In July of 2008, I traveled to Haiti as the new Mid-Atlantic Development Representative for HOPE International; a global faith-based Microfinance Institution (MFI). The following is a travelogue I wrote as I witnessed it.
WED 9 July 2008 - Day 1
I am a little nervous and excited all at the same time as I sit in the Charlotte Douglas International Airport awaiting my flight to Miami. The last time I was in Haiti, I was nine years old on a cruise ship with my parents. We took mules to the top of a mountain to see the famed "Citadel" (not to be confused with my Alma mater-The Military College of South Carolina- and trust me, if you saw both, you would not confuse the two) that a Haitian King had built hundreds of years ago on a mountain top to protect his kingdom. It is the largest fortress in the Americas but has never seen action. Peace through strength, I suppose. On the journey up the mountain, naked children chased us all the way up, many with bloated bellies... all begging the Americans to give them "one doll-ah! one doll-ah!" This was my first experience with in-your-face poverty. It was to be only a shadow of what I would see on my next visit almost 30 years later.
Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere and extreme poverty has become a sad way of life there. It shares the island of Hispaniola with it's more prosperous (but still third world) neighbor, the Dominican Republic which occupies the eastern 2/3 of the island. Hispaniola is the island that Christopher Columbus first put ashore over 500 years ago when the European expansion in the Americas first began.
Voodoo, corrupt politicians and environmental degradation have devastated this nation in what was a once promising tourist destination with beautiful mountains and a tropical climate. Hunger remains a consistent problem, as light has recently been shed on a new food staple in the country: "dirt cookies." These are cookies that mothers bake for their children made of dirt, salt and vegetable shortening so that the children will have something to fill their bellies before they starve to death. Stories like these will choke up even the most stoic individual. And when good-intentioned people begin to take action, much of the time it is wasted on ineffective aid packages, bureaucratic red tape and systems that create lifelong dependency issues in the people they are designed to help. But now, there is HOPE!
Around 1pm, we arrived in Santiago, Dominican Republic (or the D.R.) and the balmy 86 degrees F and 100% humidity hit us like a thick, wet cloud. Greg and his son, Kyle from Virginia Beach, VA joined me and our two guides, Pedro and Daniel, from HOPE's D.R. partner microfinance organization, Esperanza. We took a van to our first Bank of Hope in a poorer section of this city of 1.3mm people. Upon arrival at the 3 room bank branch, we met up with Peter Greer, the President of HOPE International. With Peter was Jason, a HOPE college intern for the summer @ HOPE's Lancaster, PA headquarters and a very bright guy.. he hailed from Seattle. Once the introductions were made to a couple of clients and loan officers in the branch, we dined on ham and cheese sandwiches spread with butter... it was a welcome filler for our tired and hungry bodies.
Next stop, Dajabon D.R. on the border between the D.R. and our final destination: Haiti. The drive from Santiago took about three hours and began in the beautiful mountains of the D.R., through small villages and fields of rice and even a military checkpoint or two. I never figured out why D.R. army soldiers were manning barricades in the middle of nowhere armed with M-16's but I was not about to ask them. Some looked a little suspect, in my opinion.
During the ride, we five American men plus two Dominican guides got to know each other. Greg is a Financial Advisor with a large brokerage firm in Virginia Beach and has been very successful in that for the last 27 years. He's just shy of 50 but doesn't look a day over 40. His 17 year old son, Kyle, plays guitar in a high school rock band and has the largest afro on a white boy I have ever seen. Our conversation surrounded microfinance and sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the least and to the lost of the world.
The next morning, after a good night of sleep in a small hotel in this border town, we would be leaving the world of fast-talking Dominicans speaking heavily accented Spanish to the world of black Haitians speaking broken French and Creole. The island of Hispaniola was about to show it's sad and ugly underbelly.
THURS 10 July 2008 – Day 2
We woke and had breakfast accompanied by a very strong Dominican coffee in the hotel restaurant. We were the only people there that morning and opened in prayer and discussion of what we thought the day would bring. No one really knew what to expect, only to expect the unexpected. We were right on target.
Our van began to cross Dajabon and soon we saw a very large arch that read "Republica Dominica" which indicated we had arrived at the border crossing. We pulled the van over to the side of the road and were told to get everything we owned out of the van... we were walking to Haiti.
