Being summoned for jury duty on a recent cold wintery day oddly felt like being in Kenya. The judge had asked people to put away their phones in the courthouse. And there, in the waiting room to see if we were selected, people were talking. Away from the dementors of the internet, we were engaged in conversation. And not just surface conversation about the sun being out, but deeper conversations about family, politics and the state of the union.
So much of life in rural Kenya happens offline. No one is price-comparing tomatoes online in the open-air market. The drum of conversation drowns out the sound of the engine on matatus, Kenya's ubiquitous mini-bus and form of public transport. When you want directions, you pick up the phone and call your friend's auntie whose neighbor lives in that village. When Regina, our Ajiri colleague, wanted our scholar to go to a good school, she picked up the phone and called the principal whom she had just met on the matatu. People in rural Kenya rely on each other in a way that makes our rugged American individualism look, well, rugged. Compounded with the insular "connected" internet, which we've come to rely on for directions, for groceries, for mirroring back our own political views, we've forgotten the potential for love that an organized community can bring.
There is a lot of talk right now about self-love. I think I've read three op-eds about how you can't organize a resistance without taking care of yourself. And sure, let's not be swallowed by despair. But let's not be reclusive in our hope or our love. I think this is the time to pick up the phone. This is the time to talk with people when you are checking out groceries. This is the time to acknowledge people on the sidewalk in your town. This is the time to stop and pet the dogs and ask their name and spark that connection.
This past September, we wanted our 35 Ajiri scholars to go on a hike. I had heard through some acquaintances in Kisii that there was a waterfall on the way to a small village. Habitually, we first consulted the internet and couldn't find anything that mentioned a waterfall. We looked at google maps. Nothing. Hours spent on the internet. But then Difna, our Ajiri colleague, started asking around. She took a matatu to the village where we heard there was a waterfall. And before you knew it, she had three elderly women escorting her on a three- hour hike through a forest and down a rocky canyon to the falls.
A few weeks later, we all returned to the waterfall with the scholars. They hiked down into the falls and had a picnic lunch. Walking back to the matatu that afternoon, you could feel their electric excitement and love for each other. Their arms were linked, their voices and laughter echoing into the rocky canyon. They were all surprised that something this beautiful existed in their backyard and that they had never even heard of it.
In the end, I wasn’t picked for jury duty. But it was a good civic reminder to look up, to gather for tea, and to start talking, really talking. There is love and magic to be discovered and created in our own backyard.
With lots of love and gratitude this Valentine’s Day,
Sara, Kate, Ann, Regina, and Difna
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Kate Holby
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