Things here are becoming to normal for me to remember to write stories about them. For example, when Ramona and I were reviewing groups that I had visited to complete the bottom part of my survey, I had a hard time being able to distinguish one group/morning from another. Even for the ones I went to yesterday I couldn’t picture the room or the women I interviewed. She told me where they were and who was there and I still got it wrong. And unfortunately remembering situtations (and the group names that they occur in) is important for this research. Looks like I’m literally going to have to write everything down, which is definitely better anyway.
Last night I hung out with Michell (Jordan’s friend who is now my friend despite the fact that he peaced out). She came over, I had dinner, and then we headed out to Cinema Cafe, which is one of the nicest/chill places within walking distance. Half of has no roof and there’s no wall separating that part from the rest so it all has the open air sort of vibe. Under the actual open air part, the ground is made of loose rocks and there are full sized palm trees reflecting green/blue/red lights. It’s pretty sweet. And the best part is that it’s not too loud or crowded. We then went to Michell’s friend Geraldine’s house and her aunt gave us fresh homemade mango juice. Delicious! Finally we ended up at a place called Dock which is also a semi-open air area attached to the nicest mall here and relaxed there for a little while until I was falling asleep just sitting there (made it to about 10:45 pm… I think I’m getting old).
Today I only headed to one meeting since I had already been to the previous one and the borrowers there spoke mostly Creole so it was very hard for us to understand each other using Spanish. Unfortunately in the second meeting the best spot that I could get to talk to the women was right next to the loan officer (who had also escaped from the general mass of women outside) and the women helping her to count money. Wouldn’t be such a big deal except that they would clearly have had to alter what they were saying to make sure they stayed in the loan officer’s good graces. Oh well, I suppose it’s an interesting study of what they think they’re supposed to say. I also learned about a creative method that the women were using to get money for their business/families: un “san” (no idea what that is in English… I looked it up for you all and it just came back saying “saint” which is clearly not the meaning of the word I’m looking for). Anyway, every week the women show up with RD$200 pesos more than their weekly payment and put it into a pot. Then they do a raffle to see who gets to bring it home each week. Once you get the money one time during the loan cycle, your name doesn’t go back in the pot until the end of the loan cycle when all women have been picked. With 25 women in a group, that’s a lot of money (although I think it’s split in half since there are 2 winners each week). It’s a fascinating strategy and I would have loved to have talked to them more to figure out what they do with that extra injection of capital part way through their loan cycle.
Also, it’s interesting to see that they can all agree to bring an extra RD$200 to each meeting whereas many groups complain when they have to be “in solidarity” with each other and lend RD$86. Makes me think that $86 pesos (slightly over US$2) doesn’t really make the difference of whether they can eat or not each day as they claim when they are asked to lend the money. It’s like pulling tooth and nail to get this amount out, whereas today’s group is able to find an extra $200 each week. Thus, it seems likely that people do indeed have more than $86 pesos to their name and are simply reluctant to lend it (despite the fact that they will likely be repaid soon).
Those are some microfinance thoughts for you today. Hopefully I explained it well enough for the non-MFI educated to understand.
Another unique thing about today: I went on a run. The exhaust coming from the cars is awful as is the heat, but I did it anyway. And didn’t step in a big puddle this time either. Although earlier when I was walking I did slip on a puddle but caught myself before any Dominican man had the chance to make fun of me. Oh, and this morning a guy came and sat down next to me as I was waiting for Ramona and tried to guess where I was from. He really didn’t believe that I wasn’t Swiss. Or Austrian, I think was the other option. And then when I was kind of dispondent (early, sun, random man) he left saying that it was too bad I didn’t want to talk to him because he was going to offer to answer any questions I have about the country to me. Sounds sweet, but not really. Dominican men would come running over with just a look if you let them. Oh machismo, I am most certainly not going to miss you. And the overly intense stares from men that follow you too long. Or the guards (supposed to be professional, right) pretending to kiss you as you run by them (seriously, even though I’m this sweaty??).
