No more Social Business, no more Rural Mozambique

Its been an awful long time since my last blog update and a lot has happened since then. The full version is largely unimportant, uninteresting and nothing at all to do with the practice of social business in rural Northern Mozambique. Well, it could be said that nothing that my former employer did was anything to do with social business in rural Northern Mozambique. I am not going to dedicate this blog post to dragging the name of Teran Foundation through the mud as I do not wish to appear like that classic former-employee who is bitter at no longer working for an organisation. All I will say is that, for the people who know me, know how I work and know how much I had been looking forward to working in Mozambique, the fact that I have left and want nothing more to do with the organisation must speak volumes.

Now me and Celisse are in Swaziland, volunteering at our former school Waterford. We asked to come back here so we could be of some use for a while as we worked out what our next move was. It wouldn't be the end of the world if I had to go back to Shetland or even just back to the UK. The reality is however that there is more chance of me securing a full-time, relatively well-paid job that is in line with my experience and qualifications in Southern Africa than there is in the West. And the quality of life here is arguably far superior. So the job search continues in relative comfort compared to our previous accommodation. Here we have hot food, hot showers, manageable heat (and more often, manageable cold), a language we can understand and people who appreciate our presence and our work. We may not be in the position to make the ground-breaking difference which we could have made to a poor rural community in Mozambique but here we still have the ability to be part of an excellent school, a global movement and a country which is governed by one of the most fascinating political structures I have ever come across. Not a bad place to be for a recent politics graduate.

Our departure from Mossuril and our travel down from Nampula to Maputo were difficult, long and frustrating. Two nights in Nampula city, a 40-hour bus and tempers as short as the money we had made our arrival in Maputo all the better. We were staying with Alicia, a former classmate from Waterford and very useful stop-off point for us both this year and last year. The hot showers, excellent food and sympathetic company was much appreciated and it was a happy, relaxed few days before we came to Swaziland was almost unimaginable luxury. I've never gotten used to being at houses which employ a maid. I never know whether to clear the table or not and the maid almost seemed offended when I offered to iron my shirt. I resorted to simply smiling, shrugging, apologising in Portuguese and leaving her to it.

The aforementioned shirt's use was as my only nice looking clothes to attend an interview with World Vision. A friend of a friend of a friend set up the interview with the regional director who was desperately looking for staff who were willing to work outside Maputo. World Vision is a huge NGO with a Christian ethos and outlook which does a lot of good around the world. However it suffers from the same issues which plague any organisation employing foreigners in a developing country, social life. Regardless of the amount of good work people do between the hours of 9am and 5pm, at 5.01pm they want to leave the office, drive back to their nice house in their big car, via their clean supermarket to buy European beer, to later share with their other middle-class friends while watching English football on their satellite TV. Ok, so thats a massive generalisation but it is a fact of life that, if given the choice, skilled, experienced NGO staff would rather be around their friends, their home comforts and their kids' international school than be out in the bush. That was how we created the demand for ourselves, we had been working out there and were willing to continue.

There were two issues which scuppered that plan, the first is largely unavoidable. This global-debt-crisis-greed-banking-downturn-PIIGS issue has meant that nobody has money. If people in the West don't have money then they cut down on their expenditures. The first thing to go from these expenditures is the money they give to charity. This is true of individuals, households, businesses and governments alike. World Vision was willing to take us on as unpaid volunteers but couldn't afford to give us salaries and job titles. Although money has never been the primary reason for me being in this region, the simple fact is that I can't afford to continue being here and not being paid, so that was difficult. The other reason was kind of academic after the money issue but very important nonetheless. The Mozambican government, in its wisdom, has instated a rule whereby every organisation or business in the country must employ ten Mozambicans for every non-Mozambican employed. The thinking behind this is simple enough- there is money coming into the country, there are lots of people coming into the country to exploit this money, they want to avoid another colonial-type situation whereby people make money in Mozambique and don't pass any benefits onto Mozambicans themselves. In reality however, the sitiuation they are creating is one where small foreign-owned businesses are going bust due to the colossal wage bills incurred by having to employ at least eleven people in a small enterprise. I can see both sides of the issue but from my own point of view, it meant that I couldn't get a job. So, onto Swaziland.

Swaziland's political situation has always been interesting. The last full monarchy in Africa, a former British colony where the royal family was handed back power in the 60s when the British left. A polygamous king with a penchant for BMWs and a half-elected, half-appointed parliament of representatives elected in traditional tribal ways. The illegal pro-democracy group PUDEMO with its respective youth, international and paramilitary wings is ever present and its bizarre juxtaposition of clean, expensive shopping malls and bars in the cities with extreme poverty in the rural areas makes Swaziland an interesting place to be. What is more interesting about this particular time is that the country is broke and economic change seems to be very much in the pipeline, whether political change will follow is impossible to know. If it is possible to stay in this fascinating place to witness such changes I would very much appreciate the opportunity.

Our welcome at school was fantastic. We were here briefly last year for the World Cup-inspired reunion but we never really managed to look around much. Its been 5 years since we graduated from school here and its refreshing to see that there has been much progress but not too much of the ethos and charm has been lost. The response from the teachers, students, kitchen and maintenance staff has been as if we never left.

We've been working in various parts of the school but by far the most entertaining so far has been covering P.E. classes. The reason I say 'covering' is that 'teaching' is stretching it a bit far. I'm not saying that P.E. teachers don't teach, just that I don't teach when I take P.E., I just shout. The first class I took was 32 boys between the ages of 12 and 14. I asked them if they had ever seen the film 'Coach Carter', some of them nodded, I introduced myself as a younger, whiter version of Coach Carter. Then I made them do 'suicides'. Although my teaching methods were questioned by the students themselves, I was commended by the teachers with the line that 'Anything which tires out those boys is hugely beneficial to the functioning of the school'.

Anyway, thats beside the point. The point, I think, is that we have both been offered a position working in the development office of the school. This work includes alumni relations, digitalisation of school publications since the 1960s and playing a part in organising the 50^th anniversary of the school which is to take place in February 2013. Everything seems to have fallen back into place after a brief period of uncertainty. We have jobs, a place to stay, money coming in, massive possibilities to move forward from here in the professional world. This may not be what I came to Africa to do, it may not be the sector I ever thought I would be working in. I think it will be good for me though and from February 2013 I can make a plan for what comes next.

If I do anything as interesting as what I was doing in Mozambique I might write another blog. But for now I'm not so this is the last one. Thanks for reading, I'm away.

You tell them they're in poverty

Its Monday morning and its very very hot. Usually there's a refreshing sea breeze here in paradise which helps to take the edge off the sun but now even in the shade its hot. It doesn't help that everything here is built from clay bricks and corrugated iron roof, much like an oven in design, which makes the temperature inside almost unbearable. But despite that, its been an eventful week.

It has also been a week which was thankfully not spent travelling to, spending a night in, and travelling back from, Malawi. Last Monday we went to Nampula for the purpose of buying a ticket for the train and working our way there but instead we managed to extend our visas in-country and could manage to return here the same day. Because me and Celisse were joined on the journey by the two volunteers and one of the staff from Sunset (for their safety on the way back, should me and Celisse have to go to Malawi) we hired a small minibus for the journey rather than take the 3am public bus. It was relative luxury travelling without the company of goats, chickens and screaming babies but of course we paid considerably more for this luxury.

When we got to the city we headed straight for Migraçao, a small office filled with mostly asian people who, like us, were extending their stay in Mozambique for predominantly economic reasons. Despite the fact that all that is required to extend the visa is a stamp and a signature, the process takes a week and so our passports were left there. We headed for a coffee and a mid-morning pint (we're on holiday) and waited for the volunteers to finish their shopping. In the afternoon I printed out the surveys which I'm using for the feasibility study and briefly contemplated buying a motorbike to take back with us, before deciding against it until our employment and financial situations are sorted out a wee bit.

Motorbikes are a status symbol in Mossuril and garner a level of respect which a big Jaguar might in the West. Cars are few and far between here with only the heads of local government and police and a few big business and NGOs owning one. Their rarity may also explain the tendency for small children to sprint after them whenever they pass through a small village. Anyway, I'll speak more about that later.

On Wednesday we got the early boat to Ilha for some good food and to show the volunteers around, but more importantly to open me a bank account and check the mail for the packages me and Celisse have been sent by our respective mothers. The food was, as always, good and despite not being able to open an account (passport in Nampula) and not getting my package (only 3 weeks after my birthday) we left there full and happy. The minute I got back to Sunset I got phoned by Muaco, the primary teacher we've helped out over the last few months and my contact for the football. I've only played once since our disappointing loss last time and that was more an informal kickabout with some school pupils. He was asking me to come along to a grudge match.

