By: Steven Sibley

This is the first of my writings about my experiences in Bangladesh and as an intern with

Grameen Bank.

First Installment

I finally arrived in Dhaka, Bangladesh this morning at 8:50 Dhaka time. After about 30 hours in transit,

the descent into Dhaka promised an end to what seemed like an endless day. The heat that I met upon

disembarking from the plane was unlike any that I had ever felt. As I waited, and waited, and waited for my

luggage to arrive on the conveyor belt, I began to accept that it might have gotten lost. Sure enough, it had

gotten misplaced somewhere along the way.

After filing a report with the airport and heading outside, I was met with a great number of young boys,

none appearing to be any older than 10, who tried to arrange a cab ride for me, for a small fee of course. One in

particular, spoke surprisingly good English. The youngest of the group, probably about 5 or 6, was not trying to

arrange a ride, but was instead begging for a meal. The desperation in his eyes as he held out one hand while

rubbing his stomach with the other told me that he was not lying about his hunger. As the cab drove off, this

young boy held onto the door and ran alongside the cab for several hundred feet. I could not turn him down. I

handed him a $1 bill, which I knew, if it had any effect at all, would only stave off hunger for a day or so.

As the cab driver took me into the city, the traffic was unlike any I had ever seen. I didn't know that it

was physically possible for five lanes of traffic to occupy four lanes. The constant din of honking was

somewhat unnerving, but had much less effect on me than what I was about to see. Traffic ground to a halt.

Beggars approached cars (and particularly my cab) from all sides.

One man was showing the gnarled black infection on his ankle; another had legs so skinny and useless

that he was only able to beg in traffic by walking on his arms. Women with small babies clinging tightly to their

necks had that same look of desperate hunger worn on the face of the young boy at the airport. It quickly

became apparent that handing out money to all of these desperate people was not only impossible due to my

meager funds, but also futile. Certainly, the relatively large number of beggars on this one road into Dhaka was

a small number when compared to the number of poor, starved souls begging for sustenance throughout the

city.

Had I not been so dehydrated from the constant sweating, I would have been weeping. Unable to afford

the moisture for tears and exhausted by my travels, I was able to maintain my composure, but I was on the

verge of a breakdown. Finally, after an hour and a half of breathing diesel fumes and dust on the road to the

hotel, I arrived, drenched in sweat and light-headed due to thirst and exhaustion.

Getting out of the cab, I was struck by the putrid smell of rotting food, diesel, urine, and god knows

what else. The stench was intense and the filth unlike any I had ever seen. There was a three-foot tall pile of

trash, from which the rotting food smell was likely emanating A young boy of approximately ten years of age

was sifting through this pile of rotting trash in search of food or anything else of value.

I checked into the hotel, and immediately ordered two liters of water from room service. The bottles

were labeled "Acme Premium Drinking Water: Free from Arsenic." The fact that it is necessary for a

manufacturer to advertise that its water is free from arsenic indicates exactly how difficult it is to find clean,

safe drinking water here. After a small lunch, I bought some clothes, showered, and headed to Grameen Bank.

On the five minute walk to the bank, I saw men urinating in the gutter, more young boys sifting through

garbage, and more men with legs skinnier than my wrists either walking on their hands or pushing themselves

along on makeshift carts. People were performing all sorts of jobs on the side of the street. I saw a teenage boy

underneath a car with a welding torch. Many people were cooking and selling food, while others were hocking

bananas. A boy no older than four was begging alongside an elderly blind woman. The plight of the

Bangladeshi people is immense.

Arriving at the Grameen Bank headquarters, I was thrilled to be off of the streets. The staff there was

excited to see me. They each knew my name and were aware that I was coming. They hugged me despite my

sweat-drenched clothes. I was relieved to find that I will have such supportive, kind, and generous people

helping me. After introductions and a brief meeting with Babor, my internship coordinator, I headed back to

my hotel to take a brief nap before dinner.

I'm not sure if my current exhaustion is the result of jet lag and lost luggage or of such an extremely

emotional day of seeing so many who are so poor. As a compassionate person, I want to help, but I don't see

how anything can alleviate the extreme poverty that I witnessed today. Typing this now brings me to the verge

of tears. I hope that Grameen demonstrates that it is possible to help and that progress can be made.

Second Installment

I am doing well. My mood is mostly positive, I am no longer jet lagged, and my body has had little difficulty in

adjusting to the food. Here is the update:

One of the best feelings one can have is the relief when luggage lost in transit by an airline is recovered. This

reveals a fundamental attachment to things. However, the comfort in having two large bottles of Pepto-Bismol,

numerous pairs of clean socks and underwear, and good works of fiction cannot be denied.

When I showed up at 9:30 in the morning to begin my first full day at Grameen, I was delighted to

discover that another American intern, Kathryn, was starting on the same day as I. To add to my elation, she is

staying at the Grand Prince Hotel along with me. This completely alleviated my concerns about being alone in

a country where I cannot adequately communicate with anyone. Additionally, this helps reduce transportation

costs and costs of a translator.

Today was supposed to be my first full day at Grameen Bank. Unbeknownst to me, my internship

coordinator, Babor was busy calling the hotel and airline trying to track down my luggage while Kathryn and I

were undergoing orientation. When Babor interrupted the video introduction to Grameen Bank to inform me

that my luggage had arrived at Zia International Airport, it took restraint not to jump out of my seat and give

him a gigantic hug. Babor even offered to personally drive me to the airport to recover my luggage.

Again, the kindness and openness of the staff at the bank is overwhelming. I am a stranger to them, a

mere intern who can speak none of their language, yet they have welcomed me wholeheartedly as a member of

their family. Jannat, the director of the internship program, and Babor said that, while I am a guest at their bank

and in their country, they will do anything in their power to make my stay as pleasant and comfortable as

possible.

I didn't accept Babor's invitation to escort me to the airport, as I didn't want to impose. Instead, I told

him that I would get the hotel to call me a cab. Mr. Rahman, the Grand Prince's assistant manager, arranged for

a cab and a hotel employee, Shopi, to drive and escort me to the airport. The trip to the airport was relatively

uneventful, save for the tense moment as Shopi explained my situation to the security guard carrying a semi-

automatic rifle.

I collected my lost bag without incident. However, during the return trip from the airport, again the

beggars, upon seeing an American in a taxi, swarmed around me. Today, however, I was prepared emotionally,

as I had gotten a good night's rest and knew what to expect. Furthermore, I was prepared financially.

Expecting that I would again encounter beggars, I had broken a 50-taka bill into 25 2-taka bills to give to

beggars. The first beggar woman with child told me "Good morning" as she held out her hand. Instead of

handing two 2-taka bills to her, I placed them in the hand of her infant child. The child knew that money meant

food and smiled one of the biggest smiles I have ever seen as he held the bills to his cheek.

It is unimaginable to think that as little as four taka (approximately six US cents) could bring such a

huge, heart-wrenching smile to the face of an infant. The smile itself was priceless. While I don't delude

myself into believing that my four-taka donations offered any long-term solution to the staggering problems

facing the infants and their beggar mothers, I know that ten Bangladeshi children were able to put some food in

their bellies today.

The next day, Thursday, was my first trip out of Dhaka and into one of the villages in which a Grameen

Bank branch operates. After two days of witnessing what seem to be helpless people in hopelessly poor

circumstances, today's excursion has renewed my optimism that there is perhaps a light at the end of the tunnel

for these impoverished people. Microcredit, as practiced by Grameen Bank, can help alleviate poverty. At

least, it can help motivated poor people to help themselves.

Before relating my experience in the village, perhaps it is necessary to briefly describe what Grameen

Bank does and how it is organized. Grameen practices microcredit, the lending of money to poor people who

lack collateral or credit. The majority of Grameen's borrowers are women, who, tending to be responsible for

the household duties and rearing of children, have more time with which to start a small business.

In order to apply for a loan, a prospective borrower assembles into a group with four other prospective

borrowers who live in the same village and have similar socio-economic situations. Prospective borrowers

receive instruction on the basic principles of borrowing and repaying both principal and interest. After they

understand this process, the group members form loan proposals, which include a basic description of what they

plan to do with the money they receive and the term over which they will repay the loan.

Once the proposals are approved, the loans are disbursed, and the borrowers (who join the bank as

members) use the funds to start their own small businesses. These businesses are as varied as groceries, small

agricultural ventures, or transportation services, to name a few. Members repay principal and interest on these

loans in uniform weekly payments over the term of the loan. After the initial loan is paid off, members often

apply for additional, larger loans with which they can expand their businesses.

So today, Babor, Kathryn, and I visited a center meeting. The center conducted its business while

Kathryn and I asked questions (through Babor, of course) to several of the members of the center. The first

woman was an elderly new borrower. We asked what she was doing with the loan. She said, "I am old, I

cannot improve myself with my loan." Disappointment.

The second member of whom we asked this question, Morjina, had been a member for three years, and

she said, "Today I am borrowing 100,000 taka (at an exchange rate of approximately 68 taka per U.S. dollar,

this amounts to $1,470). Her first loan had been for 15,000 taka and the second for 30,000. With each of

Morjina's loans, she expanded her husband's already existing grocery business and also bought a milk cow and

some chickens for eggs.

I thought to myself, "Wait a minute, Grameen is supposed to be lending money to poor women. These

loans were given to a woman whose husband already owned a business. Furthermore, the loans seem to have

been funneled to her husband's business. This seems to contradict Grameen's mission of lending primarily to

women in an effort to improve their social status, thereby empowering them."

Nonetheless, Morjina described the amount of income she and her husband were able to earn with their various

business ventures. Both of her children were in school and were not having to work to help support their

family. Obviously, Grameen's financial assistance had helped improve their livelihood. As the cliché goes, all

is well that ends well.

While we were talking Morjina, another member was hiding her face in her sari, blushing a little bit.

After Morjina had finished answering our questions, Babor asked if there were any long-time members. Several

women in the center mentioned Shohana, and the blushing woman started giggling.

When Babor asked how much money she was borrowing today, Shohana answered "600,000 taka." At

68 taka per US dollar, this amounts to over $8,800. As we learned more about Shohana, we discovered that she

had received her first loan of 3,000 taka 14 years ago. At that time, her husband was driving a baby taxi, which

he did not own. With her first loan, Shohana bought a used, broken down bus. She and her husband repaired

the bus and started a bus service. Again, the loan was funneled through the woman to her husband. However,

Shohana and her husband now operate six buses. Her 600,000 taka loan is going to be used to purchase their

seventh bus.

It was such an uplifting experience, spending time in the village. After the center meeting, each of the

women with whom we spoke took us to their houses and stuffed us full of food. At Morjina's home, we met her

husband and youngest child. They fed us bananas, mango "Hello Jello," and 7-Up from their grocery store.

Additionally, Morjina brought us cups of homemade yogurt, which she had made with milk from her dairy cow.

They laughed at me as I sliced a banana and put it in my yogurt. I explained that we put fruit in our yogurt in

America. They looked baffled. After leaving the house, we visited their grocery. It had a variety of items for

sale and a television playing movies in Bengali. There were several people congregating around the store

watching the television. In a village with few televisions, this seemed quite an effective way to lure business to

their store.

Shohana's home was a mansion compared to the other homes in the village. We met the husband who

had been a rickshaw driver, turned taxi driver, turned bus driver, turned entrepreneur. Again, the wife and

husband seemed to be equals. The woman brought us cookies and biscuits on very nice plates. On examining

the room, I discovered a plethora of silverware, plates, and cookery, all of which are signs of wealth in

Bangladesh. They also had a television and a battery-operated Apache helicopter toy for their young son.

Shohana's house is large enough that they currently rent a two-room apartment to a sick elderly woman and her

son. Discussing their long-term plans, Shohana and her husband hope to build a five-story house. They plan to

live on the top floor, while renting the bottom four to other families. If the couple's past successes are any

indication, this plan will come to fruition in the not too distant future.

After leaving the village, we visited the village branch office. Here, we met with the branch manager,

the assistant manager, and a center manager. Babor showed us the branch's books. This branch, while one of

the more successful branches, had 68 million taka in deposits from both Grameen members and non-members.

One of the main reasons for the overwhelming success of this branch is the fast growth of a nearby city to

which several textile mills had located. Additionally, the branch has been in existence for more than 15 years.

In addition to offering a temporary escape from the low roar of traffic, the pungent odor of rot, and the

constant pleading of beggars, the trip to the village offered hope that the bleak poverty of the Bangladeshi

villagers could be alleviated. I am optimistic about the ability of the tools of finance to solve societal problems,

like poverty.

Kathryn and I explored Dhaka on Friday, but this email is long enough as it is. That story will come at

another time. Upon showing up for work this morning, Kathryn, Nana (a brand new German intern), and I were

informed that we are to take a three-day, two-night trip to a village tomorrow. As a result of such short notice, I

need to purchase some clothes and begin packing.

I hope that this message finds all of you well.

Assalam Waleykum!

Third Installment

Greetings from Dhaka! I have the next week off from Grameen, as the bank closes for the festivities

surrounding Eid, which marks the end of Ramadan, the month of fasting. I apologize, this message is even

longer than the last. I'm writing it in a more narrative style, as I'm thinking that this material might be a good

start for a book. Anyhow, here it goes.

This past Monday, September 22, we made our first overnight visit to a branch office. I woke up at 5:30

to pack up all of my things and check out of the hotel for a couple of nights to save twenty dollars. At 7:30 in

the morning, Babor picked up Kathryn, Nana, and I in a taxi to take us to the Fegunashar Shirajdikhan Branch

in the Munshiganj district, a bit more than 50 km south of Dhaka. After an hour and a half taxi drive through

the morning traffic of Dhaka and down one-lane two-way roads, we arrived at the branch and met a

Bangladeshi intern named Topu and the branch manager, Harun, who escorted us to the morning's center

meeting at a nearby village.

At the center meeting, we talk to several members who have been with the branch for 20 years. Many of

them had used their first loan to start cultivating potatoes, as there is a storage warehouse near the village where

the potatoes harvested during the growing season are stored and then sold during the dry season for increased

profits.

Another member had used a 20,000-taka loan combined with some savings to buy a "miltch" cow (the

bank's ledger spells "milk" this way) 20 years ago. Now she has 7 miltch cows, and can produce a daily surplus

of six liters of miltch, which she sell for 45 taka per liter. She recently took a 30,000-taka loan with which she

plans on combining with 30,000 taka of savings to buy another, more productive miltch cow in order to increase

her daily output to ten liters. Her weekly installment on this new loan will be only 750 taka per week, while

her current revenue is 1,890 taka per week. Once her new miltch cow arrives, she will be able to make 3,150

taka per week.

Her husband quit his job in Dhaka several years ago to help his wife with her dairy business. Her sons

also help with the business. This woman, as with the more successful women from the center we visited the

week prior, seems to have much support from her husband than other members. Again, the husband and wife

seem to be equals. I imagine it would be very humbling to live in a society in which, as a man, you are the head

of the household, only to have your wife become the more successful breadwinner.

At this center, we also speak to a member who had joined Grameen only a year ago. She has just

finished paying off her first 1,000-taka loan. With her initial loan, she had bought bamboo with which she

makes stools. Her supplies for each stool cost 140 taka, while she can sell each stool to a retailer for 200 taka.

Working five days a week while also raising her two children, she has been able to increase her family's income

by 175 taka per week. With the extra income, she says that she can better feed her family and has been saving

money in a Grameen savings account.

After the center meeting, we visit the woman's miltch cow business and her home. We see where the

stool-maker lived and worked. The difference between the living standards of the two women is drastic. The

dairy farmer's house is much larger and more lavish. In looking at these two women, the impact that Grameen

has had in the long run on the well being of its borrowers is clear. The cumulative growth in the businesses of

the borrowers leads to much higher standards of living over time.

Several girls in the village ask Babor if they can speak with me, as they are learning English. One

actually speaks better English than Babor. Additionally, there is a young man who had moved from the village

to Singapore, where he had worked in a manufacturing plant. Having moved back to the village, he lives like a

king. His stereo system is better than many of my friends', and he has satellite television with more channels

than I have ever had since moving out of my parents' house. While Grameen is certainly able to help increase

the income of its borrowers, there is nothing like industrialization to increase the wages of a laborer.

After returning to the branch, we unload our bags from the taxi and settle into our rooms, while Babor

bid us adieu. I stay in the living quarters of the Second Officer (the assistant branch manager). Again, the

generosity of Grameen Bank's employees and of the Bangladeshi people in general is astounding.

