I had traveled from
I had come to seethe big
game; the big five of which the guidebook had spoken - lions, leopards, rhino
buffalo and elephant. The big five who charge and attack if assaulted and are
not afraid to confront those who assault them.
By the time we reached
the gates of the Masai Mara the day had almost run
its course and the sun was slowly finding its rest among the Western Hills.
We comprised a small
group of three people and a driver. The two others in the group beside me were
a mother and her son traveling through
"There is plenty of
time tomorrow to begin our safari," our guide assured us. "We have
had a long journey from
This was both a question
and a suggestion and the note of urgency in his voice suggested that we make
the decision rather quickly before the sun set.
We approached the
As our vehicle stopped,
a youth of around 20 years old came up to us. He spoke rather good English and
his dominance over the others was an indication of his importance. He was tall
and lean, dark-skinned and looked serious until a broad smile showed his gentle
nature.
The Masai
are known as brave warriors. They are herders rather than farmers and
maintained a close family unit. Their villages are fortified walled enclosures
to protect them from the lions who stalk their heard at night.
Makal spoke to us. “Welcome to our village. You may
visit us but you must give a donation to help our children study in their
school.” With this he gestured to the children playing in front of the village
gate. They ran in a circle chasing one another in much the same way as children
all over the world behave,
Some Masai
Warriors continued jumping with their spears to incredible heights. Their legs
were thin and very long but when they jumped, they sprang up off the ground
with such a bounce as though they were on a trampoline. As they jumped they
whooped and shouted. Makal observed. “They are
practicing one of their warrior dances. It is used to frighten the lions before
a kill. Come into the village.”
The village was
completely enclosed by a tall fence made of poles which terminated into a
pointed spike. The poles were at least two meters high.
“This wall is to keep
out the lions from entering our village. There is only one door for entrance,
and we tie four dogs at the opening as guards. When the dogs smell a lion
approaching they begin to bark wildly and we come out of our huts to protect
the village.”
I thought to myself how
unfortunate it would be for the dogs to serve as appetizers for a hungry lion
in search of larger game for an entry, and humans for dessert?
Makal mentioned with great pride that he had killed
his first lion when he was only fifteen and that was only four years ago.
As a reward he was given
the lion's mane and he wears it as a headdress.. It is
a symbol of prestige in his village and he is looked upon as a great warrior,
someone who deserves respect and who is so courageous as to show no fear when
confronted with the fury of a savage beast.
Maskal then pointed to a string of lion's teeth which
h wore around his neck. They glistened in the moonlight like a string of
pearls.
"These are the
teeth of the lion I killed!”
He fondled them lovingly and pointed with
his finger to their sharp points. If attached to the jaw of a living creature,
they could tear open and rip into the flesh of any living being. Now they were
strung in an ornamental chain and hung around the neck of a known warrior
giving warning to any future predator of the possible outcome of their fate.
Maskal took us around his village with great pride.
Small huts made of spiked branches of trees were fashioned into a circle with a
small entrance to each from which smoke emerged being generated by a fire
within the house.
"The inside of our
home is very small and inside we keep a fire. Lions are very much afraid of the
fire. It is one of our protections against them."
Outside one of the huts
was a young woman. Her head was completely shaven as she hunched over a cow.
She made a cut with a rather sharp knife into the cow’s neck drawing forth a
stream of blood which she collected into a flask.
“She is drawing blood
from the cow. We do not kill the cow for food but we drink its blood for
strength. We mix the blood and milk together as a healthy beverage. Would you
like to try some?”
He said this with all
seriousness, knowing full well we would refuse, but the stark realities of the
harshness of their life began to press upon us. Living in fear of the lion's
random attacks has caused them to build a protective wall around their villages
and the blood of their animals became the liquid of their communion which
offered a salvation quite different from the Christian promise of eternal life.
About ten of these huts,
all smoking and burning with protective fires within them were placed in a
circle inside the walls of the protective outer fence.
Within the larger fenced
circle was a smaller circle into which the Masai kept
their herds of cattle. They were protectively sheltered. It was a small, yet
similar enclosure with a single entrance protected by yet another quartet of
dogs. If a lion should penetrate the first fortress, he would certainly be
challenged and hindered by the second. The animals received double protection,
far more than that of the villagers themselves. Although ten families made up
the village which became a closely knit community whose sole objective was
survival.
Maskal invited us to his home. "Please come
inside and we can talk together." He led us to the entrance and we had to
stoop a bit to enter. The interior was dark and there was no furniture, only a
fire burning near the wall and an area on the ground in front of the fire for
sleeping. One concluded that the only purpose of the house was to provide a
place for sleeping.
As we sat in front of
the fire facing the flames Maskal sat with his back
to the fire ready to answer any questions. “This is my home. You are most
welcomed to visit. Do you have any questions about our life and people? I am
here to answer."
Before we could ask any
questions a group of Masai women entered the hut they
had with them bags of trinkets, jewelry and beaded ornaments which they had
made and were offering for sale as souvenirs.
When Maskal
noticed that we were not interested in buying souvenirs, he spoke to them in
the Masai language and they quickly dispersed, took
upon their trinkets and left.
"Is there anything
you would like to know about my people?" he repeated once again.
Although my mind was reeling
with questions, I found myself at a loss as to what to say. Finally getting up
he led us to the door and out into the night. The air was fresh and clean and
the sky was studded with stars. Never before had I seen such a perfect sky and
never before had I felt such an overwhelming experience of cultural difference.
As we neared the outer
gate to the village Maskal turned to me and asked “I'm
sorry to ask you but can you do me a favor?”
He lowered his head in
embarrassment and asked me, "Can you give me your pen?”
He had noticed that in
the pocket of my shirt there had been a pen which he had coveted ever since he
first met me.
"I can read and
write but I do not have a pen.”
His transition of
character intrigued me. Here was a man, still a teenager who had confronted a
lion and brought about its demise, a man who wore the teeth of that same lion
around his neck and who danced with the mane of his fallen lion as a head
dress. Here was a man who displayed far more courage in an hour than I probably
ever could in a lifetime. Before me he stood in embarrassment and asked me for
a simple pen, a simple man-made tool possessing more power perhaps than the
mighty spear that killed the fearsome lion of the Masai
Mara.