Pandemonium & reluctant acceptance of miracles (Part II)

Narba at the door of the grain bank

For those of you who know me, you know that I'm too sensitive for my own good, and that the sight of so many apparently furious women would really rock my boat. The first several such meetings (i.e. all of 2008), I would leave close to tears, convinced that everyone was pissed off, and that the project would never work, and that no one cared about it, and that I was a stupid, foolish, hypersensitive nincompoop. That still happens, actually, but it has gotten a little better. A little bit. What I learned is, there happen to be a lot of different ways of doing things. My friends- Gwallo, Narba, Lahadi, Fachi- have taken the time over the months to explain to me that, for better or worse, the women here have their way of making decisions. They laugh at themselves- "Muna kama tsuntsaye cikin itatua"-- "We are like a thousand birds in the trees"- and insist that no one is angry, even if they sound that way to me. Everyone, men and women alike, nods in agreement that "Samsiya, bata so yaya"- "Samsiya really doesn't like it when everyone talks at once." A few times, the ladies have done their best to restrain themselves, and have managed to put off the chaos for a few additional seconds. But it doesn't last. It's okay, I guess, as long as things work out in the end. Which is where this story is going--

Collectively (read between the lines and know that we had a half dozen squalls/meetings), the women decided that each bag of millet (100kg), would be sold to groups of four women- that is, four women per bag- for the small price of 2,000 CFA. At harvest time, each group will have to bring an additional 15,000 CFA worth of grain to restock the bank. So, each bag assumes 17,000 CFA. I purchased the grain at 14,000 CFA per bag last year, so we're making 3,000 CFA profit per bag (1,000 CFA in grain, 2,000 CFA in cash).

The day the committee opened the bank was, in my experience, a complete and total disaster. What I saw was: Some women came in groups, some came alone, some came with money and some without, and no one stood in line. Women were thrusting cash at each other and yelling names to be written down, and their sons were carrying precious sacks of grain off before accounts could be settled. The women in the committee were all over the place- Huri and Habsatou were alternately scribbling down names and stubbornly refusing to write a word, Karima was taking money and making me sit on the cash box, Salamu was barking orders at the boys carrying grain, Lahadi was standing there with an amused look on her face...On my precarious perch on the cash box, I was squashed by woman after woman, who would lunge forward to force coins into Karima's hands. Meanwhile Ana, Aisha, and Yashe repeatedly used my shoulders as a stool when the crowd of women would start to fall onto us.

I was saved from calamity by a phone call from my mother, and was able to extract myself from the pandemonium for the haven of her support and patience. I didn't return to the grain bank; even if I hadn't been talking with her I don't think I would've made it back there. But about a half hour into our conversation, here comes Narba, beckoning me over. And this is where this whole mess started to make a little more sense. The women had all gone home, except for the committee, who were now all sitting on mats in my own courtyard. "We've been waiting for you!!", they said. They wanted to count all of the money, and I needed to be present. So that's what we did, and instead of finding that they were missing a zillion dollars and that they'd only managed to write down ten names, we found that all but an inconsequential amount of money was there and that all the names were recorded. They even knew exactly who hadn't paid, and how much she owed, and had a plan for collecting the missing money.

So, count me utterly bamboozled. I don't understand their system, and I don't like being caught up in its volume and tussle, but I can now attest that it does, in fact, work. A part of me is nearly indignant, that such turmoil cuts it. But that's the American part of me, which admires order and calm. But I am in Niger, after all, and I suppose I'm learning a little humility at last.

Pandemonium & reluctant acceptance of miracles (Part I)

The time came to open the grain bank, an event that I had been anxious about from the beginning. There's just so much to keep track of, and so many different ways to do things, and then for the committee to be new at it all...it's a big responsibility, and I wasn't sure of the best way to run it. Which is fine, since I'm not supposed to run it anyway, but I couldn't help stressing about it. It was hard for me to figure out a respectful balance between giving constructive advice and sticking my nose into their business. It is theirs, after all. And, as they kept telling me, the women'll run it the way they want to, when it comes down to it. So I kept my mouth shut most of the time, opening it only to say:

1. The grain is for selling, not for giving away.
2. The bank had better be full with grain again after the harvest.

Another reason that I was anxious about the grain bank opening was because I have come to dread, and indeed avoid, womens' meetings that involve more than 20 people. The way womens' business is carried out here- loudly, chaotically, everyone-shouting-at-each-other-at-the-same-time- makes me want to disappear. I won't pretend that I like it. I despise it. I think my difficultly with it is born out of major culture differences in the way groups of people make decisions. In the States, I was taught to present articulate, well-prepared arguments in as calm and dignified way as possible. I was taught that one person speaks at a time, and that other people listen, and that if someone gets loud and agitated it means that they feel very strongly about something, and that probably they're angry or disagree with what that was said. Groups of loud people mean that people are fighting, and that something bad is happening, etc etc etc.