Wednesday was Mozambican Teachers' Day, the climax at the end of Teachers' Week. It was marked by an annual game of football. At stake was a year's worth of bragging rights and the ability to decide the ultimate champion between the two titanic sides of: Primary School Teachers Vs Secondary School Teachers. After I got my shorts on and slapped on the Factor 50 I turned up 2 minutes after kick-off with the score still goalless. The pitch hadn't changed much since the last time I played, vast swathes of it were soft sand which was impossible to run or pass in and long-balls dominated play. A young, very enthusiastic boy ran off to get me my Primary School strip, a replica Barcelona shirt and shorts that I can only assume was donated because of the club's affiliation with UNICEF. At least they can be sure their shirts are going to good use! The first minute I was on I got a boot in the shin for my troubles. I don't know whether the ferocity in it was by accident, because I'm white or because I was playing for the Primary Teachers. Either way it hurt. The game was brutal and by half time we had ground out a 1-0 lead which was far from safe. All I could think about at half time was water, there was none to be seen. The same boy bounded up with a small thermos tank which he began to offer around. Inside were small home-made ice-lollies. They are made from stewing fruit in water and sugar, mashing it until its liquid and freezing it in individual plastic bags. I ripped open a plastic bag and joined my team mates in sucking the cold, fruity liquid. There was a distinct taste of fish which accompanied the sweet fruit and it was unclear whether this was intentional or not. I doubt 'fishy fruit' ice-creams would catch on back home.

The second half was ushered in with the crowd of over 200 hundred primary and secondary school pupils, old gin-drinking men and local policemen joining in songs for their respective side. Our central-midfielder Castro (interesting throwback to Mozambique's socialist history) put us two ahead with a long-range shot which beat the elderly Secondary goalkeeper and with 10 minutes left the game seemed to be beyond doubt. A highly disputed goal from their captain (a large man whom I had meet before my first game for Os Professores to ask his permission to play) led to a frantic and even more physical climax which, despite a multitude of big tackles and impressive bruises, we managed to edge out 2-1. After shaking hands and having a pitch invasion sing to us (they don't do that in Scotland) I limped back for a shower and some First Aid. The ice-lolly turned out to be a bad idea as I discovered they don't boil the well water before using it. No bother for the locals here but not friendly to Western stomachs.

But enough about bowels. On Saturday we were asked to take photos and film at the graduation ceremony of local teachers. Due to us both having graduated this year we agreed to be the official press pack there, despite it requiring us to sit in a hot room from 8am on a Saturday morning. It became very clear though that this was a very different type of graduation ceremony. The teachers has already been teaching for a year, I suppose the equivalent of a probation year in the UK. The oldest and youngest graduates were presented first, being 55 and 31 respectively. With the life expectancy in Mozambique being considerably below 50, for a 55 year old to put in the effort to train as a teacher was very impressive. But more on him later. We stood and listened to what seemed like dozens of verses of the national anthem (“Mozambique is our glorious country...”) and a variety of teachers' songs, as well as every graduand being presented with a rose and a scroll by a different member of the large VIP contingent there, it was time for photos. We patiently took group photos outside the administration building and waited for lunctime.

Lunch was served in one of the classrooms, on small, uncomfortable sloping desks. It consisted of cold chicken, chips and rice, all overcooked and a bit rubbery, but on the whole good. With it everyone was given a bottle of beer, soft-drink and water. It was nice to see almost all of the assembled company taking home doggy-bags for their family at home. Before lunch could be started though, the officials took their seats and the champagne needed to be opened. One bottle of champagne was provided for the 37 graduands, 15-20 VIPs and others. The oldest and youngest were again presented to open and distribute. The mild-mannered old man looked a bit sheepish. He had no idea how to open a bottle of champagne and, although hugely honoured to be asked to perform this most important of celebratory tasks, was unable to complete it. Lisa told me to go up and help but I felt bad sauntering up and stealing the limelight if he was able to work it out for himself. Lisa asked the Master of Ceremonies if it was ok if I helped and he made an official announcement that I was there “to assist in the opening of the champagne”. I was quite proud of my official role in proceedings and after it was opened, a splash of champagne was offered to every one of the assembled company for the toast.

After the meal there was a short interlude which seemed to be set aside for the telling of jokes with 3 or 4 different people getting up, apologising to the VIPs in advance, and telling what I understood to be generally dirty jokes. After this the VIPs left (I think it was scheduled and not because of the jokes) and we stood taking photos for a while longer. The district head of culture (a teaching role but still an impressive title) asked if me and Celisse could come along to speak about American culture with him and for him to teach us the differences between Portuguese, Mozambican and Makua culture and their influences on Mossuril today. He asked us to go in this morning but was a no-show and rescheduled for Wednesday. After all the football and local beer I'm looking forward to a bit of a cultural education.

Yesterday was another day of highs and lows. Due to our current lack of mobility and my longing for my scooter at home, I borrowed the motorbike from Mugiva, one of the guys here at Sunset to drive to the beach with Celisse. I had gone for a practice on Friday afternoon to get my head round the gears (not present on my 49cc beauty at home) and the soft-sand driving which has scared the balls off me when I've been on the back of bikes here. His bike is one of the most common types in Nampula Province, an old Chinese 125cc road bike that looks like its right out of the mid-80s. We went to the house of Mugiva's “other wife”, he has two. The area he lives is remote, secluded and difficult to get to. There are about 10 houses which are all home to different members of his family, all busily prising open cockels and skinning root vegetables in mud-huts. Mugiva is the chief of this village. The silence, the gentle lapping of the sea in the mangroves and the remoteness of the place, despite its proximity to Mossuril and Ilha (only a half hour row across the bay) made me quite like the place. Mugiva owns all the land here and wants to start up some business here to add to the booming trade around the rest of Mossuril Bay. Given the money I would do it like a shot.

Anyway, back to yesterday. Between me and Mugiva we had convinced Celisse of my ability to safely get her from A to B and, with the threat that if I kill Celisse, her Mum will kill me, fresh in my mind, we headed out. I don't like breaking promises to my mother but driving down an open road at 80km/h with nothing protecting my head apart from a sleek pair of sunglasses was something that she expressly asked me not to do. And I don't regret it for a second. We drove from Mossuril to Chocas Mar along the solid dirt road without too many issues. When we hit the soft sand between Chocas, a small beach-resort town in its own right, and Carrusca, a beautiful beach with hotel and restaurant facilities, problems began. The combination of the soft sand, the old motorbike and my relative inability to drive it properly meant that within 100 yards of hitting the sand we had fallen off 3 times, the gear pedal had completely detatched and the handlebars were starting to dislocate from the rest of the bike. Bad times. As we were starting to push the bike back to Chocas to get it fixed we met the owners of Bel-Moz who we had spoken to only a few days before. We locked the bike, had it pushed to the garage and jumped in the back of their car to get, safely, to the beach.

They were heading to Coral Lodge, a luxury 5-star hotel and restaurant set on the banks of a natural lagoon on a peninsula almost completely surrounded by light-blue sea and white sand. There is a swimming pool, diving trips to see dolphins and sharks and snorkelling around the coral reef. It is an unbelievably beautiful place. The Dutch couple who own it showed us round one of the rooms and the hotel grounds. For around $500 per night full board you get all meals, house drinks and a diving trip thrown in, a private villa with beach access and a small patio and, wait for it, an air-conditioning unit built into the canopy of your four-poster bed. All we wanted was a bacon sandwich.

Northern Mozambique is predominantly Muslim and so pork is hard to come by. The head chef at Coral Lodge, Carlos, is Mozambican but has worked around the world and is a 5-star rated chef. I felt bad just asking him for a bacon roll but he pulled out all the stops. Our olive-oil-soaked sour-dough bread sandwich was packed with 3 or 4 layers of prime bacon, with the LT of the BLT placed outside the sandwich so as we could add it ourselves. The small pots of ketchup and mayonnaise for the oven-baked chips were a nice touch and the salad dressing was incredible. We were immediately offered desert which was a home-made mango ice-cream with some kind of sponge cake which seemed to be crunchy on the outside and incredibly light on the inside. This was food. We were given cold, boiled water and I had a beer. We were charged 'mates rates' for the meal which came to around £10 after the discount, for 2 bottles of water, a coke, a beer, 2 of the best bacon sandwiches I have ever eaten and 2 desserts. We had almost forgotten the motorbike-related stress of the morning.

