I've eaten my way around the world. That means I've had to face sheep eyeballs in my soup (Peru) and strong tea swirled in yak butter and salt (Tibet).
One has to stay open to possibility, as well as respecting your host who hands over the delicacy while watching the reaction to your first bite. It sometimes requires bracing yourself for the plate you are given on a riverboat in the Amazon (piranha with a side of bananas) or remote islands in Papua New Guinea (sago with creamed fish). Only to discover that tea leaves sautéed in garlic and chili (Myanmar) or fufu with groundnut stew (Ghana) is the most delicious thing you ever tasted. If you travel and eat only in hotels and tourist restaurants, you are missing the true ethos of the country – mama's cooking.
One of my biggest culinary surprises was a meal that the Maasai served to me in the Serengeti savannahs of Tanzania. I had been asked to visit six indigenous early childhood programs in remote areas of Tanzania, along with a small team of health and education resource people. My task was to identify effective traditional methods of child care and development that could be shared with other indigenous people with similar life styles.
Indeed, I saw some beautiful ways of caring for children in semi-nomadic communities. But I learned even more about the strength of the Maasai culture in the face of political and environmental challenges.
Before taking this assignment, I knew something about the Maasai from a family we had come to know through our son, Chas. When we first arrived in Tanzania, Pam White, Mission Director for the US Agency for International Development (USAID) gave Chas the opportunity to produce a short film about a Maasai women's cooperative that had ambitions to improve the lives of young women.
Photo: Chas and his "Maasai brothers", Sam & John
Pam told us not to worry. Our young son, home from college, would be hosted by a wonderful Maasai family that Pam had come to know. Their Maasai son, Sam, showed interest to act as translator and assistant for Chas.
So we sent Chas off into the unknown, with no cell phone coverage, which increased our anxiety. Chas returned with a short film, hundreds of stories and insect bites.
The Maasai family absorbed Chas into their daily activities and invited him to traditional events. Sam and his brother, John, taught Chas how to jump like a man, called Adumu (See Pinterest photo), in order to attract female admirers; and invited him to participate in an initiation ceremony that included drinking cow's blood. He lived. He found two new "brothers."
A year or two later, my work in the Serengeti required days of riding in an old Land Rover, stopping here and there to ask the current location of a particular group of Maasai pastoralists that we hoped to find. We located one of the bomas, a Maasai nomadic camp, along a dusty path several kilometers off the main road, which was also unpaved.
During the day and sometimes over long periods of time, the women and men leave the boma to herd the cattle, or forage. Women might walk 20 km for a bucket of water and men sometimes roam for hundreds of kilometers, searching for water and pasture for their cows. Those left to mind the boma gather twigs to burn; care for the goats; and produce beautiful weavings, jewelry and leather crafts. Eventually the boma moves as a group to a new area, according to the seasons, animal migrations and availability of water.
It's all about the cows. In the Maasai culture, cows are their wealth and currency. The Maasai believe that God (Enkai) created cattle especially for them. They are the custodians of the world's cows. Life revolves around amassing and grazing large herds of cows. Wealth and esteem is measured by the number of cows one possesses.
While the Maasai once freely moved over the entirety of Kenya and half of Tanzania, their movements are now restricted. Their first cultural crisis occurred in the 1800's under British colonial rule. The British confiscated their cattle and spread diseases. In more recent years, the Tanzanian government has restricted Maasai movement, setting aside prime land for big game hunting and safari camps, the major income source for both Tanzania and Kenya. The Maasai are now in constant conflict with farmers, ranchers, and game hunters.
In compensation, the government gave indigenous land grants to some Maasai, but the land was the driest and least fertile. Many Maasai sold their land to buy more cattle. In their minds all the land belongs to them, so they assumed this was a joke on the government. It is not within the Maasai DNA to cope with small, restricted spaces.
This all came home to us when our son called us from a border police station between Kenya and Tanzania. He explained that he had traveled overland with Sam and John to visit their friends in Kenya. Upon return to Tanzania, he was stopped by policemen on the border who were alarmed and suspicious that Chas had no passport, visa or immigration stamp. Chas had begun to feel too much like a Maasai. Fortunately, the chief at the border crossing thought it was funny and let him go.
