Kiva Fellow David Connelly, my predecessor here at Kiva Partner Caja Rural Señor de Luren in Ica, has written before about the 2007 8.0 magnitude earthquake. The statistics are chilling: 519 people dead, 1366 injured, and some 76,000 homes collapsed. “After two and a half years,” he wrote in 2010, “Ica is still very much recovering.” Last week’s comparatively modest 6.9 magnitude earthquake made it clear as day that the wounds are fresh.

Moments after the quaking abated, Peuvians tore out of buildings into the streets. The roads flooded with vehicles screaming out of Ica, trying to reach homes and families on the city’s peripheries. Co-workers clutched at each other outside, waiting for tremors, which arrived dutifully shortly thereafter. While the earthquake itself had not unsettled me, the sight of a city in sheer terror was consummately unnerving.

Ica, in many ways, is a modern city. It is the capital of its department in Peru. We have several large supermarkets, wide asphalt avenues with obeyed stoplights, and our very own over-priced coffee house, where I sit now and where I sat at the time of the quake. The buildings here are solid, new, and given the events of the last decade, built to be earthquake-proof.

Though standards of construction and seismic mitigation efforts were doubled during reconstruction in Ica, time and financial constraints did not afford this kind of purposefulness beyond the borders of the city. This is where you’ll find the truly vulnerable population and Kiva’s target market. They may live in fragile and overcrowded adobe homes. They may live with instable or nonexistent access to water, electricity, and gas lines. Their transportation infrastructure is meager. Faulty ATMs spell for limited access to liquid assets. Peru’s poor, those already on unsure financial footing, are those impacted greatest by natural disasters.

Let me give you a scenario for the average micro-enterprise in the wake of a natural disaster. Say you lend $25 to Kiva borrower María, to invest in her small store, where she sells sodas, candy, and pastries. She is making repayments on time, selling goodies to her neighbors, and flourishing in the way that we hope that every Kiva borrower will. But what happens to her store in the wake of a disaster?

Within moments of the event, costs accrue. It’s possible that her physical business- the building, her cash register, her products- are damaged or destroyed in the event. María now must pay to repair or rebuild, and might be without income in the interim. Meanwhile, her neighbors, experiencing similar interruptions in income, have stopped buying her sodas and candy. Even if her store is still standing and her cash register still works, she may be without electricity, and therefore unable to open the register or to operate past dark. Not to mention, if María was stocking dairy products, they just went bad.

And even if she’s lucky enough to find that her store is fine and her neighbors still have their disposable income to buy sodas and candy, she’s still not out of harm’s way. All of the sudden, the small business or company from which María bought her soda and candy are unable to produce these goods, because the water services have been shut off and their production facilities have been damaged. And even if they could keep making candies for María to sell in her store, they’re now unable to reach her store due to damaged transportation infrastructure.

The economy cannot function at normal levels in the wake of a severe natural disaster. Consider the direct economic losses, such as destroyed or severely damaged buildings, transportation infrastructure, energy and water infrastructure, environmental infrastructure (such as dams), and other private property. These result in innumerable disruptions of the business sector; production facilities, economic markets, and distribution systems are stalled or stopped altogether. And when micro-enterprises come into the picture, these private sector interruptions become a personal tragedy as well. Damages to personal items, injury, or death all bear heavily on a small business owner’s livelihood and their day-to-day lives.

So what, then, can microfinance do to alleviate the effects of a natural disaster? What role should microfinance institutions assume? In normal conditions, microfinance seeks to expand access to financial services- whether savings, credit, or insurance- to those traditionally excluded from the credit market- by poverty, geographic isolation, loan size, or other barriers from traditional banking institutions. Microcredit specifically (what we do here on Kiva) addresses two needs of borrowers. It smooths existing income and protects against fluctuations in livelihoods, a “micro-disaster insurance,” if you will. Microcredit also works to boost income by removing capital constraints and allowing for micro-enterprises to realize their potential. The point being, it serves certain needs of the poor.

However, the needs of the poor shift dramatically in the wake of a natural disaster. Affected parties are not interested in expanding their micro-enterprises. Frankly, in the case of a catastrophic disaster and a disrupted economy, this could be considered imprudent. What affected parties require is some form of speedy mitigation, direct assistance, and a return to normalcy. Their own immediate changes in behavior may include a “reduction in consumption, sale of assets, migration, withdrawal of savings and borrowing and using remittances to mitigate the effects of a disaster” (Parker and Nagarajan 2000). Their coping mechanisms, in short: access all available liquid assets, and apply prodigiously.

