There’s nothing like a room full of blank stares to tell you that you have just used the wrong word, nobody there knows what you’re talking about and you need to adapt, but what do you do when that word is at the heart of what you do? When that glazed-eye-inducing offender is printed all over your business cards? Erik, Kabi, Edwin and I are in a meeting hall in Kibera, a shanty town in Nairobi, Kenya which, with an estimated one million people, is one of Africa’s, if not the world’s, largest slums. We’re running the second of four community engagement workshops in which we are preparing local community groups, entrepreneurs and social enterprises, on how to best approach and prepare for a partnership with multinational companies; in this case, how to partner with our main corporate sponsor, SC Johnson. This is what we do, we bring people from diverse backgrounds and with diverse resources together, “a creative collision of world views”, to create new market opportunities for multinationals and locally grown businesses for poor communities via a process of “mutual value creation”. Buzz phrase laden work, yes, but it’s actually all been going quite well so far, except that now our community partners are stuck on our name. Behind us, on a brown flip chart taped to the wall, is drawn a large three sided figure, a triangle really, with the words “Base of the Pyramid” written on top, or BoP for short. That’s us. A brave hand ventures forth, “Do you mean like a samosa?” For those not in the know, a samosa is a triangle shaped pastry of Indian or Persian origin, stuffed with a delightful filling of meat or vegetables. You can find samosas being fried and sold fresh on the mud tracks, pathways, and streets of Kibera; one of the tasty treats will set you back only about 5 shillings (7 cents). “Yes!” we say with a smile, thankful for a local translation, “The pyramid is like a samosa! The rich people are up top, that’s where most companies traditionally focus, but down below here in the base are some 4 billion people, a whole world that’s been…” There’s another hand up in the air now. “Tafadhali”, we prompt, “please.” “Why should people at the top of the samosa get everything,” one man asks, “when all the meat is at the bottom?” There are a few murmurs of agreement from the crowd, so the man continues, “And why a samosa? A chapati would be better, that way everyone is the same!” This time there are cheers. A chapati is a flat round fried bread, kind of like an Indian version of a Mexican tortilla, and like samosas, chapatis can be found fresh and hot all throughout Kibera. I love chapati, but I’m too much of a free market fan to buy into the idea of it as a symbol of world commerce, nor do I think it’s an accurate representation of how the world really is. Another man speaks up, “Can’t we just turn the samosa upside down?” “Upside down?” “Yes,” he explains, “turn it upside down, then all the rich people are on the bottom and we can force them up to the top!” **** “I’ve been wondering,” Salim Mohamed asks me one day, “What do you think of the phrase, Base of the Pyramid?” The question is asked in a way that doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in the chosen descriptor for our work. Salim is the program manager for Carolina for Kibera (CFK), an incredible organization in Kibera whose offices we’ve been using as our base camp and which has acted as our gateway into the community. Salim’s question about the BoP comes in the middle of a conversation about the G8 meeting in Scotland and the resulting attention the Western media is pouring on Africa. Most often mentioned in the news are the calls for the doubling of donor aid to Africa and the unconditional cancellation of 100% of Africa’s debt. Also covered by the media are the Live 8 concerts, a massive series of shows throughout the Western world designed to “raise awareness” about poverty in Africa. They’re tied in somehow with the “Make Poverty History” campaign, of which Salim is also skeptical, “Haven’t we already spent 50 years making poverty part of our history?” Salim asks, “and what is poverty any ways? Is it just one person having more money than someone else, how can you get rid of that?” True, Salim is intimately familiar with the problems of poverty in his community, CFK’s four major programs grasp and wrestle with such issues in Kibera directly, every day, but there’s the difference, the direct contact, feeling the texture of poverty, living amongst it, working with it. Think of the Japanese martial art Jujitsu, where you engage with your opponent, body to body, skin to skin, tying your motion to his motion, until flip, you shift, you turn, and you channel your opponent’s force in a new direction, a new way. Now think instead of just dropping a nuclear bomb on your foe. Which has the worse effect? Sure your opponent may be dead, but how much worse was the curse than the cure? As Salim and many others here have helped us learn, painfully at times, the problem with the term Base of the Pyramid is that it is an income base classification, you can use it to segment your population, to find underserved markets or opportunities, but the dangerous tendency is that by selecting a group by income, you then define them solely by income. You fall into the trap of defining them based on what they lack, rather than what they have, and it’s what they have that can be built upon. “My God,” we hear so often, “how can these people get by on less than a dollar a day?” It’s a fair question, an important one even, but it needs to be asked in a way where you expect, and are willing to accept, an answer, i.e. this is how they do it. It’s too quick to say that a dollar a day is too little, and even quicker to just say that the answer is more dollars sent from afar, or even more dollars generated locally. Look at Taka ni Pato (trash is cash), a program run by CFK in Kibera and funded by the Ford Foundation. The project enables youth self help groups in Kibera to turn the community’s trash into a source of income, yet CFK has quickly learned that too much cash flowing too quickly could kill the very groups they are seeking to uplift, the groups that are now providing a much needed service to the community. Just because a group has increased income, perhaps for the first time any income at all, doesn’t mean that the group is ready to do something productive with that income. Are they mature enough to handle it? Do they have the transparency necessary to keep money issues from tearing the group apart? Do they have plans for tomorrow so they don’t spend it frivolously today? As Ibrahim Sakuda of Faulu