While the Maasai are allowed to freely move, their cattle herding is now restricted. Across the plains, farmers and ranchers have put up fences to keep the cows from farm crops, wildlife, and water sources. The land is parched from extended seasons without rain; and the value of the emaciated cattle has dropped to $10 each. The cattle are dying.
Sam told us about a man from his village who took his 200 cows out looking for water, carrying only his herding stick. There had been four years of drought in that area. The man returned; all his cows were dead. The man lay down and died that day. Sam told us his father had sent their herd of 50 cows off with a herder to search for water and had received news that ¾ of the cows had died. His dad made the decision to start a vegetable farm, and sell the produce in Arusha.
Sam's family lives traditionally but are also educated and diversify their incomes. They are open to new ideas and incorporate them into their traditional life. They provide a development model for other families. That's how the USAID Director came to know about them.
[See photo of Sam's dad, David, with his mother.]
At age six, Sam's Tanzanian father and Kenyan mother were taken by their governments to be educated in boarding schools. At that time, the governments required nomadic families to "give up" one child for education.
When I met Sam's parents, I told them that when I worked with nomadic communities on the Kenya/Somali border, the people told me that they give up the least useful child to be educated. I asked them what was the most valued child. They said the one who can recognize each cow in a herd by its sound; he knows the cows are there even without seeing them. With increasing threats to their way of life, the second most valued child has become the one who is good at gathering information. This child runs to town every few days and blends in to pick up information that is useful to the nomadic community. When I told this to Sam's parents they laughed and agreed that they were probably selected for education because of their uselessness. This has proven not to be the case.
After six years of boarding school, Sam's dad, David, was brought back to the location where his family had lived when he left for school, only to find that the community had moved over the mountain. David, at twelve, set out walking with his small trunk of books, and eventually found his family's boma.
Later Sam's dad became a veterinary technician and his mom a trained school teacher. Both speak English. Their three children are all attending university. Sam is studying to be a naturalist and tour guide. His brother John wants to be a lawyer, and sister Barbara wants to study international relations and diplomacy.
So these "useless" children grew to be some of the most valuable citizens in their Maasai boma. Sam's parents have a foot in two worlds, and for that they have served as able translators of the Maasai world to us, and more importantly, have financial means to support others in their village in these trying times.
During my early childhood care survey I learned that grandparents are in charge of the children while parents herd and forage. The young children gather each day to listen to traditional stories and play with toys made from found objects. They usually gather under the rare tree in the bush landscape and ropes are hung from branches as swings.
Physical activities include running obstacle courses made from branches and twigs. The children also play in boma playhouses. The grandparents are watchful as the children joyfully play with age mates.
Photos:
Grandparents caring for children
Traditional Toys
Boma playhouse
Playing under the Tree
Primary education is now mandatory in Tanzania and Kenya. The governments have built some primary schools in these remote areas to provide access for traditional communities, but the schools are not well received.
Parents complain that they are too far for young children to walk and they teach children useless information. I asked what skills they thought the teachers should be teaching. One father in the Monduli District answered, "like parts of the ear and the colors of cattle." I could only understand his response after I learned more about the symbols of dressing and counting wealth in the Maasai culture.
Cow milk is the primary food, augmented by goat milk and meat. Maasai have historically consumed high levels of protein and calcium, which nutritionists link to their unusual height. With loss of these food sources, government nutritionists have tried to coax them to grow vegetables to augment their diets. One man told me that "greens" are food for goats, not people. Out of necessity they have added oats and rice to fill their empty stomachs.
My small team of researchers, included a man whose aim was to share alternative income sources that could be used to improve child nutrition. He talked about the methodology of forming micro-credit groups with shared savings from community families.
In one boma, I observed the men's keen interest in the concept of a community owned, cooperative bank. That was until the micro-credit expert provided an example of how they could use these savings for alternative income sources. He gave them an example of poultry production which he described as perfect for the scrappy land they lived on.
The headman stood in disgust. "Chickens?!" he shouted. "Only poor people raise chickens. Raising chickens is for children" (not warriors). And he walked away.
The Maasai people's traditional clothing is stunning. The women layer solid turquoise, purple and blue; and others wear red woven cloth. The beads are white and the ears are ornamented like Christmas trees. Each section of the ear demands certain kinds of beading, each carrying symbolic meaning. There are metal bands stuck through the top ear lobe from which rows of white and silver beads dangle and then there is another assortment in the lower lobe.
