I met the consultant, Jeff Ashe, at San Francisco Airport. We were headed to the Freedom from Hunger (FFH) project site in Lamphang, Thailand to solve a problem. How could FFH increase small farmers’ incomes and health, and improve the quality and durability of our projects? I was the Director of Planning and Evaluation. Internal reviews showed our work in Asia, Africa and Latin America was costly, with little improvement in family income and nutrition. I had lobbied hard with FFH leadership for a global assessment, found one of the best consultants in the business and raised the funds to support the work.
Stoop-shouldered, with messy brown curls and rumpled suit, Jeff looked down at me from his towering 6’6” height. I knew from previous encounters not to be fooled by his ruffled absent-minded professor demeanor. Jeff was a guru in the microcredit field, having designed large programs in Latin America and completed seminal studies for USAID on small and micro-enterprises. I was relatively inexperienced and felt some anxiety. Was I up to the task of working with him?
After polite chitchat about our upcoming trip, I said, “Since we’ll be traveling together, I think you should know I’m twelve weeks pregnant. First time. I haven’t told anyone at Freedom from Hunger yet.” This was another reason for my anxiety. Should I be taking this trip at all, given this young, and first, pregnancy?
“Congratulations! I’m so delighted for you.” Jeff’s reaction was encouraging.
Soon, we boarded the plane, discussing the goals and challenges for our trip and how to revamp our programs in Thailand and elsewhere. About an hour out of San Francisco, the whirring sound of the 747’s engines changed. Shortly, the pilot announced our return to San Francisco. The plane had lost an engine.
“Nothing to worry about, the plane will fly easily on three good engines,” reassured the pilot.
Jeff turned around from the seat in front of me. We exchanged raised eyebrows, then mutual reassurances, although the blood had drained from my face. I wondered how near-panic might affect my baby.
Eight hours later, we found ourselves on a new flight in business class, thanks to forces unknown. Settled in on the plane, Jeff began scribbling boxes, circles and arrows on a legal pad, explaining to me how banks might lend money to groups of women and how the interest they paid could finance the program. As he slept, new opportunities for FFH took root in my mind.
After a few hours’ layover in Hong Kong, we flew to Bangkok, where we were met by an FFH rep, who moved us quickly to the domestic airport for the flight to Chiang Mai. In a crowded standing-room-only smoke-filled lounge, we collapsed in tearful sleep-deprived laughter when Thai Airways announced a delay. I began to feel more comfortable with Jeff after that.
A few FFH staffers welcomed us in Chiang Mai and loaded us into a van. I slept fitfully as my head bounced against the window on the two-hour trip to Lamphang. They insisted we join the rest of the FFH Thai team, who were waiting for us at a local restaurant. Jeff and I took turns trying hard to keep up the conversation, one dozing off, while the other engaged. It had been about 40 hours since I last truly slept. I have never been so tired in my life.
After a good night’s sleep, the work began. With our team, we spent days refining, translating and practicing our interviews before heading to the field for two weeks. In small Thai villages, we sat on bamboo porches and verandas under grass-thatched roofs, swatting flies in the sweltering heat and learning about villagers’ farming businesses and family health.
In 1986, about two thirds of the Thai population lived below the poverty line. The villages lacked electricity, running water, health services and schools. People used fields and forests as bathrooms. Often, skinny kids with distended bellies played listlessly in the dirt while we talked with their parents.
In the evenings, our team analyzed results and prepared more questions for the next day. I was in awe of Jeff’s grasp of microcredit. He expressed earnest interest in my thoughts and opinions and my confidence grew.
One day our Land Rover climbed for hours through forest on single track dirt roads. We finally stopped at a village of the Karen hill tribe. Bamboo houses on stilts stood side-by-side. Pigs and chickens oinked and clucked beneath each one. I gingerly stepped down from the Land Rover, rubbing my pregnant belly after the bumpy ride. I hoped my body protected the baby inside.
I was delighted when Jeff asked me to take over introductions and interviews with the villagers. I talked with a half dozen Karen women, who were dressed in colorful, if faded, sarongs and loose embroidered blouses. One after another said their families could use small loans to purchase seeds, tools and fertilizer to grow corn, cabbage and soybeans. All confirmed they could pay back the loans in small increments with interest. And they were willing to join solidarity groups with other women to mutually guarantee their loans. The conversations confirmed recent studies. I became excited as our fledgling ideas began to take shape.
In our last village, a nurse took us to the local health center. Sitting on a wooden bench in front of a small, square cement building with a corrugated iron roof, the nurse talked about illnesses such as diarrhea, malaria and respiratory infections that plagued the village, especially children. She mentioned that families couldn’t afford to pay for soap and medicines. More income will help, I thought. And education for women will be critical.
When she complained that pregnant women didn’t understand the importance of tetanus toxoid shots, I mentioned I was pregnant.
“Do you want me to check on the baby?” she offered.
She led me to a small, barren room. Soft rays of dusty light streamed through metal blinds. I lay on a rusty, dented table. As she listened through her stethoscope, a big beautiful smile came across her face.
“Here, listen,” she said. And there in that small Karen village I first heard the muffled galloping beat of my baby’s heart. A new program, a new baby.