Cinnamon Rolls

During quite possibly my favorite weekend in the Dominican Republic (the San Pedro one when we stayed with Jon), we made several meals, discussed life deep into the night, went on gallivants, and laughed until we cried. It so very clear in my heart and my mind that these interactions, these expressions of true community, are the fullest and most meaningful aspects of life. I loved preparing the meals. I can effortlessly recall these scenes. Each person has his/her own task and we are listening to The General by Dispatch and just getting used to Joanna Newsom’s peculiar, yet strangely appealing, music. After drinking chinola margaritas and rum and coke, we went on a night adventure, and then came back to the apartment to hang out in the air-conditioned room and enjoy each other’s company.

The next morning we went to Maira’s homestay family’s house where we made David’s famous cinnamon rolls and learned about “bancas de esperanza.” The cinnamon rolls were fantastic. They were fluffy and moist and perfectly sweet. They were a dream and I came to associate them with the perfection of relationships and community that I was learning about in the Dominican Republic. I was learning that people and relationships are THE most important and fulfilling things and everything else pales in comparison.

I knew that I wanted to make these cinnamon rolls for Christmas.

My family’s Christmas morning typically looks like this: 1. Each person opens stockings. The rule is the kids can open their stockings as soon as they wake up. Usually the grownups sit down with their coffee and individual go through their stockings at the same time, occasionally uttering a thank you or a laugh. This year we all opened them as a group (mostly) as we didn’t have too impatient a group. 2. We open presents. Somebody plays Santa and distributes presents one at a time so we call all look, admire, and comment. 3. We have a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and Pillsbury cinnamon roles.

We always ate the crummy Pillsbury ones in the past and I was eager to replace them with the best tasting (and most meaningful) cinnamon rolls I’d ever consumed. During my first week home from the DR, I tried out the recipe. I made them with my sister/friend Kit and they turned out perfectly. They were fluffy and moist and perfectly sweet. I shared them with family and friends and it seemed my Dominican heart lessons were transferring perfectly.

In the middle of the year, we had a mentor-bonding event for WYSE a student organization that I help lead. I decided that the cinnamon rolls would be perfect for that event. I went out and bought all the supplies and made them in my dorm’s kitchenette. But the rolls didn’t turn out right. They were not at all fluffy and they tasted a bit greasy. I had to make the cream cheese frosting twice because the first time flopped so badly. But, they tasted ok and I attributed the problems to the mediocre-at-best oven and a bit of chef impatience.

So, Christmas was upon us and I was eager to make the most delightful and most meaningful cinnamon rolls for the family. I had pictured it perfectly in my head. I would wake up early on Christmas morning. I would pull out my laptop with the recipe and good music. And, by myself, I would meticulously make these cinnamon rolls that I could share with the family.

In short, the cinnamon rolls failed. They were exactly like the WYSE ones: a tad dense and a bit greasy. I had thought I fixed the problems, but I guess I did not. My one guess as to why they didn’t properly fluff was that I didn’t kneed the dough long enough. I was so disappointed, that I could have thrown them away. Now, if I had made a bunch of cookies that had kind of flopped, I would not have had this dramatic reaction. No, that would be no big deal.

Now, my family will probably tell you that I am being overdramatic. Everybody thought they were delicious and all 18 were gone by the end of the morning. Sure they were tasty. Add enough butter, sugar, and cinnamon to anything and it will be tasty, but they were not the perfect cinnamon rolls that I had had in the past. They were not the cinnamon rolls of deep conversations and loving friendship. These were sub par. These rolls were supposed to be true excellence and I feel like, both with WYSE and Christmas, I exposed people to mediocre cinnamon rolls.

And you know what, I was in a dampened mood most of Christmas morning because they didn’t turn out right. I know I know I know. That was stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. The cinnamon rolls really represent experiencing each moment fully, breathing each moment in soulfully, caring about each other deeply.

But you know what upsets me the most: that I made the cinnamon rolls perfectly right when I returned home. During the first two months home, I viscerally knew the lessons I learned in the DR. They took hold of my heart and soul and mind and guided me. Over the course of the last ten weeks (initially prompted by a great disappointment), the visceral understanding has faded and thus I only apply those lessons when I intentionally think to do so and now it feels clumsy and contrived.

I mean, I’m not going for Hugh Grant’s self-deprecating humor thing. The harsh reality is that I have not been very good at actively loving the people I most care about and living in each moment. Now, I AM aware that that top-of-the-mountain victory feeling of “living in the moment” is NOT sustainable, though of course those moments are wonderful and I am fortunate to experience them. However, I do think the deep peace of love and of loving others and having what is most important can be a visceral guide is sustainable. I think so, but I have yet to do so.

Time post DR:

1. I am learning that true disappointment can knock me down for a long time. I’m now trying to figure out how to balance dreaming, getting excited, and not letting disappointment freeze me.

2. I have not earned a penny for the school in the Dominican Republic and I have not started any ventures to do so. That being said, I think about it almost daily. I just don’t really know what to do.

3. I don’t know how summer internships and career tie into “that which is most important”

4. I learned I like the Wall Street Journal

5. I learned (again and again and again) that I can hurt my best friends and either ignore it or be completely oblivious to what I did. I also learned that I tend to avoid relational confrontation though I shouldn’t.

6. I learned I like country music.

7. I learned that I like banter but it’s also my drug of choice. By bantering, I make sure people know I’m smart, I avoid intimate conversations (and thus the most important thing), and I avoid awkward silences.

8. I am learning that I like poetry

9. I am learning to long board

10. Even whilst helping people (etc), I’ve been pretty self-absorbed.

Much love,

A

Interesting, but not necessarily symbolic PS:

At 2AM on December 26, I looked at the cinnamon roll recipe again. You known what? The picture online looks exactly like the WYSE and Christmas cinnamon rolls. I didn’t truly eff them up, but there was obviously something different from the other “perfect” batches.

And if you hate to go to school, you may grow up to be a mule

Almost exactly a month ago, I had an experience that has been so powerful and so tied to my time here and my life in general, that it’s been almost impossible for me to write about. Over the course of the month, I’ve literally started five efforts to begin this post and each time I have abandoned the blog effort because it wasn’t adequate. With each try, I attempted to tie it into one neat package and each effort ultimately left out a crucial element. For some, I conveyed the details but not the passion. For others, I conveyed my excitement but was too vague. Ironically enough, having a plethora of important and meaningful material froze my ability to write. I couldn’t even blog about the more banal, yet certainly interesting, day-to-day activities…hence the two week blog pause. In fact, the only thing that kick started my blogging was hearing that my dear Aunt Wanda was awaiting my next entry. Thanks for motivating me Wanda :)

In many, many ways, this entry is like an intricate spider’s web. Each part connects to several others and forms an ornate pattern. I have been searching for the almost invisible strand that connects the web to a more solid base. But, as a web, there are several of these strands. So, like a book in which the chapters alternate between characters who eventually meet, I will have to describe several elements of my life to convey the true meaning and impact of this other experience. To do this entry real justice, I need to step through a good deal of history and many, many reflections and realizations. I hope you’ll be patient with me because ultimately the past is what makes this present project so freaking cool.

During the winter of my sophomore year of high school, my friend Katherine and I started Literature League (then Girls’ Literature League or GLL as we fondly called it). Essentially, this program (and eventually non-profit) was a collection of book clubs for fourth and fifth grade girls from an underprivileged school (I never use the word “underserved” because, as a speed reader, it looks too much like undeserved…and who wants to help undeserving people :P ). This club was inspired by the mother-daughter book club in which Katherine and I participated. That club was a foundational and really very fun…yeah, I’m nerd. It’s something truly special when a group of women and girls grows from reading Sarah Plain and Tall to grappling with Russian literature. Also, I vividly remember our first meeting before which Mom was alternating between tears and not quite pleasant word because throwing a dinner party for twelve was just slightly out of her box. Nine years later, Mom and I (but mostly Mom if we’re being honest) could put together such a meeting with barely a second thought. There was a lot of growth during these years and book club both fostered some of that development and made that growth easier to track.

The idea behind Literature League was to, as best we could, duplicate the mother-daughter book club experience. Essentially, by exposing girls to quality literature and by giving them opportunities to share, grapple, and lead, we wanted to foster growth and maturity as well as a love for reading and learning. These ideals were certainly ideals. I continue to wrestle with whether or not my chapter every precisely achieved those goals--certainly not in totality, but probably so in little, sometimes tangential ways. Because of our winning M-D book club experience, we were able to constantly evaluate and re-assess how to improve Lit League…how to make it better, how to better connect.

However, I also saw a lot of room for growth and expansion for the program and my philosophy for such growth was essentially get every teenager with a pulse on board and start new chapters (cute huh: chapters for book clubs ;) )I won’t go into too many nitty-gritty details, but essentially this was a bad idea and basically proved the adage “quality not quantity.” I tried to grow Lit League too quickly and this resulted in a rickety edifice. While I have yet to read this book, I believe one of the fundamental tenets of Good to Great is that you must have the right people on the boat…you must have the right people on the team. You need people who share the same mission and purpose and are going to commit themselves to pursuing them. Essentially, I pulled people onto the boat of Lit League in much the same manner that a cobrador pulls unpresuming pedestrians onto his guagua. I then tried to back fill the purpose and mission aspects.

