I spent my weekend walking in the footsteps of tire tracks where no car has ever even touched the land. It wasn’t much of a mystery to me though, as I’ve become very familiar with the recycled tire tread sandals that the Maasai wear both in town and in the bush. This time, it was in the bush.
I suppose you could argue that the adventure began when we first met Lalahe, but this adventure began when Hannah, Elise, and I were invited to stay in his boma in Lake Manyara for the weekend. We woke up early Saturday morning to but enough rice, water, and vegetables for a couple days, then hopped on a crowded daladala to Lake Manyara. As we got further out of town, I began to notice that a majority of the people in the daladala were Maasai. Fewer jeans and t-shirts, more red shukas and beaded jewelry.
We were far away from everything familiar when Lalahe told the bus driver to stop of the side of the road. As I watched the daladala drive off into the distance, I sincerely hoped that Lalahe had a good sense of direction because there weren’t any signs of civilization besides the long, empty road. We turned toward the bush and began to walk.
Thirty minutes later we arrived at Lalahe’s boma, comprised of 8 huts and an acacia enclosure for the goats, where we were greeted by some of his younger brothers and sisters and his birth mom. Lalahe’s family is unlike one I have ever met. His father (Baba) has three wives (previously five, but two have passed away) and Lalahe has so many brothers and sisters on his dad’s side that he admittedly doesn’t know all of their names.
The cool air in Lalahe’s dark boma was a welcoming change from the heat of the sun. After drinking a few cups of tea and listening to Lalahe ramble on in Kimaasai to his cousin for a while, we were handed a large cup of goat milk that was poured out of a huge gourd. I had accurately foreshadowed this event when I saw his mom milking some of the goats upon our arrival. As I watched the milk being poured from the gourd, my stomach churned at the sight and sound of large curds plopping into the bottom of my cup. We had been warned that it is extremely disrespectful to leave an unfinished plate or cup in Maasai culture, especially since Lalahe’s family barely has enough food to survive themselves. I accepted the cup of goat milk with a smile that was quickly wiped off my face when I made the mistake of smelling the chunky liquid. Imagine smelling a gallon of milk that has been in the hot sun for 4 months… now imagine drinking it. I took three huge gulps simultaneously and thankfully did not have an immediate adverse reaction to it. Lalahe noticed that we were having trouble drinking the goat milk, so, while his mother was outside, he happily drank the remainder in each of our glasses. I cringed when he got to the bottom of my cup and started to chew on the curds. Thankfully, that was the only goat milk experience that I had to endure for the rest of the weekend. I’m going to end this paragraph now because my stomach feels queasy just remembering the taste…
After playing with the kids and goats (some of which were also kids) for an hour, we went on a “short” walk. For the next three and a half hours, we followed Lalahe and his cousin through the bush, following no particular path. We took a few stops along the way to climb a tree or to learn about the medicinal qualities of naturally occurring substances (for example, if you smoke dried elephant dung then it will cure a headache!). At one point we stopped at a small pond where some children were filling up water jugs. Lalahe and his cousin bent down toward the water and took a few sips, not phased by its muddiness.
My legs were covered in burs and thorns when we got back to Lalahe’s boma, but Lalahe’s were untouched. Lalahe explained that nature knows that the Maasai are friends to it, so that’s why he can hike through the bush seemingly unscathed.
Dinner was delicious, but too much, as always. I struggled to finish the huge bowl of rice and potatoes, but it would have been far more unsatisfying to not finish and offend Lalahe’s mother.
It was dark outside when I met Lalahe’s father for the first time. All I could identify him by was his tall, slender silhouette. The darkness revealed the stars, which were brighter than I’ve ever seen them. The night sky kept the three of us entertained while Lalahe spoke to his father. There was no use in trying to understand what they were talking about—Maa sounds like actual jibberish.
The energy that we had gotten from our carbo-filled dinner was drained while we were playing with the kids. Bibi, Mary, Lazaro, and unknown sister #1 taught us songs in Maa while we danced around a small fire.
Just as we were getting our mats out to go to sleep, Lalahe’s mother brought us each another huge bowl of potatoes as a snack before bed. I was still full from dinner, but I was motivated by the thought of sleep to finish the bowl. On our last spoonful, the three of us congratulated each other on finishing all of the food that had been given to us thus far.
Despite our exhaustion, it was surprisingly difficult to fall asleep. The four of us were lined up like sardines on the hard, dusty ground in Lalahe’s mother’s hut. We had each brought a shuka with us to sleep with, but that was hardly any protection from the mosquitoes, flies, and dirt that occasionally fell from the roof of the hut. The kids came in two hours after we had lain down and squished themselves in between our bodies to keep warm. It was still dark when I woke up in the morning, but the kids were already gone.
I was the first of the four of us to wake up and I faced a quite a problem. The four cups of tea that I had to finish the previous night had quickly run through my body and I had the desperate need to go to the bathroom. Stupidly, I had forgotten both my glasses and a mirror to help me put my contacts (which also would’ve been impossible in the dark), so going to the bathroom alone would prove to be quite dangerous, especially since I would have to climb over the acacia fence, walk down a small dirt path, and check for scorpions in the hole that was dug for a latrine. Fortunately, Elise woke up a few minutes later and guided me to the bathroom, averting any crisis.
We had originally planned to wake up early on Sunday so that Lalahe could take us to see giraffe and zebra before the cattle scared them away. After speaking with his dad, Lalahe changed the plans. Apparently an elephant that mauled and killed a boy a month ago was spotted near Lalahe’s village last week, so they had been advised not to walk early in the morning. Although the prospect of seeing elephants was tempting, we decided not to take the risk of running into any angry elephants.
As an alternative, we spent the morning/afternoon helping the kids herd the goats. Three of the younger boys are in charge of grazing the goats—a task that usually takes all day every day. This poses a serious problem for education… but I’ll have an entire post on how Lalahe plans on tackling that very soon. Even though there are no paths, the kids never get lost. We would walk a little and wait. Walk a little and wait. The children were very entertained by our cameras, to the point where they were paying more attention to us than the goats. After a couple hours, we said goodbye to the children and walked by to Lalahe’s boma so he could show us his farm.
We had several interesting conversations with Lalahe while we were walking. For those of you who don’t know, Hannah and Lalahe have been dating for over a month now, so he’s almost always around to ask questions. I’ve been particularly intrigued by Maasai customs relating to lions. Lalahe has told us a little bit about how the warriors kill lions, including his own personal experience. According to custom, the warriors encircle the lion and sing a song to it to hypnotize it. Then, while the lion is entranced, one of the warriors throws a spear, hoping for a kill. According to Lalahe, the lion will only chase after the warrior who threw the spear. So, while that warrior is running, the others throw their spears at the lion to finish it off. All of this was explained to us in a very cavalier manner. Personally, if I had killed a lion with a spear, I would boast about it to everyone—but for Maasai, it is just another tradition. One of the most memorable parts of our walk to Lalahe’s family’s farm was when he sang the song to us that entrances the lion. It was almost surreal that he was sharing such a personal part of his culture with three white girls from America.
Rain clouds forced us to end our walk early. With full stomachs and full minds, we reluctantly trekked back to civilization.
