Community, Care, and Mutual Aid: A Profile on the Trans and Queer Solidarity Fund KE

Sometimes, it can be easy to forget how seemingly simple childhood memories can hold some incredible lessons and reminders of what it means to be human. A number of my most cherished memories come from my primary school years. A particularly recent standout has been when my friends and I used to create sand pies during our break times. We’d come together and organize ourselves into groups that would collect the sand, mix it with water and some soil to create the wet sand, and form the sand pies that would “feed” our group. We played and worked together to create enough sand pies for everyone. Of course, we could not (and did not) eat them, but the experience allowed us to enjoy each other’s company, create fun memories, and, unbeknown to us then, learn deeply important life lessons around cooperation, collaboration, and community.

Amid the harrowing lack of adequate state responses and protection for hundreds of millions of people around the world, the COVID-19 pandemic has in many ways shown how critical community and the support it offers is, especially when the state consistently fails at its job of shielding its citizens from a catastrophic event like the COVID-19 pandemic. This kind of communal and collective support has been especially essential for LGBTQ+ Kenyans who have faced significantly higher levels of violence amid the pandemic, with no government protection or support. Even as the fight for a more just world for, LGBTQ+ people, women, and historically marginalized groups continues, the present still beckons. People still need to survive, meet their needs, along with being able to enjoy their lives and rest despite the pandemic. One way this has been made possible is through mutual aid initiatives. In Kenya, one fund that is doing this incredibly necessary and valuable work is the Trans and Queer Solidarity Fund Kenya (T&Q Fund).

Understanding Mutual Aid and the T&Q Fund

With the rise of mutual aid initiatives, there has also been a growing interest in understanding what it is all about. Mutual aid is, “a form of solidarity-based support, in which communities unite against a common struggle, rather than leaving individuals to fend for themselves.” It is in many ways the creation of alternative structures that support and enable communities to survive and grow despite being serious government neglect. What makes it different from other forms of giving such as charity and donations is that with mutual aid, there is an undeniable and concerted effort to cultivate a community of people who are both in need and can contribute to the community’s cause in both monetary and non-monetary ways as they work towards a larger goal of living in a capitalism-free, safe, equitable, and just world for all. As a result of the pandemic, the number of mutual aid funds has significantly increased to support various underserved groups and communities.

The T&Q Fund does this work to serve many LGBTQ+ Kenyans who have been systemically and, in many respects, socially ostracized because of their sexual orientation. The fund, founded just over a year ago by Mumbi, Makena, Karwitha, and Kedolwa, began in response to the COVID-19 pandemic with the goal of, “collecting and redistributing funds to LGBTQ+ Kenyans facing housing crises, food insecurity, unemployment, general safety concerns and other urgent needs.” What does doing this work and providing much-needed support to LGBTQ+ Kenyans look like amid the pandemic and the continued horrific neglect by the state? I had the opportunity to speak with Mumbi Kanyogo (she/her) and Karwitha Kirimi (she/her), who talked about the fund’s origins, structure, hopes, and plans for the future.

Jade: What was the motivation and thought-process behind creating the fund?

Mumbi: The reason it began is because of COVID-19 and us feeling like there wasn’t really a space that allowed for trans and queer people to claim the support they needed in a non-bureaucratic way. Usually what will happen is that organizations and NGOs have earmarked funds that were donated by a donor for a particular thing. So they can’t, even when there’s a crisis, necessarily repurpose those funds towards something else because they have to write donor reports that account for the money and make sure the money was used in the way it was intended based on what they had applied for. The fund came out of a critical moment. We’re all on social media so we could see a lot of people, especially black, queer, and trans people in the U.S. specifically doing a lot of these mutual aid kinds of initiatives. But even around us, there are so many instances of mutual aid, I think, that are just not named as mutual aid. For example, chamas; but not in the way that they’ve kind of evolved into credit. They’ve [previously] given people things that they need that they couldn’t otherwise get from institutions. So things like chamas and merry-go-rounds; things that our moms and aunties and all sorts of people have been using for a long time have provided resources in that way. It hasn’t been called mutual aid but it is a form of mutual aid.

