“It is what we make out of what we have, not what we are given, that separates one person from another.” - Nelson Mandela
We sit comfortably in deep armchairs and sofas in the impeccably decorated “living” area of Bataleur Camp in Kichwa Tembo Tented Camp, just outside the Masai Mara National Reserve in Kenya, bellies full from a three-course lunch that rivals that of any top-named San Francisco restaurant. We’ve just watched an impressive thunderstorm roll in from across our expansive view of the Mara, and we are listening to it lash the heavy canvas of the tent walls and the roof while we chat amiably to pass the time until our next game drive. It’s all very civilized. I’m a bit of an interloper here – my current roommate and I have tagged along on a safari that was planned by my close friend’s father, who has visited Kenya extensively over the past few decades. We are on the second week of safari and we are coming close to the end of our trip, with Masai Mara being our final park. Kichwa Tembo is well outside of my immediate friend group’s current pay grade, but because part of the extended group that I know is staying there, we’ve been invited for lunch.
Jim, my friend’s father, mentions that the resident naturalist, Ann, will be coming shortly to give us a cultural talk on the Maasai as we wait for the rain to pass. After a short while, Ann enters. She is taller than me, and very slender. She is beautifully dressed in red, a traditionally Maasai color, and the dress looks like it may be for a special occasion based on its cut and her beautiful jewelry made of colorful beads and small silver discs, which jingle softly and shimmer in the light. She is young – 22 years old, with about shoulder-length hair pulled back neatly in a low ponytail, and glasses. Her chocolate brown skin is nearly flawless, with the exception of two symmetrical sets of three small, vertical scars, one set on each smiling cheek.
“Good afternoon,” Ann says. Her voice is soft, pleasant – her smile carries to her voice. “I am Ann, the resident naturalist. I met some of you last night, and welcome to the others of you who have come today. I wanted to give you a talk about the Maasai people. I know many people have questions about the Maasai, and I am happy to answer them. Many people are often worried their questions might be too personal, but really, do not be worried. I can answer these questions too.
“For instance, many people wonder about the scars they see on our faces. These are very common and many receive them when they are young. When I was a child, I was crying all the time. So my mother made these cuts in my face because the tears are salty, and when they would run down into the scars, they would hurt. This would remind me to not cry, and it was very effective.
“I will give you a brief talk about my people, maybe fifteen minutes, and then I will give you as long as you want to ask as many questions as you want.”
We nod silently, smile. Because she speaks softly, and because it is still raining, many of us lean forward to hear her. Some of us know a little about the Maasai based on what has been conveyed in popular culture – they are warriors, fierce, nomadic people who defend their herds of cattle from lions with spears, dressed in a brilliant red that the lions supposedly learned to fear. Really, I know little else, and I’m eager to learn more.
Ann begins by explaining that the Maasai originally came from north of Lake Turkana and began migrating south with their cattle, moving into what is now Kenya and Tanzania. The spelling “Maasai,” with two “a’s” refers to people who speak Maa, as opposed to “Masai” which refers instead to things, like the Masai Mara park. She tells us how cattle are very important to the Maasai and that they believe all the cattle in the world belong to them, so they will conduct raids to seize cattle (or, take them back). She then begins to describe the differences in roles and growing up between males and females in Maasai culture.
“The boys,” she said, “care for the calves and the lambs when they are small. When boys are teenagers they can begin the training to become a warrior. They are circumcised and they must go live in the bush, protect themselves, and participate in rites of passage to demonstrate that they are ready to be warriors. When they have finished their training, usually in their early 20s, they become warriors and can protect their community. After this, they can marry.
“Boys and girls both go to school, but if a family has several children and cannot afford to send them all to school, preference is given to the boys.
“Girls also take care of the cows and goats, but they also do things such as gathering water, cooking, and sweeping. When girls are between 10 and 12, they also are circumcised and after that, they can be married. Men can ‘book’ girls for marriage from when they are very young, sometimes even before they are born. If, for instance, a man knows that a woman who is known as being a very good woman is going to have a child, he may go to her and say ‘If you have a girl, I would like to book her for marriage.’ So this is decided for girls by the parents. In Maasai culture, men can have more than one wife, really as many wives as he can care for. For instance I grew up in a family with three mothers.”
