June 1, 1963 (Madaraka, or internal self-government, day):
‘As we participate in the pomp and circumstance, remember this: we are relaxing before the tall that is to come. We must work harder to fight our enemies – ignorance, sickness and poverty. Therefore give you the call HARAMBEE. Let us all work harder together for our country Kenya.’ (Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya’s first President)
June 28, 2011 (Tuesday):
‘My friend John is getting married. Please will you be the Guest of Honour at his Harambee?’ (Teresa, cook)
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I was in a small church somewhere in Eastern Nairobi. A young man with a microphone was calling members of the congregation up to the altar in turn. One by one they would walk down the aisle, make a speech and present an envelope to the man. The church would fall silent as he opened it and removed a wad of money. The total amount would be announced, with fanfare, to the congregation. True theatrics were reserved for two men and two women seated on the altar, who each handed over ‘not one thousand Kenya Shillings, not two thousand, not five thousand, but TEN THOUSAND SHILLINGS!’ After each donation, the audience would cheer, and the man would entreaty them to top it up by 20%. Obliging members would walk up to ‘boost’ the original transactor by depositing a few hundred shillings into a wicker money pot claiming centre stage on a stool. Soon, my name was called…
For I was at a pre-wedding fundraiser, under the guise of that famous Kenyan institution: the Harambee.
‘Harambee’ (har-AM-bay), the official motto of Kenya, is both a concept and a call to action. A Kiswahili word meaning ‘let us all pull together’, its origins lie in the Indian railway men who, when heaving heavy loads of sleeper blocks and iron rails during the construction of the Lunatic Line, would chant ‘har, har, ambee!’ (praise, praise to Ambee mother – a Hindu deity). Kenya’s first president, Jomo Kenyatta, was said to have witnessed a railway line team and decided that it represented the metaphor he wanted for his new nation: a country working together in harmony, sharing its load.
(Some argue that Harambee has its origins in the Bantu word halambee, a compound noun made up of two words, hala and mbee, meaning ‘put effort’ and ‘go forward’ – but where’s the story in that?)
The Harambee embodies ideas of community and self-reliance. While this concept has a strong history in East Africa, with many communities forming self-help groups, it was at independence in 1963 that it really gained momentum in Kenya. For, in order to translate the optimism of the people into benefits, Kenyatta’s government sought rapid economic and social development, using Harambee as an informal development strategy to achieve this. Kenyatta encouraged communities to work together to raise funds for local projects, promising that the Government would provide additional manpower, materials and funding. Guided by the idea of collective good rather than individual gain, Harambee projects saw the construction of schools, health facilities and water projects.
Happy Harambee?
The Harambee movement has played a key role in Kenya’s rural development – but it has not been without problems. Most controversially, Harambee fundraising events have been subject to political manipulation: wealthy individuals wishing to get into politics could, and do, donate large amounts of money to local Harambees, thereby gaining legitimacy.
In an attempt to curb this corruption, the Public Officer Ethics Act 2003 states that it is illegal for public officers to organize or preside over Harambees, or to be listed as guests on Harambee cards. Yet the potential for corruption has not abated; as an MP, Angwenyi, debated in Parliament just a few years ago: ‘As we have come to learn, Harambee is a very inefficient method of developing our country…it encourages corruption. I know, if you want to conduct a Harambee to build a hospital or a dispensary for needy people…and you come to me and I give you KSH1 million which would complete that dispensary, it would be very difficult to prosecute me, even if I committed a crime and came before you! That is because you will be thinking about the people that I have helped in your constituency.’ (Not that this doesn’t work both ways, of course. In the run up to the 2012 General Election, churches, schools and women’s groups have been accused of playing dirty by inviting politicians to Harambees, assuring them that they are the key attendee, only to invite opponents later. If the politicians do not attend, and donate big, they will automatically lose votes.)
The (mis)appropriation of Harambee
But what does mobilising a rural community to fund and build a school have to do with my presence at a church in Nairobi, giving money to a man about to get married? Quite. For, aware of the benefits to be reaped from the Harambee, savvy Kenyans have shifted its meaning from focusing on projects for the collective good, to fundraising events aimed at helping individuals. Your father’s hospital bill needs to be paid, your daughter wants to go to university, your cousin has died… whatever the money needed, a ‘Harambee’ will invariably be held or a ‘Harambee fundraising form’ distributed. Although a Harambee was always much more than a fundraising event, this is what it’s now best known as. Many people think long and hard about which Harambees they attend. Hospital bills, funeral costs and education fees are deserving, but if you want to raise money for ‘leisure’ purposes – such as your wedding or even to study abroad – you won’t get many people willing to part with their hard-earned cash.