The branch does not have air conditioning but does have fans. The bathroom does not have a flushing

toilet but does have the biggest spider I have ever seen. "Flushing" the toilet involves taking a bucket of dirty

pond water and pouring it down the basin. Additionally, it isn't the type of toilet on which you sit. It is more

the squat-and-hover style. This, I soon learn, is quite an experience. The branch's shower is also located in this

most unsanitary of "sanitary latrines" (Grameen's nomenclature, not my own). I would definitely go several

days without showering.

After unpacking our things and eating lunch, Topu, Nana, Kathryn, and I go to the market near the

branch to buy notebooks and charge our pre-paid cell phones with minutes. It is quite a CONUNDRUM to

think that the people of the villages have cell phones but no flushing toilets. Having purchased our necessary

materials from the market, we go for a walk. We come upon an old man who stares at us as we gaze out over a

large pond. After some time of staring, the man approached us.

"Assalam waleykum," says Nana.

"Waleykum assalam," the man responds with a smile. He then starts speaking to us in Bengali. Luckily,

Topu was there to translate. He had asked us, "What is your country?"

"America, America, Germany," respond myself, Kathryn, and Nana, respectively.

He tells us, through Topu, what a wonderful place America is. He tells us that he has always wanted to

go to America. We also find out that he is a lumberjack.

Kathryn asks him why he hasn't visited America. He shook his head, saying "Nai taka," (not any taka)

and fanning invisible bills in his hand.

I tell him that I wish that I could take him back to America with me. He smiles a big smile and says,

shaking his head, "I am too old."

After several more moments of conversation, we share a silent gaze, me smiling at him, and him at me.

Words were not necessary; all was understood.

We return to the branch. Topu and I have a nice conversation about the differences between American

and Bangladeshi cultures. We talk about everything from religion to male/female relationships. Topu thinks

that all Americans are Christians and that we change romantic partners frequently. He tells me how much he

would like to go to America for graduate school and how difficult it is to get accepted into American schools.

Later, the branch staff shares Iftar with us. During Ramadan, Iftar is the breaking of the daily fast after

sunset. It is an honor to be included in this ritual. After Iftar is finished, Topu takes off on foot to catch a bus

back to Dhaka.

Returning to my room, the food at Iftar seems like a very small meal, especially for someone who has

been fasting since four in the morning. Then the electricity (and therefore the fan) goes out. Sweating

profusely as I sit underneath the mosquito net hanging from a frame over the bed, by candlelight I read some of

Dr. Yunus' (the founder of Grameen) newest book, Creating a World without Poverty: Social Business and the

Future of Capitalism. I am certain that I will not be able to sleep due to the stifling heat. Fifteen minutes later, I

can't keep my eyes open.

Harun wakes me up about an hour later, saying "Dinner is ready."

Having thought that Iftar was dinner, I am not expecting any more food. After pointing out that my shirt

is soaked in sweat, Harun asks me to summon the girls for dinner. They ask, "Didn't we already have dinner?"

"Apparently not," I say.

They say they aren't hungry. Neither am I, but I eat so as not to waste food or seem insulting. I eat a

lot--enough to feed three, actually. After dinner, I go to the roof of the branch building with the branch's

messenger, who is responsible for delivering money from the centers to the branch, and vice versa. He tries to

teach me numberous Bengali words and phrases. I retain two: "koop kushi" (very happy) and "koop shundur"

(very nice). After several minutes of this, I return to my room, crawl under the mosquito net, and immediately

fall asleep.

Waking up in the morning to the sound of a monsoon storm, I realize that I haven't slept that well in

quite some time. After breakfast, the branch manager, Harun, briefs us on the day's activities. We are going to

take a boat to a nearby village to attend another center meeting. The prospect of a boat trip sounds exciting.

Traveling down the river, we encounter many other boats. Some are pumping sand from the riverbed to

a nearby low-lying (read: underwater during the rainy season) area that is soon to be a housing development.

Small fishing boats are manned by fisher-boys who are likely no older than twelve or thirteen. Several huts line

the riverbank. Women on the riverbank are washing their families' clothes in the river. Rising up from the

middle of the river are several concrete pillars that had once been the supports for a bridge that washed away

during a flood.

After a half hour boat ride, we arrive at our destination. Nestled on the riverbank, the village seems

poorer than the others we have visited. The houses here are also several feet off of the ground, so that they

aren't flooded during the rainy season. Underfed chickens roam freely through the village (free range chicken?).

As we walk through the village towards the Grameen Bank center building, children peek their heads

out from windows and stare at us curiously. This village seems less accustomed to Caucasian visitors than the

other villages we have visited. Entering the center meeting, the Grameen members have already arrived. Harun

introduces us to the center manager, and we take a seat.

The women look at us with curious trepidation. The center manager introduces Harun to the members,

and Harun briefly explains, in Bengali, that we are interns with

Grameen Ban, here to study and ask them questions. He then asks us to introduce ourselves to the members,

explaining that he will translate what we say to them.

Having studied up on my Bengali that morning, I introduce myself in their native language. "Aamar

naam Steve. Aami America teke eschechen. Aami ekune pohr te eshe chi." (My name is Steve. I'm from

America. I'm here to study.)

I have never said anything met with such confused looks. After Harun explained what I had tried to say,

the members laughed hysterically. My bungling of their language certainly breaks the ice. After introductions

from Nana and Kathryn, we begin asking questions of and gathering information from the members.

One woman, Nasima, is especially vocal about how much better life in the village is since Grameen

started operating there 20 years ago. Before Grameen, she says that she lived in a one room, one-roofed house

(exposed tin roof). She ate dahl (lentils) and rice for most meals and had one type of meat, chicken, only once

per week. She had only one 150-taka sari (the traditional dress of Bangladeshi women), which she wore for a

month.

Nasima says that she now lives is a three-room, two-roofed house (wood underneath the tin) and is

preparing to build a fourth roof (I don't know what this means. Insulation?). She says that she currently takes

three types of meat, chicken, beef, and fish, three times per week. Her clothing now consists of three 500-taka

batik saris.

While Nasima continues talking, a gruff looking older man enters the center meeting and takes a seat.

Belly bulging out from his unbuttoned shirt, as soon as Nasima stops talking, he proclaims in very loud English,

"We are poor. Very, very poor. We are progressing day by day. It (poverty?) will soon be forgotten." After

this exclamation, he stands and exits the center.

After this brief interruption, another woman says that she gathered only ten cases of rice per month

before joining Grameen. Now she gathers forty to fifty cases of rice per month.

When Kathryn asks about how the education for the children has improved, a woman responds in

Bengali, "All eligible children go to primary school." Before Grameen, apparently there were not enough

schools in the area, and no children from this village attended.

Another member says that her child is getting a Master's of Fine Arts. Kathryn asks if her son is taking

loans from Grameen to fund his education. The woman responds, "I am paying for my daughter's education

myself. No loans." Upon questioning, she tells us that she has a decorating business, which she has expanded

greatly with a Micro-Enterprise loan from Grameen.

After this, Nana asks if there are any women who didn't work before they took loans from Grameen.

Two women say that they didn't work. Both now have tailoring businesses. Kaydasha, the more vocal of the

two, says that she has now hired an employee to do the tailoring for her so that she can focus on her new miltch

business.

Kathryn asks how the women's social status has changed since becoming Grameen members. One

woman responds, "My moving area is bigger. I go everywhere by myself."

Another elaborates, "We are now self-sufficient and self-dependent."

The woman whose daughter is pursuing her MFA says, "When my daughter went to college, I took her

by myself."

Nasima says, "When I first joined, I took three people with me to the bank. Now, I know how to handle

money. It used to take me a week to gather 1,000 taka. Now, I gather 10,000 in one day.

Returning to Nasima, I ask her what business she does. She says that she has a bakery and two grocery

shops. I ask her what she did before her first loan. She says that her husband bought vegetables in the village

and sold them in a nearby bazaar. She baked snacks and sold them out of her house.

When Nasima took her first loan of 5,000 taka, her husband quit his vegetable selling and focused on

selling her baked goods in nearby villages. Now, Nasima has hired someone else to do the baking, while she

operates one shop and her husband operates another.

I ask how the village responded to Grameen's arrival in 1988. Nasima, again the most vocal of the

center, answers. "At first, the village elder forbade them from going to Grameen, because he said it was a

Christian bank. After he read the Sixteen Decisions1, he realized it wasn't a Christian bank, and we could go."

Nana asks how many members there are in the center, and the center manager says that there are 68. I

ask how many families there are in the village, and the members estimate that there are about 95. They say that

there aren't any mothers with daughters who are borrowers, so this means that 68 of about 95 families are

members. This is pretty solid membership, especially given the initial disapproval by the elder.

After the center meeting, we visit Nasima's house. Again, there is a television in the front room of the

house. As was the case in the first village we visited, the family's silverware and China is also proudly on

display in a glass case in the front room. We take photographs of Nasima, her husband Habib, and their

granddaughter.

As we leave Nasima's house, the big-bellied man who interrupted the meeting invites me to his house.

Kathryn asks if she can visit the local school. She, Nana, and Harun follow the center manager to the school,

while I go to the man's house.

On the way to his house, he tells me that his name is Nuun Hussein. I ask him how he is, and he says, "I

am very old. I most certainly will die soon. Many diseases attack me." As I walk to his house, I hope that none

of these diseases will attack me.

Nuun invites me to sit on his sofa. I sit down, and he shouts something to his wife in Bengali. He tells

me, "My wife will bring you food."

I ask him what he does. He tells me that he is retired from teaching at a government school. At this

point, a young man enters the room. Nuun says, "This is my son Sadjat. You can make friends with him."

I ask Sadjat how old he is. He tells me that he is 22. I ask him if he is in school. Nuun answers for him,

"He is my youngest son. He does no school, no job, no work. He does nothing." Obviously, this young man

receives nothing but disapproval from his father. I feel for Sadjat and try to convey this to him with an

approving smile.

Then Nuun tells me that his second son, Sakwat, died while in college in Sweden in 2001. Sadjat

produces a laminated photo of Sakwat from his wallet. Nuun looks at the photograph and hands it to me.

Nuun says, "I always think of him." He begins to cry. "He was so smart. So young."

Putting my hand on his shoulder, I say, "I am so sorry for your loss. How did he die?"

"An auto accident. After, his friends from Sweden visit for seven days. It was very sad time." Nuun

wipes the tears from his eyes.

At this point, his wife enters the room with three whole bananas and a multitude of apple and orange

slices. Hungry, I am grateful for the food. Emotional, I am grateful for the interruption.

We continue talking. Nuun says, "You are from America. Americans very smart." I thank him for the

compliment, without mentioning that I know several Americans who aren't very smart.

Continuing to talk about America. Nuun says, "America is great, but Bush very bad. Bush wants to

control world." As he makes a fist, he says, "He wants world like this."

I offer my agreement and say, "Obama."

He says, "Yes, Obama. And Clinton."

At this point, Kathryn, Nana, and Harun enter the house. Nuun tells them to have a seat and points to

the food. Thankfully, I now have help in finishing the feast that his wife prepared for me. We talk for several

minutes and Harun tells Nuun in Bengali that we need to go catch our boat.

Nuun gives me a long and hard handshake. "Thank you for visiting me."

I thank him for the food and the company as he walks us to the door. As we walk through the village,

numerous children begin to follow us. Exiting the village, we see many young boys playing soccer in a field. I

take out my camera to photograph them. Upon seeing the camera, even more children begin following us.

They begin to horse around and do anything that might warrant getting photographed. I oblige.

Harun says that we must walk one kilometer to our boat. For the entire kilometer walk, the children

follow us. Along the road, children from nearby houses hear the commotion and see its cause, us. They begin

to follow. By the end of the kilometer walk, we must have an entourage of a hundred children following us.

Sad to see us go (and likely wanting to go with us), the children wave goodbye as we board our boat taxi. We

return to the bank branch. Exhausted from the information overload, the heat, and the emotional experience in

the village, I immediately fall asleep.

Fourth Installment

As the bank has been closed for the Eid festivities, the last week and a half has been relatively slow.

Many days have been spent in front of the computer watching the deterioration of the American and worldwide

economy while preparing applications to graduate schools. Having seen how much time I have spent in the

Grand Prince Hotel, one of the employees, Kamal, invited me to go to the botanical gardens and then to his

house for lunch.

Well-dressed and professional with good English-speaking skills, Kamal has an MBA in marketing, yet

works the night shift at the front desk of the Grand Prince. We meet at the hotel at 11 AM to travel by rickshaw

to the botanical gardens. He insists on paying for the ride and my admission to the botanical gardens. The

gardens were beautiful, but the flower gardens were surrounded with barbed wire fences and the gates were

locked. Apparently theft of plants by nurseries is a problem in Bangladesh. Kamal buys water and snacks for

us at the outdoor café area in the gardens before we go back to his apartment for a proper lunch.

His apartment is in a very poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Dhaka. It amazes me how quickly the

city of Dhaka deteriorates into what looks more like the poor villages that I have visited with Grameen. The

apartment is one of four two-room apartments in a small building. Kamal tells me that he owns the apartment

"complex" and earns 6,000 taka per month from the three other tenants. The four apartments share a common

bathroom and kitchen area that adjoins the building at the end of the alley.

The toilet is the same style as that of the Grameen Bank branch office in Shirajdikhan, with no flushing

mechanism. The communal shower is also in this bathroom area. There is no bathtub to separate the showering

area from the "other business" area. As such, I can't imagine feeling cleaner after showering in this bathroom.

Immediately outside of the bathroom area is the kitchen area, where Kamal's mom is preparing lunch for us.

I meet Kamal's father, who pronounces his name Jackoff, offering that the Russian version is Yakov. I

think I prefer using Yakov. While Kamal goes to grab soda for us, Yakov talks about how much potential his

son had demonstrated as a child and how much money he could have earned. "But," Yakov says, "He is too

honest. He won't take advantage. You can't be honest and make money in Bangladesh." I find this

disconcerting and perhaps a bit oversimplified, but there certainly seem to be a lot more poor downtrodden

people than wealthy people. I tell Yakov that it is better to be poor and able to sleep at night than rich and

guilty of harming others. Yakov agrees.

Yakov exits the room when Kamal enters with soda. Kamal and I begin to talk. Kamal apologizes for

the lack of air conditioning as he positions the fan so that its breeze blows in my direction. He informs me that

his family is part of Bangladesh's middle class. Having witnessed the conditions in his apartment: no air

conditioning, two small bedrooms and a dining area, a communal bathroom and kitchen, I am grateful that

Kamal is not a member of the lower class. This confirms Dr. Kawahito's statement that "America's poor would

be middle class in Bangladesh."

Kamal offers with great sadness in his voice, "When I was a kid, my expectations were so high. I didn't

think that I was meant for a place like this. I saw so much better for me." He goes on to tell me that he studied

written and spoken English for two years leading up to 1998, when he applied for a Canadian visa. He was

denied.

Kamal desperately wants to get out of this neighborhood and his country. He says, "Everyday, I pray for

Allah to provide a way out of here." He tells me that he would very much like to go to America, but the only

way that he can get there is with a marriage visa. Kamal says that he has saved enough money for a plane ticket

and to provide incentive for someone to enter into a contract marriage with him. In seeing his desperation, I

wish that there were something I could do for him. I offer that I would marry him if it were legal, just so that he

could get out of Bangladesh. He laughs.

The laughter helps to lift the melancholy air that had settled into the room as we talked about Kamal's

desperate desire for better things for himself. His mother's entry and announcement that lunch is ready further

improves the mood in the room.

Sitting down to lunch in the dining area, there is a feast laid out before us: two types of fish, a bowl of

sautéed cucumbers, a gigantic plate of rice, hard-boiled eggs, and egg omelets (no cheese, regretfully). As

Kamal digs in with his hands, I notice that there is no silverware. I had read that silverware was a sign of

wealth in Bangladesh, but certainly the middle class can afford the luxury. Apparently not. Kamal notices my

hesitation and offers me a gigantic cooking spoon to use. I tell him that I will be just fine with my hands. It

was actually rather fun.

I thought it peculiar that Kamal was eating lunch during Ramadan, the month of fasting. Upon my

inquiry, Kamal explains that he cannot fast because it causes him stomach problems. I learn that Islamic law

provides exceptions to the required fasting for those for whom it causes health problems.

