytime I walk past – even if it is 8am.

The Ewe that I have learned is a testament to not only how we quickly learn “useful phrases” in other languages (just like the little guides found in Barnes and Noble,) but also to what these phrases are in Ewe and what it says about the culture here. Meeting someone, seeing someone for the first time in the morning and saying goodbye for the evening are long-winded, As I have already mentioned (in reference to the African businessmen,) conversations are characterized by incredibly long introductions – “Good morning Director, how are you? Did you sleep well? And you health? How was the voyage?” (I now know how to say all of these things, as well as their responses, and absolutely love the looks on peoples’ faces when I am able to have a petit conversation with them in Ewe.)

This definitely says something about Togolese relationships, in that people do care about each other in a different way here – can you see anyone on the subway in New York, even if I knew them well, asking me every morning how I slept the night before? On a different note, it also indicates the fact that everyone cultivates relationships in a careful and calculated manner. Everyone knows everything about everyone else and often wants or expects something from everyone else (often because no one has very much…)

I have really enjoyed being immersed such a captivating linguistic environment, and am really going to miss it…I am sure that when I come back I am going to be surprised by something and let out a swooping ah-WO! and everyone is going to look at me like I am a martian…

16 Avril – Assemblés Générales and Solar Systems

So since I haven’t written a blog in a while this is seriously long…Mom, I know you’re the only one who will make it to the bottom, haha, but thanks to all who are still checking in here! I love sharing all of this with you and I hope that one day you’ll get through it.

We are in the midst of the sequence of annual Assemblés Générales. There are 5 scheduled in the next 3 weeks (what luck!) Les Assemblés Générales are the crux of a Microfinance Co-op like FECECAV. They represent the basic and moral principles on which the organization itself is built upon, and are the most significant event in each bureau’s annual calendar. In literature and theory about Microfinance, AG’s and the like are alluded to as almost mythic presentations of the ideology of Microfinance and showcases of the doctrines of the Cooperatif. FECECAV’s organizational structure and credibility as a Social Business relies on the fact that the borrowers themselves are the patrons of the organization. FECECAV belongs to its clients. FECECAV exists because they make it work. The Assemblé Générale is an annual gathering for all of the clients of each FECECAV caisse.

I will now take a moment to comment on FECECAV’s eleven branches – if only on their names, because I think they are so symbolic. Literally. Each caisse is called CECAV (Caisses d’Epargne et de Crédit des Associations Villageoises, Loan and Credit Banks of Village Associations – it makes much more sense in French, but you get the idea) and the “FE” at the beginning of the organization’s formal name, “Faitiére des Entités,” (literally, the maker of entities) is employed to group all of the CECAVs together. Finally, I understand this acronym. But the English version just doesn’t capture it…

Each CECAV is accompanied by a word, in French or Ewe or a mélange of both, that intensely exemplifies the essence of FECECAV’s impact and its mission. Once again, the English translations won’t fully portray it, but here it goes:

• CECAV Avenir (The Future) – Kpalimé
• CECAV Espoir (Hope) – Aventonou
• CECAV Duanenyo (La village/localité ou tout va bien; The town/place where all is good) – Danyi
• CECAV Nevame (Ca soit accompli; It will be accomplished) – Womé
• CECAV Fraternité (Brotherhood) – Lomé
• CECAV Fidelité (Fidelity) – Adéta
• CECAV Solidarité (Solidarity) – Amoussokopé
• CECAV Enyo (C’est bon ; All is good) – Atakpamé
• CECAV Yayra (Bénédiction ; Benediction/Blessing/Approval) – Lomé
• CECAV La Grace (Grace) – Assahoun
• CECAV Abwe (Enyo; C’est bon; All is Good) – Badou

Interestingly, there is a complicated and hidden dynamic underlying the relations between these offices due to the laws surrounding mutuels in Togo. The government set up a system of regulations to govern these institutions, which have multiple branches and offer both loans services and savings accounts. In theory, these regulations work in the interest of protecting clients’ savings. In reality it does not necessarily endorse or enforce these kinds of good practices and instead acts as serious obstacle to efficient intra-organizational collaboration and functionality. Each branch of FECECAV is, by law, an autonomous institution that could at any time choose to separate from the larger structure and become its own institution. Not only does this create a nightmare for centralization of data and other practical concerns, it generates a vacuum of power, complex battles for influence and ambiguous as well as superfluous roles within FECECAV. The very idea of authority becomes convoluted. Each Chef d’Agence (General Manager/Branch President) wields significant clout, as do his clients. Once again a great idea, in theory.

Daniel is the “CEO” (“DG” as they call him, Directeur Général) and should have the ultimate command of all the other branches, if only for efficiency’s sake! In theory, he does, but the national laws restrict his ability to organize and implement. Imagine the CEO of Chase Bank being at the mercy of every General Manager and his flock of account holders and having to compromise with them on every policy and process change…this is one of the big reasons why things take so long here sometimes…and why things get watered down, simplified or simply not done...this is also why each branch works towards its own objectives and targets without much regard for the general, far-reaching strategy of FECECAV as an entity. This is not sustainable…

It also makes Kiva work hard, as it is difficult for Daniel to implement new processes for centralizing data and use of IT systems throughout the FECECAV branches, and importantly, to choose which branches will submit loans to the site. All of the Chefs d’Agence are in a covert battle with each other to receive the next donated camera and the opportunity to post loans on the Kiva site, as the free money obviously improves their numbers. This kind of intra-organizational competition in a Microcredit Bank seems very dangerous to me…

But back to the Assemblé Générales…Daniel explained their essence to me in detail a few weeks ago when he invited me to attend, and asked if I would be willing to speak for 2-3 minutes (I elatedly accepted of course.) The first was last week, in the mountain village of Danyi.