Needless to say, we did not have (for the most part) the right people on the boat/guagua/sports team/cual quiera metaphor you want. However, I was dense and I kept trying to make the people who were on the boat into the right people, which lead to frustrations, bickering, disappointment, and unfortunately some crumbled friendships. Some people say don’t do business with your friends and I came to believe that you shouldn’t do community service with your friends…hopefully with my new “business approach” this will be slightly alleviated.

I learned A LOT about leadership and about leading peers and the majority of those lessons were regrettably learned the hard way. Essentially, I had to come to grips with the fact that it didn’t matter how much I cared or tried, I can’t make people care or work in the way that I would like them to…hence the need to have the right people on the boat initially. Not only is it often futile to try to rewire people (to enjoy working with kids for example), but it’s also a bad use of resources. The person who needs “rewiring” is simply wired for something else…he/she just needs to find his/her respective boat. One of the catch phrases I had to keep repeating throughout senior year was “part of my journey is letting other people have their own journeys.”

Upon graduation, I passed Lit League off to little sister Emma who has altered the program to have more of history focus rather than a purely literary one. Additionally, she has done a far better job with Lit League than I ever did. She doesn’t enslave volunteers and she understands that the most powerful elements of the program are the relationships. While I thought I got that, I was ultimately trying to make scholars and philosophers out of the unsuspecting participants rather than connect with them on a more personal level.

I’ve always cared about education and this has expressed itself in many ways. One of the most successful ways is through tutoring, which I have been doing since the summer before junior year of high school. I’ve found that, one-on-one, I’m a strong teacher and can first connect relationally to then connect scholastically. It’s fun, challenging, and quite lucrative too!

Other than tutoring, I became a bit disillusioned with my role in education due to constantly hitting my head against the Lit League wall. The hardest, most frustrating, yet ultimately most enlightening times with respect to Lit League culminated for me in December of senior year. Then, for the remainder of the year and the close of my more intimate LL involvement, I basically kept my head down and purposed to simply finish out the spring semester as strong as I could.

Meanwhile, during spring semester in my not very econy econ class (we never even drew a supply or demand curve…eek. Nonetheless, that class had a profound impact on me), my teacher showed us a video clip about kiva (http://www.pbs.org/frontlineworld/stories/uganda601/video_index.html). This program and the idea of microfinance instantly resonated with me (I’m not gonna lie, I teared up a bit). It’s a grassroots development through which people give loans—opportunities, not a handout—to help people help themselves. All that year I’d been trying to help people who didn’t want (and probably didn’t need) my help, so microfinance simply hit home. I basically said “forget edjumacation, I’m going to do the economic development thang.” Eighteen-year-old Anne was enamored with Kiva and began to openly proselytize…she was also very disappointed to learn that one must be 21 to be a Kiva fellow, though I was ultimately able to sidestep that requirement by working directly with the MFI Esperanza International (http://www.kiva.org/about/fellows-program/) (http://esperanza.org/us/index.php?option=com_frontpage&Itemid=1).

And yet, I could not escape education. Fall quarter of freshman year I was sitting in Econ 1A and had the pleasure of listening to Caroline Hoxby give a guest lecture on the Economics of Education. For those of you who don’t know, Hoxby is a total badass. She’s the leader in the field and when she transferred from Harvard to Stanford, it made the Wall Street Journal—also, not only did she receive instant tenure but so did her husband who’s in sociology. Whenever my econ buddies or I have a “Hoxby sighting,” we eagerly text each other to share the joyous news. We’re basically like a bunch of preteen girls at a Hannah Montana or Jonas Brothers concert. Basically, she and her subject enraptured me. While I love being an econ major, I’m not going to deny that much of that decision was influenced by my desire to take her class--she’s away this year so I’ll have to wait until senior year. sigh.

After a less than engaging job last summer, I was determined to find something more appealing and worthwhile. My three goals: 1. Do something meaningful 2. Improve Spanish/live abroad 3. Make money. This combo seemed unlikely, but I was convinced they could come together. One of the other things my high school econ teacher emphasized is the fact that world travel does not need to be a pocket drain. Rather, you can work abroad or find creative ways to fund these trips. The main target for my funds was a Stanford grant for sophomores in the humanities, which basically funds independent research projects with the purpose of introducing and then luring students into the world of academic research.

My ultimate goal was to partner with an organization and, together, develop a project that would be worthwhile. It’s incredibly important to me that my efforts be sustainable and have real impact. One of the redeeming factors for me with respect to Lit League for me is that it’s entering it’s sixth year this December! That’s a sustained relationship with the school, with teachers, etc. Siblings are starting to come through the program and several graduates have come back to help out. Furthermore, my mom, who’s going to return to the classroom post Emma’s graduation, is strongly considering working at the same school. I so hope she does because, for me, that would make the program swing full circle in terms of impact because you’ll be hard-pressed to find an elementary school teacher who’s better than my mom. She’s awesome. That’s a longwinded way to say I didn’t want to do a research project that would ultimately sit at the bottom of a filing cabinet wasting paper and space.

By talking with Esperanza staff and past interns and by reading various research concerning microfinance, I found my research niche: the training programs Esperanza offers its loan associates! While there has been extensive research seemingly demonstrating that the presence of a training program has financial benefits that ultimately outweigh their costs, the specific elements of these programs had not been extensively studied. Also, only non-profit MFIs (Microfinance Institutes) offer training programs and if it’s financially as well as socially beneficial to include a training program, then maybe for-profit MFIs will eventually start offering them too…especially if they can include only the most crucial elements to offer the most efficient training program. This process of developing the project was much aided by freshman RA Jane (a rockstar of and RA and one of the most wonderful people I know) as well as my Stanford advisors with whom I regularly touched base to determine my next steps. Another crucial element was the Community-Based Research class I took fall quarter…the first day of class I actually confessed to wanting to move away from my education background and into microfinance. I submitted my proposal on December 1st, was awarded the grant at the end of January, and then in mid February it dawned on me: the element of microfinance that I would be studying and learning about was the training program—the crossover of microfinance and education! My best efforts to escape education had been thwarted by none other than myself! Rather than being peeved, I was delighted by this surprise cohesion, especially since I truly was interested in learning about that which I’d proposed to study.

I arrived in the DR and began my research, which took the form of structured interviews following a protocol I’d developed. It took a little while to get the hang of the interview and figure out how to not be a doormat or be too assertive. Throughout the summer I’ve struggled with figuring out whether or not my research truly can be useful or whether it’s just busywork...ultimately I think it’s got potential (I just have to compile it all). Also, I started to be a bit disillusioned with microfinance. I was seeing very few examples of what I would consider to be real development and progress. At best, it seemed the majority of the loans were just helping our clients float a bit better. And, at worst, the loans became a point of strife for the community. Esperanza follows the Grameen model of microfinance, which means we primarily offer group loans. A group of five women (occasionally there’s a man or two) form a solidarity group, which means they cross-guarantee one another. If one defaults, nobody in the group can take out another loan. Thus, if someone can’t pay at a meeting, the other group members must scrape together the costs. Sometimes a group does not exactly demonstrate solidarity and verbal fights will break out. Sometimes the loan officer ends up sounding more like the Sheriff of Nottingham rather than caring development workers I know them to be. Another problem I saw was that practically none of the business that women were starting were truly valuable beyond the fact that they employed the Esperanza associate. Quite honestly, Los Alcarrizos does not need another woman selling empenadas or ropa de paca.

There’s a line in Steinbeck’s East of Eden that basically says that when children realize their parents aren’t perfect it’s as if the gods have fallen. I went through a good deal of that this summer. While I had read about microfinance’s limitations and problems prior to my time here in the DR, I still wanted the brochure image of microfinance. I wanted the polished stories even though I knew those weren’t the reality. On my most frustrating day in the field, I was about ready to give up any hope I had in microfinance when I read Jon’s blog post for that day:

Microfinance: The Next Bubble?

That's the headline of a recent posting on Newsweek's Wealth of Nations blog. It talks about a recent study by two American economists whose primary conclusion is that while microfinance isn't hurting anybody, there isn't a lot of solid evidence that it's helping them, either.

It may surprise many of you that I don't really find these conclusions to be very troubling, even if they are spot on. And yet, I still believe that microfinance should continue to expand, that it should try to reach as many of the poor as possible, all over the world. Why? Because I don't believe that microfinance is truly about helping poor entrepreneurs escape poverty. I believe it's about helping their children escape poverty. The blunt fact is, most of these poor entrepreneurs do not have the education to become sustainably affluent. Microcredit cannot do a whole lot to help them get one, because they need to be working to pay back their loans, besides having children and a home to maintain.

