sorrow is universal

day 3 with the maasai

here’s a funny maasai story for you (ironic way to start a blog with such a contrasting title, I know). in their culture they are very decorated people. you can usually recognize maasai, even if they’re dressed normally, because they have gauged ear lobes and big hoes in the helix and concha of the ear, and they hang elaborately beaded earrings in them. it is huge jewelry and looks almost painful they’re so heavy, dangling from ear to ear. not to mention the beaded jewelry around their wrists, ankles, necks and waist, even as children. they are so decorated and they never take it off, not even to sleep! can you say uncomfortable? well I was standing with a group of the women and children in the cow boma one evening, and we have a serious language barrier because none of them speak even a little english, but I talk to them nonetheless, and they talk back to me in maasai, and no one really knows what’s going on, but we hang out just the same. well they were looking at all of my earrings, and one of the little girls was counting them, and when she finished with what is ‘eight’ in maasai I said, ‘wait, one more!’ and quickly lifted my shirt so that they got a brief glimps of my simple belly button piercing. you would have thought I showed them that I have no belly button at all. the entire group gasped and covered their mouths and just about fell over with shock. I was tremendously entertained. these people, so weighed down with huge and intricately made jewelry, were absolutely appalled that I had a tiny piercing in my belly button. just another cultural difference… we’re all human beings, but at the same time, so incredibly different. I find it very fascinating.

our third day with the maasai I was up before the sun to the sound of the rooster crowing. I left amy asleep in the room and ventured out on own, my headlamp in hand but off so as to draw less attention to myself. it’s amazing how comfortable I feel walking around alone here. I thought kurt and dr.lace were already headed toward the boma to help with milking, so I went off after them. the shadows of the livestock against the dim morning sky played games with my eyes and I thought they were people at first, or more like ghosts, until I got close enough to make out the distinctive shape and color of donkeys, grazing quietly on this cool morning. I passed between them and they ignored me. I looked for the familiar huts, ones I recognized from walking around the days prior, I had an idea of where I wanted to go, though I wasn’t sure at which boma I find them. as I approached, I made out the giant silhouette of dr.lace, followed closely by the much shorter kurt. the morning was starting to get noisier as the animals got lively, but the sun had not yet risen and it was still quite dark. dr. lace and kurt were walking away from the boma and I cut across the rocks and made to intercept them. as I walked I started to notice a high pitched wailing noise, louder than the animals stirring all around me. I thought at first it might be some morning ritual dance with singing or chanting, but with each step it became louder and soon I was aware that it was a very sad noise. I strained my ears… crying? yes, definitely, that is the sound of agony, despair, grief. I came around the corner of a hut where kurt and dr. lace had stopped. there were several women up against the mud siding, they were wailing their high pitched cry and the children around them looked distraught, unsure of the situation. it was clear that something bad had happened, and soon we were informed that one of their people had died in the night.

the men approached the mourning women and started yelling at them and beating them with their sticks. the women dispersed and we were led by one of the men to a small hut nearby. it was still dark but I could make out dr. lace’s plaid pajama bottoms that fell like high-waters well above his teva sandals. he went in the hut to check the body, we waited outside. when he confirmed the death we headed back to the house to get gladness, we needed a translator. as the sun came up we gathered with gladness and the men around that same hut and deciphered the story. apparently he was a young man, early twenties, who suffered from epilepsy. it appeared he had a seizure in the night and was discovered in the early morning, stiff and cold. they think maybe the noise from the campaign, the motorbikes and crowds of people, had set off an episode. there was some confusion about weather his wife had been with him, and there was talk of maybe another man in the hut as well, but no one wanted to disclose the exact circumstances around the death and who found the body. the maasai people do not like dead bodies. usually, when a person dies, they take the body out into the bush and leave it. if you are eaten by the animals within three days you were a good person, if you are not eaten, you were a bad person. that’s pretty much the extent of it. better hope that the day you die the animals are hungry, right?

after dealing with all of that in the early morning we went back for breakfast then headed to the clinic as usual. there were fewer patients than the day before because everyone was mourning. the village sort of shut down because of the death. we still saw many of the same cases: symptoms from the smoky huts and malnourished children. we ran out of the vitamin drink as well as almost used all of the mebendazole. still the mandatory tea break, and when it got slow in the afternoon we stepped outside to play with the children. we had nothing to give them except masks, which we joked they could seriously use when they’re in the huts. we also blew up our purple gloves and gave them out as balloons. they were a hit! and there was a paper airplane making competition… but despite standing out front of the clinic as a mzungu beacon to draw attention to the clinic, by the afternoon our patients were all on their way to the funeral, so we ended early and went to change.