As such, disaster relief does not call for market-driven microfinance but for well-allocated aid or subsidized credit, as controversial as that idea may seem. This may not be an appropriate task for financially self-sustainable microfinance institutions in the open market. But Kiva Field Partners are in a much better position to provide this support.

After the disastrous 2007 earthquake hit in Peru, Kiva Partner Caja Señor de Luren provided a six-month grace period to a large portion of their affected portfolio. Virtually all restructured clients repaid their loans on time and clients were able to make a full recovery. Furthermore, Caja Luren’s partnership with Kiva enables them to reach out to riskier clients, those impacted most heavily by the earthquake, in a time of extreme need.

But even when subsidized and cheaper microfinance products are unfeasible or inapplicable, microfinance institutions have other means of alleviating the effects of a disaster. Microfinance institutions can proactively offer micro-insurance and support disaster preparedness leading up to the event, and retroactively provide the invaluable service of financial liquidity of savings to their clients in case of a disaster.

Microfinance, even in normal conditions, is not without its limitations. In a time of upheaval and economic collapse, this may be doubly so. But microfinance can support clients before and after the fact. Through improved access to microfinance services, clients can build and fortify their productive assets, be they economic, human, or social. Access to financial services can restore borrowers’ livelihoods and enhance the preparedness of clients for the next possible disaster. Here in Ica, there’s no telling how far off that might be.

This blog post was invaluably informed by “Can Microfinance Meet The Poor’s Financial Needs in Times Of Natural Disaster?” by Joan Parker and Geetha Nagaraja. To read the article in its entirety, click here.

Kate Bennett is currently living in Ica, Peru and working as a Kiva Fellow with Kiva Field Partner Caja Rural Señor de Luren. More more videos of borrowers or to hear more about her experiences, check out her blog!

Each Kiva borrower visit I perform here in Ecuador introduces me to new role models. New strong, inspiring women I can look up to; women who, through their business and determination, are fighting the uphill battle against machismo in their own country.

I can’t say exactly what “machismo“ is, but I can tell you, I don’t like it. It means much more than catcalling women on the street. It’s a symbol of domestic violence against women; denying women deeds to land; requiring women to dress conservatively; keeping women in the home to make food and babies, rather than allowing them to generate their own income and pursue their own fulfillment in work or personal life.

Yes, machismo is more than just catcalls. It is a desire to humiliate, overpower, and oppress women in general. To me, it seems that machismo is dressed up as a cultural norm in certain parts of Latin America; it’s treated like the rude, pervy uncle of the family that simply must be tolerated cause he is not going anywhere. Indeed, machismo is a part of the culture in Latin America, and to a certain extent, we have to respect its presence. But we certainly don’t have to agree with it.

But let’s be fair- machismo is not a strictly Latin American phenomenon. We actually have a word for “machismo” in English: chauvinism. And the fight against chauvinism is ongoing throughout the world. Look at cities like New York, Paris and London, where women were not allowed to wear trousers in public places until the second half of the twentieth century. At my preparatory school in Princeton, New Jersey, women were only admitted starting in 1987. “Machismo” and its brothers Chauvinism and Sexism can be observed the world over in any male-driven society in which men suffer the delusion that they are superior to women.

Enter the world of microfinance. Every now and again on Kiva.org, when shuffling through the thousands of images of borrowers on the site, you’ll come across something special in the photo: a blurred face. Often these faces are in Palestine, Afghanistan, or Iraq. Based on the political and social environments of these areas, personally identifiable attributes of these borrowers- their appearance, their location, and sometime their names- are altered or hidden to protect him or her.

But once in a blue moon, you will stumble across a hidden name or face in other parts of the world- those considered comparably more stable, indeed, safe enough to have taken out a loan. These are the faces of women in Nicaragua, Kenya, and Mongolia. Often the husbands of Kiva borrowers do not know they have a loan out, and might find it problematic if they did know. Regrettably, in many countries where Kiva works women often need male permission to perform basic economic activities.