The staff at Coral Lodge are all local people, mostly living in Cabaceira Pequena, a village which is an island for half of the day, when the tide is high and is one of the least 'developed' places in the district. If the tide is high they swim to work, if its low they power-walk for an hour and a half to work incredibly hard learning english, restaurant techniques and all of thee other functions of a luxury lodge. These are very smart people, trained very well to deliver excellent service. I hope to be returning to Coral Lodge very soon for more of the same!

This blog is very long. Thats partly because we did a lot this week, partly because I'm feeling a bit wordy and partly because, due to our work on Saturday morning, we've been given Monday off. But bear with me, I'm having an epiphany.

Throughout my two years in Swaziland I didn't really see dire poverty. Thats partly because I was living in the most expensive private school in the country in amongst some of the wealthiest students in Southern Africa but partly also because I was not entirely aware of what dire poverty looked like. Mbabane was a clean, relatively expensive capital city with shopping malls and western shops. Poverty in Swaziland was confined mostly to rural areas and we didn't go to them very often.

Now I'm here I often think that I am not seeing poverty because of how well Mozambique is doing in terms of development. But its not that, Mossuril is still one of the poorest parts of one of the poorest countries in the world. This is the home of the opposition party and so its politically in the ruling party's interest to not invest into this area. The only solution left is that I am seeing poverty every day, all around me. People live in mud-huts with no electricity and no running water and are lucky if they live past 50, but they're just so happy. Karl Marx said that the presence of leisure is the sure sign of freedom, or something like that. Someone else said that civil society is the most important way to develop a middle class, which is the most important group for the development of a country. Throughout this week I have witnessed civil society in full swing here: organised football clubs, music groups, graduation ceremonies, local people meeting at bars to eat and drink with their surplus income, and everyone happy and laughing. You come to some of the poorest, most deprived areas of Africa and I bet you will find an overweight, middle-aged woman missing most of her teeth laughing hysterically at a dirty joke her pal just told her. You can come out with all the dollar-a-day poverty indicators and studies you want, people here are happy and they're getting on with their lives, eating and drinking.

And I'm not saying that there is not poverty in the world. Where there are famines, droughts, no food at all and a reliance on aid, that may be famine. If people are struggling to eat or stay alive that is poverty in my view. But, if you see someone today, and then you see him again next week, he has eaten and drank and makes plans and has dreams the same as everyone else. You try telling them they're in poverty. They'll laugh in your face.

Oh, and just a final piece of animal news: The dog is thin and losing hair at a rate of knots. The cat gave birth to 3 kittens on Saturday night and is intermittently beating the living crap out of the dog.

Administration and Consultation

My time here so far has been marked by an almost endless stream of highs and lows, often occuring within the same day to the extent that by the time I go to bed I don't know whether the day has been productive or not. This week has seen that level of contrast increase dramatically.

I'm currently sitting on the veranda of Sunset writing this in peace and quiet. Celisse, the volunteers and Lisa have gone to the beach for a swim and some food and I'm making the most of the time on my own to get back onto studying some portuguese and writing this blog. Its amazing what a cold beer and some peace and quiet can do for getting your head straight.

There is also a powercut at the minute so the discos which blast music and movies on an almost constant loop are, for the moment, quiet. There is a good breeze and a blue sky and life looks pretty rosy. The dog is still alive and after getting a taste for life outside his small half-built house has started competing with me on his ability to escape and my ability to prevent him. Currently I'm winning (he's still there) but who knows what tomorrow will bring. This week also brought in the first proper rain since I got here. Monsoon style rain pelted down for a few hours, filling every bucket we could lay our hands on to save money on having to buy some  from the well. Fun at first but when theres leaks throughout the straw roof, no power and no ability to go outside, as well as a very wet dog, the novelty wore off pretty quickly.

Anyway, onto serious things. I started my feasibility study in earnest this week. The study will consider financial, legal and social requirements of setting up a formal banking structure in Mossuril and will hopefully be researched, written and put in a shiny folder before Christmas. I have employed an assistant (yes, I have an assistant) to conduct surveys of local people and help me to speak to bank managers, government officials and other bigwigs to see if its all possible. He is called Sale (Sally) and is an English teacher at the local secondary school. He is originally from Nampula City and has dabbled in various business activities before settling on a career in the public service (predominantly for the benefits for him and his family which such a career carries with it). I'm paying him out of my own pocket for now as I don't really know who to ask to fund a small feasibility study but hopefully the investment will pay off when the study is written and we get to the stage of setting up the bank.

The survey will interview local people across Mossuril District to assess demand for banking facilities as well as ascertaining how much people need the relative functions of the bank (savings, loans, insurance, etc) and will hopefully conclude that it is possible to create, though I am realistic enough to know that if the numbers don't add up on a feasibility study then they certainly won't add up in practice.

The legal side of the study will be predominantly done through speaking to contacts of Sale and a few other friends of mine here who work in the Administration, the highest government level in the district. I need to write some letters, meet some people, guarantee my trustworthiness and request an awful lot of permission before I even think about the financial implications. Its a big project and much of it scares me due to the language, money and seniority of the people involved but its very exciting. Sale is savvy in business and is realistic in how much he is asking me to pay him. At some point I'm going to need to get paid too but for now I'm just going with the flow. After Christmas can be a time for applying for funding.

A lot of people both here and in the West claim that micirofinance is not viable in Africa due to a variety of reasons. The form of charity which has dominated this continent for decades is aid, the giving of things and the reliance on those things. This has stunted the ability and need for people to create their own businesses or attempt to become self-sufficient as 1) If someone is giving you lunch, why do you need to buy lunch and 2) why set up a shop selling clothes if you don't know whether the following week a truck will come from Manchester giving away loads of free clothes and making you bankrupt. On a side note, when you donate clothes to a truck going to a developing country, the most common thing that charities do with them is sell them to intermediaries so as not to harm local business and to make some money on the side, though not necessarily donating them as they say in the brochure. Saying that, don't stop giving clothes to charity!

Although I recognise the value in this thinking and the fact that it was our methods which created this situation, I don't want to write off the chances of rural microfinance in Southern Africa even before I've started. This study will hopefully be able to give a better impression of whether Africa can compete with the massively successful provision of microfinance in Asia (a continent with more of a history of capitalist practice but which has still suffered due to the way aid has been distributed) and define what my next step will be in the process. If nothing else, its exciting, interesting and will stand me in good stead for the next opportunity which comes along.

This next week is pretty uncertain just now. We're going to Nampula tomorrow to update visas but aren't yet sure whether its possible to do it in-country or if we have to cross the border into Malawi to be able to get new ones. The train east towards the border leaves early on Tuesday morning but if it is possible to sort it in Nampula it would just save a lot of time, money and hassle. Also it  would mean we would get to Cuamba, the middle of nowehere, on Tuesday evening just at the time of Scotland's vital game against Spain on Tuesday night, not the best situation to be in. Whatever time we come back we'd be looking to come back with a motorbike. Its a good investment to make here and the ability to leave for a pint or a swim at any point is always nice. Things are starting to move here and Africa is a nice place to be when things are moving.

Similarities and Differences

The difficulty with trying to set up new businesses in a community and society which has no history of capitalist culture is one of assimilation. Its not that there is no business in rural African villages, its that it takes on a very different form to that which we are used to in the West. Everything is different and when trying to develop and facilitate both small self-employed business and employment-creating projects it is vital that local custom is taken into account for both employer and employees to be happy.

For example, there is no concept of the '9-5' job, the idea that you work really hard for 8 hours (minus an hour lunch break) and then have leisure time from then on. It is wrong to assume that people here are lazy, although from a western eye they do look it. People don't rush with business, they go slowly and take a lot of breaks, in service industries they don't always appear entirely pleased to see you. In my opinion this is because work and leisure aren't so cleanly separated like they are in the west. People will work a bit, then talk a bit, then sleep a bit, then work a bit, then eat a bit, etc, etc. People will do the duties of work for longer hours here but just less intensely. This allows people to eat, provide for their family and maybe gradually build up to buying a bicycle or motorbike and perhaps expanding their business but many are happy for that process to take longer if it means that they can have a relatively relaxed time about it along the way. It makes sense, why rush to get somewhere if you know you will get there eventually and have more fun along the way if you take your time.

