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We had our first spear-throwing lesson the other day. After a couple throws, I really got the hang of it; between experience from volleyball, basketball, lacrosse, tennis, baseball, and generally just tossing anything around, it wasn't to difficult to get the feel for it. It felt kind of like serve-shooting a really heavy lacrosse stick in fact.
The spear is about six feet long. In the center there is a dark wood handle flanked on one side by a metal point and on the other by a long metal knife. You can throw with either end forward, though if you are really hunting or trying to kill something you would throw with the knife end forward. As I mentioned before, one good throw can pierce an elephant and kill it.
Daniel, our Swahili teacher and a Maasai, was instructing us, and in demonstration hurled his spear about 45 yards with a running start. Needless to say I'm not quite there yet, but I'm confident it will come. I'm thinking that practicing in Dunster courtyard might be good to keep my skills sharp throughout the year.
Anyway, the Maasai are really the most interesting people, from the spear-throwing abilities to their deep, deep knowledge about the land on which they live. Out forty plus tribal groups in Kenya, the Maasai are unique in that they are among the few who have refused to modernize, and largely retained their pastoralist, semi-nomadic lifestyle.
There is a lot about them that remind me of the Greek heroes that I studied this past semester. Even their type of dress for men is based off of the Greco-Roman toga (apparently this is because they immigrated from the Roman-occupied North Africa).
They divide themselves into different age classes: young boys, older boys, warriors (murrans), junior elders, and elders. (This is mostly in reference to the men, as once women marry they become the age set of their husband, regardless of what their age actually is.) The murran stage is one of the most interesting.
To be initiated into the murran stage (at ages of around 17-25), all of the boys come together for a big ceremony in which they are publicly circumcized. If they show any signs of pain during the circumcision, they are outcast by the community, though once the circumcision is over, they are allowed to react however they like.
Following circumcision (which nowadays can be performed in hospitals to ensure cleanliness of the operation), the murrans have about three months to recover, and then move away from their boma (homestead) to a special training camp with other murrans and senior elders. They live there for a few years training and basically form the standing army of the Maasai people. With more Maasai going to schools, they basically attend school like other Kenyans, and then when they are on break they will go join the camp of murrans (if they are in that stage) and continue with life as usual there, until it is time to go back to school.
During this period, they are never allowed to eat alone, or in the presence of women. They braid their hair and paint it with red dye. Currently, we are waiting for the time of circumcisions, so I haven't yet seen any murrans, but the ceremony is supposed to be occurring sometime within the month.
That is about all I've got for now. On Tuesday we leave to camp out at Tsavo National Park for a week, where I will not have internet access, so you will have to just wait for a bit to hear my next news brief. I have a feeling it will be an exciting one as we are not allowed to go to the bathrooms alone at the camp site after dark because of animal attacks, and apparently when you go you just see eyes everywhere looking at you. Students apparently get nightmares pretty commonly--not surprising if there are lions walking in between your tents when you're asleep.
Showing posts with label Maasai. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maasai. Show all posts
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wazungu, give me sweets
I figure that it's about time to talk about some of the people that I've encountered here, since they have been as integral to my experience in Africa as the wildlife and landscapes.
Firstly, I've had a lot of great opportunities to work on my princess wave. Whenever we drive anywhere in our Cruisers, people always stop and stare. But the reaction of children is by far the best; put simply, they love us. They would just stop and wave at us all day. And some get so excited that they run after our cars as fast as their little legs will carry them. And we just wave and wave and wave.
I feel that I have to make a confession here: I'd say that at least half of the time, these kids run after us yelling two main things: "give me sweets" or "give me money" with a bit of "hello, how are you?" and just some plain old whooping at the top of their lungs. We basically either ignore those pleas, or just respond to them "hakuna sweets," which means "there are no sweets." After three weeks here, it still hasn't gotten old.
When we're on the ground in towns or villages, we tend to create a similar sort of stir. In our local village, the mamas (Maasai women) start swarming our cars before we've even stopped moving, preparing to bombard us with sales pitches for their jewelry. On market days, they literally will not leave us alone, following us around wherever we go.
The kids will follow us around too. Without the distance of the car between us any longer, they are slightly more shy, although they warm up pretty quickly. Since I really like playing with them, I'll have foot races against them or make up hand games to play or show them how to pound and explode it. It's really fun to play with kids that are so interested in you.
One day, we drove to a school outside of Loitokitok town to help a local hospital group serve the community. We weighed babies, gave out vitamins and deworming mediation, and administered vaccinations. We were arrived, before we had even gotten out of our cars, we heard a group of mamas walking out way and singing together. As they sang, we went through their long receiving line, shaking each of their hands, and the hands of the children around them. They led us singing into the schoolyard.