After providing a few more details, Ann asks if we have any questions.
We fall silent for a brief moment, thinking.
She had said it all so matter-of-factly, but still I had stiffened with the word “circumcision.” In the west we refer to female circumcision as “female genital mutilation,” or FGM. When she had said girl children were married at 10 to 12, I did my best not to visibly react, to put on my cultural relativism hat for a moment, even though I do not believe cultural relativism applies to FGM or child marriage and consider them human rights violations. I rolled my questions around in my head, trying to think of a way to ask them that wouldn’t be insensitive.
“Are you married?” someone asks.
“No, I am not married. I was lucky and escaped going through the circumcision, but Maasai men see a woman who is uncircumcised and say ‘I do not want this woman.’ So it is difficult for me.”
The word “escape” lent us a clue about her personal opinions on the matter.
“Can you tell us about your story? You obviously are very educated and I’m interested to know what got you to here,” asks Alison, my roommate.
Ann smiles, nods. “Of course. As I mentioned, I had three mothers, and had many siblings. When I was young it was my job to watch the sheep, so that my brothers could go to school. But I found myself also wanting to go to school. So, I would take the sheep out to graze next to the school building and sit outside every day, listening to the lessons. I would do this every day, and I would even go on the weekends because I fell into this habit.
“But because I was there every day, a man, the chief, noticed me sitting outside the building. And so one day when I was about nine years old he calls me over and he says ‘Girl, tell me what you are doing outside when the other children are inside?’ I told him that I wanted to go to school but that my brothers had to go and I had to watch the sheep. So this man takes me home and asks to speak with my father to tell him that I wished to go to school. My father refused because it was my job to watch the sheep.
“Unfortunately this same day, one of the sheep went missing. Because my father now knew where I had been, I knew that he would beat me up, so I ran away from home to my aunt’s house. I stayed there a few days, but then I knew I could go back home and be forgiven.
“I started again going back outside the school, and again the chief went back to my father and said ‘This girl, she will be very unhappy if she does not go to school. You should allow her to go.’ But my father replied ‘Who will then watch my sheep, and do her chores? Will it be your daughter?’ The chief continued to talk to my father and in the end came to an agreement that he would allow me to go to school if I got all my chores for the day done first.
“So I would wake up very early and start with my chores for the day - gathering the water, sweeping the floors, and all the other jobs. Sometimes I would be late and miss the first lesson. Sometimes there was just too much work, and I would not be able to go that day. But still, I managed to make very good marks, even though I was not able to attend all the time.
“This went on until I was about 12 years old. At that time, I learned that I had been booked for marriage, and the man had come to claim me, so I would have to be circumcised. But a Kikuyu woman who was one of my teachers had told me about all the negative effects of the circumcision, and I decided I did not want this. I told my parents I did not want to be circumcised but they said I would have to, as the man was coming to claim me. So this time, I ran away from home but did not come back.
“My teacher provided me with help at this time, as did others, so I could continue to go to school. At times my church would also help me and come together to buy me some personal items. So I finished school with very high marks, and I was able to get a government scholarship to go on to college, where I also did well.
“Our college graduation was announced on a local radio station. The day that I graduated from college was the day that I saw my father again. He had heard about my graduation on the radio and came to see. When he saw me being recognized, he was very surprised, and he came to me and fell to his knees, and he asked for me to forgive him.
“So that is how I got here. I do feel very lucky. Some girls my age, they have three or four children, but I get to work here as the naturalist, and get to meet many new people like yourselves.”
The sound of now occasional raindrops spattering the roof takes over as we process the story this remarkable young woman has just shared with us. For me, our innate privileges seemed quietly but visibly present in the room, standing in stark contrast to the challenges that this woman had faced and overcome, and to the harsh realities that many other women in her culture still face. I struggle to come up with anything to say that could adequately acknowledge the significance of what she has shared with us.
We thank her for sharing her story, praise her courage. Someone reminds us that we should mobilize for our next game drive and we start to make moves. I am still having difficulty articulating what I’m feeling, which is something like awe, for this amazing person standing in front of me, so I thank her personally and exchange Facebook details, because I have no doubt that hers is a life worth following.