The problem comes when they are in the position where 1) they have to do more than just provide for themselves e.g. repay a loan, or 2) when they are paid an hourly rate to do a job. The latter requires employees to adopt the western approach to intensive work and does not allow for the combination with leisure and relaxation that is so much a part of work here. It appears then that both loans and hourly pay are not the most certain, profitable or efficient ways of maximising productivity and profitability. To try to put a positive emphasis on this negative view of business prospects in such places, there does seem to be a solution. Results-based pay (e.g. paying a per-kilogram rate for fruit or a per product rate for home-made crafts) allows local people to work at their own pace, employers to get exactly what they pay for and anyone is able to join the market providing they have the skills and the buyer can handle the supply of the product. Businesses which attempt to fundamentally alter the way that people do business are more risky to a small place. If done well they have the potential to succeed in reinvigorating the economy of an area and attracting more and more new business, if done poorly they have the possibility of doing exactly what was done by the old colonialists- bringing all the worst parts of capitalism (greed, exploitation and jealousy) to a culture and instilling that as the way forward.

Anyway, back to reality. The big news of the week is that we have two new volunteers here at Sunset. Flore is a 17-year-old dutch girl who is very creative and is the first volunteer for Celisse to coordinate in her role as... volunteer coordinator. Hilde is a middle-aged Belgian woman with 30 years experience in restaurant management and has taken an instant hands-on approach to working with staff and organisation at Sunset. It is refreshing to have them both here to share in the experience and provide new skills and knowledge to staff (and us!) here in Mossuril. Neither of them speak Portuguese so we have to be the intermediaries with the little Portuguese that we do speak but things are still able to move forward. Progress is being made with the cleanliness, work-rate and service quality in the restaurant and once some adjustments are made to the provisions needed for more people to be here (more food to be ordered in, more water to be brought from the well, etc) things will be moving even more smoothly. They plan to stay for 4-5 weeks in which time we hope to make significant changes to how things run here.

As Sunset is a training restaurant students are taken on to learn their trade and concessions are made for service and quality (although it is generally good anyway) on the basis that it is providing a service for local people to learn the ways of the tourism and catering industry. Since the College of Tourism was donated to the community last year, this has become the only functioning restaurant run by Teran Foundation with one being built currently on the other side of the country in Milange, on the Malawian border. Things continue to move along here though with the new rooms for volunteers continuing to take shape in the back courtyard and the acquisition of the mud-hut in front of the restaurant possible when a new house is built for the family who currently live there. But Sunset is really made all the more entertaining by the staff.

There are 2 full time bar-staff, 2 kitchen staff and 3 guards, in addition to the 3 students who are working for their year's course on half-pay. The staff have varying levels of English but are all interested in learning more and are become frustrated when I try to conduct sentences in Portuguese rather than helping them to improve their spoken English. The one I get on best with is one of the barmen, Waes (Why-Ess).

Waes is 27 years old, married with 3 kids and has been working for Lisa since she set up the college 7 years ago. He has the best spoken English out of everyone here and conducts most of the required translation. He also has a wicked sense of humour and cracks jokes concerning everything from sex to racism. He sometimes wishes that he hadn't got married so young and that he had held out for a white wife but reasons that he could simply marry her too and share himself around. He works every day of the week, cycling for an hour each way from his home and his family. He genuinely wants to work hard for Sunset to make it a success and is often the only steering force of the staff, conducting every duty of work if so required. Last week he had a nightmare day which included losing his wallet with all of his wordly money (lack of savings facilities...) then hitting a child when looking for it on his bicycle and being reported to the police by the mother of said child before being fined for both hitting the kid and not carrying identification as it had been lost in said wallet. All I could do was commiserate and lend him some money.

What is interesting about getting to know Waes and many other people here is that they really aren't so different to folk at home. There are easy parallels to draw with characters and personalities I've met in Scotland and Swaziland and people are just trying to live their lives. They have fun, play sport, have meetings and have romances. They go out to parties at night and go to work during the day. The old guys sit in the pub and the young guys go to the disco. Builders and fishermen whistle at women in exactly the same way that I'm sure builders and fishermen whistle at women throughout the world. The fairytale view of the African person so far removed from our world is vastly diminished when you realise that, really the entire social structure is very similar those found in the West.

A quick round up of other news: The dog is still alive and has gone for its first walks and swims in the sea, now the new volunteers are here too it is eating particularly well too. Celisse's birthday was a couple of days ago and was celebrated with 'pizza night' in the clay oven and the traditional music and dancing which has come to represent our Saturday nights. The World Council of Credit Unions seems to be a good place to start looking for funding for start-up banks but, much like most people I have contacted looking for information, funding or just to say hello, they haven't gotten back to me yet. Frustrating.

This week I'm going to continue writing an application to do a 8-week feasibility study on the bank and keep adding to the extensive project proposal I'm going to be writing over the next month or so for a solid amount of funding. I've had a couple of other personal business ideas since I've been here too so I'm looking at developing them as well if there's time. Life is busy down at the farm.

Capitalism and Castles

Its embarrassing to say that I have been here a month trying to, admittedly among other things, attract a large capital investment into this project and it was only last week that it dawned on me that it might make sense to write a formal project proposal. I downloaded a few documents on how to write an attractive proposal for the dispersal of funds to NGOs and have been working through what is required to be able to ask for a million dollars without sounding like an idiot. There are a variety of banking and governmental organisations which exist for the sole purpose of loaning money to microfinance banks (sometimes known as microfinance wholesalers) and all they need is a statement of intent and a couple of good people to run it, and of course promise to pay it back.

Despite the variety of different sources of funding for microfinance banks, the 'retail' side of it is still underfunded and there is a far bigger potential market than is being currently provided for. Ways to be able to provide low-cost, unfixed loans to banks are sorely needed and as large funders are often wary of risking large amounts of money, the public are increasingly being looked to through websites like Kiva (www.kiva.org) to attract people to fund small projects. A way in which legal and psychological constraints can be overcome so as to provide for the funding of such projects needs t be worked out so that microfinance can truly be turned into an economic base which is funded by the people, for the people.

It is the legal constraints which all too often hold up progress here too. The Mozambican currency, the 'metical', cannot legally be transferred out of the country and it is impossible to exchange outside the country. People are legally required to be paid in 'meticais' (plural) inside the country so that all wealth gained through working in Mozambique eventually returns to Mozambique. Very clever. Except when trying to attract investment from outside the country to be invested in bank accounts here and then be repaid (with interest) at the end of the agreed loan period. There is a way of declaring all incoming investment as a loan which will allow it to be repaid at a later date but no interest can be added to that on its way out. Accounts in foreign currencies can be kept in the country but do not carry the same very generous interest rate on savings (around 19%) that accounts in meticais do. Therefore, without relying on the dangerous task of consistently attracting enough future investment into a European account to repay the previous loan and therefore be able to keep a small quantity of constantly rolling capital in a high-interest account in Mozambique while turning over capital in a European account, a way has to be found of rewarding investors, big and small, for their faith in the ability of microfinance to repay their loan from a Mozambican account. That requires legislative change.

Legislative change is hard to bring about when it derives from a small rural charity which does not yet provide any banking facilities and is run by two recent university graduates with no discernible experience in banking, business or international development. So for now, transfers are difficult.

Furthermore, we are currently a registered charity. Charities cannot by law take money from the people they are trying to help, for very good reason. This means that we cannot begin to mobilise what is arguably a more important service than bank loans, the ability to save. Savings facilities were brought in well after loans in the history of microfinance but it is now generally accepted that one cannot adequately exist without the provision of the other. The lack of ability to save means that all the money brought in from the new businesses which are created is either constantly unsafe (the 'under-the-mattress' savings method) or is spent as quickly as possible on consumables, thereby totally contradicting one of the primary reasons for the provision of microfinance, that of income smoothing and the ability to cope with income shocks. Without the ability to easily transfer money in and out of the bank on a fully commercial basis, provide savings as well as loans provision and generally make it easier for the market to expand to those at the bottom, all of the evidence points towards the lack of long-term efficiency of banking provision. The reason for these difficulties? Government legislation. Which brings about the interesting question: Is the left-wing assertion that larger government involvement benefits those at the bottom universally true? Because in this case it is precisely that interference which is preventing capitalism from including those at the bottom of the pile in Mozambique.

