People in Kisii, Kenya are remarkably formal. The farmer wears a suit to the market. The scholar wear a cleanly pressed uniform to school. The thick red clay is washed daily from shoes. A firm handshake accompanied by a smile is a standard greeting.
Our quick and transactional mindset in the U.S. is often removed from formality and formal pleasantry. Part of this is our long anti-colonial history and emphasis on individualism. But I can't imagine anyone in the U.S. shaking hands with a gas attendant or store clerk after a purchase. A phone call rarely starts by asking about the other person's family. Business in the U.S. is quick and to the point, distilled to convenience and cost. The emergence of athleisure just confirms the very comfortable and quick lack of formality we're all accustomed to.
Our new Ajiri-sponsored scholars and their guardians at our annual field day.
Formality in Kenya makes every encounter an important one. I write this as I watch someone order coffee with their AirPods in their ears, dismissively responding "what?" when the barista asks if they want room in their cup for cream. Kenyans make more space and hold more time for each other. Nothing describes this sense of space and pace better than the common Kenyan proverb Haraka Haraka Haina Baraka. Translation: to hurry has no blessings.
We believe if you jump right in to what you perceive as the "heart of the matter," then there really is no heart in the matter. And if everything and everyday is just so casually informal and not a big deal, then what is a big deal?
With Halloween around the corner we've been thinking about what it means to dress up and to have real and playful human connection with your neighbors. At Ajiri we are dressed up every day of the year, and every day we are forming meaningful human connections within our communities. We've come this far through the formality of handshakes, through long conversations under an acacia tree, and through hours spent over cups of tea.
With the formality of a handshake and the exuberance of a high five, we thank you for always holding space for us and seeing the heart in who we are.
Haraka Haraka Haina Baraka,
Kate, Sara, Ann, Regina, Difna
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Angela, Wesley, and Damacline were now hopelessly off course. They had managed to scale that final fence and were walking down toward a forest. I wanted to run to them, set them on the right course, explain scale and direction and how they should put the compass on the map. But instead I watched them from the top of the hill. They were now making pretend owl calls to each other, quite literally hooting from one group to another and then bursting into laughter.
See, there is this tip-toeing around issues in business. No company should align itself too "political" for fear of alienating customers. But to have opinions and emotions—well, that's just human. As a society, we've become too corporatized—too sanitized to believe that companies shouldn't have a voice. Of course politics affect our business. Tariffs on tea! The war in Iran means higher costs of shipping our tea. The elimination of USAID and its direct impact on our community in Kenya. But more so than something directly affecting us and our business, we still care about policies that affect our neighbors and people across the world.
At Ajiri, we feel so lucky to be on this earth at the same time as all of you. Your purchase of tea holds a lot of that elusive power of art. Sure, your purchase is the transference of physical money that goes to support women and children. But your purchases of tea, time and time again, transfers this feeling of belief. You believe in these women. You believe in these kids. You believe that the world can be a better place.
Kate Holby
Author