As our guides worked with D.R. border police to look over our passports and get the "Go" signal, a crowd began to gather around us. They were a mix of Dominicans and Haitians and I'm sure they thought it odd that a few Americans were leaving this tropical land for the desolation of Haiti. As we were about to begin our march across the bridge over the Massacre River (a very fitting name, given it's history) into the city of Quanaminthe, the loud noise of an angry mob poured out over the green metal gate that a nervous looking Dominican soldier guarded with a fully loaded M-16 rifle. From our vantage point, a riot was breaking out. We could see the gate on the Haitian side being rocked back and forth by the mob like a rowdy group of American football fans in their stadium pulling down a goalpost after beating a hated rival. Very quickly, David, our Haitian guide on the other side called Pedro and waved us off with an "border crossing abort" order. He said crossing would be too dangerous and to wait a little while. No problem! We found out later that Haitian border guards were extorting Haitians for a lot of money to cross into the D.R. Our first taste of developing world corruption.
After the 30 minute "riot delay,” we grabbed our gear and trekked into Haiti. The Dominican gate shut with a loud clang behind us. It felt as though we had left a South American country and entered Africa with just a walk of about 20 yards. The first thing we noticed was the crush of humanity surrounding us and the shouting at us in both French and Creole. Everyone wanted to sell us something, carry something or just intimidate us as much as possible. We made our way to two white SUV's waiting for us (as you remember, we had to leave our van back in the D.R.). Then I saw something I had never seen in person before. UN peacekeeping soldiers were driving around in white army vehicles of all sorts. Heavily armed "Blue Helmets" as they are called were driving around the border area and it was then that I officially recognized I was not in Kansas anymore. Haiti is not only the one country in the Western Hemisphere with UN peacekeepers on the ground but it is also one of the most unstable places in the world. Looking around at the malnourished children, animals roaming the streets and angry mobs of people arguing with the police and each other, I remembered our discussion the night before at the hotel as to the fact that Haiti ranks 174 out of 177 countries in the human development index. I couldn't believe Haiti was better off than three other countries in the world with these sights unfolding before me.
After leaving the border, we began our trip to the interior of the country. No paved roads made for a slow and VERY bumpy journey. Infrastructure is almost non-existent in Haiti but we had a meeting to attend. At 11AM, after a couple of hours slogging through the countryside, we approached the village of Deveren and our very first Bank of Hope meeting... the reason for our trip in the first place. There were about 40 people sitting in a large circle under a palm tree and between a couple of huts made of sticks and mud. These were our clients/borrowers and they were attending their bi-weekly loan repayment meeting.
With 3 billion people on the earth (or ½ the world’s population) living on less than $2 per day, we microfinanciers have our work cut out for us. Microfinance works on a “groups of five” model. Five borrowers form a group and cross guarantee loans for each other since impoverished people in the developing world have zero collateral to use to access bank loans to start businesses. Interestingly, 95% of the borrowers at this particular meeting were women, as they typically will do anything they can to feed their children. HOPE International's repayment rate is currently just over 99% and would be the envy of any large commercial bank in the United States or Western Europe.
One representative of each group approached the loan officer with her group's bi-weekly repayment and then returned to her seat. After all the loan payments were collected, the loan officer (a local man of about 30 years old) closed the meeting with a prayer in Creole followed by a familiar sounding hymn that was also in Creole (Creole is a type of French, much like speaking American is a type of English).
While HOPE collects donations from individuals, philanthropic organizations and the like in the U.S., HOPE operates like any other bank in the 13 countries where we operate worldwide. Typically, we look at the rate of inflation for a country and add roughly 2%. The reason we charge interest serves many purposes. First, we are not giving hand-outs to the poor. We believe the poor around the world are not lazy OR stupid. Quite the contrary, most do back-breaking work for pennies a day and have some of the most creative minds anywhere. All the poor lack is capital, so we simply provide it to them. In charging interest, they can have the dignity of knowing they aren't the recipient of foreign aid and won't have the horror of what the U.S. welfare system has created for the last 50 years... dependency on others (like the government or foreign aid organizations). Also, by charging interest to borrowers, we can establish what we call OSS or "Operational Self Sufficiency." When we are at 100% OSS in a village branch, that branch can theoretically extend microcredit indefinitely for the poor of that area due to it's ability to pay it's expenses and earn an income. Donations from the developed world can then move to a new village or town to start yet another village bank. In my opinion, it is the best form of poverty alleviation ever conceptualized.
