As the world marks the International Year of the Woman Farmer, it is worth asking how far our financing models actually go in recognising women’s labour, leadership, and power in Africa’s commodity value chains. Financing agriculture in developing economies is never just a technical exercise, it is a political one. My work with the Common Fund for Commodities (CFC) revealed how capital shapes who participates, whose labour is visible, and whose power remains constrained. This blog uses the Agricultural Commodity Transformation (ACT) Fund as a lens to examine what its gender ambitions reveal about the possibilities and limits of financing gender‑inclusive transformation.

Working with the Common Fund for Commodities (CFC) exposed me to the complexities of financing agriculture in developing economies. Across the development sector, I have seen many initiatives that claim to address structural challenges in global commodity value chains.  One of the most ambitious is the Agricultural Commodity Transformation (ACT) Fund, a US$75 million+ impact fund launched by the Common Fund for Commodities (CFC), focusing on Africa (70%), Latin America and Asia. On paper, it is ambitious, channeling blended finance into small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) that connect millions of smallholder farmers in Africa, Latin America and Asia to global value chains, while building resilience against climate change. What stood out to me, however, was its gender ambition, its promise to make gender not an afterthought, but a guiding principle.

The ACT Fund explicitly states that it wants to move women from being invisible laborers in commodity value chains to recognized leaders, owners, and decision-makers. That claim made me pause and ask: what does this transformation really look like in practice, and what does it tell us about how finance intersects with gender justice in ? This blog reflects what I have learned so far, and the tensions between ambition and practice in financing gender-inclusive agricultural transformation.

The Weight Women Carry in Agriculture

However, feminist political‑economy research has shown, for decades, that their labour is systematically undervalued. Scholars like Bina Agarwal and Cheryl Doss have also noted that land regimes, inheritance systems, and institutional norms keep women’s work central to production but peripheral to power. And because women often do not. As a result, they face slower access to new technologies, exclusion from cooperatives, and remain underrepresented in leadership positions. The statistics are sobering and only confirm what women farmers already know. The World Economic Forum estimates that, at the current pace, gender parity in economic participation is 169 years away — and agriculture widens that gap further. This is the backdrop to the International Year of the Woman Farmer: a global acknowledgement that women sustain food systems while navigating structural constraints that financing alone cannot fix. And so, when the ACT Fund places gender at the center of its design, it signals recognition that the commodity sector cannot achieve sustainable transformation while half of its workforce is systematically disadvantaged. But it also raises a harder question: what does it mean to finance gender‑inclusive transformation when the very systems that shape access, ownership, and visibility are unequal by design?

Financing beyond numbers

What I found interesting is that ACT is not just a pot of money. It is structured as a blended finance vehicle: CFC contributes US$20 million in “first-loss” capital, essentially absorbing the highest risks, in order to attract follow-on investors. Average financing sizes range from US$ 2 million to US$5 million and target agri-SMEs that act as aggregators for thousands of smallholders. Agri-SMEs are the backbone of Africa’s food economy and according to the African Development Bank , 65% of food produced, aggregated, and distributed across the continent is handled by SMEs, which also manage 90% of all trade in African economies and provide 80% of total jobs in sub-Saharan Africa.

Yet, SMEs consistently cite access to affordable credit as their biggest barrier to growth. By deliberately embedding gender criteria into project selection, using the 2X Challenge indicators on female leadership, ownership, and employment, the ACT Fund is attempting to channel capital where it has historically been absent by identifying SMEs that either already demonstrate gender-inclusive policies or hold strong potential to achieve them.

Trade Opportunities, Unequal Gains

The launch of the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) promised to expand intra-African trade, but not all farmers and SMEs benefit equally. Intra-African trade stands at just 14.4% of total African exports. Coffee and cocoa illustrate both the scale of African agricultural production and the structural barriers to value addition. Coffee exports alone were valued at over US$3.6 billion in 2022, while Côte d’Ivoire and Ghana exported cocoa products worth nearly US$4.8 billion and US$1.8 billion respectively that same year  — yet the continent captures only a fraction of the full value chain. In Middle and Western Africa, most countries earn over 80% of their export revenues from primary commodities, and Africa’s exports remain predominantly unprocessed, while imports consist largely of food products, and this reveals a structural imbalance that AfCFTA was designed, but has so far struggled, to reverse.

