travel

Emily Snodden is a rising senior at Westminster School in Connecticut.

[caption id="attachment_257" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Emily at a Village Meeting"][/caption]

The beads of sweat had long ago dripped down my spine and saturated my blouse with moisture as we approached what seemed to be a village. The scattered houses made from decaying plywood, tin, and mud looked similar to the huts I see on commercials late at night trying to raise money for starving children. However, I saw a few cable dishes weighing down the roofs they rested on and realized the slight prosperity in this devastated surrounding. Our guide paused outside the walls of the village to wait for members of our group who had fell behind.

As we waited a few locals passed, each person radiating in gratefulness. One elder man made me wonder, ignorantly, what he had to be grateful for. I guessed from his darkened, worn skin that he had spent many years laboring in the scorching sun and assumed he has little to show for his efforts. Even so as he passed atop his donkey and the inconceivable amounts of lavender he carried into the village, he shot me a welcoming, toothless smile that sent shivers down my sweat drenched back. When we finally entered the village, a woman, holding one child on her hip and carrying another in a shawl that hung around her neck, was bent over a stream scooping water into a metal pale.

Kathleen M. Snoddon recently returned from Morocco where she was able to witness microfinance first-hand. This is the fourth in a five-part blog series about her journeys.

[caption id="attachment_184" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Fennan and her goats"][/caption]

Fennan appeared to be in her early thirties.  She was pregnant with her fourth child.  Her other children were gathered around her, hiding behind her skirt and peering curiously at our group. Her loan from FONDEP had been 2000 Moroccan Dirham, about $250.  With it, she purchased two goats.  That was three years ago.  Her goats have since multiplied.  She has six.  Each morning, Fennan milks her goats and walks to the nearest market to sell the milk.  The trek is 7 kilometers each way, 14 kilometers each morning. This provides her with 30 Moroccan Dirham a day in income, $3.70.  Her husband, like most men in the village is a farm laborer. He works seasonally to plant and harvest the olive and apple trees and other products including lavender and fava beans that are grown in the countryside on the land owned by the “wealthy” men from the city. Fennan’s earnings provide a steady income for the family.

Kathleen M. Snoddon recently returned from Morocco where she was able to witness microfinance first-hand. This is the second in a five-part blog series about her journeys.

[caption id="attachment_172" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Microfinance Clients at a borrower meeting"][/caption]

At the top of the ridge leading into the village, we encountered a small group of tattooed-faced Berber women washing their clothes and cooking utensils in the rudimentary but resourceful aqueduct system that ran the perimeter of the village.  They seemed curious but shy.  We had been advised not to take anyone’s pictures without their permission. Some of older generation still believes that a photo can somehow capture their soul.

Descending the dirt path, we heard a cackle of excitement.  As we reached our destination we saw a large Berber carpet laid on the ground under a grove of trees.  Hakima had told us to expect to meet with 6 to 8 women.  The plan was to meet together as a group to exchange greetings and stories and then to split into smaller groups to accompany the borrowers to their homes and places of business.  In this rural village, most businesses are run in or around each of their homes.