Maasai men stand tall, often on one foot, with the other foot resting on the knee, balancing with a tall wooden staff. Over their shoulder, the men drape a bright red cotton blanket with checked or striped designs in bold contrasting colors of black, purple or royal blue. Such brilliant color against the dry, brown landscape. Maasai men like to defy the elements by wearing white sandals. Sassy dressers.
I remember a night that our family, including Charles's cousin, Carol, from Richmond and her children, Sara and Will, were in Arusha to start our holiday. It was during a school break and Chas had been visiting his Maasai friends up in the Serengeti. Sam and his brother, John, agreed to bring Chas to meet up with our family at the Arusha Coffee Lodge.
Photo: Cousin Carol with her children, Sara and Will
The hotel was in a lush, hilly area of Tanzania, a popular launching point for safaris. It had been raining for several days in this region, and the road to the hotel was a bed of slippery mud requiring four-wheel drive traction. We were sitting down to dinner and a bit worried that our son had not arrived to meet up with his cousins.
Finally, we spotted the three boys entering the lodge dining room. We immediately noted John's spotlessly white athletic shoes. Especially impressive when they told us that the local transport they took had left them at the cut-off, not able to traverse the long muddy road to the hotel. We asked John how it is possible that his shoes were white with no trace of mud. John replied, "I danced." He ordered two steaks for dinner. Smiles all around.
The Maasai are viewed as a highly intelligent culture, especially gifted in mathematics. A Maasai child, for example, is valued for how quickly he can determine that an entire herd of cattle is present, by counting them or listening to their distinct sounds. I wanted to know how it was possible that a Maasai could count a herd of 100 cattle in seconds.
I learned their secret: They do not count individual cows but when they see a herd, the cows are immediately sorted in their mind according to family groups which bare a certain marking or characteristic. Each cow in a family grouping has certain distinguishing color and pattern combinations. Large black spot surrounded by small spots, etc. Each of the families has a lead cow which the Maasai say are easy to spot. They know the patterning for each cow's family, so they can quickly see who is missing in the same way we look for faces of children in a family to see who is missing. In a herd of 100 cows, they say it takes them only seconds to find the family groups and determine whether everyone is there.
I loved the visits to the bomas, but each day as we set out I dreaded how hot and thirsty I would feel during the day's work. It would have been insensitive to pull out a water bottle in front of our hosts, who go the entire day without drinking anything. So we just toughed it up. Having nothing to drink or eat helped me appreciate the thirst and hunger they face, every day. We were only offered something to eat in two villages. They had none to share, but they did give in other ways. They might bestow us with a dance or song; and once they gave me clothing and dressed me as one of them.
In one village, to our surprise they grilled a goat leg for us to taste. We each took only a small chunk of meat and then passed it around to hungry on-lookers.
We were saying goodbye in our last village, ready to leave and return to the town where we were staying. Our hosts immediately stopped us and said that the elder women were cooking some food for us and that we were to follow them through the bush.
On the other side of a small stand of scrubby trees, we found a group of women squatting around a black iron cook pot over a fire. Some were fanning the flames; others took turns stirring with a large wooden paddle. All were chatting and laughing. They greeted us and offered a plastic plate and tin spoon to our team and the village elders. Then a wiry woman proceeded to dip out something that looked like porridge. I so wish I had a photo but, never mind, the picture is indelible in my mind.
Like the others I sat on a stone or tufts of dry, brown grass. I gingerly tasted the contents of my bowl and was knocked completely off guard. I examined the tastes to understand the contents of this magnificent dish. The core ingredient was swollen kernels of rice, the consistency of risotto, the best I had ever tasted. The seasoning came from crispy fried goat fat and the creaminess from fresh goat milk, which is more plentiful than water. It had been slow-stirred in the giant pot all morning, providing plenty for 50 servings, after we finished and passed on our plates to the next hungry souls.
I can never eat risotto, one of my favorite foods, without this flash-back. So now, when you eat risotto at my house, you will understand my distant gaze and grin.
I would love to hear your memorable culinary stories. Writeme@deborah-llewellyn.com
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