July 27th (Day 5)

Hello folks. I'm cooped up with a pretty bad cold and a low grade fever, so while the group is off at church and home-visits, I'm here, listening to monkeys wrestle, and journaling.

Yesterday, we went to Peace House, a school specifically for children orphaned mainly by HIV/Aid. Only two of the dorms are full at this point, with approximately 200 children, half boys, half girls. Gina, the woman who gave us a tour, was very enthusiastic, telling us about the sources of funds, which had to be numerous, as the facility costs almost $50,000 every month. She showed us the girls dorm, leaving Chris outside, which was equipped with bunk beds, showers, sinks for washing, bathrooms, and an undeveloped courtyard that in future months, the children will get to help plan, plant, and care for. There is room for about 200 more students, but the other dorms are not yet finished. The children range from age 14 up to 18, as many start school late or never at all. Classes are taught in English, though lessons are explained in Kiswahili to those who do not speak any English upon entering the school. At this point in the conversation, Gina expressed her frustration with the fact that many students still use Kiswahili to socialize and chatter amongst themselves. She would like for English to be the primary language used consistently throughout Peace House. Here, I raised my eyebrow a bit at her attitude, and after talking to others on the ride to the Maasi village, I found I was not the only one who thought her comments where a bit ethnocentric. As she was talking about possibly forbidding the children to speak their tribal languages (usually their first) and Kiswahili, I instantly thought of Native American children, who, after being brought to schools, were forbidden to speak their native tongue with one another – if they did so, they were beaten. Granted, there is absolutely no corporal punishment at Peace House, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth.

From Peace House, we made our way up a long and very bumpy road to a small Maasi town called Monduli. The more we drove, the harsher the environment seemed. While at the Peace House, there were lush gardens, enormous green fronds of banana trees, and lots of other vegetation. But as we drove, the land turned dusty and dry, and vegetation became primarily varieties of cactus. We stopped in Monduli and bought water for the day, and Mama Lori treated us to some excellent biscuits that are popular treats in the area – coconut and chocolate. We continued driving, and as we drove further and further up the mountain to reach Monduli Juu ( juu meaning up, thus the village was Upper Monduli), the land once again turned green. Azizi, our charming driver, told us that there are panthers that live in these forests, though we saw none. Even with our skillful driver, the ride up the mountain was very bumpy, and very rough. We reached to top of the road, and the scene was spectacular. Fields of bright colored flowers, the blue and red clad Maasi villagers, and the brightness of the Maasi women’s jewelry starkly contrasted the tan and dusty color of the dry lake bed that made up most to their cattles grazing area.

We hoped out of the vans, and made our way up to Gemma’s home. She is a friend of Mama Lori’s, and originally from Great Britian. She moved to Maasiland about 5 years ago, and she and her husband have two small, adorable daughters. Gemma introduced us to our guide, Ben, a young Maasi warrior who spoke quite good English. He led us back down out of the village, out see the watering holes that they use for there drinking and washing water. Cattle do not drink here, as the paths were narrow and only wide enough for person. The first watering hole that we saw was quite small, Ben said it was about 4 feet deep, and it looked to be only about 8 feet wide at the widest point. It was almost completely covered in algae, which we watch a man brush away with his hand before filling his jugs. Along the path to the next hole, a Maasi elder stopped and greeted us, a ug on his back. He jokingly asked us to carry it, then, seeing that Mama Lori had her bright pink camera out, asked for her to take a picture of him. She did so, then walked over to show it to him on the small screen. He peered at it as she told him that she would be back in Monduli Juu in January, and that she would bring him a copy of the picture for him to keep. He nodded, and asked her to please not forget. We stepped out of the way as he continued walking back up the hill to the village, once again shouldering his water jug.

We reached the second watering hole, this one at the base of an enormous tree. Many years, and a lot of erosion had exposed the trees huge roots, and one could see that the watering hole used to be much much high than it is now. Yarrow and I saw a half dozen little frogs on the edge of it, which darted away as we walked down to get a better look. The water was not covered in algae, but instead was a murky white, like white paint after it has separated. We could see plant debris and garbage just below the surface. This was the most used watering hole, as the path was wide enough to bring donkeys down with multiple barrels tied to its back. As were climbing back up the path, an older woman stopped us and said something in Maasi to Ben, who laughed, and said, “She wants you to take her picture, Mama Lori.” So once again, the camera came out. The woman motioned to the rest of the group, and as the other students brought out their cameras, Ben laughed and walked over to the woman, putting his arm around her shoulders and smiling for the camera. It was a beautiful contrast – the seriousness of the woman’s face along side the large grin of the young warrior.