This is the paradox of Africa’s commodity economy: the continent is export volumes are growing, but not necessarily creating more dignified work or fairer opportunities, especially for women, whose labour is concentrated in the lowest‑value segments of these chains. AfCFTA’s promise of regional integration will only translate into gender‑responsive transformation if countries move beyond exporting raw materials and invest in processing, standards, and competitiveness. The ACT Fund’s emphasis on value addition is an attempt to intervene in this structural gap. But whether these investments produce gendered gains, not just higher export volumes, depends on how rigorously outcomes are monitored, and whether women’s roles in processing, ownership, and decision‑making are made visible rather than assumed.

Counting what Counts

One of the practical challenges in this space is measuring gender impact. The CFC often relies on self‑reported data from SMEs to track how many women are leaders, employees, or smallholders benefiting from a project. However, feminist political economy scholars like Naila Kabeer and agricultural gender researchers such as Cheryl Doss have long argued that counting women is not the same as understanding gendered outcomes. Numbers can tell us who is present, but they cannot show who has power, who controls income, whose labour is unpaid, or how different groups of women experience a project. This is why number‑based gender reporting is widely recognised as a blunt instrument.

The CFC’s Enimiro, case illustrates this tension. The Ugandan SME sources vanilla from around 4,300 smallholders, and Enimiro’s impact report indicates that approximately 18% of suppliers are women. While this provides a useful reference point, it also exposes what the literature warns about. Income gains do not automatically translate into control over income. Women’s participation often increases unpaid labour burdens that remain invisible in quantitative reporting. When we wear an intersectional lens, we are reminded that “women” is not a homogeneous category: young women, widows, women with disabilities, and women from minority ethnic groups may experience the same project in profoundly different ways.

These micro‑level realities, the ones that determine whether women’s lives actually change, are precisely what headcounts erase. A project may report that “1,290 women benefited,” but that number cannot reveal whether women were landowners or labourers, whether they had decision‑making power, whether their workloads increased, or whether they were shielded from price shocks. In commodity sectors, where financing structures shape who bears risk and who captures value, these distinctions matter. Without them, gender reporting risks becoming a numerical exercise that obscures more than it reveals. The foregoing are a reflection of the broader methodological challenges that all impact‑oriented financiers face when working with SMEs in data‑constrained environments.”

My Takeaway

Reflecting on this, I am struck by the tension between ambition and practice. The ACT Fund represents a serious effort to bring gender to the forefront of agricultural finance — not as an afterthought, but as a design principle. Yet, the realities on the ground remind us that finance alone cannot dismantle systemic barriers like discriminatory land laws, gender-biased norms, or unequal household power dynamics. For me, the lesson is this: gender-lens investing can open doors, but transformation requires more than just capital. It demands sustained policy reforms, shifts in social norms, and accountability mechanisms that ensure women are not only visible as producers but also influential as leaders.

Planting Seeds for the Future

By 2030, the vision is for women in Africa’s commodity sectors to hold leadership positions, earn fair incomes, and influence how agricultural enterprises grow. If this vision is realised, it will not just reshape markets, it will reshape communities. But to get there, governments, investors, and consumers alike must move beyond rhetoric to action.

One practical way to move from rhetoric to action is to make gender‑based reporting a standard requirement in agricultural financing, especially in commodity sectors where capital flows often obscure who actually benefits. A range of established tools already exist to help projects do this work, not as bureaucratic checklists, but as mechanisms for making women’s labour, authority, and constraints visible to financiers. Institutions such as FAO and IFAD require sex‑disaggregated data on training, inputs, and income distribution. FAO’s Gender Equality Policy (2020–2030) offers practical tools for identifying gender gaps in agriculture, including Gender‑Lex — a database of national policies — and Country Gender Assessments, which highlight disparities in access to resources, services, and employment and provide clear recommendations for gender‑responsive action. Tools like the Women’s Empowerment in Agriculture Index (WEAI), go further by tracking decision‑making power and time‑use, revealing how women’s participation is often sustained by unpaid labour that financing models rarely account for. IFAD’s Results and Impact Management System (RIMS) and frameworks such as CARE’s Gender Marker and Oxfam’s GEM approach shift attention to institutional change, who controls income, who sits on committees, and whether cooperatives adopt gender‑responsive governance. These tools matter for a simple reason: without gender‑based reporting, financing institutions like the CFC cannot see whether their investments are reinforcing existing inequalities or enabling women to move into positions of authority within commodity value chains. Reporting does not guarantee transformation, but it creates the minimum visibility required for accountability, ensuring that capital does more than circulate; it reshapes the terms on which women participate in Africa’s commodity transformation. Perhaps the most powerful framing comes from the CFC itself: the ACT Fund plants seeds of opportunity in the hands of African women. The real question, and one I continue to reflect on, is whether the soil of policy, finance, and society will allow those seeds to flourish. For taking that step and attempting to embed gender awareness into commodity finance, the CFC deserves recognition.

