Maasailand, or rather, Playing Dress up Next to the Mountain of God

Living with a Maasai family felt kind of like being in a dream. It was surreal. And I have no words for it. Which is why it has been a week and I haven’t written anything. Here are my two best attempts to sum it up in one sentence:

1. I played dress up next to the Mountain of God for four days.

2. I walked all day in the Great Rift Valley wearing 6 red blankets.

We arrived at the banks of Lake Natron, at the foot of a mountain that the Maasai believe is the Mountain of God. It was so hot that between the hours of 11am and 3pm there really isn’t much you can do. At 3pm we all got ourselves up and started hiking. We hiked up to some incredible waterfalls. When we weren’t worrying about scrambling up the cliff, we were watching out for the Baboons who were pushing rocks off the side of the mountain and trying to hit us. We went swimming in the waterfalls, and when we got out the HOT breeze dried us off. I’ve never felt wind so hot.

The next day we were handed off to our Maasai mamas. We had moved only a few steps away from the village office when my mama began decking me out in Maasai jewelry. Five bracelets on each arm, beads on my head, beads around my neck—eventually there would also be beads around my ankles and stomach.

On the way back to the boma (the kind of house maasai live in) we stopped for a coke, globalization at its best, and picked up some groceries. These included a clear plastic bag filled with meat, and some tomato paste which tasted strikingly like my favorite Hunts tomato sauce in America.

I was relieved right away to hear that they spoke Swahili- or at least they told me they spoke Swahili. But over the week I became less sure about their Swahili abilities. We could go over the basics: greetings, names, ages (though my sister who looked 12 told me she was 29)- but after that they did not really follow grammar or know very much vocabulary. There was one verb “ongoja” that they used for absolutely everything. Whether they wanted me to stay, show them something, wait, give, take—everything. Strange as it may sound, I continued to operate on the assumption that they spoke Swahili, and it took me most of the week to realize this may not have always been successful communication.

Once at home I donned by six red blankets and more jewelry. I did not see my t-shirt and shorts again until the morning I left. And then I was a Maasai lady. My mama handed my over to my homestay sister, Monika and from then on, I was her charge.

Monika told me she was 29, but as I said, she looked 12. She had just gone through the process of becoming a woman, which for the Maasai meant female circumcision. She was extremely proud of her status as a woman and was very willing to talk to me about the experience which had happened this September. It was interesting to learn about her perspective because most Western views of female circumcision take a very negative, human-rights based approach to the issue without placing it in a cultural context.

Monika

The boma itself was a small circular hut made of dung and sticks with a fire pit, always burning, in the middle of it. This did not help with the heat. There was a bed made of sticks and a little shelf for keeping food supplies.

Monika’s (and therefore my) daily activities included bringing water back from the river, collecting firewood, and bathing. Bathing was my favorite part because it was so damn hot! Once we even got to stand by the side of the river and sing “head, shoulders, knees and toes” in Swahili. Highlight moment. We would carry the water or wood on our heads, and Monika was always getting me set up and making sure my dresses were as they should be.

At all times I was extremely dirty, even after bathing-- the river was flowing with poop from donkeys, cows, goats, baboons and other animals. There was quite an assortment. Sound pretty gross, but nothing could have stopped us from our one chance to cool down. Unfortunately this was also the water for drinking…. albeit boiled first.

Each night we would sit outside and wait for the weather to cool down. At some point the Baba of the boma would come home. He had two wives, one who was my mama, Salei, and the other who lived in her own boma. He would walk back from the village with a radio playing and stop over to say hello… to me. He didn’t really talk to Salei or his kids, which surprised me.

At night I would either sleep inside the boma, or outside the boma on a cowhide. Sleeping outside was amazing because I could stare at the stars for hours when I couldn’t sleep because there were bugs crawling on me or people rolling on me. This happened because either way, inside or out, I was sleeping with at least two or three other people on one cowhide. Usually Monika was at my side and she would put her arm around me and try to spoon me. In the heat I was really unhappy with this situation. Eventually though, as more people joined us on the cowhide, things would get crowded and the nice cuddling would turn into all out war. I was socked in the eye with an elbow one night, pushed and pulled. And don’t think I didn’t fight back. I learned to push as well!

