Mud and Malls

Yesterday was my one-month anniversary in Honduras and I am utterly floored by how fast the time has gone.  A few highlights from the last week or so:

1. Hiking in La Tigra national park with Anna. After spending a week in Tegucigalpa (Honduras’s capital), Anna met me in the city so that we could avoid the car exhaust for a day or so. After deciding that taking the bus to the park was not an option (since it left at 6am) we convinced a cab to drive us the 2 hours for about $30. This sounded outrageously expensive at the time, but I tried to compare it to the Manhattan equivalent. We got into a few fights with the cab driver since he claims that we didn’t specify that we needed to be taken into the park (as opposed to dropped of 6KM from the visitor’s center) and because he took us to the wrong town all together.  And by “town” I mean collection of three buildings. We settled into a cute lodge and quickly began our 5-hour adventure. The park was beautiful, but given the rainy season, filled with ankle deep mud. To my surprise, almost everyone we passed was Honduran. I naively assumed that only tourists would come to the park to hike, but we met numerous local school and church groups on the trail. I felt sort of silly in my hard core hiking gear, since most of them were wearing jeans and converse sneakers. Although we were on the lookout for wildlife, we only saw two caterpillars and someone’s pet dog. For the most part, the trails were well marked and easy to follow. We did, unfortunately, spend 30 minutes convinced that we were lost and would die in the woods.  Anna and I found the main path again (thanks to aforementioned group of casually dressed teens) and did not, in fact, die.
2. Going to the mall, 18 times. Although Tegucigalpa is by and large grimy, dangerous and uninteresting (at least as I know it), it has one major asset: the mall. And we’re talking a big, shiny mall with food courts, kiddie rides and department stores. Going to the mall appears to be an activity of great esteem for the men and women of Honduras. In 5 days in Tegucigalpa, I was actually taken to the mall about 10 times. Sometimes it was grocery shopping, sometimes for the ATM, sometimes to look at clothes (at which points my coworkers took it upon themselves to dress me in the latest Honduran fashions—i.e. shirts with a lot of glitter), and sometimes for no purpose that was clear to me. Although any errand at the mall could be more easily done elsewhere, it was clear that there was a sense of prestige about having access to such a place. Ahh, if only the Hondurans could see New Jersey….
3. Getting caught in a flash flood (sorta). Yesterday evening, as I was out for my daily jog (which has also become my daily affirmation that I am pretty, thanks to the ceaseless cat-calling and honking by the locals) it started to rain—sheets and sheets of rain. I mean raining so hard that its tough to keep your shorts on because they are so heavy with water. However, although it does rain frequently here, what was a bit unsettling was the lightening storm directly overhead, which started at just about the time I was furthest from home. In my water logged brain I figured that I was least likely to die if I steered a course a few feet from the trees so that they would be struck by the lightening instead of me, and I would rely on my cat-like reflexes to dart away from a burning/toppling tree. Mom, don’t worry—If I’d been on the prairie I’d have jumped into the mosquito and trash filled ditch right next to the road! Anyway, the last quarter mile or so was splashing through ankle deep water, brown with mud, and living out every childhood puddle hopping fantasy I’d ever had. The town itself was so flushed with water that ankle deep rivers were pouring through the street so fast that it was actually pretty stupid for me to walk across them. Shortly after, the power went out (in the entire town) and I ate cookies for dinner, since everything but the local convenience store was closed. Who knew Honduras had monsoons?

Quantifying Feelings: the Role of Social Performance in Microfinance

As someone from a social science background, my bias has always been to consider financial inclusion—microfinance in particular—as one aspect of a broader goal, that of social inclusion by virtue of an increased standard of living. By social inclusion, I mean access to education, healthcare and basics such as food/water/shelter. In fact, my interest in microfinance stems from the fact that it can be a powerful tool to usher people into a realm of social inclusion who would otherwise be marginalized as a result of their financial exclusion. After one month in Honduras, this general principal has been qualitatively reinforced time and time again in the stories that I’ve heard from borrowers: I borrow to feel like a productive and useful member of my community, I borrow so that I can give my children a safe home to live in, I borrow so that I can send my kids to school, I borrow to afford medicine.

