Venturing into the Masai Mara

                                                                  By  Shayla

Leaving Achungo early in the morning, we drove all morning through a lush valley inhabited by rows of sugar cane stalks that formed pools of life, all reflecting a warm glow of golden light. Our tiny taxi came to a stop and we made the switch to our Safari adventure van. For the next few hours we jostled on a very bumpy road through brown land marked by low shrubs and bushes. What we were seeing out our rattling windows was the famed Masai Mara. Occasionally masai men or women could be seen far out in the bush in their colorful red or yellow shuka herding their sheep, goats, or cow herds. Several times we had to wait for an entire herd to cross the road before we could continue on our way. We are most definitely entering an entirely new culture.

Finally the van pulled up in front of a large building that seemed very out of place in this wide open bush. Two masai men in shukas greeted us and slung our bulging REI backpacks on…upside down. Seeing them in their traditional clothes with our modern gear made for such a laughable clash of cultures. Once we had dumped our things in our spacious rooms, we were told that the two masai men, Danson and Joel, would be our security guards. When night falls we had to flicker our porch light to summon them so that we could be escorted to the dinning hall because of the danger of wild animals who sometimes wander in. That’s how close to the park we are.

Once we had settled, we got back on our safari van for a short drive to a nearby masai village. Upon arrival, the village chief’s son, a tall man wrapped in red fabric and laden with colorful beads, introduced himself warmly as Manjou, though he explained his Christian name is Samson. As our guide he told us everyone who lives in a village is related and because of this, no one can marry  within. Matter-of-factly he said, “Most masai are polygamous, I have 2 wives.” Honestly, I was taken aback. As much as I have learned about those who practice polygamy, I’d never met someone who did. Their ways are so very different from mine and the traditions and beliefs of people I’ve been surrounded by my whole life. I can’t help but feel weird about the prospect of polygamy especially when Manjou turned to Trevor and asked, “How many wives would you like?” But I know it is the reality and expectation, even a sign of wealth and success for many. (More on that later.)

He and several other Masai men walked us over several yards where an entire group of masai men in fiery orange and red shukas stood gathered.  As we neared I could hear a deep guttural humming that I realized was coming from the men.  The sound was so inhuman and otherworldly and I stood paralyzed in a feeling I have never felt before, something between fear, and curiosity. The ensemble of young men lined up and began to dance, skipping slightly with hands behind their backs. Not two minutes after we’d arrived to the impromptu tribal ritual, our boys, Trevor and Dad, were draped in shukas and reeled in to take part in the dance. The strange resonating guttural thrumming continued as they paraded single file to the beat. Then one by one each masai tribesman stepped forward to take a high vertical leap. We were told that the one who jumps highest wins the most “choice” wife. Imagine that. I laugh when I picture high school guys back in California practicing their vertical jump to win over girls.   Their dance was over and a man took both mom and I by the arm and led us through the village entrance , a break in a tall fence made of wooden poles. One of the masai wore a tall bushy hat made of the mane of a lion that one of the young masai warriors killed. According to Manjou, once a boy reaches a certain age he and several others along with a village elder will go survive in the bush for 1-5 years as a right of passage. The goal is to kill a lion and the young man who spears it first gets the right to the mane. Masai are a people who do not participate in agriculture. They depend solely on their livestock for meat and wild vegetation. While the warriors are living in the bush, they return to their village every few days to slaughter a cow to eat the meat and drink cow blood. They return in the dead of night because they mustn’t be seen by their family until the right of passage is over. Once completed, the masai warriors will get to marry. I was in awe of being in a true masai village and being hosted by actual masai. I looked around at the circle of cow dung huts and was amazed by the radical difference in our lifestyles.

Manjou led us into one of the huts and showed us the the different parts. There was a major pocket of space near the center where cooking is done over a small fire, with several tiny “rooms” that branched off: one for the children, another for a man and one of his wives and another for baby animals. Their beds were nothing more than thin mats and rags laid on the cool dirt floor and filled the entirety of the room. Being invited into that family hut which was about the size of my bedroom was incredibly humbling. Seeing such humble living conditions was nothing new for me, we’d passed hundreds of huts much like this one, but being inside one put things more  into perspective. I was able to close my eyes and imagine this was my life and my home. Walking around their village, I was so taken with the simplicity, functionality, and vibrancy. This culture is so pure, raw, and utterly beautiful. I don’t pity them because I could tell they weren't looking for pity. These people are so obviously strong and capable. It made me even more taken with a simple life. Why is it that Americans have such a more, more, more mentality? Why aren’t the bare necessities enough?