The first time a chama almost ended a friendship in my life, it was not over millions, land in Kamulu or some dramatic “ameiba chali yangu” scandal. It was over Sh500. Five hundred shillings!

One M-Pesa message and a friendship that had survived campus strikes, endless smokie pasua dinners outside hostels and joint suffering in Nairobi matatus suddenly became a courtroom drama conducted entirely through WhatsApp voice notes.

For the uninitiated, a chama — Swahili for ‘group’ or ‘association’ — is Kenya’s beloved savings and investment model, where people pool money regularly for saving, lending, welfare support or investment.

It is part financial system, part therapy session at moments when life pinches you unusually hard. Chamas have become one of Kenya’s most powerful grassroots financial engines, collectively managing and supporting everything from paying miniscule rent arrears to school fees and land purchases.

I grew up seeing chamas work like magic. Back in the village, my mother and her friends treated their chama meetings with the seriousness of state functions. Plastic chairs appeared under avocado trees. Tea flasks emerged. Someone always carried mandazi. Contributions were counted with ritual precision. Years later, that same circle had bought land, educated children and built houses.

Therefore, as a child, I thought my mother and her friends had found a way to hack the dire financial system and emerge semi-whole. So naturally, when Gen Zs began embracing them, I was not skeptical. If anything, I was optimistic. Then adulthood arrived carrying invoices.

My first Gen Z chama was among friends in Nairobi. The vision was beautiful: monthly contributions, small investments, maybe eventually buy plots somewhere in Juja before every billboard started shouting ‘prime land, controlled development’. Instead, it became a live-action episode of money reveals character.

One member kept borrowing from the group ‘temporarily’. Another disappeared exactly on contribution dates but magically reappeared for social outings. Suddenly, I was covering shortfalls because “you understand my situation”. I understood it so well I was financing it.

Then friendships started dying strange deaths. Not explosive endings. Quiet endings. Replies becoming slower. Invitations disappearing. Tension hanging in cafés along Thika Road because somebody still owed Sh2,000 from three months ago.

Money had entered the room and friendship quietly exited. That experience repeated itself enough times that I became suspicious whenever someone said, “Guys, si we start a chama?” Because among Gen Zs, chamas have evolved beyond saving. They are now responses to survival.

We are a generation navigating expensive rent, unstable jobs, side hustles with motivational names and economies that often feel allergic to young people’s ambitions. Collective saving makes sense. Kenya’s Gen Zs are increasingly using chamas not just for traditional goals but for digital ventures, investments and wealth-building.

And to be fair, many are succeeding. Samuel Mwangi, 24, is part of a youth investment chama in Nairobi, and he told me, “Our chama helped me save enough for equipment for my photography business. Alone, I would have eaten that money in small expenses.”

Similarly, Sharon Mutinda, 20, laughed while defending hers: “Honestly, my chama forced discipline into me. Left alone, I would buy skincare products and iced coffee every weekend.”

I believe them. Because despite my skepticism, I cannot ignore what chamas represent socially. They challenge the myth that individual hustle alone will save us. In Kenya, community has always been our emergency fund. Harambees.Burial committees. Village welfare groups. Chamas. Gen Zs did not invent collective survival; we just digitised it.

The irony is that a generation famous for “I’m protecting my peace” has enthusiastically embraced one of the most socially demanding financial systems ever created. Imagine explaining to a Gen Z that peace means attending Saturday meetings, paying fines for lateness and listening to hours of debate about a missing Sh1,200. Yet here we are.

Still, I remain cautious. Because I have learned that trust is not the same thing as structure. My mother’s village chama worked because it had rules stronger than friendship. Ours failed because friendship wasthe structure. We assumed vibes were governance. Turns out vibes cannot balance books.

So yes, Gen Z chamas are booming. They are ambitious, creative and undeniably Kenyan. They reveal something beautiful about us: Even in uncertainty, we still believe collective effort can build futures.

But I now approach every chama invitation like someone reading terms and conditions. With respect. And mild fear.