The Art of Community
Or: What humanity can't afford
No matter where you are in the world - I am sure you are experiencing something similar: there is a lot going on. So much is in motion, drifting apart, other things coming together. I hear from many friends from different parts of the world that they feel overwhelmed by the flood of (mostly unsettling) daily news.
I don't want to share any frightening or worrying news today. I want to share what is going on inside and around me and what holds my life and my world together here - despite everything. Let me start with a little story straight from my life:
A little story
In my home here in Kenya, I live together with Coletta, a wife, mother and grandmother who manages everything with me on a farm with four dogs, a building site and community projects. We have given her a home, she is a supportive force and trusted companion. Coletta is not from the Kikuyu tribe. She is a Kamba. She was married to a Kikuyu man for over 30 years, learnt their language, named her children after them, cooks their dishes and honours their traditions. Even when her husband's violence forced her to leave home, she decided to stay in Kikuyu land. It has become her home.
When Coletta wants to buy rice for us from the neighbouring farmers, we have to ask our friend, who is Kikuyu, to knock on the neighbours' doors for us. Because most of them don't want to sell to Coletta. Our friend also has to knock on several doors, not because there isn't enough rice, but ‘if it's for the Kamba, I won't sell.’
"To her I won't sell."
The daily insults no longer affect her; she has long since got used to never really belonging. And yet she is never bitter. She smiles away the hostility of her surroundings and resolves every day anew to lead a peaceful life and open her heart to the people around us. Many appreciate and love her for this! For me, she is a blessing.
It is maize harvest time. Yesterday we attached the dry, abandoned maize stalks to our fence to protect us from the wind and the view. Two women came by one after the other. The first commented: ‘What if the maize stalks catch fire? Then the whole plot will burn down.’ ‘Why would they catch fire?’ I asked. The woman laughed maliciously and walked on. The second woman shouted across the road: ‘If I were your neighbour, I'd bring my cow to graze right next to the fence tomorrow, then you'd soon have no more maize stalks’. Laughing, she went home.
I exhaled and carried on. Such begrudging threats no longer surprise me and rarely affect me. We have been threatened with burning down our farm more than once. It has never been attempted.
Why am I telling you this?
A conversation with Coletta, over rice and beans
When I had dinner with Coletta, we once again had the topic... ‘the Kikuyus’.
The community that we both ‘fell into’, to which we will never belong 100%, but which has become home and family to both of us.
This is not the first time we have talked about the ‘bitterness’, the resentment and jealousy that often characterise our daily interactions.
It's a calm conversation, not a spiteful one. ‘You're hurt. They are broken.’ As she often does, Coletta tells me her view of the Kikuyu community: ‘They don't know who they are. They are a mix-up of their own history. Sometimes they are the ‘chosen people’ who received more political power through the white man. But at the same time, they no longer know what their culture is, where they come from, what defines their identity. No tribe has forgotten its roots as much as the Kikuyus due to the influence of colonisation and missionary work. They want to assert themselves, but no longer know how to do so with heart and togetherness. They seek recognition, but do not recognise themselves.’
When Coletta talks about her view of the Kikuyu, I feel every word. Much is broken. Much is unhealed. It can be seen and felt every day.
I nod and think aloud: ‘I'm just surprised that the concept of community is still so highly valued among people who often treat each other so poorly at the same time.’
‘Jana,’ says Coletta. ‘No one can afford to be without community.’
Those words sank in. I felt how right she was.
"No human can afford to be without community."
It's not about waiting for a community in which there is neither envy, nor discrimination, nor marginalisation. I don't think you can find them in the world. Not here, not anywhere else. But what will be more important than ever in these times is the attempt at community, the re-learning of cohesion and the healing of existing communities.
Yes, I am also being hurt here. Just as people are hurt in every place because they are ‘not from here’. But I couldn't have found a home here, in the middle of the village, on the land of the Kikuyus, with any money in the world, built a home, set up projects - without a strong community around me that decided to take me in, accept me, trust me. I am - despite everything - part of the family.
My existence here, my work - every single day - depends on the acceptance of the people around me. And I treat them with the utmost respect and deep humility.
I can't afford not to have a community. No one can do that here. (And not anywhere else either - it's just that here and there I still manage to keep up the pretence that I don't.)
What I have learnt from the people here for years is that the more unstable the leadership, the government, is, the stronger the network of people has to be. And it does. Despite injuries, despite violence, despite injustices. It carries.
My gratitude for being accepted in this deeply wounded community around me is even greater since yesterday. I know that it cannot be taken for granted. And my concern and my mission have once again become clear to me.
It's about relearning community. Creating spaces for younger generations to experience and remember respect, cohesion and trust. Knowing your own worth so that you don't have to belittle your neighbour. It is about healing the sacredness of community.
I hope that everyone can experience a community network that supports them.
I found a home because people decided to give me one. And if I can't buy rice tomorrow, I still have things that are priceless: A family, a home, a net that carries when it needs to carry.
This year I am focussing more on COMMUNITY than ever before. The community of this place where I live, the youth groups, the farmers and - last but not least - the community of supporters, that's you!
THANK YOU FOR BEING PART OF OUR COMMUNITY!
Your support under the keyword ‘Jana's Community’ is going straight to group seminars, discussion circles, group projects this year that strengthen and heal the spirit of community around me. You can contribute HERE.
Thank you for your trust.
Hearfelt greetings from my mud hut,
Jana
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