The Massai, the Poet-Tour Guide and the Guitar Playing Warrior

This weekend, we decided to go on a cultural safari to learn more about the Massai tribe. I love doing these cultural safaris, but it also always makes me a feel a bit uncomfortable, as if we’re going to a zoo to look at the interesting people. However, it seems that the tribes that we have met are comfortable with the arrangement, which does provide some economic benefit to the tribe. The four of us traveled with two of our fellow volunteers who Maya and Emma have adopted as their personal camp counselors, Jenny and Sarah. After a few stops, first after the radiator exploded, and then in Arusha for supplies (including shoes for Emma who thought flip flops were appropriate for long hikes and visits in villages made of cow dung), we headed to Longido, which is an hour north of Arusha. Longido is an area where a significant number of Massai live. As I related in a previous posting, the Massai are a regal people that lead semi-nomadic pastoral lives, largely unchanged for thousands of years. Core to the Massai belief system is that all cows are the property of the Massai. As you can imagine, this can be a source of some conflict with those who do not share those beliefs. Indeed, back in the day (maybe a 100 years ago or so), they were fierce warriors. Cows have a central role for the Massai. They’re the source of all wealth. They are accumulated, milked, sold and eaten. Milk is a key part of the diet of the Massai. (I could not help but wondering what happens to a lactose intolerant Massai. Maybe, Rake/Light, there’s a series in that?) When slaughtered, the cows are suffocated, so that no blood is lost. The reason for that is that Massai drink the blood, either alone or with milk. The blood is considered essential for their nourishment –particularly for the warriors.

The Massai have a very rigid caste system of sorts where boys, first become junior warriors, then warriors, and then elders. The stage from junior warrior to warrior (usually at around age 15 or 16) is accompanied by a circumcision ritual that, quite frankly, makes Jewish circumcision look downright benign. The women, of course, are subservient and are expected to produce many, many children. Also, while now illegal, the Massai still secretly practice female circumcision. This is apparently because Maasai men have many wives, and are concerned about being able to satisfy all of them if they are capable of experiencing sexual pleasure.

Abbas, our tour guide, is an interesting fellow. He’s 41 years old and is from Kenya. He’s both an artist and a tour guide. He speaks English very well. He has the feel of a zen master or guru. He’s always dispensing life wisdom and, unlike me, people listen to him. Having grown up in a huge family (I think 20 children), with a father who had three wives, he’s particularly concerned about the plight of the African family and African women. In this regard, a lot of his painting pays homage to the tremendous burdens placed on the African woman.



After the drive, due to the muddy conditions, we ended up setting up camp in what seemed like someone’s backyard. Yes, I camped ending my 25 years of assiduously avoiding sleeping in a tent. After 9 weeks in a tent as a 14 year old, I felt that I could move on to more permanent accommodations. As the tents we’re being set up, we met Robert, our Massai guide, who was also a fascinating guy. Robert is a member of the Massai tribe, who has chosen to lead a more modern life. This is a very rare decision for members of the Massai tribe. To be clear, he’s still fiercely proud of his Massai heritage, but has elected to live in an apartment, instead of with his Maasai family

The first item on the agenda, after setting up our tent, was to visit a Massai Boma, essentially a fenced in corral, where a number of Massai families live. Out of respect, we dressed in the traditional Massai shuka.

I’m thinking that it’s a good look for me.

As we walked to the Boma we were accompanied by a number of Massai children on their way back from school. The government has been engaged in a concerted effort to get the Massai to send their kids to school. Many of the Massai elders were initially reluctant to send their kids to school, preferring to not disrupt the Massai lifestyle. It seems that, after many years, the government effort is succeeding. More and more kids attend school. One of the things that we noticed on the walk is that as the kids joined us, they would all go up to Robert and put their heads down waiting for Robert to touch their heads. It is a very simple but touching gesture. The kids started to put their heads down to us, as well.

We shortly arrived at the boma. The outside of the corral is fenced off with various plants, in particular a prickly plant that is kind of like barbed wire. As you enter, you see that on the outer circle are three or four sets of circular huts. The huts are made of grass and cow dung, with thatched roofs. Each set is for one family and the number of huts depends on the number of wives. Each wife gets her own hut. The husband rotates from hut to hut, on no particular schedule, as far as I understood. The other sets of huts are for other families that are all friends. The central area of the boma is for the cows and goats. Each morning, the Massai take their herds to find the best grass and then return to the boma at night.

