The New Nation - Internet Edition

Providing cost-effective seed money to women

Sabiha Mahmud Sumi

Microfinance institutes are known for the giving out loans to the poor in a country like Bangladesh. That being said, can we also consider microfinance as an environment friendly institute? Since our environment plays a major part in each one of our lives, it is up to big organizations such as ASA or BRAC or Grameen Bank to show us how to really be eco-friendly. Almost half the population of third world countries such as Bangladesh consists of under literate people. These people have to worry about their sources of income so much that they don't have the time to think about the environment around them. Although, growing up in such a society plays a major role in the way they think. Therefore, MFIs who deal with these types of people are responsible let their clients become aware of how to care for the place they live in, for the futures of their children.

As we all know, ASA is renowned for its effective and sustainable ways to run a microfinance institute. Now linking such a program to sustaining the environment is a hard one.

Although, ASA hasn't started awareness among the people for being eco-friendly, it does encourage their fellow clients to do what they can with the limited amount of money they have. ASA uses its main focus of microfinance to inspire people to help sustain our environment in as many ways possible.

There are some such cases around the country which could be highlighted under the circumstances of not being able to afford their food.

Then slowly with the help of ASA was able to support their family. And now with their innovative ideas have created their own methods of bio gas, and solar paneling and also different sources of lighting fire for their clay stoves. This not only is being eco-friendly but it is also cost-effective.

Mr. Idris Ali Sheikh is one such example of a person who has used his sources of income to also be environmentally cautious. He runs a business of a farm with five cows. Cow farms are very popular in rural areas of Bangladesh because of the high price rates of milk. Mr. Sheikh also falls in the category of being successful. As for his career, he has continued to run his business for quite some time now, although this would be his first year to take a Tk.70,000 (Seventy thousand) loan from ASA. With this money he was able to start up a biogas producing structure so that he could reuse the cow dung to save his gas expenses. This being a common method that is used all around the village to become eco friendly as well as minimizing their expenses.

He has used the loan from ASA to build this and run other expenses for his farm.

This has helped him a lot since he is reusing waste to minimize gas expenses. He was successful in building a biogas plantation because of his reliable cow farm business. Also, he can use this gas to run electricity around the house therefore; he also can help the environment save electricity. The lights that are being lit with the help of the biogas plantation is helping minimize usage of electricity and also minimizing electric expenses. Therefore, we can suggest that this is one of the most profitable and eco-friendly ways to run business.

ASA helps motivate the people to be environmentally cautious, and biogas plantations being the most popular method of being environment friendly. With the contributions of Mr. Md. Shafiqual Haque Choudhury, ASA Founder President has created ways to inspire these people around the country to become environmentally cautious.

This message spread by ASA has helped its clients to build proper sanitation and to create safe drinking water facilities for their families.

This is the most major impact on a lot of the rural areas around Bangladesh since lack of proper sanitation and safe drinking water causes major problems around the country. As Bangladesh developed so did ASA, therefore, as the loans started to get bigger the awareness started to spread and people became aware of the environment through cost-effective methods. The biogas plantation became a highlight and this has now become another successful eco-friendly method of helping the society.

Also, solar panels are now becoming more and more popular with the coming years. Solar panels are one of the most efficient ways to provide electricity to the very poor in our communities.

With the help of the clients of ASA, one day ASA will not only provide motivation and inspiration but also funds that back up to provide their borrowers with eco-friendly items. Mr. Choudhury has not only established a financially supportive organization but also a centre of awareness and motivation towards eco-friendliness.

Where musculinity rules the show

Mukul Kesavan

Some years ago I was struck by the contrast between the beauty of Hindi film heroines and the ugliness of Hindi film heroes. After researching the matter I concluded that the explanation was straight forward: leading men in Hindi films were ugly because they were Indian men and Indian men were measurably uglier than Indian women. You don't have to take my word for it: cursory surveys of marriages, morchas, classrooms, offices, and homes will bear out this observation.