It works like this – FECECAV convokes all of the clients of Danyi’s Bureau, Duanenyo, through word of mouth, personal invitations, radio and press. Daniel explained to me that clients’ attendance at the AG’s is their right, and FECECAV makes every effort to ensure that they are informed. It is not obligatory of course. The purpose of the Assemblé is, in a nutshell, to present the rapports (financial and otherwise) of 2007, to present the workplan for 2008, to have elections for new leaders and to generally celebrate the notion of clients as proprietors and the successes of their thriving microfinance organization. The meeting itself is followed by a lunch, complete with music and dancing, Fufu, Flags and Castels and much revelry.

The elections take place to vote in new presidents. Each caisse has 5 presidents that serve for 3 years. The presidents, clients themselves of course, serve as liaisons between the CECAV staff and the rest of the clients. They are leaders and advocates for the clients and work in tandem between the functions of the bureau and clients’ daily lives in order to implement developments, resolve issues and, by their mere existence, ensure accountability. It is an interesting and fundamentally democratic role – both a patron and a client, elected by both patrons and the clients, to serve both patrons and clients (which all essentially embody the same function, work towards the same goals and are held to the same obligations and regulations – underlined by mutual respect, cooperation and commitment.) The presidents are selected for their performance with their own businesses, conscientiousness and responsibility, and of course their personality. Each president serves for 3 years and elections and terms are staggered so that only 2 presidents can ever leave at the same time, ensuring that knowledge and experience will be left behind, but that there is a constant flow of new blood and invigoration.

Unfortunately, the irony of it all is that these presidents, and their respective boards, are not the most qualified, nor engaged, to be deemed “advisors” or “board members” in any true sense of the word(s)...after spending enough time with the president of the board of CECAV Avenir, I am not convinced that she understands anything beyond the prestige she has gained in her community by having a stamp made with her name on it. It is a shame that it is more symbolic than anything else…because its very existence is essential and the theory behind it is better than almost any organizational structure in the developed world – even more beautiful because it embodies the nature of community that defines this place.

On the morning of the AG, at 6:45am, proudly wearing my pagne, I sleepily walked over to the FECECAV gate, shocking Koffitse with my early arrival (and my outfit) and walking into the front yard expecting to see Daniel, the car and others ready to go. The AG in Danyi was meant to start at 8am, and it is over 50 kilometers away. I therefore assumed we would leave by 7 at the latest…wrong…Louise was the only one ready to go, haha (and this is because she is Daniel’s assistant and has to at least appear punctual) but she knew we wouldn’t leave for at least an hour or so. Others were busily working, as most of the office is here and running by 7am (if there is electricity.)

Daniel sauntered in around 9, a short sleeved olive green suit whose pant legs were a bit too long, and bunched up around his black sandals. We left at 9:30, heading towards Adéta, a drive that has actually become very familiar – through the outskirts of Kpalimé, past men and women and children carrying on their heads everything from books, massive buckets of water and bananas, to palm branches and entire trunks…past the piles of multicolored sheet-rock for sale outside of Lavié, through the village of Lavié itself, the tiny FECECAV caisse winking at us as we pass, Yao blaring the horn to scare goats and half-naked children…past the women under parched palm-leaved roofs with sleeping babies strapped to their backs, distractedly rearranging enamel trays of avocados, soap and batteries…past the open fields of termite castles, burning or newly planted yam fields, perfectly symmetric rows of their characteristic mounds mocking the lack of rain, the mountains rising at their backs…past the arbitrary, peeling signs for decaying primary schools of past decades, tiny fruit stands and mud huts…past the gendarmie and the naughty village boys who set up makeshift road blocks with cord and strips of old, dirty t-shirts, yelling for argent or a ride somewhere (not that I think they know where they want to go, just anywhere but there)…into the dusty and dirty town of Adéta. We continued through Adéta and towards the fields of palm trees that layer the ground at the foot of the mountains. It is quite a striking panorama, looking down the road past CECAV Fidelité at the horizon, dotted with splayed palm and banana leaves, that seems to run smack into the mountains and the road that carves up their side. You can almost feel their fraicheur and lushness from that far away. I hadn’t been up these mountains before, and although they are similar to Kouma, I was exhilarated by a new place, foliage of a deeper green (which might be simply a result of more rain) and soil of a different color.

We wound up and around the mountains, overlooking green facades bursting with palm and banana trees (these have not gotten old yet, I still love their exoticness,) patches on every face smoldering as farmers prepared the land for planting. Thick ribbons of smoke, the deep and murky kind produced by the burning of green leaves and undergrowth, rose from each valley and summit like distress signals. The villages at the top of the mountain were cool and clean, freshly swept yards and streets of damp, red dirt – much different even from Kpalimé and the villages at the base of the mountains with their dusty power and discarded plastic littering every quartier.