For this reason, many microlending partners of Kiva (for example, Fundación ESPOIR in Ecuador) require only the borrowers’ signature to take out a loan (although the law for traditional lending institutions might require the signature of both husband and wife). This allows Fundación ESPOIR’s clients to borrow money without their husband’s knowledge, which also helps safeguard the loan’s timely repayment (important note: Kiva never publishes profiles that would in any way endanger its borrowers).

I recently met such a woman during a routine borrower visit- sorry, I can’t tell you her name or where she lives. I also can’t tell her husband she has taken out a loan. But I can tell you this woman is working in the face of adversity to provide food, housing, and schooling for her children. She works incredible hours every day without any help (or financial support) from her husband. This is her fourth loan, and she repaid the last three on time without any problems.

So why, then, would husbands take issue with their wives succeeding in business, family, and microborrowing? Wouldn’t this just make their own lives easier? Primarily, there is a danger of delinquent husbands squandering loan money through gambling or drinking. However more significantly, women receiving microloans experience a shift in their role in the household.

In the impoverished areas where microfinance is targeted, “machismo” is manifested in education and health. Men receive schooling, nutrition, and health care far beyond their female counterparts. In agricultural societies, this is reinforced by physical strength’s priority over intellectual and social skills. A gendered division of labor and wide discrepancies in wages is palpable, not even questioned. Even if this environment of male domination is merely a function of economic industrial dynamics, it justifies and continues the existing and inequitable social order. For women in these families, self-realization is achieved only through marriage and procreation.

But through their loans and their entrepreneurialism, woman borrowers have begun to generate income for the family, often as much if not more than their husbands. They become the primary breadwinner. A former Kiva borrower stated that she had become “husband and wife for the family and everyone knew it.” It’s a blow to the husbands pride, hubris, indeed- his machismo.

Microfinance is decidedly a field for woman borrowers. All evidence shows that women are better micro-borrowers; they have far higher rates of repayment and successful loans. Indeed, Fundación ESPOIR (the aforementioned Kiva partner) only started letting male borrowers join into on group loans less than a year ago after a twenty-year history in Ecuador. Not only do women make better lenders in terms of repayment, but lending to women does better things for their children and the status of women in their respective societies.

Dozens of studies have shown that microfinance fosters the safety, economic self-sufficiency, health, and self-confidence of women all over the globe. It leads to downward trends in domestic violence and improves women’s abilities to participate in household decision-making. Women around the world are up against insurmountable challenges: poverty, disease, violence.

Microfinance can be a hand up (not a hand-out) to these women. Achieving social equality obviously requires a multi-sectoral approach, but there is sufficient data to suggest that women’s economic empowerment (through microfinance) can help reduce partner and targeted violence. Most incredibly, as I’ve sat in on group borrower meetings, feeling the support and care that these borrowers give each other, I’ve realized how incredible it is that rather than perpetuating “marianismo” (reverse sexism) these women are setting the foundation for a more socially equitable future.  Machismo may not be going anywhere anytime soon, and microfinance is clearly not a panacea for combating it, but loan by loan, mother by daughter, micro-borrowers throughout the world are determining their own future within a culture and an economy.

For more on dealing with “machismo” in South America, check out “Coping with the Burn,” by Nereida Heller, “Warning to Women: Thicken Your Skin, Machismo Awaits in Costa Rica” by Sebastian Kindsvater, or “Watch out for What, Exactly?” by Lizzie LaCroix. Kate Bennett is currently living in Quito, Ecuador and working as a Kiva Fellow for Fundación Alternativa. This is not is not an official Kiva Fellows blog. The views and information presented are Kate’s own and do not represent the Kiva Fellows Program, Kiva.org, or any of its partner organizations.

We met with a group of five Fundación Alternativa borrowers who are taking out a group loan to build a tourism center above Chunchi. These borrowers have made a long voyage to this hilltop as well- these five men, like myself, are from none other than New Jersey! At least, they lived there for a time and have since immigrated back to Ecuador to build the center, which will include a hotel, restaurant, and maybe one day, a spa.

Before you say it: five dudes from New Jersey building a spa? This does not sound like your typical Kiva loan, I know. But this project is part of a larger program that Fundación Alternativa runs in this region of Ecuador: projects that specifically target borrowers whom have been effected by emigration.

Ecuadorians represent the one of the largest migrant groups in the United States- indeed, the largest in metropolitan New York City- and the second largest in Spain. It’s estimated that around 550,000-600,000 Ecuadorians live in each the United States and Spain; this for a country with a population of thirteen and a half million people is no small figure. Nearly everyone I meet has a sibling or a cousin living in New York or New Jersey (as such I’ve regularly been the cause of disappointed hopes that, “no, lo siento, I don’t know your cousin personally”).