Here, though, it's different. Things happen like this: two hundred women sit under a tree, one woman starts talking, then another woman stands up and starts yelling, and within 15 seconds (I timed it), every woman is standing, half of them are yelling, and no one is listening because you can't hear anything except noise. It's hard to imagine, I think, because it's unusual at home. But try: you're in this crowd, fists are in the air, voices are raised, people are up in your face and shouting things that you can't understand, and this goes on and on beyond the point where you think that people should really chill out.

At home, I believe the word for this is Riot.

What's up with the grain bank

The next few posts will be updates on my 'official' work here. It's true, I am technically a 'Natural Resources Volunteer', but in real life the technicality of that expands generously to include all kinds of projects...basically, I can do, or can try to do, anything that my counterparts and friends in the village want to do.

Grain bank committee in front of the grain bank building

Grain Bank: Lots of news here! We opened the bank for general viewing last week; most of the women hadn't had a chance to see all of the grain yet. It was exciting- all 65 bags are there, in giant white stacks of blessed insurance against hunger. The women crowded inside the building and were reluctant to come out; everyone wanted to count them for themselves. We discovered that a few of the bags have bugs in them, which is both a bad and good thing: bad, obviously, because nobody wants bugs in their food. But good that we saw them, because now all of the women know and will bother the committee about it until the problem is fixed. So, that's cool. We won't open for business for a few months. There's actually quite a lot more that I've been learning about food security here, and I'll share it with you later.

(Next up: environmental educati0n)

Getting the grain

And- drumroll- we got our grain! Serendipitously, our grain got delivered the next week! I had placed an order in Konni at the house of one of Moussa's friends, but wasn't sure of a delivery date. I just crossed my fingers it would be here before the end of November. What happened was comical in retrospect, but at the time I was pretty flustered. See, I'd gone to bed and fallen asleep, and an hour later (10:30?) Salla (Narba's eldest son) is banging at the door to my courtyard, saying "Samsiya? The car is here. You know, the one with the grain!" And then he disappeared, so I was left in this tangle in my mosquito net trying to figure out if that actually happened. I wrapped my sheet around my waist and went out looking like a very loose woman-- tank top! head uncovered! Yikes. And there you go, there's a big truck full of giant white sacks of millet, parked next to the grain bank building, and a whole crowd of teenage guys swarming around excitedly. I was kind of out of it, but managed to pull some Hausa out of my sleepy head, and we eventually got the building open and started the long process of unloading the sacks (60, 70 lbs a piece?). In the dark. The guys had a ball, laughing and joking and helping each other, as I took photos and grinned about the fact that this was finally happening. None of the women were there- everyone was asleep- so it felt like a big secret. I had a hard time getting back to sleep.

The committee is getting ready to have a huge meeting to show everyone the bank- they want to make it a big deal and open up the bank for all to see. It hasn't happened yet, for a few serious and sad reasons that are entirely unrelated to the grain bank or the committee (more on that in a while, I guess, if I can find the words). It will be exciting, more than exciting, when it happens.

We just might have to dance.

Grain bank update

Narba in front of the grain bank building

11/30/08

Grain Bank Update: We got our training! The twelve women on the grain bank committee, plus myself, were trained in (almost) All Things Grain-Bank-Management-Esque. For the last three days of October, we sat on mats on the new cement floor of a vacant classroom and learned about our new jobs and responsibilities. It's been just a month since then, but it feels like forever...I'll try to recall more of it in detail, because it was a pretty big event, both for the village women and for me.

To start- I spent the better half of October in Hamdallaye, helping to ease the newest group of volunteers into life here. As soon as that ended I zoomed back to my village, because I only had a day to get things ready and-- most importantly-- remind all of the ladies that yes, indeed, we had two fancy city ladies coming to set us straight. Much of that week feels like a buzz of constant motion: Riding to Tajae to double check with the trainers, walking around to all parts of the village to confirm the days with people, buying food to feed everyone and finding people to help cook and carrying mats and chairs and water back and forth...and, most interesting of all, finding the women on the committee and trying to explain "10 o'clock in the morning". A funny, funny concept. No clocks, no watches. Some young guys have cell phones, but their grandmas (ie the ladies on the committee) do not keep track of hours. So, I tried a few approaches. There's a word for late-morning-ish (hantsi), and it's around then that girls are done hauling water, and there's also a big piece of metal that the headmaster bangs against another piece of metal to signify the 10am school break. So I tried dropping all of those clues, and crossed my fingers that the twelve women would make their way to the classroom by twelve. Hadiza and Gembi, our two trainers, were totally in tune with village time (THANK YOU), so they understood the delays...