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the author:

Emaediong Akpan is a legal practitioner called to the Nigerian Bar in 2015, with a Master’s in Consumer Protection Law and a Master’s in Development Studies from the International Institute of Social Studies. Her work sits at the intersection of law, gender equity, and development policy, with a focus on accountability, digital governance, and the structural inequalities shaping development outcomes. With extensive experience in the development sector, she has worked on gender equality, social inclusion, and policy advocacy initiatives across institutional and research contexts. Her interests include examining how law, technology, and feminist policy approaches can strengthen protections and create safer digital environments.

Read her blogs here: 1, 2, 3 ,4

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This blog post is part of a Women’s Month series marking the International Year of the Woman Farmer, drawing from interviews with Mary Portillo, Yuri Tabora, and Araceli Peraza, women working at the Capucas agricultural cooperative. Their narratives show that real transformation requires more than visibility; it depends on the institutional scaffolding that shapes who gets to lead, learn and belong. By tracing how organizations create (or fail to create) the structures that make women’s leadership possible, their experiences offer insights others can learn from.

March brings its familiar rituals of recognition – Women’s Month, International Women’s Day and this year, the International Year of the Woman Farmer. But visibility, however welcome, is not the same as transformation. What matters is how institutions redesign themselves so that women’s leadership is not symbolic but structurally supported.

In this blog post, we share the experiences of women working within an agricultural cooperative—not to spotlight individual resilience, but to understand the organizational conditions that make their progress possible. The three narratives trace how scaffolding operates inside the institution – not as charity or exceptional support, but as the architecture through which organizations decide who enters, who advances and who is recognized as a long‑term actor. The everyday experiences of these women reveal the institutional practices that often remain invisible in public celebrations of women’s contributions. Their trajectories show what it takes for the Women’s Month to move beyond recognition and toward structural change.

Institutional trust as a gendered resource: “My job is my joy, not a duty.”

Mary’s account illustrates how women’s entry into agricultural institutions is shaped not by individual deficits but by structural conditions. She begins with no experience and describes the uncertainty of her early days – ‘I didn’t know what to say, or what to do at the beginning’ – a pattern well‑documented in feminist agrarian scholarship, where women often enter from the periphery without the apprenticeship networks or inherited confidence that men accumulate through generational participation (Agarwal, 1994). What distinguishes her trajectory is the institution’s refusal to treat this uncertainty as a limitation.

Instead of demanding long histories of competence before allowing women to be seen, the cooperative practices what Cornwall and Edwards (2010) describe as anticipatory trust. Mary was invited to the national barista championship within her first year, a high‑stakes opportunity typically reserved for more experienced workers. When she expressed doubt – ‘I felt I wasn’t ready’ – leadership intervenes not with encouragement alone, but with structural risk‑sharing. The general manager reframes the competition as learning rather than performance, a move Ely and Meyerson (2000) identify as a gender‑responsive organizational practice that lowers the penalties for inexperience and signals that the institution will absorb uncertainty alongside her. This is not benevolence; it is a deliberate redistribution of opportunity and risk.

Her progression is sustained by a collective infrastructure of support – ´from the cleaning personnel to the management´ – reflecting what cooperative studies describe as horizontal learning cultures that counteract the isolation women often face in technical roles. Her long hours of preparation are not framed as individual perseverance but as shared labour, with colleagues investing time, skill and confidence in her development. The outcomes of this institutional culture are concrete: national championships, international representation and certification as the only woman barista instructor in Honduras. She attributes this trajectory to a workplace where others ‘trust me more than I do myself,´ a perfect example of  institutional scaffolding of self‑trust – the process through which organizational belief precedes and shapes women’s confidence in their own expertise.