After a quick stop at the FECECAV office we went to meet the préfet (the mayor) of Danyi, who would be speaking at the AG and to whom customary greeting and kow-towing must be made. We arrived at his compound at the top of a hill overlooking Danyi and waited while a few proud gendarmie prepared him to receive us (which was really a presentation of his ability to hold us at bay while another went to see if he was interested in gracing us with his presence.) We filed into his office amidst a flurry of Monsieur-Directeurs, Grand Mercis and finger snapping. I was introduced, the prefet was thanked for “hosting” the AG and within 3 minutes we were ushered back out to Yao, waiting in the vehicule.

The Assemblé itself was held at a beautiful mansion that looked like an old missionary compound, covered in bright red and fuchsia bougainvillea climbing trellises, framed by enormous, ancient palm trees. It must have been built by European colonists because it was very old and built almost entirely of stone, not the typical, indigenous materials. Around 50 motos were parked outside, lined up like rows of schoolchildren. A shaded cobblestone path, semi-covered in moss and weeds (a testament to the wetter environment up here on the mountain) led back to a crumbling statue of the virgin mary and an dilapidated gazebo. The Agents de Credit and others from the Danyi office were thrilled to see me, as I am now becoming familiar and friendly with more and more of FECECAV’s extended staff. This absolutely warms my heart :)

There were far more men than women in the crowd of about 200 people that filled the meeting hall (this didn’t really shock me, considering that most of the women were most likely running their small businesses, taking care of their children and couldn’t afford to take the afternoon off.) Ivorian music crackled out of some busted speakers placed next to the door and we shook hands with several CECAV-Duanenyo staff members lined up in a sort of receiving-line as we entered the hall. The front row of the audience was occupied by the traditional village chiefs, dressed in the customary pagnes and boubous, slouching in plastic chairs and leather sandals while fiddling with their cellphones – that paradox almost made me laugh out loud. These chiefs, although quintessentially archaic in their symbolic role, still maintain a high level of prestige and authority in Togolese towns and villages. They are heavily involved in issues of justice and claim to, alongside the préfet, uphold the moral statutes of law and order.

The entire first part of the AG was “Welcoming Remarks,” fairly typical of these African directeurs and ceremonies (I have come to expect this now, as well as the 3 hour late start.) After the president of the Danyi caisse and Daniel, who discussed grandly the importance of each CECAV as a part of FECECAV, FECECAV’s part in the Togolese national strategy for Microfinance as well as its stark contrast from state programs (“FECECAV n’est pas comme la poste! Les profts sont pour vous!) and encouraged Danyi’s clients to keep up their good work. Each speech was recorded on an antique cassette player, held one inch from their mouths by a tired-looking woman standing next to them. (NB: As an ex-Event Coordinator, I was continually distracted by my comparisons of the A/V capacities of this, the largest annual meeting for CECAV-Duanenyo, and IPA’s exorbitantly expensive “Expert Consultations” and “Roundtable Discussions” at the Greentree Estate every other month. At first I couldn’t decide whether to be utterly disgusted or to laugh – I quickly settled on the former.)

I made my “speech” next. I had prepared it and practiced the night before for Athanase. Its main purpose was to provide motivation as a representative of a partner organization, to explain Kiva in a (very) simplified manner and to end on a note of hope and enthusiasm. I obviously did not have a hard time with the enthusiasm bit and, since I am not shy haha, had no problem getting up there and engaging with my audience. I was introduced by the Chef d’Agence of Danyi who, as usual, took the opportunity to poke fun at the Kiva-Kira coincidence – everyone gets such a kick out of it. With the tape recorder just beyond my lips I smiled and began.

“Je suis une représentante d’une ONG Américaine, Kiva, qui mobilise les fonds sur un site internet pour les organisations de microfinance comme FECECAV. J’étais déjà ici depuis un mois et demi pour supporter le travail sur le site et de voir l’impact de FECECAV, et la microfinance, sur le terrain J’ai eu l’opportunité de travailler à Kpalimé avec CECAV-Avenir, et j’ai visité aussi beaucoup d’autres bureaux. Je suis très contente d’être ici à Danyi aujourd’hui.

Depuis le commencement de l’association avec Kiva en Décembre, plus de 150 clients de FECECAV ont reçu un totale d’environ 50,000,000CFA de l’ONG Kiva. Tous l’argent était envoyer au taux zéro. Ce numéro va augmenter, et chaque caisse va avoir la chance de bénéficier des fonds. Ces fonds viennent des préteurs Américaines (et Canadiennes) qui veulent vous aider à changer votre vie. Ils vous donnent les moyens à le faire vous-mêmes. Voilà l’impact de la microfinance – c’est à vous! Avec Kiva, FECECAV a commencé à développer les rapports partout le monde. L’importance des partenaires globales ne peut pas être sous-estimée, et je vois le rapport avec Kiva comme un commencement de quelque chose beaucoup plus grand.

Chaque fois que je fais une visite à une nouvelle branche de FECECAV je suis toujours impressionnée par l’importance de votre travail, vos accomplissements, et la diligence des employés et clients. C’est vous, les clients engagés de FECECAV, qui créent le destin de cette organisation incroyable, et il faut être fier! Je vous souhaite du courage, de continuer votre bon travail, et de continuer à achever les vrais buts de la microfinance. Vous m’avez tellement inspiré, et j’espère que vous allez continuer avec l’optimisme que je vois en tout le monde ici. Merci pour l’opportunité de travailler avec vous, et pour voir comment vous décidez votre futur et réalisez votre rêves."