Anyway, onto happier matters. Friday was my 23^rd birthday so we went for a weekend holiday to one of the most interesting places I've ever been- Ilha de Moçambique, Mozambique Island. Vasco de Gama, the famous Portuguese explorer and namesake of at least a couple of football teams, landed on Ilha in the 16^th century and started building churches. The Portuguese are good at building churches. When they started controlling the trade routes from India, around the Cape and up to Europe there were a variety of people who wanted to take relieve the Portuguese of their control over Ilha. At this point these churches turned into fortresses. The Portuguese managed to hold onto this tiny island (a couple of miles long, only a few hundred metres wide) and maintain it as the capital of Mozambique, then Portuguese East Africa, until the 19^th Century when, for economic reasons, the capital was changed to Maputo, then called Lorenço Marques. Anyway, brought up to the present day it is a bizarre mix of Arabic, Portuguese and African architecture packing 10,000 people into an island a fraction of the size of Unst.

We got the boat there early on Friday morning, the journey taking about 2 and a half hours and costing 50p. Upon arriving at the shore we learned first-hand why Ilha is not the ideal holiday location. Most tropical islands are considered beach resorts with swimming the main appeal. Ilha lacks that appeal for two reasons. The first is that much of the island is built up and what shoreline there is is stony and awkward to swim on. The second is that the overcrowding of the island means that it lacks proper sanitary facilities. People poo on the beach. For this reason the waters around Ilha are some of the most polluted in the world and extra special care must be taken when jumping out of a small sailing boat into the shallow waters to dodge such things.

Anyway, we went to check in at a small hotel called O Escondidinho. The hotel has about 20 rooms, is towards the upper range but still only costs £25-40 per night. The main appeal is the pool. Due to the aforementioned issues with swimming, pools are a major selling point in hotels on the island. This one though was extra special. The pool was dug into a platform next to the hotel bar, surrounded on two sides with the balconies where the rooms were situated. As well as being a major trade route for spices and arms being traded between India and Europe, Ilha was for a long time the world's busiest slave-trading port. Before the platform was dug out to create the lovely quaint pool, it was used to show off slaves to be bought by guests assembled on the balconies above. A memorial garden set inside the ruins of an old slave 'warehouse' five minutes down the road was dedicated to the memory of those who were trafficked through Ilha. The locals there however aren't unduly bothered by it, their ancestors being the collaborators with, not the victims of, the trade. The mainly white clientèle didn't seemed too fussed about this either, especially after the hot chocolate cake and ice-cream which the hotel is famous for.

We got lunch at a relatively new restaurant called 'The Golden Anchor', owned by a Swedish woman. The food was good and reasonably priced and it was a good start to the day. Its wide-open French window style doors meant that everyone walking past could see and smell the food and small groups of young boys would stand and pull faces at people sitting inside before being shouted at by the waiters and bolting down the street. One such young boy was selling a piece of history. He had three old coins, each bearing the face of a 19^th century King of Portugal with the years 1883 and 1884 on them. They looked genuine. The boy was selling the seemingly priceless artefacts for £2 each. Bargain. We had recently been informed that the Ilha Museum which was being done up with money donated by UNESCO (which had recently made Ilha a World Heritage Site) had been broken into after UNESCO hadn't included any security provision in its budget. We decided not to encourage the theft of priceless historical currencies by not purchasing them. They were cool though.

After lunch we went to the fortress, the barracks which proudly proclaimed to have fended off attacks from however many great civilisations and not fallen. It had much of your usual stuff- lots of cannons, high turreted walls, everything from bars to toilets to parade grounds inside, with a couple of churches thrown in for good measure too (including allegedly the oldest building in the southern hemisphere). But the most impressive thing was the water. Each of the rooftops was shaped in such a way as to provide an elaborate water diverting system. We hadn't really considered this before but a castle surrounded by salt-water which regularly came under siege may well need a lot of supplies of water. All of these channels lead down into three massive tanks of water, still existent after 500 years, providing absolutely clean, clear rainwater to whoever was stationed there. Say what you want about the Portuguese but they knew a thing or two about water.

The entire castle was built with slave labour and took over 60 years to complete (our guide and friendly army-man Essiar told us, before asking for 'a coke' at the end of the tour...). If slaves refused to build they were taken outside the castle walls, tied to a concrete pillar and killed by firing squad, before being lobbed over the rocks into the sea. People tended to keep building. After the threat of overthrow had reduced a bit a bridge was built to the mainland. A single-track, rickety old bridge stretches over two miles to connect this bizarre place with portuguese architecture lining every street and grand looking mansions crumbling into the sea, to the mainland, mud-huts as far as the eye can see and no discernible tourism for miles.

Ilha provides another prime example of the huge demand for banking facilities in the region. There is a beautiful old bank in Ilha, still with all the old architecture inside and with the luxury of an ATM in the porch. A common sight outside the doors, as it is in next to every ATM in Nampula City and indeed the whole region is queues. People queue for over an hour, sometimes nearer two or three, to withdraw money. If there is not queue outside an ATM it is more often than not because it has run out of money, as had happened this weekend. People here are so desperate for facilities to save and borrow that they will spend most of an afternoon waiting to withdraw from a system which was meant to make the whole operation much faster. I'm not looking to incorporate ATMs into a microfinance bank but a similarly quick and easy way to take out money is definitely needed.

The weekend ended on a bit of a downer as Celisse got food-poisoning from a dodgy prawn curry and so Saturday night was pretty relaxed. We just caught the boat on Sunday as it was setting off five minutes early, nearly completely empty. Public transport across Africa tends to leave when its full and so this early exit was very rare. We soon discovered the reason for the hurry. Our tiny little wooden boat was being tossed about by a strong wind and tide that regularly splashed waves over the side and more than a couple of times had everyone on board (an old man, a jolly middle-aged woman, the skipper and his grandson and us two) collectively clenching. The journey to Ilha can sometimes take up to 3 and a half hours depending on the wind. We made it back in less than one, feeling a little worse for wear when we got back on dry land.

All in all a mixed but for the most part excellent way to spend my 23^rd  birthday. Back to the upcoming week, I'm gonna really make a good go at this project proposal, hopefully work on it for the next couple of weeks and fire it off to someone with money. Celisse is constantly gaining more students to teach english to and the one remaining dog is clinging to life. I hope we'll all be doing exactly the same in a weeks time.

Small Developments

This week has been one of progress in lots of ways. Its now Sunday morning and my body hurts all over, but I'll put that down to how hard I'm working.

For those of you following the animal news- I've buried 2 more dogs who both curled up and died of the same mysterious illness. The last remaining one has some growths on his back and legs and is starting to look a bit pathetic too. The cat is still heroic as ever.

Anyway, we've been trying to meet more people and get involved in some things this week. And what better place to start than the pub? Last Sunday we went to 'Branco Bar' (translates as 'white bar', reflecting the colour of its walls and the origin of its owner rather than an entry requirement) for a couple of early afternoon pints. The bar consists of a small shop inside where you can buy groceries and cold drinks. The seating area is a kind of paved patio out the front, partly shaded by a couple of large umbrellas and a mango tree. When we got there the only folk there were the manager and his drunk brother Manuel, a couple of old guys sitting quietly in the corner with their bottle of gin and a couple of excitable middle-aged women gesticulating their bingo-wings. Drunk brother Manuel wandered up to try and chat up Celisse and cursed the cat that was casually wandering about (I think it was a different cat to the one we have here at the hotel but with similar colours and the same arrogant swagger, who knows?). His brother spoke a couple of words of English but didn't get involved. The old guys just smiled quietly in the corner and went back to their gin. But then up came Muaco, an english teacher at the school who had spent a few years in Malawi and acted as our translator with drunk brother Manuel and bingo-women who followed him in cackling to themselves. Muaco taught English and Portuguese to primary school kids in Mossuril and asked us to come and help. We bought him a coke and agreed to come along. To once again reflect the similarities with back home, some of the most useful and interesting people you meet are in pubs.