What microcredit can (and does) do for the poor is provide them with the necessary stability of income to keep their children in school long enough for them to have a good enough education to give them a much higher chance of escaping poverty than they ever had themselves. I have no rigorous studies immediately on hand to prove my claim, but it is what I believe after spending a bit of time in the field and it makes a great deal of sense. If one is looking for massive improvements in the well-being of a country's poor population, one will have to wait roughly 25 years after a significant proportion of that nation's poor population had access to microcredit.

Of course, it would also help immensely if the governments of these countries would meet their poor citizens halfway by focusing relentlessly on improving both quality of education and access to it. But that's a whole different battle.


OK. I could work with that. I could be content with that mindset. And, from there I could continue to conduct my research. I started thinking more and more about what made for the most successful groups and individual businesses. And, over the course of the weeks, it became increasingly clear how the key was to have a specific plan, to have a specific purpose, to have clear and dynamic communication. Microfinance may not end economic poverty for the entrepreneur but for their children instead. Also, microfinacne it can give associates opportunities to foster dignity and dreams, which I believe distinguishes impoverished people from poor people.

Furthermore, I began to think about what falls inline with my passions because tiny colmados and clothes selling businesses were not as exciting as I had thought they would be for me. The Friday before my trip to San Pedro with the other interns, I journaled the following in the back of a book: The causes I care the most about are those that inspire people to develop dreams and goals and pursue them intentionally with the expectation that they can and will fulfill them and then develop new ones. I want to help people grasp the vision of dreams because goals are what propel us and help us improve. The richest man in the world and a poor colmado owner in the Dominican Republic both need dreams because they are the things of purpose, meaning, and dignity. My dream is to help other people realize (in both senses of the word) their dreams. THAT is what fills my heart and soul and where I think my talents lie. One of the reasons I think teachers and education are so powerful is that they can serve as this role…they can inspire dreams and teach people to think bigger. I, however, do not know if my ultimate career path is that of a teacher. Maybe I could train teachers or parents or start schools? I just feel like being purely a teacher might be a bit too limited—I’d like to have greater reach.

First of all, those thoughts reframed my intention for my research. How can we help the women develop extensive budgets as well as bimonthly, monthly, and yearly plans and goals? First of all, the women with clearer goals pay back more regularly. Furthermore, the women with clearer goals seem to communicate better with their groups, so the groups have less problems too, which is ultimately good for Esperanza’s goal of development. Furthermore, fewer group problems means the loan officers can better use their time resources because they do not have to schedule extra meetings or stay later at the normal reuniones bisemenales. The dream is the key and we want to have training programs that help the women develop their dreams and equip the women with the tools they need to achieve those goals.

Then, less than a week later, I encountered the first thing that made me think I would have a legitimate and not just sentimental reason to return to the DR…this is the experience on which the whole post hinges b.t. dubs. Though “Lucas’s school” had been on my list of intern duties since day one, I hadn’t paid much attention to it. Quite frankly the loan officer Lucas and I had not had any real interactions and I was resigning myself to the fact that I might not connect with every person in the Los Alcarrizos office…aka everyone but Lucas. Nonetheless, I continued to ask if I could go visit this school and our first several scheduled dates simply fell through. I’ve since learned to be more direct and persistent.

When I finally went to the school for the first time, I almost immediately realized what a gem it is. The elementary school started three years ago and takes place in the rundown and porous church, which Lucas pastors (unlike in the states, pastoral work is done as a volunteer sans pay). While there were only 35 kids to start, there are now approximately 70 students in a very tight space. This is a private school and it aims to serve those who the public school can’t or won’t. In addition to being mediocre at best (many teachers never collect homework and there is no such thing as failing a grade), the public schools are full and do not serve students without papers. Unlike in the states, if your local public school is full, you don’t attend one in another district—you just don’t go to school. Also, many Haitian immigrants and/or children of Haitian immigrants do not have papers, meaning they are not eligible for public education. For reference, about 40% of Los Alcarrizos’s associates are Haitian immigrants. This school aims to serve orphans, children without papers, and children who cannot attend the public schools because they are full. Those who can pay, pay a small fee to attend; however, lack of capital will not keep a child from attending. One of the problems that the school faces is that there is plenty of demand, but the space in which they operate is full as it is.

There are five teachers who serve this school, all of whom are Esperanza loan associates. All five teachers work as volunteers…these women epitomize the term “super mom” because they work as full time teachers, have their independent businesses, and are mothers and wives. And they are quality teachers. One of the thing I’ve learned in my time here is to ask deep questions and probe for examples because my conception of, say, what basic math means might be very different from what their basic math is. For example, I have a friend who’s finishing up his first of a five-year engineering program in university here. For me, first year engineering math is calculus; for him, it is factoring. Eep! All I have to say is that the teachers passed my test.

These women get it! Or, as we would say here in the DR “ella sabe.” Not only do they teach and serve at a high caliber with incredible passion and dedication, but they understand the power that teachers and school have. They get the dream piece. They get how school can change kids. One of the teachers told me about a little boy was angry, standoffish, and reluctant to participate in school at first. Eventually, the boy came around and began to embrace the school. One day at church, he came up and hugged his teacher. His mother saw this and told the teacher that her son never hugs nor lets anyone hug him. Teaching can be an incredible form of love and empowerment.

The school also offers psychological services. Lucas’s sister is a trained therapist and volunteers in the school to help the children adjust, a truly crucial element. Here, kids run wild and receive little guidance except for the occasional slap on the wrist. There is very little childhood structure…bedtimes and organized play are alien concepts. One of the more unfortunate Dominican philosophies is “if you want to do it, do it.” This might seem good at first in terms of setting goals and achieving them and such, but it’s manifested itself in terms of myopic and what I would consider unethical and selfish decisions. Infidelity runs rampant here and it’s been suggested that it’s as high as 90% (and it goes both ways), which I think reflects a general lack of trust and commitment. Can you even imagine dating or marrying someone and knowing that they are probably fooling around!?! Unfortunately, this infidelity does not just involve the two unfaithful parties because there are so many children that are born from these unstable relationships. It is not uncommon at all for one person to have several children from several different people, which means there are a lot of kids who grow up without two parents. If you want specific examples, I can share some and go on for a long time, but I’d really rather not. Furthermore, when all you see is infidelity, it makes it really hard to be anything or expect anything else. These expressions of a lack of character or unethical behavior such as the infidelity have strongly influenced my philosophies that I expressed in my last blog. It’s not that we should be people of strong character and ethics. Rather, we HAVE to be because if we aren’t, it all goes to hell in hand basket. Honestly, I think philosophies of moral relativism have developed because people are too comfortable and too safe…they do not see or have not seen what can happen if their philosophy is carried out to an extreme. My response is: hang out in the DR (or probably any developing country for that matter) and you’ll quickly change your philosophy. There are clear rights and wrongs and when we don’t do right and when we can’t be expected to do right, all sense of stability and order fall to pieces.

I went off on that tangent not to share a sob rant but to make it clear how impressive this school truly is. In addition to pursuing high quality education, the school aims to instill morals and ethics and true family values. It aims to give structure and order to otherwise chaotic childhoods. Many of the students who have entered the school, such as hug boy, come from unstable homes and are angry and unruly (and I can’t particularly blame them). But the school gives them a fresh start and shows them another way. More and more, I’m coming to believe that the first step to ending poverty is changing people’s hearts and minds. When I visited the school’s summer program, the kids were all sitting in chairs and paid attention to the teacher. They participated in the songs (in French, English, and Spanish), preformed skits, recited poems, and there was order and structure and joy. Honestly, it was like a miracle and I was semi-convinced that the children had been drugged. Joke, joke. I in no way believe that there was any drugging of children to impress the young rubia.

And yet the school is not stagnant. The teachers have big, big dreams. Aracelis showed me a large dirt pile next to the church and had me close my eyes. She then talked me through the three-story building that she sees…how it’s made of block. How the first two levels will be for classrooms. How they’ll be able to serve 200 children. How the top floor will house a library. How there will be a community room for classes for community members.

I then learned that the construction plans have been drawn up for this building, that the foundation has been poured, that the community has rallied around the school and there are volunteers to aid the construction, and how it will only take about 20 days to build because block (the ideal building material actually) goes really quickly. Basically, the only thing stopping the construction of the school is a lack of funds to purchase the materials…which sum to a whopping 70K USD.


Why am I deeply committed to this school you might ask?
1. Education, dreams, and character are the key to economic and personal development
2. Just a week before I saw the school I journaled about how my skills and passions lie in helping other people realize their dreams and passions…so this project is a total no-brainer
3. I really like the idea of starting schools in developing countries. But more than that, I like the idea of helping people who are already doing great things. These teachers and this school have done a lot with practically zero resources. Because they’ve done so much with so little, they are the kind of people and projects that I think are deserving of more resources, because they understand value and will use those resources wisely. Right now the boat has the right people on it. I could try to start a school from scratch but there is a statistically insignificant probability of me being able to find a team with the same initiative and deep commitment as these women and their community.

I aim to help the school raise these funds. Esperanza has agreed to let us earmark donations for the school (MahanaimProject--Los ALcarrizos School) through their system so donors can receive tax-deductible receipts (http://partners.guidestar.org/controller/searchResults.gs?action_donateReport=1&partner=networkforgood&ein=91-1585511).

