Welcome Greg Hunt, a sales manager at Lenovo Australia, to the Heart of Business.
Australians are legendary travelers; it is common, darn nigh expected, for them to put their careers on hold for a year to travel the world. But you will not likely find them at Disney World; they are serious about making their travel meaningful. For example, I had an Aussie friend who told me that it is shameful to return home from your year of travel without having taken the pilgrimage to Gallipoli.
Greg was one of several employees from our team in Australia / New Zealand who recently traveled to India in order to participate in an Insight Trip through Opportunity International. This is a great way for employees to learn about what one of our key nonprofit partners is doing to alleviate poverty through entrepreneurship, and we thank Opportunity International for making it happen.
I have no idea what kind of a sales manager Greg is, but he clearly missed his calling as a travel writer.
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Take your passport back from the immigration officer at Chennai airport, take four steps, just four, four is all you need and you’re outside, immersed in the balmy Indian night, surrounded by hopeful taxi drivers. Have a look around: there are a line of cars straight from the 1950s parked neatly in a row; there are people everywhere, a massive crowd just hanging around; over in the corner of the parking lot, standing there like it belongs, is a long-horned Brahmin bull hitched to a cart with large wooden wheels. You are in a different world.
We pile into a creaking van to drive from the airport to the hotel. We have our first experience with the Indian traffic. An Indian road stretches from one curb to the other. There is a line down the middle of the road but that line is just a suggestion, mere decoration. At any time cars, trucks, motorcycles or auto rickshaws may be coming at you, at other times, three vehicles are jammed into the space for two, at all times the traffic is weaving in and out, everybody has their hand on the horn. It’s mayhem.
While the girls cruise Spencer Mall, a maze of tiny stalls in a concrete hi-rise, which bills itself as ‘paradise for shoppers’, I go for a walk. There’s a main road that I walk along, I come to a major intersection. The road is being re-surfaced. One corner of the intersection is roped off, within it bitumen is being made, there is a large, hot machine, there are puddles of steaming liquid and sitting to one side in the carcinogenic funk is a little girl of about five. She’s caring for her younger brother. No parents to be seen. A few more steps down the street, a small boy, about the same age as my son appears by my side, hand out, a pleading look in his eyes. I immediately want to give him something, surely I can help. But then I look down the street, I can easily see another twelve children with the same outstretched hands and pleading eyes. Twelve children, in the space of one hundred metres. I realise that I can’t help. Although the look in the child’s eyes makes me want to weep, I harden my heart and keep my money in my pocket.

We meet with the people at Opportunity International. They provide very small loans to groups of women. They explain that each loan improves the lives of up to fifteen people as the cash is spent in the women’s immediate community. A large portion of the Indian populace are living on about $1.30 a day, it is estimated that two hundred million Indians are malnourished, they can’t afford to eat. The loans provided lead to repayments of one hundred rupee a fortnight, about $3. The numbers are shocking. I’m doing a little arithmetic, I have $100 on my feet, $1,000 on my wrist, and don’t forget the $1,500 camera slung over my shoulder. How many people is that? How many lives could be improved? I can see others in the group doing the same sums.
Over the next few days, we meet groups of women taking part in the micro-financing programme. They explain to us that they use the money to run businesses, they buy and sell saris, they make and sell jewelery, one runs a beauty salon. We ask them how their lives have changed and they light up talking about their feelings of self-worth, their confidence in the future, their ability to put some more food on the table and send their children to better schools. These women are inspirational.

A debate rages in the car: we are arguing about the source of happiness of these women. Eventually we decide that it comes from their sense of place. They are not aspiring to great wealth, they are content with small improvements to ease the burden of their lives. It makes me think about how lucky I have been in the lottery, born into a middle class Western family with access to high levels of education and high paying employment.
After a few days, we are taken out of Chennai to Temple Bay, a couple of hours to the south. We are used to the mayhem now we handle the near misses, the constant horns, the strange vehicles and the on-coming traffic in our lane calmly. We are now experts and have formulated our own three rules for negotiating Indian traffic successfully: a good horn, good brakes and good luck.
Greg Hunt
Lenovo Australia / New Zealand