Ah, the rains. Try as I might, I can't bless the rains down in Africa, as they turn my road (at the best of times resembling a snowless mogul field) into a muddy cascade. A queue of wealthy locals and a few mzungu slowly roll through in vast SUVs, trying to weave round the larger pools, or ploughing on through if they're feeling intrepid. The bajajis (tuk-tuks) have no choice but to skirt them if they want to keep their passengers' feet dry, and I'm constantly impressed with the off-roading skills of their drivers and what angles they can hold without tipping over. They are at times a hair-raising way to travel, but cheap and vitally able to dodge round the lengthy tailbacks due to their size and nippiness.
Between our disobedient dog Gino, bored and playful and primed to bolt out of the gate the moment it opened this morning, and the driver that I booked for 7.40 caught in heavy Monday traffic, I ended up having to hot-foot it to the main road to catch a bajaji. Consequently I rolled into work 20 minutes late, drenched in sweat and boots spattered in mud. Bloody mondays! A rude reawakening from an enjoyable weekend: the Friday a brilliant rum-soaked evening seeing my housemate's brother (Mzungu Kichaa, crazy white man) play his energetic reggae/bongo flava mix and singing in perfect Swahili that validated his 'I'm African' t-shirt, and a Sunday trip to nearby Bongoyo Island with a great swimming beach and restaurant serving tasty barbequed octopus skewers. On the practical side I bought a comfy rattan armchair with pimping zebra-patterned cushion (a snip at £25), and baked beans and eggs, beans on toast having temporarily become my signature dish until I can be bothered to get the ingredients to cook properly again.
My attachment to a loan officer has begun, a small and mild-looking fellow but a shrewd manager of 150 clients and the most successful officer in the branch. Needless to say I'm immediately weighing him down with my presence learning the ropes, and he has targets to make. After a rather dull time of sitting around reading files of procedures and sneaking onto Facebook, I accompany him and two junior officers on one of the less pleasant sides of the job: recovery, that is visiting clients that don't repay to recover the money. As a private firm with limited capital (donor and otherwise) to draw from, chasing up delinquent debtors is part of the job, else the whole edifice falls down and no-one gets anything. The number of clients that encounter these problems is pretty small (1 out of the 65 of one of the junior officers, for example) as otherwise we haven't been doing our job properly in the first place. As we lurch along the rough streets, the other officers ask me the usual litany of questions: who, where from, why, what football team. Each time they are somewhat surprised that I am not more bothered that things don't tend to work well over here. I've noticed the vestiges of an inferiority complex at times, particularly from the young and upwardly mobile, regarding the chronic problems of a low-development economy (about other aspects like the renowned friendliness of the people, they are more proud). I can understand their frustration. Tanzania has many natural advantages: its climate unlike that of countries in the Sahara/Sahel area is very conducive to agriculture and its tourism potential is enormous. Major national parks like the Serengeti charge $50 and up per day as admission fees to 'maintain' the parks, and 300,000 visitors come annually, often high-end tourists spending thousands to stay in luxury lodges in the bush. Where does that money go? Unlike much of the town, the roads in Mikocheni where the civil servants live are surfaced well, and wealthy importers and hotel owners live in mansions with clipped lawns on the Peninsula alongside ministers. Round the corner from my street of compounds is a shanty town. Of course, in this country, one may say that I am the 1% too.
So we go to chase this money: a man running a small bus company who owes around three grand (the upper end of the microloan scale), who doesn't open the gate to his rather nice house compound as we come knocking, and a woman running a local shop, spartan in layout but full of goods, who is more accommodating and promises to pay up. I stand back and watch, feeling slightly uncomfortable. We're there to nudge them, not intimidate, but if the bank is to keep operating and loans to be given out, there must be repayment and a credible threat of sanctions otherwise. We don't lend to the ultra-poor, and it is a relief to see the conditions of these non-payers are not dire. Had it been thin people on their knees begging, I don't think I'd be in this job for much longer: I don't have a loan shark bent in me. Some people reading this may nonetheless be appalled. To which I say: donate to organisations with vital functions in handing out food and medical aid to the poorest in society, it's a very worthy goal and an area I may be interested in working down the line. Ours is one of developing a self-sustaining, transparent and honest financial system that doesn't exclude low-income entrepreneurs, and thus help the economy as a whole and turn the restless energy of all those ingenious but unfortunate people into a force for development. By lending to them we're also offering employment that doesn't involve wage-slavedom to large corporations (when these meager jobs even exist), or joining the masses of street traders that wander through the exhaust fumes from car to car in the Dar traffic selling small items all day: pillows, toilet brushes, chewing gum. By all means give me a counterpoint; I'm avoiding the sugarcoat here, and you should do the same. Perhaps after all I've said in the paragraph before about the rich and powerful draining the society, you think I'm part of the same. Perhaps I'm yet to be sure myself.
