Income Poverty vs. Capability Poverty

This topic stems from renowned economist and Nobel Prize-winning Amartya Sen’s Development as Freedom, but is worth mentioning in the context of this blog.

A significant percentage of the clientele I’ve met are considered impoverished—a word to which there are varying degrees. The World Bank globally defines extreme poverty with respect to income that is less than US$1 per day, and moderate poverty as income less than US$2 per day. While this gives a universal point of reference, referred to as poverty lines, the establishment of such definitions seems relatively pointless.

Understanding development is fundamentally similar to understanding any problematic system; there are a finite number of input variables that influence various outputs, given conditions specific to the system. However, in development, the system is a human life, a family, a village, a country—each mutually exclusive from the next. This is where the perspective of understanding capabilities, as opposed to income, has its undeniable advantage.

If an individual earns US$3 per day, but has a child with a long-term illness requiring consistent medication at an expense of US$1.50 per day, are they not to be considered impoverished as well? True, their income is above the global metric for poverty, but the condition of their child absorbs a percentage of their income which reduces their consumption capabilities. While their income appears superior to another individual below the poverty line, it is more than simply income that defines one’s freedoms. The number of scenarios is infinite, but the purpose of discussing this is to reveal that capabilities such as nutrition, healthcare, literacy, longevity of human life, etc. are equally as valuable in measuring poverty.

Thus, the importance of my work for Kiva is more clearly understood. In the absence of extensive research, a lender on kiva.org may only know what type of business they are lending to and for what reason, which comes with a reasonable expectation of how that money should impact the business. In my experiences, there are countless conditions that negatively affect a business, which need to be detailed for the lender to both understand the circumstances and continue to value their relationship with Kiva. Every business has a story, and it is imperative to document both the seen and the unseen to comprehend the influence of microfinance lending.

Business in Nai-robbery

As previously mentioned, Nairobi’s unfortunate nickname is Nai-robbery—a moniker to represent the high crime rate within the country’s capital. I’ve now been living and working within the city for a few weeks, and have regrettably experienced multiple incidents that have made this nickname quite pragmatic.

This lifestyle, without a doubt, creates a significant level of insecurity amongst many residents of the city. I remember the first day that I left my home stay for town, I was carrying a backpack hanging from only one shoulder and my house mom gave me a strange look and asked if I could put it on both shoulders. Concerned, I asked why and she explained that if I used both shoulder straps that it would be more difficult for a thief to steal my backpack—not the most encouraging sendoff, but evidently realistic. What’s strange, however, is that the behavioral example is set from above via the government and local police. The corruption existing within this society is unimaginable, and not only creates both social and professional insecurity, but prevents progression in terms the economy, education, foreign aid, foreign investment, etc.

Veena was visiting this week and we stopped into a coffee house (Nairobi Java House) that stood out from the typical small business within Nairobi. This was nicer than any coffee shop that I’ve seen in New York City; very comfortable with plenty of seating, a large menu listing countless local coffees & teas, a bakery, and a full restaurant menu. Needless to say, we were more than impressed and asked a passing waitress about the business as it seemed incongruous with the rest of the city. It is owned by a group of American investors, who realized that the high quality coffee and tea within Kenya is exported, and the remaining lower quality product is distributed throughout the country. Consequently, they started the small enterprise in an effort to distribute this high quality local product to the country’s inhabitants at reasonable prices. There are now six more locations, each established through the profits from the successful original venture. What’s most interesting is that such professional endeavors don’t seem commonplace—for a reason that I struggle to understand. The only international companies that I’ve seen are limited to the banking and aviation industries; that aside there are little—if any—widespread commercial companies (McDonald’s, Starbucks, etc.) invested in Kenya.

Whether or not it’s related to the ubiquitous insecurity, I’m sure that it plays a considerable role in preventing business enterprise. Whether the concern ranges from significant vandalism to petty theft, there is an overwhelming lack of trust. Regardless, professional success in this environment is obviously achievable despite these conditions.

The government has a lot of work to do to encourage professional growth; meanwhile, Kenya is still open for business.

Can Circumstantial Drug Usage Be Justified?

This is just a quick topic for thought. Now in my third week within Kenya’s capital, I’ve been approached by quite a few homeless citizens that are either under the influence of drugs or—in some cases—using while they speak with me. As they’re asking for money it’s easy to blindly argue that any charity will only be used to feed the drug usage, when in most cases I’ve learned that it’s simply a cheaper alternative to food consumption. Inexpensive drugs can be purchased locally in the form of glue or plant roots, which act as a substitute for countless meals as the effects reduce hunger pains.

I’ve been told that in Kenya there are three groups of people: those that are existing, those that are surviving, and those that are living. Defining the living is quite self-explanatory; these are the residents that have capabilities (I’ll discuss these later) that enable them to provide for both their current and future well-being. The surviving have access to limited income, or substitute capabilities that enable them to afford daily basic needs such as food, clothing, and shelter. This leaves our final group, which represents the particular individuals that have approached me so often. It’s not that I have yet to consider this, after all there are plenty of homeless that are existing in New York City (albeit debatable), it’s simply that I have yet to consider these extreme consumption alternatives as substitutes—particularly under diverse circumstances.