While my observation was accurate and the data I had gathered reliable, I made the mistake of attributing the ugliness of the Indian male to nature. I know now that Indian men aren't born ugly: they achieve ugliness through practice. It is their habits and routines that make them ugly. If I were to be schematic, I'd argue that Indian men are ugly on account of the three Hs: hygiene, hair, and horrible habits. Let's start with their extremities. Examine the nails of any Indian man: the cuticles will be yellow with haldi and the underside of the bitten-off tip will be spotty with accumulated dirt. When you think of where they put those nails, this is not surprising. I've seen respectable men conducting conversations with their index fingers two-digits deep in their nostrils, digging with industrial enthusiasm.

If you ever see a desi man delicately rubbing the tip of his index finger over the pad of his thumb, beware. Don't go near him: he's rolling the bogies he's mined into little balls. He uses those same fingers to adjust himself in public. All Indian men do this, without exception. The refined ones do it furtively, but the majority does it openly without shame or embarrassment. A famous Indian batsman does this regularly with the butt end of his bat handle under the gaze of thousands of spectators. You can't do this and be good-looking, you really can't. You could be John Abraham (an exception to our ugly rule) and your looks wouldn't survive this particular habit. And if it isn't the thumb and forefinger it's the pinkie inserted into the ear and vibrated with manic vigor. This generally comes with eye-rolling and little oinks of pleasure. You'll never see women doing this, only men. It's an important route to ugliness. The sounds they make are crucial to the unattractiveness of Indian men. For example, an Indian man with a cold will, in company, try to snort up the congestion and swallow it. He'll do it over and over again, completely unaware of the revulsion it causes.

When he eats, there's another repertoire of sounds born of the fact that sub continental men don't keep their lips together while chewing. tHair habits do even more to intensify the ugliness of Indian men than the sounds they involuntarily make. Statistically, some ninety percent of all South Asian men wear moustaches: their masculinity seems to be critically dependent on this growth. I don't mean the beard-cum-moustaches style, which is respectable, but the standalone moustache. Even here, a bushy, Zapata-style moustache has something going for it, but the styles Indian men favour are (a) the twirled moustache; and (b) the little trimmed one.

The first makes its host ridiculous, the second makes him look like a harried clerk or, if the hair has been trimmed into a thin line, like a sexual predator. Middle-aged men improve on this by dyeing their hair a radiant black, then letting their roots show. Or, like General Musharraf, they will dye the hair on top of their heads but leave their sideburns gray because they've read somewhere that this makes them look distinguished. It doesn't: it makes them look like unreliable car dealers. Indian men wear badly because they look into magic mirrors that hide the changes middle-age brings.

For example, they don't notice the hair growing out of their nostrils in little tufts and consequently don't trim it. Even worse, the hair bristling out of their ears in great wiry jets is invisible to them because their narcissism is so complete, so proofed against reality, that what they see in the mirror is not their reflection but a favourite photograph taken twenty years and twenty kilos ago. tThen there's their keenness on necklaces. Not one, but as many as they can wear. Not content with doing this, they leave the top buttons of their shirts unbuttoned so you can see that tangled jumble of amu-lets and gold chains and lockets.

Sreesanth and Ganguly wear so many that they look like shady trinket vendors. Any inventory of the ways in which Indian men achieve ugliness has to include their relationship with rings. We're not talking about nice rings, say a discreet wedding band, but cheap rings with coloured stones in tarnished silver settings worn on every finger of both hands, not excluding thumbs. Since the average Indian man's fingers aren't long and slender, the net effect is one of sausages banded with metal.

Why are Indian men like this? How do they achieve the bulletproof unselfconsciousness that allows them to be so abandonedly ugly? I think it comes from a sense of entitlement that's hard-wired into every male child that grows up in an Indian household. That, and the not un-important fact that, despite the way they look, they're always paired off with good-looking women.

(Courtesy: Women's Feature Service)

Women helping women

Jim Mullins and Alice Boatwright

In the small village in Bangladesh where Angela Gomes grew up, women worked hard all day, but, she says, "they were treated like house servants-underfed, beaten, and mentally tortured. No one respected them, not even themselves. They had no solutions to their problems. Life just went on."

