ASPECTS OF SHARING AMONG AFRICANSby Karega-Munene
I have very fond memories of some experiences of the noble concept and practice of sharing among fellow Africans that occurred early in my life. It was in the early 1960s when, as a small boy, I accompanied my mother for a trip from our home at Subukia in Nakuru to my maternal grandparents in Nyeri via Nyahururu (then Thomson's Falls). On arrival in Nyahururu my late uncle Charles Kuria met us. Although from the clothes he was wearing, I could, in spite of my age, guess he was struggling to make ends meet, he bought me my first ndazi and tea at a kiosk at the bus terminus. To a rural boy, this was a major treat. Although I did not see my uncle again until 1995, his generosity stuck in my mind. The second experience also dates to the early 1960s and concerns one Mzee Ole Maina, a Maasai elder who lived in our village at Spring Valley Farm in Subukia. Ole Maina lived alone in his hut; he was a darling of all the children in the village because he was a good storyteller and a very generous man. Although the European settler did not allow squatters to keep any livestock in the village, Ole Maina occasionally slaughtered a ram or he-goat, which he shared with all the children in the village. Thus, although Ole Maina had no family of his own in the village, he regarded us all as his children and he derived much joy and happiness from sharing the little he had with us, regardless of our gender, age or ethnic or religious affiliation. The fact that the village was cosmopolitan, with virtually every ethnic group in the country represented, made the sharing unforgettable. Ole Maina taught us to drink warm blood and to eat raw meat. Although I subsequently lost the courage to consume raw meat and to drink blood, the wonderful memories still linger. Equally unforgettable were the rituals (e.g. circumcision ceremonies) of various communities in the village in which all of us, children and adults, participated. The interaction during such ceremonies was natural because we conversed in each other's mother tongues from early in life. That we were poor squatters with hardly any rights, did not bar us from sharing without discrimination. As children we were taught that sharing was a joy; it was, therefore, rare to see a child eating or drinking alone. In July-October 1990 in the midst of a drought in Kajiado District, Kathleen Ryan, a friend and colleague from the University of Pennsylvania Museum in the USA and I were collecting preliminary data on traditional animal husbandry at Isajiloni in Kajiado District.1. Our instincts led us to the homestead of Mzee Ole Kaaka. As it turned out, Ole Kaaka was a highly respected elder and leader in the area. Our visit to his homestead was met with the legendary African hospitality: he and his family treated us as very close friends or relatives. Within a few minutes, we were sharing sugary black tea with the family. This brings me to another experience of sharing I had in the course of my field research at Dol Dol in Laikipia District in 1995. While there Mzee Ole Mutunge's family hosted my colleagues and me. On the morning of the second day of our visit two of Ole Mutunge's grandsons, with whom I had struck a rapport on arrival, took me outside the house to show me two goats that they had decided to give me to cement our friendship. On the day I was to return to Nairobi I jokingly asked my young friends whether I could take 'my' goats with me to Nairobi. The boys answered in the affirmative and, happily drove the goats towards our land rover! The boys did not have that many goats, but they had volunteered to part with two of them: to share their limited resources with somebody they barely knew. It was such a touching gesture that it brought back childhood memories of sharing and the joy that characterised it. Sharing among traditional African societies also provided a form of insurance against total impoverishment, which could be occasioned by loss of a given household's entire herd of cattle due to raids, disease or drought. To guard against such eventualities herding communities like the Maasai have over the years developed an elaborate reciprocal gift system. The system involves the exchange of gifts (e.g. cattle) between age-mates, brothers, distant relatives or neighbours. The gifts might also be from a rich household to a poor household, or from a man to his future father-in-law. When calamity strikes, a man who shared his wealth is able to rebuild his herd by receiving gifts from his age-mates, relatives, neighbours and/or friends.2 Among the Gikuyu, sharing was evident in their traditional land tenure system. Ownership of the land was vested in the mbari (a lineage or sub-clan), rather than in specific individuals. The administration of a given mbari land was vested in a muramati (guardian or custodian), who granted farming rights to the less fortunate members of the community from outside the mbari, namely the ahooi (tenants-at-will).3 In this connection the proverb states: Githaka gutigunaga muuni kigunaga muhooi (The land does not benefit the one who clears it but the newcomer/tenant-at-will).4This sharing of resources did not only guarantee fairness, but also helped to minimise conflict that may have arisen from land ownership and use. Sadly, some of us, including people who can afford to share with the less fortunate, have tended to abuse this noble concept of sharing. For example, a few years ago an acquaintance of mine, Njoroge, was invited for a harambee in aid of the education of his friend Kimani's children in Britain. The harambee was to be held at Kimani's home in the wealthy suburb of Lavington in Nairobi. On arrival at Kimani's, Njoroge noticed an assortment of expensive cars, including an Alfa Romeo and two fairly new Mercedes Benz sedans. Initially he thought these belonged to some invited guests, but on realising he was the first guest to arrive he complimented Kimani for having such a good taste for cars. This not only won Njoroge a wide smile from Kimani, but also a big "thank you." Njoroge could not help wondering why Kimani could not dispose of some of his vehicles to pay his children's school fees. Njoroge himself had been paying for his children's education in Britain and Australia. His parents had taught him to shoulder his own burden, always reminding him and his siblings of the Gikuyu proverb, Njogu ndiremagwo ni maguongo yayo (An elephant is never overpowered by its tusks).5 As such, he occasionally sold some of his assets to pay his children's school fees. To him, the harambee was a blatant abuse of sharing. In present-day Kenya a young man will starve himself in order to save enough money to buy a car, quite an impressive feat, given he buys the car without financial assistance from his friends or relatives. Interestingly, the same young man will have no qualms passing on what are strictly his personal obligations to others. When he decides to marry he invites his friends, relatives, acquaintances and even people he hardly knows to a fund raising activity in the name of a pre-wedding party. This provides him with funds for the bride price and the wedding and, if he is lucky, with a sum to cater for his new family's needs over several months. Once they start to have children, the couple holds regular birthday parties, which are basically harambees. These are, in turn, followed by harambees to raise funds for their children's education. When a relative or friend is hospitalised the couple quickly embarks on a harambee, presumably to settle a massive hospital bill. They do this with gusto, although the hospitalised relative/friend may be insured. When a relative or friend dies, the couple organises a harambee for funeral expenses. This is done regardless of whether the deceased's estate or his relatives are capable of absorbing such expenses comfortably. In some instances, such funds end up being squandered by the couple.
