By Andrew Kipkemboi
Hoping out of a four-engine plane, I shook off the fright of the turbulence that hit us in the sky as we headed for the Masai Mara. We had landed on the murram airstrip with dust rising in the air.
The grass-carpeted plains stretched out for kilometres and met with the blue azure in the horizon.
As we are driven in the rutted tracks to the Kichwa Tembo Tented Camp, I notice several wisps of dust thrown up by four-wheel drives ferrying tourists on a game drive in the game reserve, one of the most famous in the world.
Everything is remote. It took us approximately 45 minutes to get out of the city into the serene savannah grassland.
"Aren’t they afraid of the lions?" I ask the driver of the Land Rover. "Not really, there are no lions outside the game park though some could wander off and cause trouble, but that seldom happens," he replies.
Huge bonfire
Across the road grazing, are zebras and warthogs. They don’t seem troubled by anything, and just crane their necks as if to see who else has come to see them, then get back on their business.
I have been booked in one of the rooms that goes for between $450-$1,245, inclusive of the airfare from Wilson Airport. Kichwa Tembo is divided into the Tented Camp, and the exclusive Bateluer Camp, whose rates are higher from the personal services and the · la carte menu.
I sit out in the shade and watch the sun set amidst the melodious tunes of birds chirruping up the trees, and the ruminating warthogs lying by the grass. It was as if darkness was pushing away a reluctant sun and we were all moaning the death of daylight.
The huge bonfire lit outside the restaurant lifts the spirits though.
Across the fire, tourists chat each other on the happenings of the day.
"I saw a zebra, I saw a cheetah and a buffalo," one says with glee. From the accent, you discern that she is British. "I saw a lioness," the other with a Spanish accent says. Children run around the fire, playing singing games.
Others like me, just look at the fire thinking about-God-knows-what. In the middle of the Masai Mara wilderness are couples on honeymoon and families on holiday. It all speaks of the surging tourist numbers.
A group of Maasai morans sing, and the tourists gladly join in. Those seated take pictures. We all join in the enchanting music. Later on, I saunter off to my tent, and tuck myself in with a hot water bottle. Day two at the Mara will be spent at a Maasai Village up the park.
Age-set graduation
One of the quaint traditions of the Maasai is the merging of two age sets into one. The Maasai are structured, and everyone has a special attachment to their age set. The leap to the next age set (rika), is preceded by up to three months of seclusion in a manyatta, that culminates in week-long festivities. Several things are done to mark the graduation of a generation into adulthood. The younger of the two rikas, and those without houses in the village of 32 manyattas, donate two cows, two blankets and a gallon of honey.
A herd of antelopes at the Mara. Photos: Courtesy |
It is a symbol of respect and reverence to the wisdom of the older generation. Even the women graduate with their husbands to the corresponding age sets.
The older, Ilkishili with the average age of 35-45 years will merge with Ilkabong (26-34) and form Irkisaruni.
A man running from one of the manyattas with red soil smeared on his head, is from the younger generation. His peers gave the two cows. Curiously, the head of the age set is called a chief. He is held in awe, although his is a ceremonial title.
"If he says we leave the manyatta now, we will all leave without question," Mr Namelok Naidoya says.
As the ceremony gets underway, the cold and blustery wind does not disrupt the programme. And as in all Maasai festivals, the cow features prominently.
The Maasai literally live and even swear by the cow. Though a patriarchal society, their culture does not countenance infidelity, and measuring that will be the climax of the ceremony. Nothing is as mind boggling as the slaughter of the bull on the third day of the festivities.
Blood and milk
Four strong men, who have not put their feet wrong, clad in cowhide, take the bull by the horns. The cow is surprisingly docile. It does not kick. It is like a lamb to the slaughter. The wives pour milk from a small gourd, secured by grass, along the spine of the cow.
"The grass in the gourd is to ask for rain and good pasture for the cow."
Naidoya says: "Those who have wandered off, stay away." The community says that if you have sinned and pour the milk on the cow, you will get your comeuppance. When that will happen, no one knows, but the belief in it is unbending.
And it is here that emotions run high. All goes well, then suddenly one of those in the queue steps forward, pours the milk on the cow wailing, and then collapses in a heap.
I ask what happened. I am led away and told in whisper with certainty that her husband had accused her of fidelity and to vent her anger, she splashed the milk on the men. The man was wrong.
None of the men who was splashed the milk moves. Their unflappability is jaw-dropping, I think.
At the end of the week, some 37 cows will have been slaughtered. A man of an older age set prays before ghee is smeared on the cow. The slaughter then begins. Blood from the cow is mixed with milk and traditional honey beer, and drunk.
Merry-making
Once the cow has been skinned, again by those considered stainless, it is roasted on a huge fire according to the parts. The right side is taken by the initiates, while the left side is left to all and sundry.
For the week, there is a lot of merry making and the partying. Traditional and even bottled beer, soda and milk flow freely.
The manyattas are obfuscated by fences standing less that a metre high so that anyone tall wanting to get in bends with the knees almost touching the face.
The stench from the sludge of cowdung and urine is off putting, but they are used to it somehow. No one is complaining. They occasionally swing their hands to chase the irritating flies from the bottles of soda and beer.
The Maasai are perhaps one of the few communities on earth whose culture has not been tainted by the sophistication of technology and modernity.
The graduation means a lot to the initiates and most of those from Ilkabong cannot hide their joys.
Freedom, responsibility
"It means that I can now take beer without anyone pointing a finger at me," says Moses Tunai, an initiate.
He adds: "I will hold the pipe without fear, I am now a man. No one will question me."
Sometimes, this freedom is not without its pitfalls. The local chief says the freedom must come with responsibility, and expresses his fears against the downside.
"I fear for the worst, especially for those with small families," Daniel Ole Kuyia the Olorien location chief says without elaborating. The ceremony is held every 10 years.
I am back at Kichwa Tembo at 3pm in time for the early evening game drive where I witness a leopard leap to maul down a zebra. I marvel at the way crocodiles can share a pool with hippos. It is a delightful experience to watch, the graceful gazelles graze and the giant elephants cross the road as we gape at them, realising how near we got to them.
The writer is a foreign news editor
with the Standard Group.
