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April 04, 2013 Will Baxter for NPR Will Baxter for NPR
If you've applied for a mortgage recently, you know how hard it can
be. The bank demands all kinds of obscure documents and wants proof of
almost every asset you own. But an innovative mortgage program halfway
around the world will evaluate your application without any extra
documentation — and if you're approved, it will give you a 15-year
fixed-rate mortgage. There's just one catch: The mortgages are only for
low-income people in Cambodia. The program is a throwback to the days
when bankers got to know their customers — and trusted them.
Sriv
Keng and her husband are prime examples of the people who are applying
for these special mortgages. Until several weeks ago, they lived on the
fringes of Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. Their home wasn't a
house, but a long corrugated metal shack that they shared with another
family. It sits at the side of a field choked with green algae and
trash.
The shack's uneven and lumpy floor is made of hard-packed dirt.
There is no indoor plumbing, and the nine residents shared a hole in the
ground for their toilet.
"If it rains for like two or three
days in a row, the water gets into my house," Keng, 39, says through an
interpreter. "When it's flooded, the water level is high, above my
ankle." Keng says her family had been living there for five years, and
they were desperate to move to a better home.
But if they had
walked into a regular bank in Cambodia, or just about any country in the
world, and asked for a mortgage to buy a nicer house, executives mostly
likely would have turned them away.
Keng and her husband both
work. She makes and then sells rice soup at a street stall, while her
husband sells clothes at another stall. But they don't meet one of the
crucial requirements for getting a mortgage: They don't receive salary
slips or other financial documents, so they don't have what bankers call
"verifiable income."
Late last year, Keng heard about an unusual bank called ,
which was designed specifically to give mortgages to low-income people
like her. She and her family could already imagine the new home they
wanted to buy: a two-story house with indoor plumbing. It would cost
about $20,000.
"I have always wanted to live in a nice,
beautiful house, but with my business, with my small, very small
business like this, I never expected I can afford to buy a house," Keng
says.
A New Kind Of Bank For A Changing Country
The
First Finance mortgage program in Cambodia was the brainchild of
Talmage Payne, a 45-year-old American. His parents worked as eye doctors
in Nigeria, so he grew up wanting to help low-income people in poor
countries. When Payne graduated from college in the early 1990s, he
moved to Cambodia to work with the refugees of the fighting between the
government and Khmer Rouge guerrillas.
"When I first came here, it would be dirt roads, the roads weren't
paved, there would be no building over two stories. A few wandering
cows," Payne says. "If you wanted electricity, you needed your own
generator. The only vehicles were some form of rocket launcher or jeep.
The country was at war."
But since the United Nations helped
make peace later that decade, Cambodia has been changing dramatically.
It's still one of the poorer countries in the world, but you can hear
the transformation. Just five years ago, everyone rode bicycles, and the
streets of Phnom Penh were quiet. Today, they are clogged with noisy
motorbikes, along with more and more SUVs. A Dairy Queen just opened
last year — a sign that globalization has come to Cambodia.
Payne
used to run the Cambodian branch of World Vision, the international
Christian relief and development organization. He also helped lead a
microfinance program, which would lend small amounts of money for a few
months at a time to help people kick-start a business. But Payne says
the more he watched Cambodia's economy grow, the more he realized it was
leaving many low-income people behind — especially in housing.
"If
you go to their homes, they had horrendous homes, they were living all
in the parents home, too many people, they don't have access to getting a
good house," he says.
Microfinance, he says, was not the
solution. People needed much bigger, long-term loans to buy homes. Payne
also says he realized something else that contradicts traditional
banking assumptions: Low-income families make great mortgage customers.
Just about everybody in a typical Cambodian family works. The wife might run a market stall, while the husband does day labor.
"Grandma sells peanuts, the kids work," Payne says.
As a result, many of the families are financially resilient. If one person has to stop working, the others can chip in.
"You're
giving somebody something that they never thought they could have. So
no matter what the hardship is, what's the one bill they're not going to
miss? They're not going to miss the mortgage," Payne says.
A
few years ago, he took that message to major banks in Cambodia and
suggested starting a program together to help low-income families buy
their first homes. Payne stressed that the program would be run like any
careful business. The bank would not be subsidizing homebuyers;
instead, the homebuyers would have to make down payments, and the banks
would earn a profit. But the commercial banks didn't bite.
So
Payne set up a new bank by himself with the help of some friends. They
chipped in a total of $300,000. They raised another million from
investment funds that want to do good and make money. They applied to
the Cambodian government for a license, and the First Finance bank
opened for business four years ago.
A Visit From the Credit Officers
Shortly
after Keng and her husband applied for a mortgage, two credit officers
from First Finance showed up at her soup stall at lunchtime to see how
she runs her business.
These visits from the credit officers
are the key to what makes the First Finance lending programs work. Keng
sells her soup on battered wooden tables along a side street in a dusty
neighborhood. It's flanked by factories that make clothing for the U.S.
and Europe. As the factory bells sound and hundreds of workers wearing
kerchiefs pour into the streets, the credit officers watch and take
notes.
They want to see how many workers buy her soup and how much they pay. They also want to know what other vendors think about her.
For
example, they talk to the man who grills corn cobs across the road from
Keng's stall, asking if she usually has many customers and if other
vendors trust her. The man, along with two other vendors, speaks
positively about her.
After the lunch rush, the credit officers
interview Keng while she washes dishes in plastic buckets. They create a
financial spreadsheet by asking her details about how much rice, meat
and vegetables she buys to make the day's soup. They ask for the contact
information for the merchants she bought the ingredients from so they
can verify how much they cost.
The officers have also been
doing the same detailed research about her husband's clothing business.
The officers calculate that Keng and her husband make almost $800 a
month. A lot of First Finance customers make half that much.
After
a full evaluation, executives at First Finance approved a $16,000
mortgage for Keng and her family. They immediately purchased and movied
into their dream home, just down the gravel road from their shack.
Many
families receive 10- or 15-year mortgages from First Finance, but Keng
says she will try to pay it back faster. The family will pay 18 percent
interest on their mortgage, while most Cambodian banks charge about 12
or 13 percent. But then, regular banks would never lend money to
low-income people like Keng.
First Finance has given out more
than 700 mortgages and building loans, Payne says. Roughly 2 percent of
the customers have defaulted, which is lower than the rate in the U.S.
The bank and its investors are now making a profit.
A New Home
Keng's
new house is a world away from the corrugated metal shack that would
flood when it rains. It has decorative tile work and arches, a living
room with a 14-foot ceiling and a dining room. It also has an indoor
kitchen with a sink and faucet. The second floor includes a good-sized
bedroom. The house also has a bathroom with a porcelain sit-down toilet.
Back at the metal shack, nine people shared a hole in the dirt.
"I'm
happy and excited for the new toilet, because it's easier for us when
we want to use it," says Eng Sreng, Keng's 63-year-old mother. "And it's
beautiful."
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