In the context of the International Year of the Woman Farmer, Mary’s account demonstrates that supporting women is not a matter of recognition but of structure: early investment, reduced penalties for inexperience, and distributed training creates the conditions under which women’s advancement becomes predictable rather than exceptional.

Feminist organizational scholars like Ely and Meyerson (2000) show that when workplaces reduce gendered penalties, share risk and actively scaffold women’s learning, women demonstrate higher retention and deeper organizational loyalty than men in comparable conditions; this is not framed as personality but as structural reciprocity, and ten years on, Mary’s continued presence – captured in her own words, ‘My job is my joy, not a duty´. This affirms the argument of Meyerson and Fletcher (2000) and Wittenberg‑Cox (2013) : when organizational systems finally work for women rather than against them, women do not simply remain, they become the most enduring and stabilizing force those institutions have.

Institutional scaffolding and the making of technical authority

Like Mary, Yuri joined the Capucas cooperative without professional experience, newly out of high school, and was immediately placed into a Heifer International–Capucas food security project in remote Celaque communities. As she explained, ‘in this area there were no roads to access these communities, so I had to walk one and a half to two hours to reach them, only by foot.´

Feminist agrarian scholars such as Agarwal (1994) and Razavi (2009) note that this kind of community‑embedded labour is routinely feminized: institutions rely on women to absorb the physical and logistical burdens of rural mobility while treating such effort as ordinary rather than structurally demanding. Her initial preference for a less demanding role is dismissed, and the cooperative president insists that she is needed on the project and will receive technical assistance.

This reflects what is often called anticipatory trust, the organizational practice of extending belief in a woman’s potential before she has accumulated the credentials typically required. It shows that  organizations can reproduce inequality unless they intentionally redistribute opportunity, as Capucas does by placing a young woman in a role normally reserved for more senior men.

The cooperative’s commitment to training and guidance constitutes structured support, the third component of scaffolding, where inexperience becomes a site of institutional investment rather than a justification for exclusion. Yuri’s father’s guidance in navigating the terrain complements this institutional scaffolding, illustrating Kabeer’s (1999) insight that women’s agency is shaped by the interplay of household resources and organizational opportunity. Yuri’s account therefore demonstrates how scaffolding operates across institutional and familial levels to create a pathway into technical work for a young woman who initially sought something smaller and safer.

Yuri’s progression into leadership at the organic fertilizer plant shows how scaffolding deepens over time and produces women’s technical authority. After a year in the field, she is sent to a major coffee exporter for capacity building–an explicit investment in her skills. This skill‑building can be viewed as structural empowerment, where women’s technical competence is cultivated rather than presumed absent. When she is later asked to lead Capucas’s new organic fertilizer plant and hesitates, citing lack of knowledge, the cooperative does not interpret her doubt as disqualification. Instead, it engages in what Rao and Kelleher (2005) describe as institutional risk‑sharing: the organization absorbs uncertainty by sending her to Colombia and Peru to study ongoing projects and learn best practices, rather than expecting her to demonstrate readiness in advance. This sequence–early placement in a demanding role, targeted training, external exposure and shared responsibility for risk–embodies gender‑responsive organizational redesign, where institutions actively reshape opportunity structures to counteract gendered exclusions. Her simultaneous identity as a small‑scale coffee producer, rooted in a 200‑year regional tradition of land inheritance and community economic activity, underscores how women’s agricultural labour is embedded in both cultural continuity and institutional opportunity. Yuri’s eventual confidence and satisfaction in the role are thus not framed as individual exceptionalism but as the predictable outcome of a system that invested in her learning, mobility and technical authority.