Daniel was beaming and told me I should be a politician, laughing at the hilarity of his sarcasm. My speech was followed by a translation in Ewe, where I understood only two words, Kiva and Kira (once again, the joke, and the audience laughing,) the clients seemed to get the true essence of my words and nodded, smiled and clucked in satisfaction.

After a lunch of Ablo and spicy tomato/mystery meat sauce with the Chiefs and other “officiels” and a personal gift of a bag of pineapples from the Chef d’Agence of the Danyi caisse (why don’t I like pineapples, I don’t understand…but it’s ok, Mensah used them for the FECECAV party on the weekend,) we made the winding trek back down the mountains, past the termite mansions and through a massive rain storm back home to Kpalimé. That night was characterized by something that can be called nothing other than an invasion, of termite-like bugs with double the number of wings…

* * *

For the rest of my time with FECECAV (which will now be until the end of May, when my visa expires and I run out of malaria meds) I am going to finish the Kiva Manual and follow up on the IT processes that were elaborated on and organized during Carol’s visit (see the upcoming blog for more on that one) but mostly work on the preparations for the solar project and anything else they need around the office. This is actually quite liberating and kind of what I felt I wanted to be doing here all along…but as far as the solar thing goes, it is almost maniacally inspiring…can this really be so huge as to change the direction of my life? Will the next 5 years of my life work towards developing an NGO of my own – sprung from my Dad’s knowledge, guidance and expertise, catering to my apparent lack of ability or interest in committing myself to others’ organizations enough to actually work for them? Allowing me to criticize as much as I want, continually improve and do something that satisfies my desire to do something that WORKS? Can it be? Once again (Koffitse has told me that this is “my phrase”) on verra.

I helped Olivier write a CV in English and am going to do the same for Athanase. I can just be here, as myself, helping my friends and colleagues as they want me to help them. No ulterior motives (wherever these come from anyway, certainly not my own mind…) no aggressive supervisors with mysterious intentions and corporate mentalities, no miscommunication and moral wish-wash. Just me, taking each day as it comes while working towards a grand vision of something stimulating and REAL – which is apparent to everyone here and to myself. I can live with that.

When it comes to the solar project, it is something tangible (like a zero-percent interest loan, in theory) and effective, without predetermined expectations or intrusions of ideas of development, work ethic or morality – not that we will develop a foreign policy like China or anything, there are certain limitations and finding out what this means will require a dangerous and moral balancing act on a thin, vague line of integrity and common sense. I foresee this as one of my biggest challenges, one whose concept is not even entirely worked out in my head quite yet…These PV systems will power existing enterprises (businesses with social missions of course, most likely Microfinance Institutions, because we will have to narrow it down for many reasons) without any significant compromises – yet.

I am sure we will come across compromises, as I have with Kiva, but these will have to be ironed out in a careful and thorough manner (which, in my opinion, is one of Kiva’s biggest weaknesses and they have instead accepted the costs with the benefits.) The give and take will be a challenge and I am sure that certain concessions will indeed be required in order to succeed. However, this to me does not mean necessarily “finding a middle ground.” We can do better than that! Acceptance of costs in exchange for benefits that can in any way, shape or form be seen to equalize each other (or even come close, which would be straying too far from the initial goal of pure, uncontaminated assistance) is just unacceptable. Not good enough. Why bother if this will be the case? This is why I am going to have to do it myself, and I am so ready.

Daniel has started to realize that I’m not joking about all of this, that I’m not some empty-promising yovo who is going to split without finishing what I start. He is so happy, so encouraged and gets a far off look in his eyes and cries that Ewe “ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo” every time he realizes what some solar panels on the roof of CECAV Avenir would actually mean…he told me that I am “un cadeau qui dieu a donné au FECECAV,” which from him is a magnanimous compliment. He is behind me 100%, different than his support for me being a Kiva fellow (which was equally jubilant, just different) because he senses something in me. That I want to do this on my own accord, and I have a love for everyone here and the essence of this place that is sincere, that I have something inside of me that is special and real and has been waiting to emerge, and that I may have found it.

So in terms of actually making it happen and then making it sustainable…

As I have been thinking and writing and thinking and talking to people and writing and thinking some more about this project, I have come to realize that there is really no way we can do it as a completely private venture without a real consultative and collaborative relationship with someone/some department fairly high up in the Togolese government. Although I do want to keep this a “local affair” and try not to get caught up in the bureaucratic nonsense of cabinet ministers and the tightly wound policies on privatization and natural resource management, I see a degree of cooperation as semi-unavoidable if we are going to do this right. I hope we are not going to open up a can of worms that will be far more than we bargained for…

I came up with the idea of channeling our project through the National Strategy for Microfinance. This is a highly developed program here in Togo and many of their goals and social missions for MFIs, are centered around an IT strategy. I am hoping that if we can convince them that the introduction of a Solar Energy program (our project being the start) will in turn help them to achieve their goals of the proposed informatisation of rural MFIs. I have done some research on this already and have run it by a few of my colleagues, who all think that this is the best way to get the project off the ground.

