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.

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

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.

The Limits of our Generosity

Every day, we witness so many people in great need. Africa has justly earned its billing as the Earth's poor continent. We struggle with what the appropriate response might be: how can we help? How should we help?

Not a day goes by without several people asking for money. Sometimes it's people knocking on our car window at a traffic light. Often it's people trying to be productive by asking if they can guard our car, or wash it.

Yesterday, a man who noticed that I was a regular at the language school called out to me in English, "Boss, tomorrow you wash my car?" (I'm pretty sure he meant the other way around, but maybe I should bring my rag and bucket today just to be sure.) I replied, "Of course."

One man who recently washed our car did so with the same rag and bucket that he'd been using for days. When he was done, the car looked like he had smeared around the existing dirt and added a little of his own for good measure.

We get our car washed often.

There are so many people looking for help. Many people aren't lazy; there aren't many jobs to be found, and the country is struggling to catch up on educating a population frozen in time by civil war.

At home, we often found ourselves screening people before giving them money. If you're asking for my money, you had better look like you're going to spend it on food, not alcohol.

As Westerners, we often prefer to give anonymously through large charitable organizations that will make sure that our contributions are being put to good use. Doing so also gets us an accounting of our year's generosity and a tax receipt so that we can get some of it back.

The Bible challenges us to give without judgment. It challenges us to give to anyone who asks, without evaluating whether or not their need surpasses an arbitrary threshold that we have established in our minds. It challenges us to give, even if the asker may not use our gift in a way that we would consider to be appropriate:

"Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." (Matthew 5:42)

That sounds a little bit off-culture, doesn't it? Our culture teaches us that, being the possessors of our wealth, we have the right to make the final determination about who needs our benevolence and who doesn't.

African culture flips this on its head. The person requesting something plays a major role in determining whether his or her need is greater than that of the potential donor. If someone is asking me for money in Africa, it's not only because they have a great need for it, but also because they've concluded that my money would do greater good to them than it would to me.

And almost without exception, they're right. Here, the poverty is so gripping. When we walk our trash out to the dumpster, there are always a couple of men who quietly take our bags from us. They've sorted through the dumpster and taken anything of value: any rotten fruit or moldy bread that may have been discarded. They'll look through our bags, too, before they place them in the dumpster.

Imagine having to live off of the refuse of the world's poorest.

Nobody deserves to live that kind of life. We've decided to bring along some extra fruit or bread whenever we take out our garbage. These men have yet to thank us for it, but we don't do it for our own reward.

If I have one less dollar, or one less loaf of bread, or one less banana, it has very little impact on my life. If the average Mozambican had one more of any of these, it would mean that she could feed her children today. Economists call this marginal benefit.

We're still struggling with how we can help, but for now we've decided that African culture and Christianity are in agreement on this point: if someone asks us for something, let's give it.

And Christianity would suggest that we should do so back home in Canada, too.

Thanksgiving for Two

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day in Canada. Most of our Canadian friends and family are probably eating left-over turkey sandwiches at work today (it's true -- you are, aren't you?).

Being in Mozambique and knowing no other Canadians celebrating this holiday, we feasted by ourselves, and had a wonderful time.

The Canadian government formalized Thanksgiving as a holiday in 1957, naming the second Monday of October a public holiday, "for general thanksgiving to Almighty God for the blessings with which the people of Canada have been favoured."

Previously, the holiday had been celebrated for numerous reasons: the end of combat, the end of cholera, the restoration of health and, most commonly, a bountiful harvest.

(This past week, on October 4, Mozambique had a public holiday in recognition of the 14th anniversary of the end of their civil war. Peace is still fragile, though many Mozambicans are tired of war, both in their own country and around the world.)

Despite being half a world away from Canada, this was a Thanksgiving Day for which we had many reasons to be thankful. We are in need of very little in life. Arguably nothing.

As if to emphasize the point, the electricity went out in the midst of cooking our meal. Knowing that many people in Mozambique don't have electricity, and those who do see it as a bit of a luxury, we weren't sure what pressure the electrical utility faces to restore the power when it's out. Children played in the streets, oblivious to any problem. (Thankfully, our dinner continued to cook on our butane stove.)

Once the power was restored, our Internet was spotty, though in the end we were able to talk to family and friends.

We feasted on a chicken so small that it would have been a stretch to feed a family of four with Thanksgiving-sized portions. Laura spiced her helping with piri-piri, just to make Canadian Thanksgiving a little more Mozambican.

