The Season of Change

Christmas has come and gone for another year, and now it's time to make New Year's resolutions. Time for change.

In Mozambique, this really is a season of change, but not for the reasons you might expect. No, there's a different sort of change afoot...

Here, there's an important game of hot potato under way, stemming from the government's decision to strip three zeros from its currency.

The 1,000,000 meticais bill has been replaced by its successor, the 1,000. Each dollar is now equivalent to 25 meticais "new family," not 25,000.

And Mozambicans have until December 31 to get rid of their old bills. After today, they face the hassle of exchanging them at the government's central bank. Possible, but a hassle.

And the game is heating up. The new bills were introduced several months ago, but I've received more of the old ones in the past couple of weeks than over the past months combined.

They're withered, tattered, filthy bills. Especially the small ones.

* * * * *

There's another interesting phenomenon about change: apparently, in Africa, it's the responsibility of the person making the purchase to have the necessary change. Stores, particularly small ones, do not have much.

Here, the equivalent of a $20 is too large for all but the biggest stores. The cashier's glare frequently burns a hole through even my bills worth $8. In Africa, such "large" bills are argentum non gratae.

Because of this phenomenon, I recently paid $2 too much for a $15 refill on a propane tank. It was either that, or no gas.

And I'm routinely asked by merchants for change so that they can settle up with customers ahead of me in line.

I guess in this way, it's the season of "no change," unless the merchant happens to have a hot potato that needs to be passed along. Happy New Year!

A Nation's Own Sons and Daughters

They have put it off, postponed it, re-scheduled it various times, but late last week I was finally scheduled to meet once again with the church leaders. Over six weeks have passed since I first encountered their spirited opposition.

Then, as I was springing open the padlocks securing our front door, balancing an armload of bananas to bring with me to the meeting (since the oranges were such a hit last time), I received an SMS on my cell phone. The meeting was canceled yet again.

Now, with Christmas upon us, it won't happen until mid-January, at the earliest. With Christmas also comes summer holidays, and I hear that little happens in Maputo for three or four weeks.

My heart sank.

Since my last meeting with these leaders, I have taken their concerns and shaped them into a strategy that I feel works for everyone. I've sold it to our organization, to our board of directors, to supporters who will finance the project. I even had a conversation with a Mozambican elder who advises these church leaders. Wonderful, he said. Just what Mozambique needs.

Only I keep hitting my knees on this final hurdle. My attempts to sell the strategy to the leaders of the local churches has given me nothing but bruises layered on top of figurative bruises. Some on my knees, some on my ego.

I haven't successfully separated this project from the broader politics of development work swirling around me. The leaders of the church, it seems, are holding this project hostage until we bring money to the table. There's no point teaching us about business if you don't give us money at the same time, they argue.

It is painful for those people who are used to receiving charity to suddenly be asked to provide their own resources. They doubt themselves and their own abilities. And some even think that we're bluffing: that eventually we'll "cave in" and bring a truckload of money (your money -- donor money -- I might add). But that money would soon run out, leaving everyone in the same position as they are in today, and having dug the dependency rut a little deeper.

They see us as being selfish and greedy for having money and not providing it. The perception prevails in Africa that money grows on trees in the West. (Comparatively speaking, that may even be true.)

Our micro-enterprise development strategy is based upon the principle that Mozambicans have within themselves and within their communities the resources to be successful on their own, without being dependent upon foreigners. The strategy is also built upon the principle that Mozambicans are best equipped to convince Mozambicans about the reality of this.

Yes, it can be harmful to give money. Jesus taught that money is poisonous. That's not to say that everyone who indulges succumbs. It's just a well-reasoned caution. And this particular group of church leaders is intoxicated.

Their intoxication is not representative of the whole of Africa. Right under my nose, I spoke with my good friend Mario, who is sobered to the reality of Africa.

Sobered to the reality that Africans have all the resources that they need to survive and thrive. God has ensured this. He wouldn't have made it any other way. "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?", Jesus asks his disciples (in Matthew 10:29, 31), "Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. ...So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."

Mario gave me much needed encouragement for insisting that Africans have the resources to help Africans. Africans need to take risks, he said, so that they can value their possessions. "If foreigners keep giving us things, we'll never learn the value of money, or the value of hard work."

Mario's wisdom unleashed for me a compelling insight: if I really believe that Africans are best equipped and most credible to implement any development or evangelism work in Africa, then I ought to also believe that Africans are best equipped and most credible to convince Africans that such work is valuable and desirable in the first place.

Our micro-enterprise development strategy exists in order "to identify and remove any barriers to economic development that exist for church and community members."

I keep banging my knees against this hurdle because I myself am a barrier.

My organizational affiliation, my affluence, my language, my culture, the colour of my skin. All of these factors reinforce one another to form an insurmountable, impenetrable barrier.

I am a barrier to the success of my own program because, as long as I am the "front man," as long as it is me pitching the program, this group of church leaders will expect me to capitulate and bring money to the table. And they'll prevent me from implementing the strategy until I do.

In order to stay true to our strategic vision, I must remove myself from the equation and allow Mozambican to interface directly with Mozambican. In order to achieve success, I must surrender a degree of control over, and credit for, the program.

God has laid down the gauntlet for me. You say you want My will to be done? Are you willing to step aside from this project? Are you willing to withdraw your ego from this project in order for My will to be realized?

In order to stay true to God's calling, I must remove myself from the front lines.

God never promises that His call will be easy, but to step back from my own project is a challenge. Wow.

My work will move up-stream, with me in a less visible, less central role. When I return from holidays, the task will change from trying to get airtime with the committee of leaders directly in order to sell the need for the micro-enterprise strategy, to supporting, encouraging and equipping people like Mario to sell the strategy to his nation's own sons and daughters.

Don't Be Late For Dinner!

Despite our best intentions, we didn't make it to a Christmas church service this year. Instead, we were inescapably snared in the African time trap.

The trap was set a couple of days ago by my friend Mario, who was talking about his church's plans for an evening Christmas service followed by a social time afterwards. We don't have enough time to sit around and get to know one another, he said, and was really looking forward to creating such an opportunity this Christmas.

We offered our kitchen for Mario, his brother Dilson, and their cousin to come prepare some Christmas snacks. It would take two hours, they said, or three, tops. They arrived shortly after noon, and for hours we mixed, rolled and deep-fried samosas (or "xamussas"), spring rolls, chicken, french fries, and hamburgers (yes, deep fried!). Anything not deep-fried was smothered in mayonnaise.

Eight hours later, "some Christmas snacks" were finished, with a feast sufficient to feed the entire church of 40 people.

As we made the preparations, Laura battled to keep anything with meat or mayonnaise in the fridge. It was a cultural battle; a gargantuan battle between the fridge-people and the non-fridge people (the importance of keeping food in the fridge is lost on people who don't have electricity in their homes!). The battle ended in a draw.

My battle was more of an internal fight: an epic struggle to maintain bodily hydration. Our house, lacking air conditioning, strains under the African heat at the best of times; having the oven and several stove elements pumping additional heat into our cramped kitchen for hours made me crave running outside to roll in the Canadian Christmastime snow.

We can dream all we want. The snow isn't coming for Christmas.

Maputo was experiencing a communist-style run on soft drinks, forcing me to wait half an hour in the beating-down sun to exchange a crate of empties before the party. I fared better than Melvin, who was told that stores had run out of Coca-Cola and Pineapple Fanta.

The time trap tightened, with the tick-tick-tick of the clock growing louder and louder as the kitchen became hotter and hotter.

