Before we started Ajiri Tea we met Thomas. He was three years old with a big smile, living with his grandparents and young cousins and siblings in a small mud house on the backstreets of Kisii town. His grandparents had lost 5 out of their 6 children to AIDS, leaving them with 12 grandchildren. Four of these grandchildren were in their direct care, with Thomas being the youngest. Sara had met Thomas’ older sister, Diana, through a local NGO. When we started Ajiri we knew we wanted to create employment for women, but it was our relationship with Diana and later her siblings/cousins that made us want to send all of our profits back to pay school fees.
We started sponsoring Thomas when he entered kindergarten. When he was five we took him to buy shoes at Bata, a local shoe store, as a reward for coming first in his class. (He already owned school shoes.) He picked out neon velcro sandals and held them in his hand proudly, showing everyone on the street his new shoes. He didn’t want to put them on and get them dirty. He marched home and showed his grandfather who clapped his hands together and said “my bright, bright boy.”
Perhaps all the trouble he got in over the years was because of his brightness. He would stop on his way home to play soccer in the streets. His grades never suffered as much as they should have for all of his antics. He has been called into the office and praised as much as scolded. And now, about to graduate, he is the first to admit in both wonderment and pride that he made it through school.
There he is, at age 10, caught in a lie, sitting and staring at his shoes in our small office as rain thunders on the tin roof. There he is, at age 14, carrying a kindergartener on his back at our field day, laughing. There he is, at 16, with a new British accent and ripped jeans, typing away on our office computer. There he is, at 18, making it to regionals in a public-speaking competition, swimming laps in the pool at the Sports Club. And here he is today, his grandparents both gone, his older siblings and cousins grown up, standing on his own.
Thomas went back to school for his last semester this week. Before he left for school, he sent us an e-mail that said, “I will forever keep the Ajiri family at heart, you have been my everything since I was a child and imagining that I am leaving really breaks my heart. Our stories will forever be part of my daily life . . . "
People in the U.S. like to lament that there is no “village” anymore when raising children. But here’s the thing, Thomas was born without a village to support him. We made that village. You are that village. Every box of tea, every donation, gave Thomas the love and structure and opportunities to grow.
As he goes back to school for the last time, I’ll remember his first day of school. His blue uniform, pencil in hand, his big backpack, his excitement. He has grown into a kind and thoughtful young man, but he is still our bright, bright boy.
Through every box of tea, our stories are linked.
With love and gratitude and uncontainable pride,
Kate, Sara, Regina, Difna, and Ann
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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