Scaffolding as institutional design

Araceli’s trajectory shows scaffolding not as a response to difficulty but as the quiet architecture through which institutions decide who gets to enter, grow and matter. She begins at twenty through a programme created for the children of producers–a structured pipeline that signals intentional inclusion rather than discretionary benevolence. Acker’s work on gendered organisations reminds us that such pipelines do not emerge accidentally; they reflect institutions that have already reworked their opportunity structures so that young women are not peripheral but expected. Araceli’s rapid promotion from auxiliary to Manager of Traceability within a year is treated as normal, not exceptional. This is what Cornwall and Edwards describe as anticipatory trust, but it also echoes Bourdieu’s point that institutions reproduce themselves by recognizing and cultivating certain forms of potential. Here, the cooperative is not waiting for women to ‘prove´ readiness; it is actively constructing the conditions under which readiness becomes possible.

Araceli’s educational pathway makes the scaffolding even more visible. While completing a US‑based master’s degree in agricultural business–delivered virtually through a cost‑free collaboration between the cooperative and the national university–she works with flexible hours and sustained organizational support. As Rao and Kelleher remind us, ‘transformative change requires altering the deep structures that reproduce gender inequality within organisations.´ Their argument is visible here: institutional transformation requires organizations to adjust their internal rhythms to women’s life courses, and Araceli’s experience shows what this looks like in practice–scaffolding as temporal alignment, where institutional time bends to accommodate women’s educational and professional growth.

Araceli’s pathway reveals scaffolding as institutional design rather than individual assistance: a pipeline that brings young women in, accelerated trust that moves them forward, and organizational rhythms that expand rather than constrain their possibilities. As the closing narrative, her trajectory widens the analytic frame. Scaffolding here is not simply what institutions do to help women navigate difficulty; it is how they build futures, redistribute possibility and align their structures with the evolving lives of the women they claim to serve.

Conclusion

Taken together, these narratives show that women’s advancement in agriculture is not a matter of individual resilience but of institutional design. Scaffolding appears in different forms–emotional and technical accompaniment, risk‑sharing and the construction of authority, and the redesign of organizational pipelines and rhythms. Across these trajectories, the pattern is clear: women rise when institutions shift around them, altering the deep structures that reproduce inequality. This is the work the International Year of the Woman Farmer calls for. If the year is to be more than symbolic recognition, it must anchor a broader commitment to redesigning agricultural institutions so that women’s leadership is not exceptional but expected. Scaffolding is not the celebration; it is the infrastructure that makes the celebration meaningful.

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the authors:

Mary Portillo has served for a decade within the Capucas Cooperative, where she currently holds dual roles as Quality Control Manager and Director of the Capucas Academy. A committed coffee producer and an accomplished technical specialist, she brings deep expertise in sensory analysis, quality assurance, and producer training. She is an AST Trainer and a Licensed Q Grader, complemented by advanced certification as a Master in Coffee Training across all related areas. Her excellence in the field is further demonstrated by earning First Place in the National Barista Championship in both 2016 and 2017, representing Honduras at the World Barista Championship for two consecutive years.

Yuri Tabora is part of the technical team at COCAFCAL, where she works in the area of solid and liquid organic product development, using byproducts.  Her work focuses on the efficient transformation of raw materials, ensuring quality standards, sustainability, and compliance with established technical processes.

Araceli Peraza is a member of the Capucas team whose work is grounded in strategic thinking. She approaches her work with creativity, initiative, and a leadership style that prioritises clarity, teamwork, and shared success.

Dania Booth is a purpose‑driven professional dedicated to helping mission‑aligned organizations achieve sustainable growth and long‑term development impact. With a strong foundation in sustainable finance, ESG integration, and impact investment, she supports companies in aligning their strategies with global sustainability standards while strengthening their financial resilience.

Emaediong Akpan is a legal practitioner, called to the Nigerian Bar in 2015. She graduated from the MA programme Development Studies with a specialization in Women and Gender Studies at the International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University Rotterdam.

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In early November, Indigenous communities in the Brazilian Amazon raised their voices, reminding us that without forests there is no future: “sem floresta, não há futuro”. During the UN Climate Change Conference (COP 30), global leaders discussed how to protect tropical forests as a collective effort. However, it ended without a binding agreement to stop deforestation. Given that tropical forests are often found in countries with fragile institutional contexts, Sara Vélez Zapata and Gonzalo A. Vargas ask what can we learn from communities’ achievements over the last few years?