As I bite into one of the smaller fishes, I hear a big crunch. Kamal tells me to chew it well before I

swallow. With the lack of cheese in the omelets, I assume that I could probably use the extra calcium and go

with it, careful to chew thoroughly. The extra crunch provides an interesting texture. Beyond this minor

surprise, the food is delightful.

The water that Kamal has poured for me comes from a very dirty-looking plastic bottle of coca-cola.

Noticing that I am not drinking, Kamal assures me that the water has been boiled and filtered. I offer that I

don't generally drink while I eat. As I finish, Kamal tells me that I must wash my hands at the table.

Thankfully, there is finally a use for the water in my water glass, so it doesn't go to waste.

After lunch, Kamal and I talk briefly. He asks if I know anyone who might be willing to engage in a

contract marriage with him for long enough that he can obtain permanent resident status in the United States. I

tell him that I've got some very caring friends, and that I will do whatever I can to try to help him out of

Bangladesh and into America. I try to joke that now might not be the best time to move to America, given the

current financial crisis—Kamal doesn't laugh. "Anywhere has to be better than here."

I say my goodbyes to Yakov. Kamal introduces me to his mother for the first time. "Thank you for

lunch," I tell her. With no hyperbole intended I continue, "It was the best meal I've had since I've been in

Bangladesh." Kamal translates for me. His mother smiles and offers me the last two bananas of their bunch. I

politely decline.

Back on the streets of Kamal's neighborhood, the children are playing joyfully, completely unaware that

they are living in such poverty. Kamal hails a rickshaw and rides with me for the first several blocks. He tells

me that he can't keep living like this. I tell him that at least the kids seem to having fun. He says, "They will

grow up, and they will realize that they are losers. There is no way out of this for them." Kamal gets off at the

corner and tries to pay the rickshaw driver. He finally accepts my offer to pay. We say goodbye, and I tell him

that I will see him at the hotel later. I buy a fresh pineapple on the street corner for the equivalent of 35 cents.

In a place where pineapples are so plentiful, the laws of supply and demand are fantastic.

Fifth Installment

Here is what I had meant to send before going to the village last Tuesday. Unfortunately, the Internet wasn't

working that morning. Here goes:

The day after visiting Kamal's apartment, Topu, the Bangladeshi intern at Grameen, invites me to go to

Bashundhara City, South Asia's largest shopping mall. We meet at the Grand Prince Hotel at 11:00 AM and

travel by CNG (a Compressed Natural Gas-propelled rickshaw) to Bashundhara.

There are many perks to exploring Dhaka with a native Bangladeshi. In addition to being able to

translate, they can obtain reasonable fares for transit services. A CNG ride to Bashundhara would have cost me

150 taka. Topu arranges one for 80. In the grand scheme of things, I don't mind paying the equivalent of $2.25

for a 10-kilometer ride that takes 45 minutes of the drivers time in addition to the fuel costs. After a while,

though, I have begun to feel a little bit cheated.

Traveling through the Bashundhara neighborhood, it doesn't look much different from the rest of Dhaka.

The buildings are a bit taller and most appear newer. Arriving at the mall, however, the Bangladeshis on the

street are dressed lavishly in more Western-style clothes and arrive by means of taxis, not rickshaws or CNGs.

Entering the mall, I am immediately transported elsewhere. This is not Bangladesh anymore. The mall is

enormous; the clientele certainly do not live on less than two dollars a day.

Topu asks, "It is hard to believe that this is Bangladesh, isn't it?"

I reply, "Yes. It feels like I have entered another world."

He says, "Most Bangladeshis cannot shop here. My family cannot shop here, and we are well off

compared to most."

In the center of the mall is a gigantic open area, from which I can see the nine stories above me. The

ceiling at the center is an elaborate stained-glass ceiling. Topu suggests that we go to the top floor and look

down. I agree, and we begin our ascent.

Looking at the shops on the way up, I notice that the shops are no more posh than those at a typical

American mall. The architecture of the place is much more sophisticated, but the wares in the shops are typical

of any mall USA. After climbing nine escalators, we arrive at the top.

Looking down over the railing, my small fear of heights kicks in. Topu laughs and asks, "Are you

scared?"

"Yeah, just a little bit."

I have my camera out to take a picture. Topu says, "Would you like for me to take a picture for you."

"Yes. Thank you."

After he takes the picture, I examine the food court that surrounds us. I see stores with strangely

familiar names and logos: Dominous Pizza, TFC (Tasty Fried Chicken), Pasta Hut, GFC (Good Fried Chicken),

BFC (Best Fried Chicken), and Taco Bell (the real thing--Yum Brands has penetrated the Bangladeshi market).

I laugh. Topu asks me what is so funny. I point out the strange similarities between these restaurants and those

in America. He says that it common in Bangladesh.

He asks me, "Would you like to do some shopping?"

"Yeah, that sounds great."

Several floors below, he asks me if I would like to buy some CDs, pointing to a store called Besty Buy

Music. I say yes, walking into the store. Seeing the color of my skin, the clerks swarm me and ask if they can

help. Topu asks me, "What are you looking for?'

I say, "Bally Sagoo," at the recommendation of a professor at MTSU. Topu translates my request to

Bengali for the clerks. The clerks go to work, sifting through stacks and stacks of CDs with no apparent order

in search of Bally Sagoo.

Within a minute, they have put 4 different CDs in my hands and ask, "DVDs?"

I say, "Na," (one of the few Bengali words that I know). I choose two CDs that look to be more recent

releases, and ask, "How much?"

Topu translates for the clerks, and gets back to me. "120 taka." After a quick conversion, less than

$2.00 sounds like more than a fair price. I pay for them and we exit the store.

I tell Topu that I would like to buy some clothes. He asks me what I want. I tell him that I want to

browse the panjabis, traditional Bengali men's wear. On Eid Day, the day that marks the end of Ramadan,

Bengali people wear brand new clothes, so the panjabi shops are packed. To further complicate my shopping,

there are few broad-shouldered Bengalis who stand as tall as I.

When we find something that I like that looks like it fits, the salesperson talks to Topu in Bengali for a

minute. Topu tells me, "You need to wear it to make sure it is the right size."

I ask him where there is a dressing room. Topu responds, "They have no dressing room. Try it right

here." Hesitantly, I begin to shed my shirt in the middle of the store, surrounded by men. Outside the store,

people have begun to gather to watch this spectacle. Thankfully, my panjabi of choice fits. More than just a

little self-consciously, I remove the panjabi and put my other shirt back on. I don't think that so many people

have ever watched me change clothes.

"Do you want to shop more?" asks Topu.

"No, thank you." Aware that Topu is fasting, I say, "I am sorry to ask this of you, but I am hungry and

want to go to the food court."

"It is no problem."

We climb the escalators back to the top floor, and starving, Dominous Pizza sounds like a great idea. I

order a "California" pizza (pineapple and chicken) and a soda, and the cashier hands me a number, number 62.

After sitting down, I notice that their red LED sign says, "Now Serving: 4." Starving, I think that this could

take a while. The number on the sign changes. "Now Serving: 78." Relieved that my hunger will soon be

satiated, I am amazed at how little makes sense in this country.

While Topu watches me eat my pizza, I ask Topu what he thinks about this mall and the wealthy people

it serves. He tells me that there is a great disparity between the rich and the poor in Bangladesh. Topu reminds

me that the construction of this mall provided jobs for many of the less fortunate Bangladeshi citizens and that

the shopkeepers are employed as a result of the abundance of the wealthy upper class.

Here in Bangladesh, I am witnessing trickle-down economics in action. From what I have seen,

however, it is only a trickle. If only the trickle could be turned up a bit; Bangladesh needs deluge-down

economics in order to alleviate the poverty of the lowest classes.

The bottom-up development suggested by Dr. Yunus and Grameen Bank seems to be a bit more

effective, at least from what I have seen. However, much of the success of the Grameen borrowers seems to

depend upon the increased wages that have resulted from the growing garment industry in Bangladesh. As

laborers have earned more money in the garment factories, there is more income with which to purchase the

products of those who have taken loans from Grameen Bank. Poverty alleviation and economic development

seems to require both top-down and bottom-up investment to be truly effective.

Sixth Installment

This is out of order from the update concerning last week's village trip, but I got home and had to write

about this experience while it was fresh in my mind:

Kathryn's original intent for coming to Bangladesh and interning with Grameen was to learn about the

education work that Grameen was doing. As her trip is nearing an end, and we have only visited two schools

(neither of which were affiliated with Grameen), Kathryn had asked Babor if we could visit on of the "slum

schools" that Grameen operates through it's sister company, Grameen Shikkha.

Grameen Shikkha helps provide education for needy Bangladeshis by managing scholarships and

funding schools for children who could and would not otherwise go to school. In total, there are 20 slum

schools throughout the especially poor Mirpur 10, 11, and 12 districts of Dhaka, each school with 20-25

students. The schools' primary purpose is to provide poor, often working, students with basic literacy and social

skills necessary for them to secure better employment, or if they are lucky, to continue with education beyond

Class 5 (the equivalent of grade 5 in the American education system).

On Tuesday, Babor, Kathryn, and I visit a slum school in Mirpur-10.

Entering the classroom, Kathryn and I are overwhelmed with a huge "Good morning! How are you?"

from a sea of smiling children. They are very happy to receive us and show off their basic spoken English.

Kathryn and I respond with an equally enthusiastic, "Good morning!" Lacking desks, the children are seated on

the floor, and Babor invites us to sit with them. Kathryn and I introduce ourselves.

"Aamar naam, Steve. Ami shikkha eshechi," I say, informing them, "My name is Steve. I am a

student." The children are thrilled by the little amount of Bangla that I have learned. Kathryn says, "Well, I

can't top that. My name is Kathryn. I'm from California." Babor translates what she has said and goes on to

tell them that we are both students from America studying with Grameen Bank.

Then, Babor asks the students to introduce themselves by saying their name, how old they are, what

class they are reading, and where they are from. The first student says, "My name is Laaki. I am ten years old.

I am reading class three. I am from Dhaka, Mirpur-10." After Laaki completes her introduction, everyone in

the class claps. In turn, each student follows the protocol, some struggling and requiring help from the teacher,

while others are either more advanced or more well-rehearsed. With the exception of one twelve-year-old

student, everyone is ten or eleven years old, reading class three, from Dhaka Mirpur-10.

After the introductions, the teacher asks the students to stand up, and the whole class sings a song for us,

complete with hand and body motions. Babor tells us that the song is about rowing a boat, although the song's

subject was quite obvious from the students' gestures. After the song is finished, we clap, and a little girl

bashfully stands up. She begins to sing a solo song, but is overwhelmed with shyness and quickly sits back

down. The class claps for her. Next, another little girl gets up and does a dance for us while the whole class

sings a song and claps in time. At the song's conclusion, she sits down as she receives her applause.

Throughout the performances of songs and dances, I can't help but reminisce about my own time in

elementary school. I think that their song about rowing the boat is not unlike "Row, row your boat." While the

songs may be similar, the conditions of their school bear no resemblance to those of my youth. We had chairs

and desks and textbooks and blackboards. They have a floor and some notebooks.

After they have finished their performances, Babor jokingly suggests that Kathryn and I should sing a

song for them. Kathryn and I laugh and say that we don't remember any songs. Babor says, "That is ok.

Maybe now we can ask them questions." Babor immediately addresses the twelve-year-old, Sultan.

Babor tells us, "I ask him how he is doing in the class. He say he is testing fifth."

Kathryn asks, "Fifth highest in the class."

And Babor says, "Yes and now I will ask him why he is the oldest in the class but is not testing higher."

After a brief dialogue, Babor tells us, "He say that he needs to read more books, but he is working too much."

Babor says, "I ask him what job he does, and he sews jewelry onto garments."

Confused, Kathryn asks him what he means. Babor points to a little girl who has sequins sewn on to her

garment and asks her to come closer so that we can se her clothes, which are intricately designed with glitter

and sequins. Babor says, "Sultan, he makes these things," pointing to the sequins and the glitter.

Kathryn asks, "How many hours per day does he work?" Babor replies, "Okay, I will ask him."

"He goes to school from 8 AM until 11 AM, and then he works from 11:30 until sometimes 4 or 5 o'

clock in the afternoon. Or sometimes later," Babor tells us. "It depends on the day." Inferring from the name

of Grameen's "slum school" project, I had expected that the children would be very poor and that the classroom

would be inferior to those of my youth, but I am amazed that a twelve-year-old boy works at minimum 24 hours

per week.

Babor says, "Now I ask him what he will want to be when he is an adult." After a prolonged exchange

between Babor and Sultan, Babor says, "He says he will like to be an engineer or architect when he grows up.

So I try to motivate him to be a better student. I tell him that he need to study harder and read more books."

Sultan does not look motivated. Locking eyes with Sultan, I see that he seems to accept that he will not

be able to realize his dream. The economic circumstances that require him to work at least five hours per day as

a twelve-year-old will likely force him to get a job in a garment factory when he turns fourteen. I have to hold

back my tears. All I can offer Sultan is an empathetic and hopeful smile.

Babor asks us if we have other questions. Kathryn asks, "Can we go around the room and ask all of

them what they want to be when they grow up?"

"Yes. I will ask them." Babor begins with the little girl named Laaki "She wants to be a doctor."

Continuing around the classroom, Babor asks the question of each student. Teacher, doctor, and R.A.B. (Rapid

Action Battle, a police and army special forces division) are common responses. Several boys reply that they

want to be in the Navy and the Air Force.

As Babor progresses through the students, one volunteers that he tested at the top of the class. Babor

asks who has tested second, and the girl sitting to his right raises her hand. Babor congratulates them on their

success and motivates the others to study harder. After this brief interruption, the students continue sharing

their ideal jobs with us. An adorable little girl with a gigantic smile, also named Laaki, says that she wants to

be like their teacher and teach poor children.

The hopes and dreams of these children, much like their songs and dances, mirror those of the

classmates of my youth. I am saddened by the overwhelming odds stacked against them. Yet, considering the

minute amount of money that their labor contributes to their family's monthly income, I also think it is a shame

that so little truly stands in their way.

Babor finishes asking the students what they would like to be and asks Kathryn and I, "Any more

questions?" I ask Babor if we can briefly speak to the student who has tested at the top of the class.

The student's name is Mohammed Azrul. His father is a rickshaw driver and his mother is a maid.

Mohammed helps his mother with her maid business and helps maintain the family's household. His father is a

rickshaw driver and his older sister, aged 14, works in a garment factory. Mohammed's father makes 150 to

200 taka per day, his mother makes 1,400 taka per month for cleaning three households, and his sister makes

100 taka per day. The fact that Mohammed has such an in-depth knowledge of his family's financial situation

makes me realize how dire their condition is. As a ten-year-old, I never knew nor concerned myself with how

much money my father made.

Babor asks the same questions of the girl who tested second highest. Her father is a day laborer while

her mother "makes garbage." Making garbage involves sorting through the trash to find pieces of recyclable

material that can be sold to businesses that resell them to be re-fabricated. The girl herself works at "making

designs" on garments.

At the conclusion of this questioning, Babor asks, "Any more questions?" Kathryn asks, "Can you go

around the room and ask the students what they do for work?" Babor replies, "It is okay, I will ask them."

Many of the students, especially the girls, make designs on garments. One little boy, Islam, who wants

to be a teacher, says that he works at a garage as a taxi repair assistant. Another boy, Kobe, who wants to be in

the Navy, works in a hotel. I amazed that such little children with such bright smiles and big dreams must

perform such difficult labor. I struggle to hold back the tears.

"Any more questions?"

Kathryn and I say no. Babor thanks the students for answering our questions. He goes on to encourage

them to study hard and read more books. He asks the students if they have any questions for us. They ask

Kathryn and I to sing a song for them.

Looking at Kathryn, I realize that we must sing a song for these children. Kathryn, too, knows this. She

says, "We have to sing something that has hand or body motions."

"I'm a Little Teapot?" I reply.

"Yeah that's a good one."

"How does that go again? I haven't sung that in twenty years."

After a quick refresher, Kathryn and I stand up in front of the classroom. "One, two, three. I'm a little

teapot, short and stout. This is my handle; this is my spout. When I get all steamed up, then I shout. Tip me

over and pour me out." The children love it. They clap and laugh at us to no end.