After 8 hours of sweating at the vegetable market, in the lineup for soft drinks, and in the kitchen, we were finished making the feast that would feed an entire church. Just in time, too: now past 8pm, the church had started their evening program two hours earlier. We loaded up the car and drove slowly to the church, weaving around potholes like we were in a battleground minefield, plates and platters of food balanced precariously in the passengers' hands, laps, and any other mostly-flat surface that could be found in the car.

The great virtue of the African time trap is that few people cared that we were so late, and even those few who did had their cares melt away at the sight of the feast. And an hour after we arrived, the evidence of our labour was reduced to crumbs on plates and smiles on faces.

Merry Christmas!

Manna from Heaven

It was a race so secretive that even its participants weren't aware of the plot.

Their sponsors released their entry into the race and cheered, hoping that it would finish the course quickly.

But the race was unpredictable, and fraught with danger. It was the modern equivalent of little boys and girls racing their homemade stick rafts down a river, coaxing their raft on from the sidelines, ever hopeful of victory, but in the end powerless to effect the outcome.

Some fortunate rafts fared well. Others would be detoured by the spiraling flow of eddies; others, their fate much worse, would get stuck in a tangle of bushes along the shore, or smashed against a rock.

Some of this race's sponsors expressed disappointment at hearing that they wouldn't finish in first place. Some wondered if they would ever finish at all. It was, after all, a race half way around the globe.

To finish the race at all was a victory in itself.

Even the race marshals waiting at the finish line to crown the champion had no knowledge of which entry was nearing the finish line, or which entry was irretrievably lost.

The victors of this race would appear suddenly, as if falling from the sky. Manna from heaven, the race marshals thought.

* * * * *

Having fallen from heaven, the manna landed in a post office box across the border in Nelspruit, South Africa.

The parcels that have been arriving have contained useful gifts, entertaining gifts, and gifts that remind us of home.

Our parents have sent gifts, our friends have sent gifts, and our small group from church has sent gifts. We've heard of other gifts having been sent, but they're probably stuck swirling in an eddy somewhere between Mississauga and Maputo. They may emerge yet.

We received some books to read, some games to play, and some television shows on DVD to watch. Otherwise, we only have Portuguese television.

Most of the household things that we would want can be found in Africa. Sure, most of the locals stick to the basic staples, but there is a large enough foreign and emerging wealth community that branded consumer goods are becoming available as well.

I should specify that general categories of food products are available, but often specific preferences are more difficult to satisfy. Milk is available, for instance, but fresh milk is a challenge. We buy aseptically sealed, boxed milk that has a shelf life, without refrigeration, that can be measured in months or years. Even the farm-fresh eggs are kept on shelves in the grocery store, unrefrigerated.

One of Canada's great myths -- that eggs need to be refrigerated -- has been shattered by Africans who have no choice but to store them on a hot shelf.

One lady wrote us an email from Oregon shortly before Thanksgiving. She hadn't met us yet, but would be traveling to Mozambique and wondered if there was anything that she could bring that we couldn't buy in Africa. A wonderful gesture, we thought, and without too much consideration decided that what we wanted were cans of Campbell's condensed soups.

Soup is available here, but most abundantly in powdered form, not cans of condensed liquid.

This kind lady from Oregon was amazed that Thanksgiving could be brightened by such a simple gift. Her Christmas, she commented, would be shaped by these strangers she met in Mozambique who, when asked for anything, wanted only soup. (Ok, so we really like soup!)

Thank-you to everyone who has sent a gift, a card, or an email. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated! Many of these parcels have been arriving just in time for Christmas, and have served wonderfully to soften the hard edges of homesickness that might otherwise have been felt this season.

By the People, For the People

We have started over the past days to have conversations with small groups of people about hiring them as "micro-enterprise development coordinators."

These would be people who we could train in our remaining time here to implement our business development strategy. If I can recruit and train trainers before leaving, they can continue to implement this strategy long after I'm gone.

These micro-enterprise development coordinators would be people from Mozambique who, because they don't have a cultural barrier to surmount, would be more effective trainers and mentors than I, a stranger, could ever be.

In our first such conversation, I was heartened that at least some of the people were catching our vision both for micro-enterprise development and for using Mozambicans as trainers.

"You guys see that Mozambicans have brains too," one of the meeting participants observed. "It usually seems like it's the white man to the rescue."

I have to admit that, for a compliment, it stung a little. Sometimes people back home have difficulty seeing past the colour of others' skin; I shouldn't expect anything different here.

The people we've spoken with have been unanimous in their enthusiasm for our vision.

* * * * *

Selecting the right people to hire to implement our vision promises to be an interesting challenge.

The first issue that we have to deal with is trust. Trust seems to be a commodity in short supply in Mozambique. Employees aren't used to being trusted. They are usually subjected to complex and bureaucratic structures that serve to emphasize this missing trust.

Compensating for missing trust is the driving force behind the tangle of red tape that I observed at the hardware store, and is commonplace throughout the country.

And employees don't trust that employers will award jobs based on merit. In African culture, it's the responsibility of employers to wield their power in a way that benefits their family and friends. To do otherwise would be to neglect the needs of those closest to you.

That's an interesting twist on the nepotism debate, but it's clearly at work in Mozambique.

RENAMO, Mozambique's opposition party, recently criticized the governing FRELIMO party over the lack of independence of the civil service. RENAMO claims that membership in the governing party is a prerequisite for government employment. Nonsense, was Luisa Diogo's reply. She's Mozambique's Prime Minister, and has responsibility of overseeing the independent body established to depoliticize the government's hiring practices.

What Ms. Diogo didn't find important to mention in her rebuttal was that the head of this independent body is her sister, Victoria Diogo.

"Is there nobody else in the entire country?", the RENAMO questioner wondered aloud.

Nepotism and other unfair hiring practices aren't restricted to the highest levels of government, either.

Yesterday, Timóteo shared with me the story of how he received his first job.

"I woke up in the morning and made a plan to knock on every door along Avenida 25 de Setembro," he recalled, referring to one of the major streets in Maputo. "After about three hours, I walked through a door and told the receptionist that I was looking for work, as I had for countless doors before. I told her that I was willing to do any work, it didn't matter what the task was."

"Did you read the sign above the door on your way in?" she asked him.

"Yes, you're a security company."

"And you're a young boy. How old are you?"

"23."

"We don't hire anyone under 25. And we're looking for tall, strong men. You're too small. I'm sorry, but we don't have anything for you here."

As Timóteo turned to walk out the door, he recalled sensing her attitude change. She saw something in me, he recalled, and took an interest in me.

"Young man," she called to his back as he retreated toward the door, "let me make a phone call and see what I can do for you." She proceeded to pick up the phone and dialed the number to her boss. "I'm here with my nephew," she said, "and he needs a job. His uncle has recently died, forcing him to move by himself to the city and ..."

Timóteo's recollection of her exact story trailed off. It wasn't his story. He had no idea where she pulled it from. But after a visit with the boss, who at first phoned the secretary back insisting that she must be joking that this small boy could be useful as a security guard, Timóteo was offered his first job.

He recalls standing in a line of new recruits as the boss fastened shoulder patches to their new uniforms. One stripe was typical for the new recruits, and two for select individuals with driver's licenses. Timóteo, not measuring up to the other security guards but mistakenly seen as family by the boss, was given three stripes. Unheard of for new recruits. His job would be to supervise a team of these bigger, stronger guards lined up on either side of him.

* * * * *

We can try to combat these issues of trust by demonstrating as fair and open a recruitment process as possible and by creating systems that promote trust rather than suffocate it.

But other challenges will remain, like putting people with little experience (nearly 45% of the population is under 14 years of age) or formal education (over half the population is illiterate) in charge of implementing the program.

And determining what is a "fair" rate of pay in a third-world country.

We're looking for people who are excited about our vision; people who will be excited to implement it. We're hoping that people don't come just for the promise of a secure job.

