What does it really mean when people say that “it takes a village to raise a child”?
Does it simply mean that several people can participate in raising children?
Or does it describe something broader: a social environment in which people recognise that what happens to another person’s child, property or household can sometimes become their concern too?
When I think about the village in which I grew up, I increasingly think it was the latter.
The village did not replace the parents.
But responsibility did not always stop at the boundary of one’s household.
People Did Not Always Stand By and Watch
If children were fighting or one child was abusing another, adults nearby would normally intervene.
They did not need to be the parents of either child.
They could separate the children, stop what was happening, or otherwise intervene.
If children were doing something they were not supposed to be doing, behaving badly or being disrespectful, an adult who knew whose children they were could call them to order. Sometimes the warning that their parents would be told was enough.
Children therefore had reasons to behave around adults who were not their parents.
What interests me now is the expectation behind that response.
Seeing something happening could itself create a responsibility to act.
Today, when almost everyone carries a phone capable of recording video, another response has become possible: someone can stand back and record what is happening for social media.
I am not suggesting that everybody in the village always intervened or that harmful things did not happen.
They did.
The question is whether another person’s problem was more readily understood as something that should not simply be ignored because it belonged to “them.”
Even Another Person’s Property Could Become Your Concern
The same principle extended beyond children.
Suppose someone was herding livestock and temporarily lost control of the animals.
If cattle entered another household’s farming plot and someone nearby noticed, that person could help chase them out before they damaged the crops.
The cattle were not theirs.
The farming plot was not theirs.
The crops were not theirs.
But why watch the damage happen when something could be done?
Similarly, people could watch out for vandalism, break-ins or suspicious activity affecting another person’s property.
These things still happened. Village life was not free from wrongdoing.
But there did not need to be a formally constituted neighbourhood watch before neighbours could watch out for one another.
Perhaps that is one practical expression of the “we.”
Another person’s property remained theirs, while protecting it could temporarily become our concern.
Children Were Also Expected to Participate
The relationship did not flow only from adults towards children.
Children could also be asked to run errands or perform small chores for adults outside their immediate households.
Sometimes the neighbour might first ask the parents.
But where relationships between families were sufficiently close, asking for permission every time was not always necessary.
Perhaps the child was not only being raised by the village.
The child was also being raised to become a member of the village.
The Living Room That Became Part of the Village
There was a time when not every household had electricity.
Not every household had a television either.
Children could therefore walk considerable distances to a house where there was a television and ask to watch.
Movies.
Television programmes.
Soccer.
Over weekends, particularly from Friday night, children could gather to watch movies that played late on the public television channels.
Sometimes members of the hosting household eventually went to bed while children from elsewhere in the village remained in the living room watching television.
When the movie ended, the children left and walked home.
Sometimes it was around midnight.
Sometimes later.
I find this remarkable when looking back at it now.
The television belonged to one household.
The electricity was being paid for by one household.
The living room belonged to one household.
Yet children from elsewhere could benefit from all three.
I am not suggesting that children walking long distances late at night was necessarily ideal or without risk.
What interests me is the relationship between households that made such an arrangement appear ordinary.
Ownership existed.
But ownership did not necessarily mean that everything had to benefit only the people who owned it.
Sometimes You Simply Knocked on the Neighbour’s Door
The “we” was often much less dramatic.
Sometimes it was simply preparing food and discovering that something was missing.
A household could ask a neighbour for salt, cooking oil, sugar, water, tomatoes, onions, fruit, or vegetables and greens such as spinach and other muroho.
Nobody needed to organise a community meeting because somebody had run out of salt.
You simply went to the neighbour.
The boundary between “mine” and “yours” remained.
But there was enough of a relationship for someone to say:
I don’t have this. Can you help me?
Sometimes what was shared had not even been bought.
If a household had vegetables, greens or fruit available, some could find their way into another household.
Perhaps there was a small space between “mine” and “yours” that could become “ours when there is a need.”
But That Closeness Had Another Side
The neighbour who knew enough about your circumstances to help you could also know enough to embarrass you.
If you regularly asked for sugar, cooking oil or other necessities, the neighbour knew something about what was happening within your household.
Most of the time, that might not matter.
Until neighbours quarrelled.
Then yesterday’s quiet assistance could become tomorrow’s public announcement.
Suddenly, the neighbourhood might hear about everything you had ever borrowed.
The same social closeness that allowed people to watch over one another’s homes could encourage another behaviour.
When a family argument erupted, neighbours might stretch their necks across the fence, trying to understand what was happening.
Then came the neighbourhood gossip.
Perhaps this was another side of the “we.”
The neighbour who knows enough to help you may also know enough to gossip about you.
Social visibility could provide protection.
It could also reduce privacy.
But Being Known Also Meant Being Acknowledged
The same lack of anonymity had another side.
People knew you.
They knew your family.
They often knew something about your circumstances.
That meant advice could come from almost anywhere.
An older person could stop you and offer advice simply because they thought there was something useful you needed to hear.
Someone could offer words of encouragement because they knew what you were trying to achieve.
If you accomplished something, congratulations could come from people you had never personally informed.
Sometimes these interactions were completely unsolicited.
The advice could be useful.
Sometimes it might not be.
Sometimes you might wonder why somebody thought your affairs required their opinion.
But that was part of being known.
Your difficulties could attract gossip, but they could also attract support.
Your ambitions could attract unwanted opinions, but they could also attract encouragement.
Your achievements could become known beyond your household, and people could congratulate you simply because they recognised the journey.
The same social visibility produced both support and intrusion.
Perhaps the challenge was never simply choosing between being known and being private.
It was finding the boundary between the two.