The first stage of construction of the tourism center

Figures (and common sense) tell us that high emigration rates are the offshoot of a low rate of job creation and high levels of poverty and unemployment. High emigration levels also indicate that potential microlending clients- possible Kiva borrowers among them- are leaving the country and opting out of the banking system altogether.

There are simply not enough jobs, in any sector, at any level, and thus hundreds of thousands of emigrants leave the country each year. The jobless environment they leave behind is rife with high levels of crime and delinquency. Emigration also has a social impact, particularly as an effect of an entire generation of children growing up without parental presence. So for a developing country with a high remittance rate, how can micofinance institutions establish programs to help bring the population home again? And perhaps more importantly, how can these groups ensure that the root cause of emigration is addressed and remedied?

Fundación Alternativa’s Business Manager talks with borrowers

Fundación Alternativa’s program targets high-level migration areas in order to provide affordable credit to microenterprises, not only to support the Ecuadorian population in these regions with opportunities for livelihood, but to aid in job creation as well. The five brothers’ tourism center, for example, will create more than fifty much-needed jobs in the region. Furthermore, Fundación Alternativa will also conduct business trainings and consultancy with these borrowers to contribute to the success of the project, as well as build long-term human capital and organizational capacity.

The five brothers’ tourism center project is the largest of Fundación Alternativa’s migrant projects, which range from a group of women raising chicks and piglets to sell in the market; to a group of dairy farmers purchasing grass seed for grazing their cows; to a group of young men and women forming a business cooperative that will specialize in home cleaning and maintenance. Through these microloans, borrowers effected by migration are countering the factors that lead to emigration to begin with- they’re yielding job creation for themselves and building a stronger local economy for all, so that one day the population can come home again.

To see the original post in its entirety, check out “Migration and Microloans” on the Kiva website. Better yet, to support Fundación Alternativa, check out its partner page on Kiva or its very first loans as a Kiva partner!

Kate Bennett is currently living in Quito, Ecuador and working as a Kiva Fellow for Fundación Alternativa. This is not is not an official Kiva Fellows blog. The views and information presented are Kate’s own and do not represent the Kiva Fellows Program, Kiva.org, or any of its partner organizations.

It is a cold, overcast morning when we begin our day in Recreo. First on our list is Monica, the owner of a local kiosk. We loudly clap our hands outside of her adobe colored house and wait (in this part of Argentina, it is a cultural norm to clap your hands outside of the house of a stranger instead of knocking directly on the door). My brigade partner, Nicole, and I are both slightly nervous. We hope that the Monica will let us into her home despite our muddy shoes and the unannounced nature of our visit. Sure enough, Monica takes pity on us and invites us in to her home. Nicole begins to brief Monica on the new payment system and check her contact details while I shuffle papers and smile. Soon it’s picture frame time. I do a comical “Taaa-daaa” to cover up the uselessness of the gift, but there is no need. Monica lets a small grin unfold upon her face and her eyes soften with pride. She graciously thanks us for the gift and then calls to her son to come and see what we have brought. I am relieved and at the same time, surprised. This situation will play itself out several more times over the next two days, with families crying, getting goose bumps and beaming with confidence. All this because of a wooden picture frame?

As with most things in life, it is not about the picture frame itself, but what it represents. It is a giant gold star.  Families immediately place the picture frame amongst the family photos prominently displayed in their living rooms. The picture frame shows everyone who enters the home that this family is on the path to financial independence. This is not an easy task, especially in Argentina, where the unofficial inflation rate hovers around 25%, and these families are making significant sacrifices to fulfill their loan obligations. Their emotional reactions make it obvious just how much it means to these families to own their own home.

After two days of carefully balancing our steps on the muddy roads, navigating with homemade maps and local landmarks, we have reached all the families on our list. It has been a great opportunity to meet the families, reemphasize why I am volunteering and perhaps most importantly, to remind myself to never underestimate the power of pride.

Megan Kaseburg is currently the International Volunteer Coordinator with Habitat for Humanity Argentina. To hear more about her experiences, check out her blog.

