Business & Economic Research Center | Jones College of Business | Middle Tennessee State University

by Steven Sibley (October 29, 2008)

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 toward 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 an 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 Kathryn and I, not American soldiers, 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 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 me 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 10 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 toward 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 not 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 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 principal 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 principal 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 longer 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 out loans 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 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 27," I offer.

"And I am 19."

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 members' 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 2,500 taka less than that of the previous center, which has been open for 18 years. It has been in existence for only 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 me 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 or 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.