Sleeping Outside the Boma

Most of the time I was just really confused. For example, one day Monika and my mama led me to a stool outside the house and told me to sit down. I took a seat and expected them to join me. But they went back inside with several other women and sat in there talking. I waited and waited, thinking they were coming out, but they didn’t. After twenty minutes of sitting by myself wondering, I went in to find out what was happening. They seemed surprised to see me. It was very weird.

Another moment of confusion—I told them my nickname was kidege, and they started pointing at this child and saying kidege! Kidege! I thought maybe they hadn’t understood. I tried again. They nodded in seriousness and then started pointing at the kid again. And then suddenly it was clear-- they were naming this poor kid after me. So now there are four kideges out there (because three of us got the nickname last summer when I was in Mombasa).

The new Kidege

Perhaps this isn’t a moment of confusion, but it was certainly a moment of distress. Monika got out a book in Swahili and asked me to read it to her. The book was called “How Jesus will make you a good Christian” and it had all the proper activities. It was a totally weird experience and then i realized i was being a missionary unintentionally and had to stop.

The family structure was a bit complicated, so my endless confusion was not completely my fault. There were two wives and each had about four kids. Every adult woman had her own hut, and there were two other huts right in the area, each home to a woman with several kids. I had a lot of fun with the kids who spoke more Swahili than the adults. But, there was one kid who was always hanging around our boma but was absolutely petrified of me. I don’t think he had ever seen a white person before, and he would scream, cry or hide every time he saw me.

My really beautiful homestay sisters

The kid that cried every time he saw me

One night we went out dancing. In Maasai culture, all young men become warriors after they are circumcised, and these warriors go out singing and dancing at night. They jump up and down, yelling, and swing their dreds in your face as a way of flirting. I went to the dance with Monika and my mama. My mama held my hand the whole time. Some boys swung their hair at us. I remember wondering what my friends at school were doing at that moment.

The next morning my Baba decided we would have a photo shoot. Part of repayment towards the family that the village had asked us for, was that we take pictures and send them back a photo album. This made me feel a lot more comfortable using my camera. Most pictures were of my Baba with various things, like cows, friends, children, or all of the above. But sometimes he would take my camera and trade places with me. Here are the results.

Baba Saibulu

When they shoved a goat in my hands and i looked awkward

Gather round the donkey!

Salei cutting the firewood we had collected

One day we got to go to Lake Natron to see a lot of flamingos. Apparently this is the big tourist attraction in the area, so we got to see some tourist. Or wait, better said, they got to see us! Tourists saw me and my sister and started snapping away with pictures. It was hilarious, but also a bit strange. I felt protective of Monika. I felt weird about the fact that they would go home and have pictures of me. And I felt ridiculous in my whole Maasai getup. The tourist himself had a funny hat on. Makes me think even harder about the pictures I take here. How would Monika feel about knowing that her picture was on my blog? Its a weird thing because I feel like I am totally taking advantage of her by using it. And yet, it hasn't stopped me... Ayya..

The tourist with Monika and another Maasai

At the Lake, in my robes, checking out the Rift Valley

I've left out a lot-- such as drinking goat's blood, buying a necklace made of goat pellets ( i was unaware until i smelled it afterwards), the sound of maasai jewelry in the wind and the feeling of sitting outside the boma sharing a bowl of potatoes and tomato paste with your sister. Nothing better than eating outside with your hands.

But then it was over. And we left. Our effects on our maasai family and their effects on us completely unknown. Because the Maasai are such a fettishized culture, it was kind of strange to have gone into their lives, worn their clothing and just left like it was a package deal tourist attraction. Be a Maasai for a day! But maybe there is something to trying, and maybe the fact that we didnt just snap pictures out a car window and leave meant something. I'm not sure.

Trying to leave. The car was hot too..