Borrower's Meeting

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I was talking to one of the employees of Grameen over tea about how interns always seek information about the problems with the banking system. Before recognizing the successes, they immediately want to discuss the challenges. I explained that this was part of Western culture. We are taught in school to be critical of everything brought before us and to deconstruct all arguments. I also think it partly has to do with the egocentric notion of the East needing the West’s help. However, after attending my first borrower’s meeting in a rural village today, I realized that while Grameen may not be perfect, it has done a great deal to aid struggling women and the people in charge really care about each borrower individually.

The village was located an hour and a half west of Dhaka City. On the drive there we passed through fields of rice patties, brick-making stacks, and jackfruit and mango groves. Women bathed in the rain water swamps while men walked down the streets balancing baskets on their heads. I felt at home amidst the lush greenery and appreciated the relative quiet compared to the main city.

We entered a small hut with a simple tin roof. Fifty women borrowers sat in neat rows with their bank booklets on their laps. Taking a seat in the front of the room, my supervisor Harun introduced both me and my Indian friend and everyone stood up to salute. Harun then asked if anyone would tell us their story. Chatobara, the oldest borrower in the group, volunteered. I like the respect shown to elders in Asian culture, for you could tell people looked up to this woman. She explained that she has been with Grameen for 27 years and that before becoming a member she had been struggling to survive. With the partition of Bangladesh, she lost contact with some of her family in nearby western India. These were years of sadness where she relied solely on her husband’s income as a potter to support their six children. Grameen requires borrowers to form groups of five to create a network of support and dependability. Still, Chatobara faced difficulty enlisting other members due to the social stigma initially attached to the bank. It was viewed as a foreign institution that wanted to control the poor, and husbands discouraged their wives from leaving the household. Yet, eventually she convinced others and took out a loan of 700 takas ($10) for her family’s pottery business. Soon she was eligible to take out a second loan; this time it was for 1500 taka, and she used part of the money for pottery and the other half for lentils. Her elder son then sold these lentils at the market for some extra spending money. Currently, she is paying back a 30,000 taka housing loan and lives in a modest house surrounded by her children’s homes. She said that 25 years ago she was lucky to get two meals a day and now she eats three. While she used to own only one sari, now she can afford to replace it every six months.

I found her story very inspirational. She said that while she still has pains, at least now there is hope. All the children in the village currently attend school, and the women are motivated to save in order to invest in their child’s education. Furthermore, contraceptive practices are encouraged, and we clapped for the three women who stood up when asked who had two children or less. To me, this was a promising sign that change is underway. The fact that so many women are permitted to take loans shows that cultural restrictions are slowly breaking down to make way for social and economic progress.

After the meeting, we explored the workings of the village. I was impressed by the diversity of crops and businesses. One woman raised chickens, another used her loan to buy a knife to split bamboo, while a third produced jewelry. One older woman even had a bio-waste pit by the chicken coop. These women made so much out of so little, and it just shows what few things people actually need to live comfortably.

As is typical in Bangladesh, a torrential downpour suddenly occurred instantly turning the paths into rivers. We sought cover in a little house where the owner gave us mangoes to suck on. I felt guilty eating her food knowing her supply was limited, but I also did not want to seem rude by refusing. We sat on the floor and a group of small children surrounded us. The villagers seemed more at ease with me because I was wearing a traditional garb, but I still felt overly conscious of my actions. One man asked me if I was Muslim, and I was surprised that when I told him I was Jewish, he did not know what I meant. My translator told me that in Bangladesh, Jews and Christians are viewed as the same. It’s fascinating that in a country that bans Israeli passport holders from entering, the citizens do not seem to know much about the Jewish faith.

The family whose house we sought refuge in were Hindu. When I asked what it was like being a minority, a woman replied that there was no tension between Hindus and Muslims anymore and that they lived as neighbors. Overall, it was encouraging to see a village where no religious animosity exists and the people live self-sustainably and self-sufficiently.

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Comments

[Marilyn Wolf]

Greetings from Santa Rosa
Hi Tiffany, Your mom forwarded your travelblog to some of her friends. Wow; I am so glad that she included me because I sat mesmerized reading your entries. What a global education you are getting-life learning at its finest! I can't wait to hear more about your adventures. When I was your age, I also traveled to developing countries and that experience certainly stayed with my and helpd shape some of my ideas, etc. Thinking of you with love and respect! Marilyn xoxo