I stepped into the semi-lit room and was greeted by more than the family I expected; there was a crowd. Everyone greeted me warmly with "You're most welcome." I did not know what was going on but soon I was seated on one of the only chairs in the room.

The old woman, that was the matriarch of the family started to speak again about the need for coming together for a Harambee for Eric. Eric, a 6 year old boy was seated next to her, and I figured that this had something to do with his going to school, the cost of school fees, books, uniforms, transportation. Most parents in Uganda and Kenya do not have the resources themselves to pay for their children's schooling, so the extended family is often brought together with a few friends thrown in for good measure and each one is expected to do something. Most in this room received some help via this manner in times past. A wedding, a funeral, a trip to the hospital, and any other situation requiring a large sum of money and or resources.

As I looked around the room there were people from every part of society. Some who had arrived in the new middle class, some of who would never do so, and on others on the way up or down. Not all were from the tribe of the family, not all belonged to the same religion, but all knew what it was like to go without and that there was no door out of poverty but through education and no education without money.

The situation I walked in on is common occurrence throughout Africa, and not only at the level of families, it happens in schools, churches, businesses, and even the President of Kenya and his ministers attend many of them leaving a contribution behind. Everyone was glad I was there, thinking that I would leave a sizable donation.

The ancient concept of Harambee, of people coming together, weak and poor in themselves, each bringing what they have, together making an impact, a difference. One can read ancient literature and find this same spirit in most every Holy Book from the Bible to the Koran, the teachings of Tao to the Wisdom of Buddha. One can go back to the book of Genesis and read, "It is not good for man to dwell alone." Alone we are overwhelmed by life, alone we can be brilliant in one area or another but still what lies in front of us may be insurmountable, if we are alone.

Books such as Robert Ringer's "Looking out for number one" or David Seabury's book "The art of selfishness" only perpetuate the myth that one person alone can face the situations of life alone and win. Maybe that is why that contemporary philosopher of our day, the pop singer Cher, sang "In the end we all sleep alone."

Winning in our Western society usually means that someone else has to lose. In order to get to our goal, we step on and over people. We use people rather than things. A good model citizen in our society is one who for example goes to a beautiful city park, brings their own Kentucky fried Chicken, Coke, plates, napkins, all the trimmings. They sit at a picnic table, enjoy the view, the grass, the paths and then they clean up and go home. What is wrong with that one might ask? Nothing, but it is not the spirit of Harambee. You might say, well they did not come and vandalize the park or rob it; they simply used it. What if each one of us not only used things, situations, places, but planted a tree for example? What if we planted grass, mowed the lawn in other words became contributors, instead of like vandals, destroyers of things, or like our nice model citizens, users.

I was in a room of givers. Some only had a loaf of bread, some cooking bananas, enough beans for the week and ground maize and yet as they heard the challenge by the matriarch they would rise to the occasion and give of themselves. Watering and fertilizing the future of a young boy who would otherwise be destined for failure, a life in the slums with no hope.

As I listened to the conversations in that small room I was amazed at the depth of understanding of community, of being a family, a team, a unit called together for a purpose such as this. After the everyone pledged their share, and or gave something a meal was brought out, and everyone lingered outside feeling part of something greater than themselves, we would call it esprit de corps, but simply called it family, friends, neighbors, aunts and uncles.

I went up to the grandmother who had organized the meeting and said that I loved being part of this. She looked at me, and said, "We Africans are not like you in West, we do not move around, we stay here, live here, love here and die here. We need each other, we do not have bank accounts, no loans, and we only have each other. Look at my hand, there are five fingers, and no one finger can say they are number one, if one is missing you would have a whole hand. We Africans are a people of the hand." I walked away and she laughed after me. Her comments going with me, stirring my thoughts. I now understood why Africans had no problem asking someone like me for help. In the West our pride would keep us from doing so, here it was a way of life; it was the Spirit of Harambee.

When I was younger I spent a season of my life in sales. I was a driving force; going all day long pursuing the close, the sale at all cost. At times I would go into the office and feel superior to the support staff since after all I was out there, doing it, getting the close, the sale the almighty dollar. Little did I realize that I was only a finger and not the whole hand.

The concept of Harambee, the concept of community is to live with one another, care for one another, contribute to the cause, by using our gifts and talents in such a way that the community wins. In Africa there is no welfare, no government aid, churches and mosques have little, so one looks to the community of family and friends. Africans are born in to communities, not nuclear families so the concept of Harambee is easier to understand and to practically work out in daily life.

