High noon in San Francisco de Macoris, a place with a reputation for rebellion. Gripping 12-bore pump-action shotguns across their knees, security guards Felix and Oscar lounge idly in the quiet shade of the bank, seemingly alert to the eerie moment when the streets empty and a posse of hardened outlaws rides into town. Disappointingly for fans of spaghetti westerns, nothing could be further from the truth. “We’ve never had a robbery here,” Oscar admits cheerfully. “I’ve worked for this firm for seven-and-a-half years and I’ve never even heard of a robbery. We’re only here because that’s what the law says.” Even so, he adds: “Neither of us keep our own money in a bank.”
Like more than two-thirds of all Dominicans, Oscar and Felix neither save, borrow nor transfer cash using the formal banking system. That is not because of any lack of security. Rather, on salaries amounting to less than $200 per month, Oscar and Felix, like many of their compatriots, have practically nothing to save, and interest on mortgages they have been offered exceeds what they can afford.