At around noon we arrived in Trou-de-Nord or "The North Hole" literally in French. I mentioned it sounded like “Jackson Hole (WY)” but didn't exactly look the part. This is a city of 100,000 and was more destitute than the first village we visited. We arrived at another meeting; only this time a few of the borrowers didn't show up. The loan officer was clearly upset and began to preach about God's plan for people's lives. He broke up the meeting after his sermon and a quick hymn without taking any repayments. He announced he would be back later and that everyone should be in attendance. I sure hope they showed up!
One thing I was beginning to notice more and more was the children. They were all malnourished and barely clothed (or simply naked) but if you gave them a kind smile and a friendly "bonjour" they would light up and smile very toothy grins. We began taking photos of them with our digital cameras and quickly found our way to their hearts. After taking the photos, we would let the children see the picture on the back of the camera. This created much shouting, giggling and dancing with glee. These were truly God's children and a whole lot of fun.
Lunchtime arrived and we headed for David's family's home near the outskirts of town. David is a man of about 50 years old who acts as Country Director for HOPE International in Haiti. His family had laid out a meal for us in their dining room. The dining room was actually outside with a lovely colored tarp over the table. These incredibly gracious and loving people had made us a meal of rice and beans with a boiled cashew sauce, plantains with fish paste and my new favorite meat... cooked goat! The food was outstanding and the service was amazing. David's female family members waved towels around us for the duration of the meal to keep the flies away. They refused to sit down as we were guests in their home. Incredible people, to be sure. As we left, our young friend Kyle stepped in something out in the (dirt) street outside David’s home. He was wearing flip-flops, as most teens do these days. We looked at his left foot and noticed some type of grey goop all over his foot that he said was concrete... while I hope he is right, it looked like something else. Anyway, he went back to David's house and came back out a few minutes later wide-eyed. David's sisters had put him in a chair, brought a large bowl of clean water (very rare in Haiti) and commenced to wash and dry his feet with clean rags. Both feet and flip flops were cleaned and no one could believe such an in-your-face example of "Doing what Jesus would do." It was truly incredible. The trip was getting more and more amazing with each passing hour.
At around 3pm, we headed to central Trou-de-Nord for our first "loan disbursement meeting." This was held at the main bank branch and was for first time borrowers to hear the rules, pray and sing hymns while being handed the largest wad of cash any of them had ever seen. David ran the meeting and was very explicit in his directions of how the money was to be used. Before anyone is approved for a loan, they must submit an informal business plan and must use the loan within a very short amount of time to buy things they would need to start their business. David’s loan officers would go around the village to check that this was done as they are very strict about the rules. Once again, there were a lot of women present with grand ideas of how to pull their families up by their bootstraps. Selling fish in the market, buying a cellphone to be the “village phone lady” and mending shoes for villagers were a few examples.
About this time, some of us starting discussing why Haiti was in the unspeakable shape it was in. A couple of us (me included) believed it was the prevalence of Voodoo in the country that was destroying it's people. Voodoo is a religion that Haitian's brought over centuries ago from West Africa when they were enslaved in the Americas by Europeans to work the plantations of the Caribbean. Based on mysticism and the belief that spirits dwell everywhere, the religion has evolved over the years and taken on characteristics of both Catholicism and Protestantism, as missionaries began to inundate the new world. Witch doctors, animal sacrifices and strange, evil rituals are prevalent throughout Haiti to this day... which meant, of course, that I wanted to see what this was all about.
I asked David if there were actual places of worship where the Voodoo took place and if so, would he show us one? He looked at me with a puzzled look as if to say, "are you out of your freaking mind?" Not willing to take no for an answer, I pressed on. I found that most villages have a "Voodoo house" of sorts where rituals take place and can be found easily enough as they fly multiple flags above them. Mostly Haitian national flags and what he called “Voodoo flags” would be flapping in the breeze over the houses so of course, we had to go investigate.
David drove us through street after street, each becoming narrower and dustier than the last one with more and more people coming out to stare at the foreigners. Finally, we had to get out. We walked down alleyways no wider than a large man's shoulders until we came to an open area. Pigs, goats, cattle and thousands of tons of raw garbage were piled all around a disgusting and very polluted stream in front of us. David (for about the 5th time) asked us again if we really wanted to see the voodoo house. We said that yes, we came this far and we weren't going to chicken out now.
