Maasai Adventures
Upper David Shepley spent two months of this past summer on 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 an 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.
In classic African style, our rides that were supposed to bring us back to Noloholo were not available, so we decided to walk back to the village and wait there. We were about a 30 minute walk from the town and had traveled down a volcanic dirt road through an open pasture. The trees were bare, revealing their thorny skeletons. Beyond the pasture lay more dense bushes.
As we walked down the dirt road under the setting sun, I noticed the simplicity and bareness of the plants and mountains. It was one of the most serene places that I’ve ever been to. We walked through this dry pasture down a black dirt road and saw Maasai people dressed in rich scarlet and indigo robes, red clay huts and herds of grazing cattle. Everything resonated intense peace and beauty. This was the land that hosted our very first ancestors, the origins of human life. As I walked down the road, everyone else babbled away in Swahili and Ma—languages I did not understand—but I was perfectly content to walk as a silent guest.
When we returned to the town center, a crowd of villagers had gathered at the end of the street and music was blasting through crude speakers. Since our ride was nowhere to be found, I headed down the street to investigate what the commotion was about. As I got closer, I found that a makeshift stage had been set up and covered with a blue tarp. A soundboard and an old electric keyboard stood to the right. Music blasted through speakers from both sides and the men and women were dancing in Maasai style on the stage and on the ground in front of the crowd.
One of the camp helpers, who was my friend, popped up next to me and told me that these were Christian Maasai singers from Kenya that had come to sing to the people. He told me that the town minister and others were here to speak and pray as well. Based on what I was told, I realized that they were similar to an African version of the old American circuit riders who would travel around the country to perform music and preach the gospel to different towns. I watched the men and women dance and sing for a while. I was amazed at the events going on around me, and I took everything in, observing the people, the town and the evening sky.
A glorious harvest moon, full and yellow, hung low directly above the end of the street in a pale violet sky. I noticed the Southern Cross hanging above us, and I suddenly felt incredibly moved. Here, in the middle of the Maasai Steppe, were humble men and women praising God with all of their strength. It was overwhelming for me. I considered how even thousands of years after the time of Jesus, his gospel was still being spread to such distant lands and praised in such foreign tongues to extents that no one would have ever anticipated. While the rest of the world was flourishing in its materialistic successes, these humble Africans were truly praising God and finding joy through it. Because the Southern Cross was hanging above us the whole time, it was as if Jesus was right there with us and the cross was reminding us of everything he did. I stopped standing in the crowd and began dancing with the others. It was so special because I had been with the Maasai earlier, dancing to their cultural songs, but now they were dancing to Christian songs. I felt so free and happy as I danced with them. There was no feeling of judgment when I danced, and everybody danced in their own way. After the songs ended, the Kenyan singers came over to shake my hand and thanked me with encouraging words. Here in this Tanzanian village, I felt free to express myself in front of others. Even if I was a horrible Maasai dancer, or if I was just a white foreigner who barely spoke Swahili, they appreciated me for who I was and my efforts to learn their culture.