A Stop Sign Means...

Yesterday we were bouncing along a poorly-paved road on the edge of Maputo. Melvin was driving his truck, while Laura, Raul and I rode along.

Melvin cruised right through a stop sign, slowing down only enough to make sure that crossing traffic wouldn’t be a problem.

“You’ve really grabbed ahold of the Mozambican driving ethic, haven’t you, Melvin?” I chided him. “Every time I stop at a stop sign,” I continued, “Raul laughs at me and tells me that stop signs aren’t really for stopping, they’re for slowing.”

I looked over at Raul to make sure he was listening.

Raul doesn’t drive, so naturally Laura and I felt that our knowledge of driving was superior to his.

“The sign says ‘STOP’ in English,” Raul reasoned, “so that people know that it means to slow down. If they actually wanted drivers to stop, they would write it in Portuguese. Parede.”

We argued the logic for quite a long time, pretty much until the point that our stomachs couldn’t handle the laughter anymore.

But underlying Raul’s humorous logic was a point: why, even in a country where the official language is Portuguese, do they use the standard octagonal English stop sign?

And is Raul's interpretation of a stop sign really any different than our interpretation of speed "limit" signs back home? Yes, the sign says that the limit is 100 km/h. What they really mean is 120 km/h.

Christmas in July?

It can't be December yet. It can't be.

There's a strong wind blowing today, but not the usual Canadian crisp breeze coming down from Santa's workshop. It's more like the thick air blowing from a hairdryer.

It's hot outside. The kind of hot that requires two showers a day. Africa hot.

And yet, Christmas is coming.

We unfolded a small artificial Christmas tree over the weekend. It has some garland and ornaments, but no lights. It's a sad little Charlie Brown sort of tree. But it reminds us that Christmas is coming, just as it reminded our apartment's previous tenants for Christmases past.

We're thankful for the Christmas CD that we were sent from our friends Ray and Christine. We'll probably wear it out this year reminding ourselves that Christmas is coming.

At church on Sunday, there were no advent wreaths, no candles, no carols.

How will I be sure Christmas has arrived if I don't even have to wear my wool hat when I go outside?

In the Christian church, the four weeks prior to Christmas comprise the season of Advent. The season of anticipation and preparation for the coming of the baby Jesus. The King Jesus.

My usual prompts are conspicuously absent. The weather, the commercialism, even the religious symbols. Maybe this year we'll be able to focus on preparing our hearts rather than our homes.

There is always something to distract us from the preparations of Advent. Sometimes it comes in the form of a packed shopping mall. (There's nothing that saps my patience like trying to park at a shopping mall on a Saturday in December!)

For Martha, it comes in the form of the preparations themselves. The straightening, the tidying, the scrubbing. The incessancy. Distracted by making everything just so.

For us this year, it will be the heat. And the distance of family.

And yet, Christmas is coming. Jesus is coming.

Going "Postal"

There is not a governmental bureaucracy as oft-maligned the world over as the postal service. Particularly in the heady days of electronic communication, people often wondered aloud not only when, but if, their "snail mail" parcels would ever arrive.

Oh, how we love to make sport of berating the postal service!

In Mozambique, there exists no such luxury as door-to-door mail delivery. In our apartment, we have an often rain-soaked pile downstairs at the common entrance that serves as our "mail box." Some companies that want to deliver to us personally, such as our Internet service provider, hire their own courier staff to deliver bills. Others, such as the telephone utility, just throw the lot of bills on top of the heap on the ground floor.

And they don't use envelopes. Oh, to hear the laments of Canada's Privacy Commissioner if she were to find a stack of papers itemizing everyone's personal telephone calls sitting in that pile for all to see!

I needed to mail some letters recently, so I asked the natural question: where can I buy stamps around here? A litany of supplemental questions flooded into my head: Where can I drop my mail? Where's the post office? Will this work?

The post office, I was informed, is at the airport. That's good. My letter will be as close as possible to the airplane that will take it to Canada.

It also made sense: locals don't seem to use the postal service. There's no door-to-door delivery, and they wouldn't want to spend their little bit of money mailing a letter to their neighbour anyway, when they could just as well walk over and visit in person. The post office is located at the airport because, quite frankly, most of the mail is sent by foreigners shipping packages out of the country.

Once I located the small counter at the airport that serves as the correios, I wandered inside to find a woman sleeping behind the counter. One post office in town, and it doesn't appear to get much business. I gently whistled a couple of times until the woman awoke.

I asked her if I could send a letter to Canada, and she quickly calculated the cost. About $5 to go half way around the world. Not bad. Then she pulled a scrap of paper off a pile and ran it through an old postage machine that printed a stamp onto it. My letter was almost ready to mail. She found some scissors, cut the imprint out of the scrap of paper, smeared glue onto it out of a sticky jar using an oozing popsicle stick, and stuck it on the upper right hand corner of my envelope.

As she wiped the excess glue from my envelope, I paid her with a bill that was too large. She reached down and picked a plastic sack up off the floor by her feet, put my bill inside, and fished out the proper change. The plastic sack strained under the weight of the coins it held.

She was a lovely, friendly lady who apologized for having been sleeping. I may have been her first and last customer of the day.

The whole experience was fun and relaxed. It seemed more like a social visit than a business transaction, which is a good thing. And the best news is that my packages arrived in less than two weeks. Chalk one up for the Mozambique postal service.

* * * * *

Since my first encounter with the post office, I have since come to learn that Mozambique does, in fact, issue its own postage stamps, including this set of three that I purchased this week.

Yes, they feature the three pillars of African culture: a speed skater, a bobsledder and a downhill skier.

Maybe the lady behind the counter could tell that I am from Canada.

Zipping Around South Africa

Last week was American Thanksgiving, which meant that school was out for an extra long weekend. I quickly learned when several of our friends became teachers over the past couple of years that teachers are even more excited than their students for the arrival of holidays.

Laura is no exception. She planned for us a great long weekend in South Africa.

One of our first activities was an aerial cable trail near Hazyview, South Africa, which featured us being strapped to cables suspended high within the forest's canopy, zipping along from platform to platform for 1.2 kilometres. As Laura excitedly shared our plans for this activity with her Mozambican teaching colleagues, she realized that not everyone shares her sense of adventure.

The aerial cable trail experience wasn't entirely unique (but it certainly was fun!). I once had a summer job as the head instructor on a similar sort of course. I was even trained to conduct high-altitude emergency rescues using climbing gear. Having this background meant that I knew what I was looking at -- and that I was pleasantly surprised with the quality of their equipment. I knew that we'd be safe, which isn't always the case in Africa.

And we couldn't help but feel at home. The forest felt very much like the Canadian Shield. Nearby tourist shops even sell amethyst, Ontario's provincial rock.

We experienced greater fear at the Moholoholo animal rehabilitation centre, where we stood a (thin) chain link fence away from a roaring lion, and were able to pet a leopard (again, thankfully, through a fence).

The rehabilitation centre exists to care for animals that are injured or otherwise unable to live in the wild. They're not always there for their own protection, but for the protection of humans. The cats, for example, were raised as kittens by humans, so they have lost any fear of humans that they might have had in the wild. They are more dangerous now, not because they are ferocious, but because they would play rough and accidentally kill. And their instinct to attack weaker flesh is their basis for survival.

It's true that a leopard can't change its spots!

We also spent time touring around the mountainous Drakensberg area of South Africa, exploring such wonders as Berlin Falls, the "Potholes," and a view so magnificent that it is known as "God's Window."

Africa really is a beautiful, albeit abused, continent. Our weekend adventure serves to remind us that God did create the entire world and everything in it.

World AIDS Day

I cannot let World AIDS Day pass without some brief reflection.

