LIKE A BOSS

Work was lively today. FK and Leah Day (Founders of WBR, cousins) arrived in Lusaka at midday. There are in town to resolve the issue of dysfunctional coaster hubs, plaguing WBR bicycles since it switched from its old one piece coaster hub to the more highly performing KT two piece hub. FK being the SRAM founder that he is and KT being the eager business partner that it is, the hub manufacturer pulled out all the stops and sent its president. These circumstances led Stan, Abson and I to a 2 pm meeting with KT's Eric Chen in the lobby of the Taj Pamoozi, the premier hotel in lusaka (owned by Mr. Aurora, owner of WBR assembler Tata Zambia, more on him later). Ill be honest in saying that its not really much to be the premier hotel in Zambia... but it is a nice hotel. Anyways we met with Mr. Chen in the lobby and he was a pretty nice guy- we were trying to get a feel for whether or not he was going to try to cheat us on the broken hub or claim that nothing was wrong with it but he approached the issue with an open mind, even though he had pride in his product. FK came down from his room and we made our way to Tata Zambia to allow Eric to view the hubs firsthand, test them and , if need be, meet with the aforementioned Aurora. Well, we did meet with Aurora. We were ushered into his office upon entry to the compound, and after the necessary pleasantries and protocols (the term Zambians use), this guy proceeds to offer his unsolicited opinion as to why the Hub doesn't work, and why KTs hub is a POS, and finally sketches his own design on a napkin. In front of a guy who founded a huge components manufacturer and another guy who runs one. FK is just slackjawed and Eric is sort of looking at Aurora, and then back at FK, unsure whether to defend his product or aquiesce out of deference to FK, assuming that Mr. A is FK's boy. Finally, FK interrupts him in the interest of time and says "Frankly, we tested this hub using sophisticated means and it is more durable than our prior model. I dont really understand the design you have laid out here... I think we ought to go test the hubs." By this time Aurora has fielded a cell phone call in true Zambian fashion, so we leave his office immediately to attend to the real business of the day. Mr. Chen proves to be an interesting guy, willing to get his hands dirty to make sure his hubs are ready for the test, borrowing wrenches and other tools to ensure their performance. The issue appears to be that the hubs were not fully tightened when they left his plant in China, but are functional when tinkered with. This is a small problem to be fixed on his side and good to have identified it. But the test is tomorrow and we shall seeeeeeee.

Ramblings

This post is meant largely to get my ass back on the bloggin bandwagon. Its been a low key week, but I gotta stay in game shape. 

The week, as noted, was uninspired but productive. We got into the office on Monday, Jack and I, with our boss Dave and our "supervisor" Stan gone down to Zimbabwe. We sat down at our desks, and I found that I had little or no capacity for work. I did, however, have the capacity for a morning cup of coffee and all the solemn joy that ensues. That hurdle passed, with aplomb I might add (get it, aplomb rhymes with...), I stared down the remainder of the day: a desolate wasteland of sitting in a cold office trying not to get caught looking at the web. Jack and I had sent off our report on the impact of WBR on the RAPIDS HIV/AIDs program and were in between appointments on our next project with nowhere really to go on it that particular day.  It was a horrible feeling. I don't mind sitting in an office all day if I am working. I hate sitting around looking at the internet. Listen to me complain about having to sit in the office for a day, when every other day has consisted of visiting villages or working on projects I am genuinely interested in... WBR is spoiling me rotten.

Anyways, this lack of purpose led me to my go to site, Realclearpolitics.com, a metamedia site that basically accumulates the best political articles around and puts them on a webpage for one to link to. Much like the drudge report of huffington post. Insert markets or sports for politics in the url to fit your tastes. After lapping up the excretions (its a theme) of our nations op-ed writers I have come to a few conclusions about the Obama Administration, the healthcare debate and those who cover it. Let me preface these comments by saying I have a very superficial understanding of our healthcare system.