After we sit back down, I pull my camera out to get ready to take pictures, while Babor addresses the

class in Bengali. As some of the children become aware of the camera, they begin to make faces. Kathryn

notices this and begins making faces back at them. They start laughing. I join in, making my own funny faces.

Soon, the class is paying no attention to Babor, distracted by the face making. Hilarity ensues. The children are

laughing, I'm laughing. The children try to recreate the faces that we are making, and the director of the slum

school system gets a little upset at them. I felt a little bad for getting the children in trouble.

Then comes the picture taking. The class poses with me, and then with Kathryn. Then Kathryn and I

take pictures of individuals and groups of students. Some children try to push others out of the way to be at the

center of the pictures. A few are a bit camera shy. After each photo, we show our pictures to the children, and

they are thrilled, asking for more pictures to be taken. They start fighting over the photographers, saying "Me

now." It is hard for us and for the children to say goodbye.

After we wave goodbye, all of the children follow us outside. The teacher of the class walks with us,

and tells Babor that she owns a hair salon that earns $1,500 U.S. per month. With that much money coming in

from her business, it is clear that she teaches not for the salary. Most of her salary, she spends on school

supplies and books to read to the children. When Babor tells us this, Kathryn says, "Ooh, I need a haircut."

We go to the teacher's salon and she gives Kathryn a haircut. Babor and I wait in the lobby. Babor tells

me how expensive it is to get a haircut at a salon in Dhaka. He says, "My wife wanted to go to salon to get

haircut for Eid Day. I tell her, 'You need no haircut. I like your hair like that.' That way I don't have to pay the

money."

Kathryn comes out with bangs and gives me a telling look, clearly regretful that she asked for a haircut.

She thanks the teacher, says she really like the cut, and offers to pay for it, but the teacher refuses. We say our

goodbyes and walk outside. As Babor goes to hail us a CNG, I tell Kathryn how grateful I am that she asked to

go see a slum school.

Kathryn says, "Yeah, I know. Those kids are so cute. It has been a great morning. That is why I came

to Bangladesh."

For information on Grameen Shikkha's slum children, visit:

http://www.grameen-

info.org/grameen/gshikkha/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=41&Itemid=110

Seventh Installment

After visiting two older Grameen Bank branches and seeing that many of the members had brought

themselves out of poverty, I had expressed interest to Babor in visiting a new branch, so that Kathryn and I

could see the conditions of villagers soon after the arrival of Grameen Bank. Babor had arranged for us to go to

the 18-month-old Prashadpur branch in the Naogaon sub-district. On Sunday, Babor had discussed the plans for

the trip. We were set to leave Monday morning. Babor called later that day to say that the plans had been

cancelled due to the remoteness of the village. If either of us had health problems, he said, then it would be

difficult to get us back to Dhaka to get treatment. We would take several day trips to nearby villages instead.

Kathryn and I were both very disappointed.

We arrived Monday morning at the head office to hear that Babor had worked out a way for us to go to

the Prashadpur branch after all. This was very relieving, as I feel like overnight trips enable me to really get a

sense of the village and the way that it operates. Furthermore, we would have the opportunity to visit the

Grameen Eye Care Hospital and the Grameen-Danone factory in Bogra. We were to set out Tuesday morning

at 7:00 for Bogra on a business class bus with Babor and our translator, Zaman.

Stowing our bags beneath the bus, Kathryn and I find our seats and get settled. The bus is surprisingly

spacious and comfortable with fans and reclining seats. Sitting down, I open my bootlegged copy of The Kite

Runner, (purchased from a street vendor for 250 taka, after I had unsuccessfully searched three bookstores for

it) and set to reading. Kathryn falls asleep almost immediately.

After several hours on the bus, Babor rouses me from my book to show me the Bangabandhu Jamuna

Multipurpose Bridge, the eleventh largest bridge in the world, which spans the Jamuna River. As the monsoon

season has come to a close, the river has waned from its maximum height, and, in addition to the large sandy

riverbanks, several large islands have formed in the middle of the river. I am surprised to see a multitude of

makeshift tents made of blue tarps and several more "advanced" straw huts littering the land revealed as the

river subsided. That someone would have to resort to calling such a temporary residence "home" for half of the

year saddens me deeply. I return to the comfort of my book.

Two hours later, the bus makes a sharp left turn, and Zaman tells me that we are stopping for a twenty-

minute break. Exiting the bus, I am surprised to see that, sans the gas tanks, the place where we have stopped

resembles an American truck stop. After making a quick visit to the restroom and grabbing a quick bite to eat,

the comparison to an American truck stop is complete: dirty restrooms, greasy food, and bad coffee. We climb

back onto the bus, and resume riding towards Bogra.

After one more hour of riding, I am anxious to exit the bus, as the constant horn honking of our bus

driver has given me a mild headache and the reclining seat is no longer very comfortable. Sensing my anxiety,

Babor tells me that we will be there in fifteen minutes. Arriving at Bogra, we exit the bus and walk the short

distance to the Grameen-Danone factory.

Before leaving for Bangladesh, I had read Dr. Yunus's newest book, Creating a World Without Poverty:

Social Business and the Future of Capitalism. In the book, he describes a new type of business he has

envisioned, called a social business. In particular, he details how Danone, the French yogurt producer, and

Grameen had created a joint venture social business.

By definition, a social business exists not to maximize shareholder wealth but to solve specific social

problems. The Grameen-Danone partnership was created to address the malnutrition of the poor children in the

rural villages of Bangladesh. The business was conceived to produce vitamin and mineral fortified yogurt,

which is sold at cost to the villagers. Grameen and Danone, after a period of time, are to recoup their initial

investments but take no profit. In my reading, I found this new concept to be excitingly revolutionary and had

looked forward to the opportunity to visit the factory.

Happy to have finally arrived at the Grameen-Danone factory, I am looking forward to touring the

facilities and meeting with the director to learn of the success of the business. Kathryn and I are escorted to the

office area of the facility, where we sit waiting for the director to finish conducting business with three Danone

employees from France. Another employee brings us each a cup of yogurt, so that we can sample the product.

It is only okay.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, Kathryn is getting anxious, as she has no interest in the joint-venture

and doesn't understand why we are even there. Finally, the director finishes his business, and he shows us a

brief PowerPoint slideshow. The presentation describes the function of a social business in general and goes on

to describe the Grameen-Danone product. Sold for 5 taka by poor women in a door-to-door marketing process,

the yogurt is fortified with 30% of the RDA of four vitamins and minerals. The presentation describes that each

factory uses locally produced milk and other ingredients and employs 1,000 local villagers, including the

saleswomen. It goes on to describe that, eventually, Grameen-Danone hopes to operate 50 factories throughout

Bangladesh. This sounds like a very good thing.

After the PowerPoint presentation, the director answers questions. I am disappointed to learn that after

more than two years of operations, this, the only factory yet in operation, is only operating at 10% capacity.

The factory can produce 62,000 cups of yogurt daily, while it currently only produces 6,000. Two years ago,

when the factory first opened, it produced 4,500 cups daily on average. The director tells me, "Villagers are not

habituated to eating yoghurt." Additionally, I learn that Grameen-Danone currently employs only twenty-eight

people in the factory and twenty outside as salespeople.

With the grassroots marketing campaign of door-to-door sales by poor village women, the prospects for

every achieving a breakeven point are dismal. Furthermore, the mission of Grameen-Danone is to provide

nutrition at cost to poor children in the rural areas of Bangladesh. As a result, while marketing the product in

Dhaka or other cities might help the venture progress towards financial sustainability, doing so would conflict

with the mission statement. While I had once been very excited about the theoretical prospects of Grameen-

Danone, I am thoroughly disappointed to see its operations in practice.

After discussing the operations with the director, he takes us on a tour of the facilities, which are quite

impressive. The facilities are clean, the fermentation tanks are massive, and whenever possible, the packaging

process utilizes human labor instead of machines. Additionally, the water necessary for producing the yogurt is

obtained by a well beneath the factory, purified on-site, and heated using passive solar energy. Furthermore, the

dirty effluent water is processed on-site in such a way that, if the plant were operating at capacity, biogas would

be produced to power the gaslights that illuminate the facility at night.

With approximately 3,000,000 people in the area around Bogra, there is clearly a large enough

population to support a small-scale operation like the Grameen-Danone factory. Only about 2% of the

population would have to consume one cup daily in order for the plant to operate at capacity, yet it is only

operating at 10% currently. Clearly, the problem lies in Grameen-Danone's marketing strategy. Hopefully, this

problem will be addressed, and the factory will be able to achieve the breakeven point in the not-too-distant

future. This would enable the Grameen-Danone joint venture to proceed with the opening of additional

factories in other areas, providing rural villagers with gainful employment and increasing the demand for locally

produced milk and other ingredients.

After saying our goodbyes, we proceed to the Grameen Eye Care Hospital, which is located next door.

Another social business, the Eye Care Hospital aims to provide quality, affordable eye care to rural

Bangladeshis. I had been excited to visit Grameen-Danone. The visit to the eye care hospital seemed

obligatory, as it is located next door to the yogurt factory.

Surprisingly, the eye care hospital lifted my spirits about the ability of a social business to succeed. The

facility had initially been opened in a rented house off of the main road in Bogra. Due to its overwhelming

success and demand that exceeded its capacity, the hospital was relocated to a brand new facility constructed on

the property adjacent to the Grameen-Danone factory.

After a tour of the facility and a complimentary eye examination for Babor, we sat down with the

manager of the hospital. He told us that the hospital employed 38 people, including doctors, nurses,

maintenance people, receptionists, and IT people. On average, it served 120 people per day in the months of

August and September, while the daily average has increased to almost 150 people in the last three weeks.

The hospital uses an ability-to-pay scale for charging customers for its services. The rich people in the

area pay slightly higher fees than those charged by the other eye hospital nearby, while the poorest of the poor

receive services free of charge. According to the manager, there has been no advertisement, so the increase in

customers has thus far been the result of word-of-mouth from satisfied customers. Apparently, the hospital's

reputation is so good that people will travel as much as eight kilometers farther to visit Grameen's facility as

opposed to its nearest competitors.

The hospital currently covers its costs, but is not generating a profit with which it can recuperate its

initial capital outlays. However, with continuous increases in its customer base, the hospital will soon achieve

such profitability. The manager explains that the hospital has been able to achieve breakeven by keeping its

costs low. For example, Grameen provided educational scholarships for the hospital's doctors and nurses in

exchange for an agreement to serve at the eye care hospital for five years at a salary lower than that provided by

similar eye care facilities.

While I had by no means been excited by the requisite visit to the eye care hospital, in the end, this visit

lifts my spirits considerably and renews my optimism that social businesses can compete and succeed in the

market with profit-maximizing businesses. Leaving the facility, I am less than thrilled to be heading back to a

bus for an additional two hours in transit.

Babor, Zaman, Kathryn, and I board a CNG to take us to the Bogra bus station. Upon our arrival, the

bus to Naogaon is already beginning to accelerate. Babor runs to stop it as Kathryn and I frantically grab our

bags and pay the driver. I hand my bag, too big to carry on, to the conductor, who passes it to the baggage

handler on top of the bus. Concerned about the safety of my camera and camcorder, there is little I can do but

trust it with the young boy who rides in the "luggage compartment" atop the bus.

Boarding the bus, Kathryn has taken the last seat, so Babor, Zaman, and I stand. The bus driver hits the

gas, and off balance, I stumble into the Burqua-clad woman seated to my right. Babor apologizes for me and

assures me that a seat will open up soon. After fifteen minutes of loud honking, constant stopping and starting,

and zig-zagging through traffic, the bus stops to let some passengers depart. The seat next to Kathryn has

opened up.

I sit down in the seat next to Kathryn immediately behind the bus driver. The bus has some sort of metal

casing in front of me, right where my left leg should be. I have no choice but to contort my leg in such a way

that it rests on top. I soon discover that this casing houses the buses engine and gives off ungodly amounts of

heat. I miss the fans and reclining seats of the business class bus.

Sweating profusely, I notice that what was once only a dull headache is now raging. The bus driver's

constant honking does little to ease my pain. The buses conductor is leaning out the door, banging loudly on the

side of the bus, and shouting at the rickshaws and CNGs as we pass. It is difficult to imagine that anyone but

the passengers can hear the low din of his shouts over the roar of bus's horn.

Each time the bus stops to let passengers disembark, the conductor, no more than sixteen years old,

shouts "Naogaon! Naogaon! Naogaon!" to prospective passengers waiting in the crowded bazaars. Kathryn

leans over to me and says, "Well, now I have experienced my own personal hell." After more than ten stops

and two hours on the "hell bus," we have finally reached our destination of Naogaon.

Awaiting us at the bus stop with an Isuzu SUV is a Grameen Bank employee, Munjor. Upon climbing

in, I am overjoyed to discover that it has air conditioning. Munjor drives us to the Grameen Bank zonal office,

where we are introduced to Abdul Wahab, one of Grameen's nine zonal managers. Upon meeting Mr. Wahab, I

am initially caught off guard by his bright orange hair and beard. In America, one would expect to see such a

bright orange color on a spiked mohawk rather than on the conservative haircut of a respectable bank employee.

The staff at the zonal office immediately serves us bananas, apples, spicy snack mix, and mineral water.

Having sweated profusely while my one bottle of water was in my bag on top of the bus, rehydration is

delightful. I drink three glasses very quickly. Mr. Wahab welcomes us to the area and tells us that he has been

working with Grameen since the early 1980s. Having been the director of the training institute, he is very

knowledgeable about Grameen Bank and its practices.

After about an hour of discussion with Mr. Wahab, we ride to the bank branch at Prashadpur. Upon

entering the village, I notice throngs of people in the streets. The driver parks the car outside of the Grameen

bank office building, and we are introduced to the local government chairman; the Grameen area manager, Mr.

Firoge Ahmed; and the branch manager, Ms. Aborna Barui.

I ask about the people gathered in the streets. "Is this the market?"

Babor briefly talks to the chairman in Bangla and translates, "Yes, but the market is not opened today.

Tomorrow is the market day."

"Why are all these people here?" I ask.

Babor replies, "This village has not seen any foreign visitors. They are here to see you."

Eighth Installment

Shocked at the hundreds of people who have turned out for the arrival of two anonymous Americans, I

fear for my safety for a brief moment. With such a cryptic line as, "They are here to see you," this could be a

scene from a horror film. However, as I have been kindly welcomed everywhere I have gone in this country,

this feeling soon passes, and I imagine myself a celebrity being welcomed by hundreds of adoring fans. After

scanning my surroundings and seeing no podium or platform or anything of the sort, the only thing that I can

think to do is wave.

The town chairman proudly gives us a tour of the accommodations that he has arranged for us. They are

very nice compared to those of the other branch we visited. The floors are well swept, the beds are spacious

and clean, and the bathroom has only a squat toilet (no shower) so the floor is dry. The town has purchased an

extra generator for our arrival, and is requiring only that we pay the fuel costs. Additionally, our rooms are in

the union center, which has a lockable gate to protect our things while we are not around. To provide additional

security, the chairman has arranged for three men to alternate shifts, providing us with 24-hour surveillance. To

me this seems to be a bit much in a country in which I have never felt threatened, but by this town's standards,

we are celebrities. The town and Grameen branch have certainly rolled out the red carpet for Kathryn and me.

After being shown our accommodations, Babor and the local managers escort us back downstairs and

towards the branch office. While we are walking, Babor comments, "Your accommodations are very nice. The

town chairman is a good man. The branch manager is a good manager. She is fat, so she is a good manager.

The town chairman is also fat, and he is a good man. I am not fat; I am not a good man." Ms. Barui, somehow,

is not insulted by having been called fat. She continues to wear a pleasant smile and doesn't appear at all phased

by Babor's comment. I imagine many American women would be weeping at such a comment.

Upon arriving in the branch office, we are again fed--this time fresh papaya, grapefruit, and bananas.

The fruit is completely different than that available in the U.S. The bananas, in particular, are much more

flavorful, while the papayas are much juicier. The grapefruit is about twice the size of any I have ever had and

tastes much less bitter. We are also served sweet limewater. I consult Zaman, our interpreter, to ask if the

water is safe. Although I had been advised not to drink any water other than bottled water that I personally

opened, I decide to trust Zaman and drink the limewater for fear of appearing rude. All the while, villagers are

peering in through the windows, pushing each other in attempts to get a better view of the white-skinned

foreigners.