It never dawned on me how NGOs, under donors, are really limited in how they can spend the money they receive. Technically, it can be argued that it is the donors’ money, but it limits NGOs’ capacities to expand and have an impact beyond a specific area, especially in unprecedented times like this pandemic period.

Mumbi: Right. It feels like their agendas are being controlled by someone else, and that’s the thing mutual aid tries to get away from 1) forcing people to do these long applications where you’re not even assured of getting the funds that you need or the resources you asked for, and 2) the fact that people who are not even in touch with the community are the people who are deciding where the money goes.

So, what are your roles in the organization?

Mumbi: Within the organization, we all just kind of rotate roles. There’s no specific role that we have. I think it’s because everyone has their full-time job. But there are some parts of it which are more work than others. So it just depends on what capacity people have at whatever time people will take on a particular role.

Karwitha also pointed out that their structure is deliberately non-hierarchical.

Are there any other mutual aid funds and/or frameworks that have informed and continue to inform the fund’s structure and mode of operation?

Karwitha: We focus on raising funds and redistributing them directly to people who need them. We really want to emphasize the self-determination of marginalized communities, and solidarity. We learn these from different mutual aid efforts around the world. Off the top of my head, I think of HQ Collective Mutual Aid, Harare, and Mutual Aid Kenya. We learn from communities under siege all over the world. We learn from how they take care of each other and build safety outside of institutions.

Mumbi: We were by no means the only people [in Kenya] doing this work. I think it was just that we and Mutual Aid Kenya were actually calling it mutual aid. But there were so many other people who were coming together and getting food packages and giving them to other people. I feel like the difference between mutual aid and donations is that mutual aid is about people within a community helping other people in the community as opposed to being a top-down kind of thing, which is usually how philanthropy works. So that’s why I’d say it’s most analogous to chamas and merry-go-rounds; because it’s people helping each other horizontally.

What avenues do beneficiaries use to reach you, and vice-versa? And how many beneficiaries have you served thus far?

Karwitha: The main ways people reach us are through Instagram, Twitter, and WhatsApp. Community organizers also DM (Direct Message) us and connect us to community members who need support. We communicate with people mainly through our social media handles. We also connect with people through email for collaborations.

Since the fund began last year, we’ve redistributed approximately Ksh2.6 million to trans and queer people. We’ve distributed it to approximately over 500 people. These figures are approximate since we might send money to the same person or family more than once, based on their needs.

Mumbi: Initially it was all social media, but then we realized that most people who need that kind of support are not on social media. How we initially reached people who are not on social media was through their friends reaching out to us and saying, “I have this friend who’s not on social media, but they need this and this and this. Can I just send you their number, then you send them?” Now it’s also become a bit more of word-of-mouth.

How have your personal experiences as women impacted the work that you do with the fund?

Karwitha: Having come from student organizing spaces that were heavily shaped by misogyny, I’m really keen on how important feminist organizing is. For me, this means non-hierarchical structures, open communication, care as an organizing principle, collaboration over competition, and solidarity. So going into a space, these are the things that I’m looking for and wanting to cultivate as well.

Mumbi: For me, it’s moving in the trans and queer community here and noticing that a lot of how the community is constructed and even a lot of the events that are funded or the things which are prioritized are really to do with people who might be queer, but have class privileges. So it means that a lot of the time there’s a lot of class issues which underlie a lot of power dynamics. And it means that a lot of the time the people who are the most affected, even by homophobia, are the people who are least prioritized in the community. So what does it mean for us to be planning events that are focused on brunches and stuff like that when people don’t have anything to eat? What does it mean that we want sexual relations between queer people in Kenya to be decriminalized, but at the same time people have nothing to eat and don’t have housing?

I think there is so much focus on decriminalizing. There’s so much focus on creating, I don’t know, spaces? But there’s no concentration really on people’s material conditions. I also feel like a lot of poor queer people are really deprioritized. People will jokingly say that straight people have to give reparations to queer people, but even amongst the queer community there are so many disparities and it is weird. It’s unjust to keep moving like this. For me, that was the essential thing.

What does the work you do teach you about the spaces you occupy? Does it ignite hope? If so, how?

