Swimming in Brackish Cultural Waters

Arriving somewhere unfamiliar at night is always disconcerting. I came on a motorbike, along a rough road of red dirt and rock, through sparse, scratchy bush and acacia, passing the odd giraffe or baboon as the hues of dusk faded to black. When the engine cut at this property with no electricity or running water, no hint of civilization in any direction, the darkness, silence, and isolation seemed absolute. The bike was an alien object in this landscape, but I soon realized that Maasai-land in Kenya is a land of contrasts and contradictions, a place where the modern meets and mashes with the traditional.

A man wearing traditional Maasai dress will stop herding cattle to answer his mobile phone; a battery-run radio will play the latest Kenyan hip-hop to children kneeling over their homework on a dirt floor by the light of a kerosene lamp; the people will put Nescafé in their chai (tea), but brew natural medicine from the roots of local plants to treat ailments.

On that first night the fourteen children ran out to greet me, ushering me into the kitchen of the first wife’s home – a traditional circular minyata or mud hut with a thatched roof. It was difficult to see because of the smoke the kitchen fire was producing – thick and lingering. Tears were soon streaming down my face, and on later evenings when the smoke was heavy I would take to sitting in the kitchen wearing my swimming goggles.

Nini (meaning mother) was sitting by the fire, stirring something in a large soot-covered pot. She was wearing a shuka – a colourful blanket-like material - wrapped around her like a toga. Her ears were stretched with beads so that holes gaped in the middle of the lobes. Her head was shaved. Her bottom teeth had been knocked out, a Maasai custom, and her hands and feet were decorated with beads and worn from years of hard work. She smiled at me, grasped my arms. She did not speak English, only Kimaasai. The younger children explained to me that because she was older I should bow my head in greeting as a sign of respect. I did so and she placed a hand on my crown. “Ashe oleng” she said – thank you.

The family had slaughtered a goat to welcome me into their community. In Maasai culture the people drink cow and goat blood to imbibe strength. I accepted a cup of blood and raised it tentatively to my lips. Salty. They picked up pieces of solidified blood like chunks of jelly, and slurped them into their mouths eagerly.

We sat around the fire and drank chai, staring at each other, the differences between us causing delight and fascination. I got the giggles because the situation was so completely outside of my every day experience. They gave me a Maasai name that night – Nashipai, meaning ‘ever smiling, ever laughing’. I went to sleep on a bed made of cowhide and sticks, anticipating what sunrise would bring.