1. People who write about this stuff, on both sides, don't seem to be familiar with "the issues":

I suppose this isn't a revelation for most folks, but it dawned on me after I read my 56th article about the healthcare debate. I had no more understanding about the nuts and bolts of the situation than I did before I read all these articles. Sure, now I know about "the public option", a phrase bandied about with either awed regard or frenzied disdain. I know that the plan will "ration" healthcare. Depending on who is writing the article you will find that the plan "increases competition" or kills it, will either save money or mortgage our future. My mind is filled with a bunch of other buzzwords and knowing references to things the plan includes, or will do or wont do. But I am still ignorant. Ignorant of the overall structure of what the new plan would be and also embarrassingly ignorant to the realities of our current plan. So too, I believe, are most of the people writing these articles. These folks were writing about 9/11 8 years ago, then al qaeda, the economy the next year, the iraq war, then immigration, then Afghanistan, then north korea and Iran, then China, the environment, then the "new economic paradigm" ("derivatives negate risk we will never have another recession" was a common refrain), then the campaign, then sarah palin, then joe bidens dumb ass, the crisis ("derivatives are the devil, we will never have positive gdp growth again, some body must do something nowww" etc) the spectacle that was Barak Obamas 100 days ("the most important event in the history of mankind" is how I refer to the event) and now healthcare. This is their job, writing about the cause du jour. And I am not criticizing them personally. But I am saying that such breadth of coverage must come at the cost of depth. And I see almost nothing of import in the op-eds that I ravenously digested this past monday, except when I read George Will. I love that guy. Rather than discuss what is being proposed, attention surrounds whether what is being proposed will succeed. Its like a football announcer who constantly repeats the score to the viewer, expecting that statement of fact and a handful of inane truisms to properly elucidate the picture. John Madden may have made a career of it, but that doesn't mean it impresses me when anybody else does it (we all need to admit it was impressive when Madden did it).

2. I will say it. I DONT LIKE OBAMA.

I say this at pain of exile from my generation. However, I need to make known a feeling that has been brewing in me ever since I watched the guy get sworn in. I supported him during the campaign, I even volunteered at his head quarters in Bozeman this past fall making calls. I believed he represented me, that he was at heart a practical moderate. I believed he supported the basic tenets of capitalism, but also (and reasonably) held that we did needed backstops and programs for honest people who lose their jos or lose their way. I believed, basically that he wasn't a big government liberal. I was wrong. Soo wrong. And once I realized that, well, my opinion on him changed pretty quick. I have been disappointed in the stimulus, in his approach to the bailouts (coughing up the dough while impotently moralizing at bank/insurance execs), his weasly treasury secretary, his moronic VP, in Peter Orszag, in his tough talk on unions followed by coddling, and now in his handling of healthcare. Most of all, I have been disappointed by his fat ass press secretary. Where the hell does that asswipe get off... doing anything? He is a true slob. But I digress. Its not necessarily even that I always disagree with what he does... Its more his disingenuous, professorial way of having his cake and eating it too. He describes massive extension of the government as "increasing competition" and argues that the monstrous health care bill will cut cost... Really? Just tell me what your plan is buddy! Don't lie to me! This thing needs to be fixed. Maybe a public option will help. Maybe spending money now will improve healthcare... fine. Tell me that, don't lie and tell me that spending money... is making us spend less money, because.... its impossible. The fact of the matter is if he was calling it like he saw it, I would disagree so it makes no difference.

I suppose the main point here is DO NOT READ AYN RAND AND EXPECT YOUR POLITICAL VIEWS TO REMAIN MODERATE. A related piece of advice would be do not read Ayn Rand in Africa... it just doesnt mesh. None the less, that is exactly what I am doing. 

TBC

HIV

The people that know me best probably wouldn't call me hard hearted. However, they probably wouldn't peg me as sensitive to the plight of other people, either. I suppose I occupy the sentimental middle ground. I held that middle ground during my first 5 weeks here. I went into the bush to see the villagers hit hardest by HIV. I spoke with them, heard the stories of illness, death, of poverty and orphans. I also heard to stories of triumph over impossibilities and stories of love. I was moved by what I heard. However, I maintained emotional distance. My interest was more academic or professional than sentimental.  I was more caught up in gathering stories than listening to them. More interested in capturing the interesting human interest or work relevant content. "Oh I am very sorry to hear you lost your husband and three siblings to HIV... I think it is wonderful that you donate your time as a caregiver to help other HIV victims in your community... How has the WBR bicycle helped perform your job as a caregiver better?" I maintained an emotional barrier for most of my first month here, quickly rationalizing or suppressing my the emotion I felt. This was not because of my job, of course. I just never broke through.