Now, when I give me spiel about the school in the future, I won’t give the longwinded, eight-page, spider web dissertation. I’ll be way, way, way more direct and to the point. Nonetheless, I’ve at least found it personally beneficial to get down all the overlaps because, quite frankly, they blow me away.

This school is one way for me to apply my passions and contribute to true development. I aim to dedicate to my life to such causes, though I'm currently unclear on the specific application or trajectory. My friend David and semi-jokingly brainstormed the idea of starting American schools abroad, charging normal US tution, and using the profits to start new schools--academic social entrepreneurship!?!

If you’ve stuck with me, thank you and I hope you enjoyed it. It’s my heart :)

All my lovin’,
Anne

It’s business, it’s business time

Previous to this week, and really today, I had this fear of real business work. I’m a hard worker and am not the dullest crayon in the box, but I’m just not shrewd in the scheming, conniving, devious ways that I thought is so necessary for big boy (or girl) business. But you know what? That’s OK. I don’t need to be. Rather, I just need to keep things rolling, keep things moving forward. What I’m good at is looking at a problem and figuring out a step-by-step game plan to attack it, to instate a new program, to achieve a goal. Part of that is persistent communication. Once you do complete one element of the project, check in with the other people/pieces and figure out as soon as you can what the next step is…and then do that. That doesn’t scare me. I don’t need to pony-up, buck up or do any other equine upness. I just need to live ethically and with character and persistently take on each task at hand. And, with that mindset, I can do a lot and not feel overwhelmed :)

This is a philosophy that I've always had with respect to school and my personal projects such as Literature League...live ethically and with character, keep people at the forefront of your purpose, and just figure out what you need to do and do it. I'm not really sure why I haven't made the leap of applying these philosophies to "real work," but I think it will serve me well...or rather, help me serve well. It also means that I'll approach non-profit, profit, development work, and really all aspects of my life in the same way and that feels really good!

What affects the butterfly?

I’m a tad afraid of sounding like an overly-dramatic emo teenager or like too much of a whimsical poet, but I have decided, nevertheless, to share this experience and resultant musing.

Yesterday, I went with one of the new loan officers to her contact meeting. This is when she talks with the potential associates and presents Esperanza’s mission and services. A few women were running (walking?) late and so we were simply hanging around outside the school where we would hold the introduction meeting.

While we were chatting and baking in the sun (grapes become raisins, and plums become prunes, what do people become?), I spotted two butterflies flitting around in the tall brush. First of all, the butterflies here are huge. My friend Nate noted that all the insects here are either bigger or stranger or both and these butterflies were no exception to this rule. Interestingly enough, there are not different words to distinguish between butterflies and moths (and gay men)—all are mariposas.

While I was waiting, I observed the standard butterfly dance: they flutter around, sometimes drawing close to one another but also flying solo. I had a strange nerdy/sentimental moment as I watched these two butterflies. Probabilistically speaking, it is quite possible that a butterfly could never meet another butterfly—let alone one of its same type. Furthermore, except for mating to propagate the clan, it doesn’t seem to me that one butterfly needs another…a butterfly can drink nectar and fly from flower to flower unaccompanied. There may be some added safety or convenience in traveling and migrating in a pack, but essentially one butterfly does not need another. And yet, more often than not, when I spot one butterfly I usually spot at least one other. Though they do not need each other, they flock together. I’ll try not to over anthropomorphize and get too corny (and I’d appreciate it if my more naturey friends will cut me some slack), but it’s a theme that stuck out to me because its becoming increasingly clear to me how people need (or at least I need) other people in more than purely utilitarian ways, though those are nice too :)

I’ve decided not to try to fight this by trying to be braver or more independent or calloused. It’s not a limitation or a weakness, it’s a reality from which I can build up myself and others. I’ve decided to and am eagerly embracing this fact.

Looking forward to future embraces,
Anne

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE forgive the corniness

Paca-Paca-Bo-Baca-Fi-Fie-Fo-Faca-Paca

I’ve decided to attach another polished story, which will help contextualize one my personal experience below.

Polished Story: Niche Market

One of the primary businesses of Esperanza International’s associates is selling clothes. This occurs in many forms—from purchasing individual items of clothing to buying $100-$200 packs (ropa de paca), from selling from a tiendacita (small store) to selling en la calle (in the street). Pacas typically come in themes ranging from undergarments and children’s clothes to men’s or women’s clothing. Many opt to sell “ropa de paca” because the profits for an individual item can be quite good. However, purchasing a paca is also a bit of a risk as it can be difficult to distinguish a good one from a bad one. A bad one can sink profits because many items cannot be sold and must simply be given away.

Another obstacle clothes venders face is that many distribute their goods before collecting payments. Later, many buyers either evade payments or simply refuse. Furthermore, clothes sales in general can be difficult to differentiate and so there’s not much room for an edge other than price competition. Nonetheless, clothes sales continue to be a popular business because the merchandise is easy to acquire both in terms of accessibility and low price barriers.

Prior to receiving her first Esperanza loan, Vinicia Vasques Orteg sold clothes. However, with the capital boost from her first loan, she was able to invest instead in home electronics. Now, she has an order-based electronics business in which she talks with family and friends, determines what they want, and purchases it on their behalf. In addition, she has a small surplus of other various electronics that she stores in her house. Since her house is small, she hopes to eventually open a store from which she can store and sell more merchandise. This will also reduce the frequency of her trips to the capital (an hour journey) where she purchases her wares. Furthermore, there are fewer competitors in this industry and each item yields a higher profit margin than a given article of clothing. With this new business, Vinicia aims to improve her home and life for herself and her family!

End of Polished Story

Start of Anne Reflection

After three weekends in Los Alcarrizos, I was feeling fairly antsy and a tad lonely. My comfort here really travels in waves of varying length and depth. Sometimes I feel incredibly attached and connected and other times I simply feel distant and a bit out of place. It’s interesting because homesickness and missing people has, quite frankly, never been a problem before in my life. However, I probably didn’t experience these sentiments in the past because I had never truly ventured from home and all of my most meaningful relationships. I do not think it’s bad to feel lonely occasionally and I think feelings of discomfort can foster real growth. As I told my friend Laurel, despite learning I’m more capable than I once thought, I have less desire to be completely independent. I am just continually reminded about how much I love my family and friends (both at home and here) and how I am so much better and enjoy life so much more as a result of those relationships.

The weekend and I met in a warm, mutual embrace. I grabbed a ride from Pedrito and headed out to Santo Domingo on Thursday night, taking Friday off from work. I’m totally on schedule for my interviews and am working as a volunteer, so I have no shame (estoy sin verguenza…it’s frustrating because, in my experience, there is only one Spanish word for both shame and embarrassment and I think of those two words are different enough to need different terms). Thursday evening the interns who were present hung out with a few Esperanza staffers who are not more than one or two years older than we are. Joining the group immediately pulled the plug on my mini-bathtub of apprehensions and weariness and turned on the faucet for liveliness and joy. We laughed, swapped stories, waxed poetic, and philosophized late into the night. It was one of our friend’s last night in the DR and so it was a sentimental and sweet time of reflection and celebration.

After grabbing breakfast and saying goodbyes in the morning, Jon and I wandered around the capital, particularly the colonial zone. More than anything else, it was really lovely to speak English for an extended period of time, people watch, and hunt for air conditioning. From the untrained perspective, Jon and I probably looked quite reverent as we spent a good portion of Friday in various churches. While we probably would have checked out these buildings anyway, I think it’s safe to assume that we would not have lingered for quite as long if they had not been equipped with AC.

When we were in Paris and London for Spring break, Laurel, Jaclyn, and I joked about feeling guilty about not caring that much about all the gilded rooms and churches we visited. I find that when every corner of a room is decorated in ornate detail, the room feels cluttered and overwhelming rather than beautiful and majestic. In contrast, I found the churches we visited in the Colonial Zone were handsome and grand due to their crisp simplicity. The ambiances were more of relaxation and authenticity…I swear this is me talking and not just the AC. It’s interesting that I felt that the buildings were sincere since much of the religion of the DR has a façade reputation.

While relaxing and catching up in one of the churches, a man approached Jon and me and asked if we were German or French. We chatted a bit and explained that we are neither. He then asked if we had any US dollars to exchange, which we didn’t. His wondering about our country of origin might have simply been a ploy to get to the money part of the conversation and if so, it certainly worked.

Prying ourselves from heavenly air conditioning, Jon and I joined up with two other interns and a girl (now old friend) who’s doing an independent research project in conjunction with Esperanza and her home university. We headed out to dinner at one of our favorite locales and then checked out a colmado that, in previous experience, had been quite the dance spot. The colmado was much tamer this night and we just ended up enjoying drinks and conversations. While we were chatting and relaxing, I looked over to the left and spotted the front sign of the university that Pedro Julio (my neighbor) attends; he’s taking night classes to obtain his degree in architecture. I gave him a call to see if he wanted to join, but, as it turns out, he was already at home. While that would have been an interesting mix of my two worlds here, it might be for the best that they remained separate.