Even if you don’t buy into my definitions of social and economic inclusion (after all I’m no academic), a salient question remains: how do we know that this link exists between microcredit and an increased standard of living, and therefore creates a net social benefit? Is feeling like it enough? Is anecdotal evidence enough? Probably not. Furthermore, the skeptic in me cannot help but ask what if microcredit makes no difference to the population it aims to serve or (gasp!) even does harm? It is no secret that over the years, development theory has been critiqued time and time again for doing more harm than it does good, or simply doing nothing (take a look at William Easterly for example).

However, there is hope! A French microfinance network called CERISE has developed a survey that aims to evaluate the social performance of microfinance institutions (MFIs). The tool does not measure the MFI against some internationally accepted standard, but rather against its own mission and goals. That is, if the MFI says it is primarily focused on lending to eco-friendly enterprises, CERISE aims to prove it. But there is an important distinction to make between measuring an MFI’s social performance and measure its social impact. They survey will NOT reveal the social impact of a given MFI. Currently, this sort of evaluation is still in development. (“Impact” is itself a loaded and controversial term.) However, the survey can tell you if the MFI is performing in ways that are generally beneficial to the social well being of its clientele. How exactly does this differ from impact? Here are some examples. Many of the questions ask if the MFI has a special focus on women, or offers loans specifically tailored to education. Social performance indicates how well the MFI is reaching those populations with those products, whereas impact would measure if those populations were better off due to the particular loan they received. Or, the survey aims to understand how loan officers work to prevent over indebtedness of clients. Social performance details whether the loan officers are doing accurate risk assessments. Impact would measure how and if the protection efforts had bettered the lives of those individuals (or something along those lines).

Many members of Kiva’s current class of Fellows—myself included—have been charged with the task of completing this comprehensive survey at their MFIs. Kiva aims to have completed the survey with all of its partners by the end of the year. Although perhaps in theory it would be more satisfying to pull out the big guns answer the impact question, let’s not forget that the social performance assessment is an immensely valuable tool. By understanding how MFIs are performing against their mission and social goals, the microfinance community gains knowledge of the practices that lead to MFI sustainability, beneficial targeting and products, and client protection. The MFI itself is also given a copy of the report to learn where it is performing as expected, and to identify areas for improvement.

On a more basic level, this quantification of social performance is exciting because it fits nicely with the stories we hear from entrepreneurs. Further, it aligns with our gut instincts—as lenders, Fellows and members of the microfinance community—that certain MFI practices feel right and are likely having a positive effect on the communities they serve.

Pool Party!

That’s right folks, I was invited to a pool party! Against all odds, the social scene here in Juti is fairly vibrant. I’ve found a small but interesting group of expats as well as a couple of locals whom I’ve coerced into being my friends.

They are, more or less, as follows:

The Americans are down here mostly as English teachers, with a few Peace Corps volunteers thrown in for good measure. The teachers came down speaking little Spanish, but somehow they’ve managed to survive. Last week, about fifteen 22 year olds arrived to start the new school year. I felt so old and wise, by virtue of speaking the language and having spent more than 30 seconds in Latin America. However, they quickly recovered by throwing a party that involved rap music and beer bong. Ahhh, college.

One of my closest friends here is a 32-year-old woman named Anna who is from LA. She is teaching English at the most notorious school in the town. Her students never come to class, range from 18-30 years old, and blatantly cheat on all of their exams. Attending, even perfunctorily, appears to be a way of purchasing a diploma. When Anna asked her fellow teachers about taking disciplinary action, the school responded that it was impossible due to the corrupt government of Honduras. That is, those leaders instilled particular values and a worth ethic (or lack thereof) that were impossible to overcome, even by the hardest working teachers. Don’t worry about it, they told her, it is a lost cause. Hm, yes, clearly the Honduran president is responsible for the school’s lack of attendance sheets.

