This past Monday, September 22, we made our first overnight visit to a branch office. I woke up at 5:30 to pack up all of my things and check out of the hotel for a couple of nights to save twenty dollars. At 7:30 in the morning, Babor picked up Kathryn, Nana, and I in a taxi to take us to the Fegunashar Shirajdikhan Branch in the Munshiganj district, a bit more than 50 km south of Dhaka. After an hour and a half taxi drive through the morning traffic of Dhaka and down one-lane two-way roads, we arrived at the branch and met a Bangladeshi intern named Topu and the branch manager, Harun, who escorted us to the morning's center meeting at a nearby village.
At the center meeting, we talk to several members who have been with the branch for 20 years. Many of them had used their first loan to start cultivating potatoes, as there is a storage warehouse near the village where the potatoes harvested during the growing season are stored and then sold during the dry season for increased profits.
Another member had used a 20,000-taka loan combined with some savings to buy a "miltch" cow (the bank's ledger spells "milk" this way) 20 years ago. Now she has 7 miltch cows, and can produce a daily surplus of six liters of miltch, which she sell for 45 taka per liter. She recently took a 30,000-taka loan with which she plans on combining with 30,000 taka of savings to buy another, more productive miltch cow in order to increase her daily output to ten liters. Her weekly installment on this new loan will be only 750 taka per week, while her current revenue is 1,890 taka per week. Once her new miltch cow arrives, she will be able to make 3,150 taka per week.
Her husband quit his job in Dhaka several years ago to help his wife with her dairy business. Her sons also help with the business. This woman, as with the more successful women from the center we visited the week prior, seems to have much support from her husband than other members. Again, the husband and wife seem to be equals. I imagine it would be very humbling to live in a society in which, as a man, you are the head of the household, only to have your wife become the more successful breadwinner.
At this center, we also speak to a member who had joined Grameen only a year ago. She has just finished paying off her first 1,000-taka loan. With her initial loan, she had bought bamboo with which she makes stools. Her supplies for each stool cost 140 taka, while she can sell each stool to a retailer for 200 taka. Working five days a week while also raising her two children, she has been able to increase her family's income by 175 taka per week. With the extra income, she says that she can better feed her family and has been saving money in a Grameen savings account.
After the center meeting, we visit the woman's miltch cow business and her home. We see where the stool-maker lived and worked. The difference between the living standards of the two women is drastic. The dairy farmer's house is much larger and more lavish. In looking at these two women, the impact that Grameen has had in the long run on the well being of its borrowers is clear. The cumulative growth in the businesses of the borrowers leads to much higher standards of living over time.
Several girls in the village ask Babor if they can speak with me, as they are learning English. One actually speaks better English than Babor. Additionally, there is a young man who had moved from the village to Singapore, where he had worked in a manufacturing plant. Having moved back to the village, he lives like a king. His stereo system is better than many of my friends', and he has satellite television with more channels than I have ever had since moving out of my parents' house. While Grameen is certainly able to help increase the income of its borrowers, there is nothing like industrialization to increase the wages of a laborer.
After returning to the branch, we unload our bags from the taxi and settle into our rooms, while Babor bid us adieu. I stay in the living quarters of the Second Officer (the assistant branch manager). Again, the generosity of Grameen Bank's employees and of the Bangladeshi people in general is astounding.
The branch does not have air conditioning but does have fans. The bathroom does not have a flushing toilet but does have the biggest spider I have ever seen. "Flushing" the toilet involves taking a bucket of dirty pond water and pouring it down the basin. Additionally, it isn't the type of toilet on which you sit. It is more the squat-and-hover style. This, I soon learn, is quite an experience. The branch's shower is also located in this most unsanitary of "sanitary latrines" (Grameen's nomenclature, not my own). I would definitely go several days without showering.
After unpacking our things and eating lunch, Topu, Nana, Kathryn, and I go to the market near the branch to buy notebooks and charge our pre-paid cell phones with minutes. It is quite a CONUNDRUM to think that the people of the villages have cell phones but no flushing toilets. Having purchased our necessary materials from the market, we go for a walk. We come upon an old man who stares at us as we gaze out over a large pond. After some time of staring, the man approached us.
"Assalam waleykum," says Nana.
"Waleykum assalam," the man responds with a smile. He then starts speaking to us in Bengali. Luckily, Topu was there to translate. He had asked us, "What is your country?"
"America, America, Germany," respond myself, Kathryn, and Nana, respectively.
He tells us, through Topu, what a wonderful place America is. He tells us that he has always wanted to go to America. We also find out that he is a lumberjack.
Kathryn asks him why he hasn't visited America. He shook his head, saying "Nai taka," (not any taka) and fanning invisible bills in his hand.
I tell him that I wish that I could take him back to America with me. He smiles a big smile and says, shaking his head, "I am too old."
After several more moments of conversation, we share a silent gaze, me smiling at him, and him at me. Words were not necessary; all was understood.
We return to the branch. Topu and I have a nice conversation about the differences between American and Bangladeshi cultures. We talk about everything from religion to male/female relationships. Topu thinks that all Americans are Christians and that we change romantic partners frequently. He tells me how much he would like to go to America for graduate school and how difficult it is to get accepted into American schools.
