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The now-trending hashtag #KalumaBoy in Kenya has captured the attention of many, showing how quickly a single story can spark nationwide conversation.
But beyond the viral momentum lies a deeper truth: generosity in Kenya is not reserved for the wealthy or for large charities; it thrives in everyday acts by ordinary people.
For decades, philanthropy has been imagined as the preserve of billionaires and foundations with vast resources.
Yet in Kenya, giving often looks different: families rallying behind strangers in distress, young people pooling resources on TikTok, and protesters sharing food and shelter in the heat of demonstrations.
This is a form of philanthropy that blends tradition, digital activism, and community care, creating what could be called the “unlikely philanthropist.”
It is an old instinct, “the harambee spirit,” revived through hashtags, M-Pesa transfers, and PayBill numbers.
What has changed is not the impulse to give, but the channels through which it flows.
And perhaps the most telling examples are not found in corporate boardrooms or formal charity drives, but in the raw, spontaneous ways Kenyans show up for one another.
Kaluma Boy and the Power of Collective Care
Kaluma Boy, a content creator from Nyeri, has been documenting his single-handed care for his ailing father on social media.
His father, who suffered a stroke in August 2024 and spent three months in a coma, requires ongoing medical attention, including catheter changes and other expensive treatments.
Faced with overwhelming bills, Kaluma Boy resorted to working on a local tea farm to help cover costs.
In a world where vulnerability can be easily dismissed, his story found resonance.
On TikTok, where he had cultivated an audience of more than 250,000 followers who began to respond not just with likes and comments but with tangible support.
A PayBill number was set up, and donations started flowing in, reaching a substantial amount.
The generosity did not stop at mobile transfers.
On September 28th, the online community turned solidarity into presence, traveling to his home in Othaya in their hundreds, filling the homestead with songs, prayers, and encouragement.
Some brought financial gifts, others came simply to stand with him.
The gathering was less about charity and more about community, a reminder that generosity is often measured in presence as much as in money.
And this was not the first time Kenyans had rallied behind one of their own.
Brian Chira and the Compassion of Strangers
In 2024, Kenyans witnessed another outpouring of generosity following the death of TikTok personality Brian Chira.
The popular TikToker’s death sparked an outpouring of support from his online community.
Within just 72 hours of launching a fundraiser, more than KSh 7.3 million was raised to cover his
funeral expenses.
The effort, spearheaded by fellow creators and driven by Chira’s fans, the self-styled “Chira Clan,” was coordinated through TikTok live sessions and mobile money platforms.
The contributions went beyond ensuring a dignified send-off; they also supported his family, including plans to purchase land for his grandmother.
What stands out in Chira’s case is that philanthropy was not tied to admiration of wealth or influence but to empathy.
People gave because they recognized his humanity, his struggles, and his need for support at a moment when he could no longer ask for it himself.
But generosity in Kenya is not confined to moments of illness or death.
Solidarity in the Streets: The GNZ Protests
It has also shown itself in the streets, where strangers stand together for survival and justice.
During the 2024–2025 Gen Z protests, solidarity went beyond marching in the streets.
Protesters created communal funds known simply as “the kitty” to cover transport, medical bills, and supplies for those injured.
When demonstrators were hospitalised, peers not only visited but also organised blood donation drives and provided practical support.
Mosques and community centres opened their doors for food, water, and shelter, while digital crowdfunding helped pay for buses and fuel to ferry participants to protest sites.
In these moments, strangers cared for one another as if they were family, showing that resi
stance was not only political but also profoundly humanitarian.
It was philanthropy without formal structures: no board of trustees, no strategic plan, no glossy report. Yet it carried the essence of giving ordinary people, at personal risk, choosing to care for one another.
These stories raise an important question: if philanthropy is usually described in polished reports and billion-dollar endowments, where do we place these messy but powerful acts of care?
Beyond the Textbook
Textbook definitions often frame philanthropy as “private initiatives for the public good,” usually involving organized charity or structured foundations.
In practice, this narrows generosity to what can be audited, branded, or counted in large figures.
But the Kenyan examples refuse to fit into neat categories. They are messy, emotional, and rooted in lived experiences rather than boardroom strategies.
The donors were not wealthy patrons but boda boda riders, market traders, and students, each giving what little they could spare.
By restricting philanthropy to formal models, we risk missing these powerful acts of kindness that hold communities together.
Everyday giving may lack polish, but it carries advantages: it is fast, it is personal, and it builds trust at the grassroots.
It works precisely because it emerges from shared struggle and shared humanity.
And while these acts may seem scattered, the global data confirms the pattern.
Kenya and the World Giving Index
If there were any doubt about Kenya’s culture of generosity, the Charities Aid Foundation (CAF) World Giving Index 2024 put it to rest.
Kenya was ranked second globally, behind only Indonesia.
The numbers tell a compelling story:
- 82% of Kenyans said they had helped a stranger in the past month.
- 56% reported making financial donations.
- 52% volunteered their time.
These figures position Kenya far ahead of many wealthier nations, reminding the world that generosity is not a function of GDP.
It is a reflection of social values, community networks, and the willingness of people to act when others are in need.
Numbers, however, only tell part of the story.
From Harambee to Hashtags
To truly understand Kenyan generosity, one must look at its cultural roots and how they’ve adapted to modern tools.
Philanthropy is not an imported concept in Africa. Long before the term entered development discourse
communities had elaborate systems of solidarity.
In Kenya, harambee, literally “pulling together,” has been central to funding schools, covering hospital bills, and supporting bereaved families.
Among many African cultures, communal labor ensured that no family farmed alone, no child went without food, and no household mourned without company.
These traditions remain alive, but they are morphing with technology.
Kaluma Boy’s TikTok appeal was, in many ways, a digital harambee, a crowd pulling together, only this time through mobile money and hashtags instead of physical gatherings.
Chira’s funeral fund was the same. The GNZ protests showed how Twitter threads and WhatsApp groups could replace village barazas in mobilizing people to care for one another.
Technology does not erase tradition; it amplifies it. What Kenyans are doing today is not entirely new. It is a continuation of deeply rooted cultural practices, expressed in the tools of a new era.
Rethinking Philanthropy
Perhaps the real question is not how much someone gives but how deeply they connect, how faithfully they act when faced with another’s need. Kenya’s unlikely philanthropists, ordinary strangers moved by empathy, are redefining generosity.
Their stories challenge us to look beyond polished definitions and structured giving. They remind us that philanthropy is not just about who has the most, but who cares enough to do something.
In this light, the country’s high global ranking is not surprising.
It simply confirms what Kenyans already know: that the spirit of giving is woven into daily life, ready to surface whenever circumstances demand. And in that spirit lies a lesson for the world that generosity, at its truest, belongs to all of us.
