Chip Moore used to focus on three things: family, business and football. But all that changed a little over a year ago when the Birmingham, Ala. businessman read a story about Rahima Sheikh, who was grappling with drug-resistant TB. Photo Geeta Anand
BIRMINGHAM, Ala.—Real-estate developer Chip Moore left his four-bedroom home here one morning in his GMC Yukon SUV, drove through his community's gate, past the golf course to a Publix supermarket.
There, he wired $1,000 to Rahima Sheikh, a gravely ill woman in a 240-square-foot home in India. He considered it a one-time thing.
"I thought I'd sling some money at the problem," he says, "and make it go away."
Instead, 10 months later, Mr. Moore was in northern India, sitting cross-legged on the roof of Mrs. Sheikh's tiny brick house on an August night, eating goat curry and talking with her husband about the business Mr. Moore had helped the family start as a way to escape poverty.

Fighting Poverty From Across the World

After reading a Wall Street Journal article about the trouble of a family in India, real-estate developer Chip Moore decided to help them combat poverty.
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Rahima Sheikh at her home in Bhatni Haraiya village, India, in December. Mrs. Sheikh suffers from drug-resistant tuberculosis. Vivek Singh for The Wall Street Journal
His impulsive act of long-distance charity had drawn him deeper and deeper into a family's fight for survival 8,200 miles away. Along the way, he had learned the rewards—and trials—that can come with personally trying to lift a single family from poverty.
Mr. Moore's journey from an affluent Birmingham subdivision to the remote village started in October last year, when on his iPad he read an article in The Wall Street Journal about Mrs. Sheikh. She had run out of money for her tuberculosis medicine, even though she had mortgaged the family farm.
The 52-year-old Mr. Moore says he was inspired by Mrs. Sheikh's fight against her drug-resistant TB. Mrs. Sheikh, 40, for six years had sought a cure for her TB, which kills more adults than any other infectious disease in India. Now she wondered if the end was near.
"Man, don't give up," he recalls thinking. "You're going to make it, or go down swinging—with my help."
Mr. Moore, whose family apartment-financing business provided ample resources, says his family had often donated to local causes. His wife, Shannon, and a son had built houses in Latin America with a church group. But his life was largely in Alabama, revolving around his children's schools, his church and Auburn University football games.
Helping Mrs. Sheikh on the other side of the globe was a challenge of another level. He started by emailing the Journal to ask how he could send money directly to her. The Journal connected him with Anjul Srivastava, a California software engineer who grew up not far from Mrs. Sheikh's village and who had told the Journal he sent money to her after reading an earlier story in the paper about her.
Mr. Srivastava agreed to communicate with the Sheikhs, who speak no English, and to help Mr. Moore make a donation. Mr. Moore says he wired the October funds for medicine and for the Sheikhs to pay back the loan on their quarter-acre field, which they had mortgaged for $700 to pay medical bills.

Earlier

They didn't know it at the time, but Mr. Moore and Mr. Srivastava, neither of whom had expertise in development, had launched a do-it-yourself mission to restore the Sheikhs' physical and financial health.
In December 2012, the Sheikhs told Mr. Srivastava they couldn't afford seed wheat and needed cash for Mrs. Sheikh to travel to Mumbai for a checkup. Mr. Moore says he wired another $800.
Mrs. Sheikh's husband, Tabarak Sheikh, says he picked the money up at the nearest Western Union office, traveling an hour and a half in a small truck doubling as a private bus.
The Sheikhs' struggle is common in India, where two-thirds live below the international poverty level of $2 a day. Medical-care costs and other unforeseen expenses can plunge a family into destitution. The Sheikhs and most people in their district lack toilets and don't have electricity much of the day.
But sending money for one need often exposes a new set of needs unless the underlying causes of poverty are addressed, says Kaivan Munshi, a University of Cambridge development economist.
Mr. Moore quickly found that out for himself. A week into Mrs. Sheikh's stay in Mumbai, the couple ran out of money. Mr. Moore says he wired $500 more, which Mr. Sheikh, 44, says he picked up at a nearby post office.
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Two weeks later, the Sheikhs said they were penniless again. Medical costs had exceeded expectations, they said, and they had spent $200 to repay a loan for earlier hospital bills.