One more alley and we saw the flags flapping in the breeze. When we finally got to the voodoo house, it was the middle of the day so it wasn't quite as imposing as I'm guessing it would be at, say, midnight with a full moon on Halloween. But it still brought chill bumps out on my arms as I snapped a couple of pictures. A lot of strange (and angry looking) people milled about, none very happy to see us there. We went back to the SUV's and I felt very strange for at least the next hour. It didn't help that on our way out of the village, a man who was probably in his forties came out into the road in front of our SUV screaming, foaming at the mouth and wearing not one stitch of clothing. I kid you not! He was yelling at us in Creole and reaching for rocks to throw. I immediately thought of the scene in the New Testament when Christ cast the demons out of the man into the herd of swine. But since I wasn't Christ, I told David to floor it and get us the heck out of there. Haiti can be a very frightening country, indeed.
At 4pm that afternoon, we arrived in the first peaceful village of the day. Peaceful because the huts were more spread out and we could hear the ocean less than a mile away. A few HOPE clients resided in this fishing village by the sea, including a woman who was on her fifth loan and also ran the local HOPE bank branch. She employed a number of laborers who channeled sea water into retaining ponds and then skimmed the salt out of them to be sold to merchants in nearby towns. Very industrious people, these micro-entrepreneurs. I was more than a little impressed with their ingenuity.
We also met a man (who was not our client) in the shrimping business. He was currently only able to operate with loans from the local loan shark who charged him, get this, 10% interest per WEEK. I couldn't believe my ears! David assured me this was completely normal and this was why HOPE International was so desperately needed in places like Haiti. What he needed was a few hundred dollars to buy new nets and baskets and I am hoping this guy will soon be our client. Stay tuned.
Finally, after a very long day, we started west along the coast toward Haiti's second largest city and our lodging for the night in Cape Haitien. We passed 2 UN forts/compounds on our way into this city of well over a million souls. Interestingly, one fort was manned by Chilean soldiers and the other was from the nation of Uruguay. Flags of the respective nations flew alongside the blue UN flag with the name of the country painted on the walls of the fort. I didn't realize that the "Blue Helmets" were sent in as units from individual countries instead of a hodge-podge mix of nationalities in each unit. Hey, I guess you learn something new every day.
As we neared the city, the poverty became more urban and more dense. More naked children, vendors on the street, loud music, strange smells, filth and a sense that everyone that caught a glimpse of the white men in the passing vehicles had to stop and stare in disbelief. We were strangers in a strange land, to be sure. But we had come to help. Most importantly, we had come to help them help themselves. It can be broken down this way:
TRADITIONAL AID ORGANIZATIONS = Foreign and Temporary Aid
MICROFINANCE (HOPE International) = Local Sustainability
The hotel was extremely nice by Haitien standards. Peter and I were roommates once again and had a large room with a balcony overlooking the surrounding mountains. We had A/C, hot water for showers and good sized beds. I was so happy to see electricity and running water that I kind of felt guilty given what I had seen that day. Interestingly, the physical geography of Haiti is spectacular. Mountains that rush down into the sea permeate the north of the country and are lovely, no matter the human circumstances.
Dinner was at 8pm (or 7; I never figured out if the time zone changed from the D.R. or not) and our discussion was fascinating. I had a very good steak with frites (fries) and a large glass bottle of Sprite. Peter's Question of the Day was: "What impacted you most from today's trip?" After some thought, I realized it was the children.
These children were dirty, poor, malnourished and some didn't even have clothes. But when I smiled at them or said "bonjour," they would light up and smile and greet me back with the same enthusiasm my own two boys have back home in North Carolina.
It reminded me that we are all God's children. These kids enjoyed flying kites (that they made from garbage bags), running and playing as much as my own boys. They simply lacked means. Or more importantly, their parents lacked means. Once these smart but poor parents had access to capitalism via small loans, their lives could improve dramatically. Some believe that that’s their way of life and it's the way it life is supposed to be for them. Trust me, all you need to do is go see it with your own eyes to realize this is not what God intended his children to experience in life. My hope is that God is working through this wonderful organization and even through our own small group to help these people pull themselves up out of the mess they live in.
FRI 11 July 2008
H2 (H squared - HOPE Hispaniola - Day 3)
At 8am, we had a delicious breakfast of bread, creole omelettes and a very spicy peanut butter. Once again, the conversation was the best part of the meal. Peter posed yet another Question of the Day: "What is the nicest thing someone has ever done for you and how did you react to it?" Everyone had radically different yet equally powerful answers. I related the time I was in the U.S. border city of El Paso, TX for business a few years back. I had driven my rental car into the Mexican city of Juarez... with a wallet that contained NO cash. Okay, we agree that’s NOT smart! Upon arriving back at the border to go back into the U.S., I noticed the re-entry fee was 20 pesos (about $7). Arriving at the border station, I showed the Mexican guard my empty pockets and prayed... very hard. Out of nowhere, a man appeared, paid my fee and disappeared. I drove to El Paso. I was stunned and still am to this day.