The chicken was stuffed with dressing. Delicious dressing.

We also had pumpkin pie, though made with butternut squash, since in Mozambique pumpkins are things only read about in used children's books donated through relief agencies. Laura's first attempt at making a pie crust from scratch was a big success. (My attempt at whipped cream, using "boxed cream" that needs no refrigeration and has a shelf life measured in months, was less successful.)

We had plenty of delicious food. Laura even brought a left-over chicken sandwich to work for lunch today.

I don't know why we have so much when others so close to us are hungry, but for our lot in life, we can be thankful. And for that of our neighbours, we can work towards equality.

One (Tentative) Step for Microcredit

Love him or hate him, Rudy Giuliani (in his autobiography, Leadership) advises against announcing new projects until they have been successfully implemented and results have been proven. As mayor of New York City, his practice was to underpromise and overdeliver, increasing the electorate's pleasure with his results.

For the sake of chronicling our journey of thought and activity, I'm going to break Mr. Giuliani's rules of leadership. I'm going to tell you what we're planning on doing. Your part of the bargain is to not hold it against me if this plan doesn't work out exactly as described.

In an earlier lamentation, I expressed some frustration about the limitations of the microcredit industry in Mozambique. Specifically, I worried about the helpfulness of an industry that charges the world's poorest entrepreneurs interest rates on their loans of 6% per month, and that makes credit accessible only to those with an existing business. New entrepreneurs, no matter how well thought-out a business plan they have crafted, need not apply.

Our team recently visited a small chicken farm that has spawned the development of a strategy for tackling one of these two limitations: allowing budding entrepreneurs without business experience to access existing microcredit channels.

Our vision is to facilitate the creation of "out-grower co-operatives," leveraging the expertise of a successful entrepreneur to assist budding new entrepreneurs to start their own businesses -- in this case, chicken farms.

Think of it as franchised chicken farming.

We will match groups of people interested in starting a new business (the franchisees) with an existing, successful chicken farmer (the franchisor) to start a new farm. The successful entrepreneur will benefit by sharing in any profits of the out-grower co-operative; the new entrepreneurs will benefit by having access to the expertise of the successful entrepreneur, which will help them to establish and maintain successful farms and, importantly, allow them to obtain start-up capital based on the creditworthiness of the successful entrepreneur.

A side (but not insignificant) benefit is that it will bring more meat into protein-starved diets.

The out-grower co-operative strategy is based on another noteworthy leadership principle written about by leadership academicians and practitioners alike: build good ideas around great people.

We are proposing to create chicken farms not because chicken farms alone will pull Mozambique from the mire, but because the "key people" we have identified for the pilot phase are successful chicken farmers. Had they been coconut growers, or garment makers, or fishermen, the model would be the same: built around the expertise of the key people identified.

Once the new chicken farmers have several cycles of business experience under their figurative belts, they may choose to continue operating the chicken farming co-operative, or may choose to leverage their newly-established business experience to start an enterprise of their own choosing and design.

We are hoping to be able to test the model this fall, but still have many details to work out. We also have a lot of people to convince on the merits of the model before we can implement it -- not least of which is the micro-credit community.

And, of course, the next challenge will be to find a way of reducing the cost of credit in a manner that will out-last my tenure in Mozambique.

Further Reading:

• Out-Grower Co-operative Strategy - English (PDF)
  
• Out-Grower Co-operative Strategy - Portuguese (PDF)
  
• Financial Tables (PDF)
  

We're Foreigners!

Going for a walk through Maputo is a great way to really catch the pulse of the city. In fact, it was while out walking this week that I made the (rather obvious) discovery that I'm a foreigner.

As I walked down the street, it was hard not to think that everyone was looking at me. And truth be known, they probably were.

Skin colour is the most obvious sign of being a foreigner. There is very little racial diversity in Mozambique -- and, in particular, very few caucasians. I wondered out loud whether or not people in Mozambique are racist. Yes, Raul assured me. Particularly in the villages, where their exposure to white people has been limited primarily to their Portuguese rulers several decades ago. In these villages, Mozambicans sometimes run at the sight of a man with light skin -- perhaps assuming he's there to kidnap them or steal their land.

In Maputo, people are generally more progressive. Here, my light skin isn't feared, but is certainly a symbol of my power and wealth. (Here, Laura hypothesizes a sharper distinction: light-skinned men are seen as wealthy and powerful; light-skinned women, by contrast, are seen only as wealthy.)

