From my interactions with the Maasai, here is the fictitious story of a boy growing up in their culture, which, under different circumstances, could have been me…
From his birth till he can walk, the Maasai baby is carried on his mother’s back inside her shawl. She knows exactly how to tie it so he is comfortable and can doze off as she carries on her work of cleaning the hut, fetching water and firewood, sometimes several hours’ walk away.
At 3 years of age, the young Maasai boy sees his first mzungu (white person). He is fascinated and smiles broadly with a wave. When the mzungu waves back, the young boy grins even more, fascinated that his gesture resulted in a reaction… and then he hides behind his mother with shyness at having let his shiny soul be seen! He could hide behind any woman though, as it is the whole tribe who is bringing him up – they are all his clan. There is no nuclear family concept here, and the boy runs freely from hut to hut.
At 6 years of age, the boy looks after a small flock of goats. He takes his responsibility seriously. He briefly went to a school constructed by European volunteers and run by ChristianMissionaries, where he was given a new name from the Bible. Now he is not going to school anymore because his family need him to do this work for them. He carries a stick, called an omodi, and leans on it when people approach, a gesture he has learnt from the adult men. He bends his head down as adults pass, so they can touch the top of his head, and receive his gesture of respect. When he smiles now, there is a gap between his lower front teeth, recently made by a knife. All the children his age have this gap, in case they get lock-jaw. Then they can be kept alive with liquids through a straw. There are no tetanus injections here.
At 9 years of age, the Maasai boy has learnt a few crucial words of English, such as “sweets” when a mzungu passes. He now has a bigger stick and looks after a larger herd of cattle. He knows how to grunt and whistle at them to move them according to his will. He stays close to the family hut however, as he does not yet carry a spear or machete to defend the herd from wild animals, but he is practicing how to use them. He does not bend his head to passing adults anymore, but says “Suba” – Hello in Maasai.
At 13 years of age, the young man has been attending the circumcision school in the forest called “ilaibartak” with his peers, learning how to dance, use his weapons properly, conduct raids, be a Maasai man. He was painted orange from top to toe and then his circumcision was done by the “oltoroboni”, a specialised medicine man. This means the young man is now a “morran” – ready to fight for his tribe. He can also easily manage his herd, and can take them to distant pastures where he can also defend them from any wild animals that might eye up a goat or cow for dinner. He sometimes takes dogs with him, and if his family have not slaughtered a cow recently, he will let his dogs hunt gazelle that jump and hide around the edges of the pastures. If a mzungu comes with a camera in his hand, the Maasai will ask for money if the camera is pointed at him.
At 21 years of age, the Maasai man is ready for marriage with a woman who may be his first wife of several that will be added later. His parents chose this first wife for him, perhaps even before he was born. He now carries his spear nonchalantly as he stands around in the pastures on hillsides, controlling the herd almost telepathically with minute movements. If a mzungu comes wanting to find a network connection for his mobile phone or data router, the Maasai man will want money to show the way. If payment is not given, he may take on a more threatening posture and refuse to let the mzungu and his guide pass – after all, these are HIS family’s lands, so he can do as he pleases. He is also proud of his wooden stick, which never leaves his side, and if another man wants to admire it but holds on to it for too long, he will slap the other’s hand away.
At 25 years of age, the Maasai man is a father, and his foremost job is to look after the mother of his offspring. The children are like a circle that the mother envelops with a caring and nurturing larger circle. The Maasai father envelops the children and the mother with his own even larger circle that defends them and provides for their needs. This is engrained in the Maasai man, and he does not rival the mother for the children’s love or attention. They come to him when they need him as a father.
At 30 years of age, the Maasai is now an elder. It is a title he has earned. Just like a girl becomes a woman and then she becomes a mother, a boy becomes a man and a warrior, and an elder when he is ready to be a father for ALL his tribe. He has never been to hospital. He knows how the medicinal plants on the Great Plains work. He cuts off a piece of a particular tree called eucleus diphinorum every few days to use as a toothbrush. He uses aloe vera straight from the thorny leaves on his burns. He is like a proud peacock in his red Maasai shawl, adorned with feathers in his head, and beads around his wrists, ankles and neck, delicately threaded together by one of his wives.
At 37 years of age, the Maasai needs to find a way to earn more money for his family. He decides to rent some of his land to farmers from another tribe. They come and plant live fences of thorn bushes, and transform the wild land into agricultural fields. The wild animals can no longer come to take mud baths and lick the salty soil to get the minerals they need, and the safari agencies stop bringing mzungu tourists to those parts of the Great Plains, but the Maasai’s family is fed. When drought comes, the Maasai brings his herd to eat the farmer’s crops because all the wild grass around is dead. The farmer complains, but the Maasai says that everything which grows on these plains is grass for cattle. The farmer knows that normal laws are not considered applicable by the Maasai. He moves elsewhere and leaves a derelict farm. The Maasai keeps moving on too, to greener pastures, wherever he can find them. The wild animals have a smaller and smaller habitat to flock to.
At 45 years of age, there are touches of grey in the Maasai warrior’s sparse beard, as he lies dying. He went to defend his tribe’s lands from another tribe who wanted to take their cattle and women. The other tribe had AK-47 machine guns. The Maasai’s spear was no match. But he is peaceful. He knows his family will be looked after by his elder brother, who will take on his wives and children as his own. His treasures -as he calls his children- are safe. He does not believe in life after death – he is going back to nothing and everything, the Great Spirit.
So as this mzungu walks on in the increasing heat of the Maasai Mara morning, I wonder what my metaphorical stick and herd are. What do I defend? For what tribe do I rise to become the father and warrior? For whom do I die?
Such a different life in our European “tribes”…