This past Tuesday, Jack and I watched James (pseudonym) give a hugely impressive 8 hr workshop to a group of rural bicycle mechanics selected to be trained as WBR field mechanics. Throughout the workshop he spoke with overwhelming authority on issues ranging from economics to business management to bicycle repair to politics. He had these guys eating out of his palm, like a politician. I knew James was an exceedingly bright guy and this did nothing to diminish his standing in my eyes. James has been working with Jack and I to remedy spare parts distribution problems. My first day working for WBR in "the field" I perceived spare parts was a problem and wrote up a proposal for a pilot spare parts distribution center to gauge demand and verify if WBRs high quality parts truly have a market.  James has been working on this stuff for 2 years, however he was kind enough to allow me the pretense that I wasn't making suggestions and observations he had considered long ago, and really has done a great job making Jack and I feel like a part of the team. 

Jack, James and I were talking over a Coke outside the training center during a 15 minute break. Jack asked James, some variation of the question "So how many siblings do you have James?" James, in his composed, contemplative way looked at the sky, squinted, cocked his head to the right and said, "Well, there is just me". He smiled a melancholy smile. "I suppose thats not right... I have two cousins of my age. They are very close to me and stay with me now, I take care of them. They grew up in the house of my parents, so I consider them my brother and sister." He drew a heavy breath and looked at the ground. "I don't talk about this very much, however I used to have 2 brothers and 1 sister. They all have passed." My body literally reeled, expression changing from the inconsequential half smile of light conversation to a look of disbelief. "Yes... Yes... I lost two of them on one day. My older brother and my younger brother. All to AIDs. It was... It was probably the most difficult day of my life". He related the whole story in the melancholy matter of fact of someone steeled by time int he face of tragedy. "Sometimes I think about how things could have been... If ARVs (anti retro virals)  had been around... It was 1999, and ARVs came in 2004 or 5. I know they would be fine, just fine if they had been around. They would be alive today..." James raised his eyebrows back into the late afternoon sky, at the sun low in the sky. "My older brother... he was not a... sexual man, he was not interested in women... even his wife. It was by accident that they became married! Haha... he was interested in other things... I just do not understand how he became ill." James's eyes shimmered.  "But that is how it happened... I have wonderful parents, a wonderful wife... I have children. I am very lucky... Yes, very lucky."

Tears had welled in my eyes. The truth of HIV presented itself to me. Whereas I saw the virus as  an ailment that preyed on the careless, the poor, the sexually promiscuous, the ignorant... I realized that here in Africa it wasn't that way at all. HIV is a plague. It took someone in whose reflection I saw myself to make me understand. I saw that the virus had laid waste to families. Why shouldn't that have happened to my family? It would have. And that thought was just far too much to bear. James's siblings were all into their 30s when they contracted HIV, with families and jobs. To reach adulthood with the people with whom you are the closest in the world and then, a couple of agonizing months later... poof. Words cannot describe it.  

So I got myself back together and watched James finish his workshop. I took a run later that day and got to thinking about the conversation again. Again I imagined I had to bear James tragedy. Toward the end of my run, 400 yards away from the entrance to our house I began bawling. My chest heaved as I tried not to think about the nightmare I conjured. A pedestrian walked by and I turned the other way. I had to sit down to compose myself on the ledge next to the sidewalk, covering my face. So why did James's story get to me in a way none of the others had? I realized that even though I had heard countless stories just like James's, I was unable to see my reflection in them.  But when I finally saw my reflection, I finally saw the hideous legacy of the plague that is HIV/AIDs in Africa. It is horrifying.