As you approach, the Boma, as with so much in Tanzania, you are confronted with a sensory bouillabaisse. In the distance, you see the brilliant and regal clothing adorning the Massai. They wear brilliant wraps, in various shades of red and purple. The women wear huge and beautiful jewelry. The men also have pierced ears, with piercings that are big enough to put a coffee cup through-literally. They are really a stunning sight.

The next sensory experience is smell. As you can imagine, with cows living in the center of the boma and huts made up of cow dung, the smell of crap is, well, pervasive. Accompanying the smell are the flies, flies as far as the eyes can see. As you walk in, you’re simply assaulted by flies. In addition, the little children have a moustache of flies around their mouths, eyes and noses. It’s hard to not run away in horror. But, at the same time, the Massai that we met were extraordinarily warm and gracious. Therefore, the emotions are swirling: On the one hand, I had a desire to head for the hills to relieve myself from this sensory assault, and then, on the other hand, I felt crushingly guilty for being so incredibly uptight.

In any event, we entered the boma and then we were escorted into one of the huts. The huts are dark, cramped, dusty and smelly.

As I was sitting there, in the dark, we were invited to take pictures. Imagine my surprise, when I just pointed and clicked, with my flash, and realized that I had taken a picture of a breast feeding Massai woman. It was so dark, I simply did not know that she was there.

After a few minutes in the hut, I had to get out for fear of anaphylactic shock.

At this point, the warriors started to return. They are stunningly attired and carry knives and wood sticks used to prod the cattle. They all gathered together and allowed us to take many pictures. Standing there, they had this air of supreme confidence and certainty. In some ways, they seemed like young men, anywhere, convinced that they’re invincible, that the world is theirs for the taking. Perhaps, this was enhanced by their fierce pride in their heritage.

They then started this interesting dance, where the men essentially jumped as high as they could.

The children stood transfixed, watching the warriors.

The cows then came home and filled the center of the boma. At that point, we were told that we would have the opportunity to milk the cows, which is considered woman’s work. That being the case, I had all the excuse I needed to avoid the opportunity. Yet, of course, my wife took her turn. Let’s just say that if the Massai had to rely on Melissa’s cow milking technique, they would now be extinct.

We then headed back to the camp site, where we had a great dinner. Dinner was followed by an unusual surprise. Robert, our Massai tour guide, pulled out his guitar and started singing, everything from Bob Marley’s Legend to Peter, Paul and Mary’s Leaving on a Jet Plane. He was surprisingly good. He reminded me of a less well trained Hillel, with far less command over popular lyrics.



We went to sleep, where I had an atrocious night’s sleep. I really don’t understand the ostensible charms of sleeping in a tent.

That next morning, we headed to a cave that is used by the local Massai men for a variety of different purposes, training, healing, ceremonies, etc. When we arrived, there were two Massai warriors with two boys. Apparently, the boys were there because they were sick. While the Massai will, from time to time, go seek conventional medical care (such that it exists in Tanzania), they still largely rely on traditional healing techniques.

In this instance, one of the children was sick so a cow was sacrificed and special meals were being prepared to heal the child. By the time that we had arrived, they had been there for a few days already and the child seemed fine. As we arrived, they were preparing another meal. There was meat being grilled and some kind of soup, the color of mud, was simmering. When I peered into the soup pot, it was all I could do to not throw up. In addition, to the “standard” parts of the cow was the stomach and the intestines.



Looks yummy, huh!? I’m all for cultural sensitivity, but it would be a cold day in hell before I ate that. Maya and Emma were great, but were clearly fighting the gag reflex.

The last activity of the day was visiting a foreteller. Quite frankly, other than shaking and pouring out stones, I really had no idea what he does. Apparently, women that cannot conceive go to him to find out if they’ll ever have kids. I’m not sure what else he does. Nonetheless, he was kind of a stunning presence. Interestingly, he had five wives and 20 kids.

Finally, we bought some tchothkes at a small Massai market, which had been assembled for our benefit.

Thus, ended another weekend adventure.