My daughter Katie came to Africa and stayed some time with me during her summer vacation from College. We traveled all over East Africa in a car that needed to be nursed along. We stayed for a few days in a tented camp Hotel on an Island in the middle of Lake Baringo. There we would take boat excursions and see Crocodiles, Hippo's and more birds than we had ever seen. Every day we would take a walk through the village nearby. A young boy befriended us and accompanied. On the last day he asked if we would like to go and see his house. As we approached this little cardboard contraption covered with some corrugated metal, Katie's eyes popped out. He however proudly opened what was some kind of door and showed us his home. You had to crouch down inside of it and it was just large enough to sleep in but it was his home. Katie was visibly shaken and quiet as we walked back to our tent. She quietly fumbled in her baggage grabbed some things that seemed like T-shirts and walked back down the path to the village. I smiled knowing she had caught the spirit of Harambee. The next day our friend stood down by the boat ramp in a seemingly new Gap T-shirt. Katie and I looked at each other knowingly, never saying a word.

Harambee - as each has received so let him give with an open hand, making the Spirit of Harambee real to one who does not have.

Making Friends

If you are a bit like me, well there is that basic shyness in me that has kept me at times from meeting people or making new friends. There is that thought that the other person might not like who we are, what we are about, what we are wearing and all kinds of other hang-ups we might have such as being in place we are not familiar with, do not know the emergency exits, or the locations of the first-aid kits or fire-extinguishers, etc.

On the other hand when one feels at home, things are different. Then one can be open, say hello to anyone, give a greeting, make a fun-filled comment, or simply ask someone how his or her day has been. That is the way it is with me in Africa. I feel at home with the people and their relational ways, though at times I have gotten the customs mixed up, but in the end it simply lend itself to a laugh all the way around and such a manner has certainly helped me to get out some tight spots at times.

When my son Ryan came to visit me, I gave him all kinds of advice in how to relate to Africans and how not to offend. Like never giving out your underwear for the house girl (domestic help in West) in the place we lived to wash, or giving it out in a hotel, since Africans found that offensive. Never refusing things offered to you in a home, but making sure it was prayed, meditated over and whatever else. Always smiling, and having a sense of humor. Not allowing yourself to be ruled by something called a clock. When someone was late, don't even mention it, just continue on. (A friend of mine invited me for dinner at 5 PM and he came to fetch me at 9 PM instead never mentioning the four-hour difference)

Ryan learned fast and during his first week in Africa we stayed at Lake Naivasha Country Club for a couple days. It is the kind of place one would imagine Karen Blixen or Ernest Hemingway to be at. It is a look back to the British splendor mixed with African heritage and rich tradition in a paradise like setting on a lake with Hippos, a few flamingoes, pelicans, giraffe's wildebeests, zebra's and more. Besides the price was right, a hundred dollars for the two of us per day including three exquisite meals in a beautifully decorated dining room. (No, Lake Naivasha Country Club is not paying me to endorse the facility)

And yet with all this beauty and splendor, there is a sort of paradox here. Outside of the gates of the Country Club was one of the worst roads in all of Kenya. There also were the flower plantations that grew roses, carnations by the hundreds of thousands for overnight shipment to Europe and other places. On those flower plantations worked thousands of laborers for what we would call next to nothing, living in run down places, yet much better than the slums of Nairobi. As Ryan and I drove to Hell's Gate and back for some sight seeing he saw that. The flowers in the foreground, the huts to the side, sprinkled with some lavish homes along the lake in between, including the home where Elsa the lioness from the movie "Born Free" lived.

Ryan had become quiet, it was Sunday and he saw the road filled with people walking, he saw the lines on the faces carved by the pains of life. He saw children in rags, and I hated to tell him, this was nothing compared to what he would yet see, but I kept quiet.

As we pulled down the long lane to the Country Club we saw a soccer game in progress. Hundreds of people had gathered on this late Sunday afternoon to watch their team win or lose. Ryan perked up since soccer was his game of choice during High School and College. I parked the car and encouraged him to go over and just enjoy. He looked a bit hesitant, but the sounds of the game drew him and I drove off toward the hotel.

Two hours later I was getting a bit concerned and I walked up to the soccer field. There was Ryan, the one white person in a sea of Africans. He was smiling, they were smiling, laughing, gesticulating, Ryan was showing some soccer tricks he had learned (no, not from me). It was a jovial scene to behold. Ryan had found what I had long ago learned in Africa; one can make friends anywhere here. The focus is not so much on the goals of life, on getting here or there, but on the journey, on the relationships and friendships acquired along the way. In front of me was not a white man amongst black men, but simply men.

I thought of the woman I had met in Rwanda and asked what her tribe was and she replied, "What does it matter, I am a human being."

As I came closer Ryan introduced me to his friends. His hands held notes with addresses for him to write to. He was beaming from ear to ear. We stayed for a little while longer and then walked back to our room and they back to their huts, yet all of us enriched by a newfound friendship, because one took the risk. He was not concerned with form, protocol, with dress, color, nationality, but simply met some friends.

All of us want to be accepted not on the basis of what we do or what we have, but on the bottom line of who we are as a person. All of us want the hearth of our heart warmed by presence of friends who will stick with us as the saying goes "come hell or high water." Each one of us has the capacity to reach out and to let others reach out to us, and yet our fears often keep us back from friendships that could last for years to come...jon