We made plans to head back to the hotel and freshen up a bit before heading out for some dancing. Tess was definitely leading the pack in the let’s-go-have-fun venture. After we girls had tidied up, we went to fetch the boys. They were watching a movie and we decided to join them for a bit before officially hitting the dance floor. Ironically enough, Tess (our fearless leader) drifted off quickly followed by an apparently tired Anne (another strong supporter of dance adventure) and so we decided to postpone dancing until the next day.

Every time we stay in Santo Domingo and don’t crash with some of the Esperanza staff, we interns stay at a little hotel called La Residencia. It’s really nice because we know the staff there now and they know us. There’s also a high school boy who’s from the states but spends every summer in the DR visiting his family who owns La Res. He eventually wants to go to Stanford and so we’ve had a bunch of chats about how to be a good student and apply your passions. We’re facebook friends now, so I figure we’ll continue to share these discussions. I love networking for people and sharing the bank of knowledge I have been blessed to acquire!

The next morning, we checked out of La Res and, while walking to the bus stop, grabbed some fresh fruit for breakfast--I had piña y papaya! At the bus stop, we met up with another intern (David), his friend, and his sister to travel up to Jarabacoa where David attended high school. Staying in the guesthouse of the boarding school, we had access to warm water, bunk beds, and a full kitchen. Wanting to fully utilize the opportunity of the latter amenity, we went grocery shopping to make dinner for that evening. More and more I’m coming to realize how wonderful shared activities are in terms of strengthening friendships and just having fun. It’s possible that we could have eaten out for approximately the same price; however, we would not have taken part in the joy and collaboration of jointly preparing and enjoying a meal. Besides, David is one heck of a cook and it takes a LOT to beat his creations.

After going out for ice cream (here the most common ice cream shop is called Bon), we hit the dance floor. Previous to this excursion, I had not danced enough merengue to make a preference judgment as we only covered merengue for one day in my fall social dance class at Stanford and very few dances at Stanford play merengue music. Interestingly enough, we learned merengue one day after I learned I would be going to the Dominican Republic for the summer, which made me super excited then…clearly it was meant to be! Then, in the spring, a girl in my oral Spanish class gave a presentation on Latin dances and spoke for awhile about merengue’s Dominican origins and ties to social and political history. Needless to say, I’ve been quite anxious to get my groove on and join the merengue fiesta. Well, as it turns out, I really don’t like merengue. OK. I’ll break down the dance. Imagine you’re standing at a bus stop waiting for the guagua to show up. You’ve got most of your weight on one leg and your hip out. Then, because you’ve been waiting an ungodly amount of time, you switch hips. Now speed that up and you’ve got the basic step. While some people choose to add in a few dance moves, I danced with several people who felt content to just do the hip things for the full three minutes…boooring. On one level, I’m a tad disappointed with merengue…I had expected more from it. On another, I’m glad that it’s fallen from its tower of dance perfection because now I’m not frustrated with not having danced as much as I expected I would.

On Monday, we made the several hour trek to the twenty-seven waterfalls of Rio Damajagua. As a group, we made our way down the waterfalls by jumping and climbing…some were a tad too high for my liking and so I readily embraced the nickname “pica pollo” as I navigated an alternative route.

During one of our many guagua stops and changes to reach the waterfalls, I spotted something new, yet oddly familiar from the corner of my eye. It was a huge truck unloading some large rectangular packs that people were purchasing. I instantly knew it was ropa de paca! I first heard about this concept my senior year of high school in my econ class. We watched a video that tracked, through Africa, the clothes people in the US donate to goodwill. Basically, used clothes stores cannot house all the merchandise that is donated each year and so they bundle it up and ship it off to less developed nations where people, including many of Esperanza’s clients, can sell it, which has undercut and driven out many nation’s production of clothing. While I have talked and learned a good deal more about ropa de paca since being here, I had yet to actually see a pack and there were a bunch of little logistics that I didn’t know. Each pack is about the size of a bale of hay and each pack is numbered 1-3 depending on quality. 1 is the best and 3 is the worst, costing approximately $100 and $280 respectively. Furthermore, each pack is labeled with a theme. I was able to ask the vender when and where the clothes were packaged and labeled and he told me it all took place stateside before the goods were shipped. Unfortunately, I did not have my camera because I was about to journey down a river and 27 waterfalls…this was one of the few times I’ve been disappointed about not being able to capture an image.

See, I promised I would tie everything back together. If you stuck with my four-page tangent, thank you thank you thank you, and you deserve a gold star for patience and endurance.

I miss you all and am growing excited to return home and continue to process out the things I’ve seen, the stories I’ve heard, and the discussions I’ve shared.

beso,
Anne

Some days you're just not meant to play

I’m in the Dominican Republic where the main exports are sugar and baseball players, but until two weekends ago I had not even seen a game of catch, a serious problem that I had to remedy. My two host brothers Ali and Nata play on a softball team with Pedrito (interestingly enough, he’s the oldest of the Pedro sons) and I asked to tag along one Saturday. Honestly, I could care less about the actual sport, be it baseball or softball. In general, I seem to not be very good at watching a sporting event. Yes, I know that being a spectator requires no agility, speed, or coordination. However, I, more often then not, am not watching when something exciting actually goes down. I’m the girl who turns her head and zones in right the split second when something thrilling happens and when the crowd starts cheering or ranting.

Since I like sporting events for the social atmosphere and food, I’m not too bothered that I’m limited to rec games and am missing the profession season, though I hear it’s quite intense and thus would be loads of fun.

At the Saturday game, I sat with fellow friends and family members of both teams. Since it was pretty recreational and there was only one patch of shade, we all sat together. I struck up a conversation with a kid who’s studying psychology in university and his younger cousin who was visiting from New York for the entire summer. While the ambiance was one of diversion and fun, I took note of the fact that the ump had a gun and decided that it would probably be a good idea not to challenge any of his calls even in jest!

The following day, the same team had an away game that they called a compartir (share). Essentially, this is when one team travels to the other’s field, they play, and then they share food afterward that the wives/girl friends of the home team have prepared. (Nota bene: This was the same Sunday when Chucho went to church and little Isael decided not to!)

At 8 AM we piled into the truck. Dad Isael, little Isael, Pedrito, and I all sat in the front and the rest of team/fans cozied down in the back with their bottle of rum. For added flavor, someone had added a mixture of various leaves and spices including cinnamon and the rum concoction looked like something you would have fished out of a river with a bucket. Our destination was in the mountains and we passed through some gorgeous terrain during our two-hour trip, crossing rivers (with and without bridges), and stopping to pick and enjoy mangos.

When we finally arrived at the stadium, I was quite impressed. It was a beautiful complex of several different fields complete with clean, cement bleachers and an open field of horses to the side. We piled out of the truck and while the players were suiting up, little Isael and I both bought some skimices (essentially an otter pop that uses thug penguins and mostly naked women for advertisement rather than Alexander the Grape and Little Orphan Orange). Right as I was finishing my popsicle, Nata received a call from the opponents and figured out that they were at the wrong field! So, we all piled back into the truck and drove another forty minutes to find the correct place, asking for directions all along the way. In general, Dominicans like to help and it’s not uncommon for someone to give you directions even if he has no idea where your actual destination is. Having been semi-lost a few times with my fellow gringos, it was a tad reassuring to know that Dominicans get lost too.

Our actual field was much smaller and less developed. While there was plenty of natural shade, there were no bleachers. Nonetheless, I was able to make myself a comfy seat using Nata’s bag and the sizable roots of a tree. Nestled in the mountains, the field provided a stunning view of the luscious, green terrain that continues to shock and amaze me.

About twenty minutes into our game, which was running several hours late, thunder cracked and it began to rain torrents, so we never finished the match. Instead, we all darted down the street to one of the large colmados where we played several hours of dominos and actualized the food sharing part of the compartir. With a full belly and an onset of drowsiness, Isael and I both conked out the long trip back. Though it did not go as planned, I was content with this summer Sunday.

Snips and Snails

Prior to my time here in the Dominican I really had not spent extended periods of time with kids. Sure, I’d helped out at VBS for years and years and I also ran Literature League (book clubs for elementary students), but I had never had the day-to-day interactions that I think are crucial to know and truly be comfortable with a person; yes, even children. Thus, while I always claimed to like children, that assertion was fairly speculative. Additionally, some of the few interactions I have had with children in the past have not been particularly favorable. The kids I have babysat were never quite fond of me. But I’m sorry, I’m not going to let you cannot carry your live rabbit around by the neck and I’m pretty sure your mom doesn’t actually let you jump on the bed while eating an ice cream cone. Once, I actually found one victim of my babysitting terror (I swear I’m not as bad as Calvin’s Rosalyn) crouching in the corner of his room, trying to avoid me at all costs and unwilling to leave. Thus, while I was hopeful for my future interactions and friendships with kids, I was also sorely dubious.