Last week, as I stood talking with one of the workers at the seminary construction site, he looked down at a cut on his hand, and wiped the blood onto his pants.

In Canada, we are urged to be cautious around strangers' blood. Had I been administering first aid, the first step would have been to put on rubber gloves.

In Mozambique, where the HIV/AIDS prevalence rate is 50 times that of Canada, people don't think about basic things like rubber gloves.

Mozambique is among the top 10 countries ranked by HIV/AIDS prevalence. The remaining 9 are Mozambique's sub-Saharan neighbours.

AIDS is a disease exacerbated by poverty. Poor mothers cannot afford the medication that would reduce the risk of transferring the disease to her children during birth. Even when they are given these medications, they often cannot afford the balanced and regular diet required to optimize the drugs' effectiveness.

And it's a disease that perpetuates poverty. Imagine a workforce in which one out of every 7 people has this one disease. Now imagine the number of additional people who miss work regularly in order to look after loved ones who are sick. And imagine the number of orphaned children who can no longer afford to attend school, starting their lives at a disadvantage.

We've seen homes where the head of the household is a 7-year-old child, struggling to be an adult.

Despite having lived in Mozambique for over four months, I have only experienced the ravages of this pandemic indirectly: through conversations about its impact, through advertisements, through stories.

This might partly be my fault, not having picked up on cultural cues. People sometimes refer to it ominously as, "the sickness." And rightfully so: it is the cause underlying one death out of every four here in Mozambique.

It has also driven the life expectancy rate down by 3 years since 1999. Here in Mozambique, people can now only expect to live to be 38 years old. And even that rate continues to fall.

Thankfully, I have not yet known anyone here to have died as a result of AIDS. That fact alone, perhaps more than any other, makes me a stranger in this land.

The Vision Thing

During the recent meeting in which I faced opposition to our business ideas, one person raised a simple but important question: "What's the vision for this project?" he asked.

His vision and mine didn't match, which made me realize that I need to spend more time articulating and selling a clear vision. Let me back-track a bit.

The objective for my work in Mozambique is to identify and remove any barriers that exist to economic development for members of our churches and their communities. This objective will be accomplished in three ways:

• Micro-enterprise training and mentoring opportunities, including financial stewardship and accountability at personal, church and business levels;

• Facilitating access to business opportunities and resources, including business franchising opportunities; and,

• Promotion of village-based savings and credit services.
  

Especially since coming to Mozambique, I have realized that we cannot remove barriers to economic development simply by starting yet another microcredit bank.

There are an abundance of microfinance institutions working here already. Thirty-two, by last count. Several of them are sophisticated, international organizations whose core business is the financial services that they provide.

Credit is available, albeit at a high price, to those who want it, particularly in urban areas.

Many proponents of microcredit like to simplify the world into two groups: those who are thriving with microcredit loans, and those who have not (yet) received microcredit loans.

Africa is more complex than this.

The challenges are clear: well-established microcredit banks have come to the conclusion that microcredit lending is extremely expensive, and have reflected that conclusion in their interest rates.

As well, Mozambique’s credit culture is sufficiently weak that many people readily interpret loans – particularly loans from deep pocketed Westerners – to be grants. Gifts to be repaid only in the event that the borrower becomes wealthier than the lender.

A better model for the people we want to target is to start building a savings infrastructure so that people can accumulate wealth. They can do this amongst themselves, as a group. When people need to borrow, they can borrow from the group’s pool, and pay a modest amount of interest that is in turn given to deposit holders. People won’t object as strongly to paying interest to themselves.

The model also provides for a modest form of group insurance by collecting a small fee from group members and redistributing it, by consensus of the group, to those with a pressing need, like malaria testing.

It’s really a model of grassroots banking. It will be slow to implement, since no loans will be paid out until savings have been received, but will be more sustainable. Our role will be to train Mozambicans with the process and structure and let them implement it. They won’t need us to maintain a complex or expensive banking infrastructure.

This vision, I would argue, is quite bold and exciting. The vision means that Mozambicans can make donor-driven microcredit lending obsolete by filling their own savings and credit needs until those needs are large and sophisticated enough to qualify for commercial banking.

In an earlier entry, I implored Nobel laureate Dr. Yunus to lead the way in the development of a better microcredit model. The model that I am proposing is neither new nor perfect. In some ways, it mirrors important features of the Grameen bank that have been removed by its successors, chief amongst which is ownership by the borrowers.

Our vision is to fight poverty by giving power back to the people.


Further Reading

• Micro-Enterprise Development Vision Document [PDF]

Answered Prayer: Relationships

By Laura

Before leaving Toronto, my prayer was that I would develop meaningful relationships while here in Maputo, especially with women, and that I would feel a sense of living in Christian community.

Women are relational beings. When blessed with friends with whom they can share their joys and frustratrations with no fear of being rejected, they feel able to thrive, able to really be themselves. In the book Captivating, John Eldredge shares this thought: "Whatever else we know about women, we know they are relational to their cores. While little boys are killing one another in mock battles on the playground, little girls are negotiating relationships... This is so second nature to them, so assumed by women, that it goes unnoticed by them. They care more about relationships than just about anything else."

I am just like any other woman, and so my prayer was to be able to develop deep relationships. As a Christian, it is also my desire to be able to share with and learn from other Christians; to the able to grow closer to Christ by being stretched and encouraged by other believers.

God has answered both of these requests through one very special group of women. Ever since my first week here, I have been a member of a women's Bible study group. I say a 'member' because these women accepted me and made me feel like I had always been a regular participant even my first time out. They are missionaries, mostly from the United States, from all different organizations. We all have several key things in common: we have left comfort, family and friends to be in Maputo, Mozambique; we love the Lord Jesus; we are trying to serve him here; and we have a lot to learn.

What I have enjoyed the most about these women is their acceptance and openness. They share about frustrations and discouragement. All in the group have experienced these, but there are always those have seen the other side and can offer encouragement, support, and wisdom. They also share about the things they have learned over the weeks about themselves or God or both. They share about the difficult, humbling lessons, as well as the joyful, uplifting lessons.

We just finished a study by Beth Moore called 'Believing God'. I had never heard of Beth Moore, but she is a very popular speaker/author in the southern United States. We would watch her talk for an hour on DVD (although the word 'talk' is deceiving -- she is very animated!) and then we would complete a workbook with readings and questions throughout the week. When I first heard Beth Moore, I admit I was skeptical (the word 'animated' is perhaps not strong enough.. :), but I have thoroughly enjoyed this study. She has a humble spirit, great faith, and provides wonderful insight in a captivating and humourous way. I have learned so much and it has stretched my perceptions of God and what faith can be. The study is based on five principles that appear simple, but have far reaching implications if truly believed:

1) God is who He says He is; 2) God can do what He says He can do; 3) I am who God says I am; 4) I can do all things through Christ; 5) God's Word is alive and active in me.

I feel that I still have a long way to go before I am really living my life in the truth of these statements. But I am encouraged to know that God cares more that we set our eyes on him and keep moving forward, than how long it takes to get there!

We have not yet started our next study (it takes a while to acquire materials in Mozambique) so in the meantime we are meeting to share and sing and pray. Praise God!

The Response

Last week, I wondered whether or not honouring a request for a loan would hurt the borrower more than not giving it. The requester returned yesterday and told me that he had done much thinking, and would still like the full loan, if I'm able to offer it to him.

Of course, the rules of the game shifted over the weekend.

As if to taunt the "wisdom" of my earlier words, my prospective borrower's house was robbed on the very day I wrote them. Important, yes; Urgent, no, I wrote. And then the very vulnerability that he sought to repair was breached.