Immigration Confusion

We start off the day by heading to the immigration office. The meat of the situation is that when I went through Immigration I lied and and said I was a visitor... because thats what I was told to do. Otherwise it would be a 400 dollar fee, as it is for those here to volunteer or engage in business for more than 30 days. The idiot at immigration gives me the visitor stamp but being an ass puts a B next to it, denoting business. I don't know this fact when I go back to the immigration department with driver Kennedy and Jack to get our visas renewed. The woman tells me either I pay 400 dollars, go to the airport and haggle (which even she says seldom works), or maybe she could ask her supervisor and maybe he could help but probably not. So I say, "GO ASK YOUR SUPERVISOR" in the most respectful tone I could muster, already coming to grips with the fact that I would probably be subsisting on white bread and water for the rest of my time here. Shes goes out the door of the office, past Kennedy, who smiles and raises his eyebrows, and onto her supervisor. She comes back right as I finish cursing Zambian government to hell, stamps the passport and tells  me all is well. Smiles at Kennedy and we are on our way. We walk out of the office and Kennedy starts laughing. Jack and I look at each other, curious. He chuckles and says, "I used to screw her sister"... I realize I really do not understand this place.

Picture Show

Reverse chronological order, from the end of the trip to the start.

Please excuse the sideways picture. 

A hippo we encountered during a walk we took at lunch our third day on the river. We discovered him sleeping maybe 5 yards away from us. He faces us, we shit our pants, because these animals are extremely dangerous on land. It then turns around and walks away. By the time I had cleaned out my pants he was already this far away. 

Due to the construction of a dam about 50 years ago (the Kariba Dam, the world largest), the river has gotten much smaller, as land that was once under water now constitutes the banks of the river. The picture is taken just next to the river in some kind of drainage area. Very cool, very bizarre. Seemed like we were on mars. 

Jack and I on dusk of our second day. This campsite, on a sandy island in the middle of the river, was just so perfect. That night we celebrated the 4th of July, singing the Star Spangled Banner and other patriotic numbers. Our guide Martin led us through a rendition of the Zambian national anthem in a show of solidarity. 

This sideways photo pits Jack and I at the bottom of the oldest tree in Africa. Not really, but it was quite large. Notice the moccasins sans socks. Fashion is always paramount.

As noted, fashion is always paramount. I felt as though I needed to take a picture of my moccasins, a shoe that I bought in Montana and has turned in exemplary service since. They handled the harsh African climate and topography with  ease, providing comfort and stability. They even made it out intact.

Jack and Carly to lookers left, then our guide Martin ahead. The mountains on the horizon. We asked Martin if we could get a guide to take us to hike them (they are the second oldest mountains in the world) but he said no one does that because of the dense foliage. I think Martin was probably full of it but oh well.

Hello. Elephant comes to the bank in order to greet us. What an incredible animal. Actually pretty intimidating in person.

A huge crocodile at the outset of the trip. A maybe 12 feet long, though this picture doesn't illustrate that.

And finishing with the beginning. Jack and I relax before floating the river. The banks of Zimbabwe in the distance. 

A Professionals Take

I've got to disagree Dan, I continue to be bullish in general towards alcohol. While I know in these uncertain times there is a definite feeling of comfort that can be taken away from being "safe" with water, the alpha that can be generated through a sizable alcohol position (fortune brands per chance?) can make your year. My personal recommendation is to go overweight alcohol (running is a be a suitable hedge, or a better diet could be an appropriate alternative). I'm strongly underweight tobacco. I'd be biased to the downside on memory retention and overall health, while I'd be a buyer of open bars (what a sickkkk yield).

-N.H.