 

 

Community forestry is a set of diverse institutions and practices that enable rural communities to participate in managing forest resources; it is a strategy to curb deforestation and conserve biodiversity, while at the same time sustaining local livelihoods. Of course, community forestry is more likely to achieve its social and environmental aims when some key institutional conditions are right: the government is supportive, tenure rights are ensured, and communal institutions are strong. But case studies from Guatemala,  Mexico,  and,  Nepal (among others) have shown that communities sometimes manage to protect forests despite corruption, violence, and weak government capacity. What can we learn from these communities? If the “correct” institutions are missing, under what conditions do they manage to make community forestry work?

An extreme case study: the San Lucas Mountains

In the San Lucas Mountains (Colombia), rural communities do not have sufficient communal institutions to establish proper rules for the use of common-pool resources such as forests. What’s more, there are no security conditions to enforce the few rules they have. While a few communities hold land rights, most are informal occupants of the forest. At the same time, this is also a highly biodiverse ecosystem, home to several endangered species. This situation, together with armed conflict, illegal mining and coca crops, makes unlikely a sustainable future for forests and their inhabitants. However, in a recent article in World Development, we showed how local rural communities in the San Lucas Mountains despite all this have managed the forest in a sustainable manner and contributed to forest regeneration.

A story of hope

Using qualitative data gathered through several participatory techniques, as well as satellite imagery, we compared the performance and practices of eleven villages in the San Lucas Mountains. Using fuzzy-set Qualitative Comparative Analysis (fsQCA), we identified the conditions that were relevant for reducing deforestation and regenerate degraded areas.

Based on prior empirical findings and theoretical debates on community forestry, we identified four conditions of interest related to the observed conservation effectiveness: legitimate environmental leadership, empowering interactions with external organisations, land occupied by outsiders and sustainable values and practices. We found that three of these conditions supported the desired conservation effectiveness.

Their “recipe” of the successful communities combined three ingredients. First, their communal leaders promoted sustainable values and practices through environmental education and training in agroforestry. They were also legitimate in the eyes of their communities and mobilised their younger members. Secondly, their sustainable practices, e.g. agroforestry, fallow enrichment, and apiculture, were rooted in traditional knowledge and as well as in training from external organisations. Finally, partnerships with external organisations empowered local communities, allowing them to participate in decision-making processes ensuring their interests and concerns were heard.

A particularly inspiring example is the “forestry pension” idea, promoted by the Medellin-based  Corporación Grupo Trópico Diverso in collaboration with Colectivo Gente y Bosques. Their partnership introduced a new way of thinking about forests in the form of a forestry pension which enables communities to use forests in the future as part of their income for their retreat. They are strengthening communities’ capacity to consider the long-term economic value of keeping the forest standing. In a partnership with local leaders, communities have learned why reforestation is important and how to implement it in degraded lands. In their own words: “We have learned to keep stubble fields, to plant rubber trees, to avoid cutting down all the trees to have a pasture, to let some trees grow so that the land does not degrade”

What’s next?

What the San Lucas Mountains tell is a story of hope, as communities achieve social and environmental outcomes against all odds. However, this does not mean that they are not expecting the “right institutional conditions”. Our results do not imply that rural communities should be left alone. On the contrary, we found that they are doing a tremendous job of achieving forest regeneration.

Our call to action is for governments, companies in interaction with local communities and NGOs to get out of their offices and look back to the territory. Rural communities are waiting for opportunities in which their knowledge is recognised so they can create collaborative learning processes. This means that communities should be in the driver’s seat when considering solutions to tackle deforestation.

Note: This blog was first published on the EADI Debating Development Blog

Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.

About the authors:

Sara Vélez Zapata is a Doctoral researcher at the Centre of Excellence for Sustainability at KEDGE Business School (France) and at the International Institute of Social Studies at Erasmus University Rotterdam (Netherlands). She earned an MSc (Cum Laude) in Interdisciplinary Development Studies from Los Andes University and a BA in Political Science from EAFIT University, Colombia. Her research explores the interactions between companies and rural communities, with a focus on their impact on forest conservation in contexts of limited statehood.

 

Gonzalo A. Vargas is an Associate professor at the Interdisciplinary Centre of Development Studies (CIDER) at Universidad de los Andes (Colombia). He holds a PhD in Development Studies from the London School of Economics (United Kingdom). His areas of interest include violence, development and institutions; hunger, malnutrition and agriculture; the political economy of development; and comparative analysis.

 

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