Lalo is a local who is fluent in English and he has managed to befriend the expats (who, coincidentally are mostly young ladies, which might have encouraged the befriending). His father is the governor of the state where Juti is located and, as such, seems to be a bit of a high roller (and, apparently, has survived multiple kidnapping attempts.)* He is the one with the pool who hosted aforementioned pool party. A bit of a fish out of water, Lalo isn’t particularly enthused to be living in Juti and very much enjoys living something closer to an American lifestyle, which we can afford him. And, as for us, being friends with someone who knows the town inside and out is a huge advantage.

Lastly, my co-workers seem to be wonderful people (even though they don’t do what they say they will and have little concept of punctuality). There are three or four young folks who are unmarried and don’t have children. This was SHOCKING to me and, I imagine, the result of working in a bank where there is some sense (albeit pretty limited) of being a young professional. I’ve found a few running buddies among them and they all seem to want to drink beers with me. (It’s almost like I never left Peer Health Exchange!) Last weekend a few of us went out to the “club,” i.e. small bar with a small dance floor. To get in the door, all of the men get pat down thoroughly to make sure they aren’t packing heat. Sadly, this is one of the few bars in this cowboy town that does have this security mechanism in place. For this reason, it’s one of the only places to go out at night, since most of the other bars let the men carry guns in.* Anyway, I obviously made a huge fool of myself since I have no idea how to dance, except to the Lady Gaga songs that came one. But, at least they now all think I’m fun (or funny, one of the two…unclear).

So, suffice it to say that my grand plans of studying for the GMAT and reading real books have taken a nosedive. And all this time I though San Francisco was the place to be….

*Dad: I promise that no tourist has ever been the victim of kidnapping or violence in Juti. They save that for the locals.

Week 1 recap: still alive and kicking

I can’t quite recall what I was expecting upon my exhausted entrance into the FAMA OPD’F offices in Juticalpa, Honduras for the first time. It was, after all, almost 7pm on a Saturday and I had been traveling for about 14 hours. But, contrary to whatever I may have been prepared for, the office was bustling. Sure, it was the end of the month (must close the books!) but, nonetheless, I was immediately drawn to this organization for its professionalism and warmth. An accredited savings and credit institution, FAMA has been in business for about 15 years and has 13 offices all over Honduras.

The office is large, with more than 30 employees (over 100 FAMA employees exist nationwide), strict hours and—much to my delight—well functioning printers, photocopiers, internet and air conditioning. This, I decided, is without doubt the most professional office I have ever worked in. They even wear a different matching shirt every day of the week! On my first morning, I was ushered in to watch an extensive power point presentation on the history and scope of the organization, along with the team of 17-year-old interns who were also starting at FAMA.

Three months working for FAMA? Pshh, piece of cake. I left the office my first day likening my job here to a day at the beach. (Or, rather, a super hot dusty beach with no water and a lot of car exhaust.)

However, not unlike my childhood conviction that I was destined to marry a member of N*SYNC, the reality of the situation quickly became far more complex than I first imagined. This is not to say that FAMA is not a professional organization, but rather that their professionalism manifests itself in a way that is new to me. The challenge thus becomes figuring out how to be a successful Kiva Fellow when my usual assumptions (meeting E-vites, email, punctuality, etc.) go out the window.