Ah, the delicious results of multicultural collision. Yet this peculiar experience, that feeling of cross-cultural connectivity that lies somewhere amidst the typical and the exotic, has actually become quite familiar to me in my time here in Ecuador. It is this kind of spark between the foreign and the recognizable that drives the success of Kiva.org.

And it’s that spark that first encouraged me to commit to my four-month fellowship in Quito, Ecuador. For those of you who are not quite sure what Kiva is, let me explain: Kiva is a peer-to-peer based microlending platform that allows individuals to lend as little as $25 to entrepreneurs in the developing world.

Though founded only as recently as 2005, Kiva now has over $200 million dollars in circulation in 60 countries with 133 microfinance partners around the world. I’ll be spending my time here in Quito with partner #133, an amazing organization called Fundación Alternativa- Kiva’s youngest partner (seems fitting). They work with entrepreneurs from all over the country: taxi drivers, farmers, market venders, seamstresses. People you may feel that you have nothing in common with.

Yet Kiva manages to close that gap. When you visit Kiva.org, your vision is flooded with images of borrowers- their businesses, their families, their faces. Already these far-off people feel much closer. Through Kiva you learn the stories of their lives and of their loans. Through Kiva you can lend $25 to be repaid in six months by someone that needs it. And miraculously, through Kiva, you’re forming a bond to another person half-way around the world. A bond that is real and reciprocated.

The connections you make through Kiva—whether you’re thinking “this guy is also a carpenter!,” “this ‘Maria’ and I have the same birthday!,” or “hey- she likes eggrolls too!”— these connections make Kiva exceptional. More importantly, they’re what make Kiva work.

For more La Vida Idealist articles by former Kiva Fellows, check out posts by Kati Mayfield (Chile, Honduras), Sebastian Kindsvater (Costa Rica), Kimberly Friedland (Peru), Meg Grey (Nicaragua, Costa Rica), “Lethal” Sheethal Shobowale (Peru, Bolivia), or Rob Packer (Colombia). Kate Bennett is currently living in Quito, Ecuador and working as a Kiva Fellow for Fundación Alternativa. For more on her experiences, check out her blog. This is not is not an official Kiva Fellows blog. The views and information presented are Kate’s own (same goes for Kati, Sebastian, Kimberly, Meg, Sheethal, and Rob!) and do not represent the Kiva Fellows Program, Kiva.org, or any of its partner organizations.

Why? I have recently returned to my home in Canada after eight months of working at a Costa Rican microfinance organization. Most of my friends have university degrees and are now working as engineers for oil companies, as finance consultants for investment firms, as managers, or studying to become a lawyer/dentist.  Many have admitted to me that they don’t see any real purpose in what they are doing, that they live for the weekend and their jobs are merely a means to an end. When I tell them that life is too short and they should look for a job that they enjoy doing, they tell me that ¨I’m too idealistic¨ or ¨There aren’t enough jobs like that out there¨ or ¨If everybody did what they wanted to do, nobody would pick up the trash.¨

All I know is that I started out as a volunteer and now I’m being paid to do work that I originally did for free. Isn’t that the goal, to do work that you would do even if you weren’t getting paid? Let’s put it this way, if I won the lottery tomorrow, I wouldn’t quit working at Fundación Mujer.

When volunteering, you meet other volunteers from all over the world. These people are fiercely motivated, not by money, but by a cause. Usually that cause is fighting against some type of injustice which they deem unacceptable. For me, this injustice is poverty,  and more specifically, the feminization of poverty.

When surrounded by people who are truly motivated by the work they are doing, you become motivated. This type of inspiration is not the type you find in organizational behavior textbooks, because it has nothing to do with carrot and stick methods or public recognition for completion of certain tasks. You find that you start to push yourself to contribute to projects and answer the question, ¨How can I best contribute to the success of this organization? ¨ You ask this question humbly and not because your boss wants you too or because you might get a bonus or extra time off if you answer it correctly, but because you want the project to succeed, and nothing more.

When you feel yourself being driven by a cause that you care about, work doesn’t seem like work. Obviously there are days when you don’t feel like waking up, when strenuous situations are presented, but what keeps you going is the people you work with, the people you work for (for me, it’s the microfinance clients) and the underlying personal meaning of the work that you do. I’m not saying that you can’t find this motivation in the corporate world, but ask yourself  this, ¨Would I still be working here if I won the lottery tomorrow?¨

If not, drop what you are doing, pick a cause you are interested in and start volunteering. You won’t regret it — nobody ever does.

