I've been thinking deeply about the relationship between aid and the communities we serve. Is the "impact industry" sustained, in part, by the very actors intervening in it? Do our approaches keep the communities we serve in the same poverty cycles we are trying to break?
The question feels particularly urgent now, as we face significant shifts in the global aid landscape. With USAID's crisis and the Swiss Government's withdrawal of international education assistance, many organizations are struggling. Projects are at a standstill, people are losing jobs, and uncertainty looms large. Yet within this crisis, I see an opportunity to reimagine how aid works in Africa.
Africa needs to stand on her own feet. The role of aid must be to support development, not to perpetuate dependency. While there are still many glaring gaps in development and poverty remains a great challenge, we need to confront the uncomfortable truth about how aid sometimes perpetuates cycles of poverty. For aid to be truly dignifying, it must drive agency, human dignity, and ultimately, independence.
When we explored this idea with friends, we realized something striking: we often intervene without expecting reciprocity from the communities we support. The situations we face—gender-based violence, hunger, kids not attending school—are often so dire that it seems unreasonable to ask communities to contribute. But in giving aid without expecting anything in return, are we unintentionally telling our beneficiaries they have nothing to offer?
The funding landscape itself reveals a fascinating dynamic. Someone recently put it this way: imagine a funder being the most beautiful, richest, and kindest high school student that all peers want to date. How overwhelming—and how difficult it is to make meaningful connections when everyone is pursuing you! On the flip side, as an organization supporting grassroots leaders, we know firsthand how challenging it is for these leaders to raise resources. Only about 1% of global funding goes to locally led organizations, and only about 8% of NGOs operate at the $1M and above budget level.
At Metis, we're trying to approach this differently. While we subsidize our program by up to 93%, we ask for a 7% contribution from participants. This fee only covers a small part of the costs, but it says something crucial: "You have something to contribute." More than money, it's about dignity. We also require leaders to contribute in other ways, like supporting other education leaders in our ecosystem or helping with recruitment efforts.
We're seeing the power of this approach. Our community has supported over 300 educators, with a collaboration rate of over 70% from self-reported impact. When leaders contribute and collaborate, they build something more sustainable than what any external funding could provide.
Consider what's happening in Kibera, where SHOFCO requires parents to contribute their time to ensure quality education for their children. Parents retain their dignity by participating in activities like cleaning or cooking, knowing they have something valuable to offer. This starkly contrasts the donor dependency we often see, where parents expect funders to fully support their children's education and take offense when asked to contribute in any way.
There's a powerful lesson here from an unexpected place: Kenya's tourism industry. When COVID-19 hit and international tourism collapsed, the industry discovered an untapped resource – local tourists. This shift not only helped the industry survive but led it to thrive in unexpected ways. What if we applied this same thinking to development? What if we dug deeper into our local resources and capabilities?
As Thomas Merton said, "There is in all things a hidden wholeness." When receiving aid, showing up with generosity—sharing insights, advice, or grassroots wisdom—goes a long way in building reciprocity. Similarly, givers must honor the dignity of recipients through curiosity, genuine partnership, and an active invitation to contribute.
A friend, Trizah Gakwa, put it perfectly: "Those that are giving must ask themselves, 'How do we give so that at some point we will no longer be needed' while those receiving must ask, 'how do we contribute and utilize what's given so that at some point we will no longer need it'"
As the aid landscape evolves, we have an opportunity to pioneer more dignified, sustainable approaches to development. True partnership means recognizing and nurturing the capacity within our communities, moving beyond traditional donor-recipient relationships to build models that promote agency, dignity, and ultimately, independence.
The current crisis in aid funding isn't just a challenge to overcome—it's an invitation to reimagine how we support development across Africa. By embracing new approaches to sustainability, fostering meaningful collaboration, and building genuine reciprocity with communities, we can transform this moment of crisis into a catalyst for lasting change. As we rethink sustainability, we must involve the communities we serve in their own progress. Capacity development and financial aid must go hand in hand; providing aid without nurturing self-leadership potential is inadequate.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. How do you think we can build more dignifying approaches to development? How can we ensure that aid becomes a bridge to self-reliance rather than a crutch that fosters dependence?
With Love, Muthoni Gakwa Executive Director, Metis
The challenge that we find ourselves in is how to re-imagine the way we design our solutions and try and create self-sustaining projects. This may be difficult, but coming up with low cost interventions, and or profit making solutions ensures that the projects that we come up with take a life of their own. Developing educational tools is expensive. But if we leverage the size of school communities and technology, we are likely to create solutions or interventions that may be beneficial to the organization and those communities therein.Pt