PEOPLE
A warrior’s way of life
MITA KAPUR
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A meeting with Africa’s Masai tribe on their home ground.
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Photos: Mita Kapur
Scenes from the kraal: The Masai have a strong sense of culture.
They intrigued me. Swathed in bright red shukas, skin the colour of rich dark chocolate, sharp features and elongated ear lobes. Spears in hand, colourful beaded earrings, hardened faces and eyes that sized you up in a second.
A group of Masai did the usual welcome routine at the Sarova Mara resort in Masai Mara. I wanted to meet them on their home ground; to feel the raw romanticism of their land.
Nelson, the village chief’s son met us at the entrance of the village (kraal). Grinning, he quickly unfolded his bunched up ear lobe and slipped on the earrings that signified he was a Morani or a Masai warrior. We walked into
a circular enclosure of huts made of branches, twigs, cemented with cow dung. A traditional horn warning villagers about visitors was sounded. The same horn warns against a lion’s attack with a faster beat. “We killed a lion last week; it attacked our cattle.” Their fierceness was almost arrogant and threatening.
Traditional welcome
A row of tall, sharp-featured Masai walked up casually and danced to welcome us. They leaped up in the air with knees unbent, yelling their greetings by turn. Their leaping took me by surprise and, before I could stop marvelling at that, they towered over us with their heads bobbing forward and back in an ostrich like movement. “Karibu” (welcome), they chorused.
A little shaken, I stepped on to the central floor of the village. This is also the area where their cattle stays at night, well protected against predators. The women sang a wedding song for us. The rhythmic sway of their bodies and the beat conveyed their joy. Though they are linked with Kenya, their roots take them to the Ngorongoro crater of Tanzania. Nomadic, pastoral and warriors, they seemed a proud bunch of folks. Cattle, for them, is food and power. If a Masai owns more than 50 cows, he is rich. A Masai showed us how they make fire by rotating a spindle-like piece of wood on bark. Once it starts to smoke, dry grass is added to it. No matchsticks are used. A common fire is lit every evening and each lady of the house picks up one log from it to take back to her manyatta to cook. A woman was hard at work building the walls of a hut with tall branches, tightening it with twigs and smearing dung as cement.
Nelson was the only one to have studied till fourth form and was hopeful that more boys would go to high school this year. A query about girls going to school was met with quizzical silence. An intensely patriarchal society, the Masai men take care of the cattle and village security. All the laborious tasks fall into the women’s hands: they milk cows, cook, fetch water, build houses and make artefacts that can be sold to tourists. A girl is recognised only through her father or husband. Nelson’s father, the chief, has 12 wives and has lost count of the number of children he has fathered.
Life in the tribe
Marriages within the same tribe are not allowed. Girls are still circumcised. With great pride, they showed us a pole. A boy of 15 is made to crouch against it with his arms folded. He is circumcised in the open with a long, sharp knife and no anaesthesia is used. He must not move; not even his toes. After the Emuratta, he is trained to be a warrior. Nelson understood, as my colour changed. “I’m trying to convince my people to stop it all. To make them understand is to
break a cultural wall. It will take time.”
That wasn’t reassuring but I felt fainter as I stepped into a hut. Dark little cubby holes with doorways that made a short person like me double up. Unwashed bowls with dried blood lay near a dead fire. Milk mixed with blood is a Masai’s staple food. Meat and blood cake are their favourite food. Thin walls divide the hut into small cubicles. Young ewes and kids are kept in a tiny cubicle in the hut at night. “The children sleep here,” Nelson pointed to a corner that would hardly hold a bed. Five small holes in one of the walls grudgingly let light pass through. There were no bathrooms.
The river is their source of water and washing area. Children live with their grandparents once they are 10 “to learn our culture and customs”. The village’s 15 gates are protected by warriors armed with spears, swords and shields. They sold their carved masks and beadwork and were equally curious about our names and how children were brought up. It was an opening into a shrouded world where the bright red checks of their shukas belied the otherwise dark existence
. “We wear red mostly because bulls and buffaloes like red’ they attack any other colour. Even elephants on the river bank are friendly.”
Any talk of the government helping them is met with a closed look. Many Masai are moving to the cities but Nelson dismissed the view, “very few like to leave ‘home’”. They move every six months to avoid drought or to greener areas.
For centuries, the Masai have dominated much of Eastern Africa by force of arms. They disdained permanent settlements, schooling, traditional clothing, tillers of the soil and a peaceful way of life. Their milk-drinking, meat-eating, warrior-shaving ceremonies are not mere customs. They stand for their way of life and thought…
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