The target of the thievery wasn't televisions or jewelry. He doesn't have these things. He doesn't even have electricity or running water. No, the target had basic, but real, value. He was robbed of his single-burner paraffin stove, a pan full of food, and some other food on shelves. The thief was hungry.

How much this theft impacted my friend's decision to take the loan, I'll never know.

After much deliberation, I decided to meet him part way. I loaned him a third of the money that he needed, and the two of us agreed to a schedule of weekly repayments. I also gave him another third outright as an early Christmas bonus for work that he has been doing for me over the past months. Needing the final third will keep him motivated to continue to chase down leads for more regular work.

I also offered to help him with the repairs.

He was quite happy with this outcome. The schedule of repayment contemplates him being able to pay off the debt in two months. It is a little bit aggressive, but he welcomed the challenge. He pointed to one week in the middle of the schedule, and announced his goal to double his payment for that week in order to pay off the debt faster.

In doing so, he figured that $16 a month was more than what he needed to buy rice, cooking oil and sugar. The Mozambican staples. He would find a way to survive.

And he had understood that that debt is serious, after all.

A Property Development Diversion

Laura and I have been keenly interested in remaining flexible while in Mozambique, keeping an eye out for the greatest needs and adjusting our work as necessary.

It should come as no surprise that the harvest is plenty, but the labourers are few. There’s no shortage of work for us to do here, but matching the greatest needs with our skills and interests is an on-going challenge.

OMS, the organization that we are attached to while in Mozambique, is developing a post-secondary institution that will offer seminary training to aspiring pastors.

By North American standards, the project is relatively small. Once completed, it will be a 15,000 square foot, four-storey concrete block and glass structure.

On several occasions, the project manager for the facility construction has asked for my assistance to keep the project moving along.

* * * * *

Maputo is a sprawling city whose many low-rise concrete buildings are due for more than just a fresh coat of paint. Much of the city was built by the Portuguese and, when they fled (which coincided with Mozambique's independence in 1975), they left behind a void of professionals and skilled trades workers. Buildings that were under construction 30 years ago remain unfinished, though where possible the completed floors are occupied.

This isn't to say that people in Mozambique lack the capacity to build and maintain major infrastructure works; rather, that it's incumbent upon the leadership of a nation to train up its people with the requisite skills to do so. The Portuguese withheld such education in decades passed, and Mozambique still suffers for it.

It would appear that safety regulations are almost non-existent in Mozambique. I recently heard of a gentleman from South Africa who witnessed the stringency of safety regulations in Canada and wondered how we ever get any work done. I suspect that someone from Mozambique would wonder the same of South Africa.

I've seen a hard hat on the construction site once. It was upside down, full of water, being used by one of the workers to clean some tools.

The project is behind schedule by several months. In fact, by the original schedule it should have been completed before I arrived in Mozambique. Here's just a flavour of the challenges faced on this project:

• Labourers who have a very real and immediate need to feed their families. In the African context, it is not practical to withhold significant payment because the workers are quite literally hungry. Payment in small amounts -- even $20 at a time -- is often a strong encouragement to maintain the project’s momentum.

• Several contracts with sub-contractors are for labour only, making it our responsibility to ensure that materials are present -- a risk they will not accept because of the difficulty in securing supply, and because they don't have sufficient working capital to carry an inventory. For example, the labourers who have been hired to lay tile on the hallway floors and bathroom walls ran out of materials earlier this week. I travelled with an assistant to nearly a dozen shops over two days before finding tiles -- similar in colour, and not quite the right size. But close enough.
  

• Business that is transacted largely in cash, which requires a strong record keeping discipline. Imagine trying to build a college without writing a cheque. To add to the challenge, the project’s contracts and suppliers deal in three different currencies: Mozambican meticais, South African rand and US dollars.

• Not having assurance of the funding necessary to complete the project. This is typical for not-for-profit capital projects, since potential donors often want to see a building rising out of the ground before committing their donations.

• Design coordination issues (and incomplete designs) that need to be managed. This is a problem with construction around the world, but is exacerbated in a culture where, according to author David Maranz, “People tend to accept immediate, cheap, or even quasi-legal solutions when dealing with business matters, rather than take care of matters properly, deal with technicalities or delays, or incur additional expense.” (Maranz, p. 182.)

* * * * *

After visiting the 12th shop, I returned with Geraldo, our Mozambican project assistant, with my small car loaded with enough tile and grout to keep the workers busy for a few more days.

When we arrived, the tilers were sitting around playing a game of checkers -- one side using bottle caps, another side using small stones. Geraldo called them over to collect the new materials, yelling (in English), "Come on! Time is money!" He looked at me and laughed, wondering if I'd ever heard that expression. The tilers wouldn't have understood the words, and even if they had've been in Portuguese, wouldn't have understood their significance.

"I heard someone yell that in South Africa once," Geraldo explained to me, with a grin on his face. "Those guys work hard."

Can Helping Hurt?

In a previous posting, I wrote that we have decided to help people however and wherever asked. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Too simple.

So what is the proper response when someone makes a request that could easily be fulfilled, but might just end up hurting more than helping?

Last week, a friend asked for a loan. To me, it was a relatively small sum: I could have honoured his request for $250. And through the looking-glass of North America, the need seemed great: he wanted the money to buy some sheets of tin to cover his open-to-the-sky house, and some other improvements that would help him secure his possessions. How can I deny someone $250 so that he can literally put a roof over his head?

To him, by contrast, this request was huge. It represented four or five months' worth of salary.

Knowing that I didn't really understand his living situation (though I've been to his house), but also knowing that he's lived without much of his house covered since March (which isn't that unusual in Mozambique), I knew that the situation wasn't urgent. Important, yes. Urgent, no.

Laura suggested that I make it a teachable moment, so that's exactly what I did.

When presented with the request, I told my friend that I would think about it and that we could talk about it the next day. When we met again, I didn't have an answer, but instead had prepared a lesson on Biblically-sound financial principles.

My task when I came to Mozambique was to work on micro-enterprise development initiatives. Being here, I've realized that mentoring people on personal finances is a critically important foundational step: an entrepreneur can't build a successful business if he doesn't know how to manage his own finances.

The requester is a young Christian, so respected the wisdom of the Bible. Had he not been, its teachings are still rational, rooted in common sense.

I spoke to him about things that seem obvious to a guy with a Master's degree in business, and a house with a mortgage. I asked him questions like:

Have you made a plan? Do you really need to do all of the work now? Or can some of it wait until you have saved some money?

How will you continue to feed yourself and your family -- an important obligation -- if you spend four or five months of salary on these house improvements?

How will you cope with other unexpected expenses that may arise over the coming months?

How will taking this loan restrict your future decisions? Will it require you to continue along a path you don't like in order to pay the loan back? Might it prevent you from pursuing an opportunity that arises because of the outstanding obligation?

These questions struck him like great bits of wisdom. He understood the need to think carefully about his request, and asked for time to do so.

* * * * *

Naturally, I could have offered to give him the money, which would seem like the compassionate thing to do. That would have been completely within my ability, and it's a response that I wrestled with at great length.

I could have allowed him to put a roof over his house and avoid being enslaved by debt.

My hope is that mentoring him in the way to plan and think through his financial decisions will be an investment worth far more to him than had I opened my wallet and handed him $250. My prayer is that he becomes a master of his own destiny, not dependent upon the generosity of a rich, white foreigner next time a big financial need arises.

* * * * *

Laura and I don't yet know how we will help. Our friend will soon return to us, having carefully reconsidered his request. We expect that he'll come back to us with a proposal -- perhaps the same request, perhaps not. And if, when he returns, he again requests the loan, should we comply?

A Second Step Forward

Last week, I wrote of the challenges that I ran up against when presenting our chicken farming "franchise" model to a group of church leaders. I had naively assumed that the church leaders would be more receptive of an opportunity to partner with successful entrepreneurs to develop a micro-enterprise.