Mr. Srivastava, who says he was also sending smaller amounts of money to the family occasionally, told Mr. Moore he was concerned at their spending pace. Mr. Moore, in Florida at a wedding, wired $500 more anyway. "As a former bank loan officer," he emailed Mr. Srivastava, "I am impressed that they are committed to paying back their debts."
Still, he concluded, the Sheikhs' tiny farm couldn't make them self-reliant. The two men brainstormed ways Mr. Sheikh could support his family. Mr. Srivastava, who had read that many farmers supplemented income by raising poultry, suggested the Sheikhs become chicken farmers. Mr. Sheikh balked, saying the birds would die during his wife's frequent hospitalizations.
He wanted to open a store. His U.S. patrons nixed the plan as too risky. Then they discovered Mr. Sheikh had worked more than 20 years in a Mumbai garment factory. The three settled on his opening a tailoring shop.
Mr. Sheikh estimated he needed $400 for two treadle sewing machines—usable during power outages—and $180 for cloth-cutting tables. He rented a 10-foot-by-10-foot room where he planned to sew nylon sweatpants to sell at $2 a pair.
Mr. Moore suggested the Sheikhs seek a small-business loan. Mr. Srivastava reported that they couldn't, explaining that a big roadblock for rural entrepreneurs in India is a lack of access to capital. Mr. Moore wired $900, which Mr. Sheikh says he used to set up shop.
"If all goes well they will be able to support themselves with the $35 a week they expect to make," Mr. Srivastava emailed Mr. Moore. "And as the saying goes: 'Teach a person how to fish and he will eat forever.' "
Trying to teach Mr. Sheikh to fish pulled Mr. Moore in even more deeply. Less than two weeks after starting the business, Mr. Sheikh found the sewing took longer than he expected. And he couldn't find buyers.
Mr. Moore counseled patience. "Good business is built on years of a daily commitment and establishing a good foundation of knowledge, customers and skill," he told Mr. Sheikh through Mr. Srivastava.
Mr. Moore was speaking from experience. He says he worked as a bank loan officer before joining his father's business financing apartments. He and his sister helped expand the business and now together develop, finance and manage apartments in the Southeast, where they grew up.
Several weeks later, Mr. Sheikh had inventory of about 100 pieces he couldn't sell. He blamed lack of transportation. He had no vehicle, and shops that could carry his pants were 15 miles apart. Poor roads and public transportation are a hindrance to many would-be entrepreneurs in rural India.
Mr. Moore began worrying that no one wanted the pants. "Simply put, he needs to not make a bunch of something with no real assessment of demand," he told Mr. Srivastava.
Then the tide turned. Mr. Sheikh solved his distribution problem by borrowing a motorcycle. "Tabarak moved inventory," Mr. Srivastava told Mr. Moore. "He was on a trip to buy raw materials for the next batch when I called."
Mr. Moore was elated. "Not sure if I want to use the word proud," he wrote, "because it implies some sort of inequality, like a father to son or boss to employee, but I am proud of him."
An idea popped into his mind: "I've got to get to India and see this." What the Sheikhs needed, he decided, was business-process instruction, not just money. First, he needed to understand their situation.
On Aug. 26, after flying to New Delhi, Mr. and Mrs. Moore landed in Gorakhpur, in Uttar Pradesh state. After an hour on dusty roads, they arrived at the Sheikhs' village of Bhatni Haraiya, a cluster of brick houses surrounded by rice fields.
Mr. Sheikh and his 21-year-old eldest son were waiting by the roadside. Mr. Moore jumped from the car and hugged the two. They looked up at the Sheikhs' home, half of a single-story brick house, to see Mrs. Sheikh and her 16-year-old daughter waving from the roof terrace.
Mrs. Sheikh laid down a red cotton sheet and motioned the Moores to sit on the terrace floor. Evening prayers wafted from the mosque.
Mr. Moore inquired about the Sheikhs' children. "What is this young man hoping to do with his life?" he asked, thumping the eldest son's back. He was studying electronics in college.
Mr. Sheikh summoned his 18-year-old son, bearded and dressed in white from skull cap to long pants. He was studying to be a Muslim cleric. The Sheikhs' daughter shyly pulled her scarf over her head. "For the future, I'll decide when I come to it," she said, giggling.