Now I anxiously anticipate my Dad’s arrival, to evaluate the technical aspects of the system in terms of size and usage, the installation itself and other such details. I cannot wait to see his reactions to this place, the project seen in real time and space and to get started.

Enough ramblings and rêves for today…they’re about to cut the current anyway because the wind is blowing fiercely and we’re about to see another serious storm…so you’re free :)

Myea dogo –
K

1 April – Snapshot

It is pretty much impossible to sleep in here…

Every morning at 6am on the dot, I am pulled from my sleep by the scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape of the night guard sweeping the front yard of petit suisse…his broom is a bundle of reeds tied together, and he is sweeping mango leaves, dead termites and dirt off of the stones and into a pile to be burned later in the day. This sound has become the staple annoyance of my day (heard all over Kpalimé at all hours, in fact) to the point that I roll over and laugh now when I hear it interrupting my haze of dream-sleep. Some days I silently curse him in my drowsy stupor, then start laughing to myself again and put on my headphones to try to drown it out for one more hour of sleep. Doesn’t usually work. By that time, Kpalimé is awake and my desire for another few minutes of beauty sleep is of no concern.

Roosters have been crowing for hours, aimlessly wandering the quiet morning streets pecking at the dirt, hoping for a kernel. Babies and small children are hungry and crying in every corner of the quartier, or strapped on their mothers backs with a colorful pagne, dozing off again as these patient women set up their stands on the side of the road for another day of miniscule potential profit. If it is a weekend, boisterous soccer teams parade by chanting, singing and drumming in Ewe. Carpenters hammer and saw, installing a new door here and a shutter there, improvement is a constant, yet ironically stagnant process here. Nothing is still in the morning, as this is the coolest time of day, and the most comfortable time to be moving around, before the sun is at its height.

After my cold shower, which is actually quite refreshing, where I wash my hair with a bar of soap (I ran out of shampoo quickly, not realizing I wouldn’t be able to buy more…) I open my room to air it out during the day when there aren’t as many mosquitoes. Then I struggle with the stubborn lock on my door and step out into the balmy humidity of the hallway. I wander down to have my breakfast. Waiting on the nearest table is always a glass, a cup and saucer and a fork with a napkin folded in it – some days it is a fan, sometimes a butterfly, sometimes a rose. Kossi and Felize, the apprentices, find it amusing to change it daily. I have the same thing for breakfast every day – scrambled eggs with onions and a sliced roll, which is (sometimes) fresh from one of the vendors just outside the gate. I drink Nescafe without milk, as it is always warm and halfway curdled, with 2 sugar cubes. While I haven’t gotten sick of this routine yet, every once in a while I can’t finish the coffee because it’s just not good, haha, and I miss the dark roast of a Manhattan morning Starbucks…

Soon I look at my cellphone for the time, bid goodbye to Mensah, Felize and Kossi (Akpene is usually au service – at work) and head out the gate for the short walk to the FECECAV office. The distance between the gate of Petit Suisse and the gate of FECECAV is about 20 feet, but it takes me a good 5-7 minutes to get there because of all the stops and greetings I make along the way. It is a cheerful and energizing commute, with all of these morning people. Much better than the F train or the Schuylkill expressway, that’s for damned sure...

First I pass the boutique that belongs to Daniel’s wife. She sells an assortment of essential items, from bagged water and Togocell cards to onion, tomatoes and canned goods, to the occasional boubou and nail polish, depending on what she’s picked up in Lomé this month. I never know who will be manning the shop, as it changes throughout the day. In the morning it is usually grand-mére, as Grace and Jesu are at school and Maman is au marché. She is, as always, munching on her dentille (the sticks that Africans use to clean their teeth, which are sold in lieu of toothbrushes.) She waves and smiles, muttering in a mixture of Ewe, French and Kabyé. Kabyé is the language spoken in the North, which is where Daniel is from and is grand-mére’s native language. She and I generally communicate through this mélange of languages, taking cues from each other’s body language and the handful words that we commonly understand in all three languages. Note that Grace and Jesu, both under age 10, speak all three…

As I pass, the mechanics across the street, lazing about on tires and/or fixing a busted moto, hiss at me and I wave and pretend not to be annoyed. I keep walking. Soon I pass Koffise (pronounced KofitCHO,) my friend who sells l’essence et l’huile (gas and motor oil) just outside FECECAV’s gate. Koffise is stunningly handsome, tall and very thin, with bottomless brown eyes and dimpled creases that emanate from his smile in rows of concentric circles. He has uneven tribal scars cut into his high cheekbones and often wears black eyeliner under his eyes, drawing even more attention to their mischievous glimmer. Thus far I have seen him every day in the same red courdouroys, slightly stained with dark oil but surprisingly clean, and red plastic sandals. He alternates between a filthy white sleeveless shirt and a striped one, showing off his muscled biceps – despite their small circumference, they exude strength and look as though they have been chiseled to perfection. He wears his cellulaire around his neck in a black pouch. Every week, Koffise fills plastic buckets with gas and motor oil at the Texaco station in town, transfers it to old liquor bottles and re-sells it to moto drivers. He also does ad-hoc mechanical work for some of his customers and FECECAV employees, due to his convenient location. Every time I enter or leave FECECAV Koffise is there smiling and chatting through the perfectly spaced gaps in his teeth, either pouring l’essence into a moto’s tank with a funnel or sprawling his lanky appendages over his moto or the grappling roots of the huge tree that shade his stand.

