Nio ko Bokk, a Philosophy of Giving

This philosophy is rooted in a broader conception of life that is profoundly humanistic, and summed up eloquently by the philosopher S. B. Diagne:

“Nit nitay garabam, “a person is another person’s remedy”, is a Wolof proverb often quoted in the daily interactions of the people of Senegal where that language is spoken. That is all it is, just a proverb, just another instance of folk wisdom. Until you examine philosophically what it says about the meaning of “humanism”. Now why a remedy? What, then, is the malady? The answer is: the malady of not being human yet. The malady of lagging behind what one has to be. To say that a person is another person’s remedy is to say that personhood, more generally humanity, is not a state but a task, to be achieved with the help of another. To paraphrase a famous declaration: one is not born, but rather becomes a human. Wolof people manifest that meaning when they play on the proverb and say, changing but one single vowel in the original wording of the proverb: nit nitey garabam. Under that form the phrase means: “the remedy of a human is to be (or to behave) human.” (Diagne, forthcoming)

In Wolof culture, as in many African cultures, therefore, the solutions to all the problems that human beings have are with other humans: (nit, nit-ay garabam). A slight variation of the same expression states: the solutions to the problems of the human being are in being more humane; and humanity will find the solutions to its problems in higher or superior forms of humanism (Diagne 2020). This points to the importance of solidarity. Nio ko bokk and nit, nit-ay garabam have the same humanistic premise. According to the philosopher Souleymane Bachir Diagne, “It is amazing that a French equivalent being used nowadays for ñoo ko book is "nous sommes ensemble" [we are together]. This is not a literal translation, but comes close to the fundamental meaning of ñoo ko book, and speaks to the universal nature of its humanistic premise. Solidarity, after all, may take unique forms in Africa, but it is not uniquely African.

In rural communities, individuals, groups, and whole villages would support one another, or support those in need (the poor, sick, the differently abled, victims of fires and floods, etc.). In the spirit of nio ko bokk, they also come together, each contributing what they can, to build or repair infrastructure (roads, wells, bridges) and facilities such as stores and food banks, mosques, schools, and community centres. In urban settings, and among migrant communities, the forms of solidarity can take slightly different forms—including the creation of societies, such as the village ‘diaspora’ associations, and burial societies based in the towns and cities, or in Europe and North America.

Despite the commodification of almost everything, growing inequalities, the loosening of family and community ties, and the erosion of certain values, nio ko bokk is still a widely shared philosophy of life. While it may be evolving, it still serves as the cement and bedrock of social relations, as well as a way of maintaining links between the elites and the rest of society.

There have also been attempts to take such philosophies as a basis for mobilising communities for local and national development. For instance, the tesito (“tie-your-waist/tighten your belts, meaning ‘self-reliance’) movement in The Gambia in the 1970s. Like Ujamaa in Tanzania (under Mwalimu Julius Nyerere’s leadership) and Harambee in Kenya, Tesito or ‘self-reliance’ was promoted at the time of the launching of the first real national five-year development plan of The Gambia by the then President of the country, Sir Dawda Kairaba Jawara, both as the philosophy of development, and a spirit that all Gambians should adopt. People were invited to come together and work for their communities and country, and not expect the solutions to all the development problems to be provided by government. The communities responded positively, and with great enthusiasm, to the call. They built schools, repaired roads, and bridges, and engaged in many collective endeavours using their own tools and donating their time and talents to the community—and the country. It was all voluntary, with no expectation of any form of remuneration. Self-help also meant helping one another.

Unfortunately, the movement fizzled out after a few years, particularly when some groups began pointing out the fact that the government was apparently feeling less obliged to honour its part of the ‘contract’: it was expected to step in where ‘self-help’ wasn’t sufficient as a response to the economic, health, education, and other development challenges. Among other things, the government was expected to provide teachers for the large number of new primary schools and doctors and nurses for the health centres built by the communities. It didn’t live up to the expectation—and probably wasn’t able to do so, given the speed at which new schools and health centres were being built.

Contributor: Ebrima Sall