Which brings me to my question: For an individual that is lacking the definitive capability to access food, in an environment offering limited support considering the magnitude of the condition, can the circumstantial use of illegal drugs be justified?

Kisumu Life

Although now in Nairobi, I’ve spent nearly a month in Kisumu and have had a lot of questions about the local lifestyle.

Prior to departure from the states, I was given the option of staying in either a hotel or a home stay for the duration of the trip—I chose the latter for the cultural experience. I stayed with staff members Patrick Oketch and Rogers Otieno, both aged 23 and great hosts despite the constant attention drawn by a mzungu in the rural parts of the country. The home stay was a small two bedroom house, shared between the three of us and a handful of local insects. The conditions were actually better than I had prepared for, but mosquito nets and bug repellant were necessary during the evening.

The bathroom was a tiny cement room with a porcelain toilet bowl embedded within the floor; quite an interesting experience, albeit anticipated. This room also doubled as the shower; every morning we would rise to heat a small bucket of water with an electric heating coil, shower in this small room, and then brush the water into the toilet. Breakfast consisted of bread with jam, sausages, and steamed milk for either coffee or tea. Dinner varied from kuku (chicken) or nyama (meat, either beef or goat) that was either stewed or fried and served with wale (cooked rice), ugali (steamed maize meal), or lentils.

The house itself was located in Mamboleo; a very bumpy 20 minute drive from the Kisumu city centre. Exiting town, the roads are lined with hundreds of people selling goods ranging from clothing to fresh produce. A random aside, but it seems that no matter what part of town, nor what time of day, there is always someone selling grilled corn on the cob along the roadside.

Eating out was a very interesting experience, and we almost always ordered nyama choma (barbequed meat, commonly goat) with a side of ugali. The meals are eaten without utensils, so as the food was delivered so was an empty bowl and pitcher filled with warm water. The server would pour the water over your hands until you nodded in approval, while the chef was tableside slicing the grilled meat into edible pieces. When finished, the pitcher and bowl were returned to the table for another rinse. Additionally, it’s unheard of to leave a tip for a server—I quickly learned this through the confused expressions and laughter upon putting additional money on the table.

Public transportation was via matatu (14 passenger van) to get into town, and then boda-boda (bicycle taxi) to travel a shorter distance. Until recently, there were no laws to enforce seat belts which meant that—in order to maximize profits—the matatu operators would carry as many people as physically possible: passengers on the roof, standing on the bumper, etc. Now that seat belts are legally enforced, they still shove extras inside but if noticed by the police they must pay a fine (although the police do not make passengers exit). The most that I counted in one ride was 25 people, and I had to hold a small child on my lap to make room for the 25th passenger. The boda-boda rides are both exciting and life-threatening depending on the driver; during one ride from town my driver decided to race another and was cycling so fast that our turns were easily below 45 degrees. What makes this additionally daunting is that the boda-bodas are competing with large crowds of pedestrians, and matatus that don’t seem to notice anything but other matatus. Each ride involves intense physical labor for the driver, and despite this, no ride in town costs more than 20 kenyan shillings (roughly US$ 0.30).

Being a mzungu in rural Kisumu was comparable to experiencing three short weeks of fame. The constant attention was initially uncomfortable, but I quickly became accustomed to vigorous stares and nearby whispers questioning my presence. The young children were the most entertaining; each enthusiastically yelling “How are you?!” in hopes to speak with a mzungu. Others would run along my side and touch my arms, my clothing, or even grab a hold of my hand. One little girl asked to shake my hand, then ecstatically ran back to her mother yelling “I touched a mzungu! I touched a mzungu!”

Unfortunately, not all experiences were as pleasurable. There are a significant number of orphaned children in Kenya, and even if they have a shelter to call home, many of them have limited access to financial support. Consequently, when walking through the city I was approached by countless orphans holding up small pieces of paper, with disheartened faces in hopes that I would sponsor their education. The paper was a small form, with lines to fill in your name and financial donation for the child’s school fees. I can’t recall how many children came to my side with this request, but it was easily my largest emotional challenge while in Kisumu.

As my work is entirely focused on microfinance, I am generally opposed to charity as a means to support the impoverished. Realistically, this situation falls underneath the category of charity, but I can’t describe how hard it was to see these children struggling to help themselves. This was, however, unique in that I’ve yet to consider an orphan who is unable to directly benefit from a support vehicle such as micro lending. There’s no way to determine whether that money is actually saved for their education, used to buy food for the evening, or worse. Regardless, on most occasions I found myself giving them the change from my pocket—I hope that, in however it will be used, that it was the right thing to do.

The U.S.A.

