Yvrose almost missed out on the chance to participate in CLM. She was recommended for the program by the case manager who first went by her home to interview her. She had no wealth to speak of. She and her husband, Jean Gaby, had three chickens, but little more. At the time, Yvrose had no income at all. The family depended on the little that Jean Gaby could earn as a mason’s helper, mixing concrete with a shovel or carrying buckets full to where the skilled mason was working. He also did a little farming. The couple was living with their two younger children next to their church in a shack that had been thrown together with old building materials that no one wanted. Their pastor had it built for them when he saw that they had nowhere to live.

But when the supervisor who interviewed her for verification spoke with her, he learned some things that didn’t make sense to him, so he rejected the initial recommendation. Yvrose was sending the two children who still lived at home with her to school in downtown Laskawobas. Somehow, she and Jean Gaby were paying both the school fees and for daily rides to and from school for their kids on a motorcycle taxi. The supervisor couldn’t understand where all that money was coming from. The school fees might be owed. Jean Gaby might make small lumps of money that would, with enough sacrifice, eventually add up to cover them if they were carefully managed. But the taxi rides would have to be paid for regularly. The supervisor felt that someone who could afford those daily rides for two children couldn’t really be poor enough for CLM.

Just after a cohort of 150 families launched in the program, and the new members had received their first six days of training, it became clear, however, that one of the women who had been invited to join the program would decline to participate. That left an open slot. And Figaro, the case manager who had first visited Yvrose, remembered her.

Case managers are taught to do more than just fill out forms for the families they visit during the selection process, but to think of themselves as advocates. He talked to the supervisor who rejected her, and learned that the taxi rides had been a real sticking point. Then he looked into the rides, and he discovered that they were paid for by another member of the couple’s church. He asked another supervisor to consider Yvrose’s case once again, and she was quickly given the available slot.

Yvrose had once been able to earn something by purchasing produce from farmers who were bringing it to market. She and her family live right on the main dirt road. Lots of sellers from the hills south and east of Laskawobas walk by on their way to market. They were happy to sell to Yvrose if she gave them a reasonable price. It saved them the trouble of carrying their burden the rest of the way into town.

Jean Gaby had had a relatively good income as well. He worked on a large, profitable farm in Tomond, the next town to the north. He was paid a salary, and managing his earnings had enabled the couple to buy their land. The plot they purchased was large enough that they were able to give some of it to their church, and it is where the church building now stands.

But things changed. According to Yvrose, Jean Gaby’s supervisor at the farm tried to seduce her. When she rejected his advances, he fired her husband. The family’s steady source of income stopped short. Yvrose’s business fell apart, too. Two difficult pregnancies that ended with c-sections left her unable to lift loads. But her business buying and selling produce depended on her physical strength. Without it, she couldn’t continue.

When she joined CLM, she wanted to raise goats.”I always saw people walking around with their goats, and I wished that I had some too.” Traditionally, a member would receive two or three goats and then a second substantial asset, but Yvrose looked at things differently. “I wanted bigger goats right from the start.” So, she got two large females. She took balance of her asset transfer in a couple of chickens.

She managed her goats with care, and by the time she graduated she had four of them, not just two. Her collection of chickens grew as well, and she had also purchased a cow to add to her holdings. But though she had dreamed of owning goats, and was happy to have realized that dream, raising livestock was not a real focus of her experience in the program.

One focus of that experience was her path towards building a new home. When Figaro explained to Yvrose that she would have to have a dry, secure home to graduate, she said she wouldn’t be able to do it. Both Yvrose and Figaro remember his response well. With a smile he said something like, “What do you want me to do, kick you out of the program because you can’t build a house?” He told her to get started, that getting started was the important thing, and that if she and her husband made a plan and started work they would surely finish.

Truer words have never been spoken. Not only did Yvrose and Jean Gaby build themselves a new home, but what they built far exceeded the homes built by almost any member we’ve ever worked with. Members typically build two small rooms with a good tin roof and walls of either palm wood or rocks and clay, depending on the character of the soil around where they live. Despite her doubts, Yvrose and her husband built a three-room home with cinder blocks.

Part of their success depended on how hard Jean Gaby was willing to work to contribute to the project. The cinder blocks were produced right at the construction site. That required cement, which they had to buy, but also sand to mix with the cement. And rather than spending money to buy the sand they’d need, Jean Gaby collected it himself, lugging it bucket-by-bucket from a nearby riverbed. That reduced the cost by a lot.

But even so, they spent much more than a CLM family normally would to build or repair their home. By Yvrose’s calculation, they borrowed 45,000 gourds with a series of loans from her savings and loan association — about $350 — to buy the other materials they would need. That’s more than CLM invested in the home and much more than program members typically spend.

All that money needed to be repaid, however, and taking care of goats and chickens wouldn’t help her. So Yvrose took out another loan from her association to start her business again.

It was a struggle. She still cannot lift heavy loads. But by buying from the merchants that pass her house on the way to the market and then waiting for the wholesalers’ trucks from Pòtoprens that pass in front of her home from its other side, she was able to minimize the physical part of the job.

Her business model became harder to sustain, however, as the route between Pòtoprens and Laskawobas became less reliable. Gang roadblocks on the road to Mibalè that drivers had to pass through meant that trucks could not always get buyers from the capital to the market, much less past the market to the area where Yvrose lives. She could sell to local buyers by bringing her merchandise to the downtown market herself, but apart from the extra effort involved, it was also less profitable. “You don’t really know what you’ll sell the load for, so you don’t know whether you’ll make money, and then you still have to pay the cost of the transportation.”

Fortunately, another opportunity came along. The CLM team was recruiting a small number of members to participate in a training on “transformation.” That’s the word agronomists here use to categorize the processes that turn produce into other products: making peanut butter, roasting peanuts, making wine or jam from fruit. The possibilities are almost endless.

The CLM team decided to focus on a few products that could be made with inexpensive, easy-to-find ingredients and only minimal equipment. Participants learned how to make, package, and sell papita, or plantain chips, karapinya, a kind of praline, and kòk rape, a treat made of shredded coconut. Yvrose invested 15,000 gourds initially, and she soon had increased her investment to 25,000.

Her products sold well, but she soon ran into a new problem. “If I was making product, I couldn’t go sell it. And if I was selling it, I couldn’t make product.” So she made two big decisions. “There was a woman living nearby making kokiyòl.” These are a little like plain donuts that are halfway to being cookies. “I asked her if she wanted to get together to make one bigger business. We talked and talked, and we decided to work together.”

Then the two women hired seven employees. Three sell their products, two assist the two women in their production, and the other two prepare the produce — like coconut or peanuts — for processing. They pay each a small, monthly salary.

The other woman’s know-how has enabled the pair to add a range of products to the business, and the group is doing well. Yvrose took out a loan for 50,000 gourds, so she now has an investment of over 75,000, about $575. And her dream is to make the business continue to grow. “I want the business to get really big. I would like it to be big enough so I can hire everyone in the neighborhood who needs a job.”