Lumumba: Africans must stop insulting Africa with “African time”

Last week, Kenyan lawyer, scholar and renowned Pan-Africanist Professor Patrick Lumumba was in the middle of a presentation at the 18th TICH Annual Scientific Congress in Kisumu, Kenya, when he was asked to pause because Kisumu Governor Anyang’ Nyong’o had arrived. Lumumba was speaking about Africa’s persistent problems with access to medical research and research materials when the interruption occurred. He said: “And that is part of the African problem,” before questioning whether what they were discussing was less important than the governor’s arrival.

Lumumba eventually walked away from the microphone as the governor was being ushered in. His complaint was, therefore, about more than a politician arriving late at a conference. He was protesting the culture that makes guests to stop what they are doing because an important political officeholder has finally arrived … late.

What happened in Kisumu should get us talking about a habit we have tolerated for too long as Africans. We have allowed the expression “African time” to become so familiar that many people now use it almost as an affectionate description of lateness. It has created the impression that arriving two or three hours late is an amusing cultural characteristic rather than a habit that shows little regard for other people’s time. Academic research has documented the widespread use of the “African time” stereotype and has also examined the effects of lateness on productivity and economic performance.

But this stereotype has another side. “African time” is also a stereotype that has been used to generalise about an extraordinarily diverse continent, and scholars have rightly questioned the assumption that Africans have some inherent inability to keep time. But Africans should be careful not to use the legitimate rejection of a stereotype as an excuse for defending behaviour that causes inconvenience, wastes resources and communicates disregard for other people’s schedules.

Anyone who has attended enough African events knows the ritual. An invitation says 10 a.m., and everybody who has learnt the system understands that 10 a.m. probably means something else. People arrive at 11, 12, or even later, and the organisers keep announcing that the programme will begin soon. Those who arrived on time are essentially punished for their punctuality because they must wait for those who have decided that the advertised time was merely a suggestion.

The situation becomes particularly embarrassing when the person delaying proceedings is a political leader. Sometimes an event cannot begin until the governor, minister, senator, traditional ruler or other dignitary arrives. At other times, the programme begins but is suddenly interrupted when the dignitary enters, because everybody must stand, the master of ceremonies must acknowledge the arrival, and the dignitary must be formally welcomed.

The practice can become even stranger in places where one would expect greater respect for time. Despite how religious Africans are, a church service can be interrupted because a political officeholder has arrived. A lecture can pause because a VIP has entered. Similarly, a conference session can lose momentum because an important person who knew the start time did not arrive on time.

This is why Lumumba’s reaction deserves attention. He was discussing a serious subject at a scientific conference, yet the arrival of a governor was treated as sufficiently important to interrupt the speaker. The question he posed was uncomfortable but necessary: when a political leader arrives late, why should everybody who came on time bear the cost of that lateness?

Let us acknowledge that public officials are sometimes delayed for legitimate reasons. For example, a governor can be held up by an emergency, a security matter, an unexpected meeting or the demands of the office. Nobody who understands public life should demand mechanical punctuality from people whose schedules can change because of genuine emergencies.

But when the delay is unavoidable, there is a simple solution. The leader should enter quietly, take a seat and allow the programme to continue. When the appropriate time comes for the leader to speak, he or she can acknowledge the audience and apologise for arriving late.

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That would demonstrate leadership. It would tell the audience that public office does not make one more important than everybody else. It would also show young people watching that punctuality is a virtue and that even people in the highest offices are expected to respect others’ time.

Many people don’t see the weight of lateness because they don’t understand time’s value. Time is one resource that cannot be recovered. A wealthy person who loses money can make more money, and a government that loses revenue can raise more revenue, but the two hours taken from hundreds of people sitting in a hall cannot be returned to them. When a conference of 500 people is delayed by two hours, the loss is not two hours; it is 1,000 person-hours.

That is why punctuality should be treated as an economic issue as well as a matter of courtesy. Businesses depend on meetings starting when scheduled, courts on proceedings beginning when scheduled, airlines on departure times, hospitals on appointments, and factories on production schedules. Once a delay occurs, it affects other connected things. A society that routinely treats agreed times as flexible suggestions makes it harder to organise serious economic activity.

Punctuality is also linked to respect. When I invite you to meet me at 9am, I have made an arrangement with you. If you arrive at 11am without a compelling reason, you have indirectly told me that my time and feelings don’t count.

That becomes even more troubling when the person waiting is an ordinary citizen, and the person arriving late is a politician. Public office should make a person more conscious of the value of other people’s time, not less. A governor should not require hundreds of citizens to demonstrate their respect by sacrificing hours of their lives.

Africa also needs to stop making punctuality look foreign. The phrase “African time” has helped create the impression that keeping time is somehow a Western obsession while Africans have a more relaxed relationship with the clock. There is nothing inherently African about wasting people’s time, just as there is nothing inherently European or American about respecting an appointment.

We should, therefore, retire the excuse even when we retain the expression. If an event is advertised for 10am, organisers should begin at 10 a.m. If the guest of honour is absent, the programme should proceed until the point at which his or her participation becomes necessary.

And when the guest eventually arrives, the guest should fit into the programme rather than forcing the programme to fit around the guest. That small change would send a powerful message about the kind of society we want to build.

Lumumba’s walkout may strike some people as dramatic, and reasonable people can disagree about whether leaving the stage was the best response. But the question that provoked his reaction deserves a serious answer. If Africa wants to be taken seriously in science, business, governance, and international affairs, then Africans must learn to take seriously one of the simplest resources we possess: time.