As I walk down the street, three boys stop rooting through a dumpster and look my way. One of them calls out to me using the label, "patrão." Boss.

(There is another word that people sometimes have for light-skinned men, again reflecting their limited exposure to our variety. At the pre-school in Khongolote, I'm mobbed by dozens of knee-height children chanting, "Pastore! Pastore!" That's the Portuguese word that they have discerned in their short lives to refer to one with light skin.)

Sometimes I want for these people to see me as a person, not a patrão (or a pastore). The reality, though, is that the donations that Laura and I have received to pay for our living expenses this year -- and drawing no salary -- puts us in a league far beyond the means of most Mozambicans.

Before sitting down to write this blog, I was counting out an envelope full of cash. The envelope contained of 7,800,000 meticais, which seemed like a lot in my hands, but is only worth about $300. The fact that Mozambique currency is so inflated provides a constant reality check -- having nearly 8 million of anything, even if it is just meticais, makes me feel rich.

By contrast, Laura and I bought a few samosas from a lady selling them in front of her house. She had made them herself, and was selling them for 1,000 meticais each. That's about four cents. Her day's work, if she sold all 1,000 samosas that she and her family made, would net her family about $8 after expenses -- which is an above-average income.

(This is another great example of micro-enterprise in action!)

Of course, sometimes I feel like I'm right back in Canada, surrounded by power structures to which I'm more accustomed. A few weeks back, while I was at the Khongolote bakery buying bread, I noticed that the shop employees had an old ghetto blaster playing a familiar bit of rock 'n roll -- was that Bryan Adams? Yes, Bryan Adams is big in Mozambique. And yes, at least some people know he's Canadian.

For that brief moment, I was just a regular guy standing in a bakery buying bread.

I'm trying to fit in as best I can, though the barriers are huge. I need to constantly remind myself to set aside my pride in order to surmount these barriers. Nobody wears a watch, so a common way of gathering a dispersed group is to start singing. At one micro-enterprise training session, the group asked me to choose a gathering song. I quickly realized that I had to swallow my pride and pick one of two options: either sing a song that I knew (and sing alone!), or try remembering one of their songs so that they'd sing along.

I tried singing a Shangana song that I had heard them sing before: "Acuna matata na jez-oo" ... or was it, "Nuncoona nutella and me too." Something like that. I probably sang jibberish, but they recognized the tune and (mercifully) joined in quickly.

One thing that's great about the people of Mozambique is that they're always smiling. They're always having fun. And they very graciously accept people who are obviously foreigners.

School Open House

On Friday evening, Laura’s school played host to an evening of music and poetry by the students and an ethnically-diverse array of desserts by parents and teachers.

(You can view a short video here if you'd like. If the video is choppy, it's probably because your Internet connection is as slow as ours. Just press "pause" and the video will continue to download. Once it has completed downloading, press "play" and it should be smooth.)

Of course, when it came time for desserts, we were busy chatting with a parent, and only once it was too late did we realize that most of the desserts were gone (and that the parent with whom we were talking had his kids bring him a plateful of treats so he didn’t miss out!)

The evening was a great way to build community amongst the students, parents and teachers. And with such a small school – there are 52 students from kindergarten through high school – a tightly-knit community is one of the value-added components that people appreciate most. There’s a similar program offered every two months or so.

The school has a very international feel about it. Despite its small size, the students and teachers come from over a dozen countries: England, Russia, South Africa, India, Kenya, Canada, United States, Brazil, Mozambique, Nairobi, Zimbabwe, and others.

The two-year-old sister of one of the students tried to steal this month’s show. She so much wanted to be a part of the celebration that she stood with many of the presenters (dwarfed by the six- and seven-year-olds in the photo to the right) and sang along to the songs and moved her lips to the poetry recitals. At least, I think she was only moving her lips. Maybe she had the poems memorized, or at least I should give her the benefit of the doubt.

The kids at all grade levels look forward to these evenings as a chance to showcase to their parents what they’ve been doing in school.

Well, almost everything. There were no songs about science experiments or poems about math problems. And nobody recited the periodic table of elements or Newton’s laws of motion. As the lone math and science teacher at the upper levels, Laura will have to do something about filling that void.

For this evening, at least, students need not worry about report cards and teacher meetings. Those come in a few short weeks.