Brooks
Traveling often brings unexpected surprises…some good and some not so good. But almost guaranteed, something great is going to happen either way. Such was the case at the outset of this trip. After we had made our way from our home to our pick up point an hour and a half away, then three hours onto LAX, another 3 hour wait in the airport, and then the never-ending sixteen-hour flight to Qatar (in the Middle East near Saudi Arabia), we were more than ready for a rest.
So, we went to find our spot for lying down and were greeted by a tall, spindly, handsome young man, glowing with the deep, dark skin of Africa. He looked incredibly out of place in the Middle East, but confident in his surroundings nonetheless.
After some time I couldn’t help but ask where his home was. Proudly, but interestingly, he didn’t say Kenya, he said, “The Mara in Africa.” What I suspected was true. Even far from home, there was no mistaking the easily recognizable traits of a true Masai warrior. Even other Kenyan tribes are in awe of these amazing people. When I asked him pointed questions that he knew I would only know had I been there, he grinned as one far and missing home. In a land of Middle Eastern people so foreign to both of us, a moment of shared familiarity made us family in the true African way.
I asked where he lived in the great expanse of the Masai Mara plains that cover so much of Kenya and Tanzania. When he told me out past and right from Narok, I could picture it well. In the miles and miles going from Nairobi out to the well-known national park, one must pass and stop here if for no other reason than to take a break in hopes of finding a toilet and cold water. It’s a crossroads of sorts where those living in the expanse surrounding come from dirt encrusted motorbike trails to join into the main highway leading them to civilization. I could clearly picture Samwell’s family home, a round hut made of mud and cow dung surrounded by a thicket of branches for protection from wildlife. I knew his family wealth was in the livestock they owned; his drink was cow’s milk mixed with blood; his dress was a skirt and beads, with a red plaid blanket slung over his shoulder and sandals made from old, black car tires; I knew he had learned as a young boy to carry a club and long spear because his main job would be to take his father’s herd of cattle out to the plains in search of food and he would need to be able to protect himself and them from the lions roaming close by; I knew his life was simple, but profound with many traditions that grounded him to his people.
So, how did this young man end up dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and tie? I couldn’t resist asking and he answered me with a sweet smile, “Now, that is an interesting story. One day I was with my father’s cows far, very far. There was a man driving and very lost. I went to him to tell him directions back. We talked for some time and he enlightened me to a life where there is much food to eat and where I can use my mind for great things. He took me to a place where I started learning hospitality and the years went by. When I worked in the hotel out there (in Masai Mara), I met another man who told me, ‘I see your English is very good. I can take you somewhere and you can use that English to provide money for your parents and family. So, here I am”.
The mom in me wanted to scoop him up and take him back to his home, to his people, where longingly it was clear that there was such a part of him that wanted to be. But, I also knew his people were hungry; they lived without much. I knew this bright young man wanted more than traditions and a scratch existence. I admire this tribe from afar with a full tummy, health and a warm house. He has lived without. So, how could I deny him his future? I want a National Geographic with beautiful photos of an exotic existence. Samwell wants more. How could I not wish him well as he meshes his strong Masai heritage with our modern world?
Photos from a previous trip to Masai Mara:
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