My 24 hours in the Boma

My 24 Hours in the Boma

On Friday morning Daniela split for Arusha Tanazania and left me all by my lonesome for the first time Africa. Gone were the luxury hotel rooms. Gone was my energetic, feisty, fluent Swahili speaking friend. Oh woe to me, I would actually commence my journey in true Sidarthic style. Fortunately Daniela did not completely me abandon me. I considered the absolutes of fending for myself but would remain guided and supported no matter what the dark corridors that I occasionally travel. In fact from last week right up to this present moment, the help of my fellow human beings has surfaced in the most profound and timely ways, making me wonder if indeed life is itself one big guardian angel.

To begin with there was Peter Wa of the Baraka school who picked me up at 9am on Saturday morning and drove me out to the Masai village near the school. This was organized in advance. I was to stay for a full twenty four hours with the Masai, something Daniela seemed to think would make a man out of me or something. Indeed whatever the benefits, I would have some serenity of nature and highly extraordinary cultural exposure, both of which would give me clarity for the coming adventure.

When we arrived at the school gate, Peter introduced me to Taire (sp), the Masai cattle herder moonlighting as Baraka school security guard. In fact it was literally the other way around. Taire spends the daytime working security at Baraka, so he sent me off with his son Josep to follow ze cattles, all day. And follow ze cattles is what we did, all day.

The landscape around the school is seasonal desert, dotted with low scrubby trees, assorted bushes, and cacti. It's rolling and hot. in the morning Josep and I walked and herded for three hours. When I was on the verge of passing out, he took me into a nearby boma (hut) for two glasses of fresh milk and an oversized pile of steaming hut ugali (corn mush). Incidentally, it occurred to me later that these are the only two foods that I ever saw any Masai people eat. Also they drink cow's blood which was apparently not normally available, though readily offered to me when I mentioned it.

Herding cattle around the desert all day would seem to the outsider unfathomably boring. And for me, I went through a bit of that, but in the end of the day as the sunset and we began returning ze cattles to the pen, I felt clear, wise and ready for more. I think it really helped that I was able to carry around Josep's lion killing spear all day. The spear was grounding and let me imagine the full extent of the cultural historical reality that is embodied in the warrior's traditional tools.

I know next to nothing of the true Masai way, and it is indeed changing. For now, the cattle herding warriors continue to hold the spear, dress the dress, and live the life. Josep said he most certainly wanted to be in school but that was not an option, and so he would continue to herd and when time allowed enroll in his next level of computer literacy courses.

Who am I to suggest otherwise? I parted ways with Josep, who was required to sleep with a remote herd of cattle in a pen away from the village. Once the cows were milked and shots given, Taire walked me up the hill to his village boma.

Boma means circle and is both the literal and physical manifestation of life in the Masai village. The Boma is a circular formation of thatched roof, mud walled huts. In Taire's village, his mother and father occupied the biggest and nicest hut. Other Bomas housed Taire and his brothers' wives. My basic understanding is that the men kinda rotate huts, spending an equal, or unequal time with their various wives. It's definitely more complex than that, but in a nutshell, the Masai are polygamous and each wife has her own dwelling.

At night the cattle are herded into the very center of the circle, where they remain protected by the perimeter of Bomas and sleeping people until daylight, when they're taken off to graze once again.

My night began with a photo session with the children and teenage warrior boys (unfortunately my camera battery was nearly dead and would not be recharged until I arrived in Ethiopia). After admiring the cattle and talking more to the children, we retired into the boma to take our evening meal. The meal would have been again straight ugali and milk, but I happened to mention to Taire that I liked vegetables. He quickly harvested some kale from the nearby garden and had it stewed up nice just for the two of us. I felt thoroughly guilty chomping away on my delicious green ruffage while the rest of the family had only sticky mush.

After the meal, Taire's mother woke up from an extremely drunken stupor. (In the dark smokeyness I hadn't even noticed her sleeping on the bed next to me) She surprised me with the degree of her depravity. Taire's youngest sister Susan explained to me that she was a severe alcoholic who made her own corn moonshine and could not be helped. I was utterly blown away by Susan's maturity and ability to not only deal with but compassionately care for her sick Mom. Meanwhile Taire did his best to handle the ravings. He told me she was very sick. Eventually everyone reverted to singing along with her half sobbing, half praying tradtional chants. In the dark smokey clutter of the mud hut, filled to the brim with brothers, sisters, father and mother, the family dynamic was in a way so disturbingly beautiful it moved me to tears. But maybe that was just the smoke in my eyes.

Finally, we lay down to sleep atop a bed made of sticks lashed together with string and covered in cow hide. Contrary to my half joking preconception, I ended up sharing a bed with Taire and not one of his wives. Sleeping was a bit difficult with the uneven logs jutting into my shoulder blades, the thick smoke, and the near continuous drunken banter of Taire's mom who was sleeping four feet away from head.

Morning did come and I awoke happily with the dawn. Taire and I walked 30 minutes back over the hillside to the Baraka school where Peter picked me up to drive me back to Nanyuki. Before leaving I thanked Taire and gave him 1500 shillings, equivilent to about $23 and probably half his monthly salary. Money is the token gift in this part of the world, but it sure means a lot to people.

Anyways, we zoomed back to town, just in time to catch the 7:30 taxi to Isiolo. I was advised that there would be a convoy leaving at 9am from Isiolo for the 500KM haul to the northern Kenya/southern Ethiopia border town of Moyales. Needless to say I was my usual eager naive beaver, anxious to catch the truck and commence the real adventure. To learn more about how deeply unprepared I was for the full physical and mental tribulations involved in this leg of the journey, please stay tuned.