Brief review of our training:

Day One: Hadiza and Gembi arrive at 10, village ladies (Salamu, Ana, Habsou, another Salamu, Mariama, Huri, Yashe, Aisha, and another Mariama) trickle in by 12. Just as expected- no worries. Hadiza is young, loud, intense, commanding, fierce almost, and does most of the talking. Gembi is quieter, doesn't demand our attention the same way, but is friendlier. We learn about the purpose of a Grain Bank (first: food in the village! second: make money! Not the other way around, which is what the ladies argue for a long time, to the delight and amusement of the trainers. But we figure it out eventually); we learn about the difference between the committee and the 'big group'-- the other 200 women who've invested in the project, and we learn that we really like it when Hadiza asks Samsiya (me) if she understands, because she usually doesn't, which makes everyone laugh. And then a village woman explains it to Samsiya, slowly, which she appreciates immensely.

Day Two: Hadiza and Gembi arrive at 10:15, village ladies make it by 11. Progress! We spend lots of time reviewing what we learned yesterday- trainers ask us over and over "what is the purpose of a grain bank???" Good. We learn how and where and when to buy grain, and how and when and where to sell it, and for how much. We learn when to give loans and how to get paid back. A long day, butts sore from sitting so much, but we're learning good stuff. Decide to (try to) meet earlier tomorrow. I am skeptical. But, let's try, right?

Day Three: Get this-- village women show up at 8:30, Hadiza and Gembi at 9am. Take that! Yeah, we rock. Sneaky village ladies accurately observe that "Samsiya's probaby tired of having to send little boys after us when we don't show up on time". True that, ladies. We go over every woman's specific responsibility-- we have two presidents, two secretaries (the only two literate women, and the only two under the age of 40), two sellers/buyers, one groundskeeper, two money storers, and three key holders. Trainers make us repeat back over and over what we each have to do-- awesome. I also have a job-- self-assigned, sort of. Train our two secretaries in record keeping, and keep a spare key. I also got assigned a few random tasks- help the presidents open a bank account (VERY VERY TABOO), get a small safe made with three different locks, and make identification cards for everybody.

So: It couldn't have been better. Really. I hadn't dared to hope for it to go as well as it did. Hadiza and Gembi were great- sharp and snappy, which is exactly what you need to be to impress a bunch of village ladies. Narba's daughter, Tchimo, made delicious food for us every day, which was carried to us on the heads of a line of little kids. We got to sit in the brand new classroom, because the headmaster was very generous. Most importantly, the women came, they participated, they asked questions and talked, and they seem like they got a lot out of it. And that is dreamy, so I am very pleased and proud. In the last few weeks, I've overheard them talking about what they learned and explaining things to other women. My faith in these women just continues to grow.

Grain for the bank

Autumn harvest time will bring the cheapest grain prices
Photo by Ulf Lieden

You might ask- what about the GRAIN? Right. That's important. This piece of the puzzle came out in a most providential way! I did a lot of asking around- to other PCVS and a bunch of the staff in Niamey during a marathon day of phone calling from Konni. And, wonderfully, I received SO much support, encouragement, and info about where to look for funding that I have nothing but positive things to say about the PC bureau from this experience. There are a handful of ways that volunteers use to get $ for projects-- through PC funded programs, other US government programs, private donors, and community organizations. After debating back and forth and getting input from folks in the bureau, I decided to write up a proposal and budget to submit to the Rotary Club, to cover the cost of grain, grain transport, pallets, and cement to repair the building (Important detail-- we have a weatherproof building in the village built for this purpose but empty-- we just had to fix it up a bit. Usually this is a main expense-the building itself- but we got lucky with it). I didn't expect to know for weeks, even months, but the director of the PC Health sector, Gaston, has strong ties to Rotary in the states, and the good man made it all happen overnight! Seriously! Awesome! Gaston, who I have never met but hope to soon, is a rock star.

So: the money to buy the grain is here, and this project WILL get off the ground. We won't buy any grain until we've had our training- that would be risky and foolish I think, and plus, grain is still expensive right now. I want more than ever to help people fill their bellies-- they are getting hungrier, I know. I also know that running into a big thing like this with no idea how to keep it straight could be a total disaster, and would blur the lines between charity (not why I'm here) and sustainable development (closer to the truth).

So for now, we're trying to be patient. I fronted money for the cement and we've fixed the cracks in the floor of the GB building- I was touched by how thrilled the women were with this small accomplishment. We had a meeting a few days ago where I updated them on the ADD news, certificate, and overall progress of the proposal, and afterwards we unlocked the building so everyone could go inside and see it. Oh they were so proud! They got as giddy as little girls to see all of this fresh, smooth cement-- no one has cement in their homes here, it's too expensive. (An endearing detail- as stubborn as the women have been about involving men in the GB, they had to bite their tongues and let men cement the floor, as that is not '"women's work.") A group of the women started dancing in a circle, rejoicing about this fancy new room of theirs. Their claps and foot-stomps echoed in the empty space, and their beaming faces made me blush in the realization that I had done something really good. All that's missing, they laughed, is millet!