This week, I travelled out of the city with my colleague Glenn to present the idea to Christina and Miguel, the family of chicken farmers who could potentially serve as the "franchisor" in our model, and received a more positive reception.

Since we had been at their home a couple of weeks ago, they had expanded their chicken houses and were now raising 2,150 chickens -- roughly a 100% increase.

Miguel explained to us that they expanded because they saw greater demand for their product. He also explained that entrepreneurs never stop expanding. He's not satisfied with 2,150 chickens, but wants to grow the business even larger.

For better or for worse, that sentiment is the fuel that drives economic development around the world.

It's also the sentiment that we're hoping to build upon for the success of our "franchise farming" model. Christina and Miguel have a vision of us helping them to expand their business by building more chicken houses and buying more chickens; by contrast, our vision is to help them expand by teaching them to sell the expertise that they have developed over the past decade of raising chickens to help inexperienced franchisees to have the same success.

Christina and Miguel received the proposal in a very encouraging manner: skeptical optimism. They welcomed the proposal, and thought that it was a good idea. They also spoke at length about a list of fears that they have.

Of their fears, trust was featured most prominently. How can we trust the franchisees, they asked. What if they steal our chickens? What if they don't work hard? It's a valid concern.

We can't assure them that the franchisees are worthy of their trust, but we can provide Christina and Miguel the opportunity to meet any potential franchisees before committing to move forward with the project. After all, they are the ones who need to trust their franchisees; not us.

They also spoke about assuming additional risk by bringing outsiders into their already-successful operation.

And they shared with us the story of a woman who had found business success, only to be poisoned to death by envious clients.

I was glad that they shared these fears with us. Their sharing signaled that they trust us enough to be honest with us. It also signaled that they're engaging the proposal seriously enough to properly weigh its risks and benefits.

I'm not an expert at reading this foreign culture. It had occurred to me that their response might be the polite, indirect way of turning down our proposal, but I don't think so. And neither did our interpreter.

A second step forward.

Next, we have to bring the idea back to the church leaders. If they again demonstrate reticence, we may have to build some momentum by proving the concept using a more willing group of people, in a different village.

* * * * *

As we wrapped up the meeting and were about to begin our drive back into the city, Miguel walked around back of his house and soon re-emerged with a live chicken under his arm. A gift to express his appreciation for us and our work. We politely declined their generous offer, sheepishly admitting that we didn't know how to prepare a live chicken.

His wife laughed at us, and insisted that we return to their house some day to feast on that chicken together. She would even teach us how to kill and prepare it. I will never turn down an invitation to a barbecue, but I hope next time to bring with me several potential franchisees to share the feast and begin building the bonds of trust.

Wedding Bells in Khongolote

Wedding bells chimed in Mozambique for Paulo and Olga this weekend, figuratively speaking, anyway, and Laura and I travelled to Khongolote to witness the nuptuals.

The wedding ceremony was scheduled to begin at 11:30am. On our way to the ceremony, our colleague Melvin, who was driving us, got a telephone call from Raul, hoping we could give him a ride. That would save him the trouble of catching a chapa (the local minivan transit service). Even though it was already 11:10am and Khongolote was another 30 minutes away, we circled back to pick him up.

When we finally arrived at noon, we were surprised to find the wedding had already started. Meetings never run on time, and even less so weddings. In fact, weddings are notoriously late in part because the groom must first make a trip to the provincial capital of Matola to take care of the legal documentation. The length of the wait at the government office in Matola is unpredictable.

Weddings also tend to run long. We witnessed some potential causes for that: first there were the congregation members who felt that certain songs needed to be sung. They would just start belting them out from their pews, and everyone would happily join along. Almost everyone. Even in Africa, some people were seen rolling their eyes.

Next were the people who walked to the front of the church to provide miniature soliloquys. Since they were in Shangaan, we didn't know what wisdom the speakers were imparting on the newlyweds, but hoots and guffaws from the benches were common. The presiding church leader stood up and sat down several times, unsure of what would happen next.

The wedding included an interesting mix of African and western elements. The bride wore a wedding dress which is shared around the community for such occasions. Same for the suits that the men wore. And there was an exchange of wedding bands which, since I've yet to see anyone wearing rings, were likely borrowed as well.

We stayed after the ceremony for the reception, which was a late lunch of rice, beans, and chicken or fish. A guest on my right found a chicken foot in his rice. A guest on my left received the glare of a fish's head staring up at him from his bowl. Everyone had generous portions: nobody would leave hungry on this day.

The guests of honour at the head table received special luxuries, like bottles of Coke and Fanta. The children were overjoyed that they were treated with the leftovers.

All of the guests were packed tightly into rows of the ubiquitous blue benches. Weddings are fancy, but the community has limits. The guests ate out of plastic bowls, which we balanced on our laps since we didn't have tables. Most of us were given one piece of cutlery to use. There wasn't enough to go around, so some people used their fingers.

After the meal, gifts were presented to the couple by groups of people singing and dancing their way to the head table. The gifts were simple: a group of a dozen women purchased a box of patio glasses, and each woman presented one glass to the couple. Another group presented a set of pots and pans; each woman carrying a pot, or a pan, or a lid, or a spoon.

The newly-wed couple have been socialized not to smile at such a serious affair as a wedding, though their guests had a boisterous time.

At the end of the celebration, the couple was chauffered away in a small white Toyota, spinning its tires on the rain-soaked mud roads. We followed behind in a four-by-four truck, going very slowly. When Melvin, who was driving our truck, suggested passing the bride and groom, the Mozambicans in our car were shocked. Pass a bride and groom on their wedding day? Bad luck, I guess.

We turned down a side street and sped away.

A Spirited Opposition

Late last week, I presented our chicken farming strategy to a gathering of Mozambican church leaders. We try to work through this group, encouraging them to take ownership of projects rather than doing them ourselves, empowering Mozambicans to help Mozambicans.

We try to "lead from the side," building their leadership capacity, hoping to work ourselves out of a job. If these leaders aren't willing to endorse our projects, we reason, then neither will they take sufficient responsibility over them to ensure their success.

Strangely enough, the prospect of facing these $1-a-day men caused my heart to beat a little harder than normal. It was reminiscent of the countless times that I've sat across a table from a committee of high-powered Cabinet ministers back home presenting recommendations for the direction of our province. In both cases, I must admit to a little anxiety.

And in both cases, the scrutiny was trying. The questions they asked were difficult, and they didn't always like my answers. I wished that I had've done a little more homework. There's always a little more to do.

On some level, I was glad for their combativeness. Had I expected to come riding in on a horse from stage right to save the poor Africans from their plight? They are still living, breathing, critically-thinking human beings.

For hours they asked questions. I tried to understand in Portuguese, and asked for translation when I needed to catch a nuance. I usually responded in English, because the translator had a better chance of accurately conveying my thoughts.

Maybe the translation was the problem. Not the words, but the barrier of suspicion that naturally divides people speaking through the help of an intermediary. I wished I had've spoken fluent Portuguese. Or Shangaan. At least the translator was an insider, known to the group and myself.

Their questions seemed to boil down to plain selfishness. We were presenting a proposal for franchised chicken farms to benefit the communities in which their churches are located. Not restricted to church members, and certainly not restricted to church leaders.

They wanted to redesign the program to deliver employment opportunities for themselves.

And they didn't want to take a loan from an arms-length micro-credit organization. Their reasons were numerous, many valid. The subtext was that they wanted us to provide the money, no interest required, and no risk required. We wouldn't force repayment because we're a Christian organization, they silently reasoned.

All of their criticisms were carefully addressed in a business plan that we had prepared for their input. Sure, micro-credit interest rates are high, for example, but the plan takes that into account and still shows a resonable profit for owner-workers.