We continued walking, though our group spread out a bit. Ben was very soft-spoken, and only the three or four closest to him could hear his various comments about the area and the different plants. As we walked, the landscape opened up to a large field where cattle was grazing and two young boys were looking after them, walking along side of us, arm in arm, laughing. We could not understand them, as they were speaking Maasi, but it was one of those moments when I just knew they were talking about us, the silly wzungu (white people). We passed a number of women and children walking to the market – one of them an older blind woman whose grandson was helping her along. We reached the boma (a smaller Maasi village) on the other of the field, and walking just inside of it. A group of children, seemingly appearing from nowhere, came out, staring and laughing, little ones holding their brothers or sisters on their backs or by the hand. Ben motioned for us to leave, and as we did, the children started following us, a few grabbing us by the hand. On my right, I had a little boy, about four years old, and on my left was his brother, no more than 2. Once again, our group spread out, as small legs can only go so fast. After about twenty minutes of walking, we started to climb a small hill. Half way up seemed to be the stopping point for all of our little traveling partners, and they started back towards their homes, laughing and waving until we couldn’t see one another any longer.

We continued on, reaching Gemma’s house again, were we ate our usual boxed lunches. As usual, they were enormous, and much of the extra fruit, sandwiches, cake, and bread went to the children who seemed to appear out of nowhere. After lunch, we visited the market, as it was one of the market days, and were immediately surrounded with a half dozen cloth-sellers and jewelery-makers. I bought a beautiful piece of cloth with an orange and brown pattern (orange is the new fad in this village, as Ben explained) for 4000 Tsh (about 4 US dollars). We all knew that we were paying at least two, if not three times as much as what the Maasi would pay, but as Bryanna put it, the money means much more to them than it does to us. My salesman started out by asking for 10000, and outrageous price, to which I promptly laughed and started to turn away. He followed, asking 7000, then 6000. It was fun bargaining, and I know that some mzungu (this it the singular form of wzungu) will push the price quite low, but I stopped at 4000. I helped Siri out with a particularly stubborn salesman who quite literally started clipping necklaces around her neck and then asking for 5000 a piece. Since she could not see what she was being asked to buy, I quickly was recruited as the model. We bargained him down to half the price for two of them, which Siri and I bought for a together. After the bewildering market experience, we headed back up to Gemma’s home.

Gemma began an exceedingly interesting lecture on the struggles in rural education, especially focusing on the lack of traditional education of the young people. Before there were schools, children were taught practical, necessary things by the elders of the village. How to find water, how the birds can help predict the weather, what medicines will aid someone with malaria, and other such things. Since children now go to primary school, they a missing the opportunities to learn about the traditional ways of their people. Many cannot even explain what certain rituals or ceremonies mean any longer. Gemma explained it with a Kenyan proverb: When an elder dies, a library burns down. To prevent anymore loss of knowledge, Gemma, her husband, and several others, started a school in which culture and traditions are discussed, researched, and presented to the class by students. Children pick topics, and must go home and sit and talk with the elders to find out what particular songs mean, what certain styles of headdress signify, or what the importance of particular birds are to the different Maasi clans. Gemma also expressed frustration in the school of thought that believes that this type of education is worthless. How is it, she explained, that people all over the world come and live with Maasi, write massive papers on their traditions and activities, go home, and receive awards, degrees, and other such recognitions, when the culture itself is defined by many as backward, unimportant, antiquated, and outdated? It is a clear double standard, one that Gemma and her husband have been working with the UN to try to eliminate.

After this discussion, we talked a bit about this upcoming Thursday, as we will be spending two nights in a Maasi boma, much further up the mountain, camping in the village (in tents, because there are too many of us to house in the homes). Then we said goodbye, and began our bumpy ride back down the mountain.