As I reach the concrete ramp that leads through FECECAV’s huge metal gate, I meet the collectrices and random FECECAV staff milling about outside. Motos roll and sputter in and out of the gate and we all greet each other with the customary and now habitual West African finger-snap handshake and a series of Bonjour!s, Tu as bien dormi?s, and Comment?s This is their equivalent of the morning dawdling around the coffee machine or the water cooler, yet everywhere always seems happy to see each other and not dreading the workday ahead. It is, as Innocent showed me, a combination of truly liking their microfinance job and a relieved complacency at having a job at all.

As I enter the gate, I greet the guards with snaps and smiles, and wave at the collectrices sitting and eating la pâte for breakfast (complete with raw onions and fish sauce, which I can barely digest at lunch or dinner) under the tin-roofed garage (where le vehicule, as Daniel calls it, that the Swiss NGO donated to FECECAV, is parked.) If Yao is not washing le vehicule, even if it is not dirty, he is leaning on it, draping his gangly extremities across its front grate or open driver’s side door, waiting for instruction. He is deliciously dark-skinned, slim and giant, and always calls out a high-pitched “kiRA!” to which I respond, “yaO!” and he laughs. He was the one who picked me up at the airport in Lomé, my first glimpse of FECECAV, and although he speaks very limited French, we are good friends and I have a particular fondness for him.

FECECAV’s driveway and front yard is always a flurry of activity. Shaking hands and snapping with the customary and ostentatious greetings of African businessmen “Ah, Directeur!” “Gérant, Comment?” and “Bonjour Chef!” Certain characters always refer to each other as Mr. Director, Monsieur Manager, Sir the Chief, etc. I have found this very interesting, as there are only certain circles of either political, intellectual or business men (yes, men) that address each other this way. Sometimes they appear as tragicomic caricatures of themselves, sweating in the African sunshine in sandals and linen suits, imitating some grandiose professional tradition that can seems markedly out of place.

After this routine, I head in to see Athanase. Now that I think on it, I cannot remember the first day I decided to sit in his office, only that it came naturally I have shared his desk, fan, plugstrip and comfortable company ever since. Athanase, I have mentioned him before, is the diligent comptable (accountant) here at FECECAV, and probably the person I spend the most time with (besides Akpene and Mensah) in Kpalimé. The first night I bought a few beers for the FECECAV crew, Mako (a gregarious collectrice who is based in Lomé, but we get along well and speak on the phone often) told me that he was timide and that I would have to chat him up. Athanase smiled calmly, and deliberately opposed her. This reaction was a microcosm is his good-natured personality. He is quiet, unassuming and respectful, and, after spending a bit of time with him, opens up to reveal a witty and companionable character.

I sit on the left side of his desk, always resting my feet on the half-open bottom drawer. His door faces the front yard, and we can conveniently spy on everyone who enters or leaves the compound. I have transferred almost half of the music I brought with me onto his computer, because he only likes the pop and hip hop, and I’ve taken some of his favorite African and French R&B. He is solely responsible for all of the accounting for the Kpalimé office and for centralizing the data from all 11 branches. This includes everything from salaries, invoices, financial reporting, and g-d knows what else…it appears to me that everything besides la caisse and has to do with money goes through Athanase. Meticulous and conscientious, he comes to work early, leaves late and is to Comptable as Rogier is to Agent de Crédit. Unfortunately, he dosen’t seem to get the credit he deserves, and for some reason, Daniel chose Athanase to be one of those responbile for Kiva work as well…perhaps it is a tribute to his competence that he manages to get all of this done and is still selected as the one to write business descriptions for the Kiva site, but he does seem to work a lot harder than his gérant. I suppose this is also indicative of the nature of any workplace, haha.

He and I share a lot of comfortable silence, which is something I value in life, as sitting quietly is not one of my strong points…he works in his spreadsheets and in Quickbooks, I on my laptop creating working documents for use with Kiva and writing new business descriptions. Since I “finished” training people in those first few weeks, I have now focused on a) doing a lot of the work myself while I am here b) creating a helpful User Manual in French to leave here – Kiva did provide a manual for use of the site, but it is not entirely relevant and often superfluous in meeting the actual needs here at FECECAV. Since I have done the training and now know the organization very well, I am making one of my own. I am calling it Kiva à la Kira (everyone has thought this is incredibly amusing, by the way.)

When doing Kiva work (which I try to limit with him, as he is already so busy and understands it better than anyone) Athanase and I transfer documents back and forth on my USB key and the identical one that I brought here as a gift, which he always seems to have in his breast pocket. I had to mark mine with a whiteout K after a few days of mixing them up. He patiently helps me to edit my written French and I run documents and copies back and forth to other staff when he is swamped. We listen to the music all day long.

To be continued…

30 Mars - Kpalimé Nights

I have been having trouble sleeping lately. Sleep is never a problem for me, I usually drift off before I even remember to set my alarm clock for the net morning, pop up 5 minutes later to set it, then fall dead asleep again in seconds. I distinctly remember periods in my life when I haven’t been able to sleep, and they have always been surrounded by some degree of anxiety, ranging from mild to severe…this time I am not anxious, and trust me, I know the difference. My recent restlessness on the brink of sleep is caused by something less daunting, just a fretful mental disquiet, interestingly, just at my one month mark in Togo.

