Arusha and the Maasai

“You have to do something, those are our bags, they’re on the wrong plane!”, an exasperated Margaret pleaded with the man between us and the air strip. No luck. We watched as our bags rolled down the runway sans the two of us. Meanwhile, a gentleman escorted us to a private charter headed for Arusha, it also was not our flight, but a pilot had offered us a ride. “Don’t worry, hakuna matata, your bags will go to Arusha”. Regional Air doesn’t tag bags with tracking numbers, they tie a crumbling piece of paper that reads “ARUSHA” to the bag with string. We boarded the private charter we didn’t belong on and set off.

Angie Ruiz (www.kitusumote.org) very kindly arranged for us to visit several projects that she supports in and around Arusha. Her friend, Rebecca, who is also the headmistress of a community secondary school in Arusha met us at the airport, and filled us in on the background of her school and the agenda for the next few days while we waited for our bags. An hour and a half later, a plane carrying one passenger and two backpacks pulled up to the tiny Arusha airport.

The next morning Rebecca took us to an unfinished school perched on the top of a hill over-looking the beautiful valleys around Arusha. We discussed the challenges and triumphs she has found over the short four-year life of the school. Many of the issues are similar to those we see in Zambia – girls drop out to get married, families refuse to fund girls education, boys get physical labor jobs and discontinue their studies, inability to fund or acquire scholarships for higher education, lack of access to hygiene and sanitation, and so on. We got the sense that the government of Tanzania plows more money into such schools than is the case in Zambia. The students themselves all wore identical uniforms and spoke impressive English. Angie is helping them build a much needed science lab. The first class of students is preparing to graduate from Form 12. Rebecca and her faculty are tackling issues head-on with an optimism and talent pool that is refreshing to see.

After lunch, Kesuma, the Director of Kitumusote, picked Margaret and I up to take us out to the first of two maasai villages, Lesoiti. During the three-hour trip out to the Kenya, Tanzania border where Lesoiti sits, Kesuma filled us in on the history of the Maasai and their unique culture. The Maasai are one of the oldest tribal people in Africa with a remarkably preserved culture and way of life. They roam freely between Tanzania and Kenya, herding goats and cattle through vast plains that the government has ceded to them. Traditional ceremonies marking a girls transition into womanhood and a boys into manhood (“warrior”) include circumcision, piercing, animal sacrifice and other practices associated with many lost cultures around the world.

Kesuma himself is a not only a true Maasai warrior, but a rare and exceptional entrepreneur. Through Kitumusote, he has built community centers in Elouai and Lesoiti where the woman can learn Swahili and English, acquire skills that enable them to open shops where they can sell jewelry and crafts, learn about the dangers of female circumcision, the importance of environmental preservation and more. Bridging the gaps between a culture so old and the modern world is no easy task. Fulfilling the requirements of western donor frameworks while living according to the ancient principals upon which he was raised is a truly impressive feat. Africa needs more Kesuma’s.

Visiting the Maasai opened our eyes to a side of Africa we didn’t know. Margaret and I have lived amongst and visited countless villages in Zambia and other parts of Southern Africa. We thought we got it. And then we met Kesuma’s Maasai. Amidst traditional dances and song, they welcomed us, showing us their bomas, explaining how Kitumusote had “opened their eyes and minds”, teaching us.

That first evening they plucked a goat from the herd, tugging it by its ear to our campsite. As a vegetarian, I was sad, knowing he would be their dinner. I soon realized that what was unfolding before me was much deeper than making dinner. This was a traditional slaughter. Every piece of that goat would go to sustaining the Maasai in some way. The goat was suffocated so the blood would not be lost, laid on a bed of leaves, skinned, and carefully and meticulously dissected. The Maasai men (warriors cannot eat meat seen by a woman but we didn’t count because we hadn’t been circumcised) drank the blood, devoured the organs raw, roasted testicales and hooves, sucked bone marrow from the bones, and dried skin. In the midst of being horrified, I also respected how much pride they had taken in caring for this animal in life and how they found a use for every part of this animal in death. However, I was less than amused when a Maasai warrior slid a fresh piece of skin, still wet with fluid and blood, onto my hand. Good luck, not to be removed until it naturally falls off. That night I roasted my hand over the fire alongside the remaining pieces of meat desperately trying to dry the skin without offending our hosts.

The experience sent my head spinning. How do you bring these people into the twentieth century – eliminating dangerous practices such as female circumcision, ear stretching, teeth removal, drinking animal blood, and more – while retaining their beautiful and ancient culture? It is a question Kesuma wrestles with as well, he believes things must start to change, but also that the heart of their culture must be preserved. An important component to his approach is to educate without mandating change. To give them room to change and preserve.