Since I arrived in India, one of the many elements I have been learning to adjust to is the food. Luckily, I love Indian food; however, I have trouble eating spicy food. When I knew I would be living and working in India for 10 months, I had a plan to gradually increase my spice tolerance before I left home. Fast forward two months, and I am in India, but my spice tolerance remains nonexistent. Fortunately, most of the restaurants I have visited during my time here have either correctly assumed I cannot handle any spice or have asked me, “Do you like spicy food?” At the restaurant next to my hotel in Kotdwar, I spoke to the manager and the waiters about my goal of eventually being able to eat spicy food, and they became an ally in my spice tolerance journey. After initially only being served foods that were “not spicy,” the waiters asked if I wanted to try something “a little spicy.” I accepted the offer and appreciated the baby steps as well as the safe harbor the restaurant had so far provided from spicy destruction. But, a few minutes after I placed my order of “a little spicy” food, I started to worry. Was “a little spicy” going to be “insanely spicy” for me? How is the waiter’s perception of spice different than mine? Fifteen minutes later, I quickly learned that “a little spicy” didn’t mean what I thought it did. My eyes watered, and I was sure my beet-red face couldn’t fool the waiters who watched as I struggled through each bite. Two bottles of water and a mountain of butter naan later, I had survived the spice attack.
During my recovery, I reflected on how vastly different the waiter’s scale of spice was from mine. Our perception of little and a lot could not have been further apart. Would I ever be able to align my scale with his? Often, this kind of misalignment occurs beyond the dinner table. We each carry our own scale, shaped by our cultures, experiences, and the context that surrounds us. What may appear minor to some can be huge for others.
This misalignment also exists in my work. In my experience supporting organizations of various sizes, each operating in its own unique context, we frequently use the language of “impact” and “scale.” But it can be easy to overlook whose “scale” we are using and what “impact” means in the context of the organization I am working with.
Through my professional experiences, I have navigated different scales of impact without losing my taste buds in the process. In Colorado, I helped scale the businesses of entrepreneurs, measuring impact in millions of dollars and hundreds of jobs. In rural Kenya, I supported sustainable livelihood initiatives for communities affected by HIV and AIDS, measuring impact in kilos of kale and dozens of chickens. The difference in scales of impact between these two organizations could not be more stark, but within the context of the communities they each serve, the lives of their beneficiaries are being transformed. In Colorado, tech startup founders are finding community, receiving guidance from mentors, and collaborating with other founders to scale their businesses and catalyze growth throughout the state. In Kenya, a successfully implemented poultry rearing program has provided families with the skills to have a sustainable source of income and nutrition. While on entirely different scales, both these organizations are making a difference in people’s lives.
Adapting to the scale of impact in each of these organizations has taught me the importance of seeking to understand the communities I operate in before seeking to be understood. In other words, before applying my understanding of M&E frameworks and what metrics I believe are most important to measure success for beneficiaries, it is vital to understand the experiences, context, and culture of the community and organization I am a guest in. Just like how it would have been helpful to know what “a little spicy” meant before I ordered my food. While my understanding of the organization’s impact and priorities may at times differ from the perspectives of the organization itself, this has often served as an opportunity to learn from the organization, as well as a chance to potentially share my own perspective.
Here in Kotdwar, I am supporting the SAHELI Integrated Program, by the American Indian Foundation, which works with adolescents in Uttarakhand to support their health, education, and livelihoods. Its initiatives have a specific focus on adolescent girls. The program is grounded in the belief that by supporting the health, education, and livelihood skills of adolescents, they will live healthier lives, experience improved learning outcomes, and have access to more income opportunities. Ultimately, these initiatives aim to promote long-term gender equity, reduce student dropouts, and increase economic participation.
When I’m not avoiding or struggling through spicy food, I have been sifting through reports about my organization, analyzing impact metrics from current and previous initiatives, and reading success stories that bring the data to life. Over the next few months, I am excited to strengthen my ability to scale and improve existing initiatives, as well as support the monitoring and evaluation system for a program that simultaneously operates across three verticals: health, education, and livelihoods. I still have so much to learn from the transformative work that the SAHELI Integrated Program is undertaking, but my mind has already been flooded with questions and thoughts that I am eager to explore further. I want to understand the scale of impact for the beneficiaries of SAHELI. How can I learn to measure what matters, not what’s easiest to measure? How does the definition of success differ across key stakeholders in an initiative, and how does it influence the impact metrics an organization collects? What gaps exist in the SAHELI’s M&E framework?
In the same way I am pushing myself to adjust to new levels of spice, I look forward to better understanding and supporting the SAHELI Program within its own scale of impact.