We see Ann again the following day at the Kichwa Tembo airstrip when we go to see the folks staying at Bataleur Camp off. We chat for a while, and I ask Ann what’s next for her. She says that she really enjoys her job here, but would maybe like to go back for university, maybe to study law. She says that she would like to help represent the the Maasai people - since she is one of them, she feels she can stand up for their best interests.
As we say our goodbyes, Ann gives me a hug and says “Thank you for accepting me as who I am. It is still difficult with some people in my village, so it’s nice when I meet people who are accepting of me.”
I don’t know what to say. It’s almost unfathomable to me that anyone could shun this bright, brave, and obviously compassionate woman, who still wants to help the culture that stood in the way of her dreams. I hug her back and promise to keep in touch.
Ann’s story left a deep impression on me. I read a great deal about issues affecting women across the globe, and I’ve known about FGM and its terrible consequences for a long time, but never before had knowingly been amongst cultures like the Maasai and Samburu, where an estimated 90% of women are cut. Ann’s strength is undeniable - her desire to learn, her scrappiness in getting some education even before any was offered to her, her defiance of cultural norms, bravery to set out on her own, determination to achieve her goals, and her steadfastness in the face of loneliness and cultural ostracism are impressive by any measure of human character.
I consider myself an extremely fortunate individual. While I can demonstrate that I have worked hard during my life to achieve a number of goals, I cannot deny the fact that I won the birth place and time lottery. I was born in the United States, to a two-parent household at the end of the 20th century. Those factors alone give me an enormous inherent social and economic leg up over many women (and men) in the world. I’ve certainly faced obstacles and uncertainties. But I’ve never had to raise my own food and had to worry when drought threatened to starve us all. I never questioned whether I would receive an education, because it was a given that I would. I’ve never had to abandon my home as a result of warfare and wonder if I will ever be safe again. I have always had the right to determine my own destiny and have been able to access the resources to move me closer to my dreams. I consider myself a strong person, but I can’t help but wonder whether, if placed at birth in the same cultural context as Ann, would I be as strong as she is? There’s no way to know, but knowing that she is out there talking about her experiences, working hard, and fighting for acceptance and justice for both women and her culture gives me renewed faith in human resilience, and it makes me hopeful that other girls and women can and will find the strength to do the same.
Note
I did my best to recall Ann’s telling of her story in as much detail as possible, but memory is fallible and I may have made a few mistakes along the way. It’s my hope that she tells her story to the world to educate people about her culture and to encourage young women to stand up for themselves and to inspire them become who they want to be.
The Maasai
The Maasai culture is fascinating, and images of Maasai people featuring vivid colors, intricate beadwork, and body modification such as scarring and earlobe stretching are fairly well known to westerners, due to many Maasai peoples’ proximity to prominent parks in Kenya and Tanzania. An interesting bit of historical information is that the Maasai have always stood against slavery, never taking conquered tribes for slaves, and never engaging in the western slave trade. They have a reputation as fierce fighters, and outsiders looking for people to enslave avoided the Maasai.
A traditionally semi-nomadic group of people, the Maasai are facing a number of challenges due to private land ownership, government regulations, etc. Maasai leaders are working to find a way to preserve traditions while balancing the need for education for their children and acknowledging realities of changes in the modern world.
Here are a few online resources about the Maasai:
Female Genital Mutilation
The U.N. estimates more than 140 million girls and women alive today have undergone some form of female genital mutilation (FGM). FGM has been recognized by the World Health Organization as a violation of the human rights of girls and women. With that said, the issue isn’t entirely as black and white as it seems. It’s critical to understand the cultural and socio-economic realities aside from inherent gender power constructs that perpetuate the practice - for instance, many indigenous families cannot afford to send all their children to school, so they marry their girls off young to protect them from a life of poverty - the marriage ensures they will be cared for. Contributing factors and systemic social challenges should also be examined and addressed in conjunction with FGM to ensure success.
To learn more about female genital mutilation/female circumcision and alternatives being explored:
