We walked down the narrow dirt road, sometimes single file like a trail of ants. Past the yellow and blue hospital of four small hostel size rooms. This was the main medical facility for the many surrounding villages. Grameen has recently started a clinic in the vicinity to help expand medical outreach. Over the ivory washed and red dirt stained bridge. Past the telephone man whose operation stood on stilts overlooking an agricultural field. He was next to the mini grocery man who hung bags of red sealed potato chips spicy tomato flavor. Outside his window was white powder, beetlenut, and green leaves to make pan…commonly used as a relaxant.

We arrived at the center where the meeting was all ready underway. The center manager was taking roll and asking questions about who was absent when…suddenly a woman rushed into the hut calling out to another woman, “Sister, sister, your husband is very sick. It is near the end, you must go to the hospital now.”

A young woman began wailing, grabbed her baby and ran out of the hut. Several of her relatives and closest friends followed her outside as they began to sprint with their babies on their hips and saris flowing in the wind back towards the yellow and blue hospital.

In this cycle of life, births, deaths, and marriages, are marked as occasions in the village. With Grameen, welcoming and recruiting new members, acquiring tubewells, taking a first loan, latrines, homes, and educating your children have also been marked as rites of passage.

I observed how supportive these women were of each other. Not only in times of crises, but in times of celebration. Grameen was a common thread that bonded these women together and gave them hope out of their lives of desperation.