10.09.2011 Maasai Wedding
Kelvin invited Ashlee and I to accompany him to another Maasai wedding. This one, unlike the other wedding we attended in Mwanza, was traditional. Kelvin was asked to slaughter the cow for the wedding feast. I was very excited about it. He told me Ashlee and I would have to wear the Maasai clothing and jewelry, which made me even more excited. Unfortunately, Kelvin wasn’t feeling well this morning and we arrived to his village after the wedding was already over with. We made quite the spectacle. I don’t think Kelvin told anybody that he would have two mzungus accompanying him. We were introduced to his aunt, a short woman with a seemingly everlasting smile. She gave us buckets to sit on, and we sat in a semi-circle as we attempted to converse, behind a mud hut to block the sun out. I caught myself looking around at my surrounding at one point, amazed at how I got from little Crete , Illinois Tanzania Tanzania
Kelvin’s aunt fed us a Maasai meal of goat, beef, rice, and looshoro, which is a maize and milk porridge mixture. And a coke. As I was eating it, I kept thinking about my doctor and all the warnings he gave me. “Don’t drink milk there, don’t eat meat unless you know it’s been cooked properly, don’t drink the water, don’t eat anything that’s unfamiliar to you.” Well doctor, at least I didn’t drink their water. I had a coke instead. Luckily, I didn’t get ill, and neither did Ashlee. And, the food was quite delicious.
After eating, Kelvin asked if I wanted to see the hut where he grew up in. I jumped at the opportunity. I had already seen Zachi’s village but this was where Kelvin was raised for a large part of his childhood. This is where he had his pre-adolescent circumcision, where he learned the Maasai language, where he learned about his father’s traditions, and where his family still lived. On the way there, we drove past fifteen foot deep crevices, young boys grazing skinny cattle on the sparse amount of green weeds turned red from the caked-on dust, and deserted corn fields. The car tires picked up the dust and sprayed it on our windows. It slid down and swirled like micro-drops of red water caught by a strong wind. We would stop and wait for the dust to settle, and then continue on.
We arrived to Kelvin’s father’s hut. It was a large hut, surrounded by four or five slightly smaller huts. We were welcomed inside and offered chai tea. The hut was separated into two areas. The area immediate to the opening was for the animals that gave milk. Three posts were buried in the dirt ground that made the family’s floor, and the animals were tied here at night. Separated by a half wall was the male’s sleeping area, where Kelvin slept as a boy. The mattress was cows hide pulled tight, tied to a wooden bed-frame. The women would sleep on the floor.
While being shown around, we were being followed by a dozen Maasai children, all colored grey by dust. They reminded me of the commercials we all see play on the television at home. The commercials that can make one feel so guilty for being born privileged that you change the channel and stuff the knowledge of suffering children into a back corner of your mind. These children, although filthy, were happy. They were far happier than a lot people in the States, who have all their basic needs plus more met. They would tell secrets about us, laugh, and run when we chased them. They bent their knees in respect as they said “shikamo” to us and giggled after the formalities were over. The young girls were in charge of caring for the even younger babies (and the only children which were clean), and they may have had more of a motherly instinct than I. The metal roof showed light through the rust-made holes, but nobody neither noticed nor cared. I know that these children are still lacking other things that we may consider essential, such as an education, but they learn how to care for their baby family members, cook, gather water, and care for their livestock. These are the skills they need to live. If somebody wishes to leave the village, and get an education, such as what Kelvin is doing, they are supported. I wish I had more time to actually live in the village, and gain a more substantial perspective on living simply.
After visiting the home, we were taken to walk outside and look at the crops and trees. Kelvin and his mother paid to plant dozens of shade trees on the property. The crop that was planted was corn, and had already been harvested. Looking around, the land was a beautiful skeleton made of hills, crevices, and dust. Growing corn seemed to me to be impossible. Growing any plant seemed to me to be impossible. Finding the means to live on this land seemed to me impossible, but these people mastered it decades ago.
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