Like the other girls from her village, Gomes was expected to marry at fourteen and settle down. But she resisted that idea and won a scholarship to a mission school run by the Sisters of Charity in Jessore.

At the Sacred Heart School, Gomes progressed from student to teacher while still in her teens. She began to work with the nuns and Father Ceci, a Xaverian priest whose program for poor people in the slums of Jessore impressed Gomes greatly.

"Through the sisters and Father Ceci, I became very interested in finding out why women are so exploited and dominated," she recalls.

But unlike the nuns, who called the problems of poor village women 'God-given', Gomes believed that these women could learn to help themselves.

"I wanted to find a solution for them, to work on the 'woman problem', but everyone-Father Ceci, the sisters, my family-thought I should go back to my own village and get married."

Angela Gomes is an extraordinary mixture of warmth, good humor, strength, and determination. No is never a final answer for her. It took all of her persuasive powers, but within a year she was pursuing her own ideal.

"In 1977, I finally began to work in the villages," she says. "The women didn't trust me at first because I was a Christian. They thought I wanted to convert them. Some women thought it was bad luck to look at my face because I had no children. I would try to talk to them about their problems and they would say 'Where is the problem?' They had all kinds of problems, but only I was aware of them."

Gomes went from village to village, alone and on foot. In each village she was able to find someone to take her in, and, while she was there, she lived, ate, and worked side by side with the women.

"They were my university," she says. "Every woman. Every life. I have learned everything I know from them."

She tried to communicate her vision of a different life for village women: a vision in which they were respected for their contributions, not victims of violence and domination; where they could earn their own living and take care of themselves and their children.

When she had gained their confidence, she talked to the women about the struggle between rich and poor-that the poor always lose-and about the particular problems they faced as women.

The way she approached them, Gomes explains, was to "start with what the women wanted, what they needed. They could not eat education. They needed food and work. Once they were sure they would have food-through having work and income-they began to understand how the question of getting more food is dependent on the question of getting more education. Then they became hungry not only for food but also for education."

Gradually a small cadre of women-usually destitute women who had been widowed, divorced, or deserted-became inspired by her ideas and joined her in her work.

For Rokeya Sattar and other early members, the experience was life-changing. "Before we met Angela, we didn't even know we were human beings," says Sattar. "We thought we were like cattle and deserved to be tied in the jungle with the cows."

The first women who joined Banchte Shekha started changing their lives the same way it is done today-by pooling their talent and resources and saving money. Ten paisa, twenty paisa, one taka, ten taka. Enough to buy one chicken, two chickens, ten chickens. When their chickens kept dying, Gomes found a way for two of the women to attend a training program in poultry-raising. Then their project began to bring in a little money, and more women were attracted to the group.

Other income-generating projects began on a trial-and-error basis too-growing silkworms and raising fish, making nakshi kantha (traditional embroidered quilts) and jute crafts, keeping bees, fattening cows and goats.

Their projects weren't successful all of the time, but the women's progress was steady. As one woman learned a new skill, she would pass it on to other women. Soon there would be a whole group in a village earning and saving money. The women of a neighboring village would hear about it and want to participate too.

But the women of Banchte Shekha weren't always well received.

"There were people who did not want us because they did not want to see the women improve themselves," Gomes explains. "If women could create their own jobs, they would not need to be servants in wealthy people's homes. If they knew their rights, they couldn't be tricked or beaten. If they had money, they wouldn't need to go to the moneylenders."

"We had rocks and human excrement thrown at us," says Gomes. "They said that I was a characterless woman because I was not married. They called us prostitutes and claimed we were trying to destroy Muslim family life."

At one point a sixteen-page indictment was drawn up against Gomes, accusing her of being a bad influence on the community. She fought the charges successfully, but decided to take the magistrate's advice-he told her that she would be less vulnerable to such attacks if she had "a foundation under her feet."

In 1981, Gomes created that foundation by registering as a nongovernmental organization called Banchte Shekha. "The aim of Banchte Shekha," she says, "is not to rescue women, but to help them learn to live."

