March 1st, 2014
On
Wednesday the whole class piled into the land cruisers and headed out to
another giant hill. As we stood at the bottom, our Wildlife Management
professor Shem calmly begins to climb the steep rocky slope, asking that we
follow. Like obedient children we filed slowly behind, taking care not to slip
on the gravel so as to avoid a domino-effect landslide of students. As we
reached the top we chose our seats in a semi-circle around Shem. He told us to
come closer so that he could be near his children for one last field lecture.
With that sentence I felt my heart squeeze with sadness as the idea that we
would soon leave this place took root. When the lecture ended we all took our
sweet time heading back to the car in an attempt to savor every second of the
day. Our SAM Mike was not too happy about that…he was ready to head back to
camp and we took a good half hour getting down the hill. On the way down, I felt
my foot slide forward as it hit loose gravel. In a split second I realized
three things: I was going to fall, my expensive camera was unprotected around
my neck, and a classmate was directly in my way. I quickly leaned into the
fall, landing hard on my shins. The momentum caused me to slide a few more
inches down the slope, causing some pretty colorful bruises and a few burns but
both my classmate and my camera came away untouched. Later that day we got the
opportunity to visit a cultural manyatta. A manyatta is basically a Maasai boma
created specifically for tourists, to show “traditional” Maasai culture. The
women and warriors came out to greet us, singing a welcome song. The women
hopped towards us and each pulled a student into the mix, while the warriors
did their traditional dance and had jumping contests off to the side. Once the
song was done, we said a quick group prayer and headed inside to see their
homes. The houses were very small, each about the size if not smaller than a
college dorm room.
Thursday
was the highlight of my week. We had a homestay where pairs of us were dropped
off with predetermined families to spend the day. I’ll start by saying this was
one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done and yet it was also one of the
most rewarding days of my life. My classmate, Rachelle, and I were dropped off
around 8am with our cell phone, a bag of food for our family and a 22 liter jerry
can filled with clean water. About five minutes into the visit, our phone died
and we hadn’t been given a walkie-talkie. We sat in silence for a few seconds,
fighting the rising panic of being in a strange country, in a strange place
where no one speaks English, and no way to contact SFS if we needed help. Finally,
I decided that panic would help no one, least of all us. I turned to Rachelle
and reminded her that SFS has never needed to extract students before and that
someone would be by to check on us around 12 or 1pm. The first few minutes with
our mamas were strained as we made our first attempts at communication. The
term “survival” Swahili suddenly made so much sense. From the very start they
wanted us to be as involved as possible. When we made tea, one of the two mamas
put the grinds into my hands and pointed to the boiling water. She showed me
how to pour milk into a cup and then pointed to the boiling water again. Once
the tea was ready she guided my hands as I poured the hot mixture into each cup
through a strainer. They seemed pleased with my progress but also became
concerned when they saw tears in my eyes. We were inside a home the size of an American
full bathroom with a tiny hole in the wall to let smoke escape. That’s right
the fire was inside the house. The smoke was almost unbearable, but luckily the
mamas understood and we drank our tea outside. I was instructed to pass out the
cups of tea and I instinctively gave the first one to a man sitting just
outside the home, dressed like a Maasai warrior. This seemed to be a good move,
both he and the mamas seemed pleased and he introduced himself as the husband
to one of them. Survival Swahili – the man always gets served first. Thank
goodness for little victories. After tea we went outside and when I say the
flies swarmed, I mean it was like something from a horror film. I have never
seen so many in my life; they coat your face and arms, flying back immediately
after being shooed away. The children had flies coating their mouths and noses
and the mama’s carried cloth specifically for fanning the swarms from their
bodies. After adjusting to this new obstacle, we were instructed to grab a rope
and an empty 22 liter jerry can each. We walked over to a couple of donkeys and
loaded one up with 4 more jerry cans as well. At this point, I had started to
open up a little and the mamas took notice. One placed my hand on the donkey’s
ear and said “hold.” I guess it was a way to keep the donkey still. One mama,
Nalamala, took it upon herself to be my teacher for the day. Every few feet on
the way to the water pump she would point at something and tell me both the
Swahili word for it as well as the Maasai word. It was difficult at times for
us to understand each other but we helped each other learn. When we got to the
pump, Nala positioned me by the handle and said “piga!” I assumed the duty of
filling over 8 jerry-cans in an African version of pumping iron. Once the cans
were filled, a rope was tied to each one and we were told to hold still while
it was placed on our heads. Yes, our heads. A rope handle was fashioned kind of
like a headband and the jerry can hung down behind us, resting in the curve of
our spine. The walk back to the boma was the longest ten minutes of my life: my
head, neck, and spine protesting the weight vehemently. Lunch consisted of
Ugali (a cornflower and water mixture) and cabbage boiled with sugar water. I
actually enjoyed the two mixed together, the cabbage giving the ugali necessary
flavor. After lunch, the husband decided to teach me the Maasai words for his
livestock and tell me more about them. He treated me like his own child,
patiently answering my questions to the best of his ability. Afterwards, I went
with Nala to gather firewood. Actually, we were waiting by the livestock and
she pointed at a machete on the ground, saying “go.” I was terrified for a
second that she wanted me to slaughter something… the husband laughed and
pointed at the trees off in the distance. Once we were out in the trees, Nala
became a woman no one would want to mess with. Put a machete in that woman’s
hand and she’s a firewood machine. We quickly gathered two giant bundles, one
to place on each of our backs like we did with the water. While we were waiting
for Rachelle and her mama to finish, we tried to chat some more. Nala told me I
was an “mtoto wa Maasai” which translates to “child of Maasai.” She truly did
become my mother for the day. Finally, we headed back to the boma to wait for
SFS to pick us up. I amused myself by creating a game with their children. I
would puff my cheeks full of air and press my pointer fingers into them, making
a funny noise as my cheeks deflated. The children quickly picked up on the game
and we played for a good half hour. I also taught some of the boys how to
whistle with their hands. All of a sudden, Marie (the other mama) came over
with a tin of beads and some wire. Both mamas immediately began making a
bracelet, Nala asking me to sit next to her while she did. Every three rows or
so she would hand it to me and have me repeat her pattern. Eventually she was
satisfied with the length and placed it on my wrist saying, “Rafiki. Remember
Rafiki.” For those of you who are Lion King fans, Rafiki means friend in Swahili.
Once our car came to get us, we each hugged our mama and got into the car. All
the children ran over and reached for me through the window. I placed my hand
out and they each grasped it in turn over and over again. Nala sidled over and
told me I was welcome to stay with them. It warmed my heart to know I had made
the same impression on them as they did on me. It’s a day that I will never
forget.
Kwa heri!
Dani