Rough Times

Just a quick post in the interim of the novellas that constitute our dangerous canoeing escapade. The occasion is my first Zambian club experience, though probably not with the most truly Zambian crowd of them all. A gentleman graduate of the American school  here hosted an open bar and Jack and I earned an invitation through Taylor, a girl we met through some nebulous ex pat connection. She was nice enough to bring us roughnecks along and somehow got our name one the list. There was a list. But I digress. We arrive, and the club is full of white kids, ostensibly diplomats children, as well as South Africans. I think I love South Africans, or at least this certain chap named Quinn (or something). He has had laser hair removal. All over his body. He told me a story about slitting the neck of a sheep and then skinning it. All for fun and games. He takes flaming sambuca shots and snorts the vapors. He has other attributes I cannot remember. Clearly, he is a man I hold in high regard. Anyways, in addition to the intoxicating influence of my new friend Quinn, we discovered there was an open bar. Jacks eyes met mine and we had a moment, a moment during which a decision was made. No words were needed to communicate that decision. The decision was to have a rough morning. Open bars are a nefarious thing that I wish were banned. Honestly I have no use for them. They only lead to pain, misery, and me finding myself the next morning at 9 am with water and coffee in respective hands having just taken a couple of tylenol. Anyways, these quasi Zambians did nothing to mitigate that inevitability, and Jack and I were quickly swept up in the revelry. They were giving away my favorite beer, Windhock. I became very social, and tried to strike up numerous conversations with individuals who proved patently uninterested in my addled musings. The night wore on, and the situation became untenable. I diversified my portfolio to include water and eventually then shifted all my assets into that safer asset class. It was a wise decision and paid dividends as high demand for alcohol led to an asset bubble. When that bubble popped, sometime around 8 am the next morning, investors fled to safer assets like water and the value of my investment increased immensely. Those people with positions long alcohol lost much or all of their dignity.  

Danger You Will Never Understand

Danger was the name of the game when Jack Gray and I decided to canoe the Lower Zambezi, a river infested with Crocodile, Hippo, Elephant, and the Tiger Fish; a river surrounded by Lions, Baboon, Hyena and the hardly innocuous warthog. We set out to envelop, to submerge ourselves in the type of danger our sallow peers in States have never experienced in the entirety of their white bread lives. The type of danger they will never encounter until they find themselves on the precipice of their existence, gazing into the unrelenting jaws of death.

Danger was what we set out for and what we received. From the moment we set foot on Breezers Hunting and Fishing Lodge, just outside the border town of Chriundu, we knew were in the right place. Jack and I headed to the bar, even though the time on the clocks read 8:30 am. It had been a long day. After consuming a couple of Windhooks, the Namibian Lager to which I have become addicted (not in the alcoholic sense), we ventured out to look at the Mighty Zambezi. A sign on the edge of the water caught my eye. It read, “Beware of Crocodiles and Hippos”.  I looked across the river and saw a flag. The Zimbabwean flag. A feeling pulsed through my veins and washed over my body. I felt it in my lions. We were balls deep in danger. 

The following is a journal of all that transpired during our dangerous trip. It is not for the faint of heart. The author is not responsible for the convulsions, cardiac arrests, seizures, extended episodes of incontinence, uncontrollable flatulence or blindness that will almost certainly result from reading the following. Proceed with care,

We sat by the water, taking in our dangerous surroundings, aware and calm. Eventually, as chance would have it, the man charged to be guide down the Zambezi, Martin, approached us. A fit Zambian, Martin led us up the bank to our canoes, Canadian in origin and apparently sea worthy. Martin then entreated us to listen, and listen well, as he laid out clearly the four dangers of the river we were about to float. First, he said, one must be ware of crocs. Crocs are aggressive, Martin said, and deadly. You may not hang limbs out of the canoe, he said.. You may attempt to retrieve them and realize that they are no longer attached to your body. To the submerged croc, the hand or leg is not part of a human. It is a piece of meat. And they are meat eaters. Second, Martin slowly and clearly elucidated, beware of Hippos. Hippos are also aggressive and deadly. They lurk under the water and are liable to pop up without a moments warning. If you are next to a hippo when it pops up, stay calm. The hippo may become angry with you and knock you out of your canoe. It may then inflict a deadly wound on your body using its jaws. It is really the luck of the draw, said Martin, so there is no use losing your composure. I admired his logic.

Third, continued Martin, one must always beware of invisible obstacles. All around this mighty river there lie great, unseen dangers, objects just under the water that will upset the canoe without your knowledge. Again, philosophized Martin, best not to think about it.

Finally, Martin cautioned us about the wind. The wind blows wildly on the Zambezi, often creating swells on the narrow waterway capable of upsetting ones vessel, laying its occupant bare to the whims of various underwater predators.

Martin then inquired whether any of the four of us on the trip (the other two being our friends Carly and April) had any canoeing experience. Jack and I replied that we did, and the girls noted they did not. Martin instructed the two boys to steer in the back and the two girls sat up front. We stowed our bags and disembarked, a little giddy at the prospect of spending the next days attempting to circumvent the dangers laid out so clearly by our man Martin.