Kenya reminds us, “As more income comes in, groups need time and help to broaden their vision beyond what they currently do.” Raising income is critical in the Base of the Pyramid, but here in Kenya we’re discovering that income alone won’t create the change we seek: to improve the quality of people’s lives and to create sustainable markets for economic growth. There are other issues that need to be wrestled with, intimately, closely, patiently, while we also seek to raise incomes. Base of the Pyramid may be an income based classification, it may be how we describe what we do, but it need not be our sole focus, we don’t need to be defined by what we call our work, because rich or poor, who really wants to be defined just by how much money you make? Besides, if we define our pyramid differently, say on strength of community, on how many of your neighbors you know, or on the size of children’s smiles, who might be in the Base of the Samosa then? Additional Resources: The Base of the Pyramid Protocol The BoP Protocol Pilot in Kenya Carolina for Kibera Faulu Kenya

There’s a texture to life that we miss in our discussions of poverty, our arm chair strategies in the U.S. on microfinance, disruptive innovation, and entrepreneurship. The BoP Protocol Pilot team has been been in Kenya for almost a month now, visiting a number of homes and organizations throughout western Kenya, from rural farms to urban slums. This article is the first in a series of installments about the texture of life we’ve been experiencing. Note, names and details are sometimes changed, all the stories are true. Mitumba “Cha bure ni bure” - free things are worthless -Professor Lelo, Egerton University, Njoro, Kenya One month before heading to Kenya I stopped by the Salvation Army to drop off a trash bag full of old shirts, pants, and shoes. Everything I donated was in good shape, it would certainly help some less fortunate soul, I thought, perhaps provide even a little bit of fashion too. Last week, sitting in Paulette’s front room, in her rented mud hut in Kibera, I found out where my discarded fashion may have ended up, in the many stalls and kiosks lining the streets of Kenya, as mitumba, donated goods for sale. Quality goods for a cheap price. A good thing, right? Perhaps not so good for Paulette’s husband, a Nairobi shoemaker whose market collapsed under him when a flood of cheaper, higher quality shoes hit the market. These days his business scrapes by on the occasional shoe repair. Kenyans, we have found, are remarkably well dressed, no matter what their station in life. Early in the morning a sea of well-groomed Kiberans walk up Kibera Drive, past the Nakomat and YaYa Center (shopping malls in Nairobi), on their way out to look for jobs in the city. Some walk more two hours each way, uncertain if work is there for them or not. I have yet to learn the trick of how to keep my shoes as clean as Kiberans do, how they resist the ever present dust and mud is a mystery to me. Paulette’s husband makes the migration every morning to his little shop space in the city, one cobbler among many: all of whom likely wear the very mitumba which undermine their livelihoods. Well dressed and without work. Paulette speaks with a subdued resignation, her days are filled with preparation and waiting. Preparing breakfast for her three children (if there was food left from the night before), preparing the children for school, buying and fetching water from the local water taps in Kibera (illegal hookups to city’s water supply), washing clothes on laundry days, waiting for the children to return for lunch, and always, waiting for her husband to return on a good day with a 100 shillings (about $1), hoping he brings enough back to buy food for dinner: maize and greens. On the hot days, waiting in the house can become unbearable, the stench of the overflowing latrine outside her door becomes overpowering. Latrines are sometimes cleaned by Kibera’s absentee landlords, by the better ones, though if the tenants are deliquent or refuse to pay rent, even the better ones let the latrines overflow. And even if you do pay rent, perhaps your neighbor does not, and the land lord doesn’t send in the cleaning crews. The day we visited Paulette was a mild one, a waft would only come by with the breeze. Paulette is a member of women’s savings group in Kibera. I remember reading about such groups while in the U.S., women would pool there money, giving 10 or 20 cents a day, each getting a chance to take loans from the pot, money which they would use to buy tools or resources to better their lives. What did Paulette use her turn at the pot for? “Food,” she said, “when my husband comes home with no money for the day, you can’t let the children go hungry, you just can’t. They can’t sleep if their belly is not full. So I take out a loan.” You don’t use the money for capital, for any income generating opportunities? “I don’t have any skills, ” Paulette declared, “I’m trying to learn tailoring, but there are so many tailors already in Kibera.” What if your husband can’t bring home money, and you can’t take out a loan? “We fight,” Paulette said, “but then I learn to keep quiet and cry a lot.” The best time of year is around Christmas, when everyone is preparing to head to their family homes outside of Nairobi, and everybody is spending money to look their best, which includes buying and repairing shoes. Paulette and her family often head to their birthhome in Western Kenya, and she saves up for a special meal for the children: fried chicken and chips. She smiles a little when recounting the memory, but then she adds, “But it’s a good time of the year for the thieves too.”

Why is so much entrepreneurial spirit found among our immigrants and our poor? Do they dream more vividly, brighter and bigger than we do? Perhaps it is just we who dream dreams less bright, dimmed by the glare of so many TVs, movies, and neon signs, from the clutter of so . . . much . . . stuff, sleeping too deeply among our existing history of achievements, our licenses to be lazy. This is not just an idle question for us at BRINQ, it is at the heart of what we do, discovering and painting vivid dreams. We are searching for the verge of innovation, where the brightest sheep of all colors, white, brown, blue, magenta . . . singed sugarcane yellow, are leaping by. And we’re looking for that entrepreneurial spirit, that drive, which makes sheep not only leap but fly. So where can we deep sleepers find those bright spirits, those vivid dreams? Among the sleeping lightly. Among the poor, at the brink of the world. ?? 2004 by BRINQ. All Rights Reserved