because of this tragic death we had the opportunity to witness what few wzungus have ever gotten to see. we were definitely the first white people to get to attend a funeral in this particular village, and it was a privilege to see the ritual. here’s how it went… paulo was his name, and his mother, mama paulo, was out of the village, so while they sent someone to track her down, the men made the decision to do the westernized-type funeral gladness is trying to bring to the village for sanitation reasons (it’s not good to have dead bodies littered around the outskirts of the village). they ordered a coffin, which arrived later that day, a beautiful deep colored wooden coffin decorated with, oddly enough, pink and purple ribbon. ok… dr. lace, gladness, and a few non-maasai had agreed to clean the body and prepare it. they washed him and dressed him in a mzungu shirt he had been gifted a few days prior that he had been very proud to own, and his shuka (maasai blanket) around his legs. when the coffin arrived they lifted him out of the hut and placed him inside while the women sang mournful songs and everyone gathered around to pay their respects. the men stand apart, observing. the genders stay relatively separate throughout the entire procession.

we paraded down to the burial site. a small cemetery, maybe only half a dozen graves from what I could tell (this idea of burial is very new to the lengasti), all surrounded by rocks and covered in the thorny bushes to prevent animals from digging up the bodies. the coffin was brought down on a truck and lowered into the pre-dug hole. more songs were bellowed out by the women mostly, as the men walked away and returned with rocks and thorny branches they had collected to place around the grave. I had another one of those moments, I am standing there with two of the women who work in gladness’ kitchen (the rest of the mzungus were off near dr.lace), I am very hot in the afternoon sun and both the flies and dust are bothering me tremendously but im trying not to let on that they annoy me. I am wrapped modestly in a neutral green scarf, around my head and shoulders, with a skirt down to my ankles, trying to blend in, though the sunglasses give me away. the voices of the women are beautiful in an eerie, sorrowful kind of way. I consider where we are standing, in the middle of the bush, so far from any city, unfathomably far from home, with people who do not speak the same language, who live lives so different than my own, and yet we’re all mourning a death together. how did I get here?

we walk back to the main boma where paulo had lived. the men and women segregate (in this case the reason is that the men will be served better food – more meat – than the women and children). all of us head to where the women and children have gathered, even dr. lace and kurt. they are gathered in the shade of the huts, sitting low around the edges and leaning against the dried dung. we stand in the opening between several huts and listen to the task gladness is giving us. thu and I are to wash the women’s hands, amy and kurt will deliver the plates if pilau (beef rice). we were happy to help. gladness gives me a cup. I scoop water from a bucket. it is not clean, but relative to their hands it will help. I walk from woman to woman pouring a thin stream over both hands or often just the right as they rub their fingers, rinsing off the superficial dirt but doing nothing for the black stained nails and dirt deep in the cracks of their weathered hands. I pour until they signal for me to stop, them move to the next woman. on and on, cup after cup, until the bucket is almost empty. once all of the women have washed, I moved to the children. they swarm the stream of water spilling from the cup like it’s candy, I move the cup higher to escape their eager fingers. their outstretched hands dirty the water so that the littlest children are washing in water muddied and brown from the hands above. it’s quite the sight, very national geographic-esque :) and I couldn’t help but laugh… children around the world are so similar.

finally we are done with our task and it is time to eat. we wash the same way, and amy brings over the plate of rice. we stand around it staring for a moment, still too full from lunch to even think about pulling more food in our swollen bellies. the children are nearby being served a small portion of rice. I ask gladness’ permission, then kurt and I begin creating small rice balls from the plate of food given to us. I make eye contact with one of the children and extend my hand, filled with the pilau. she walks over and takes it. another child sees and comes over the get a handful from kurt. the rice is steaming and keeps burning our hands, but word is spreading fast and we cannot make the rice balls quick enough to keep up with the outstretched hands. fistful after fistful of pilau is given out, we’re trying to make sure every child gets some but some keep coming back for seconds and thirds. they’ve mastered their method of obtaining the most rice. as soon as you place the pilau in one outstretched hand it goes straight to the face and the other reaches out simultaneously in hopes of getting more. it was cracking me up. if they’re lucky enough to get another handful, that one starts stuffing their mouths while the first hand, now licked clean, comes forward seeking more. survival of the fittest, these kids are always hungry, they’ve maximize their food obtaining techniques. once the rice was gone and the children seemed adequately filled we headed back to gladness’.

gladness has started a women’s group in lengasti. she brings in supplies and teaches them how to make bracelets, necklaces, baskets and more. they are then able to sell these goods and make a profit so that they do not have to rely only on the men for income. it is very empowering to teach women such skills, and helps them earn money of their own. that empowerment can ultimately lead to a lower fertility rate and allow the women to take better care of their children. to say the least, the effects are widespread, and we were more than happy to support these women. no bargaining went on, we simply paid the asking price and were happy to do so. I got the coolest maasai necklace! not exactly something ill be wearing around town, but it will make a wonderful wall decoration. quite elaborate and interesting. or who knows, maybe ill be starting a new fashion trend in the states :)