Before my
adventure to India,
hope was a pretty generic, overused word as I looked out my bus window of life.
I hoped to land a new client. I hoped the kids would enjoy their vacation. I
hoped Steve would rub my feet (yes, hope springs eternal).
But on the
ground in India,
hope took on an altogether new meaning for me.
Meeting
with 36 women who had built home businesses with the micro-loans they had received,
hope was no longer a vague noun or an overused verb, but a face. Speaking with
these women, with the help of a translator, I learned about their business
successes. Each was in her fourth level of lending, meaning that each of them
had been loaned, and had paid in full, three other cycles of advancements. Having
borrowed amounts from approximately $100 U.S. in cycle one to over $2,000 in
cycle four, these women, once starving,
now provided for their families and community.
With the
confidence of Fortune 500 presidents, the women stood, one by one, and shared
with us how they started their businesses and their plans for expansion. Just a few years earlier,
these Dalit women (once called the Untouchables, the lowest level in India's
caste system) would not even make eye contact with other humans because they
believed they were unworthy. But on this day they exuded both confidence and
determination, as they shared their accomplishments and future strategies with
their new American girlfriends. A fruit stand. A flower shop. A seamstress. A
fish hatchery. A basket weaver. A retail store - with a newly expanded
assortment. These women, representing hundreds more just like them, were
inventive; impressive; and inspiring.
The small
audience of American women sat in total silence, each of us holding our breath,
for the presenter. At the end of each presentation, we outwardly cheered with
enthusiastic pride for what these women, of
all ages, had accomplished. And no doubt, more than a few of us wept
inwardly for our personal reunion with hope.
"Here is what I know:
all people are created equal.
Given the tools and
incentives for success, they will succeed,
no matter where they
are or where they live. . ."
- Former U.S. Secretary of the Treasury,
Paul O'Neil
As the
women shared their stories with us, two beautiful little girls, dressed in
their school uniforms, peered in at us through the open doorway. "What about
your daughters; are you teaching them business skills?" I asked them. "Yes,"
replied one woman. "They are learning our business with us." The little girls giggled
and ran away - only to return minutes later but this time in new, brightly
colored short sets. It appears that the concept of "FASHION SHOW!" knows no international boundary. And neither does
hope.
Today, I no
longer struggle to remember what hope looks like, because now she's a person to
me. She is alive and well in a slum in Chennai, providing for her family and
growing in her confidence.
If this
note finds you wrung out, worn out, and hanging by your last thread, you might
have forgotten what hope looks like, too. If so, please step to the nearest
mirror and allow me to re-introduce you. You've pulled yourself up by your
bootstraps before, you can do it again. Hope is alive.
Hopelessly
hopeful,
Ellen
Posted by Ellen on March 5, 2009 10:59 AM
| Category: On the Ground
Ever since I was a little girl and first heard about the caste system in India and the term "Untouchables," it bothered me to the core. It's delightful that these women are pulling themselves out of the stigma and hopelessness they have traditionally endured. Thanks for sharing, Ellen.