After everyone's answers, Peter explained that nothing could top what God did for us. He came down to earth, taught us, performed miracles, showed us how to live our lives and then was murdered by people he had created who nailed him to a cross made out of a tree he had also made. When we finally grasp how incredibly good God is to us, we then feel the need to pass on that caring and sacrifice. "Pay it forward," so to speak. No fewer than 2000 references of God's people taking care of the poor are mentioned in the Bible. This is our mission as Christians.
After breakfast, we got in our SUV's again and began the drive out of Cape Hatien. On the way, I saw more squaller than I thought possible. Once, we crossed a river flowing into the bay that was more garbage dump/horror show than river. Refuse was everywhere, women were washing clothes and the usual gaggle of naked malnourished children were swimming in this slow-moving cess pool. It was horrific but sadly, becoming more and more "normal" to my already overloaded senses.
Mid-morning, we arrived in our next village for another Esperanza bi-weekly loan repayment meeting. As usual, it was held in a circle under a large palm tree. There were about 20 borrowers present and a few children scattered here and there yelling “blanco! Blanco!” (white, white!) gleefully as they witnessed maybe their first introduction to the white man. These villages, after all, are FAR from tourist destinations.
As I scanned the usual inquisitive faces of these beautiful children, my eyes focused on one little baby no older than 9 months in what I thought to be his sisters arms (she was no more than 8 or 9). He had on a diaper of sorts, but kept wincing and trying to scratch his back. I moved closer to find that this child’s back was covered with open sores, as was the back of his head and neck. Blood dripped from his left ear and from his nose. Upon closer inspection, he wasn’t scratching his sores, he was scratching at the insects that were crawling in and around them. I must admit, this was too much for me and I had to choke back more than one tear.
As we left, I remembered Christ’s parable of the lost sheep. A shepherd had 100 sheep in a field and one went astray. The shepherd left the other 99 to find that one lost sheep. Children in Haiti have a 25% chance of dying before reaching their 4th birthday and I knew this child was weeks or even days away from realizing this statistic. I discussed it with my compatriots and said a prayer for the child as I felt more and more helpless. However, in the developing world, God seems to move much faster than he moves in my own life in the United States.
David, the Haitien Country Director and our guide on this banking oddyssey was alerted to the plight of this small boy and immediately was on his cell phone (yes, believe it or not, cell phones work well here) with a local doctor. David is an amazing man. Everyone in every village we saw seemed to know him and they all call him “pastor.” He was educated in the D.R. but went back to Haiti to help his people. He is the type of man that HOPE seems to attract around the world. People that literally “give their lives away” for the expansion of the Kingdom of God and to help alleviate poverty through sound business practices and small loans.
After visiting a radio station (that broadcasts for 4 hours per day when the electricity works) and pausing to watch a fully armed convoy of UN troops from Ghana in their blue helmets and M-16 rifles drive by, David led us back to the meeting spot where the sick child was. He asked someone to bring the child out. This time, an older woman carried the baby out of some dark hole in a wall and said he was very sick. The problem was, she couldn’t buy him medicine so she hoped he’d feel better soon. Each of the participants on our trip (privately) pooled together $100 to give to David for the medical care of this now very blessed child. The lost sheep was indeed a child of God and was now to be enabled (we prayed) to return to the flock of his fellow human beings.
Happily, lunch was to be at David’s family’s home again. This was another traditional meal and very, very good. Following lunch, we began the latter half of our day driving… driving… driving. Were headed toward the border again and it seemed as though we had been in Haiti a month. On the way, we stopped in another village where Esperanza/HOPE was planning to open a branch in late 2008-early 2009. It looked a little less crowded than the other villages we visited… and there was very little activity at the market in the center of the village. However, HOPE was on the way!
About 2pm, I asked if I could drive the SUV to the border. I’m not sure what I was thinking but drove the SUV I did. Driving in Haiti is not a cruise control experience. It’s also exhausting because very little of the roads are paved (almost none). I dodged potholes, cows, goats, motorbikes, bicycles and lots of people and my back seat companions quickly tired of the speed bumps along the way that launched them into the ceiling. I capped off our journey by hitting one hole in the road especially hard and knocking off the passenger-side rear view mirror. We had to back up and Pedro, riding shotgun, ran back and found the shattered mirror. Oh well…. driving in Haiti!