I have been here long enough now not to be considered a tourist (which is actually an obstacle I am proud to say I have mounted with significant ease and success, and all of my friends here concur that I am not like most other blanches that find themselves in Kpalimé – which means more to me than I can even explain) but not long enough to even begin to claim that I know the ins and outs of Togolese culture and society, the truths of relations between men and women, parents and children, yovos and ameyibos…but I have begun to notice that I have different set of eyes than I did when I first got here, and I have had them WIDE OPEN. Subconsciously, I have developed a new way of observing, a more broadly perceptive – critical, judicious, yet still idealistic and curious – way of viewing things that before were just absorbed in a sort of sensory overload.

What has been troubling me, I think, is that without me knowing it, a certain process of learning to question these observations is taking place. I will never abandon idealism, couldn’t if I tried, and wouldn’t if you forced me, but I cannot deny that I am starting to contemplate an underbelly of the situations, people, colors, smells and structures (in all senses of the word) I experience every day and have experienced since I stepped off the plane in Accra.

I have also been reading this book that I borrowed from the Peace Corps volunteers in Kpalimé, by an ex-volunteer named George Packer. His book is called The Village of Waiting and it takes place in a tiny village called Lavié, which is about a 40minute drive from Kpalimé. The situations and cultural references are all too familiar, and I have enjoyed relating to them, but his cynicism is startling. Note that he served and wrote his book in the1980s, when independence was not even new enough to be considered history and the cult of personality of Eyadema presided over Togo. Today the national holidays surrounding Eyadema’s “divine” victories, economic “liberation” and “national animation” are no longer celebrated, however, the way certain passages in the book remain entirely true and numerous episodes are accurate to the point that they happened to me yesterday, is a bit of a bizarre experience…

Cynicism about Africa has its value, and I appreciate that fact even more after having seen the real poverty and development predicaments here and their cyclical, stagnant nature…but haven’t I found Togo and its people the most hospitable, wonderful, smiling and beautiful that I have come across in my lifetime? How can these two things live in such close quarters? And how do I fit in the middle, as they have clearly become one in this tiny sliver of land and I appear to be simply, temporarily juxtaposed upon it?

One passage in particular gave me chills. He wrote, “A century of promise and exploitation, the treaties and forced labor of early colonialism, the long, slow submergence that led to independence, the new promise of development and the new whites that came to help, the disillusionment of even the best-intentioned, continued domincance of the economy by foreigners, continued poverty – all of this, and the white was still welcomed, still admired.” This is the uncomfortable feeling I get when Daniel’s wife won’t let me help her clean up the dinner table, when Akpene’s brothers offer me gifts, when Yao drives me into town to go to the bank because it is just too hot – when I know damned well anyone else in the office would have to walk there themselves. I am the yovo, and while it is genuinely good-natured and it is one of my favorite things about this place, the sheer attention I get because I am a white girl is pretty disturbing when you think about it. And I have really started to think about it.

Innocent, one of my friends at FECECAV, is a soft-spoken 22 year old from the North of the country with 2 years of his degree from Univeristy of Lomé under his belt but, as he explained matter-of-factly, “When a job, let alone an office job, turns up, you just take it.” The other day he showed me some Ghanaian rap music videos, which he really likes, on his computer. It was a slow Saturday, as only half the office comes in on Saturdays (like the banks here, la caisse and all those who work directly with it and with the clients – the collectrices, the cashiers, the agents de crédit, etc.work on a Tuesday – Saturday schedule) and we were sitting in his office, sharing his chair to see the monitor and so that we could both sit directly in front of the fan. I was captivated by these African rappers...I’ve seen a lot of African music videos since I’ve been here – as they are the only TV channels that occasionally come in besides France24 – but mostly hip-hop from Togo, Benin and Ivory Coast, a sentimental genre called zouk. The videos themselves are incredibly low-budget, boast mediocre camerawork and 80’s style backdrops, and feature full-screen shots of large, African buttocks shaking and gyrating. They incorporate the West African dance and style, including the large and sensual women that naturally accompany its music. The Ghanaian rap videos were different. They had names like Le Distroyer, not quite English, not quite French – Inno had to ask me what it meant, because “destroyer” is an English word, in French, “to destroy” is detruire. The rappers were all wearing oversized G-Unit and 50Cent t-shirts, driving 2000 model Honda civics (I have never seen a make newer than 1985 here, let alone a Honda,) wearing baggy, low-riding, American-style shorts (I have also NEVER seen an African man in jean shorts, and guarantee I never will,) and dancing with both African women and white women, all of whom were stick thin. Fascinating. If I were still at McGill I would go to one of my cultural studies professors and profess the topic for my next term paper, would analyze the hell out of it. Idolization of the black-American – definitely not a yovo, but definitely not a real ameyibo either. So what is he? And what the hell is he doing in a Ghanaian music video?

After a few videos they all started to look the same and I decided I had had enough. Innocent asked if I could send him a Dolce & Gabana belt from New York, like the ones the rappers wore. I told him it was trop cher, but would get him a fake one on Canal street.

