Maasai Adventures

Upper David Shepley spent two months of this past summer in a remote campsite in Tanzania with an organization called the Tanzania People and Wildlife Fund. He lived with the Maasai people and kept a journal in efforts to later share his experiences, and this is the first of his series of journal entries.

These entries explore Shepley’s cross-cultural experiences with the Maasai community, his participation in their cultural and tribal traditions, daring encounters with deadly local animals and observations about wildlife conservation and community development in the region.

Shepley has decided to share his accounts with the Exeter community. He believes that they will provide exciting experiences that will educate the community in the rich and famous culture of the Maasai. He also hopes that his journal entries will encourage and inspire other Exonians to pursue similar opportunities.

I attended a ceremony in honor of the Maasai warriors becoming tribe elders. Once warriors leave the warrior group, they are no longer in charge of guarding the boma or the cattle herds. In one end of the boma there were at least a hundred cows, but they are quickly moved into a ring so the Maasai can celebrate. In Maasai culture, cows are like your bank account: the more cows you have, the higher your status.

When we first arrived at the boma, the milk drinking ceremony was taking place and Maasai elders were sprinkling milk onto the crowd using a decorated calabash. I’m not sure what the point of it was, but it seemed to carry the same significance as holy water in a Christian event. To my surprise, they were not only tolerant of pictures, but desired them so badly that they grabbed my arms and directed me to the Maasai warriors so I could take their pictures. They then motioned for me to sit in a chair and shoved a milk calabash in my hand to drink. It was an incredible experience and I felt honored to have been included in their ceremony. The moment was so overwhelming that I didn’t even think about what was inside the gourd before I started chugging the warm milk. At the time, the milk didn’t seem that bad, but then again that could just be because I was so overwhelmed by the momentous occasion.

For the next couple of hours, I went around taking photos of the Maasai children who loved the camera. After they overcame their shyness, they began going through my pockets and stroking my hair. Several went for my camera and, because it was so old, I happily let them try it out. It took them a while to learn to aim the camera with accuracy, but soon enough they were going around taking photos of us all. I was surprised at their strength and determination to accomplish what they wanted to do.

After that, we were escorted into a Maasai hut and invited to drink some very sweet milk tea. The hut was very dark except for red coals coming from a small mud oven in the center. It was very smoky, but also very cozy. The simplicity and smell of the huts reminded me of my time visiting the Native American and Pilgrim homes in Jamestown and Plymouth. It’s interesting how such distant places and cultures can bear certain similarities.

The hut was made in spiraled layers, sort of like a cinnamon bun, so that one cannot directly enter the sleeping area through the main entrance. It must have been designed this way to keep the heat in and to make it difficult for predators to enter. Once you enter through the “door,” you have to walk a quarter-turn around the hut before another door takes you into center where the sleeping area and oven are.

All the Maasai were very friendly and hospitable; it was a blessing to be one of a few foreigners drinking tea in a Maasai home. A little bit later, we walked over to a field where the Maasai warriors prepared the celebration feast of beef, rice and potatoes. The warriors had slaughtered several bulls less than an hour before and gutted them in the field. Chunks of meat were speared through sharp acacia branches and placed around a fire. When it was time for us to eat, we sat in a circle and a speared piece of meat was brought to us, still dripping with yellow fat and blood. A Maasai pulled out his long knife and shaved off chunks. He passed them around the circle until there was nothing left of the massive thigh. In a way, it was oddly similar to the serving style of Churrasco restaurants.

The meat was very tough, yet somehow not chewy. A piece of meat had to be torn off the thigh just the right way or swallowed whole if you wanted any chance at successfully eating it. If you tried to tear the meat against the direction of the muscle, you wouldn’t get anywhere. Having just studied muscle tissue last term, my inner biologist was amazed at the strength of the muscle fibers of the meat. The whole feast was incredible in the sense that it was raw, almost primitive and truly a unique cultural experience.