So that was my first day in the field. It may get better, it may get worse. I'm pretty sure it stays interesting though.
Between our disobedient dog Gino, bored and playful and primed to bolt out of the gate the moment it opened this morning, and the driver that I booked for 7.40 caught in heavy Monday traffic, I ended up having to hot-foot it to the main road to catch a bajaji. Consequently I rolled into work 20 minutes late, drenched in sweat and boots spattered in mud. Bloody mondays! A rude reawakening from an enjoyable weekend: the Friday a brilliant rum-soaked evening seeing my housemate's brother (Mzungu Kichaa, crazy white man) play his energetic reggae/bongo flava mix and singing in perfect Swahili that validated his 'I'm African' t-shirt, and a Sunday trip to nearby Bongoyo Island with a great swimming beach and restaurant serving tasty barbequed octopus skewers. On the practical side I bought a comfy rattan armchair with pimping zebra-patterned cushion (a snip at £25), and baked beans and eggs, beans on toast having temporarily become my signature dish until I can be bothered to get the ingredients to cook properly again.
My attachment to a loan officer has begun, a small and mild-looking fellow but a shrewd manager of 150 clients and the most successful officer in the branch. Needless to say I'm immediately weighing him down with my presence learning the ropes, and he has targets to make. After a rather dull time of sitting around reading files of procedures and sneaking onto Facebook, I accompany him and two junior officers on one of the less pleasant sides of the job: recovery, that is visiting clients that don't repay to recover the money. As a private firm with limited capital (donor and otherwise) to draw from, chasing up delinquent debtors is part of the job, else the whole edifice falls down and no-one gets anything. The number of clients that encounter these problems is pretty small (1 out of the 65 of one of the junior officers, for example) as otherwise we haven't been doing our job properly in the first place. As we lurch along the rough streets, the other officers ask me the usual litany of questions: who, where from, why, what football team. Each time they are somewhat surprised that I am not more bothered that things don't tend to work well over here. I've noticed the vestiges of an inferiority complex at times, particularly from the young and upwardly mobile, regarding the chronic problems of a low-development economy (about other aspects like the renowned friendliness of the people, they are more proud). I can understand their frustration. Tanzania has many natural advantages: its climate unlike that of countries in the Sahara/Sahel area is very conducive to agriculture and its tourism potential is enormous. Major national parks like the Serengeti charge $50 and up per day as admission fees to 'maintain' the parks, and 300,000 visitors come annually, often high-end tourists spending thousands to stay in luxury lodges in the bush. Where does that money go? Unlike much of the town, the roads in Mikocheni where the civil servants live are surfaced well, and wealthy importers and hotel owners live in mansions with clipped lawns on the Peninsula alongside ministers. Round the corner from my street of compounds is a shanty town. Of course, in this country, one may say that I am the 1% too.
So we go to chase this money: a man running a small bus company who owes around three grand (the upper end of the microloan scale), who doesn't open the gate to his rather nice house compound as we come knocking, and a woman running a local shop, spartan in layout but full of goods, who is more accommodating and promises to pay up. I stand back and watch, feeling slightly uncomfortable. We're there to nudge them, not intimidate, but if the bank is to keep operating and loans to be given out, there must be repayment and a credible threat of sanctions otherwise. We don't lend to the ultra-poor, and it is a relief to see the conditions of these non-payers are not dire. Had it been thin people on their knees begging, I don't think I'd be in this job for much longer: I don't have a loan shark bent in me. Some people reading this may nonetheless be appalled. To which I say: donate to organisations with vital functions in handing out food and medical aid to the poorest in society, it's a very worthy goal and an area I may be interested in working down the line. Ours is one of developing a self-sustaining, transparent and honest financial system that doesn't exclude low-income entrepreneurs, and thus help the economy as a whole and turn the restless energy of all those ingenious but unfortunate people into a force for development. By lending to them we're also offering employment that doesn't involve wage-slavedom to large corporations (when these meager jobs even exist), or joining the masses of street traders that wander through the exhaust fumes from car to car in the Dar traffic selling small items all day: pillows, toilet brushes, chewing gum. By all means give me a counterpoint; I'm avoiding the sugarcoat here, and you should do the same. Perhaps after all I've said in the paragraph before about the rich and powerful draining the society, you think I'm part of the same. Perhaps I'm yet to be sure myself.
So that was my first day in the field. It may get better, it may get worse. I'm pretty sure it stays interesting though.
I bless the rains down in aaaaaaaaafricaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
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