Poor women around Jessore were eager to do just that. By 1985, Banchte Shekha had attracted 5,000 members. That figure more than doubled by 1990, and today there are more than 20,000 members in about 700 village-based groups around Jessore.

In traditional Muslim families, a woman does not leave her home without the permission of her husband or mother-in-law. Unless it's absolutely necessary for survival, she does not work outside the home. She does not even go to the marketplace to shop. The marketplace is the province of men, and Muslim women are taught to avoid contact with men outside their families. So the activities of the Banchte Shekha members are changing generations of training and custom.

Banchte Shekha works with women in groups because the group provides support for women undertaking these changes and because, Gomes says, "the problems of the poor are so big they can't be handled either at the individual or family level."

Village groups are formed with the help of organizers-experienced Banchte Shekha members who go to villages where the women have expressed interest in the program.

"We have a good reputation now, so people want us to come," explains Gomes. "Women hear that relatives in another village are making money, and they want to do it too."

Once a group is formed, its members elect a leader and a treasurer who deposits their savings in a joint account. Individual members may only be able to save about two taka (one cent) a week, yet the members of Banchte Shekha have saved a total of more than thirty million taka in this way. Members can take loans from the group savings for emergency, personal, or business reasons. The group approves the loans, which are given at no interest and with no set payback schedule. Nevertheless the default rate is only one percent.

The groups meet weekly to talk, work together, participate in training sessions, and make decisions about what they will do with savings or any money generated by their agricultural, craft, and small trade projects. The income from these projects is not large, but in a country where the per capita income is $220 a year, it is significant. A 1988 study by sociologist Monawar Sultana found that members were earning up to 700 taka (approx. $15) a month, and that, in some families, these earnings represented fifty percent of the total family income. Where the women are the sole wage earners, these earnings may be all the family has to survive on. Banchte Shekha offers members a practical, basic education that focuses first on empowerment and income-generating skills, then on legal literacy, health issues, and family planning. In Gomes' pragmatic idealism, a woman who can create her own job and feed herself and her family is an educated woman. She is disdainful of people who emerge from higher education with no job and no idea of how to take care of themselves. She also has no use for education programs aimed at the poor that do not provide the knowledge and skills that they need to survive.

Dissatisfied with the teaching materials that were available for adults, Gomes has created her own: songs, plays, posters, and books that convey Banchte Shekha's message. Reading and writing are important, says Gomes, but not as important as eating. Not as important as staying alive and understanding that you are not powerless.

The road to the village of Chadpur is a rutted dirt track that divides row upon row of bright green rice paddies. It ends in a grove of banana trees about fifty yards from the scattering of bamboo and thatch houses.

The most prominent building in the village is a sturdy bamboo pavillion. It was built by Chadpur's Banchte Shekha group and sits on land that the women purchased with pooled savings from their cottage industries. About forty Banchte Shekha members are gathered in the pavillion to welcome Angela Gomes and some visitors from the United States. Their talk is lively as they settle on the floor with their embroidery.

The arrival of the strangers attracts a curious crowd of villagers: women with bright saris pulled protectively around their heads; a few men in lungis who stand on the edge of the crowd; and the usual army of brown-eyed children who gather close around, gaping and laughing.

Gomes introduces the visitors and talks to the women about their work. She describes the accomplishments of the group-how they have worked together to learn 'to survive their lives.' "Today," she says, "these women know they have value."

In Chadpur the women's main projects are doing embroidery and casting concrete latrines. Use of the latrines, Gomes explains, can prevent seventy-five different diseases.

The group has decided to perform a play for the visitors. Several women hang a sari across the back of the pavillion and, laughing, disappear behind it. The women on the floor move to create an open space.

Suddenly the actors emerge, transformed into village characters by a few twists of their saris and a bit of charcoal and powder. The crowd of villagers pushes closer in anticipation.