Afterwards, Zaman and I sit on the balcony outside of our room and talk. He got his undergraduate

degree in computer programming and has worked as a freelance IT technician and translator. Previously, he

taught spoken English. He is preparing to begin and MBA program. Zaman is highly fluent, and he and I seem

to get along well. I am confident that our interviews with Grameen members will be our most productive yet.

I tell him how impressed I am with our accommodations. He concurs, "I have been on many overnight

trips as a translator for Grameen, and I have never been treated this well."

After several minutes, the area manager, Mr. Ahmed, joins us outside. "We are proud to have you," Mr.

Ahmed says.

"I am proud to be here. Have you had foreigners visit your area?" I ask.

"Fifteen years before, a man from Malaysia visit. Never Americans or white person."

I am amazed and honored by this statement. Most (if not all) villagers of Prashadpur have never before

seen an American. I feel like an ambassador from the West. I never imagined that I would have such an

experience. I am glad that it is Kathryn and I, and not American soldiers, that provide these villagers with their

first exposure to the West.

Mr. Ahmed continues, "The Malaysian was very tall and wide." He motions with his arms to indicate

how wide. "The children follow us everywhere we go." I realize that our entourage over the next two days will

be larger than any we have yet experienced in Bangladesh.

We go on to discuss the itinerary for the next two days. Mr. Ahmed tells us that we will get to visit two

new centers and two older centers that used to be a part of another Grameen Bank branch that joined this closer

branch when it opened. We will have the opportunity to witness the approval of a new group. Also, we will get

to meet several "struggling members" (beggars who have joined Grameen under the special "Struggling

Member Programme") and get to meet a young man who has taken an education loan to finance his college

education. I am excited that we have the opportunity to see so many different aspects of Grameen Bank's

operations. At this point, Ms. Barui and the chairman alert us that dinner is ready.

Dinner is good. My headache has worsened by now. The upper respiratory issues that have been

plaguing Kathryn for the past two weeks also seem to have worsened. As a result, her appetite is small. Mr.

Ahmed and Ms. Barui are not eating with us, so it is mostly up to Zaman and I to eat the huge spread that Alim,

the Grameen messenger who is doubling as waiter, has set out before us. After dinner, we say good night to

Mr. Ahmed and Ms. Barui and retire to our rooms. Exhausted, I lie down on the bed and listen to the sound of

crickets, which reminds me of home. I am quickly sound asleep.

I awaken early and record my thoughts about the previous day's experiences and look forward to the

busy day ahead of us. I also have the opportunity to soak in my surroundings. The building in which we are

staying is bordered by banana and papaya trees on two sides--no wonder yesterday's papaya and banana had

been so delightfully fresh. A rooster begins crowing as I notice a young woman walking with two children and

ten chickens in tow. The man serving as a security guard is smoking a cigarette on a bench below. Otherwise,

the town is still sleeping.

Zaman awakens an hour later to the sound of the call for morning prayer. After getting dressed, he and I

go into the village to have tea before breakfast. Many of the local men gather around us as we drink our tea,

astounded by the color of my skin and the strange sounds emanating from my mouth. One man is particularly

interested in me. Zaman helps translate for us.

"What is your country?" he asks.

"America. U.S.A."

Hearing this, a large smile appears on his face. "America is a very nice country," he replies. I question

this comment, as I researched the history of this region to discover that it is home to a mass grave from the

Liberation War, in which Nixon and Kissinger played a complicit role by funneling arms through Iran to a

Pakistani army that brutally slaughtered so many Bengalis.

"Yes it is. Have you ever visited America?" I ask

"No I haven't, but I have seen it on television. Before, we have only seen white people on television," he

replies, confirming my suspicion that I will be one of the first two white people seen in the flesh by the

villagers.

"Aamar naam, Steve. Apnar naamki?"

The old man is visibly surprised at my Bangla. It brings an even wider smile to his face. "Aamar naam

Anis Rahman."

"Kub baloh lagloh (nice to meet you)," I reply, as I extend my hand to him. He continues smiling and

shakes my hand. We sit in silence for several minutes, exchanging smiles, until Kathryn joins us.

"Good morning. It looks like you've found a friend. He's quite taken with you, Steve," she says.

"Yes, it appears so. Will you take our picture?"

"Sure," she says, taking my camera. She snaps our picture.

Zaman, having noticed that Ms. Barui is walking towards us from the town center, interrupts. "It is time

for breakfast. Let us move."

Ms. Barui and Mr. Rahmed join us for breakfast, but have already eaten. Starving, I dig in, Kathryn,

regrettably, has regained her appetite. Zaman asks, "So how is your breakfast, Steve?"

"It is very good."

"You need to eat all of the porota (tortilla-like bread served warm)."

"That is not a problem. In America, I usually take four eggs for breakfast," I reply.

"You are a big man," answers Zaman. "You must eat a lot of food."

"Yes," I reply, feeling sorry that Kathryn, as is culturally appropriate for a woman in Bangladesh, has

been excluded from most conversations with Babor, and now, apparently with Zaman, as well.

"Have you ever driven a motorcycle?" Zaman asks.

"No, I haven't," I reply. "I haven't even ridden on the back of one."

Kathryn says, "I have. I had to drive one when I visited Nepal."

"So you won't mind driving one today?" Zaman asks. Thankfully, Zaman, as a younger Bangladeshi,

isn't as strict an adherent to the cultural norms of not interacting with women.

"Well, there are a lot of people in the streets here. I am not sure that I'm comfortable driving here."

"It is okay. I will drive."

We finish our breakfast, have more tea, and Mr. Rahmed says, "Let us go." Zaman, Mr. Ahmed, and the

branch's second officer start the motorcycles. Ms. Barui, Kathryn, and I climb on the back of our respective

motorcycles, and we are off to the first of two center meetings.

As we drive through the village, every villager has stuck her head out to see the visitors. The looks

range from happy and welcoming to confused and disturbed. Most seem unsure what to make of the two white

people visiting their village. The entire village stands outside of the center meeting while it is conducted. The

members of this center are much like those at the other meetings we have attended, except they seem much less

accustomed to having visitors and are initially less forthcoming with information.

Center 14, opened in 1990, has 47 members, 38 of whom have outstanding basic loans. Three have the

larger micro-enterprise loans. The outstanding loan amount is 325,700 taka. Hearing this, I am amazed that

Shohana, the woman at our first center meeting who operated a bus business with her husband, had an

outstanding loan of 600,000 taka, an amount almost twice the amount of the 38 members at this center. Clearly,

the proximity of Shirajdikahn to Dhaka has helped its economy grow much faster than that of the Prashadpur

area where we are currently visiting.

In speaking with the members of this center, we discover that more than 50% have taken loans for

livestock. With livestock loans, members generally buy a young cow for between 10,000 and 12,000 taka. The

member raises this cow for approximately one year, feeding it approximately 5,000 taka worth of food. After

one year, they are able to sell it for between 30,000 and 35,000 taka. Because the livestock business does not

generate any income from the time of taking the loan to the time of selling the cow, Grameen allows the

members to pay interest-only installments. Once the cow is sold, the members repay the principle amount.

Finance Sidenote:

Assuming that the member borrows 12,000 taka to purchase a cow, pays 5,000 taka for feed, and is able

to sell the cow for only 30,000 taka, then she is able to earn an additional 10,600 taka per year for her family.

Grameen is able to earn 2,400 taka in interest over the 52-week period of the loan. If the principle were paid

down as is the case with the general loan, then Grameen would only earn approximately 1,250 taka in interest

over the same time period.

After 52 weeks, the member receives 30,000 taka and repays the 12,000 taka, netting 18,000 taka. By

treating the weekly interest payments of 46.15 taka and weekly feed costs of 96.15 taka as weekly installments

(totaling 142.3 taka) of a traditional annuity, the member is able to achieve a 162.5% return on her investment.

If the member were instead to deposit the weekly payments of 142.3 taka in a Grameen savings account that

earns 8.5%, she would only have 7,717 taka, as opposed to the 18,000 taka she has after selling the cow and

repaying the interest. Clearly, even at 20% interest, the Grameen loan is able to increase the annual income of

its borrowers.

With such a high return on investment, it is understandable that most of the members at this center take

out loans for livestock purposes. Additionally, there is a member who was once a "telephone lady." Several

years ago, Grameen Bank started a joint venture with Telenor, a Scandinavian telecommunications company, to

start Grameen Phone. Rather than issue a loan to a member, Grameen gave a member of each village a

telephone. At the time, mobile phones were very rare in the villages, so villagers would pay the telephone lady

a fee for using her phone. Over the course of a year, the telephone lady would pay off the cost of the telephone

in addition to paying for the service.

As mobile phone growth in Bangladesh has been astronomical, most families in the village now have

their own mobile phone, which has made the telephone ladies obsolete. This village's telephone lady, a shrewd

businesswoman, adapted well. Recognizing that her services as a phone lady were no longing needed and also

understanding the need for a communications technology provider, she upgraded and became the computer

lady. She took out a loan to purchase a computer and printer. Now she sells printing services, fax services, and

ringtones, while also selling mobile phones. Since the computer and mobile phone business occupies very little

space in her shop in the Prashadpur market, she also sells cosmetic products.

Other members have taken loans out to buy rickshaws and vans for their husbands to operate. Before

Grameen, the husbands were generally day laborers working for someone else. As their wages were very little,

the households did not have leftover income for savings and were not accumulating assets. Now, they are able

to save at least 20 taka per week (as is required by all Grameen members) and are able to begin acquiring assets

like land, dishware, silverware, etc. It is surprising to me that dishware and silverware are considered assets by

these women. In such poverty, I guess anything is an asset.

While we are interviewing the center members, the heat and humidity are overwhelming. The sweat

pours down my face and my shirt. Noticing this, Ms. Barui barks an order in Bangla. Soon thereafter, a young

boy appears with a traditional Bengali hand fan and gives it to Ms. Barui. She begins to wave the fan in my

direction, generating quite a breeze. I try to tell her that it is not necessary, but she persists. The image of a

Persian king reclining on a lounge chair with lovely women servants fanning him and feeding him grapes comes

to mind. I feel like I have done little to deserve such treatment.

After we are finished asking our questions, a woman stands up and begins speaking to Zaman. Zaman

begins laughing. Turning to address us, Zaman translates, "She says, 'You have asked so many questions of us.

It is only fair that we can ask questions of you.' So maybe you can introduce yourselves and say why you are

here."

We offer our names and explain that we are from America. Zaman translates and then says to us, "I will

tell the women that they can ask you questions now."

The first woman stands and asks if Kathryn and I are married to each other.

Kathryn answers, "No."

"How do you know each other?"

Kathryn answers, "We didn't know each other until we were here. We met in Bangladesh."

"Are either of you married?" another woman stands to ask.

"No."

"What are your ages?"

"I am twenty-seven," I offer.

"And I am nineteen."

Another woman stands and talks for a considerable amount of time. Zaman says, "She wants to know

what you think of Bangladesh." It seems awfully strange that such a long question in Bangla could be

condensed to such a short question in English.

"Kub shundor," I answer. Very beautiful. This makes the women very happy. They smile at us as we

smile at them. No one else stands up to ask anything of us. Zaman asks if there are any more questions. As

there are not, Zaman says, "We can go now."

Mr. Ahmed says, "We can move to their houses now."

"Kub bahlo lagloh," I offer as we stand to leave. "Very nice to meet you." The women again laugh at

me and my Bangla.

Zaman, too, laughs at me as we leave the center meeting, "'Kub bahloh lagloh.' Where did you learn this

Bangla? Do you have a book?"

"Yes, some is from a book and some is from the people at the hotel."

Before going we visit several of the member's houses. None have the televisions that we saw in the

village of Shirajdikhan. The more lavish homes have plates and silverware, while the smaller homes are only

one room with two beds. Again, being so far removed from Dhaka or any other large city, the economic

development of this village is slow.

Waving goodbye to our adoring fans from the back of the motorcycles, we depart to proceed to another

center meeting. Driving down the narrow streets bordered on both sides by acres of rice paddies, those whom

we pass are astounded by the sight of us. There are many double takes as we drive by. We soon pull into the

next cluster of homes, the faces again appear from the windows, and again people exit their homes to get a

closer look at us.

As the villagers congregate around the center meeting, I can't help but think that our presence is greatly

diminishing the villagers' productivity. I understand, however, that meeting an American is the stuff of legend

in such a remote area of Bangladesh. I imagine the women telling their grandchildren stories about "the day the

white people came."

Center 44 has four groups and 24 members who have outstanding loans of 150,000 taka. The average

loan per woman is roughly 2500 taka less than that of the previous center that has been open for 18 years. It has

only been in existence for one and a half years. Much like the last center, the women here have primarily taken

loans for livestock purposes. Additionally, there are many who have borrowed money to lease land for farming.

They grow primarily rice, while some grow vegetables. Before the women became Grameen members, their

husbands farmed other people's land in exchange for a share of the crop. Now that they are able to rent land to

farm for themselves, the annual rice output has at least doubled in the case of every couple. In most cases, their

rice output has tripled. Most of the women here also raise poultry in their house and are able to sell eggs and

meat in order to help pay the loan installments. They also save a fistful of rice each week to sell during the dry

times when rice does not grow.

Again, the women of the center are curious about Kathryn and I, and insist on questioning us before we

leave to visit individual homes. The same questions are asked, and the same answers are offered. No, we are

not married to each other nor to anybody else. Bangladesh is very beautiful—very green. With this, the center

meeting concludes, and we visit several of the women's houses.

Walking through the village, it is difficult to avoid stepping in cow, goat, or chicken droppings. The

path is a minefield, and I'm thankful that I wore my hiking boots instead of sandals. Cows are tied up

everywhere and frequently block the doors to the houses. Stalls for the animals are very rare. A goat is

standing on the top of a wall. The villagers follow us as we tour the village, to see that the houses here are

generally small, one-room houses.

At one house, there is some extra space right outside the door. Mr. Ahmed suggests to the woman that

this extra space could be used to raise a cow. "Why do you not take a loan for a cow?" Mr. Ahmed asks. He

then offers a long motivational speech to all within earshot, which Zaman summarizes for us: "Grameen Bank is

here to help you improve yourselves day-by-day. If you borrow to buy livestock, you can pay only interest until

you sell the livestock." He sounds like an aggressive furniture salesman on a television ad, but his motives

seem genuine.

When Mr. Ahmed has finished his speech, one of the Grameen members approaches us with a papaya in

one hand and a giant grapefruit in the other. She extends them to us. Mr. Ahmed announces with a smile, "She

give you fruit--papaya and big lemon." We thank her for her gift, take several photographs, and mount up to

ride the motorcycles back to the bank branch.

Getting back to the branch, Ms. Barui has Alim prepare the papaya and "big lemon" for us to eat. After

snacking, Zaman suggests that Kathryn and I go back to our room for rest. We oblige. Tired from the heat and

the constant sweating, I change clothes, lie down to read, and unintentionally fall asleep.

Ninth Installment

I am startled awake from dreams of America by the distinct feeling of hands gently patting my head.

Zaman says, "It is time to wake up. Let's move. You will wake Kathryn up? I will be at the Grameen branch

office." Zaman is not comfortable with rousing Kathryn from her sleep. I, too, am certainly not comfortable

using Zaman's wake-up technique on Kathryn.

I say through the window, "Kathryn. Wake up. Let's move." No response. Louder this time, "Kathryn,

wake up." Louder still, "Hey Kathryn!"

"Yeah," she replies.

"It's time to wake up.

"What are we going to do?" Kathryn asks.

"We're going to go see the approval of a new Grameen group. I'll be waiting in the Grameen Bank

office."

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute."

In the branch office, the Mr. Ahmed and the second officer are waiting with Zaman. Ms. Barui is busy

processing savings account deposits from both members and non-members. "You have good rest?" Mr. Ahmed

asks.

"Yes, very good," I respond, as Kathryn walks in the door behind me.

Upon seeing Kathryn, Mr. Ahmed stands and says, "Okay. Let's move."

We mount up and ride through the crowded streets of the Prashadpur market. Today is market day, and

people from all of the surrounding villages are gathered in the streets, buying and selling items as varied as

mango saplings, live fish, potatoes, and jewelry. The sound of the motorcycle engines startles those in the

market, and the crowds part to allow us to pass. Upon seeing Kathryn and me on the backs of the motorcycles,

the villagers' expressions of irritation at being disrupted from their buying and selling shift to expressions of

astonishment. I nod my head and smile at them. Some smile back, while others just stare.