Tuesday morning, for instance, I was signed up to do a presentation in a beautiful mountain town about 40KM from Juticalpa, called San Francisco de la Paz. My goal was to work with the credit officers there to get them to start doing Kiva loans, as Kiva is still very new to FAMA. However, there was no one available to drive me. One person with a car was in Tegucigalpa, and another was somewhere doing something (these are the details I gathered) and everyone else was busy. I suddenly became nervous that I would not make it at all. So I parked myself outside of the office of the Head of Credit and started asking questions. When will so-and-so be back? How long does the bus take? How much does the bus cost? Can you teach me to drive stick and let me borrow a car? Is it really that dangerous to ir jalón (hitchhike) in Honduras? At the sound of jalón, a car and driver suddenly became available. (It’s a great thing he did not call my bluff because I was not about to go stand by the roadside). It’s not that the folks at FAMA didn’t want me to go (in fact, the Head of Credit himself set up the meeting), or that they were prepared to break their commitment to me. Rather, their conception of “leaving at 9am” was different than mine. We left around 10:30 and, although I was upset and embarrassed that my presentation would start 90 minutes late, no one in San Francisco de la Paz seemed to mind, or even notice. In the end, according to all parties, the day was a resounding success!

The morning was a clear indication that FAMA is just as professional as I had expected (they set up the meeting, they got me there, all participants were engaged), but not in the tell-tale ways that I had come to expect in the states. The next few months will be a push and pull between my desire to work as “efficiently” as I have in the past, and my yearning to fit in at FAMA—and not drive them up the wall. However, I suppose a little bit of tranquilo (or…a lot) will do me good.

(Oh and Justin Timberlake, if you’re reading this, call me.)

Help Fund my Honduran Fellowship!

Thanks for taking a look and even vaguely considering helping me out with my upcoming Kiva Fellowship! The good news is that small donations go a long way here. e.g. $10 covers a surprisingly large percentage of my monthly rent. Please get in touch with any questions!

And so it begins!

Since college I have wanted to pursue a career in health and international development.  However, it wasn’t until after graduation when I met a former Kiva Fellow that I began to appreciate the connection between these fields and microfinance.  Since then, I have been impressed by Kiva’s mission of empowering any and everyone with the tools to alleviate poverty.  My current interest in microfinance results from two formative experiences, one academic and one experiential—both of which happened before I’d ever heard of Kiva.

I credit my academic motivation to my senior thesis, when I dove headfirst into the question of what makes for successful development practices.  Through the lens of a community arts center in Buenos Aires, I considered what type of assistance (external and internal) bettered the lives of under-served individuals.  Most academics believed—in one way or another—that throwing hoards of cash at governments or aid organizations was the answer.  And yet from the surface I had begun to scratch, the billions of dollars in loans and donations had made hardly a dent.  From my vantage point at the community center, the programs that made a difference to these kids were artists leading guitar lessons, nurses offering HIV/AIDS pamphlets, and the occasional government grant.  “We would love any help you can give,” the director told me, “but ultimately the solution will come from Argentines.”  Something between Widener Library and Argentina had been lost in translation.

This issue was further complicated by my experience in Guatemala, where I traveled with a team of doctors to study a midwife education program.  I interviewed thirty women on their training and experiences as midwives.  A year later I interviewed them again, now proud graduates of the USAID and US Hospital-funded course.  The results were as uplifting as they were disheartening. Although the women had retained much information, and had received new equipment, the supporting organizations had not implemented a sustainable program.  As soon as funding was pulled, the program went down with it.  I admired the good-hearted individuals who wanted to lower mortality rates (I was one of them!), but I left Guatemala wondering what could be done once the Americans had packed up. Kiva, I believe, is at least the beginning of an answer.  In particular, I admire that loans are made in a transparent manner, in which the borrower is a real person and in which the end goal is suitability.  This is part of what was lacking in my thesis reading material.  In the future, I hope to receive an MBA/MPH, and seeing the front lines of an MFI will offer wonderful preparation and motivation for pursuing that goal.

Finally, on personal level, I miss being abroad. The most uplifting (and heart and stomach-wrenching) experiences I have known came overseas. I enjoy working at a US-based non-profit, learning the inner workings of the organization’s operations. But my meaningful memories of travel, combined with stories I have heard from Kiva Fellows, have inspired me to head back overseas.