It was market day at the border, which meant total and utter chaos. Mondays and Fridays, Haitiens would go over the border into Dajabon D.R. to sell whatever wares they had at the public market. At 4pm they had to be back in Haiti so by mid-afternoon it was pure pandemonium. The cacaphony of noise was impressive given we were outside in a large, open area. We gave our passports to David and slowly walked back across the bridge to the D.R. Once again, I looked down at the trash filled and completely polluted Massacre River to see children bathing, women washing clothes and cows moving about in the water. Amazing sights, all. The most amazing sight of the day for me personally was a strange one. A little boy of about 7 years old kept following me around just in the area where our passports were checked. Since there were so many people, I didn’t notice him at first. Finally, Greg grabbed me and told me to turn around and look at the boy's red, long-sleeved t-shirt. More importantly, to read what was written over the left breast: CHARLOTTE CHRISTIAN. While I knew immediately it was a t-shirt from a Christian private school in my hometown of Charlotte, the irony floored me. I have no idea how he got the shirt or why he was wearing it that day (maybe he has to wear it everyday for lack of another shirt) but it blew me away nonetheless and it was the last photograph I was to take in Haiti.
After bribing D.R. officials to let us bring a laser printer over the border into the D.R. (I’m not sure we had to bribe them but that’s what I was told. I’m also not sure why we were bringing a printer from Haiti to the D.R., but again, I was just along for the ride), we got back in our original van to begin the 3 hour journey back to Santiago for the evening. Getting through the sea of Hatiens trying to get back to their country seemed to take forever, and I wondered aloud why any of them wanted to even return to that crazy place across the river. I suppose no matter what living conditions are, a return to family with the means to feed them for one more day trumps a desire for freedom every time. God’s children, every one.
On our 3 hour trek to our hotel in Santiago, Peter engaged Greg and I in a deep and very detailed discussion on a new way Peter hoped to increase financing to our programs worldwide. As I mentioned, Greg has spent the last 27 years as a Financial Advisor with Morgan Stanley and is highly successful. I piped in once or twice utilizing my 12 years experience in financial services (most recently with Deutsche Bank) and we had a very good discussion of the nuts and bolts of how the “HOPE Global Investment Fund” would work. Be sure and email me if you’d like the details or if you’d like to invest!
The evening brought us all together one last time for dinner. We ate at a wonderful restaurant with very authentic Dominican food and my meat with fried plantains was excellent. Peter decided since I would soon be leading my own trips, I should offer the question of the day. I asked our party what they would remember most about this trip during the next week as they went about their daily lives and routines. Greg felt we all had a responsibility to tell others now that we had witnessed the horrors as well as the hope in Haiti. We can not sit idly by as followers of Christ and not attempt to empassion others with our new mission. We are now responsible.
EPILOGUE
The 20th century saw an explosion of compassionate, good-intentioned Christians willing to help the poor of the earth. Good intentions are wonderful as God always looks at the heart. However, good intentions do not always produce long-lasting, sustainable results. Heading into a disaster zone with clean water, mosquito netting, rice and the Good News of Jesus Christ is necessary and truly blessed by our Father. But at some point, these people will leave to move on to the next disaster. Unfortunately, left in their wake will be a people who have been handed help and aid which came from the “blancos” and has no sustaining effect. In many cases, those bags of rice that were given freely and lovingly may have even put local farmers out of what business they had left after the disaster struck. Let alone the fact that there is no one left to help guide the new converts to Christianity down their new path. Creating dependency by one group of people on another group of people is not the answer.
At HOPE International, we believe in setting up local missionaries so to speak, doubling as bankers. These bankers know the local people, customs and the Lord. What better way to help the poor of the earth than instead of giving them a fish, teaching them to fish. Also, loan them the money to buy the fishing pole, tackle and bait. Loaning the money to them, via local banks also gives them something far greater: their dignity. This allows them to know self-respect and confidence and the knowledge that they can participate in capitalism just like anyone in the developed world can, albeit on a micro-scale. And one more thing: HOPE gives them true hope for the future with an introduction to the greatest fisherman of all time, Jesus Christ.
If you are interested in helping to spread hope throughout the world; utilizing your time, talents or money that we can loan to borrowers in the hardest places on earth, please email me at: mdrobeson@yahoo.com