Arriving in the village where the new group lives, we are greeted by throngs of naked and half-naked

children who are playing in the village common area. We proceed to the place of the center meeting, where the

new group and the center manager await us. We are seated and the area manager begins the process.

Prior to today, the group has received six consecutive days of training and education. Those who were

unable to write their own names have been taught how to do so. The center manager has detailed the

advantages of Grameen membership, including general loans, micro-enterprise loans, higher education loans,

housing loans, savings accounts, pension plans, and health care services. Furthermore, the members are taught

about loan repayment, including the concepts of principal and interest. Additionally, the center manager has

helped them complete the application forms.

Mr. Ahmed introduces himself to the potential members. He then delivers a lengthy speech that Zaman

translates for us. "Do you know why Bangladeshi people are poor? Because they lack education. Children

need to go beyond class 12 to get a good job. Grameen can help your children with higher education loans.

Bangladeshi people are poor because women work hard at keeping the house, but their work does not make

money. One thing that you can do with a Grameen loan while taking care of the house and children is raise

livestock. If your payment is good, you can get a larger loan and raise your capacity to make and manage

money. Child marriage and the practice of dowry make Bangladeshis poor. You can start a business by

yourself. How can you repay the loans? With extra income sources like eggs and rice. Save a fistful of rice for

times when business is slow."

Zaman continues, "The area manager tries to motivate the women to make money herself."

After concluding his speech, the center manager hands Mr. Barui the completed application forms. Mr.

Ahmed proceeds to examine the information on the applications and checks each item for accuracy by

questioning the members one-by-one. Information on the applications includes the woman's present address,

her father's address, marriage status, husband's name, the member's education level and literacy, fixed assets

like land and house, and non-fixed assets (including the number of cows, chickens, ducks, and goats). After

reviewing this information with each member, Mr. Ahmed checks to make sure that the proper signatures are in

place. The group chairperson (elected by the group), the center manager, the branch manager, and the member

all must sign each member's application.

After ensuring that the paperwork is in order, Mr. Ahmed tests the member's understanding of the

Grameen process by asking specific questions. Mr. Ahmed asks the group chairperson, "How much would you

have after 10 years of making the required deposits to the Grameen Pension Scheme?"

The member responds, "44,854 taka (~$640)."

"When can a member take a big loan (micro-enterprise)?"

"After three years," the chairperson replies.

"Very good," says Mr. Ahmed, before turning to the second member and asking, "How much is loan

insurance for the loan?" (Loan insurance is required. In the event of the death of the member or her husband,

Grameen forgives the loan).

"60 taka per thousand," she replies.

"When do you have to pay the insurance on the loan?" asks Mr. Ahmed.

"Before you receive the loan."

"Very good." To the third member, he asks, "When can you take out an intermediate loan?"

"After six months if your repayment history is good."

"How much can you borrow with an intermediate loan?" Mr. Ahmed asks.

"The amount of the first loan and the interest that you've repaid."

"Very good."

Mr. Ahmed asks similarly specific questions of the last two members, and their responses are

satisfactory. Before Mr. Ahmed gives his final approval to the group and grants them membership to Grameen,

he must visit the members' houses to verify that the assets that they have are consistent with the assets listed on

the members' applications. Before visiting their houses, Mr. Ahmed gives Kathryn and me the opportunity to

ask questions of the group.

I begin. "How did you first hear about Grameen?"

One of the members responds, "I heard about it earlier because there is a center and a branch nearby."

Another member says, "My cousin is a member of another center, so I heard about it from her."

"Why did you decide to join Grameen?" I ask.

The group chairperson replies, "Because the interest rate on loans is low and the interest rate on savings

is high." I think to myself that 20% is not exactly low, but as far as microcredit is concerned, it is the standard

rate. I would, however, be thrilled to find a savings account that pays 8.5%.

Another member replies, "So that I can take an education loan for my son some day."

"After you decided to join Grameen, how did you decide who you wanted to be in your group?"

The group members look at each other with smiling faces. One offers, "We are very close neighbors."

Another says, "We have good relationships." A third chimes in, "They have good character and their husbands

are good."

I ask, "Who is going to get the first loan?" The group chairperson raises her hand. "What are you going

to do with the loan?"

"With 7,000 taka (~$100) I am going to buy goats. With 3,000 (~$42) taka, I am going to buy

chickens."

"Very nice," I say. Many of the newer members we interviewed earlier in the day were timid with their

first loans, taking an average of about 5,500 taka (~$77). I am impressed that this woman has taken the

maximum amount available to her. As she was elected as group chairperson and has borrowed as much as

possible, I am optimistic that she has the ambition and determination to raise herself and her family out of

poverty.

"Do you have any questions, Kathryn?" asks Zaman.

"No."

"Any more questions, Steve?"

"No.."

Zaman talks to Mr. Ahmed briefly. Mr. Ahmed then addresses the group. Zaman says that he is telling

them that they have worked hard over the course of the previous week's training. He tells them to go back to

their houses and do their daily work, and we might come by to check their residences.

"Okay. Let's move."

We visit two of the residences. They are both only one room in a larger building that houses four

families. The woman was certainly telling the truth when she said, "We are close neighbors." Ducks wander

through the common area while four shirtless children are running around chasing each other. Duck droppings

litter the ground around the wood stove that serves as the kitchen for all four families. I've lived with some

messy housemates before, but none as bad as these ducks. The squalor is depressing.

Mr. Ahmed signs the applications and hands them to the center manager. The group has been approved.

We exit the residence area and find our typical entourage waiting for us. One of the little boys points at me and

says something. Children around him laugh. One of the men grabs his arm and smacks him on the head. In

America, I would assume this is his father, but the expression "It takes a village to raise a child" is appropriate.

It is impossible to tell whose child is whose. At the child's reprimanding, the children stop laughing.

I ask Zaman, "What did he say?"

Zaman says, "It is nothing."

Pressuring him further. "I'm not angry. I'm just curious. What did he say?"

Zaman answers me, "He talks about your hair. He says, 'You have made yourself into a girl.' In the

villages, only women wear their hair in your style," indicating with his hands how I have my hair pulled back

into a ponytail.

Kathryn and I laugh hysterically. A ponytail on a man is very rare in Dhaka and must be unheard of in

the village. At seeing my laughter, the man who scolded the boy begins laughing. The rest of the villagers

break out into laughter. "What a cheeky little kid," Kathryn says. The cheeky little kid clings to a woman

(presumably his mother) for protection. I snap a photograph of him. We head back to the motorcycles,

followed by about thirty children, and wave goodbye.

After parking the motorcycles, we head into the market to visit several of the shops that have been

financed by Grameen. We visit a sweets shop, a cosmetics shop, and the "computer lady." Throughout our

adventure in the market, the villagers stare at us, snap pictures with their mobile phones, and follow us. I smile

at as many as I can. In the market, we are celebrities.

Upon returning to the branch office, Ms. Barui informs us that Mr. Wahab is en route from the zonal

office to meet with us to discuss Grameen Bank with us and answer any questions we have. In the meantime,

we sit down to wait, and Mr. Ahmed asks us if we have any questions.

"How does Grameen Bank decide to open a new branch and what is the process for opening a new

branch?" I ask.

Mr. Ahmed begins to detail this process. Before the branch opens, the program officer (2nd

in command

at the area level) travels across the country, assessing the demand for a Grameen Bank branch by determining

the number of villages not within range of an existing branch. Additionally, a survey is conducted determining

the size of the population in the area, the sources of income, and the access to markets and communication. The

minimum number of potential members required for Grameen to open a branch is approximately 3,000.

Once the program officer determines that the conditions for a new branch exist in an area, he informs the

zonal office. The zonal manager then confirms the information provided by the program officer with his own

brief survey. If the zonal manager is satisfied that there is a need for a new branch, then he submits an overall

report with the head office. This report includes the area's male and female populations, the schools and

colleges in the area, the markets and marketplaces, and other detailed information. If the head office agrees that

there is a need for the new branch, then the head office submits an application to the Bangladesh central bank,

which then issues a permit to Grameen.

Having received the permit, Grameen Bank's General Manager appoints a branch manager to the new

branch. On foot, the branch manager goes door-to-door, meeting with five to ten households per day,

discussing Grameen Bank's program and trying to identify the area's truly poor villages and households. In the

afternoon, the branch manager conducts a mini-meeting with local villagers, trying to find potential centers,

groups, and members. After several weeks of this laborious process of grassroots marketing and research, the

bank holds a projection meeting, chaired by the local union chairman. The bank invites the entire area to this

meeting, but especially tries to get the local eminent people to attend. At the projection meeting, the zonal and

area manager are the keynote speakers. They discuss the mission of Grameen Bank, the products offered to

members, and the 8.5% savings accounts that are available to non-members, in hopes of attracting deposits from

the local wealthy.

In general, all of the funding for the new branch comes from the deposits from the local area. If the new

branch receives insufficient funds from deposits, then nearby Grameen branches with surplus deposits transfer

funds to the new branch. After the projection meeting, centers and groups are formed, trained, and approved.

On the branch's integration day, the new branch is officially opened, and the zonal manager is on hand to

disburse the first loans to the new Grameen members. While Mr. Ahmed is finishing his description of this

process, Mr. Wahab's car pulls up outside, and he enters the branch office.

After greeting us, Mr. Wahab gets down to business, opening his briefcase and producing a number of

publications that he has written regarding Grameen Bank, the establishment of a new branch, and maintaining

discipline in a center and a branch. He speaks exclusively to me, ignoring Kathryn entirely. I feel sorry that

Kathryn has been excluded from much of the conversations that we have had during our internships.

Once he has distributed his writings, Mr. Wahab fields questions. "What are some of the challenges

facing Grameen, and what are some of the key success factors?"

"Loan repayment is the biggest issue," Mr. Wahab begins in fluent English with a thick Bengali accent,

spittle flying from his mouth as he lisps the 'st' sound of 'biggest.' "These are poor people. How do we get them

to repay? Overall discipline. Discipline in loan utilization, attendance at center meetings, and financial

discipline. Weekly repayment is crucial to encourage discipline. If member does not pay, then it is a social

obligation of remaining members of group to pressure the husband and the member, and say 'Why you do not

pay?' If there is a lack of discipline in center or group, then loan disbursement is threatened. Social pressure by

other members gets them to repay."

Mr. Wahab continues, in a very non-linear fashion, describing discipline. "Discipline starts before the

group is approved. The group has continuous seven-day training before. The group selects its members, so

there is incentive for the group to select disciplined members. Selection of group members is essential."

With the last sentence, I am showered with both Mr. Wahab's spit and his insight. A lightbulb goes off

in my head. Grameen's repayment rate is so high (over 98%) because the members know the character of their

fellow villagers. They have lived with them for their entire lives. I am reminded of local banks in America,

before the time of the huge, impersonal conglomerates. Local bank presidents had personal relationships with

the people of the local community to whom they loaned money. The townspeople were more than a mere series

of numbers on an application sheet. Bankers knew the personal and financial situations of loan applicants.

They knew whether someone had the character and capacity to repay a loan. The same is true of the Grameen

members. With intimate knowledge of the village women and their husbands, new members of Grameen

choose the best possible members to be in their group. This is also why it is the group chairperson and then the

center chairperson who must approve loan proposals before they are presented to Grameen Bank employees.

Distracted by my own personal epiphany, I miss some of Mr. Wahab's discussion of the various group

and individual penalties administered under the old Grameen system (Grameen methodology was overhauled in

2000 and introduced in 2001). If attendance was unsatisfactory, then a member's loan ceiling was lowered. If a

member failed to repay her loan, then the other members of the group would receive no new loan

disbursements.

Mr. Wahab has reached the end of his discussion of discipline, and asks if we have other questions.

"What are key success factors for Grameen?" I ask.

"Grameen requires hard work, sincerity, and honesty from its staff and its borrowers. The commitment

of our staff to alleviate poverty is important. Loan projects are selected by the groups and center members. We

must have top-to-bottom financial discipline. Loan proposals go through the group members, center members,

the center manager, the branch manager, and the area manager before they are approved. Weekly payment

ensures discipline. The government has mismanagement and corruption. It is immoral. There is no discipline.

Banks in America lose money now because they lack financial discipline. Banks in America fail, but growth

and development is high for Grameen because growth and development for Grameen members is high. We do

not have financial crisis. We have financial discipline. All staff do work for their money; they don't snatch it."

"More questions?" asks Mr. Wahab.

"What are some of the problems and challenges that Grameen faces?"

"The problems that Grameen faces are natural calamity, like cyclone, flood, death of a member or

husband from disease or accident. Manmade calamities like political strike and government corruption. Also,

there are hidden problems. 1,500 organizations are working with the poor. Some defame Grameen. They

disseminate misinformation." While the spit flies with "disseminate," I am thoroughly impressed with Mr.

Wahab's English vocabulary. Mr. Wahab continues, "The lack of financial discipline of other microcredit

entities makes Grameen's task difficult. The rules and regulations are strict, but there is no enforcement.

Grameen motivates its staff members to be disciplined."

"How does Grameen motivate the staff and ensure discipline?"

"I myself see how the people are changing their lives, and it is a great source of enjoyment and peace

and happiness. We tell staff, 'To serve the poor is to serve God.' There is no application fee to apply for a job

at Grameen. Other banks charge people to apply for job. This gives us more applicants. Before we hire, they

take written and oral tests. If they pass, then we hire them to train. Potential Grameen officers train for two

days at training institute and go for two months at old branch. Then they come back to head office where we

administer a test. If they pass, they go to new branch for two months. They come back and take another test.

If they pass, then they are hired. This way, they must be dedicated."

"We retain Grameen staff by giving them job security with government pay scale. Grameen gives on

job training and many chances for promotion. Working for Grameen is a creative job working with the poor.

Grameen provides staff loans and a staff health care insurance fund. Years ago, Grameen staff wanted to

unionize. Dr. Yunus did not want unions because they are inefficient. With unions, there are two organizations

with two layers of management. So Dr. Yunus created Staff Welfare Association. With 26,000 staff, there is

no trade union. Every three months, there is a meeting of the zonal SWA. Then the zonal officers meet at head

office for the head office SWA meeting. This way, the mitigation of staff concerns happens through dialogue,

not through strikes."

Coming to the apparent conclusion of his train of thought, Mr. Wahab asks if there are any more

questions.

"No. Thank you," I reply.

Zaman seeks to include Kathryn. "Do you have any questions, Kathryn?"

"No. That's enough."

Mr. Wahab offers a departing thought. "Dr. Yunus says, 'Charity rears the poor. Microfinance

empowers them."

We again offer our thanks to Mr. Wahab for meeting with us and offering so much information. He tells

us that he tried to cram a week's worth of education about Grameen into three days. Suffering a mild case of

information overload, I am certainly exhausted from the experience. The day has been a long one, and I am

ready for dinner and sleep. We bid farewell to Mr. Wahab. He tells us that he will return tomorrow for lunch

and to take us to the Naogaon bus station.

Glancing at the clock on my mobile phone, I discover that it is already 9:00 PM. I think to myself, "I am

starving." I reconsider thinking the word "starving" in quantifying my hunger. "I am extremely hungry" is

more appropriate. The young children of the beggars are starving. The abandoned street children are starving.

I am merely hungry. Zaman rouses me from my thoughts. "Let's move to the rooms until dinner?"

In the room, I again change out of sweaty clothes. I take my hair down from my ponytail, making

myself into a man. While in the bathroom washing my hair and hands, the branch's messenger, Alim, comes to

get us for dinner. Noticing that my hair is down, Alim says, "Very nice," as he motions with his hands to

indicate that my hair is down. "Like Robin Hood."

Ms. Barui and Mr. Ahmed welcome us into the town center. On the table, dinner has been served. Ms.

Barui points to a bowl, smiling at me. "Fish," she says. Considering that the fish in the market this afternoon

were alive in buckets of water, I realize that this is about as fresh as it gets. Zaman says that he does not eat

fish, and Kathryn is again not very hungry.

While we eat, Mr. Ahmed is constantly on his cell phone, with the bank's books spread out in front of

him. He is busy tallying the daily deposits and withdrawals for each of the branches in the area he manages.

Zaman notes, "He starts his day at 9 A.M. is still working after 9:00 P.M."

I say, "He works very hard. I hope he is paid very well."

