Half-Week in Maasai Land

This past Monday morning I went to the last organization, MANDO Maasai, with which I would be volunteering on my gap year. Here's what I thought was going to happen: we would drive to the Rift Valley, stay in some rental cottages there for a week, and interview students at local schools in the hopes of securing them international sponsors.

Here's what actually happened.

I met the director of MANDO on Monday morning, assuming we'd depart quite promptly. There was one other volunteer also around. Upon initial conversation, I learned that I'd only be volunteering with them until Thursday, when we'd come back to Nairobi. That was the first, tiny bump in the road. By afternoon, we found out that the organization's car needed to be sold that day because MANDO could no longer afford payments on it. That meant that we didn't have a way of getting to the Rift Valley - a substantially larger bump.

After a few high-stress hours, it was arranged that a man from the town where we were going would drive us down. By the time MANDO's car was sold and we were on the road, it was after 6pm, meaning darkness, rain, and heavy traffic. To put it mildly, Kenyan roads are not real fun. Anyway, we didn't make it to the Rift Valley. Instead we spent the night at a hostel where it was quite evident that several locks had been ripped off the door of my room.

With the intention of getting quickly to the Rift Valley to begin work on our projects, we got up early on Tuesday morning, only to learn that the car and the friend who had driven us were no longer around. He'd had to leave early for his village. The new plan was to wait for a hired driver to come back with the same car to take us to our destination. The driver eventually arrived at 10:30am.

The roads were so potholed that it didn't make any sense for them to even be paved. Here we were, driving a normal, economy sized car, in a part of the country that no one should really attempt without four-wheel drive. The combination of potholes and a full canister of petrol sloshing around in the hatchback trunk made for a fairly unpleasant ride. When we finally arrived in the Rift Valley, we began to make our way to the first village we'd visit. Unfortunately, the road was covered in sand, and, lacking four-wheel drive, we were forced to find an alternate route. As we began driving down another road, we found a river. "This wasn't here yesterday," we were told, as we all stood staring at high water. So again, we turned around, making our way slower than a slow walking pace.

Long story short, after several hours of driving through bushland, we arrived at a primary school. There we talked with kids and saw the school. Having been visited previously by foreigners and MANDO, the kids were quick to ask for sweets. When we explained that we had not brought sweets, they asked what we were going to give them. Hearing that we weren't planning on giving them anything, the children questioned why we didn't want to help them.

Soon it was time to go, which again meant the car. It also meant driving down an extremely rocky hill. When we finally made it down, we were brought to see a family compound. The family's goats were around for milking time. One of the daughters tried to convince me to milk the goat - I didn't go for that.

Back in the car, we drove to another compound for dinner. The kitchen was a small enclosed hut, and the smoke from the wood fire was enough to bring tears while we helped prepare food during the next four hours. There, somebody tried to put a goat in my lap. I simply did not know what to do - how does one even hold a goat?

When we finally arrived at another compound, the very upscale home where we'd spend the night, the other volunteer and I were shown to our room, which contained two beds and no bedding. This is probably a good time to mention that there is no electricity or running water in the area. There are some solar lights and solar panels, but on the whole, not much. And none of the aforementioned in the home where we were staying. There was also no toilet.

Wednesday morning we awoke to go to our eating place (the compound where we'd eaten supper,) before we'd head off to school to conduct our first interviews. Unfortunately, when we got up, the MANDO director told us that the car had no oil in it, that he had no idea how that could have possibly happened. Another sizable bump. We'd have to figure out another means of transportation.

We walked to get breakfast, then boarded motorbikes to head up the hill to the school. There I was, hanging for dear life onto the back of a motorbike, as we raced across a rocky road in the Rift Valley. It was terrifying. After the 20+ minute ride, I had blisters on my fingers from gripping the bike.

We visited the same school as the previous day and, after much discussion, began to interview students. It was not easy. For one, the students had never before been interviewed, much less by a foreigner. Nor had they ever really talked about themselves at all - that's just not really practiced in school here. So trying to learn their life stories was not simple. After several hours of working hard with the students, we left the school. Still lacking oil for the car, we had to get back onto motor bikes.

I don't know if this second driver was way worse than my morning driver, or if it had something to do with going downhill, but on this ride I genuinely feared for my life. Clutching the bike during the first minute on the road led to my finger blisters painfully popping. We made a quick stop and my driver exchanged an air pump with another driver, which he then proceeded to hand to me. When he began driving again, I realized it had become my job to hold this pump while I clung to the bike. By the time we arrived at the next school,  I was very much a wreck.