Later, the branch staff shares Iftar with us. During Ramadan, Iftar is the breaking of the daily fast after sunset. It is an honor to be included in this ritual. After Iftar is finished, Topu takes off on foot to catch a bus back to Dhaka.
Returning to my room, the food at Iftar seems like a very small meal, especially for someone who has been fasting since four in the morning. Then the electricity (and therefore the fan) goes out. Sweating profusely as I sit underneath the mosquito net hanging from a frame over the bed, by candlelight I read some of Dr. Yunus' (the founder of Grameen) newest book, Creating a World without Poverty: Social Business and the Future of Capitalism. I am certain that I will not be able to sleep due to the stifling heat. Fifteen minutes later, I can't keep my eyes open.
Harun wakes me up about an hour later, saying "Dinner is ready."
Having thought that Iftar was dinner, I am not expecting any more food. After pointing out that my shirt is soaked in sweat, Harun asks me to summon the girls for dinner. They ask, "Didn't we already have dinner?"
"Apparently not," I say.
They say they aren't hungry. Neither am I, but I eat so as not to waste food or seem insulting. I eat a lot--enough to feed three, actually. After dinner, I go to the roof of the branch building with the branch's messenger, who is responsible for delivering money from the centers to the branch, and vice versa. He tries to teach me numberous Bengali words and phrases. I retain two: "koop kushi" (very happy) and "koop shundur" (very nice). After several minutes of this, I return to my room, crawl under the mosquito net, and immediately fall asleep.
Waking up in the morning to the sound of a monsoon storm, I realize that I haven't slept that well in quite some time. After breakfast, the branch manager, Harun, briefs us on the day's activities. We are going to take a boat to a nearby village to attend another center meeting. The prospect of a boat trip sounds exciting.
Traveling down the river, we encounter many other boats. Some are pumping sand from the riverbed to a nearby low-lying (read: underwater during the rainy season) area that is soon to be a housing development. Small fishing boats are manned by fisher-boys who are likely no older than twelve or thirteen. Several huts line the riverbank. Women on the riverbank are washing their families' clothes in the river. Rising up from the middle of the river are several concrete pillars that had once been the supports for a bridge that washed away during a flood.
After a half hour boat ride, we arrive at our destination. Nestled on the riverbank, the village seems poorer than the others we have visited. The houses here are also several feet off of the ground, so that they aren't flooded during the rainy season. Underfed chickens roam freely through the village (free range chicken?).
As we walk through the village towards the Grameen Bank center building, children peek their heads out from windows and stare at us curiously. This village seems less accustomed to Caucasian visitors than the other villages we have visited. Entering the center meeting, the Grameen members have already arrived. Harun introduces us to the center manager, and we take a seat.
The women look at us with curious trepidation. The center manager introduces Harun to the members, and Harun briefly explains, in Bengali, that we are interns with Grameen Ban, here to study and ask them questions. He then asks us to introduce ourselves to the members, explaining that he will translate what we say to them.
Having studied up on my Bengali that morning, I introduce myself in their native language. "Aamar naam Steve. Aami America teke eschechen. Aami ekune pohr te eshe chi." (My name is Steve. I'm from America. I'm here to study.)
I have never said anything met with such confused looks. After Harun explained what I had tried to say, the members laughed hysterically. My bungling of their language certainly breaks the ice. After introductions from Nana and Kathryn, we begin asking questions of and gathering information from the members.
One woman, Nasima, is especially vocal about how much better life in the village is since Grameen started operating there 20 years ago. Before Grameen, she says that she lived in a one room, one-roofed house (exposed tin roof). She ate dahl (lentils) and rice for most meals and had one type of meat, chicken, only once per week. She had only one 150-taka sari (the traditional dress of Bangladeshi women), which she wore for a month.
Nasima says that she now lives is a three-room, two-roofed house (wood underneath the tin) and is preparing to build a fourth roof (I don't know what this means. Insulation?). She says that she currently takes three types of meat, chicken, beef, and fish, three times per week. Her clothing now consists of three 500-taka batik saris.
While Nasima continues talking, a gruff looking older man enters the center meeting and takes a seat. Belly bulging out from his unbuttoned shirt, as soon as Nasima stops talking, he proclaims in very loud English, "We are poor. Very, very poor. We are progressing day by day. It (poverty?) will soon be forgotten." After this exclamation, he stands and exits the center.
After this brief interruption, another woman says that she gathered only ten cases of rice per month before joining Grameen. Now she gathers forty to fifty cases of rice per month.
When Kathryn asks about how the education for the children has improved, a woman responds in Bengali, "All eligible children go to primary school." Before Grameen, apparently there were not enough schools in the area, and no children from this village attended.
Another member says that her child is getting a Master's of Fine Arts. Kathryn asks if her son is taking loans from Grameen to fund his education. The woman responds, "I am paying for my daughter's education myself. No loans." Upon questioning, she tells us that she has a decorating business, which she has expanded greatly with a Micro-Enterprise loan from Grameen.