Mr. Moore put an arm around Mr. Sheikh, saying, "Man, you must be very proud of these kids."
Mr. Sheikh, beaming, replied, "You gave me the ability to be proud of them." He had planned to pull his sons out of school to work. Now he could let them continue studying.
Mrs. Moore looked at her husband, squeezing his hand as their eyes met, overwhelmed.
Dinner arrived: goat curry, lentils and mutton biriyani, the rice dish for parties. The two hadn't had Indian food before, which locals eat with their fingers. Mr. Moore turned the roti flat bread into burritos, filling them with the food.
Mr. Sheikh pointed at Mr. Moore's stomach and said, "Your waist size is more than 34." Mr. Sheikh explained he had made his patron a surprise pair of dress pants, after getting his waist size from Mr. Srivastava.
"All right, I lied," Mr. Moore said, laughing.
As the families talked and laughed, a crowd gathered below in the street to stare up at the Americans. "What have they done to get so lucky?" asked one of the family's teenage nieces, referring to the Sheikhs, as she leaned over a low wall from the adjoining roof.
The next day, a crowd followed as Mr. Sheikh showed the Moores the field he had unmortgaged with their money. The Sheikhs later explained that there is envious whispering in town about how they suddenly got so comfortable.
Mr. Moore and Mr. Sheikh headed to Deoria, the nearest commercial center, to buy an $800 inverter for emergency battery power. Mrs. Sheikh needed electricity to power a machine, bought with the Moores' funds, that helps her breathe during asthma attacks.
During the two hours over 30 miles of potholed roads, Mr. Moore quizzed Mr. Sheikh. How much did the cloth cost? What were his other costs?
In 20 days, Mr. Sheikh said, he had netted $30, far less than the $140 a month he and his patrons had projected. Mr. Moore tried to remain positive: "You'll get faster and faster and learn other ways to cut costs. Just hang in there."
Mr. Sheikh said he needed to transport pants faster to accept last-minute orders. He needed a motorbike, he said. Maybe later, Mr. Moore told him.
On the last day, he went to a village store and bought a ledger for Mr. Sheikh, encouraging him to account carefully for his costs. "Unless you understand your costs very well, you can't succeed," he told him.
Mr. Sheikh asked Mr. Moore to write "Shannon's Designs" on the ledger, thereby naming his company after Mrs. Moore.
Before leaving for the airport, Mr. Moore handed Mr. Sheikh 15,000 rupees, or $250, to buy cloth for the next pants batch and to tide the family over for a bit.
But when the Moores arrived back in Birmingham, Mr. Srivastava told them the Sheikhs requested more cash. Mrs. Sheikh had developed scabs she believed to be a drug side effect and had traveled to Mumbai to see her TB specialist. She was OK, but the money was gone.
Mr. Moore wired another $500.
In September, Mr. Sheikh had good news. His pants had sold well and he had orders for 350 more pairs. But he needed more money to buy cloth.
Mr. Moore wired $500.
The Moores say that the vastness of India's poverty is dispiriting but that they find joy in helping one family. Eventually, they hope to help others in the village, perhaps by starting a health clinic. First, they want to get the Sheikhs on their feet.
One family's helping another directly is "not a suitable model" to fight global poverty, says Cambridge University's Mr. Munshi. But, he says, Mr. Moore's and Mr. Srivastava's efforts will probably help the Sheikhs because the two avoided the pitfalls of many development efforts by tailoring their assistance to the situation. "One thing that never works is trying to provide generalizable solutions to all the problems that people face."
The Sheikhs' business has been thriving the past few months, with more orders than they can meet. Still, they were back with another request in November, for $3,000 to buy an adjacent lot to build a bathroom. Mr. Moore declined, saying he wanted them focused on their business and on curing Mrs. Sheikh. She used $180 in tailoring profits and borrowed $500 from a friend to buy a sliver of the land, anyway. "I hate that they borrowed," Mr. Moore says.
This month, he sent $2,000 to a charity that helps buy medicine for Mrs. Sheikh. He calculates the total he has contributed so far at $7,750.
Mr. Moore says he had expected his India trip to bring a close to his involvement. "Instead of closing the door, it got blown wide open and blown off the hinges."
—Shanoor Seervai contributed to this article.