As I mention previously in the blog, there are dozens and dozens of children in the neighborhoods. During my first two weeks I saw kids come and go from the house and walk through the neighborhoods but they all kind of blurred together. I really did not know who was family, who was literally just passing through the barrio, and who was a neighbor kid (not mutually exclusive from family). By the third week I’d figured out the relationships between the main children.

Ok, Wendy lives with us, and she’s semi-adopted. Her real family lives two streets over and is extremely poor…the mother is not mentally stable and the father simply cannot adequately provide for the six children (and one in the oven). Wendy and her siblings share no blood relationship with the Almanzar family (my host family). Additionally, Rebecca’s family has semi-semi-adopted the other children in Wendy’s family. The back divide of our house is a chain-linked fence and there are a few logs on the other side. The Pedros regularly come and sit here to pass the time with us. However, Wendy’s siblings also hang out in the logged area because when they do, Yolanda (or Yola, as my host mother is frequently called) feeds them. I think of them as fence children, which works on both a literal and symbolic level.

Another central child is Welington (not misspelled). This lanky nine-year-old boy is absolutely charming and he’s stolen my heart. Yolanda’s sister Divina lives four houses over and Welington is her son. Frequently, Welington hangs with the fence kids and represents one of the reasons I think it’s so important to spend a bit of time in a place before making hard and fast evaluations and conclusions. During my first two weeks, I had grouped Welington (then nameless to me) with the other fencies. But his reality is distinctly different from theirs. While his family is poor, they are stable. Both his parents work, Welington attends school and receives good marks, he is well-fed, and well-loved. In contrast, Wendy’s siblings only eat regularly because of Yola and none of them have attended school; the oldest is eleven and cannot read. Since this is a Caribbean Island, it is hot, hot, hot. Even in California it is not uncommon for little kids to run around partially or fully naked during the summer to combat the heat. Since this occurs here too it can be difficult to distinguish kids who go barefoot because they want to and those who do not have shoes, or kids who do not have a shirt to wear and children who just prefer nakedness. Living here has provided me the opportunity to learn the nuance between levels of poverty and just poorness.

The two other central children in my life are Isael and Chucho. These two brothers are the grandsons of Yola and Gregario (host dad) and they live with their dad (Isael…yep lots of double names here) further up the street. While I am not completely clear on what the situation is with their mother, my understanding is that she bounces in and out at her own leisure and it’s been several months since her last visit. Isael is a tiny six-year-old and Chucho is a roly-poly eight-year-old.

During my time here, I’ve not only realized that I really like kids, but I’ve discovered how much I love little boys. As they earnestly work to be valiant--they are a perfect mix of tough and sweet. While walking home from work last week, I passed Isael’s house/worksite, spotted the kids (Welington, Chucho, and Isael), and decided to stop for a chat. They instantly greeted me with a united and loud salutation of “Anne” and then proceeded to gallantly shout orders to one another to fetch some fruit on my behalf. Climbing atop the roof, Isael picked some guayabas (a fruit that resembles a fig) and tossed them down to the other boys who then sorted them out and made sure I could enjoy one that was madura (ripe) rather than dura (not quite ripe).

Other than helping Chucho and Welington with random little favors, Isael is distinctly not interested in me at all, which makes me kind of happy because I like to watch him just do his own thing. He’s 100% boy and regularly strikes muscle poses, which strikes a smile upon my face because he’s so very tiny.

Sitting in the back of the truck on the way back from church three weeks ago, I decided to pass time by counting by 5’s, 3’s, etc with Welington. I really wasn’t trying to be a manipulative teacher and was pretty tired, so I wasn’t paying much attention. We were just counting. When we arrived back at the house, I cozied down in my nook on the porch with my water bottle and book and was about to zone out when Chucho came up to me. He literally took my hand and asked me if we could practice what I’d been practicing with Welington. First of all, up to that point in time we had never even hugged…so this little physical gesture was completely out of character. Secondly, I’m a complete sucker for teaching requests and this query totally won me over.

Since then, we’ve had many math competitions that Welington and Chucho initiate and I lead…yet again, Isael has zero desire to partake in such games. It’s interesting because I’m really quite tough on them. If they miss an answer or are slow to respond, I let them know and dock them points our kick them out of that round, which leaves them completely unphased. Wanting to do more, Chucho and Welington bring me cuadernos (notebooks) and I write out various multiplication, division, addition, and subtraction problems, helping them to learn little tricks to figure out a problem they do not immediately know the answer to and also helping make the connections between the different math functions. We have found, however, that while working with paper and pencil rather than simply doing verbal exercises, it is better if I work one-on-one because they get jealous of divided attention and have started mini-battles for attention, which made me say “forget it” to the lesson and leave.

While Chucho and Welington claim to love math, which I don’t doubt is partially true, I think they probably have ulterior motives. For example, last weekend I went with a group to a baseball game on Sunday (a later blog post for sure). While little Isael came along, Chucho stayed back so he could attend church. I asked dad Isael why one stayed and the other left, and he just responded that one likes church and the other doesn’t. First of all, that is a very common response and philosophy here: basically, you do what you want to do. However, yesterday, I found out there’s a fifteen-year-old girl at the church who Chucho’s taken a liking to (flirt to convert?)!

I’m not saying I’m abusing my feminine wiles, but it definitely holds some weight and if I think I’m ok with being doted on in the form of math lessons and yummy fruit. I’m fully aware it’s at least a tad Machiavellian!

A rose by any other name...

Names I've been called:

Rubia (referring to the fact that I’m white)

Americana (duh)

Ain (Dominican pronunciation of “Anne”)

Na (another Dominican pronunciation of “Anne”)

Annie (Dominican pronunciation of “Anne” when seen in writing)

Bebe (baby)

Mi amor (My love)

Mi vida (My life)

Bella (beautiful)

Bonita (beautiful)

Linda (beautiful)

Flor (flower)

Joven (youngen)

Niña (child)

Fea (ugly)

Oye (listen)

Blanky Anne (Whitey Anne. Oh, and now one of the Pedros has affectionately named his little
white dog Blanky Anne too—I guess I’ve made a lasting impact!?!)

Mija (Mi hija...my child)

Novia (girl friend)

Gringa (whitey mc whitester)

Mujer (Woman)

Preciosa (Precious)

Bonito regalo de Dios (beautiful gift from God)

Microfinance Competition

This post is inspired by my friend Jon who sent me this question:

Kiva has US entrepreneurs now? I don't think that is helpful. Now your DR would-be entrepreneurs will have to compete against business plans by US citizens - who I would guess are likely better educated and funded. I'm curious as to what your perspective is.


My perspective:

During our three days of training here in DR, one of the main points that we emphasized is that Kiva is a competitive market. That is, we are posting profiles for real live entrepreneurs and we’re competing for loan funding. In reality, up until now, competition hasn’t truly been a problem. Esperanza International has been partnering with Kiva for 29 months and in that time we’ve only had two (I’m almost positive) loans that weren’t funded; for reference, 5,359 associates have been funded via Kiva.

Nevertheless, we don’t expect that to be the case forever. More and more microfinance institutes (MFIs) are partnering with Kiva and other MFIs such as Opportunity International are developing their own Kiva-esque lending model (http://www.optinnow.org/?utm_source=opportunity.org&utm_medium=promotional&utm_campaign=opportunity.org). Furthermore, growth of new lenders is apt to slow. As those forces converge, Kiva will become more of a competitive market. Expecting these changes, Esperanza and the interns are working to sharpen our competitive edge through the following ways.

Quality profiles:

A profile can be either for a group or individual entrepreneur. Since Esperanza follows the Grameen model of microfinance lending, the majority of our profiles are for groups. We do, however, fund some individual loans in special cases, but I believe you cannot take out an individual loan until you’ve successfully repaid a few group loans first.

In the case of a group loan, we interview one entrepreneur (usually the group’s coordinator) and write their story as a representation of all the entrepreneurs in the group. It’s important that the story make clear what the business is, how the loan will be used, what her loan history is, how her life has changed as a result of this loan, what her ambitions and dreams are, and how she intends to achieve them. We also like to add in personal details such as age, descriptions of the family and house, and hobbies. Kiva is about peer-to-peer lending and we try to facilitate as personal an experience as we can. Since lenders do assume risk, we try to make it clear how the entrepreneurs will be specifically be using the loan so lender can loan with more confidence.

To view Esperanza’s profiles, follow this link: http://www.kiva.org/app.php?page=businesses&partner_id=44&status=All&sortBy=New+to+Old


Quality journals:

Part of the Kiva partnership requires every MFI to write at least one update per profile posted. These journals are mutually beneficial. They allow the lenders to see how their loans were used, what’s changed, what problems entrepreneurs have or have overcome, and what the plans are for the future. They build continuity for the peer-to-peer relationship and make the experience more evidently real. We try to update both with logistical information concerning the businesses as well as anecdotes and extra photos. The journals are also a prime way to increase lender retention and commitment to Esperanza. If a lender feels invested in Clara (the jewelry maker I blogged about), then they’re apt to lend to her again in the future. Similarly, they’re more apt to lend to people in the same organization because there’s a feeling of connected and focused impact.