Sebastian Kindsvater will be returning shortly to Costa Rica, where he is the Kiva Coordinator/Loan Officer for Fundación Mujer.

If this post has inspired you to volunteer, check out these other La Vida Idealist posts for more ideas on how to take that first step: “How to Choose a Volunteer Placement Abroad,” “Six Simple Steps for Volunteering Abroad,” “Making It Happen for Yourself,” “So You Spin the Globe…,” “It Pays To Do Some Research,” “Panning for Gold: Plucking Out the Nonprofit Gems,” “Volunteering 101: Interview Yourself,” and “Five Things to Think About When Choosing Your Volunteer Location.“

On one hand, Costa Ricans are angry about their land being owned and exploited by corporate giants such as Chiquita, Del Monte and Dole. The recent vote over the imposition of a new free trade agreement between the USA and Costa Rica, the ‘TLC,” passed approval by a slim margin, dividing the country into two groups. Many citizens feel that this type of agreement will only accelerate the rate at which decision making power, regarding resources and international affairs, is swayed from the camp of Costa Rican citizens to that of business giants. I agree.

On the other hand, the population embraces international consumer products at a pace that surely rivals Western consumption of the same products. This fact was surprising for me to learn because I assumed that most people in Central America would be anti-West in general. I figured most citizens would rather not live under the thumb of another nation or international entity and therefore would never dream of supporting foreign brands such as Coke, McDonald’s and Lacoste. But I am wrong. Even the noble ex-president, Oscar Arias, proudly sports that famous little crocodile during live interviews.

As a microfinance loan officer, I have visited many clients in rural areas where the local industry is focused around the production of bananas, pineapples or coffee. More often than not, poor Costa Rican men and women are paid minimal wages in deplorable working conditions (with respect to international labour standards) to harvest fruits only to be shipped off to other countries, along with the profits from the sales of those fruits. In the pineapple fields, men work long hours in the sun where there is no shade to be found. Serious sun burns are common. A major complaint I have heard from the wives of banana labourers is that the spray which comes out of the airplanes, and the other chemicals the men are exposed to, has caused men to become sterile.

Harvesting jobs are highly sought after in rural communities all over Costa Rica and Central America. Laborers are respected for their hard work and sacrifice. But is a country where many people’s highest aspiration is to sell their labor in order to survive a really a hopeful picture of international development?

Is it enough to call for the compassion of major multinational companies, or is it time to take back the land and let the notion of a banana republic begin to rot?

Sebastian Kindsvater will be returning shortly to Costa Rica, where he is the Kiva Coordinator/Loan Officer for Fundación Mujer.

These are some of the unavoidable daily references to God which a foreigner in Costa Rica must become accustomed to.  Every conversation inspires numerous opportunities to thank God for something or to mention that He is always present.

As a non-religious Canadian from Vancouver, I have grown up around mostly areligious, atheists and general skeptics regarding religion. For me, it’s normal not to go to church. For Costa Ricans, it’s quite the opposite.  Although I have generally thought of my own point of view as the right one, being put in a situation where I have been drastically outnumbered by fervent Catholics has made me reconsider my position. After all, who am I, with my 24 years of acquired wisdom, to denounce thousands of years of tradition, right?

The staff from Fundación Mujer

At Fundación Mujer, where I have been working as the Kiva coordinator since September  2009, I didn’t want to appear as an outsider who didn’t understand Costa Rican culture. My tactic was to avoid the topic of religion, which proved to be impossible. I have now been to two Catholic funerals (for people I never met until the funeral) and one Communion. In Costa Rica, if an acquaintance has a family member who dies, you’ll probably be invited to the funeral.  I can’t remember the last time I was in a church before Costa Rica. Now, when sitting in the pew, I have anxiety attacks in anticipation of the part where the entire church recites lines from the Bible which I have never learned. I get dirty looks from the congregation when I refuse to fork over my colones to the volunteer collecting donations.  All in all, it’s a bit awkward to manage. People ask me ¨Don’t you believe in God?¨ I reply ¨No¨ and receive a look in response as if I were from another planet.