And so it was that at 6.55am on Tuesday morning we met Muaco outside the school and followed him into class. The primary school is made up of several large airy classrooms surrounding a small courtyard. The secondary school next door was rebuilt a couple of years ago and is large and shiny but the primary school still looks a bit haggered. After introducing ourselves to the headmaster we walked into class and were met by about 30 pairs of brown eyes ranging in age from 8 to 18. Grades in Mozambique are based entirely on academic achievement and never on age. Because of the war, incomplete education and inability to pay for school every year, there are people in their mid-20s still in primary school. By the time we had introduced ourselves to the class and sat at a desk in amongst the class (Muaco wanted us to assess his teaching technique and give him advice) there was a stream of latecomers wandering into the class which reached 58 students by 20 minutes into the lesson. The class was an hour and a half long and focused on modes of transport. Muaco was able to control his class very well and there is a high level of respect for elders and teachers in this culture. I was struck by the pupils willingness to volunteer to speak and conduct conversation role-plays and it seemed they were picking it up. Then at 8.30 a man outside repeatedly hit a metal rod against a metal hub-cap hanging from a tree in the courtyard. That was the bell. Muaco asked if we were able to join him in his next class so we wandered into another classroom, this time slightly smaller, with much older students and still numbering over 50 of them. This was the second 'stream' the same class but split on the basis of age and ability. After we had introduced ourselves there was a knock at the door, about 10 of the pupils from the first class had a free period and wanted to come and learn the same class again, mostly due to the presence of Celisse. I made this assumption on the basis of our introductions. In both classes we stood at the front, said our names and where we were from and Muaco invited any questions. In both classes there was only one, it was the same one and it was directed only to Celisse. “Sinhora, are you married?”, upon hearing that she wasn't, every one of them had a vested interest in showing their proficiency in the English language. You can have all the bells, whistles and educational incentives you want but put a single woman that the boys fancy and the girls want to speak to in a classroom and you are guaranteed to get results! Its for this reason that Celisse was asked to help out with teaching and extra tutoring on a semi-regular basis and I tried to save face by muttering that I was very busy with other stuff anyway.

My man-flu hasn't really eased off either. Headaches, sweats and exhaustion led me to think that I might have malaria so me and one of the waiters here at the hotel walked to the hospital to get me checked out. I don't know whether its a throwback to its socialist heritage or just its effective governance now but Mozambique has particularly good provision of public services. The hospital set up is as impressive as that of the schools. Since I was here last summer, two new wings of the hospital have been built with builders frantically working on a third. The cost of seeing the doctor is 2 pence, it doesn't matter how poor you are, you can afford 2 pence to see the doctor. The doctor saw me immediately and spoke fairly good english, reducing the need for Waese the waiter to translate (or me to attempt my portuguese). He explained that the power was off so I'd have to sit and wait a bit longer for the manual test to be conducted. He sent me through to another room where a different doctor pricked my finger and dripped blood onto a small plastic instrument, followed by some clear solution. He shook it for 10 minutes and looked at me in the same way that a school nurse might look at you if you're screaming and bawling over a scratch on your knee. “Negativo” he announced with feigned surprise and ushered me out of the room with a scribbled and stamped (you can't get anywhere in Mozambique without an official stamp) note to take back to the original doctor. I was prescribed a cocktail of different pills and tablets, some of which I recognised as paracetamol and vitamin tablets, some of which I just trusted him on, and went to pay. Prescription charges are set at 10p in Mozambique, regardless of amount or type of medication. This also includes the charge to see the doctor as this would only apply as an extra if he didn't prescribe anything. Therefore my 10 day supply of cough and cold medicine and the reassurance that I don't have malaria is most definitely within the average Mozambicans budget.

In terms of life here at the hotel, its still coming along. Work is continuing on a couple of dorm rooms in the back courtyard to house volunteers and a turning circle is being prepared in the carpark to improve access. There is still no running water but well water is carried up every morning to be used in the kitchen and bathrooms and boiled to make it safe for drinking. Work hasn't started on doing up the mud-hut I'm set to move into as the family who sold it are still waiting for their new house to be built before they can move out. We're chipping in with helping in the kitchen, washing clothes and trying to keep the place running. Guests are intermittent but the staff are more than capable of dealing with them when they do turn up. I still have impressive tan-lines (read burn-lines) on my arms from washing clothes in a bucket the other day. Its amazing how much you appreciate washing machines when you have to scrub every item of clothing individually in a cold-water basin with a packet of soap suds before rinsing it, wringing it and hanging it up.

Anyway, I suppose I better speak a bit about the subject of this blog. In terms of work this week, funding applications have continued, thus far without reply. I've approached various car manufacturers asking for charity rates on a solid vehicle that won't destroy itself in a couple of months as others have consistently done. In return I'm offering a platform for improving their reputation for corporate social responsibility and, assuming their vehicle does indeed survive, the ability to base an advertising campaign around the boast that their car can survive in some of the most inhospitable places in the world (inhospitable in terms of roads, otherwise really quite hospitable) and increase their sales in the region and the lucrative NGO vehicle market. I reckon its quite a good deal but then I'm not the one being asked to donate a brand new off-road vehicle.

The African Development Bank has various loans for microfinance development and business creation but they are all focused on the private sector and are out of the reach of NGOs such as ourselves. The uncertain and unaccountable nature of NGO work means that banking institutions are not always happy to lend money to them and without a large presence in the western world, funding is few and far between. I'm planning to approach state-based development organisations in the next week in the hope that we can link in with some of their business interests in the region and help to improve bilateral relations between themselves and Mozambique. Its an awful lot off writing letters and finding email addresses and the nature of the industry is that one reply out of a hundred requests is a good return. Ah well, keep on trucking.

On the home front, requests have been trickling in as always. A former nurse wants to set up a chemist's shop, hopefully the only well-stocked one in a 200km radius. A guard wants to set up a fish shop and a teacher wants to set up a chicken farm. But until we know portuguese, have money and can transfer it easily those are nothing more than good intentions.

One business which is doing very well in Mossuril is an aloe-based industry owned by two Belgians. Bel-Moz makes brandy, after dinner digestives (the drinks, not the biscuits) and cosmetics and shower gels from predominantly aloe plants. They came to Mossuril 7 years ago and have built the business up from then. Most of the raw materials they use is produced locally and people are paid a fair per-kilo price for providing plants and making packaging materials. There is a special price for local people to buy the products, a fraction of what it costs to anyone outside Mossuril and no products are being exported outside Mozambique, thus returning all profits and returns within the country. Its organic, without chemicals and fair trade. If they did export to the West they would make an absolute bomb, I think they're pretty happy keeping it simple here in Mozambique though. As we were leaving we saw a guy hollowing out a huge tree truck into what looked like some kind of canoe. We assumed it was just a heavy boat until it was explained that this was one of two bathtubs for the house. If you have a nice house, a thriving business and two solid, polished wood bathtubs why would you want to live anywhere else?

Which brings us up to yesterday afternoon. Muaco said he would speak to the organiser of the football team that I had known only as 'Os Professores', the teachers. I was asked to come along for a training session and that Muaco would pick me up at 3pm. At 4.30pm he wandered up and explained that the game only starts when people are ready. Despite their name 'the teachers' are made up mostly of students, probably between 18 and 25, with a couple of older guys thrown in too. I've played football in Africa before and I've played in teams where very little English is spoken. What I haven't played in is a game where nobody speaks English and very few people communicate even in Portuguese, preferring the tribal language Makua. I've also never played on a pitch which is predominantly made of soft sand and where solid ground is concentrated on the paths which are walked across the pitch when its not in use. A game like this requires the tactical consideration of more than just passing and moving. It requires working around large patches of sand, it means that most goals are scored from close range and in the air. It means that the long ball game is vastly favoured as passing along the ground is the most uncertain game that can be played. It was a huge education to me in how different football can be from what I know.

I walked up to the pitch with Muaco, put my boots on and knocked about the ball for a bit. Muaco assured me he would look after my shoes while I was playing. He used to play in goal but hasn't recovered from an injury he sustained 6 months ago. We walked up to meet the organiser and get his blessing that I was allowed to play. I was given a red and yellow striped shirt and explained that I would feel happiest at centre-back. No bother, I went and stood there and sank six inches into the sand. The goal mouth was like wading through treacle. Initial exchanges showed the this was a very physical game and mostly based around marauding runs up the wings (where most of the grass happened to be). I did as best as I could and put in a couple of early crunching tackles to try and show I wasn't just the token white boy. We went one-nil up with a break-away run from the wee guy upfront. They hit back with a crossed in ball met with looping header from the guy I was meant to be marking. Thats how it stayed until half-time. The crowd was slightly more populated than the average Unst FC game, probably 30 or 40 folk, mostly old men. The half-time team-talk was scarily similar to Unst FC. We sat down on the pitch and listened to the best player giving tactical advice and using his hands a lot to signify runs and positioning. Once in a while one of the other assembled company of fans and old men would give their opinion of what needed to be done being met with mixed responses of silent agreement or vocal abuse. Not that I understood a word that was said as it was all in Makua. Muaco came up with my shoes and reassured me that I was doing alright and the old guys weren't entirely unimpressed. I looked around to try and locate water and didn't see any in sight. I could feel the factor 50 sweating off my face and it was only my total covering of dirt and sand on my legs and arms that was saving them from a similar fate. After my relatively productive performance at centre-back in the first half, I was pushed up to centre-midfield in the second and had to contend with the sand pit of a centre-circle. Half-way through the second half I couldn't move and they pushed me upfront to try and get something out of me. Apart from a couple of free-kicks gained and a spectacular collision with their goalkeeper, I had very little further influence on the game. Their captain (the tall quiet organiser) knocked in the winner with about 10 minutes left and my first game for 'os professores' ended in a defeat. I wasn't invited to go with them for an away game today but was asked back to training on Tuesday. I suspect I'm going to have to gain some serious fitness before I become a regular feature in the team.