Of course, we in the West love to hold fundraising events. But normally, we give something in return (a movie night, a party, Celeste’s special cakes) or require something to be done by the recipient (run a marathon, cycle to Brighton, climb Kilimanjaro). Neither do we badge it as anything other than ‘fundraising for charity’. So I was curious to see how the concept of Harambee, with its loaded history and meaning, translated into an individual’s money-making efforts – and who would actually turn out to fund someone else’s wedding. And so, in the name of research and self-interest (never get on the wrong side of the office cook), my colleague Ruth and I accepted Teresa’s plea to attend her friend’s Harambee (after requesting that we be demoted from ‘Guests of Honour’ after her estimate of our expected contribution)…
The main event
John is getting married in August and wanted to raise money to pay for it. An individual is only really allowed to hold one Harambee in their lifetime – so he needed to make it a good one. We arrived at his church at the stipulated 2pm. He decided to maximise profits by forgoing renting a hall and instead relying on the goodwill of the vicar, who offered the church for free. Backing music was provided by the church band. The audience (a not-too-shabby 50-strong, especially given the fact that it classified as a ‘leisure’ Harambee) was comprised mainly relatives and friends of the groom, from the church. The four people seated at the high table on the altar were the Guests of Honour; leaders of the community, heavy with the weight of expectation and anticipating nothing immediately material in return for their donations except ‘feeling good’, and the status that undoubtedly comes from being a ‘big man’.
One and a half hours later, festivities were kicked off by the compere (the young volunteer with microphone). Although ‘festivities’ is perhaps overselling it; for, apart from a random interlude of three women modeling up and down the holy aisle in business clothes and a group of youths performing a short dance, the whole three hours was dedicated to one thing and one thing only: MONEY MAKING.
For here began the ritual of calling people up one by one. When that got boring, the compere summoned the hitherto-unseen bride. Look at her! He cried. She needs to buy clothes, and shoes, and new hair! Who will help her buy new hair? At which all her friends walked up and tucked money behind her ears. And then it got boring again, as we settled back into call person/give speech/donate/cheer/top up by 20%.
And that wasn’t all the money expected. I counted no less than five opportunities to extract money from me, in addition to my ‘donation’. Upon entrance, I was forced to buy a handkerchief for KSH100. I had to tell the audience my name, and pay KSH50 for the privilege (or, the compere winked, if you don’t want to say your name, give me KSH100). I was hungry and thirsty (Kenyans expect food wherever they go) but had to buy overpriced sodas, samosas and chapatis. I was sold a raffle ticket, hoping I wouldn’t win the own-brand cellular phone. And that’s not to mention the 20% top-ups and the periodic counting and entreaties for more.
John raised a total of KSH100,075 (around £738). I was torn about what I thought of the whole thing. On the one hand, the tedium and unabashed purpose for gathering everyone together, combined with the refusal to provide anything in return (those models and dancers DON’T count), made me feel uncomfortable. Why were we all supplementing his wedding? Why doesn’t he hold a smaller wedding that he can afford? (Many Kenyan friends expressed indignation at this and claimed there’s no way they would have accepted that invitation). What about the pressure on members of the community who couldn’t afford to be topping up his luxuries? Would they have felt ostracized for not attending? Cheap, even? I saw one woman surreptitiously add another KSH1000 to her envelope when she saw what others were contributing – did she feel bad for her original contribution, presumably based on what she could afford, and was she mentally making trade-offs for the lost money?
But on the other hand, it was a great day and showed the spirit and generosity of John’s community. His friends, family and neighbours were rallying around to help their friend when he had asked, showing solidarity and support. Everyone worked for free – playing music, compering, making samosas, manning the raffle stand – and seemed to have a great time together. The local men of standing, including vicars and youth group leaders, performed a real role in the day, agreeing to act as Guests of Honour. John and his bride needed assistance and their community came out with open wallets in support.
Everyone donated what they could afford (and sometimes possibly more), and the response was always cheers, no matter the sum. No one was made to feel bad at their contribution, and everyone felt the gratitude of the couple. It made me wonder how generous these people would be if the Harambee had been for something more ‘worthy’: paying hospital bills, for example. And for John, perhaps a Harambee was the only viable means of raising money for his wedding. Kenyans are expected to have big weddings, and feed all their guests – I’ve been to a few now, and the queues at the buffet tent are something to behold. In a country like Kenya, saving up to feed 400 expectant guests would take a long time, and acquiring loans is difficult. So although John’s Harambee was all about money making, maybe it was the only way he could have done it.
Ruth and I were panicking about our contribution – despite never having met John before, the compere was building up ‘our friends all the way from abroad!’ – but agreed we’d go up together and donate KSH5,000 (around £40). When we walked back to our seats, we saw tears in Teresa’s eyes. I convinced myself they were of pride rather than humiliation. John rang us the next day to give thanks for our donation and to invite us to his wedding (where I shall claw back my investment in chapatis). And I DID get an extra large portion of chicken on Monday…
Susan Njeri Chieni, The Harambee Movement in Kenya: the role played by Kenyans and the Government in the provision of education and other social services, Moi University
Chris Southgate and David Hulme, Environmental Management in Kenya’s arid and semi-arid lands: an overview (February, 1996)
‘Kenya National Assembly Official Record’, Hansard (July 18, 1973, December 1, 1994, March 20, 2003)
‘Politicians in dilemma over outlawed Harambees’, The Standard on Sunday, July 23, 2011
Great post. Love the info AND the insight!
Jeffrey
I can’t decide – do I love it or hate the idea?! Oh Aurelia, I’m so confused! You are too balanced my love – gimme some meat on those emotional reactions missy!!! (translation: your post was marvellous, as always)