In general, my coworkers accept my personal views, but they still make jokes about converting me to Catholicism sometimes. Every time I use the company car to go and visit microfinance clients, the director of the foundation blesses me and crosses me. What am I supposed to do, reject her blessing? I think it’s a symbolic gesture that life should not be taken for granted, something I think we all can relate to no matter our religious beliefs (or non-beliefs). The overall impression I get from the Catholic Costa Ricans I’ve met can be summed up by my colleague Gabriela, ¨It doesn’t matter if a person believes everything written in the Bible, all that matters is that they are a good person.¨

Sebastian Kindsvater will be returning shortly to Costa Rica, where he is the Kiva Coordinator/Loan Officer for Fundación Mujer. For more on navigating faith in Latin America, check out “Two Questions I Don’t Like to Answer,” “Loaded Questions on Wheels: Politics and God,“  “Volunteering at a Religious Organization When You’re Not Religious,” and “Drug Trafficking and Fear.”

]]> http://lavidaidealist.org/2010/07/01/working-on-working-with-dios/feed/ 2 http://lavidaidealist.org/2010/06/25/day-in-the-life-summertime-and-the-living-is-easy/ http://lavidaidealist.org/2010/06/25/day-in-the-life-summertime-and-the-living-is-easy/#comments Fri, 25 Jun 2010 23:45:59 +0000 jonahbrill http://lavidaidealist.org/?p=6412

This woman was 45 minutes late, so she was perfectly on time.

Life here in Cusco is relaxed. I arrive at the Arariwa office at 9:30 in the morning but my workday does not start until I have watched some World Cup matches while drinking some mate de coca. By 11:00 it is time for our desayuno. We all rotate who will bring in the food for breakfast. Mondays are my day and I generally bring in some palta y pan (avocado and bread). By 1:30, it’s time for a three-hour lunch break. A three sol menu del dia is the best way to relieve some stress from the high-pressure office atmosphere. At 4:00 everyone arrives back at the office to continue where we left off.

I should not have been surprised when I arrived to my first interview on time only to realize that I was 30 minutes early. It did not take long to realize that a 2:30 appointment actually meant the interview was supposed to begin at 3:15. Sometimes excuses are made but most often they are not. It’s tough to reprimand a grown woman for being late when she arrives with a rooster and very few teeth. The cheery disposition the loan recipients possess makes me forget that I was ever annoyed.

After a while, I have become accustomed to the strange relationship Cusqueñans have with time. I know that getting in a combi as quick as possible is a matter of life and death. The drivers will not hesitate to begin speeding off as only half of my body is in the car. Waiting on lines here reminds me of wrestling my brother when I was younger: I can never win. The old women have no qualms about stealing my spot on line for the bus from Urubamba to Cusco. If they don’t simply walk in front of me, they will use the strongest lower bodies in the world to box me out of my position.

There is nothing I would rather be doing this summer. Working for Arariwa has afforded me the exact cultural immersion I was looking for. My “ten-hour” workday involves about twenty interviews, two meals and learning to understand the Cusqueñan definition of being on time. The concept of time here forces me to embrace my surroundings. When I ask how long my bus ride to Calca will take for my interview and they tell me 30 minutes, I know I will have an hour to enjoy the scenic beauty of Peru.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

A family in Piñepampa building tejas

What makes Cusco beautiful is the specific intricacies that differentiate this city from say, Ithaca in New York. Although our landlord is just as slimy as college town landlords, I would be hard pressed to find cow heart at Wegmans supermarket. If I’m not in the mood for cow heart, the mega supermercado will always sell me cow stomach, which happens to be in the center of the display shelf.

Seeing cow stomach displayed so prominently can be jarring, but so can hearing the different languages all around me. In Urubamba I was conducting an interview and not able to understand a word. I feared that I was regressing with my Spanish. It took me a couple of minutes but I realized the woman was speaking to me in Quechua. Now I’m not positive, but most likely when I graduate all the interviews will be done in a previously agreed upon language.

My job with Arariwa takes me to pueblocitos all around Cusco. The other day I was in Piñepampa, a very small village about an hour from Cusco. I interviewed loan recipients, in a room with a five-foot ceiling, who spend all day making clay tejas. These roof tiles are sold throughout Peru earning the workers, if they are lucky, $300 a month to share as a family.

It is refreshing to leave the city and travel to remote villages such as Piñepampa that remind me where I am in the world. Although a hot stone massage is nice and I will smile in Machu Picchu for pictures, I came to Cusco for the cow heart and friendly, if not confusing, conversation.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.