Some of our drinking buddies excel at abusing sharing day-in day-out. For example, one may walk into a bar with only a thousand shillings on him. At the time, his mind is made up that he will spend half of that money in the bar, saving the remainder for a meal with his family. However, as he is having his drink, a friend or acquaintance walks in. Instead of spending the five hundred shillings budgeted for the outing, he spends the entire one thousand shillings to show off to his drinking buddy, forgetting there is a family that needed to have shared some of it. In some instances, some of us have fallen victim to paying hotel or bar bills that we were not prepared for. A friend or acquaintance orders a drink or meal for herself and others at her table end up passing the bill on to her. She ends up settling the bills because of the embarrassment she is likely to suffer.5 Our political leadership has also not been left behind in abusing the concept of sharing. For example, the reader will recall the 1980s were characterised by an abundance of compulsory harambees, where specific sums were deducted as contributions from the salaries of government employees. The money collected in this way was expended on grandiose projects, some of which were intended to leave personalised physical imprints of the political establishment on the country's landscape. Interestingly, although the monuments in question abound in the country, not many people seem to know what they mean, let alone being proud of them. One such is the Nyayo monument, close to the Serena Hotel, Nairobi, which is nothing more than President Moi's name on all sides in concrete and marble. Although ours is a relatively peaceful country, at the monument's apex is the President's hand with his club thrust through Mt. Kenya after which the country is named: a symbol of a conqueror rather than a peace maker. Given that sharing among Africans is something spontaneous and a custom to be proud of, one cannot help wondering whether any of those who were forced to contribute to the construction of such grandiose monuments would like to be reminded of their forced contributions, let alone be associated with them. At a personal level, I wish to share an experience of sharing with friends that caused me a lot of unnecessary pain and anxiety. It was on the afternoon of Friday 19 May 1995 when I loaned a title deed to a friend and her brother. The title deed was to be used as security at the Aga Khan Hospital in Nairobi in order to secure the discharge of the brother's wife. At the time, they assured me that they would settle the hospital bill the following Monday, 22 May 1995, and return the title deed to me on the same day. However, when the appointed day came they did not fulfil the agreement or call to let me know if there was a problem. Without any reference to me, they converted what was originally a weekend loan into one of three years. My efforts to have the title deed returned were met with stony silence and sometimes with false promises. Subsequently, I received a letter from the Aga Khan Hospital's lawyer threatening to sue me for failure to settle the bill I had guaranteed. I forwarded a copy of the letter to my friend, but nothing came of it. Consequently, I instructed my lawyer to demand immediate release of the title deed from my friend, but, again, the demand notice was not answered. Finally, I had to file a civil suit to recover the title deed.7 In the words of the magistrate who presided over the case, my friend and her fellow defendants "were absolutely thankless and in fact cruel to a good Samaritan who came to their aid in a desperate hour. The plaintiff can do with better neighbours.8 Such is the nature of some friendships and sharing in present-day Kenya. Fortunately, the judgement was delivered in my favour and I did finally get the title deed back. Originally, sharing in African societies made a lot of sense: it was an activity from which both the giver and the recipient derived pleasure and joy. It cemented their relationship and helped to minimise conflict that may have arisen from skewed distribution of resources. Indeed, many Kenyans in prominent positions today owe their education to the sharing of meagre resources by their relatives, friends and neighbours. Needless to add, such beneficiaries were regarded as "communal assets" and they were expected to contribute to the alleviation of socio-economic problems of the villages they came from, which a good number of them have done. Undoubtedly, our country has made major strides in socio-economic and educational development because many of us have shared the little we had for the sake of our brothers and sisters in need. But it is evident that fatigue is setting in because of our tendency to abuse other people's generosity and kindness. Yet we all know that losing the noble concept and practice of sharing in our societies will be a great shame. Why lose a virtue that we as Kenyans are famous for? We all know that if one were received in New York, London or Paris with the kind of hospitality and generosity that Kenyans extend to visitors, one would be suspicious of the host's intentions! Let us stop the abuse of the custom of sharing and start to seriously educate our children on the value of this virtue so that our country may become known for the generosity of its citizens. That is the Kenya that every parent wants to bequeath to his/her children. Or is it?
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