It took me a little while to hit my canoeing groove. That while coincided with one of the most dangerous hippo interactions of the trip and the sighting of the biggest croc ever spotted. These sights penetrated me, penetrated me clear to my core. The tables had turned. Danger was balls deep in me.

The dire situation will be explained in part 2 of the series.  Pictures to accompany.

 

7.2.09: Into "The Field"

Left: This gal is Prisca, Rapids caregiver.

In Africa, Westerners are apt to say they are going into "The Field" when they venture of the beaten track into the rural towns and villages to which their aid and charity flows. The esteemed Jack Gray and I ventured off into "The Field" with our intrepid driver Mr. N'Goma to gather qualitative information that would function as the basis of a final report on the efficacy of the RAPIDs healthcare initiative. We met with HIV/AIDs caregivers, people who take on a number of patients in their community, looking after them, administering drugs, sometimes even schlepping the extremely sick ones to the clinic on the back of their bicycles, in oxcarts or wheel barrels. All this effort in exchange for... nothing. These people receive no monetary compensation for their troubles. However there are tens of thousands of these people, willing to give their time for free to help their neighbors in distress. 

We met in front of a three room building which appeared to be the town recreation center. Sitting on benches out front were maybe 30 caregivers, ranging in age from 22 to 67. We introduced ourselves with N'Goma serving as translator, all the while wondering what exactly put us in a position to question these people from a position of authority. After the intros we broke into small groups. I instantly realized the leading questions we had formulated would only draw back scripted, uninteresting answers. "How has the bicycled helped you as a caregiver?" "I am able to see more clients because I can get to them more quickly"... etc. Not exactly ground breaking stuff. So after a couple of stumbles and some awkward moments of silence amongst the group, I was able to start penetrating the group to unearth some interesting stories. 

Each caregiver told me a story of how they had taken a client to the clinic on the back of their bicycle. They described to me their proudest moment as a caregiver, the thing about their community that they were proudest of, and what precipitated their decision to become a caregiver. They also opened up about what the bike allowed them to do outside of their caregiver obligations. From bringing their crops to market 25 plus kms away, to taking their corn to the hammer mill in order to feed their family to seeing family that would otherwise be too far away, it was easy to see what the increased freedom meant to these folks. 

The caregivers were so gracious for what little they had. They tried to illustrate their feelings with the only asset they had to  give back: their good cheer, their smiles and their affection. Literally they had nothing else to give. 

While some of the answers became redundant as groups of five filtered through my interview room, a little work unearthed the unique in each person. Prisca decided to become a caregiver because of her experience raising the orphans of her sister, an HIV/AIDs victim. Others talked about how the bike had allowed them to enjoy economic success (from one cow to three) beyond their wildest dreams. Mary talked about taking care of her mother in law in her capacity as RAPIDs caregiver. The stories once unearthed are so indicative of the hope that is ubiquitous here in spite of the overwhelming struggle and sadness. 

The next day we traveled to the same village and met with trainer of trainers (TOTs) who work on the prevention side of AIDs prevention, spreading awareness and prevention techniques as well as teaching income generating trades such as carpentry, gardening, and farming. These people also had amazing stories. However, they didn't have bicycles and certainly made the most of their audience with a WBR employee, little did they know I am nothing but a lowly intern with no influence on where the bikes go. This open handed, bold faced begging (for lack of a better term) is one of the drawbacks to the charity  that in some cases inspires amazing stories. People see the chicken laying golden eggs and they want one of their own. Indeed, when a white person drives down the road, kids run to the street, pointing at their open palms. But I digress, that is a story for a different post. 

That same day we had the opportunity to meet with the client of a caregiver named Ruth. We went into her home, a little hut with a circumference of maybe 4 feet and a thatched roof. Luckily it doesn't rain all winter in Zambia. She was a wonderful woman, clearly defiant in the face of the disease and determined to overcome it. She responded to our question of whether she felt stigmatized after she contracted HIV. She blithely stated people treated her no differently. During the interview she lied on garment place just in front of the entrance to her tiny little home, holding herself with the composure of a matriarch. Her eyes shone with vitality, even though she was unable to rise from her seated position on her own power and needed the help of her caregiver to move on her feet. She was intensely proud of the little she had and determined in her belief that days lied ahead. Much like her country. 

