Reflections on African humanism, time, and the practice of belonging in a world dominated by productivity and social media.

Lately, I’ve been reading about African humanism and what it might mean and exist in today’s world shaped by devotion to productivity and social media as primary threads to connection.

African Humanism and the Challenge of Modern Life

African humanism is often described as a philosophy that emphasises human dignity, interconnectedness, and communal relationships. Es’kia Mphahlele, regarded as its father, suggests that “the African begins with community, and then determines what the individual’s place and role should be in relation to the community. Man finds fulfilment not as a separate entity but within family and community.” Fulfilment, in this sense, is not achieved alone but through relationships.

The difficulty lies in translating this philosophy into a social reality that often works against it. We live in a time where social media offers proximity without presence, where loneliness and isolation are rising, and where healing is increasingly treated as a private project. The language of “protecting one’s peace” and “guarding one’s energy” has become central to survival. While these practices are often necessary, they leave little room for sustained togetherness, let alone the slow work of building community.

This also raises the question: how do we define community today, in an age of globalisation, migration, and diverse cultural plurality? Community is no longer inherited through geography, shared ancestry, or traditional social structures. It must now be consciously created. Beyond collective political or socio-economic agendas, African humanism feels especially relevant. Not as a nostalgic return to the past, but as a framework for practising dignity and togetherness in everyday life. The question becomes: how can this philosophy shape our day-to-day living?

Depth, Time, and Relational Practice

Even when relationships exist, something often feels incomplete. Many people experience a quiet dissatisfaction with a persistent sense that something is missing, even with close friends, family, partners, and professional stability. This dissatisfaction is often internalised as a personal failure to be grateful, present or content. African humanism reframes it as a symptom of fragmented living. Relationships alone do not guarantee fulfilment. Occasionally, they fill the cup, but not fully. What is often missing is depth: shared rhythm, attention, and responsibility.

The longing, then, is not for more people, but for a community aligned around intentionality and togetherness, even while following different paths. A community expressed through shared meals, conversations, creativity, disagreement, and mutual support. A community that meets regularly, communes, and grows through both individual perspectives and shared values. These are not romantic ideals; they are practices that require continuity, and this is precisely where modern life intervenes.

Our society does not structurally support this kind of living. Capitalism demands that most of our time be spent producing, and whatever time remains is often used to recover. In such conditions, community is treated as optional as something to fit in once everything else is done rather than foundational to a meaningful life. 

What African humanism challenges here is not just individualism but our relationship to time. People are often present, but their time is fragmented. Community requires slow, cyclical, relational engagement. It requires lingering, repetition, and presence that is conscious and sustained. Community-building must be viewed as a responsibility, not an inheritance. It requires resisting the capitalist insistence that all time must be productive and allowing slowness without guilt or regret.

Autonomy, Equity, and Moderation

This tension is particularly visible in contemporary work culture. Full-time work often consumes both energy and imagination. Free time becomes something to recover with rather than to share. The promise of climbing the career ladder remains prioritised, even as it quietly demands the sacrifice of other things such as curiosity, creativity, and relational depth.

In my own experience, working full time left little energy beyond preparing for the next week. Despite enjoying my work, it became draining because it consumed nearly all my available attention and energy. I sought greater autonomy, not to reject work, but to create space for other parts of life.

In response to this, some individuals have responded by seeking alternative arrangements as personal workarounds rather than universal solutions: project-based work, freelancing, entrepreneurship. These approaches offer flexibility and autonomy over time and energy. They do not resolve structural barriers to communal life, but they create pockets of temporal freedom to participate more fully in relationships, family life, and community. Their value lies not in the form of work itself, but in what it makes possible; time shared rather than time spent recovering.

African humanism also demands we examine how community has historically been sustained. Communitarian frameworks often relied on unequal labour, particularly from women, whose caregiving and emotional work was treated as expected. As women increasingly pursue education, autonomy, and alternative life paths, the question becomes unavoidable: what does an equitable community look like today - one that does not depend on exploitation in the name of togetherness.

This is where Kwame Gyekye’s notion of moderate communitarianism offers guidance. He argues that a person is constituted only partly by community and partly by individual agency. This balance between individuality and relational responsibility feels realistic for modern life. It resists extreme individualism and total collectivism, allowing autonomy and communal duty to coexist.

Community as a Practice

Within this framework, healing and well-being are relational rather than entirely individual. African humanism does not deny boundaries or self-care but challenges the assumption that healing must happen in isolation. Trusted relationships, shared responsibility, and collective support create spaces where people can feel safe, cared for, and guided.

Crucially, African humanism reframes community as practice rather than feeling. It is not built on chemistry, aesthetics, or emotional resonance alone. In a globalised world, these are luxuries we cannot rely on. Modern life does not allow us to simply “find” community. It emerges through repeated practice, consistency, presence, and the willingness to stay even when its inconvenient. Overtime, depth grows, not through intensity, but through showing up - fulfilment becomes the reward. 

For me, this year is an experiment in practicing these principles rather than merely admiring them. It looks like being intentional with time, creating spaces for people to gather, and approaching relationships with depth, honesty and a sense of duty. Not in pursuit of an idealised community, but in recognition that something essential is missing without it.

African humanism does not offer a blueprint for modern life. What it offers is an orientation: a reminder that fulfilment is relational, that personhood is shaped through others, and that community, however fragile, is central to a meaningful life.