Since this is surely my longest blog entry yet i'll maybe leave it at that. As I said before, this week will once again be spent begging for large sums of money and trying to get a car. Verb conjugations are coming along and on Tuesday we've been invited to go to a primary school portuguese class which might also be a plan. I'm intending to spend today watching the old-firm game on BBC text, swimming in the sea and trying to recover full movement in my legs. Lazy Sunday afternoon.

Dead Dogs and Empty Pockets

The last two weeks have been marked by several new experiences. The first was burying a puppy.

In the courtyard behind the hotel are puppies rescued after their mother was poisoned. They can't be more than a few weeks old and are a welcome distraction from the work here. Since their birth however, they have suffered from a variety of illnesses collectively. The biggest, most aggressive of them is set to become my employer's guard dog. The others were to an extent up for grabs. The smallest, predominantly white and light brown, had a hugely swolen belly and could hardly move without falling on his face, this may have been the reason for his later eye-infection. The second smallest, a black and brown slink of a thing that will look like one of those devil dogs when it gets big is painfully thin but still kicking along nicely. The second biggest, a fluffy brown lump with bags of enthusiasm, suddenly took ill and couldn't move, eat or drink. Not a great start to my second week in paradise. Both of the other scrawny lads seem to be sticking it out though.

As well as the young, clumsy puppies hidden away in the back the hotel also plays host to a couple of very self-assured yet annoyingly vocal cats. They catch rats, beg for food and wander around like they own the place but are generally left alone to do so. The most impressive aspect of them by far is their ability to fall asleep under the coal fire and no flinch when large sparks and pieces of burning coal fall onto them from above. Anyway, enough animal news.

Currently loan provision is based on a first-come-first-served basis with people approaching Lisa with an idea and discussing the costs and repayments involved with it. This is then followed by a process of applying for funding for each individual loan, a hugely time-consuming and frustrating process. To get around this and to get a good reserve of funds for current and future projects, allowing for long repayment periods, we need a lump sum. In considering the handful of projects which have come forward looking for funding in the last week or so, the initial outlay is going to be a 6-figure sum with repayment, although assured, taking between 5 and 15 years. Although these projects are useful to bring in large quantities of interest and support very poor people either through owning businesses or gaining formal employment, it is clear that they require large quantities of initial capital. The fairytale view of the $10 loan that leads to a multi-million dollar empire is not always possible and in this rapidly developing society with the temptations of wealth around every corner, profit does not necessarily get pumped straight back into business development.

For example, one of the mud-huts about a hundred yards from the hotel we're in is a thriving business. Like many other places around the rural developing world it functions as a cinema and disco. All this requires is a big telly, a bigger sound system and some of the oldest, cheesiest Hollywood and Bollywood movies in existence to play on an old DVD player. When films aren't playing then the speakers blast either the 'hits of today' or the community radio station which also plays the 'hits of today'. The knowledge of the existence of TVs, DVD players and large sound systems creates a demand for them and a social pressure to gain them. In this sense, profits made from a new business will initially be used for loan repayment and latterly for leisure or consumption. The thinking is- If I have a good business, I'm making a bit of money and I'm happy, why should I work harder and risk all that? Which is a very compelling argument. What this creates however is an impediment to the economic development of a rural area which is composed both of structural constraints in terms of the provision of business development loans and societal constraints on the willingness to take the risks required for economic development. It is for this reason that I have to be careful in how I conduct my work here- Can we always assume that a developing country wants to perpetually develop? If I get that assumption wrong it has the potential to lose a lot of money for the bank and repeat the mistake which has been made by Westerners in Africa for hundreds of years, to think that they want to be like us.

So most of the last week was spent applying for funding. Funding for the initial bank capital, for existing loan requests and for administrative purposes within the charity. The difficulty with loan and grant applications is appearing professional without taking the piss. There are many funding bodies which won't consider a funding application for less than $100,000, still more that won't take you seriously unless you ask for half a million. However, if they ask what two recent university graduates are doing asking for a 6-figure investment in a bank that doesn't exist yet, we need to be on the ball enough to justify it.

The excitement around Mossuril at the minute is that 'Banda Larga' or broadband is being installed. In theory it should have been in yesterday but as is the way, things in Africa always take a bit longer. Partly expecting this delay, we went to Nampula city for a day on Thursday morning for the principal purpose of having a day on the broadband which is already installed there. The 3 hour journey along mostly paved, but occasionally dirt, roads started at 3am, getting us into Nampula for just after 6am for a cup of coffee and a toastie before things kicked off. We both had to renew our visas at the immigration office and buy a couple of things too.

The law in Mozambique requires that you carry formal identification on you at all times. This meant that handing over our passports for the week long processing period to be replaced by a hand-written, stamped assurance that it is good hands is more than a little bit worrying. Especially as later that day two young policemen, both with AK-47s slung over their shoulders jogged across the road to perform a 'random check'. The one that came to me was an enthusiastic smiley man with a little bit of English. After checking that we were on the right side of the law they asked for us to 'buy them a coke', a common euphemism for passing over a wee bit of cash. This is always a difficult situation as every possible action can backfire. Option 1: Hand over the cash- The guys could accuse you of attempting to bribe a policeman, a much bigger offence, and demand a much bigger bribe. Option 2: Don't hand over cash- They create an offence that you have no knowledge about and threaten to keep you in the cells overnight unless you pay a much bigger bribe. So we (I say we, actually just a genius move on the past of Celisse) just bought them a coke. They insisted that it was ok and they could buy the coke themselves with our money but our insistence that 'of course we would buy them a coke for all their hard work' meant that we covered our backs and that theres a very good chance those guys won't bother us again as we put them to so much trouble the first time.

The internet cafe in Nampula is in a small shopping centre which also houses one of the most expensive hotels in Nampula, a rapidly growing city with a huge economic potential. It also has a nice cafe with expresso coffee and an attempt at a fried breakfast which was admirable, if a bit off the mark. The most interesting part of the building however is the supermarket. Although we eat and drink very well here at the hotel in Mossuril, the sight of tobasco, pringles and peanut butter were too hard to give up. Then we realised why such brands have not taken off in Africa. £4 for a tube of pringles is not friendly. £5 for a bottle of shower gel is pretty hellish. This supermarket is not only for the elite of Nampula, it seems to be for the elite of the world who are willing to pay silly prices for western products because they are sold in a nice smelling air-conditioned supermarket. We won't be making that mistake again.

The Tenth Pan-African Games are on at the minute in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. Although the excitement hasn't entirely reached up to Nampula, there was evidence of interest and investment in the spectacle with big games being projected onto screens in local parks and sports grounds. I watched Mozambique crash out of the women's handball championships in an epic game against Kenya. Due to our lack of TV up here (and the cinema's unwillingness to show sport) I haven't been able to keep up with much more of it. Plus the fate of Scotland's Euro 2012 qualifying and the rugby world cup are keeping me up to date with all the sport I can take.

Apart from that the only thing to report is that I have man-flu. It is well known in the West how debilitating an illness man-flu is and how much sympathy must be paid to the sufferers of it. African man-flu is a more potent strain of this terrible disease. As ever, I am fighting this ailment with pineapple gin and vitamin tablets but if anyone has any further advice I'm open to suggestions.

The plan for the next week or so is to get over this terrible affliction, keep applying for funding and hopefully get somewhere with it, or at least be able to recognise what location or industry is the most likely to help us out. I've been asked to play on the teacher's football team and from watching a game the other day, I should really get in training for it. We're looking to secure a space for an office and teaching rooms in the building next to the hotel and hopefully we can get somewhere with that too. And of course the work on verb conjugations will never end.

