peregriNation: take it to the bank

As Americans, we are generally in control of our own lives at all times. Certainly there are things we have to do like work, pay bills, abide by the laws of the land, but even in those things, we choose how, when, or where they may happen. This makes us comfortable. We don’t like it when we don’t know what happens next. What I have learned from my journey to this point is that control is an illusion. We don’t ever really have it like we think we do. I have been learning not to be afraid of giving up control because sometimes the world has so much more to offer if we just take the chance.

With trepidation, I climbed into the four-wheel drive with my new "boss", and the three women. Mama Mrema spoke in Swahili with one of the ladies for quite some time. We barreled down the road and I absorbed the sights of Africa with child like eyes. We turned off the tarmac and onto a dirt road, driving for an hour into the hills at the base of Kilimanjaro, but not covering much ground. The going was slow and we alternated between opening the windows because of the heat and closing them due to the dust. Finally Mama Mrema spoke to me. “These women are from Uganda, where they work at a women’s center. Last year, the Archdiocese, funded a trip for me to go see what they do, and now they have provided the means for them to come here. Their center is having trouble with women not paying back their loans, so we will teach them our system. Today we are going to a village to see a VICOBA in action. A VICOBA is a Village Community Bank. This bank provides micro loans to members so they can start small businesses."

We pulled up to a small white building and suddenly singing women surrounded our car. They smiled, waved and sang a welcome song as we made our way out of the vehicle. They were all dressed in their best kanga’s, the traditional fabric African women wrap around their bodies. They pressed against us and took my purse and water bottle from my hand. I was alarmed, but looked over to see them taking the other’s things as well, and they seemed unconcerned. They carried our load for us as they continued to sing us into the building. This was my first exposure to the generous, and considerate hospitality that Tanzanians are known for. When we entered, I saw a few benches, a table in the front of the room and chairs behind it. They led us up to the front to be seated in a plastic chair. The others filed onto the benches. I felt like a dignitary. A meeting commenced.

From literally out of nowhere a metal box appeared with three locks around the sides. Mama Mrema said something in Swahili and four women gathered around the box. She spoke again and they simultaneously opened the locks, while the fourth stood as a witness to the event. Upon opening the box, they withdrew small booklets; several register pads and Tanzanian shillings (money). I was witnessing the operations of their bank.

The brilliant system is this: A group of 30 people in a village get together. Within this group of 30 there are “magnets” of five each. These five people are close friends and have agreed to vouch for each other’s loans. If someone has trouble with repayment, the others help, brainstorm, or ante up. This is how they have a high rate of repayment, and in fact, some women are paying off their loans before the time limit of four months is up. The metal box is wrapped and stored in an inconspicuous covering, and is moved locations frequently for security. The ‘Key Keepers” each have a key they hide, and they must all be present in the same place to open the box. This keeps any one person from having access. Each person has a number on a booklet - no names, and the money is recorded in the form of the stamp of an animal. That way if the box was stolen, or broken into, no one in the village would know who had how much money, to then go rob them. The entire system is about accountability and security.

Joining the bank is not free. Each person must want in badly enough to save up and contribute a small amount. Then, seed money is added to the pot from WEECE through donors. When members take out a loan, the interest is taken out immediately and paid up front. A portion of this interest goes to new loans, a small portion to supplies for running of the group; another two portions go into different accounts. One is for education and the other is for medical. If someone needs help with school fees for the children, or someone has a medical emergency, they can take out a loan. These loans are interest free though. They are just designed to help care for the community. At the end of one year they "Break the Circle", and all monies are divided up. The seed money always stays in the bank, and members can sign up for another year.

I found this completely fascinating as I watched women come forward to repay, and take out new loans. This process took quite a while, and as it ended, I began to smell a delicious aroma. Several women came out of a small back room with pots of food. A woman came to us with a basin and a pitcher of water. She poured the water over our hands, washing them before we ate. They served us plates piled high and gave us soda (a luxury), and utensils (they ate with their hands). Afterwards, Mama turned to me and said; “Now we will go see the fruits of their labor.”

We piled back into the car and visited several members’ homes where the loans had made a huge impact on their lives. Culturally, the women stay home, cook, clean, raise children, and are not educated. They must ask their husbands for money for food, school fees or clothes and sometimes, even if they can leave the property. If there is not enough money, they must make do, and children don’t have the chance to learn. If there is a small amount they will send only the boys to school. The thinking is, 'Why would we spend money on the girls when they will be married young and increase their husband’s household, not ours. They don’t need to read to cook and clean.'

Eh hem, ok … this is a rant I will save for another day.

Anyway, these women are now sending their girls to school, and are able to feed their children every day. They told me, through Mama’s translation, that their husband’s were treating them with more respect because they weren’t begging for money all the time. The women’s self esteem improved, and their husbands weren’t as oppressive. The entire family has been affected.

Back at the meeting place again, Mama Mrema asked me to speak. I told them I had worked with a women’s center in America. I talked to them about their courage, and strength, and thanked them for letting me learn from them. They were surprised to hear that white women wrestled with some of the same issues, as they sincerely thought it was only the plight of African women. They seemed encouraged and a little less isolated by this news, and said that it meant we were all sisters. They began singing again, and motioned me around the table. As they sang, they spun me around and wrapped me in a kanga that was my gift. They turned me back around to find tears pouring down my face. They had so little, yet they fed me and gave me precious fabric. An elderly woman came forward. She wiped my tears with her rough brown hands, and gently kissed each cheek.