In each journal, we post the link to the profiles of Esperanza’s other profiles so people can easily lend.

One of the joys of working with Kiva is seeing how easy they make everything. The interface to loan as well as to post profiles is straightforward and simple, which is important because red tape and confusing logistics can be easy deterrents.


Good pictures

In the past, some of our photos have been rather awful. Who wants to lend to a group of angry looking women with shadowed faces who are standing against a white wall!?! The profile photo is a key because it’s the first thing a lender sees. If a photo is mediocre at best, then a lender is not apt to click and read a potentially fantastic profile. It’s also a wonderful way for lenders to understand what life is like in the DR. We try to take photos in the communities and ideally in front of one of the entrepreneur’s businesses. For example, these are some of the photos I linked to in one of my journal updates: http://picasaweb.google.com/acherniss/LosLirios4#

Improving our field partner profile on Kiva

If you click on any Esperanza loan, you’ll see a link to Esperanza’s profile. I’m not personally working on this aspect, but I’m aware that our Kiva coordinator is working to make it clear how Esperanza functions and what makes it special as an MFI. Below, I’ve listed the primary points of distinction that Esperanza has. We not only try to emphasize these in the partner profile, but we also try to write about them in the entrepreneur profile and journals.

Women

Esperanza’s mission is: to free children and their families from poverty through initiatives that generate income, education and health, restoring self-worth and dignity to those who have lost hope. Like many other MFIs, Esperanza has found that the best way to do this is by targeting women as they make sure that the loans and profits benefit either the business or the family, nothing else.

Emphasizing Haiti/Haitian immigrants

Esperanza International is the only MFI that operates in both the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Interestingly enough, our Haitian profiles are always funded much more rapidly than our DR ones. This makes sense on one level because Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere and people want their efforts to support the parts of the world that need it most. However, a large percentage of our clients in the DR are Haitian immigrants (about 44% in the Los Alcarrizos office). By emphasizing this point, we hope to increase understanding of the Haiti-DR relationship and draw more attention to Esperanza’s work.

Emphasizing Christian Organization

In terms of amount loaned, Kiva Christians is the second biggest group of lenders, proceded only by the atheist network. Thus, rather than downplaying the fact that Esperanza is a Christian organization, we aim to make that fact know as people like to support organizations and entrepreneurs who hold similar worldviews.

Emphasizing microfinance plus

While microfinance is one tool in the effort to end poverty, other tools are needed as well. Microfinance plus is everything in addition to microloans. For Esperanza this includes home improvements, health care, education, business training, and social mobilization. A lender might be more confident that an entrepreneur will repay and improve his/her life if such programs exist. http://esperanza.org/us/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogcategory&id=2&Itemid=5

Why?

It is important that we work on these aspects because up to one-third of our loan portfolio can be funded through Kiva. While neither Kiva nor lenders collect interest on their loans, the associated MFIs do. This decision on Kiva’s part was made for two reasons. The first is that to do so would have required Kiva to file as an actual bank, which would have taken a lot of time and was not necessary. Instead, Kiva is a 501(c)3 non-profit—it is significantly easier to register as such. The second reason is that Since Kiva is merely a platform, not a MFI, Kiva is ok with letting the MFI’s keep the interest from the loans. This interest allows the MFIs to cover overhead costs, counter inflation, offer microfinance plus programs, and grow.

In response to Jon’s question specifically:

In terms of the US lenders, I think it's great that we've brought microfinance and the Kiva partnership to the US as it's supposed to serve those who the regular financial system does not/cannot and those people exist the world over. While I think people will want to lend to their fellow Americans, there is an exotic/adventurous aspect of lending to a developing country...and I think that will work in our favor. Furthermore, in terms of impact per dollar, it is much greater in developing countries as the cost of living is lower and the need is generally greater. At the same time, Kiva is used all over the world, so the addition of the United States might not be that big of a problem. Furthermore, I think it's great that a family in Uganda can loan to a business woman in the US--it helps break down crucial barriers and it helps people see that there is need everywhere. AND, everywhere in the world, people are trying to improve their lives, the lives of their family, and the lives of their community "poco a poco."

Lightless Evenings

When the lights go out at night, I understand that that’s a bad thing. We have daily blackouts because not enough people “paga para luz” pay for electricity, which doesn’t mean they haven’t illegally accessed it (spider web networks of wires branch out from each power source). Thus, the power companies cannot afford to service all areas 24/7. However, it’s a catch-22 because who wants to pay for unstable electricity? While many houses have inversores (generators) they often don’t last long enough and are not powerful enough to serve as complete substitutes.

I know that when the lights leave, it’s a reflection of a lack of stability, that it reduces safety of communities, it diminishes the amount of time that people can work or study, and that once fresh food spoils. However, I selfishly really like it. I love the evenings when Rebecca and I eat our “romantic, candlelit dinners” and enjoy long conversations ranging in depth from trite jokes to philosophical ponderings. Last Tuesday evening, I spent an hour outside with aunts and cousins playing hot hands, making small talk, and counting satellites and lightning bugs. During the electricity-free evenings Nata and Ali (Nathaniel and Allen who two of Rebecca’s brothers who live with us) sing (or rather croon) and play guitar and drums, which are makeshifted together from the plastic sugar tubs that Yolanda (host mother) keeps in the kitchen. The drums make different sounds each night depending upon how much sugar is in the tubs. These evenings have a peaceful happiness about them and they’re filled with noises of bugs and bromas (teasing/jokes—not a perfect Spanish word unfortunately…it reminds me of sweeping).

While the Dominicanos pass this time with various little activities, there is a subtle annoyance with which they do so. That is, they would prefer there to be stable electricity. This differing reaction is one of the many things that distinguishes me from the locals. I’m not a permanent resident, so I see charm and fun opportunity in the blackout. Ultimately, this is my summer vacation and during summer I like to have those days where you’re not productive with things beyond reading, playing cards, and general goofing around. I know that in two short months I’ll be back into the never-ending craziness that is school and so I soak up every lightless evening. However, this is not the case for people who live here. That end does not exist.

Similarly, though I live amidst poverty, I will never be impoverished whilst I live here...or ever in my life most likely. I still have my same educational background, I have planned so I have plenty of funds to finance my time here (and back home), and in the case of an emergency I have contacts, friends, and family who will make sure that I both feel and am safe. This reasonable sense of security is one that distinguishes me from some of our associates and my neighbors. For me, fear and an inability to properly manage shocks are both key markers of poverty. Similarly, I have talked with several associates who recognize that they don’t have very much to their names, but they simultaneously recognize that their lives are stable—they consider themselves poor but not impoverished.

Guaguas

It seems that every city here has a street called “Calle Duarte.” While this repeat of street names is common all over the world, it certainly lends itself to some confusion. Last Friday, having figured out the bumming rides from friends and taxi madness, I decided it was time to try public transit on my own. Buses (here called “guaguas,” yet another perfect Dominican word) run routes throughout the entire country. You do not have to wait at a bus stop to catch a guagua. Rather, you simply wait on the side of the road and wave to indicate you want a lift. Each guagua has a cobrador and every cobrador I’ve seen is male and can be as young as ten. The cobrador collects money for the trip and operates the door. Unlike American buses, the door remains open during journey and the cobrador often hangs out (literally…he just holds on with one arm) yelling at people to get on the guagua. While this hasn’t happened to me, I’ve heard of people who’ve been pulled onto a guagau without even wanting a lift. That being said, it wasn’t hard for me hail a guagua because usually the guaguas do the hailing.

Being extra responsible, I asked the cobrador if this guagua (which was the correct number—route 23) would be going to Calle Duarte in Santo Domingo. The cobrador, the sole passenger, and the driver all said yes and I climbed in. I started in Los Alcarrizos, which is in the region Santo Domingo, and the destination of this bus is Santo Domingo (the capital) in the region Santo Domingo also. Of course the route also starts and ends on a Calle Duarte. So, when I asked my question, it was technically correct that the guagua was headed to Calle Duarte in Santo Domingo…it was just at the tail end of the trip rather than the beginning. After that brief mix up and a short five-minute guagua ride, I caught another guagua going the other direction and made sure to clarify “la capital Santo Domingo.”

After a bumpy one-hour ride, I navigated from my first guagua to my second, which would take me to San Pedro where I would spend the weekend with a group of interns. Of course, when I arrived in San Pedro I noticed that the main street there is also Calle Duarte. I traveled three and a half hours and went from Calle Duarte to Calle Duarte to Calle Duarte!

Even though I’m comfortable traveling alone when I know where I am going, I prefer to have at least one travel buddy. While alone, my guard is definitely up, I try to look purposeful and content to be alone, and I give off a bit of an ice queen impression that basically says I’m not interested in being your friend. Contrary to thinking this is harsh, I think it’s very necessary and smart. I’m a young “rubia” who sticks out like a sore thumb and by behaving as such I can avoid a good deal of extra attention and unwanted help. However, when I’m with one other person, I still try to remain on guard, but I feel freer to wave, make small talk, and be generally more chipper and engaged in my surroundings.

