Strange Words Spoken, Boundaries Broken

There isn’t really such a thing as “Tanzanian Culture” per say. Tanzania is a nation composed of about 120 different ethnic tribes, the most recognized being the Maasai, frequently portrayed herding their cattle across the grasslands, clad in red robes. This week, it was my turn to wear the robes, although women do not herd the cows… The program that I am on is unique, because according to Baba Jack, we are the only group who actually stays with “tribal” people. Others visit them and complete daily activities, but return each night to their tents. The particular group of Maasai people that we stayed with live on the shores of Lake Natron, a huge alkaline lake in Northern Tanzania, close to the border of Kenya. Having done the whole homestay thing before, I went into this one fearless, and excited to delve into the Maasai culture. Armed with a few phrases of Kimaa (the language of the Maasai), basically just greetings (Yeyo takwenya for a women, and Olmurani supai for a young man), I felt sure that this one, especially since it was only three nights, would be a breeze. Man, was I wrong. I am going to preface my story by saying this: The Maasai that I met were incredibly nice. They went out of their way to try and include me in everything and make me feel at home. Any negatives that I have to say about the experience was entirely the fault of cultural divide, not my family. That being said, I will continue. I walked back to my boma with my Mama, after being passed off by Baba Jack and Baba Jerry in the town center. A boma is the name of the houses that Maasai live in- they are constructed by women once they are married, and are composed of a stick frame and roof, and the walls are made of dried cow dung. I was told not to bring any gifts to the homestay, but to make sure that I had my camera, because photos were all they asked for. Thrilled at this prospect, I was only too happy to oblige when all my mother’s friends, sitting in the shade of a small tree to escape the blistering heat, begged me to “piga picha”. Little did I know that meant being attacked by snot-covered children, all wanting a chance to get behind the view-finder and go through my pictures. This became one of the themes of the week. Eventually, I got so tired taking my camera out that I told everyone who asked for a portrait that the battery had died and there was no way to charge it, given the lack of electricity in the village. My 10-year-old sister, Maria, became something like my babysitter while I was there. She spoke Kiswahili, unlike the rest of my family, so that became our source of communication. Considering I have only had about three weeks of formal Kiswahili education, I’m sure you can imagine how limited conversations were. Actually, I can pretty much recount them all here: Every five minutes it was “Christina, do you want water?” “No”. “Christina, do you need to bathroom?” “No”. “Christina, do you want to shower?” “Now? How about later?” “No, now”. “But I just did twenty minutes ago!” “You want to shower”. “Christina, come”. And that about sums it up. I was asked these questions about four hundred times a day, which got really old, really fast. Add in dehydration, lack of sleep, and heat, and my fuse was very, very short. Any older people that I met also had a constant string of questions that aggravated me. “What’s your mother’s name? Father’s name? Sister’s? “Brother’s? American mother’s? American father’s? American siblings? How many children does your mother have? How old are you?” along with constantly testing me to see if I knew that the proper response for “takwenya” was “iko” and for “supai” was “epa”. While the questions were bad, that wasn’t my least favorite part by any means. Growing up, it was expected that I adhere to the idea of keeping your hands to yourself. This lesson is not exactly one practiced by Maasai… There was not a span of five minutes that passed without someone touching some part of me. I know what you’re thinking- how about showering? Nope, my sister’s seemed to feel that I was incapable of doing that myself, so they took it upon themselves to wash me. How about sleeping? Ha. While the stick and cowhide bed that we slept on was large enough for Maria and I to sleep side by side, she insisted on cuddling every night, which I seriously did not appreciate, especially since the heat at night in the boma, where windows are about the size of flashlight heads, was nearly unbearable (and that’s coming from someone who can wear sweatshirts in 80° weather). The second night there, I also found out that Maria talks in her sleep. While I was tossing and turning, she even asked me, in her sleep, if I needed to go to the bathroom, which I found both hilarious and extremely irritating at the same time. The third night I discovered that she snored too. Most nights were spent relatively sleepless, with me checking my watch every five minutes to calculate how many hours I had until I moved out, and trying not to burst into angry tears, unable to comprehend their constant need for physical contact. Every night around sunset, we climbed up a small hill to meet with the other SIT students, a time that I longed for each day. Even then though, I was forced to constantly hold the hands of children that I didn’t know, and one day two even took turns repeatedly kissing my hands. My hair also became a children’s play thing, which was alright at first, but it got old quickly. I  got to participate in some daily activities- I collected firewood (well, sat on a log with Corey and Kaitie while our sisters collected firewood, since apparently we were useless in the task) and carried it back on my head. I helped carry water, attempted to milk a goat (quite unsuccessfully), and, my favorite, learned to make Maasai beaded bracelets. Once move-out time finally came, I felt a sense of liberation. It was glorious to be able to do things for myself again. Thursday night, seven of the other students and I accepted yet another challenge that the week offered- we set off to climb Oldonia Longai- the Maasai mountain of the Gods. When Maasai are in trouble, they go to the mountain and sacrifice a goat, in hopes that their problems will be solved. The climb, however, is not an easy one. It requires six hours up a very steep slope with no switchbacks, and a four hour descent. Sadly, thanks to a very strong rainstorm that blew in around 1:30 am, we had to abandon our mission. The week was one of the most difficult weeks that I’ve experienced, but through it I think that I learned a great deal, not just about Maasai culture, but about myself. I don’t think you could get me to repeat it even if you bribed me, but it is one that will certain continue to shape my character, and one that I’ll never forget. 

 

Me, Mama, and the baby in our Boma

Maasai children

My favorite person in Maasailand- my little brother Papa

Intricate beaded Maasai Jewelry on a Maasai koko (grandmother)

Sarah, Kaitie, and I in our Maasai garb

My Babysitter/Sister, Maria