Although currently not a topic of heavy debate in Kenya, a story that seems to surface once or twice a week on the local nightly news is the possibility of a U.S.A: a United States of Africa. The unification of this incredibly diverse continent—most notably advanced by Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi—is currently under discussion within the African Union, and is attached to a very aggressive goal of realization by 2015. Larger influential countries such as Kenya, Nigeria, and South Africa have been vocally opposed to a rushed union; however, they seem to be more concerned with Gaddafi’s 2015 goal than with the idea of a sovereign federation of what would be 53 states.

Obviously my perspective is locally influenced, but it’s absolutely important to consider the impact of such a union on grounded culture and tradition. In the month that I’ve spent in Kenya, the media has been primarily focused on the December presidential election. This political decision within Kenya has displayed the perpetual issue of tribalism that seems to divide the country, as many constituents are more concerned with their tribal alliance as opposed to issues that are preventing economic progression. This separation also exists in many other socio-cultural aspects—marriage, for example: regardless of an upbringing within the same country, the tribe seems to define the acceptable relationship. But acceptable for whom? This is not to say that these issues are limited to the Kenyan culture, they are of course global and will inevitably exist in any country with cultural and traditional variance.

I guess I can label it a difference of opinion; although comparable intolerances exist within my own country, I was simply raised differently. But our generation is proactive in this cultural progression, both domestically and internationally. It’s just that such changes take time, and need not be enforced but entirely accepted.

So on a new U.S.A.: How can there be an implementation of national policy when there are fundamental issues preventing the unity of individual countries? I, too, support the effort—but would prefer to see a methodological implementation throughout the next few decades.

Reflections on Client Interviews

Over the course of the last month, I’ve met with over 150 clients that have received support through microfinance lending. It is important to note that each client is unique, not only in the size of the loan and the time elapsed since disbursement, but more specifically in the capabilities that are enabled as a product of the loan—more on this later. Therefore, the fundamental goal in each interview is to establish a comfortable rapport that will, ideally, provide a means to capture the client’s professional and personal life pre- and post-loan.

While English is Kenya’s national language, a significant percentage of the clients are neither able to speak nor understand the only language of which I am fluent. A foreseen challenge that can be managed through a translator, but a very personal conversation directed through a third party often seems to misinterpret my intentions with that of interrogatory questioning. Consequently, many client responses are delivered absent of emotion and detail. I’ve been able to marginally mitigate this challenge with Patrick’s help, in developing a very relaxed introduction coupled with a few playful jokes, but I’m still left feeling unfulfilled.

Language, however, is not the only challenging dynamic. I’m a twenty five year old white male and both my age and skin color have an unspoken impact on the interview. In an environment where a ‘Mzungu’ is most often associated with wealth, my involvement with a local financial institution creates a false impression of authority. Surprisingly, my age has constructively balanced this challenge with the younger clientele through mentioning a few words that are universally understood: Football, Arsenal, Manchester United, etc. As the English Premier League is almost globally appreciated, it has enabled me to create a common ground with many clients through a few related words and excited smiles. Although it’s not entirely effective, it’s a topic that has proved to—figuratively and temporarily—conceal both race and culture.

Maybe soccer really does explain the world.

A Brand New Song and Dance

Settled within Kenya’s Nyanza Province, the city of Kisumu is home to a majority population of Luo – one of the country’s 42 tribes. Although I’ve only experienced the Luo culture, as my days are numbered I find myself hoping that my stay will be extended.

My home stay is located in Mambaleo—a small community just outside of Kisumu—shared with staff members Patrick and Rogers. Wasting no time in getting acclimated to the foreign city, we set out soon after I arrived on Friday (or Furahe-day, roughly translated to ‘happy day’) to a local pub in Kondele: The Flame Leaf Pub, The Home of Ohangla.

After exhausting my tolerance of the club scene over the last few years, those that know me understand my resistance to the public dancing. I really don’t have a specific reason; it’s more so an irritation with what the entire social scene represents. In New York City, for example, there is entirely too much snap judgment involved in a night out to a club: appropriate dress depending on the venue, obnoxious bouncers controlling entry, and the overwhelming social assessments based on how and with whom you are dancing. Yes, I sound old – but it often places limitations on what is acceptable in the relative environment.

The scene at the Flame Leaf was far different, and before long I found myself learning the dance moves while being wholeheartedly welcomed by the local crowd. I knew that I would draw attention, being the only Mzungu (the Swahili word meaning white person) in the pub, but I didn’t realize that everyone around me would encourage my involvement. The environment itself was different from any ‘Western’ club that I’ve seen, in that dancing was in its simplest form a personal expression and release of energy. Men were commonly dancing with each other in small groups absent of women (almost unorthodox in most nyc clubs), others dancing completely alone; nearly everyone on their feet dancing or moving in some way to the live music. Ohangla is a style of music of the Luo’s, a musical fusion of various instruments that carry a rhythmic beat encouraging dance. I’ve heard the music played loudly in cars, on the streets, and on the shores of Lake Victoria—each time inspiring dance for those in listening distance no matter what time of day.

It’s both contagious and addicting. Since that night, I’ve been back to the Flame Leaf Pub four times… maybe I’ve changed.