Karwitha: Being part of the T&Q Fund definitely teaches me to learn and prioritize learning. Growing up, a lot of what we saw and heard talked about was charity. And charity work can be so ineffective in responding to structural conditions. Being in this space, I’m reminded again and again to believe in the people and community. It’s so affirming to see how people show up for each other, how people show up even for direct action (for example, Saba Saba Day 2020). I don’t feel so alone. I know there are people wanting and dreaming toward a freer and safer tomorrow.

We’re always asking each other what community means and how we can cultivate truer communities. And also to know that we’re not just distributing funds and not saying anything about the structures that create the conditions that make trans and queer life so difficult here. It’s really important to us to participate in and support movements that organize against systems that cause isolation and poverty. Learning from my community reminds me to practice courage, and courage has a lot to do with hope. I feel hopeful about trans and queer futures here. I believe in the work my siblings are doing. I believe in the efforts my community is making and I believe we’ll live and live well.

There’s a pretty popular notion that the sense of community that was once present in pretty much all our social spaces is now gone. It has been replaced with the notion of the “rat race”. Everyone is fending for and protecting themselves and their families. Is it something you’ve encountered, and if so, how do you work around it?

Mumbi: Yes. I think it’s a thing because we live under capitalism. I feel like we’re all ideologically indoctrinated in a neoliberal way because this thing of individualism specifically within cities is a very big thing. And it’s deliberate because capitalism thrives on alienating people and making people feel as if the only way to be safe, like you said, is if you are protecting yourself. It’s made community more of a risk, even though we know that you’re more likely to end up in a worse situation if you don’t have a community to fall back on. And it’s weird to me, especially now. We’ve come to a point where we’re all alienated and people are more individualistic, but community is work.

I think people think of community in a very passive way when it’s actually something that you have to keep working towards and it’s created by doing actions like mutual aid together. Mutual aid isn’t the only thing. Community can look like people mobilizing, for example, for a vaccination drive or for a harambee for someone’s medical care. Those are the things that bring people together. Or even picking up trash in your community or spending time working together. Those are the things that form community. I don’t think it’s as grand a thing as I think people think about it as. And I also don’t think that it’s something that can happen like that; it requires time. The same way you form friendships is the same way you form community, right? So I don’t think it’s lost. I just think that you need to be a bit more creative about it.

What does the fund’s future currently look like? What are your hopes and aspirations for it?

Karwitha: We’re reevaluating what we’ve done so far and can’t wait to have a community meeting so that as a community we can dream and decide what the fund needs to look like to serve trans and queer people best.

Mumbi: There are things I think we need to perfect, become better at, or do more sustainably. I think one of the biggest issues has been burnout. It’s a lot of work. I’m hoping that we come up with more strategies that are about doing this [work] more sustainably. The current working structure was constructed in view that this pandemic would end soon, but it hasn’t. I think it’s more of finding a sustainable structure; whether it includes bringing on more people or just finding a better way amongst ourselves to do it. Our main purpose is really to redistribute monetary and non-monetary resources, but I hope we’re able to do extra projects that have a more sustainable impact beyond that. In my world, the dream is to have a safe house that allows people temporary housing since that’s one of the biggest requests we get. I think about what it would look like to have a kitchen where people can get food, or something like that.

What are some of the ways people can support the work you do?

Karwitha: We’ve put out a call for non-monetary assistance; we welcome both contributions and requests. The links are available on our Instagram and Twitter pages. We invite people to think creatively about what they can offer and receive, all in the spirit of taking care of each other and doing for ourselves. People can still contribute money to the fund through our M-Pesa or PayPal accounts. People can work to make this country safer for trans and queer people. There’s a lot of information and tools that the Kenyan trans and queer community put out; read, engage, unlearn. We want people to know that the fund is political. We’re very interested in the material conditions of Kenyans and we want to encourage people to rethink what community is and how community can shift these conditions.

Mumbi: On a larger scale, we’re inviting both contributors and would-be recipients of non-monetary assistance for furniture, professional development services such as CV reading and editing, food; people cooking for others, and hosting for some time. If people want to do stuff or contribute in non-monetary ways, we’re trying to create a program around that. Other things include collaborations. If someone feels like they have a skill or a vision or an idea for something that they feel would help people who are trans and queer in terms of their material conditions, they can email us and share the idea because we’re really receptive. We’re trying to do as much as possible to help people, so it’s about community and other people’s ideas, not just ours.