"Ah-ee! Ah-ee!" The story begins with the shrieks and wails of a young wife who is being beaten by her mother-in-law. She can never do anything right. Her husband wants more dowry from her family, but her father has already sold his land to get her a husband. He has nothing more. The village moneylender tells the husband that, for a small fee, he could easily find him another younger, wealthier wife. So the wife is thrown out.

The story is a familiar and ancient one, and everyone laughs at the women's lively portrayals of the evil moneylender, the arrogant husband, the cruel mother-in-law. But in scene two, a new figure emerges. A paralegal from Banchte Shekha explains to the wife that what her husband is doing is illegal. He cannot ask for dowry or abandon her without support. She can take him to court.

Together they confront the husband's family with the threat of a lawsuit.Suddenly, it is all a misunderstanding! They love the young wife very much! Nothing could make them happier than to have her back! And so the wife and husband are reunited.

The audience claps and cheers. The eyes of the young girls are especially intent as they watch their mothers and sisters and aunts-women who once seldom left their homes-bowing to the large crowd.

After the performance, the women quickly resettle themselves and turn to the visitors. They have shared the story of their lives, now they want information in return.

Kashmir sex-workers exposed to HIV infection

Anju Munshi

Part-II

In a region marked by difficult terrain that limits accessibility to existing healthcare, there are just a few hospitals - SMHS, Lal Ded, Sher-e-Kashmir Institute of Medical science, Bone and Joint Hospital, Government Medical College, SMGS Hospital, Batras and G.B. Pant - which test blood for HIV. Unfortunately, all of them are in Srinagar and Jammu. None of the district and sub-district hospitals leave alone the camps have this facility.

Given this scenario counseling and awareness are the need of the hour. Dr M.A. Wani, Project Director, Jammu and Kashmir Aids Preventive Control Society (JKAPCS), says, "Mass awareness must be generated about the disease and its preventive measures, which is the best strategy to tackle the menace."

He adds, "Even though the state lies in the low prevalence zone, it does not mean that the threat of HIV/AIDS is any less here."

Contrary to government complacency, an independent study conducted by Jammu-based clinical immunologist, Anil Mahajan, states that HIV/AIDS is no longer a low-prevalence disease in the state. The study reveals that paramilitary forces, truck drivers, housewives, and camp inmates are the groups most affected.

Given the topography and numerous local dialects and languages, Mahajan acknowledges that it is challenging to conduct even minor awareness campaigns like showing films and staging cultural programmes.

There's another hurdle too. "Existing NACO (National AIDS Control Organization) guidelines do not provide costing and implementation of the Targeted Intervention (TI) programme for migrant labourers in a systematic manner. They constitute the second highest risk group in J&K," explains Wani.

Even though Panabaaka Lakshmi, J&K's Minister of State for Health & Family Welfare, had said that Phase III of the National AIDS Control Programme has been formulated to control the spread of HIV by up-scaling TI among the high risk groups, there is not much evidence of this in the camps.

Tragically, the region has not benefited from international assistance either. The much-publicised visit of French Countess Albina du Boisrouvray of the charity, Francois Xavier Bagnoud (FBX), as part of the French President Nicolas Sarkozy's delegation to India, has also failed to benefit the state, even while West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Mizoram and Manipur have been assisted. A lack of funds could not have been the reason for this, considering that FXB's India budget for the 2008 calendar year amounts to US$1.3 million.

According to Dr Chowdhury, the man behind Shriya Bhatt Mission Hospital and Research Centre at Jammu, which addresses the health problems of displaced Kashmiris, HIV/AIDS cases in the camps, if any, could go unreported because of the fear of stigma and discrimination.

The health department in Kashmir needs to do more than just put the burden on the religious scholars, as it tends to do. Sikh religious leaders and Imams (Muslim priests) in the Valley still don't know the exact causes of HIV/AIDS nor indeed the difference between the two.

Perhaps the government could learn a lesson or two from the army, which has taken the initiative to conduct workshops on HIV/AIDS at the basic unit level as well as higher up, at the Northern Command level, to educate its officers and their families about the disease. The government now needs to get its act together on the issue in the interest of the vulnerable women in the camps.(Courtesy: Women's Feature Service)