The nine a.m. sultry heat greeted us as the iron gates of our guesthouse in Dhaka swung inwards to lead to our vehicle. Today we were departing for the district of Narangonj, about three hours on the fringes of Dhaka. We drove past dust clouds embellished with charcoal gray fumes from diesel exhaust from overloaded buses, green caged baby-taxis, and every other kind of motor vehicle that graced the streets. Bicycle rickshaws swarmed on either side of us like a school of fish trying to not to loose each other, only in this case, it was better to move with the crowds than to travel alone.

As we drove further and further from the city limits, the bicycle rickshaws became fewer. However, the buses increased. I marveled at the way the buses would drive on a 45 degree angle off the ground with passengers dangling out the door defying gravity. Parcels packed on top secured by rope and women’s veils fluttered in the window of the back of the bus.

The gray of the city became small narrow and unpaved roads lined with tall green trees. Around lunch time we arrived in a place called Munchigonj. We hopped out of the car and walked over a bridge, past clay brown and dry fields where men were picking potatoes and filling sixty to seventy pound burlap sacks with their prized possessions that would quickly slip out of their hands to the owner of the company in which they were employed. We darted past three men who had tied their saks on either sides of their bike handles and who were engaged in the momentum of their run in the now ninety degree Fahrenheit heat of the sun. Glistening beads of perspiration dripped down their backs and down the crease of their sternum.Their heads tied with a Bengali check cotton cloth that caught the perspiration from their head.

We reached the field office of Fegunaar Sirajdikhan Branch, a two story building situated near some banana trees and a little stream. Above the door was the Grameen logo, a house with a green square in it identifying this as an offical Grameen branch. Outside the office stood many women…Some in black burkas, some taking their saris and wrapping them around their head out of modesty.

“They are waiting to become a part of Grameen. They are submitting their applications to become new borrowers,” stated one of our field supervisors, Mr.Hassan*. It was decided that we would eat lunch and then visit the new borrower meeting. Lunch consisted of carrot and potato curry, dhal, and rice which we gulped down because as heat had made us hungry and dehydrated like wilted flowers.


After lunch we crossed the bridge by foot, walked past the potato cultivators and headed for the village where the new borrower meeting was taking place. The branch manager had already arrived. In order to become a member of Grameen and begin her journey of micro-credit lending, a woman must qualify for a loan. We were escorted into a small hut. The roof was thatched and beams of light seeped through the holes in the thatch. In this small hut sat thirty women all hoping that their fate would be changed.

Outside the hut stood at least another fifteen, who had either come to support their relatives or were curious about what went occured in the hut. The women were grilled with a series of questions one at a time. Most women had prepared two to three weeks for this moment.

What is your name?

How did you come to know of Grameen?

Why do you want to join?

How much will you ask for your first loan?
What do you intend to do with your loan?

What will you do if you cannot pay your loan back?


What are your responsibilities to yourself and to your group?

Please recite the sixteen decisions.**
Central to the Grameen philosophy is the underlying factor that entire families become part of Grameen. Nothing illustrated that point better than, one woman Miss Farina * who joined because her mother was a Grameen borrower for sixteen years. Her mother had taken a loan to purchase an engine for a river boat boat that would transport villagers who went fishing or needed transport to another village. This time, Farina came to take a loan to purchase a cow to sell the milk.

Another lady came to Grameen because she said she had an innovative idea. She would use her skills as a homemaker and cook vegetables and meals in her home. Her husband would then carry the freshly cooked meal to the local food stalls.

Then there was the Bangla version of your local Avon cosmetics saleslady. This innovative woman sold make-up to women in the villages. She suggested that her husband would work their small stall in the village market while she went door to door selling cosmetics.

The heat was trapped in this little shed in which we listened to each story of what a woman intended to do with her loan. As I sat in a corner of the hut with my entire back wet from the heat and my face flushed I asked this woman: “What is your number one item for sale?”

“Lipstick,” she replied. So I turned to my classmate, “It’s universal. Women love their beauty.” Once this was translated back into Bangla, all the women muffled their laughter behind their smiles.
That night we visited the local village market. Past the tea stalls with lightbulbs dangling overhead and filtering out with men on stools. Past the roti vendors slapping their round breads on a greasy flat black plate over a fire, the woodcarvers, and the textile makers, past the vegetables and fruit stands, past the baskets of red chilis, past the lentil and dhal vendors, down the alley, left here, right there. Past shop stalls one through four.

Finally, we arrived at a Grameen Phone stall. This business entity consisted of a mother and son team who supported their entire family with income generated from this business. Our field instructors were excited to show us one of the newest entreprenerial business. Under this enterprise, a villager purchases a cellular phone and rents out time on the phone. Since most people cannot afford phones and infrastructure in village areas is limited; having a phone becomes a luxury and is also a commodity high in demand. The young man Mr. Shahed* recalled:

“My mother started with Grameen fifteen years back. We had a clothing business that we started with loans from Grameen. We did this for eight years before the Grameen phone business came along. We were able to pay back our loans, however we did not make much profit on the clothing business. So we decided to try something new. My mother and I currently share this shop. We usually take in 1500 taka daily for people who make phone calls. I have a two year old daughter. I want to give her an education. I want to send her to the university. That is why I am working hard.”
We returned to the field office taking everything in. It was only our first day in the field and we had witnessed how lives can change if you only give them a chance.

The dialogue continued later that evening. We sat with our field supervisors Mr. Hassan* and Mr. Khan*. At nine ‘oclock we sat recounting the history of this Grameen branch and how it came into existence.


Mr. Hassan and older gentleman with twinkling eyes recounted a profound experience he had in his early involvement with Grameen. He began with, “Let me tell you a story…It was my first time with Grameen. I was a field officer many years ago. I came across a beggar lady in the village who asked me for food. I cannot give you money for food, I told her. What is it that you do with your time?”

”I beg,” she replied.
”Okay. So what would you do, if I gave you a 100 taka loan?”
”I would like to sell bangles.”
”Okay,” I told her and gave her 100 taka out of my personal money.

Instead of begging, this woman began peddling her bangles door to door. That became her business and her profit grew, from just one hundred taka.
We sat there amazed.
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* Names have been changed for confidentiality.
** The sixteen decisions refers to rules originally formulated by Grameen members to reaffirm the social development principles and values of the Grameen Bank and philosophy.The sixteen decisions are recited at every branch meeting.