Their counter-proposal, not so much spoken as implied, was that they would take our money, try their hands at raising chickens, and if they ever found themselves better off than us, they could give us our money back. They pressed for a handout.

* * * * *

Knowing that many of them wouldn't have had eaten yet that day, I brought a bag full of oranges and passed them around. The group then passed around a machete that they used to peel the oranges, and threw their peels into a plastic bucket in the centre of the ring of blue wooden benches that we were perched atop. (Ok, so there were some differences between this meeting and the Cabinet committee meetings back home!)

I brought one orange too few, so didn't take one myself. The man beside me, generous in spirit and seeing me as an equal, peeled his orange, broke it in two, and offered me half.

These are people with big hearts, but imbued with a strong survival instinct. After all, they are hungry and poor. In their situation, I can't say that I wouldn't press for a handout with an equal amount of zeal.

In fact, they probably interpret my unwillingness to capitulate and provide a gift as my own lack of a generous spirit.

To many, providing a handout may seem like a logical response to economic injustice in Africa, especially when poverty is viewed as a lack of resources. Isn't the best way to fight poverty to do so with money?

But handouts don't empower people to help themselves in the long-run. Worse, they're not even neutral, but sap the motivation to take necessary and healthy risks required to get ahead. Having received handouts in the past, they expect handouts to continue in the present. Anything less than a direct gift is rejected.

Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus, in his autobiography, "Banker to the Poor," makes the following statement about the applicability of micro-credit in contexts with a strong social safety net:

[M]y great nemesis is the tenacity of the social welfare system. Over and over, [micro-credit projects] have run into the same problem: recipients of a monthly handout from the government ... calculate the amount of welfare money and insurance coverage they would lose by becoming self-employed and conclude the risk is not worth the effort. (Yunus, pp 189-90).

In Mozambique, there is no government social safety net, but handouts from foreign governments and non-governmental organizations, including our own, have created the same mix of dependency, complacency and expectancy.

In the long-run, people will benefit from being empowered to help themselves. But the prospect of not receiving another handout is a bitter pill that they're being asked to swallow.

* * * * *

In a gesture to ensure that relationships were preserved in the face of the difficult meeting, one of the church leaders came up to me afterwards and apologized for the feisty spirit of the group. "But it was your own fault," he said. "Your oranges gave us energy."

And then, to make sure I knew he was joking he added, "Next time, bring ice cream."

100 Days

Today is our 100th day in Mozambique. In some ways, it is hard to imagine that 100 days have passed already. In other ways, it seems that we've been here a lifetime.

After a new president or prime minister has taken office, he or she is often asked to sit down and reflect upon the first 100 days of their mandate. Time to take stock.

Following that time-honoured tradition, I woke up early this morning and peeked outside. No media trucks. I checked my phone for messages. No interviews scheduled.

Just as well, I suppose. But that doesn't mean that I can't pause here and take stock of these first 100 days.

My temptation is to zoom out and look at the macro-view first. In what tangible, lasting way have I changed the continent in these first 100 days? Or at least improved the future of this country?

Sounds unrealistic, doesn't it? A little ridiculous. Yet that's the standard we hold our political leaders to, and one that has been engrained in me. Our western culture teaches us to "swing for the fence", and to "catch the big fish." We glorify large-scale success.

I beat myself up for not having solved an intractable, complicated problem that milions of people and billions of dollars have been chipping away at for generations.

A healthier perspective is to zoom in and focus on the micro-view. In what ways have being here had an impact on someone's life?

How have I moved the yardsticks forward for one person in Mozambique?

How have I moved the yardsticks forward for one person back home?

And how have I moved them forward in my own life?

Some skeptics may think that's a cop-out; that I'm lowering expectations to ensure that I'm able to meet them. I don't see it that way at all.

And the lady with the fruitstand down the street doesn't see it that way, either. The one who smiles and waves every day, and who is pleased to sell me tomatoes and green peppers, but only after she asks me about my day and if my parents are healthy.

I came to Mozambique to bring poverty relief through economics. I came hoping to leave lives in a bit better state. I came so that people might see that I love them because God first loved me.

And no doubt, I will leave having accomplished some of that.

But there's nothing more enriching in African culture than the value of personal relationships. (And that's a hard and tiring lesson for this introvert to learn!)

I would be foolish to try to fight poverty but forsake the poor.

What has changed in these first 100 days? Perhaps nothing so great as my perspective on people in poverty.

Debunking the Fallacy of "Limited Good"

Some people might be wondering (though nobody has asked) why I spend so much time learning culture and language while in Mozambique. After all, if we're only spending a year here, wouldn't success be easier to come by if I just focused on the task at hand?

The reality is that success will not be possible unless I learn the culture of Mozambique as fully and completely as possible. A cultural lesson that I learned this week highlights this fact.

The people of Mozambique ascribe to a concept called "limited good": that everything, whether tangible (such as wealth) or intangible (such as happiness) is in limited supply, and that one person having an abundance of anything means that someone else will be lacking in it.

All facets of life are seen as zero-sum. If I have more health or wealth or happiness than my neighbour, he will perceive that I have stolen his share of it.

At first thought, this seems like a strange idea. Free-market capitalist societies have as a central tenet that wealth is in unlimited supply; that it can and is created (albeit not distributed evenly) every day.

(Armchair economists viewing the world from the left or the right of the political spectrum will forever argue the veracity of this point.)

Upon further reflection, one must admit that the idea of limited good lurks just beneath the surface even in our own culture. It rears its head in the form of jealousy when a colleague gets a coveted promotion, or when a neighbour buys a shiny new car, or when a friend is publicly recognized for a good deed.

The theory of limited good has profound implications for our chicken farming strategy, and for economic development projects in general. It makes no difference whether or not the theory is true; because people believe it, their actions will be shaped by it.

If our project is to be successful, we need to create the conditions necessary to avoid both jealousy on the part of those who don't participate, and a deliberate undermining of success on the part of those selected in an effort to avoid standing out from the pack.

The collective nature of African culture prevents individuals from wanting to distance themselves from their neighbours. Those who do find success may fear recrimination from jealous family and witchcraft-practicing neighbours.

Chicken farming in Mozambique is a good idea with plenty of winners. Consumers will have access to a better diet. Producers will have more wealth to help their family survive and to spend at their neighbour's fruit stands and bakeries.

Prosperity, without greed, has a multiplication effect that allows everyone to win.

* * * * *

While we may debate the limits of tangible goods, we should never doubt that the intangibles -- things like happiness -- are in limitless supply. God permits -- indeed, God wants -- all of us to live good and righteous lives.

If the concept of limited good is applied to these intangibles, it serves only to drive a wedge between ourselves and God in an effort to preserve harmony among people. If instead we could recognize that "good" is not a commodity in limited supply, we would all be better neighbours and global citizens.

If the people of Mozambique could realize that good begets good, they may be more motivated to lift themselves out of the proverbial muck.

Congratulations, Dr. Yunus, but...

Earlier this month, the Norwegian Nobel Committee -- that illustrious black box that decides who is worthy of the Nobel prizes each year -- decided that the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize would be awarded to Muhammad Yunus, widely regarded as the founder of microcredit, and his Grameen Bank.

As part of the official announcement, the committee noted that:

Every single individual on earth has both the potential and the right to live a decent life.

Both the potential and the right. Nobody deserves to live a life of poverty, and Dr. Yunus has dedicated his life to ensuring that fewer do.

This award is a wonderful way to recognize his efforts in this regard.

But he should not be content to accept this award as the end of a great accomplishment; it is merely the beginning. We should applaud Dr. Yunus' achievements with the encouraging intent of a parent watching her child take a first step. What the parent really wants is for the child to have the courage to take a second, and then a third.