More interviews conducted at the second school. Culturally (as I learned throughout the trip,) the Maasai are incomparable to anything I've encountered. Some of the students told us about living in family compounds with their father's six other wives. Other students spend their holiday breaks taking cows to graze, leaving home alone for three weeks at a time. Other families only have five cows to their name, an unbelievably small number for a Maasai.

After a long while, we walked to someone's house for tea. And when it began pouring rain as we attempted to leave, we stayed. So the three of us - the MANDO director, the other volunteer, and I - were sitting at this little table inside a home, with a dozen children just standing and staring at the white visitors. Eventually the kids got up the nerve to touch my hair. My guess is that there were probably at least 14 pairs of hands on my head over the course of that hour. After stroking my white and hairy arms, the kids also wanted to kiss my cheeks. Between all the kissing and stroking (by children who had been milking goats moments before,) I have to say I was pretty proud of Germophobe Eliza.

Finally leaving the compound, it was dark out, as well as muddy from the rain. Since there are no lights, it was extremely difficult to see anything as we made our way on a long walk through bushland. As we neared the compound where we'd eat dinner, we ran into the owner of the car walking along the path towards us. He was carrying car oil.

Thursday morning I asked whether or not we'd be taking the car to breakfast. I was told that it had forgotten to pick us up, so we'd be walking. Mind you, I had my very full huge backpack with me, which is always loads of fun to lug around. Upon arrival at the compound, the mother asked us where the car was. Apparently it had gone to pick us up.

After breakfast, we headed up the hill into town. This time it took the car an hour to get to town, just because of how rocky the roads are. Maybe that gives you a sense of my 20-minute motor bike ride to the same location.

In town it was market day. When we asked about the market and whether or not it sold basically everything, we were told, "Just mostly cows."

MANDO Maasai is also working on women empowerment projects, and one aspect of this is helping women from the community apply for Kiva loans. So after interviewing one woman extensively about the business that she wants to start, the other volunteer went off to do a second interview, and I decided I couldn't sit through another hour and a half of questions about profit and revenue. I did however, learn, in that time, that were I to be married off to a Maasai, I'd be worth four cows and one million Kenyan shillings, a high price due to my education and status as a former teacher in Nairobi.

Anyway, I went to the cow market. I guess it was still goat market time, rather than cow market time. But still, I quite enjoyed it. The Maasai culture focuses a lot on cows - they believe that when their people came down from the sky, they came down with all the cows on earth. This means they believe that every cow in the world belongs to them, which can create issue on occasion.

We were supposed to leave for Nairobi after lunch, so as to make it back by dark. But apparently the MANDO director's family was on their way to us, so that they could all come back to the city as well. Recalling the nausea of the drive to the Rift Valley, my stomach turned at the idea of three more people inside our vehicle.

While waiting for the family members, I spotted a group of Maasai warriors - 13-year old boys undergoing a two-year cultural training together that includes their circumcision. They wear red cloth and spread red dirt on their hair and on their limbs. Because I have a photo of approximately 8-month-old Eliza being held by several Maasai warriors, I asked the boys if I could take a picture of them. They weren't real interested in that idea, and instead asked if they could spread the red dirt on me. I agreed with only the tiniest and uncharacteristic bit of hesitation.

The warriors pulled out a hot cocoa container, grabbed a glob of paste, and smeared it onto my arm. After prompting, I rubbed it around. All of a sudden I smelled something. "Is that cow?" Well, it turns out it was cow fat, mixed with red soil. Still not sure how I'd missed asking what I was smearing on my body before doing so. Fortunately, after photos, I had wet wipes.

Eventually we found out that the director's family was not, in fact, coming. So we got in the car and finally onto the road. After painstakingly heading back down the hill, we drove for a bit, and came to the opposite side of the flooded river that had originally blocked us on Monday. Instead of taking the same three-hour detour around it, we opted to drive through what was now a muddy swamp. We all slid out of the car and our little vehicle made it across.

Then it dawned on me that we, too, had to get across the swamp. An older Maasai man was assigned the job of assuring I crossed safely. Wearing my Converse and full-length skirt, I crossed the river, the man patiently supporting me the entire way. Neither of us could understand the other's language, but by the time we had crossed all three stretches of water, I'm pretty sure we may have been married.

Finally we were on the road. By this point it was once again getting dark and beginning to rain. We made it out of the Rift Valley, encountering a giraffe ambling across the road in the darkness, and into Nairobi.

Those were my three days with the Maasai.