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The General History Project is turning every stereotype of African charities on its head. I’m thrilled to report that The General has just organized the most successful fundraiser for the organization—and here’s the kicker—in Kenya, with his fellow tea farmers.

I’ve struggled to get funding. When The General heard that I was running out of money, he offered to organize a harambee, Swahili for “fundraiser” or “self-help.” The General just got electricity for the first time two months ago. He does not have indoor plumbing. At his church, people bring chickens and vegetables for their offerings. This is where The General comes from, but he is a successful tea farmer who founded a thriving farmers’ cooperative.

On November 28th, he gathered together villagers, farmers, family members, churchgoers, politicians, cooperative members, and teachers. He explained how “their daughter” (me) was working to record their history and how you can’t survive in America without money—i.e., we don’t have farms to feed from, so we have to buy food. He said, “Our daughter needs our help to finish this project.” For just $20/day. . .

By December 17th, all contribution pledges had been collected. The General consulted his IT person at the cooperative headquarters to see how he could send me the money they had raised. I received an email that day which said, “We had quite a colorful harambee, and we have wired you the money. Please go to a dispensary as soon as possible to collect what we have raised.” They provided instructions and the reference number for the transaction.

On Sunday December 20th, I walked in to the CVS drugstore and asked the employee at the front where I could find the Moneygram center. She took me to a red phone and said, “You are sending, correct?”

I said, “No, I’m receiving.”

She looked me up and down, from my tennis shoes up my dark denim jeans, to my yellow long-sleeved shirt and brown puffy vest, to my smiling white face and blonde hair. “You’re receiving money?” she said. “From where?”

“Africa.” I could tell she wanted more information, but she didn’t ask.

“Well, there’s the phone. I think they’ll tell you what to do.” She walked away shaking her head. I picked up the phone. An automated teller asked me to enter my reference number and the amount of money I was expecting.

I had no idea. I would’ve been ecstatic with $30, because I knew all their dollars were hard earned. I pushed “2-0-0,” thinking that was the best-case scenario. The automated teller said, “Please wait while we connect you to a representative.”

Seconds later, a representative confirmed my name, my reference number, and the sender’s code. Then she said, “I’m sorry, Ma’am, the location where you are does not dispense amounts over $2000.”

I said, “Okay, that’s fine, no problem.”

“Uh, actually it is a problem, I’m afraid you’ll have to go to another location. Wal-Mart seems to be closest.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Are you telling me that the amount I’m collecting exceeds $2000?”

“Yes.”

“How much is it?!”

“For security purposes, I cannot reveal that information. I can only confirm an amount.”

“Okay, is it greater than $2500?”

“Yes, and that is all I can tell you.”

“Oh my goodness.” That was more than Kenya’s per capita GDP.

She said, “Ma’am?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. Thank you. I’ll go to Wal-Mart.”

I walked out the door towards my car in a daze. My largest donation to date had been $1000, from a very close personal contact, but most were around $50. Nobody had offered to hold a fundraiser for me or my organization in America, and donations were even tax-deductible. I was living in the richest country in the world with the richest people surrounding me, and I was about to drive to Walmart to collect a wired donation exceeding $2500 raised by the efforts of rural Kenyan tea farmers.

I went to the money center at Walmart, and I asked the lady at customer service how to use Moneygram. She pointed to the forms at the opposite end of the counter and said to get the green sender’s form. I walked over and picked up the form. “Oh, this is for sending money. I’m actually receiving.”

This lady also looked surprised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. If you’re receiving, you need the purple form.”

I picked up the purple form and went back to her register. I filled it out, and she entered the information in her computer, doing a double take as she read ‘Kenya’ as the sender’s origin. Then, she wrote the amount I was to receive. The General and his village had raised two thousand, five hundred, twenty-seven dollars and fifty-four cents. $2,527.54. I could not believe it. She said, “And the message they sent with it is ‘Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, letter will follow.’” I nodded as tears welled up in my eyes.

There, in the Supercenter of American holiday consumerism, I watched the Walmart customer service representative count out twenty-five hundred dollars in cash, sent to me directly from Kenya. It occurred to me that I, a 27-year-old Atlanta native, was being sponsored by an African village to write The General’s biography. In what strange world does this happen?

Well, it turns out it’s in this world, and these countries. While not the conventional model of nonprofit fundraising, the generosity of these Africans is keeping me and The General History Project afloat this holiday season. I founded TGHP on the principle of trying to help people in the world learn from and understand one another. I couldn’t ask for a better place to start the New Year.

Wishing all of you a very happy holidays. I know my Christmas just got a lot Merrier.

All the best – Laura Lee P. Huttenbach (“Nkirote”)

***Please remember The General History Project in your (tax-deductible) holiday donations this year. If you know anyone interested in matching the General’s efforts, please contact me.***

In case you don’t know, The General History Project seeks to record oral and cultural histories in places where people don’t have the resources to do it on their own. In March, I traveled to the Eastern Province of Kenya to interview “The General,” an 87-year old man who fought for Kenyan independence in the 1950s as a Mau Mau General. He is still Chairman of the South Imenti Tea SACCO and also Chairman of Njuri Ncheke, the indigenous governing council of elders. Currently, I’m writing his biography and hope to share his life and wisdom with a greater audience. This will be the first of many stories we tell, I hope.

The General History Project, Inc. is 501(c)(3) tax-exempt nonprofit organization.