After this, Nana asks if there are any women who didn't work before they took loans from Grameen. Two women say that they didn't work. Both now have tailoring businesses. Kaydasha, the more vocal of the two, says that she has now hired an employee to do the tailoring for her so that she can focus on her new miltch business.
Kathryn asks how the women's social status has changed since becoming Grameen members. One woman responds, "My moving area is bigger. I go everywhere by myself."
Another elaborates, "We are now self-sufficient and self-dependent."
The woman whose daughter is pursuing her MFA says, "When my daughter went to college, I took her by myself."
Nasima says, "When I first joined, I took three people with me to the bank. Now, I know how to handle money. It used to take me a week to gather 1,000 taka. Now, I gather 10,000 in one day.
Returning to Nasima, I ask her what business she does. She says that she has a bakery and two grocery shops. I ask her what she did before her first loan. She says that her husband bought vegetables in the village and sold them in a nearby bazaar. She baked snacks and sold them out of her house.
When Nasima took her first loan of 5,000 taka, her husband quit his vegetable selling and focused on selling her baked goods in nearby villages. Now, Nasima has hired someone else to do the baking, while she operates one shop and her husband operates another.
I ask how the village responded to Grameen's arrival in 1988. Nasima, again the most vocal of the center, answers. "At first, the village elder forbade them from going to Grameen, because he said it was a Christian bank. After he read the Sixteen Decisions1, he realized it wasn't a Christian bank, and we could go."
Nana asks how many members there are in the center, and the center manager says that there are 68. I ask how many families there are in the village, and the members estimate that there are about 95. They say that there aren't any mothers with daughters who are borrowers, so this means that 68 of about 95 families are members. This is pretty solid membership, especially given the initial disapproval by the elder.
After the center meeting, we visit Nasima's house. Again, there is a television in the front room of the house. As was the case in the first village we visited, the family's silverware and China is also proudly on display in a glass case in the front room. We take photographs of Nasima, her husband Habib, and their granddaughter.
As we leave Nasima's house, the big-bellied man who interrupted the meeting invites me to his house. Kathryn asks if she can visit the local school. She, Nana, and Harun follow the center manager to the school, while I go to the man's house.
On the way to his house, he tells me that his name is Nuun Hussein. I ask him how he is, and he says, "I am very old. I most certainly will die soon. Many diseases attack me." As I walk to his house, I hope that none of these diseases will attack me.
Nuun invites me to sit on his sofa. I sit down, and he shouts something to his wife in Bengali. He tells me, "My wife will bring you food."
I ask him what he does. He tells me that he is retired from teaching at a government school. At this point, a young man enters the room. Nuun says, "This is my son Sadjat. You can make friends with him."
I ask Sadjat how old he is. He tells me that he is 22. I ask him if he is in school. Nuun answers for him, "He is my youngest son. He does no school, no job, no work. He does nothing." Obviously, this young man receives nothing but disapproval from his father. I feel for Sadjat and try to convey this to him with an approving smile.
Then Nuun tells me that his second son, Sakwat, died while in college in Sweden in 2001. Sadjat produces a laminated photo of Sakwat from his wallet. Nuun looks at the photograph and hands it to me.
Nuun says, "I always think of him." He begins to cry. "He was so smart. So young."
Putting my hand on his shoulder, I say, "I am so sorry for your loss. How did he die?"
"An auto accident. After, his friends from Sweden visit for seven days. It was very sad time." Nuun wipes the tears from his eyes.
At this point, his wife enters the room with three whole bananas and a multitude of apple and orange slices. Hungry, I am grateful for the food. Emotional, I am grateful for the interruption.
We continue talking. Nuun says, "You are from America. Americans very smart." I thank him for the compliment, without mentioning that I know several Americans who aren't very smart.
Continuing to talk about America. Nuun says, "America is great, but Bush very bad. Bush wants to control world." As he makes a fist, he says, "He wants world like this."
I offer my agreement and say, "Obama."
He says, "Yes, Obama. And Clinton."
At this point, Kathryn, Nana, and Harun enter the house. Nuun tells them to have a seat and points to the food. Thankfully, I now have help in finishing the feast that his wife prepared for me. We talk for several minutes and Harun tells Nuun in Bengali that we need to go catch our boat.
Nuun gives me a long and hard handshake. "Thank you for visiting me."
I thank him for the food and the company as he walks us to the door. As we walk through the village, numerous children begin to follow us. Exiting the village, we see many young boys playing soccer in a field. I take out my camera to photograph them. Upon seeing the camera, even more children begin following us. They begin to horse around and do anything that might warrant getting photographed. I oblige.
Harun says that we must walk one kilometer to our boat. For the entire kilometer walk, the children follow us. Along the road, children from nearby houses hear the commotion and see its cause, us. They begin to follow. By the end of the kilometer walk, we must have an entourage of a hundred children following us.
Sad to see us go (and likely wanting to go with us), the children wave goodbye as we board our boat taxi. We return to the bank branch. Exhausted from the information overload, the heat, and the emotional experience in the village, I immediately fall asleep.
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