The Norwegian Nobel Committee recognizes this. That's why, according to popular speculation, such hopefuls as former Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari (who brokered peace between Indonesia’s government and Aceh separatists in August 2005) were passed over for this year's award. Mr Ahrisaari's work was done; the sharp minds on the Nobel Committee saw no need to encourage further progress.

Dr. Yunus, your work is not done. You know that better than I do. Let's ensure that the rest of the world understands this award to be a carrot tempting us all to further progress, not a retrospective "lifetime achievement award" for the nascent microcredit industry.

In Bangladesh and elsewhere, the microcredit industry has detractors. People think that the interest rates are still too high. Nowhere is that more true than in Mozambique, where poor entrepreneurs are asked to pay back their loans plus 6% each month.

Sure, the bath water may be dirty, but that's no reason to toss the baby.

December 10, the anniversary of the death of Alfred Nobel, is the traditional day for distribution of the Nobel awards. Dr. Yunus, I implore you to use your acceptance speech on this day as an opportunity to showcase the steps that have yet to be taken.

Congratulations, Dr. Yunus, but there's more work to be done.

Church-Raising in São Dâmaso

This weekend, Laura and I decided to venture out of the city. It's always a bit of an ordeal since beyond the edge of Maputo all but the main roads are paved with loosely-packed sand, so we have to borrow a vehicle with four-wheel drive to make the journey.

Our destination was a small church in a community called São Dâmaso, about 45 minutes outside of Maputo. The church's two leaders are men whom I met during our micro-enterprise training in Khongolote a couple of months ago. They invited us to visit, so we decided that doing so would be a great opportunity for us to see Mozambique from a slightly different perspective.

For the past two years, the church in São Dâmaso has operated out of a small building on rented land. Earlier this year, they purchased their own land nearby and -- because caniço is a wonderfully portable construction material -- took the church apart, carried it down the street, and reassembled it on their newly-acquired property. A group of five people from Oregon who were here visiting this week helped with the project.

The labourers took the opportunity to install more durable posts and roof struts so that, over time, they can replace the church's caniço walls with concrete blocks to make their building more permanent and weather-resistent.

Some of the caniço wall panels needed to be replaced, but in a society that wastes little, the old walls still had value. Nelson, the church's leader, wanted to put them to use to enclose his outdoor washroom. We hoisted them onto Nathan's Land Cruiser and delivered them to Khongolote, where Nelson lives with his wife and children in a small home built by an international aid agency after Mozambique's floods in 2000.

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Relationship and community are immensely important attributes in Africa, and the home is an important focal point of these relationships. In fact, there’s a saying here that if you don’t know my house, you don’t know me.

At the conclusion of the church meeting in São Dâmaso, every single member in attendance, bar none, walked to the home of a woman who was too ill to attend this week. They crowded into her living room, spent 15 minutes in song and prayer to show their support and hope for healing, and then parted ways.

Their act of kindness required an investment of only 15 minutes, but I'm sure it brightened that one person's entire day.

A Day to Honour Samora Machel

It's amazing how many times over the past couple of months we've shook our heads saying, "This just doesn't happen in Canada..."

Today is just another one of those days.

Yesterday, I was thinking about how busy my day today was going to be. I already had a couple of meetings scheduled, plus Portuguese lessons, when the director of Laura's school asked me to fill in for a sick teacher.

All of that changed by mid-afternoon, when rumours started circulating that the government declared the following day -- today -- to be a national holiday. How can a government declare a holiday less than 12 hours before it starts? How will everyone be informed? Don't businesses and schools need to prepare to be closed?

In Mozambique, people have a way of knowing. Rumours about holidays spread through the city like a grassfire on the dry savannah.

As one young man, Timoteo, explained to me, "We Mozambicans like our holidays." I can't argue with that.

At first, Laura's school had thought that it would stay open -- until rumours of government fines convinced them otherwise. Laura helped the school's director phone all of the parents to let them know that they would have to make alternative arrangements for their children.

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Twenty years ago, October 19, 1986, Samora Machel, the first president of the independent Republic of Mozambique, died when his plane crashed in the hills of South Africa. There is no official explanation for the cause of the crash, but every Mozambican knows what happened: South Africa's apartheid government, under President P. W. Botha, planted a false beacon in the hills, steering the plane off course and causing it to crash into the hillside.

(As an interesting historical footnote, Samora Machel's widow, Graça Machel, later remarried apartheid-fighter Nelson Mandela, who became the President of South Africa.)

Samora Machel is still seen as somewhat of a national hero, albeit a controversial one. For today's celebration, the government hung banners in the streets reminiscent of Machel's tenure as president of a socialist state struggling against capitalism. This banner stretched across Avenida Vladimir Lenine, near our apartment:

"SAMORA COMMITS US TO CONTINUE THE
STRUGGLE UNTIL THE FINAL VICTORY."

When I asked my friend Mario about Samora Machel, he spoke with a bit of admiration and even romanticism in his voice -- similar to the way in which he speaks of his deceased father.

I can't argue with the purpose of the holiday. I just would have thought that the government would have seen it coming and could have planned ahead a bit further. But that's not the African way.

Kruger Park

This past weekend, Laura and I visited one of Africa's treasures: Kruger National Park in South Africa. At 20,000 square kilometres, the enormous wildlife preserve is nearly three times larger than Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario.

Driving around the park is an experience that is stereotypically African. Kruger is famous for its animals. People come to observe animals commonly restricted to zoos living in their natural habitat. We spotted elephants, giraffe, lions, zebra, buffalo, hippopotamus and rhinocerus. Impala -- small deer-like animals -- are plentiful. Vervet monkeys and baboons are commonly seen playing on the side of the road.

Tourists come to Kruger Park to shoot (with a camera, of course) the Big Five game animals: lion, elephant, cape buffalo, rhinoceros and leopard. In previous centuries, these were the most sought-after by hunters because they were the most dangerous to hunt. We managed to spot four of the Big Five, but the fifth -- the leopard -- proved elusive.

Unlike Algonquin Park, which is great because campers are able to trade their car for a canoe and really experience the wilderness, tourists in Kruger are allowed out of their cars only at very specific and well-controlled points.

Even the most docile animals can be dangerous. We've heard on numerous occasions that the lazy hippopotamus kills more humans than any other animal.

Kruger National Park shares a border with Mozambique. Unfortunately, since Mozambique's civil war, these wonderful African animals have become extremely rare here -- in fact, we've yet to see any animals in the wild.

Some people have told us that they were killed by hungry soldiers. Some people have theorized that they were scared out of the country by the gunfire. They are gone, whatever the cause.

It's spring in the southern hemisphere, which means a couple of things: Kruger Park, like most of the continent, is very dry right now. The rainy season, along with the heat of summer, will start in a couple of months. It also means that we saw many animals with their young, like this young zebra feeding from its mother.

We couldn't cram all of the photos we wanted to onto a single web page, so we created a short video featuring some of the animals that we watched while driving around the park.

Our accommodation while in Kruger was a small chalet within a gated camp. For our protection, we were required to be within the gates by sundown (6:00pm).

Immediately out our front door (and past the electric fence) flowed the Sabie River, in which we saw elephant and hippopotamus at play, and a multitude of colourful birds. The rest camp also had a beautiful main lodge with a store, a cafeteria and a restaurant. We ate our meals sitting on a large veranda overlooking the Sabie River, with the warm Africans spring breeze blowing and birds serenading us from above.

(We heard that it snowed in Ontario this weekend.)

Kruger Park, less than a two-hour drive from our door in Maputo, is a great spot for relaxation after the intensity and stress of living in a foreign land. We can't wait to go back.