Sometimes the “We” Planned Ahead
The “we” did not only respond when somebody was already in need.
People could organise themselves around needs they knew were coming.
One example was the savings societies commonly called stokvels.
Women could agree that each person would contribute a particular amount every month.
The money would be saved collectively throughout the year.
Towards the festive season, the savings could be withdrawn and used to buy groceries and household essentials in bulk.
Food.
Cooking ingredients.
Soap.
Other necessities.
The goods would then be divided among the participating households.
For some families, the groceries could stretch beyond the festive season itself.
What interests me is not only the saving mechanism.
There was a common problem being addressed.
The festive season could place additional pressure on households. Children were home, families wanted enough food, and parents wanted their children to have an enjoyable festive period.
Instead of every household facing that pressure completely alone, people could motivate and encourage one another to save gradually throughout the year.
The stokvel did not remove the responsibility of the “I.”
It depended on it.
Every participating “I” had to contribute for the “we” to work.
And stokvels continue to exist.
That is important because development does not automatically destroy the “we.”
Some collective practices survive because people continue to find value in them.
Perhaps the Village Was Teaching Without Calling It Teaching
Nobody needed to sit children down and announce:
Today we are going to teach you Ubuntu.
Children simply grew up inside these relationships.
They saw adults intervene when another child needed help.
They saw people protect crops and property that did not belong to them.
They were asked to help adults outside their households.
They gathered in other people’s homes.
They saw households share ordinary necessities.
They watched people save collectively for a common goal.
They received advice from adults who were not their parents.
They saw achievements acknowledged beyond the household.
But they could also observe the less attractive side of closeness.
The gossip.
The quarrels.
The unwanted advice.
The invasion of privacy.
The possibility that help received quietly today could be thrown back at you during tomorrow’s disagreement.
Perhaps that complexity matters.
The lesson cannot simply be:
The “we” is good and the “I” is bad.
Nor can it be:
Everything belongs to everybody.
It did not.
People owned things.
Households had responsibilities.
Individuals needed privacy.
Perhaps what village life continually exposed was the difficult boundary between the individual and the collective.
A “we” strong enough to notice you.
A “we” strong enough to help you.
But sometimes also a “we” that noticed more than you wanted it to.
What Happens When We Need One Another Less?
This is where development complicates the question.
Not every household had electricity then.
Far more do now.
Not every household had a television.
Today, phones and the internet have transformed access to entertainment completely.
A household with reliable water does not need to ask a neighbour for water.
A household with enough food does not need to borrow sugar or cooking oil.
Greater household self-sufficiency is progress.
People should not remain deprived merely because deprivation once encouraged sharing.
And greater independence can solve some of the uncomfortable aspects of excessive closeness.
A household that no longer needs to borrow regularly may have greater dignity and privacy.
A family with greater independence may have more control over its own affairs.
But another question remains.
What happens to the relationships that were reinforced by needing one another?
When every household has its own television, children no longer need to gather in the one living room that has one.
That is progress.
But the gathering disappears.
When every household has reliable water, nobody needs to knock on the neighbour’s door carrying a container.
Again, that is progress.
But another ordinary reason for interaction disappears.
Perhaps nothing important is lost.
Perhaps people simply find different ways to interact.
The continued existence of stokvels and other collective practices suggests that some forms of the “we” can survive even when the circumstances that created older forms of dependency change.
Perhaps that is where the real question lies.
What Should Development Preserve?
The goal should not be to preserve deprivation.
It should not be to recreate a time when households lacked electricity so that children would gather around one television.
It should not be to maintain shortages simply so that neighbours continue borrowing from one another.
And it should certainly not be to preserve gossip, intrusion or social pressure simply because these existed alongside communal support.
Perhaps the challenge is more selective.
Can development preserve the willingness to intervene when another child is being harmed without making every household’s private affairs public?
Can neighbours watch out for one another without constantly watching one another?
Can people continue to offer encouragement, advice and congratulations while also respecting personal boundaries?
Can households become financially independent while still sharing when somebody genuinely needs help?
Can practices such as stokvels continue because collective effort remains useful rather than because people remain poor?
Can the “we” remain strong without making the “I” disappear?
Raising a Child or Raising a Member of the “We”?
This makes me understand the saying “it takes a village to raise a child” differently.
Perhaps it means more than several adults helping parents look after their children.
The child was growing up within a network of relationships.
Another child being harmed could become an adult’s concern.
Another person’s crops could become worth protecting.
Another household could ask yours for food.
Someone else’s living room could temporarily become your place to watch television.
Another adult could ask you to run an errand.
Somebody who was not a relative could encourage you.
Someone could congratulate you because they heard that you had accomplished something.
The child was therefore repeatedly encountering the idea that life extended beyond the “I.”
But the same child could also observe that community was imperfect.
People helped.
People encouraged.
People shared.
People quarrelled.
People gossiped.
People protected one another.
People sometimes crossed boundaries.
Perhaps the village was not teaching that the “I” should disappear into the “we.”
Perhaps it was teaching the child how complicated it is to live as an “I” inside a “we.”
And that may be the question worth carrying into the future.
As communities become more developed and people become increasingly capable of living independently, how do we preserve the responsibility that made another person’s wellbeing our concern while also protecting the privacy, dignity and autonomy of the individual?
Perhaps the future of the village should not require choosing between the “I” and the “we.”
Perhaps it requires learning how to preserve the best of both.
But ordinary neighbourly life is only one place where this relationship becomes visible.
There are moments when a household becomes particularly vulnerable and the meaning of the “we” is tested far more seriously.
One of those moments is when a family loses a loved one.
Join the conversation
As communities become more independent and private, what parts of the old “we” are worth preserving, and what parts are better left behind?