Sunset and Salt

My first week in Mossuril has been full, the way I hope it will be for a long time to come. My trip here was long but relatively uneventful. The few things I did learn were that pints cost £8 in Dubai airport and by far the best place to sit, eat and relax in Johannesburg airport is the Smoking Lounge, whether you smoke or not. Whiskies in the departure lounge bar in Maputo are split into two categories of 'Old Whisky' and 'New Whisky' and Nampula airport is the only place other than Sumburgh where its tractors, not airport vehicles, which pull the trollies with all the bags off the plane.

I landed in Nampula airport an hour late after the plane had to refuel and let passengers off in Beira, half-way along the journey. Nampula is either the second or third biggest city in Mozambique and is continuing to grow with large hotels and shopping centres catering to a large population of NGO workers and predominantly Indian businessmen. I only stayed one night in Nampula before catching the 'shapa' to Mossuril. Shapa is the collective term for all forms of cheap public transport around Mozambique. They take a wide variety of different shapes and sizes from 50-seater coaches to single-cab pick-ups with people clinging onto the sides. We were lucky, we had an old Chinese city bus designed to hold about 30 people. Along with my large rucksacks, the hallmark of many a white man in Africa, baggage included large sacks of grain and vegetables and live chickens and goats. Shapa stations are notorious around Africa for being a centre of crime, both serious and petty. Nampula was different, we were left alone by hawkers and traders, not approached by would-be pickpockets and had our bags packed securely in the following trailer. We were even charged less than we should have been, something that is all too often the other way around. I'd like to think it was due to the pleasant characters of the locals though it may have had something to do with the AK-47 the patrolling policeman had lazily slung around his shoulder.

After a 4 hour journey along a mostly tarred, but sometimes dirt, road we reached Mossuril and headed for our home for the next year or so, Sunset Boulevard. I'm living here with Celisse, an American that I went to school with in Swaziland, who is managing the volunteer programme here. She arrived the week before I did and is proving very good at not laughing at my attempts at speaking Portuguese, as well as someone to bounce ideas off. Sunset is a restaurant and 'Pensão', a couple of small hotel rooms akin to a small guest house. It is run entirely by local staff, predominantly recruited from the college of tourism, another one of Lisa's projects to develop tourism and economic interest in the area. As well as functioning as a bar and restaurant the grounds include a basic internet cafe providing computing skills to the local community and accommodation for volunteers, on which the foundation relies for skills and income.

My first few days were spent settling in. I spent 6 weeks here last summer but it was still helpful to have a couple of days to rest and adjust. I met the staff who have started in the past year, got myself used to the surroundings again and enjoyed the holiday which would precede my work.

My last day of relative relaxation took me to Ilha de Moçambique, the former capital city. The island has a population of around 10,000 people despite being only 300 metres wide a no more than a couple of miles long. We got there by dow, a type of sailing boat with a sail that could be fixed to 2 or 3 different parts of the boat for maximum speed depending on the wind. We didn't have any wind so we had to row. The boat had a variety of holes in its side and seemed to be held together almost entirely by string but sure enough, 3 and a half hours later, we reached Ilha. A top-up of the electricity meter, a pint and some food and a quick swim later we were back on the boat heading back with a fresh breeze guiding us home in less than an hour.

Work started on Sunday with a trip to the salt flats of 2 of the members of the salt producers' association, a cooperative formed of around 30 producers of what has for over 1,000 been the primary industry of Mossuril. We were picked up in a large white Nissan by the Chairman of the association. He took us to his 27 hectare site which employed 30 people to pan for salt, dig new flats and manage the fish-farm which adjoins them. He claimed that he had the capacity to employ double that amount of staff but didn't have the initial outlay to pay them until the salt could be sold and didn't want the stress of having to vastly increase the size of his operation when 1kg of 'raw', untreated salt sells for 2 pence. What the association wants is a factory where each producer can treat the salt with iodine to make it edible and a truck to transport it to the point of sale. With these items they can vastly increase their operations, the number of people they employ and the money coming into the economy of Mossuril. We would seek to provide a loan for them to buy both of those things. Until then, we are going to experiment with a form of bridging loan designed specifically for the salt producers. The loan will allow them to pay their staff throughout the year to maintain production and to repay the loan when they sell their salt in bulk. This problem is purely down to cash-flow and due to the inelastic demand for salt, there is almost a guarantee of repayment if the members of the association work together in selling their product.

This would be a large amount of money lent out to what are effectively middle-class Mozambicans. The benefit this has for the smaller producers and potential customers of the bank though is that the large chunk of interest that is repaid by the salt producers will allow time and effort to be put into the provision of smaller loans while still maintaining a sustainable business model. This combination of large and small loans allows banks to both make money and continue its commitment to social development, thus overcoming the 'microfinance schism' in achieving both. Moreover the expansion of the salt production will vastly increase employment in the area, improving quality of life and attracting new people to the area. All in all a very positive project.

The last few days have been spent trying to prioritise what needs to be done for this relatively large project. Funding needs to be gained in the form of a grant or soft loan for the first phase of loan requests, especially for the salt producers. However the most pressing thing for me personally is to improve my Portuguese. Currently I am almost totally dependent on translators which is clearly not viable for a long-term project. The sooner I can become fluent in Portuguese, the sooner I can take some ownership of the projects I am working on.

Saying that, life here is full of surprises and distractions. On Monday, the English teacher at the local school came here and asked me to help him. He is a calm, well spoken man, probably in his late 20s who moved here from his home in Nampula City three years ago to, as he put it, make his own way in life away from the shadow of his father. A part of me knew exactly what he meant. As well as teaching he has been studying for his degree in English language which he does by distance-learning. University is expensive for local people in Mozambique and I didn't know how, on a small teacher's salary, he could afford this luxury as well. He explained that he has had a variety of jobs and small businesses, everything from chicken farming to working for World Vision. He asked what I was doing here and seemed interested in the project. I don't know if he was fishing for a loan or a job when it's all set up but either way, I he may be exactly the type of down-to-earth, intelligent, educated local Mozambican that could be very useful to this project.

The Grand Plan

Nearly exactly a year after I volunteered for 6 weeks in Northern Mozambique, I returned to Mossuril, a small village in Nampula Province, following the completion of my undergraduate degree in Glasgow. I was asked to project-manage the development and administration of a microfinance bank, the start-up and consultancy of local businesses and just generally contribute to the economic sustainability of a rural community in the developing world.

After six days of travelling over two ferries, a boat, two trains, four flights and two buses, I arrived at 'Sunset Boulevard', a restaurant and guest house which is the main base of the Teran Foundation. The foundation was set up and still run almost entirely by British author Lisa St Aubin de Teran who lives less than a mile from the site. To date the foundation has established a college of tourism and three 'Pensãos' (bar/restaurants with small-scale accommodation facilities) employing local people to build, maintain and run them. The foundation has also funded school fees, housing improvements and business development loans on a commercial basis to over 500 people in the 8 years it has been operational. It is this provision of loans which Lisa wants widely expanded through the establishment of a microfinance bank.

The most useful thing I learned during my politics degree is the relative inability for anything substantial to be achieved through politics alone. An economic incentive was always required for major change, whether positive or negative. This is no more true than in the case of social development in the developing world. Regardless of the good intentions of policy-makers, without economic vision and sustainability, changes are often superficial and ineffectual. With this in mind, I focused my studies on discovering the most appropriate economic incentive to push development.

The dominant paradigm in development theory of how to include the poor in economic activity without the intervention of the state is through microfinance. The loaning of small amounts of money to poor people who would otherwise be excluded from the market has the potential to make money for the poor themselves, the communities they live in and the banks that lend the money, provided it is done in the right way. This form of capitalism, valuing both social and financial returns, goes under the umbrella term of social business. It can also take the form of cooperatives, worker-owned enterprises and regular businesses which guarantee the donation of a certain of profits to charitable causes in the surrounding community. Regardless of the type employed, what is becoming clear is that social business is the only reliable way to return social benefits to communities, especially in times of economic hardship when charitable donations from all directions decrease.

My role here is very simply to manage a business. The business will aim to make money, expand and diversify like any other. The difference between my business and the majority of others is that I will achieve these goals through the development of rural communities in, what was 20 years ago, the poorest country on the planet. This blog will record my progress in attempting to achieve those goals and what happens along the way. Hopefully it will prove useful both to those wanting to know about microfinance provision in rural Mozambique and to those wanting to know how I'm getting on a long way from home.