Money, Money, Money

I am quite money conscious. I like to know how much I have, how much things cost, and how much I spend. At home, I save all my receipts and file and record them and I keep track of my cash versus credit spending. And, if I lose a receipt, I can usually go online and check my records to double-check my purchases. Here in the DR, I am able to keep track of my purchases only because I’m unusually motivated and perfectionist about recoding every peso on the notepad I carry with me everywhere. Personally, I enjoy my experiences and purchases most fully when I am aware of all the financial details. When I don’t have them, I worry or feel like I’m living in a minor state of denial.

But this requires a conscientious effort on my part because this is a cash/receipt free (go green?) economy, so I must record immediately. Also, most things don’t cost very much and so it can be tempting to write off these purchases and taxi rides as negligible. But when everything costs a little bit, those negligible costs quickly add up and pretty soon you have no idea where your money has gone—se fue el dinero. Now, this is a tad frustrating for me, but I imagine that for many (those who travel and live here) it is an obstacle this is not overcome—the activation energy is just too high. Also, everyone owes everybody else 50 pesos here and 50 pesos there. The philosophy seems to be that it will all come out even in the wash, which is quite contrary to my monetary philosophy—I think one person consistently ends up chipping in more.

Amidst this relaxed approach to money, I can imagine that starting to save and financially plan for the future must be like trying to change the rhythm in which one’s heart beats. However, this change is crucial with respect to microfinance. When you receive a loan of $100, every peso counts…and so you need to meticulously manage and budget every peso. One of the things Esperanza emphasizes is that all of the money from the loan must go into the business and that it is best to use your profits either for the family or to further expand your business. This might seem obvious, but I’ve visited innumerable houses where there is a dirt floor, a leaky roof, and satellite cable. There is a difference between needs and wants and while it’s certainly ok to have wants and to fulfill some of them, there must be a sense of prioritization and proportions. In econ, we talk a good deal about consumption smoothing…that when you have money, you don’t spend it all; and when you don’t have as much money, you borrow a bit. Thus, rather than spending in high peaks and low troughs, your quality and stability of life is more constant. The tendency here, however, seems to be to spend when you have money; the idea of being forward-looking consuming doesn’t seem to be programmed into families and communities. Esperanza aims to help associates understand the concept of consumption smoothing and prioritization via their business loans and, ideally, their children can grow up with different philosophy instilled in their hearts and minds.

Finally, one major difference between micro and regular finance is the use of cash. In the standard banking system, we use checks and credit cards and move numbers from one account to the other. Microfinance aims to serve those who the regular system does not and it’s all done in cold, hard cash. This means the loan officers must make daily trips to a bank that is twenty minutes away because you don’t want to be carrying around thousands of pesos. This effort and the visits that loan officers personally make to each community we serve represent some of the costs associated with the reality of microfinance.

Vote for Pedro

I once watched a movie where all three sons and the father were named Moe; It was a very long time ago, so please don’t ask me the title. They distinguished the sons by calling them Big Moe, Mil’ Moe, and Lil’ Moe. On a similar note, we have neighboring family in which the father and three sons are all named Pedro…because a last name isn’t enough of a familial identification. They distinguish between the four via middle names Pedro Louis, etc. There’s a little sister too and, while this isn’t her name, everybody calls her Pedrocita. We joke that everybody here is named Pedro and I have been part of a conversation in which two Pedros were talking to each other about a third, yet absent, Pedro. For those of you who are familiar with the film Being John Malcovich: “Pedro, Pedro Pedro Pedro Pedro; Pedro, Pedro Pedro Pedro Pedro, Pedro.”

And then it all clicked together

As I mentioned in my last post, my Spanish dramatically improved between Friday and Sunday, almost as if by magic. I told one friend that it was as if I was injected with a “now you can speak Spanish” shot. While it’s certainly not perfect, I find I can understand more and more. Now I laugh when a joke is actually told, rather than laughing because I know there was a joke that I missed (I can still hear the swooshing noise it makes as it passes over my head).

Likewise, my interviews have been going a lot better too. During the past school year, I had the privilege of taking a community-based research class as well as a qualitative research class at Stanford. During these classes we designed studies and conducted practice interviews. While many students were wary of their ability to conduct a strong and worthwhile interview during for these classes, I had no worries and was quite confident in my ability to ask meaningful questions and keep my mouth shut while I waited for people’s responses. However, I reached the Dominican Republic and all my interviewing confidence went out the window. I felt my confidences and skills in these areas had evaporated. I love language and like to be nimble, clever, and thoughtful with my words. In English, I think I can do this pretty well. Yet for the first three weeks in the Dominican Republic, it felt like my tongue was wearing cement boots and I was thudding along. These discomforts and lack of security also came through in my first interviews. I could sense the women trying to take care of me like a small child and many mistook me for 16 or 17. This added insult to injury, as I received simplified answers and became dubious of my ability to actually receive the information that could help me accomplish that which I intended to.

Thus, when Sunday rolled around and I had magic Spanish skills, I was immensely relieved and antsy to put my skills to the test. I now feel more in place and capable. This internal boost has filtered through to my external self--even my very same clothes seem to fit and look better. At the advice of another intern, I now conduct the one-on-one interviews away from the group. I am also very clear and upfront about who I am, what questions I want to ask, and why I am interested in these questions, microfinance, and (most importantly) the woman with whom I am speaking. That being said, I am not a cold ice queen. Rather, I maintain my usual chipper tone but now with more purpose and direction. I have found that my taking on a more dominant role creates an environment that seems stable and controlled and, as a result, this week’s interviews have been (all in all) incredible. Instead of people asking if I’m sixteen and want a lollypop, people are asking me if I have a husband and kids, to which I emphatically reply “No.” Their sensing that I am a mature and capable also elicits deeper responses, making the experience even more meaningful.

This general sense of strength and purpose has permeated my home life too. Last night, after we enjoyed a romantic candlelit dinner (those happen sporadically when the lights go out), Rebecca and I played a few hands of a card game called Casino. She had patiently taught me the rules during the first week and I’ve finally figured out a pretty solid strategy. After we finished, I was playing a hand of solitaire when Wendy, the adopted five-year-old who lives with us, wandered over and started saying random numbers. It soon became clear to me that Wendy did not know her numbers. She can count—that is, she can look at the five of diamonds and count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 5! But she cannot look at just the symbol and identify it as a five. This disturbed me, as in my mind a five-year-old should know these things. Even if parents have minimal education, they can teach their children numbers, letters, and basic words. They can instill in them a desire to learn and make their children feel intelligent so when they enter the classroom they are prepared to do well. Well, it seems that the philosophy is that learning takes place in the classroom.

Using the deck as makeshift flashcards, I separated out all the cards 2-5 (2-9 might be a bit overwhelming). I then began showing them to Wendy. We made a game of it and timed how long it took us to go through this little deck. At first, I let her count and shout out the number. But, as we practiced more, I started to cover all but the symbol, making her identify the number on her own. She grew a little bit frustrated, but I was able to help maintain an upbeat tone, celebrating her profusely every time she got one right and insisting that she knew the right answer when she thought she didn’t. Additionally, Wendy is one of those kids that trips over a step, goes sprawling, and bounces back laughing rather than hurt or defeated, so I’m not that worried about discouragement.

I love teaching. I readily embrace the challenge of figuring out how best to help someone else grasp and understand a concept, usually cementing that concept even better for myself as well. While I often grow tired and go to bed around 10 or 10:30, Wendy and I stayed up until 11:30 working on flashcards. We were both thoroughly engaged. The best part was that the TV was blaring behind her and while it normally sucks her in, she completely tuned it out and focused on the other task at hand. When we went off to bed, we made plans to “do more numbers tomorrow.” I also surreptitiously tested her to figure out what her alphabet skills are. Unfortunately, they seem to be weaker than her number ones.

As I went off to bed, my mind began to churn. I’ve thought a good deal about education in the past. I believe fairly firmly that one’s early experience with learning and school lays a strong foundation for the rest of one’s life. People flourish with praise. So, if they go to school and are told they are smart and capable, they’ll become even more so. Unfortunately, I think the converse can also be true. Thus, even though Wendy might learn her ABCs and numbers in school this fall, it would be better if she already had a grasp of them before she started…this would increase her chances of being identified as one of the “smart kids.”

Likewise, learning (especially this kind) does not need to be done from a desk or be boring. It can be done in the form of simple games. Wendy is incredibly competitive and I intend to use that to our advantage! I also intend to begin informal lessons in the evening with her and some of the other kids who hang around. They’re different ages, but I’m confident I can keep each one occupied with a worthwhile activity that is individually challenging. There are some random paintbrushes lying around, so I’m going to use those tonight to do water painting. My mom used to have Emma and me use water and paintbrushes to make pictures on the cement when we were little—we thought it was tons of fun and mom thought it was a great way to paint sans mess (she fooled us a lot when we were little). This will be a cheap and easy way to practice writing letters and numbers and will ideally capture their attention. I’m excited to try this exercise and to develop other ones over the course of the summer.