Our final activity at Camp Ajiri last week was orienteering. Henry, the affable and young camp cook, volunteered to teach this final course. Around a small table, Henry quickly showed the 19 Ajiri scholars how a compass worked and then handed them laminated maps. Heads nodded and no questions were asked. The scholars split into small groups, compass and map in hand, and set off to find 5 numbered flags hidden on the 800-acre farm. Some kids took the map and compass and just walked "North" with no plan. Watching them scatter in all directions without a plan or real understanding of direction, I realized this was, perhaps, a hopeless endeavor.
There were Angela, Wesley, and Damacline jumping over fences. They kept walking in knee-deep grass, hopped over a ditch, and then scaled another fence. They were a quarter mile in the opposite direction from the marker they were supposed to find. And they were laughing. Giggling really. They were laughing so hard they couldn't jump the last fence. Their arms were linked together, and they were bent over laughing, completely embracing that they were lost. I hadn't heard them laugh this freely all week.
Our scholars are so capable that sometimes I forget they are just kids. Antony has been living on his own since he was in 4th grade. Valentine takes care of her grandparents. Wesley takes care of his three younger brothers. Between school and home they are holding so much together that they move with so much rigidity–afraid that the slightest movements might unravel everything. To help them cope with this enormous amount of stress they carry, we introduced knitting in December.
At the camp this past week they learned how to shear a sheep, spin the wool, dye yarn, and follow more complex patterns. As they practiced knitting around the fire at night, I watched how they would help each other. And I watched their casual attitude toward mistakes. When Antony messed up a row, he simply pulled it apart and turned to Olipher who helped him cast on his new stitches. In between the click click of the needles and the whispered counting, I could see shoulders relax and the exhaled chuckling at their own mistakes.
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.
Instead of running toward them like I had been all week, I watched them tromp through the grass. No one was really lost. I guess learning to read a compass could wait until next year. They had found each other and found what it is like to be silly and free. They had found what it is like to be embraced by a sense of belonging that makes you want to scale fences, make owl noises, and laugh until someone calls you home for dinner.
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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.
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.
Kate Holby
Author