Mr. Ahmed reveals that he makes only 30,000 taka (~$450) per month. He says that employees of

commercial banks receive the same salary as a starting salary. Mr. Ahmed has been a Grameen Bank employee

for 19 years. Clearly, there is much truth to Mr. Wahab's comments that Grameen Bank employees are

dedicated to serving the poor. Mr. Ahmed says, "I am paid here," as he holds his hand over his heart. I

consider how much better a place the world would be if more people worked to enlarge their hearts instead of

their wallets. As I polish off the fish, I have certainly enlarged by belly. After dinner, we retire to our rooms,

and I fall asleep peacefully.

Tenth Installment

I awaken the next morning, read more of my book, and wait for Kathryn and Zaman to wake up. After

an hour, they do, and we move down to the town center for breakfast. Mr. Ahmed tells us that our itinerary for

today includes two center meetings, a visit with a recipient of an education loan, and a visit with two women in

Grameen's struggling member programme. As breakfast is served, I am surprised to see that my plate has four

eggs on it. My comments about taking four eggs for breakfast in America had apparently not gone unnoticed.

After breakfast, we head to the first center meeting. With 547,719 taka of loans outstanding and

283,685 taka in savings, the Dariapur center has 11 groups and 58 members and has existed for approximately

ten years. Most members, however, joined approximately three years ago. Additionally, this center's members

participate in more diversified businesses than those in the previous two centers in the Prashadpur area.

Most of the new members have taken loans for purchasing livestock, leasing farmland, and buying

"vans" (rickshaw-style bicycles with a flatbed instead of a passenger bench mounted to the back). A woman

who joined this center when it first started ten years ago has taken a 25,000-taka micro-enterprise and a 20,000-

taka general loan in order to expand her fertilizer and insecticide business. A six-year member has taken a

25,000-taka loan for her oil business, while a five-year member has taken 6,000 taka for her sweets business. A

woman who joined Grameen three years ago has taken a 10,000-taka loan to expand her husband's decorating

business.

We interview the woman with the agricultural chemicals business to discover that she took her first

3,000-taka loan to purchase a small cow. With her second 5,000-taka loan, she started a small grocery shop,

which she ran out of her house. With a 7,000-taka loan, she leased land on which her husband farmed rice. Not

until her fourth loan did she enter the fertilizer business with a 10,000-taka loan. Since then, all of her loans

have gone to expand that business to include other agricultural chemicals like insecticides and herbicides. Her

current loans require a weekly repayment of 1,125 taka, while her monthly income is 10,000 taka per month

during nine months of the year and 5,000 per month during three months. Additionally, she owns a small piece

of farmland on which her husband grows rice and vegetables with which to feed the family.

In talking with the owner of the oil business, we learn that her products include mustard oil, soybean oil,

petrol, and diesel. When I initially heard that she was in the oil business, I must confess, I never imagined that

her product mix was so diversified. She and her husband both work for their oil business, with her selling

products from her home and her husband selling it on the road with the van that they own. They currently have

90,000 taka worth of product at their house. Before joining Grameen, she, her husband, and their daughter lived

at her father-in-law's house, while her husband worked as a farmer for his father.

The member who runs the sweets shop bakes her products at home, while her husband sells them in the

nearby markets. She is able to produce 12 to 15 kilograms of sweets per day, and her husband sells them to

grocers for approximately 50 taka per kilogram. Their daily profit is approximately 350 taka, but she bakes

well into the night in order to produce such a large quantity of baked goods. Since milk is their largest expense,

this member is considering taking a new loan to buy a milk cow. Their son has moved out of their house, and

works as an oil trader in the nearby town of Naogaon.

The woman who has taken the loan for her husband's decorating business works at home as a tailor,

while her husband operates the business. Her first loan was for 5,000 taka, her second loan was for 7,000 taka,

and her third and current loan is for 10,000 taka. While she doesn't operate the decorating business herself, she

says that she and her husband jointly decided what they should purchase for the business. We ask her if she has

any children. She says that she had a daughter but she died. The matter-of-factness with which she mentions

this astonishes me. The death of a child here is obviously a much more common occurrence than in America.

After the conclusion of the center meeting, we make our way through the crowds of Dariapur villagers

to briefly visit the homes of some of the Grameen members. First we visit the oil trader's house. Entering the

one-room house, we discover that the oil supplies are stored in the bedroom. The smell of petroleum products

is overwhelming. Thankfully, she stores the food oils on a separate shelf from the petroleum oils. She shares a

kitchen with the member who operates a sweets business, whose house we visit next. She and her husband

store their flour and oil in the bedroom, where they also do the mixing. After showing us where the mixing

takes place, she shows us the joint kitchen. There is no electricity in this village, so she does her nighttime

baking by gaslight. Finally, we visit the home of the member whose husband operates a decorating business. It

is a modest one-room house, with a sewing machine in the corner. She tells us that she started tailoring before

joining Grameen, but her husband had been a day laborer working on someone else's farm.

We mount the motorcycles and quickly proceed to the next village for its center meeting. Upon arrival,

Zaman introduces Kathryn and me before we ask questions. Center 41 has 260,000 taka of outstanding loans

and a little more than 100,000 taka in savings. Having been opened for only a year and a half, most members

here are leasing land on which their husbands farm rice. Some others have taken loans for livestock. Only two

members, both of whom were members of another center before joining this one, are in non-agricultural

businesses. One has taken a 25,000-taka loan for her pharmacy and the other has take a 16,000-taka general

loan and a 20,000-taka micro-enterprise loan for the grocery that her husband operates in the Prashadpur

market.

As this is a new center, I decide to ask the new members how much their agricultural output has

increased since joining Grameen. For each person who has been a member for only 1.5 years, I ask how much

they were able to grow two years ago and how much they are able to grow now. It is perhaps easier to display

the information in a chart rather than in narrative:

Member

Loan

Amount

2007

yield

2008

yield

Net

Increase

%

Increase

Taka

Increase

Taka

Total

A 10,000 140 320 180 128.6% 28,800 51,200

B 10,000 100 220 120 120.0% 19,200 35,200

C 8,000 0 80 80 N/A 12,800 12,800

D 10,000 160 280 120 75.0% 19,200 44,800

E 8,000 40 60 20 50.0% 3,200 9,600

F 10,000 40 100 60 150.0% 9,600 16,000

Weights reported in Mun (=4 kg). Price of rice at a conservative estimate of 40 taka/kg.

The market price of rice is from 40 to 45 taka per kilogram.

Clearly, Members A thru D have been able to improve their families' income through proper loan

utilization. However, Members E and F have failed to improve their earnings by more than the amount of the

loan they have taken. As their total rice production is greater than the amount of the loan, they will likely be

able to repay the loans, but they will not be improving their circumstances. In fact, unless they used some of the

loan to purchase income-generating livestock of which they failed to tell us, then they will be worsening their

conditions. This demonstrates that Grameen is not a cure-all for poverty. The members must wisely utilize

their loans. Perhaps these women, as with the owner of the agricultural business, will find another trade that

better suits their families.

This center also has a member whose son has gotten a Grameen Shikkha scholarship to help fund his

studies in class 11 at the college in Naogaon. Her son lives in Naogaon and maintains a 4.63 GPA out of 5.

The scholarship pays only 250 taka (~$3.50) per month, but this figure is enough to enable him to continue his

studies. "The scholarship pays for his tuition and examination costs," says the woman with great pride. "If he

did not get the scholarship, he could not go to school in Naogaon." It stuns me that a monetary amount so small

to me can, for someone else, be the difference between dropping out of school and continuing his education.

As the center meeting concludes, we do not have enough time to visit the houses of the members of this

center, as we have to travel a relatively far distance to visit a woman who has taken out a Grameen higher

education loan for her son. The trip by motorcycle takes us through another market area that is crowded with

people. We stop for only a brief moment to visit a sweets store financed by a Grameen loan, and the villagers

drop what they are doing and crowd around us. Kathryn and I wave and smile at them, while Mr. Ahmed

commands them to move away so that we can leave. We soon arrive in the next village, Inayetpur.

The villagers congregate around us while Mr. Ahmed tries to locate the woman who has taken the

education loan for her son. After a brief moment, Rafiq ul Islam and his mother come to greet us on the porch.

Rafiq is pursuing a bachelor's degree in accounting from the Naogaon government college, where tuition is free.

Admission to government colleges in Bangladesh is as competitive as admission to Ivy League schools in

America.

To help quantify the difficulty of gaining admittance, Zaman says, "500 students compete for one seat at

Dhaka University." Only 0.2% of applicants are admitted to Dhaka University, so competition for Naogaon

must be difficult.

"You must be a very meritorious student," I tell Rafiq.

Rafiq tells us that he has all A's in his major. After obtaining his bachelor's, Rafiq says that he plans to

pursue his MBA, hopefully at Dhaka University. We ask him what he wants to do after getting his MBA. Like

most potential college graduates, he says that he hopes to get a job. He says, "I would like to work for Grameen

Bank, so that I can help people like they have helped my mom."

I ask how much he has borrowed for his education. Rafiq is in his first year of college and is borrowing

1,150 taka (~$17.00) per semester to help pay for living expenses while he is in school. His mom is very proud

of him and is glad that she can help him with an education loan for Grameen. Her eldest son has already

graduated from college financed by a Grameen education loan and is currently teaching. Her daughter got

married at 16 years old. Mr. Ahmed voices disapproval that she practiced child marriage, although he says that

16 is better than 14. I take a photograph of Rafiq and his mother before we leave the village to go visit another

village where there is a woman who belongs to Grameen's struggling member program.

Through its struggling member program, Grameen Bank gives interest-free loans to beggar women.

Unlike the general loan, the struggling member loan has no defined payment plan, such that the borrower pays

back the principal, as she is able. When we arrive in the village, Mr. Ahmed asks where the struggling member

is. We discover that she is out in the field with her goat. While we wait for her to return, Zaman speaks to the

villagers who have gathered around us.

After conversing with them, Zaman tells us that the straw house behind us belongs to the beggar woman.

He says, "This is the struggling member's house. It is on the village's common land." Pointing at another

nearby house, Zaman continues, "That house also belongs to a beggar who has taken a struggling member

loan."

"In America, most beggars do not have a house that is theirs," I offer. "Many sleep in parks and on the

streets. Some have cardboard boxes. It is nice that the village allows them to build a permanent shelter."

Zaman says, "There is lots of land around here, so a place for a house is not a problem. Most probably,

other villagers helped them build their houses."

"It is good that people help take care of them," Kathryn says.

A frail older woman with a mouth full of rotten teeth approaches us. "This is the struggling member,"

Mr. Ahmed says. He tells her that we are from America and that we are here to study with Grameen Bank. She

smiles at us. "Would you like to ask her questions?"

I begin, "How much have you borrowed from Grameen Bank?"

"2000 taka."

"What did you do with the loan?"

"I bought a goat, so that I can sell the milk."

"How much do you earn from the milk?"

"I drink some milk. I sell the extra in the market for 13 to 17 taka per day."

"Is that enough for you to stop begging?"

"No. I still have to beg for rice. I get two handfuls of rice each day from begging."

"What do you do with the money that you make from selling the milk?"

"I save 20 taka each week to pay back my loan to Grameen. I use the rest to buy vegetables to eat."

"How much time do you spend begging and taking care of the goat?"

"I spend a lot of time taking care of the goat. It is the only thing I have to take care of, and I like tending

to it. I don't have to spend much time begging. The villagers take care of me."

Kathryn asks, "How did you become a beggar?"

The woman responds, "My husband died ten years ago. He worked as a day laborer. He did not make

enough money to save any. He did not have any assets when he died. Our house was rented, so I could not pay

for it without him. My son has a wife and family now, and he also works as a day laborer, so he cannot take

care of me."

Tears begin to well up in my eyes as this woman tells us her story. This woman is truly a victim of

circumstance. The death of her husband left her completely asset-less, with no option but to beg. She was able

to build a house because of the kindness of her village. With the loan from Grameen she was able to buy a

goat—a goat that serves not only as a source of income, but as something for her to care for—something that

gives a sense of purpose to her day.

While we talk to the woman, villagers (especially young children) have begun to crowd around us. As

the woman finishes, we thank her for sharing her story and offer our sympathy as best we can without

understanding her language. I ask her if it is okay to take her picture. She says it is okay. Upon seeing the

camera, the children get excited. After I take the struggling member's picture, the children begin pointing to

themselves, as if to say, "Me next! Me next!"

I oblige. Kathryn asks me to take a picture of her with the children. I show the children the picture that

I have taken, and each of them is ecstatic as they point to themselves on the digital cameras display. Kathryn

takes a picture of me with the children, and then takes some individual shots. In particular, she tries to

photograph this shy little girl with incredibly deep eyes and a Batman shirt. After minutes of hiding behind

other children, the girl concedes, and Kathryn snaps a photograph of the little girl. Upon seeing herself in the

camera's display, the girl giggles. As Kathryn puts up her camera, Mr. Ahmed says, "Let's move!"

Back at the town center, Ms. Barui and the town councilman tell us that they have arranged a big meal

for us. They emphasize that they are treating us, and that we will not have to pay for the feast. Zaman tells us

that we should pack our things to get ready to leave after lunch. Kathryn and I return to our rooms.

After packing, Kathryn and I talk about how sad we are to leave this village that has so wholeheartedly

welcomed us. As we sit on the balcony outside of our rooms, the town councilman comes up to get his

photograph taken with us. I shake his hand and thank him, as best I can, "Donobod." Motioning with my hands

to indicate all that is around us, "Kub bahloh. Kub shundor." Thank you. Very nice. Very beautiful.

As we sit in the main office of the town center, Alim serves us a huge lunch of chicken, fish, rice,

potatoes, green beans, and lentils. It is much more food than we can eat. We talk about how much we have

learned about Grameen Bank and thank them profusely for their generosity and hospitality. Wahab's car for us.

We take photos in front of the town center and the branch office. Ms. Barui presents us with our bill for food

and electricity and tells us that she and the union manager paid for 1,000 taka of the 1,700 taka worth of fuel we

used for electricity. We say our goodbyes and again thank them for everything they have done for us.

Munjor drives us back to the Naogaon bus stop. We buy our tickets and board the business-class bus.

The 190 km (118 miles) bus ride back to Dhaka takes well over seven hours. We stop only three times for a

total of one hour, so we average only 20 miles per hour while driving. Traffic crawls to a standstill for two

hours outside of Dhaka. Getting off the bus, Zaman hails two rickshaws for us. Our poor rickshaw driver

pedals almost four kilometers, hauling Kathryn, me, and our 40 pounds of luggage. Arriving at the hotel the

driver is drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Zaman tells us to pay him only 50 taka. I slip him an extra

100 taka for his effort; although his struggle should earn him more than $2.00. We thank Zaman and pay him

4,200 taka (~$60) for three days of his service. Kathryn and I go to our rooms, shower, and meet in the

restaurant for dinner. After a light dinner, I go to my room and bask in the cool breeze of the air conditioner.

Eleventh Installment

Another of Babor's interns, Stephen, from France, wanted to visit Grameen Knitwear, located in the

Export Processing Zone (EPZ) on the outskirts of Dhaka. Babor asked Kathryn and me if we would like to visit

there with him. While neither of us had been especially interested in that sister company, we were certainly

willing to spend 300 taka to go. Babor had made the visit sound especially enticing by offering us "two piece of

garments." We were to meet Babor at the head office at 9:30 AM.

Kathryn and I meet in the hotel restaurant for breakfast at 8:30. As soon as breakfast is served, Stephen

calls me to ask what time we are meeting at the head office to embark on our trip. I tell him 9:30. As I sit back

down, Babor calls, and the call is dropped. I go out into the hallway where reception is better and return his

call. He had called to tell me that Nana wants to join us, but her language classes dismiss at 9:30, so we will

meet at the head office at 10:00. I sit back down and take one bite of my curried vegetables when Nana calls

me. The call is dropped before I can answer, so I go back out in the hall to return her call. She is calling to tell

me that she will not be able to go after all, because Stephen called her to inform her that there is a terrible traffic

jam on the way to the head office. After hanging up the phone I sit back down and finally enjoy my breakfast.

The organization (or lack thereof) has finally started to wear on me after six weeks.