WBR Overview: Better Late than Never

Left: Some gents fiddling with my camera at the first bicycle distribution for the Education program in Chongwe. We became fast friends.

I have put off explaining exactly what World Bicycle Relief, the organization I am interning for here in Lusaka, does specifically. I will procrastinate no further. WBR, as the title implies, gives bikes to impoverished Africans. However, in order for the reader to properly understand WBR I must first describe the current state of transportation and then the bicycle market in Zambia. 

Only rich Zambians own cars. And only relatively wealthy or fortunate Zambians own bicycles. Especially in rural places, the bicycle is a status symbol, the mark of someone doing well. The "natural bicycle", or transport by foot, is the most common way from A to B for rural people here. In this context, with most people walking their goods to market, or walking to the clinic procure AIDS medicines, the bicycle becomes an incredible tool of empowerment. It gets you from A to B 4 times faster with however many times the payload capacity. The benefit of owning a operational bicycle is intuitive and powerful. 

Now, for those who haven't been to Zambia it might seem like a given that the bikes people buy or receive would be of at least decent quality. In fact, they are not. The bike companies that operate here are not Trek, Specialized, Cannondale or even Huffy.  Rather, they are Atlas, Eagle and other various Indian or Chinese brands you have never heard of. These bikes are manufactured as an afterthought, but a percentage of a percentage of the annual revenue for multinationals like Tata who have more interesting things to worry about than the unchanging low margin bicycle markets in impoverished sub-saharan Africa. The bicycles sold here are all knockoffs of the 1950s Raleigh Roadster, heavy as hell, impossible to steer and liable to break less than a month after purchase. Still people buy them because... these companies have no competition. They have no incentive to step up their design quality or manufacturing quality control or assembly quality control because they have a captive consumer with no alternatives. The quality of bicycles for sale here has not improved for 50 years. Conversely, the NGOs that simply give Africans second hand bikes do not import the quantity and quality of bicycles necessary to make a substantial impact. Enter WBR. 

WBR makes a brutishly strong and culturally appropriate bicycle that has already become synonymous with a excellence in the Zambian market. It built to balance the three overriding needs of the Zambian consumer,  durability, carrying capacity, and reasonable price. Additionally, WBR trains one bicycle mechanic per fifty bikes distributed or sold in order to keep the bikes operational. The organization has boiled its desired areas of affect down to healthcare, education and economic development. In each case, WBR has partnered with organizations in order to distribute its bicycles most effectively to those for whom the bicycle can unlock the most benefit. 

WBR partnered with RAPIDs, an NGO that empowers HIV/AIDs caregivers with healthcare supplies and training. RAPIDs saw a need to increase the agency of caregivers by providing them with bicycles. Initially, to meet this need RAPIDs bought a couple hundred cycles wholesale from local distribution outlets and met with disaster. The bikes promptly fell apart. They then partnered with WBR for 23,000 bikes and the program has been a qualitative and quantitative success, with visits per week skyrocketing and infection rates falling. It has been a real victory for both RAPIDs and WBR. 

WBR also partnered with Harmos, a micro finance NGO operating in Zambia to sell 3000 or so bicycles. This program has become more successful as time goes on and as lending techniques become more refined. The sale of an income-generating asset through micro finance is not new, however the sale of a bicycle via micro finance is (relatively). That fact coupled with the fact that Harmos is a young organization still perfecting its lending techniques made for a rocky start, however the program is now breaking even and appears to be set for expansion. It also has created an exciting template that could be used in other countries to empower micro entrepreneurs. 

Finally, WBR is just beginning a program in conjunction with the Ministry of Education to provide 50,000 bicycles to impoverished rural children who are at risk of dropping out of school due to the demands of their commute (sometimes up to 20 kms each way) and the demands of their home life (work around the house... not your typical chores). 

So there is the overview, I will follow in the future with what I am working on in my capacity as intern.