Planning a grain bank

Road near Tajae

8/10/08

Obviously from reading this you know that I know zip about grain bank management. I asked around and learned from a neighboring PCV that CARE international has a project of some sort called ADD (sorry, not sure what the acronym stands for, ha) in Tajae, a village just south of here. So a few weeks ago I rode my fancy-pants bike down there and set up a meeting, returned the next day for the meeting, and am excited/nervous/hopeful that the ADD folks are on board to come to my village and train us up.
Their office was full of young, enthusiastic, educated, confident Nigeriens- it was REALLY cool to talk with highly competent city folks who respect villagers and village life enough to move out here and work with them. I think it's typical for the wealthier, urban upper class of Niger to look down to the rural class, and it's certainly unusual for them to choose to live in a village, even if it's just for part of the year. Also, there is a level of suspicion and distrust of the wealthy felt by villagers; I have high hopes that when the ADD women come they will be well received and respectful in turn (the village women were also adamant that they wanted ONLY FEMALE trainers).
I'll go back to Tajae in the beginning of September to formalize and plan the training with ADD...timing is going to be key, as Ramadan is about to start, and I would be asking for trouble if we planned a meeting when everyone is hungry and tired.

Beginning a project: women's grain bank

Millet

Photo by Andy, the HoboTraveler

8/10/08
Following a series of meetings in May and July, the village women decided that a grain bank is their hearts' desire, and they asked me to make it happen.* SO: slowly but surely, I've been figuring out what a grain bank is, how it works, and how to procure all the bits and pieces to make it successful. I still have more questions than answers, but I'm hopeful that eventually everything will fall into place. The basics of a GB look like this: an entity of people (in this case, 212 women) obtain a whole bunch of grain (in this case millet), either through their own purchasing power, donated grain or money, or a combo of both (in this case, it'll be a combo). The grain is ideally purchased right after harvest time, when prices are lowest, and then it's stored for much of the year until people's personal stores run out. At that time, the grain is sold out at a higher price than its original purchase, but lower than the current market price (which is often twice the price than that after harvest, so lots of room for profit). The aim of the whole thing is twofold:
1. To increase food security by selling grain at lower costs during the hunger season.
2. To turn a profit for the bank and its members. Profits can be divided among the original investors (the women), or put towards a communally beneficial project (our neighboring village used last year's profits to fund women's literacy classes for 4 months). Or, along with the rest of the sales money, it can be used to re-stock the bank when grain prices are low again.

That is my very rudimentary understanding of the mechanics-- it seems rather straightforward, but I can't help but wonder if there's a lot of room for confusion. I have a few (actually a lot) of questions: mainly, what is the best way for a group of illiterate women to keep accurate records of sales/investments/purchase/profit? I believe it can be done, but I don't know how. There are a couple of literate women in the group, but I am not sure what their actual level of literacy is. The village women are vehemently opposed to admitting any men into the deal, and I wouldn't dream of arguing this point. It is very important to them! They say that the men will 'cinye' all of their money (eat it up!). I suspect that one of the village men (most of whom have at least a few years of schooling and can read at a basic level) might really benefit the accounting/record-keeping aspect of the bank, but I am willing to suspend any doubt and trust the women to give it a run sans-man. Certainly this has been done before, right? Somewhere? I know that grain banks are a common project that PCVs work on in many countries, but I've been surprised at how little information I can find that explains strategies for making them really great. Perhaps it is my American perspective that places so much value on organization and transparent record keeping, and maybe that's simply not the most important thing here. But I worry about the longer-term sustainability of the bank if, for example, not enough money is reinvested to restock it, or if profits aren't distributed evenly, etc.

I hope that a lot of my questions will be addressed, and with luck answered, soon...here's why...upon informing Moussa (the PC Konni region project manager/driver/heaven-sent development agent who gives me little bags of frozen tamarind juice when I visit his family in Konni) about the bank project, he laid out a few steps for me to follow. First, hold a few more meetings with the women to choose 12 representatives to make up the official 'board' of the bank. Then, take those names (and some cash) to the commune's mayor's office (kind of like the governor of an area the size of your average county in the US), to obtain an official Certificate for the bank. Having a board and a certificate somehow legitimizes the bank and puts it on the map (although honestly we did nothing to merit 'Certification' besides gather on a Friday afternoon and shout out the names of the 12 oldest and most influential ladies in town.) The board thing makes sense, of course, even if the picking of the women seemed more political than practical. Next step- organize and hold a training on grain bank management-- YES! So true! Sooo important! And this is the step that we're on right now.

*Do you want an update on this grain bank project?