When they had finished singing, they lined up all of the kids (there must have been at least 70 of them, but maybe more than 100) to sing to us too, though I think that yelling is a more appropriate description of their serenade. When they had finished, it was expected that we sing something for them (which was not surprising since when we visited a Maasai boma or homestead, pretty much the same thing had happened by way of greeting). So we treated them to a bit of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," "Ain't No Mountain High," the Hokey Pokey (which was a HUGE hit, probably because we did the dance moves to it too), and finally the Macarena.
That last one was my idea, because I thought we could get the kids to do it with us. They didn't really get that they were supposed to copy us, so I ventured up to their mass and took one of their hands in mine and did it for her. Then all of the sudden I had a crowd swarming around me, reaching their hands towards me, asking me to show them next. I finally got them all doing it, and some of my fellow American students followed my lead and got the other kids to do it too.
I think that most of the kinds just really liked touching me because I'm American and look different from them. So I let them. I went through the crowd and tried to offer my hands to as many as possible. If I stopped and sat, some were so bold as to touch my hair. (They are really fascinated by hair here, as pretty much everyone, men, women, and children, shave their heads.) I admit that I always thought it was weird watching politicians wade through crowds offering their hands out to everyone, but when I was there, I could just tell that it would mean so much to these kids, that I wanted to give some of myself to them.
On the other side of things, yesterday we went out into the field to conduct interviews of the local community about farming and agriculture, and one little kid who had never seen white people (wazungu) before started bawling at the sight of us.
There is so much more to write about the people whom I've encountered (particularly about the Maasai and their beliefs and traditions), but I feel I have already written a lot for now. I will leave you with the knowledge that I received my Maasai spear today, which if thrown properly will kill an elephant, giraffe, lion, etc. with one blow. Lessons are pending.
Firstly, I've had a lot of great opportunities to work on my princess wave. Whenever we drive anywhere in our Cruisers, people always stop and stare. But the reaction of children is by far the best; put simply, they love us. They would just stop and wave at us all day. And some get so excited that they run after our cars as fast as their little legs will carry them. And we just wave and wave and wave.
I feel that I have to make a confession here: I'd say that at least half of the time, these kids run after us yelling two main things: "give me sweets" or "give me money" with a bit of "hello, how are you?" and just some plain old whooping at the top of their lungs. We basically either ignore those pleas, or just respond to them "hakuna sweets," which means "there are no sweets." After three weeks here, it still hasn't gotten old.
When we're on the ground in towns or villages, we tend to create a similar sort of stir. In our local village, the mamas (Maasai women) start swarming our cars before we've even stopped moving, preparing to bombard us with sales pitches for their jewelry. On market days, they literally will not leave us alone, following us around wherever we go.
The kids will follow us around too. Without the distance of the car between us any longer, they are slightly more shy, although they warm up pretty quickly. Since I really like playing with them, I'll have foot races against them or make up hand games to play or show them how to pound and explode it. It's really fun to play with kids that are so interested in you.
One day, we drove to a school outside of Loitokitok town to help a local hospital group serve the community. We weighed babies, gave out vitamins and deworming mediation, and administered vaccinations. We were arrived, before we had even gotten out of our cars, we heard a group of mamas walking out way and singing together. As they sang, we went through their long receiving line, shaking each of their hands, and the hands of the children around them. They led us singing into the schoolyard.
When they had finished singing, they lined up all of the kids (there must have been at least 70 of them, but maybe more than 100) to sing to us too, though I think that yelling is a more appropriate description of their serenade. When they had finished, it was expected that we sing something for them (which was not surprising since when we visited a Maasai boma or homestead, pretty much the same thing had happened by way of greeting). So we treated them to a bit of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," "Ain't No Mountain High," the Hokey Pokey (which was a HUGE hit, probably because we did the dance moves to it too), and finally the Macarena.
That last one was my idea, because I thought we could get the kids to do it with us. They didn't really get that they were supposed to copy us, so I ventured up to their mass and took one of their hands in mine and did it for her. Then all of the sudden I had a crowd swarming around me, reaching their hands towards me, asking me to show them next. I finally got them all doing it, and some of my fellow American students followed my lead and got the other kids to do it too.
I think that most of the kinds just really liked touching me because I'm American and look different from them. So I let them. I went through the crowd and tried to offer my hands to as many as possible. If I stopped and sat, some were so bold as to touch my hair. (They are really fascinated by hair here, as pretty much everyone, men, women, and children, shave their heads.) I admit that I always thought it was weird watching politicians wade through crowds offering their hands out to everyone, but when I was there, I could just tell that it would mean so much to these kids, that I wanted to give some of myself to them.
On the other side of things, yesterday we went out into the field to conduct interviews of the local community about farming and agriculture, and one little kid who had never seen white people (wazungu) before started bawling at the sight of us.
There is so much more to write about the people whom I've encountered (particularly about the Maasai and their beliefs and traditions), but I feel I have already written a lot for now. I will leave you with the knowledge that I received my Maasai spear today, which if thrown properly will kill an elephant, giraffe, lion, etc. with one blow. Lessons are pending.
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