Kathryn and I walk outside to hail a rickshaw in the rain. While the monsoon season is officially over,

Cyclone Reshmi is in the Bay of Bengal. As a result, the temperature is delightfully cool, but it has rained

relentlessly for two days. We arrive at the head office, wet from the waist down. We get out of the rickshaw

and take the elevator upstairs. Arriving in the internship office, we find Babor gluing the names of participants

in Grameen's International Dialogue Program to name tags. I haven't seen a glue stick since elementary school.

Adding to this, Babor seems especially lighthearted and playful this morning.

"Stephen messaged me and say he is running late because of the jam. He does not have his phone with

him, so we cannot call him," Babor informs us. "Most probably he give it to Yasmina (his girlfriend)."

In a similarly playful mood, I ask, "Is that because she wears the pants?"

Babor replies, "Yes, she wears pants. Very small pants. Stephen wears small pants also. They are not

long like you and Kathryn." In Banglish, "long" means "tall."

Kathryn and I giggle uncontrollably. Obviously Babor is not familiar with the idiom. Babor, too, is

laughing and takes our laughter as his cue to be a comedian for the day.

Continuing to wait for Stephen, I try to make conversation, "So Babor, I read that there is a cyclone in

the Bay of Bengal."

"It is no problem. We will be safe," says Babor.

Sham, another internship coordinator, chimes in, "No. It is a problem."

Babor defends his position, "Winds are only 30 to 40 kilo."

Sham retorts, "Winds might reach 100 kilo. If it rains much more, then winter seedlings will be

destroyed."

Babor has been silenced, so he returns to his gluing. Soon, Stephen arrives.

Babor welcomes him and says, "Let's move. We go outside and get into our taxi. Babor asks if anyone

wants the front seat. Four inches taller than anyone else in the group, I do not hesitate. Babor gets stuck sitting

in the middle of the backseat. He offers, "You are my interns. I will sit in the middle. I will do anything for

my interns." He jokes, "Also, I like to be close to my interns."

Kathryn says, "That's very nice of you, Babor."

Babor asks, "Steve, what is that?"

"What is what, Babor?"

"That, in the driver's window," he says, pointing to the large piece of wood resting on the dashboard. "If

we do not pay, he can beat us with his stick." Kathryn, having been sick for several weeks, laughs so hard that

she begins to cough. I am rolling in the front seat. Encouraged, Babor continues, "No. He cannot beat us; we

are more," referring to our strength in numbers.

I add, "And I am very long."

Babor adds, "And me, too," as he strikes a flexing pose. Except for the driver who understands nothing

of what has transpired, the entire taxi is laughing as we begin our trek to Grameen Knitwear.

On the way to the factory, I notice that there is an eight-story bank under construction. There are no

cranes or cement trucks or other heavy machinery that one might expect to see at a construction site. There is

only scaffolding--not metal scaffolding, but scaffolding made of single bamboo stalks tied together. A worker

would have to balance eight stories in the air on a single stalk of bamboo. In addition, the top of the building

has exposed rebar sticking out the top of the building. This is apparently so that the bank can add onto the

building after it has been constructed.

Further along our journey, the taxi comes to a screeching halt. A gigantic pothole—probably two feet

deep, 8 feet wide, and ten feet long—blocks the left lane of the two-lane road on which we are traveling. The

driver tries to creep around it on the right-hand side, but there is traffic in the oncoming lane. I am jostled in my

seat as the front left tire slips into the pothole. The oncoming lane of traffic clears, and the driver pulls out of

the pothole, the underside of the taxi grinding on the edge of the asphalt.

As I glance in the back seat to see Stephen and Kathryn sleeping through the commotion caused by the

pothole, Babor says, "They sleep silently." He continues, "Like the sign, 'Sleep silently. Nobody will repeat it.'

at Hiroshima and Nagasaki." I fail to comprehend how that came to his mind.

The taxi driver makes a right turn into the area designated EPZ. There are numerous factories on both

sides of the road. There is a sign advertising the FedEx office of the EPZ. Before we arrive at Grameen

Knitwear, a gigantic puddle blocks our path. The water of the puddle is pitch black, like something out of a bad

horror movie. I ask, "Babor, why is the water black?"

"It is the dyes from the factories. Most probably, the rain makes them flood the street."

"That is not very good for the environment," I reply.

"No. It is very bad," says Babor.

After getting clearance from the guard that the puddle is not too deep to drive through, the taxi driver

pulls into the Grameen Knitwear driveway. We exit the taxi and enter the front door of the factory. We are

greeted by several Grameen Knitwear executives and are escorted into the manager's office. Mr. Choudhury

introduces himself and calls for an assistant to bring us food and water.

Mr. Choudhury begins to detail the operations of Grameen Knitwear, while the assistant serves us

grapes and crackers. As with all factories in the EPZ, 100% of the products produced here are exported. No

pieces are sold in the country. 60% of the factory's products are exported to Germany, 30% to the rest of

Europe, and 10% to the United States. Mr Choudhury tells us, "We just started to export to the U.S.A.

Hopefully, this number will increase day-by-day." The lack of diversification in the countries to which

Grameen Knitwear exports its products could present problems for the company.

Producing t-shirts, polo shirts, sportswear, and sweatshirts, Grameen Knitwear employs 2,850 people,

150 as executives and supervisors and 2,700 as line workers. Unskilled laborers earn a monthly base salary of

3,000 taka ($44.11) while skilled laborers earn a 5,000 taka ($73.52). With overtime hours paid for days longer

than eight hours, wages can reach 4,500 taka ($66.18) and 6,800 taka ($100), respectively. While this sounds

like an inhumane wage, the minimum required base salary for factories in the EPZ is only $30.00 per month, or

2,040 taka. Grameen pays wages substantially higher than the minimum. Outside the EPZ, garment factories

often pay wages as low as 1,500 taka per month.

In addition to higher wages, Grameen Knitwear offers its employees other benefits. Knitwear hires 26

buses to transport workers to and from the factory. Additionally, Grameen provides education and childcare for

the workers' children and operates free health clinics for the workers. If a worker is injured on the job, then

Grameen pays 100% of the worker's treatment. Furthermore, injured workers unable to perform job are not

fired. For example, if a loader injures his leg on the job and finds it difficult to lift upon returning, then he is

shifted to a different department, like the storage department, where he might be responsible taking inventory of

items.

The Grameen Knitwear factory has the capacity to produce from 25,000 polo shirts to 35,000 t-shirts per

day, depending upon the complexity of the product to be produced. A polo shirt sells for approximately $6 US,

a t-shirt for $3 US. At capacity, Grameen Knitwear could generate $105,000 daily revenue if producing t-shirts

and $150,000 daily revenue if producing polo shirts. Assuming that the factory is operational at 100% capacity

for 252 days per year and produces only t-shirts (the lower total revenue), Grameen Knitwear would earn $26.5

million gross revenue. In reality, Grameen Knitwear generated $19 million in annual revenue for the last fiscal

year and operated with a 7-8% profit margin. Because Grameen Knitwear generates only $19 million out of a

potential $26.5 million revenue, the factory is at best utilizing only 71.7% of its capacity. Grameen Knitwear

could potentially generate much higher revenue and operate at a higher profit margin were it able to expand its

export markets and operate at a higher capacity.

Grameen Knitwear is Grameen's only for profit business, but is jointly owned by two social businesses

Grameen Kalyan (well-being programs for Grameen members) and Grameen Fund (venture capital for small

enterprises that benefit the poor). In this way, Knitwear provides funding for Grameen sister companies that

directly serve the poor and is basically a profit-generating business activity of two non-profit organizations.

Grameen Knitwear also provides (relatively-speaking) high wages with strong employee benefits.

After Mr. Choudhury provides the details of Grameen Knitwear's operations, we take a tour of the

factory. The ground floor houses the heavy capital equipment and has little human activity. Each person

monitors approximately three gigantic machines that knit, dye, and wash the all of the fabric used in the

production of Grameen Knitwear garments. The effluent from the fabric dyeing and washing is pumped outside

the building to a waste treatment facility also housed on the ground floor. Walking through this maze of pipes,

pumps, and tanks, I see that there are no leaks and no overflow. Hopefully, Grameen Knitwear is not

responsible for any of the black water in the large pond that obstructed our entrance to the factory. I am

surprised to see that, amidst the massive metal fixtures, there are several planters in which flowers are growing.

We move back inside the building and ascend the first flight of stairs to the second floor. Huge shelves

store large quantities of fabric rolls and bundles representing every color of the rainbow. On the other side of

the room, there are 60-foot long tables upon which the fabric has been unrolled and stretched. Standing beside

and kneeling on top of these tables, approximately 100 employees measure and cut all of the fabric for Grameen

Knitwear. With each cut, an employee saws through 60 to 100 pieces of fabric. The cut fabric is then moved

upstairs for sewing, while the scrap fabric is collected and sold to a factory that reconstitutes it into yarn.

Upstairs, we see the sewing room. Thousands of employees in over sixty production lines are seated

barefoot at sewing machines. The size of this sewing operation is massive. Images of sweatshops producing

garments for Kathy Lee Gifford's fashion line spring to mind. As we walk through the aisles between

production lines, Kathryn leans over to me and says, "So this is where my clothes come from. I'm not sure I

will be able to buy clothes ever again."

The employees engaged in the sewing of fabrics do not look tortured or agonized, but they certainly

don't look happy. There is a drone-like look upon their faces. While they are not machines, perhaps it is easier

for them to make it through the day if they sew without thinking. I think back to our visit to the slum schools

and am saddened that many of the children who dream of being doctors, teachers, and army men will likely end

up in a factory like this one, suffering less humane conditions, lower wages, and few (if any) benefits. As we

reach the end of the production line, I see the finished product, a black shirt that reads, "I'm just not sweet." The

irony was not lost upon me.

We walk past six more production lines before we come to the next product, a shirt that reads, "It's all

good in the hood." Babor reads this shirt to us. His Bengali-accented English reading such a phrase is wildly

comical and thankfully lifts me from my reminiscence of the slum school. Walking down production line

number 25, we stop briefly to speak with a beautiful young woman named Nasina. Twenty years old, Nasina

was married at fourteen. Her husband works six rows over on production line 19. They earn 3,800 and 5,000

taka per month respectively, for a monthly household income of 8,800 taka (~$129.41). Hearing this, I feel

guilty for earning $250 per day for engineering live concert sound (a job that I truly love), while, half a world

away, these poor people toil away at a job with little satisfaction to earn little more than a penny to my dollar.

We ascend the flight of stairs to see the ironing, folding, and packing room. Here, one table of women is

ironing the clothes, while another table is folding them, while another table is packing them. More mindless,

monotonous labor. There are boxes of packed clothes on one side of the room. On the boxes are pictures of

gorgeous white models smiling shiny white smiles while they wear the shirts made by the poor people in this

factory. The German words on the box mean nothing to me, but the 10.99 € price tag means much. Well over

half of the revenue generated by the retail sale of these garments is being earned by the companies that import

the products made here. If 30,000 of these shirts are made in a day, then each of the 2,700 line-level employees

daily makes a little more than eleven shirts, representing over 120 € worth of retail value, while they earn

approximately 2 € for their daily work.

I remember that Grameen Knitwear pays its employees more than the minimum amount required and

offers them benefits. As the garment industry represents 75% of Bangladesh's gross domestic product, there are

certainly other factories that offer their workers worse conditions, pay, and benefits while generating more

revenue off of the exploitation of cheap Bengali labor. I also realize that without the garment factories, many

Bengalis would be unemployed or working more hours for less pay under more grueling and dangerous

conditions as a rickshaw driver or as a construction worker. While the employees of Grameen Knitwear seem

to have it bad, there are many in Bangladesh who have it much worse.

We exit the manufacturing part of the plant and go back to Mr. Choudhury's office. He asks us if we

have any questions. Stephen, interested in importing several thousand units of Grameen Knitwear to France,

asks about the minimum order size, the amount of shipping those 10,000 units, and the duties and export taxes

that he would have to pay. After answering these questions, Mr. Choudhury gives two garments each to

Kathryn, Stephen, and I, while he gives only one garment to Babor.

Leaving the factory, the rain has abated, though the black puddle remains. The taxi ride back to the

Grameen head office is as humorous as the ride there. Babor makes jokes about receiving only one garment

while Mr. Choudhury gave us two. "I am poor Bangladeshi beggar. Give me only one piece. Give the

foreigners two." We all laugh—myself, to keep from crying at the injustice of the Bangladeshi garment

industry. Could we afford our abundance in America were it not for the poverty of other parts of the world?

Final Installment

I safely returned from my journey in Bangladesh late Friday night. It was certainly a shock to exit the airport to

a temperature of 35 degrees Fahrenheit after two months of temperatures no cooler than 80 degrees. It was also

a shock to see gasoline at $1.85 per gallon. It was pleasantly surprising to be able to move efficiently through

traffic without rickshaws and CNGs. It was pleasant to drive down streets not populated with maimed and

starving beggars and not polluted with litter, excrement, and diesel exhaust.

Over the course of my 36-hour itinerary, I had the opportunity to see the deserts and mountains of Iran and the

glaciers and ice sheets of arctic Canada--both of which were some incredible sights. After two months of

Bangla, it was strange to be surrounded by English-speakers during my stopover in Houston. The cold, clean

water available at the Houston airport water fountains was delightful. It was wonderful to see familiar faces

welcome me in the airport.

I am truly thankful to have been given this unique experience available to few. I am grateful and humbled that

so many in America were interested in reading my reports from such a distinctly different place with distinctly

different culture and socio-economic conditions. Thank you for your kind words of encouragement and support

and for thoughtful insight and feedback. I hope that each of you is well and have wonderful upcoming holidays.

For those able to attend, I look forward to seeing you at the reception Monday November 24 at 3:00 PM in the

SunTrust Room at the BAS.

While I learned so much during my time in Bangladesh, I feel that my work there did little to help the

Bangladeshi people. I feel like I need to do more. I feel like I must return someday. Perhaps, upon my return, I

will again get sick and need medical attention. It is my sincere wish that one of the children I met in the slum

school has achieved their dream and cares for me as a doctor or a nurse. Perhaps the wages earned and benefits

enjoyed by the Grameen Knitwear employees will be the standard for Bangladeshi garment factories. Perhaps I

will return to see that Shohana and her husband (the rickshaw driver turned bus business owner) have

completed their five-story dream house. Hopefully, there will be fewer beggars in the street and fewer children

with starving bellies. Perhaps, someday I will return to find that there is no longer a need for Grameen Bank

and its sister companies, as Bangladesh is no longer an impoverished nation.

I am grateful for the wonderful people whom I met along the way--everyone who was so helpful, kind, and

generous. I am thankful for the Grameen Bank employees who serve the poor with such passion and

dedication. Those who welcomed me as their brother, uncle, nephew, and son will forever be in my heart as my

extended family.

I am including several emails from some of the people with whom I worked, lived, and came in contact during

my time spent in Bangladesh. While the people there are so materially poor, they are a spiritually rich people

who truly love their fellow human beings, regardless of race or creed. I have omitted their names for

anonymity's sake.

Dear Brother Sibley !

We welcome you in our poor country Bangladesh.

And we give you thanks for your journey in Bangladesh.

I am personally very glad to meet you.

I'll give you a book by name "Ethics of Islam".

I have a free mind about Religion.

Everybody has freedom about Religion.

So I am not asking or invitation you about Islam.

But I think that everybody should know about Popular Religion

like Islam, Christianity and Hinduism etc.

I am a student of Comperative Religion.

I have read The Holy Bible several times.

A true Religious Person is peaceful for all humanbeing.

So you can discuss with me on any topic except the current world politics.

Because every Governer has own policy with denying the public openions.

When you are free then come to my Computer Centre.

Good evening,

How r u. I am fine, today is my dayoff,Now I am writting by cybercafe for u.Sir I have seen

many forigner without u. You r very good man.I always rebember u & pray May ALLAH

bless to u.I think u have reach in your country .Plz send my wishes to your parents.

Take care.

Best Regards.

dear friend:

its is being feeling bad infact,to see my friend leeved.

did not we passed a good time here in bangladesh?

after ariving in ur country do not forget me please.

some how i know ur the exceptional man from usa

Dear,

We are missing you so much cause you were a very friendly person to all of us.We can not forget u.Kabir bhai

also missing u so much cause he is very happy to make friendship with u.Plz try to keep in touch with us

regularly.After reaching in America plz inform us and thanks a lot for ur Fotua.Its very nice to look.Wishing ur

nice journey and happiness forever.

Bye,,,,,