But I disgress…

There are other things I have started to notice. I love the kids here, which is something that I’m sure will surprise most of you. They aren’t brats. They work harder than most of us will in our lives, physically and otherwise, and don’t complain about it. And they are obsessed with me. In my first two weeks in Kpalimé I can categorically say that my two best friends were an 11 year old and a 8 year old, Grace and Jesu. Not only did they love the American chewing gum I gave them, they were at first shocked and then elated by the way I interacted with them…I played a game of edito with them, bought them a lollypop, ruffled their hair, gave them a high-five…all foreign exchanges between adults and children here for the most part.

The parent-child relationship that I have experienced here is one of mutual dependence and a high level of distance – either in kilometers or emotionally, or both. Children work in their parents’ stores from the time they can count francs, carry boxes or just make sure no one steals the avocados off the tray. While Maman or Papa is off at the marché or working in the field so that everyone can eat tonight, who do you think is watching the store and the younger siblings? The kids. Reciprocity out of necessity. The survival thing again. This however, for better or worse (and I am really not sure which way I lean on this one) leaves little time for the kind of coddling and fussing that is so characteristic of Western parenting and replaces it with healthy obedience, discipline and respect. It’s not that African parents don’t love their children, of course they do, and that is apparent as well, it’s just that the circumstances and tribulations of daily life render their relationship much less indulgent. This explains the childrens’ terrified glances at their mother or father before busting into euphoric giggles every time squat down to their height, grin and say Wofo? (Pronounced, Wefowa, meaning how are you, in Ewe) Jesu, every time I allow him to take a picture with my camera, looks at Daniel almost shaking in fear (or at his grandmother, who is quite the menacing authority figure, good thing she is not that strong…I saw her hitting him one of the first nights I was here, shrilling about something in Ewe. I couldn’t decide whether to start crying myself or to intervene, but clearly I just waited quietly until she was done and saw that Jesu was fine. Five year old boys can be naughty, but it was more likely he forgot to carry a bucket of water twice his weight over to the stall for her shower.)

Mensah’s kids (he has 5 children with 2 different women, neither of which are Akpene…but here this is not frowned upon, nor indicative of any negative character traits, nor unusual, so please bear that in mind before you judge my Togolese father J) are the same way. They were petrified when I asked if I could play edito with them, as they had been sitting alone in the entry of the hotel for hours. At first I was upset that Mensah wouldn’t spend time with his children when they were there for the day, and still am to a certain point, but he was resting because he wasn’t feeling well. If he didn’t rest he couldn’t work, and if he couldn’t work he couldn’t give money to the kids’ mother to feed them that night.

This brings me to another point. Mensah hasn’t been looking so good lately…he has mentioned often that he doesn’t feel right, gesturing towards his chest/heart/lung area with a pained expression. And when an African says “Ça ne va pas” you know it’s not just indigestion. This has been going on for almost two weeks, despite my pressuring him to go to the doctor. I, on the other hand, had an infection and was rushed to the clinic in hours, treated and released in the same day. Mensah needs some tests done and he can’t afford it, even though it will cost less than $50, so I have offered to pay for them. He is going to see the doctor on Tuesday. In the meantime, he went to another doctor because he was in pain, who prescribed some medication that will act as an expensive and truly ineffective band-aid until he can have a consultation to figure out what is actually wrong with him. Then I will probably have to give him somemore money to buy the medication he actually needs. This is the tragic story of third world health care systems, a whole different crisis that I am honestly too afraid to delve into right now.

How many children die this way every day, or are crying in the morning because they have dysentery, malaria or tuberculosis and their parents can’t afford to take them to the doctor? Sure, this is the world’s health crisis and I’m not revealing some shocking discovery thus far kept secret, but it is one thing to hear about it, realize it, and understand it but quite another to see its penetrating and devastating reality.

And now, at my halfway point, I have started to think already that my impact on this place will be so small. Not insignificant – I think that I have done some great things that will change the way FECECAV uses Kiva and will hopefully bring them more free money, more easily – but miniscule.

I, like every other volunteer, doctor, NGO worker, missionary, peacekeeper, all of us with our mosquito nets, foreign passports and optimism without borders, will leave. I will leave because I was not born here. I will go home because I am fortunate to have a one – with a family that loves me too much and far too many pets, and they are all in Philadelphia. I will leave because I am comfortable and loved there, permanently. Is it not human nature to seek this?

But the thought of leaving this place and these people is already breaking my heart and turning my stomach.

What is a sacrifice anyway? Is it staying here forever, in isolated dread of the sheer knowledge that I will never see NYC again, in loneliness for my family, but knowing that I have made the ultimate submission and dedication to the people who were born here? Is it marrying a Togolese friend so that he can get an exit visa, because he needs to make more money in the US to support his aging parents, although the complications and implications might be more than either party bargained for? Does the intention of a sacrifice have to make one so miserably torn, in order to deem itself a sacrifice? Why does it even require two separate parties, crawling towards the same, unattainable goal…

I think that I am lucky, that so far I have been able to observe and submit to the discouraging truth of this place, yet maintain an adoration and exhilaration for it and from it. A friend who is thinking of visiting me wanted to know, when I mentioned that everyone is really poor, “Yea, is it depressing?” I didn’t even hesitate when I burst out with an emphatic no.

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

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 15^th 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 15^th) 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?