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Africanism: A Tale From The Maasai

Africanism: A Tale From The Maasai

Is there a descriptive word for the curious feelings that one experiences in the middle of a rainy night while camped in a flimsy tent that threatens to fall apart from the swishing and swooshing of a windy storm in the heart of a forest filled with all sorts of fearsome beasts? Such fearful sensations cannot be expressly described by the limited definitions of the word “fear”, especially when one unwillingly reminds themselves that they are actually in the centre of a vast forest several kilometres from a main road and hundreds of kilometres from any town. As the rain beats hard and as the wind howls eerily, one can barely sleep. One’s anxiety is only fuelled by the thought that the river, which is barely a hundred metres from your camp, has tripled in its size, speed and sound. 

 

The natives here are so used to such a life of fearful uncertainties that they willingly go on month-long expeditions in the hilly forests—expeditions that have no point other than to “reconnect with the ancestors” and “to seek spiritual insight” from the slaughtering of fat cows, the gathering and subsequent consumption of diverse medicinal herbs and, if or when opportunity presents itself in the shape of a beehive, extract the sweet and gooey liquid, some of which is consumed there and then, and the greater part of which is carried back home in small containers as a testimonial to the awaiting villagers that 

the expedition was a sweet success. 

 

From an urbane outsider’s point of view, one might think the Maasai a simple and backward people who yet have to discover the enlightenings of civilisation. 

As one is curled up in fear for one’s death in one’s fragile tent in so stormy a night, the rest of the native population for kilometres around are fast asleep in absolute comfort in small manyattas that might soon be knocked down by a herd of grazing elephants, or might be felled upon by some decade-old acacia tree struck down by lightning. As one sits up in endless contemplation on the calamities that might befall him should the electric fence stop pulsing in the middle of the night opening access to every scary beast that roams about in the cover of darkness, the native Maasai, whose settlement has no protective fencing, is sound asleep, dreaming of roast meat and assorted herbs. 

 

I once met a young Maasai man who, while he owned an oversized smartphone which somehow couldn’t fit in any of his pockets, had the most pious views of his culture. 

He told me, ” We as the Maasai, we do not know fear.” 

I asked, more craftily than curiously, 

” What animal scares you most out here in the jungle?” 

He gave a brusque reply: “None. ” 

 

He immediately pressed me to sit down, and began to tell me of how he has learned to face every animal, no matter how fearsome it might be, with audaciousness, rather than what sophisticated people call “fear”. He told me of how severally he and his friends have faced leopards and snatched their prey which of course ended up in their dinner pots. He told me of how they capture large snakes, how they kill them with the slightest of efforts, and how they delicately cook them. He told me on how he has severally met a large lion in the middle of a path, and how he cleverly avoided a possible attack by putting on a hard face, maintaining stern eye contact and backing up very slowly, or sometimes bravely going towards the large canine whilst maintaining the said demeanour, causing it to slowly back away. Of course, the lion is proverbial for its bravery, and should it ‘smell’ the slightest whiff of fear on any living person, it attacks, and very few have survived a lion encounter. 

 

My ears were now being fed with all sorts of anecdotes and tales from the past about this or that warrior who killed a number of man-eating beats with his trusty spear. I asked what happened to the meat of these savages beasts, to which he spontaneously replied while pointing to his stomach, ” We eat it.”

He then recited to me that while a giraffe’s flesh is very tough and hard to chew, a lion’s is soft and luxurious to the bite, but not as delicious. 

He also told me that a buffalo’s meat is almost as tasty as a cow’s, but very heavy on the stomach ( ps: I do not intend to inspire potential poachers reading this script. Poaching is a punishable and barbarous crime reserved for sadistic individuals who like to spend life behind bars ). 

Before I could digest what he was saying, he announced to me that the day before, they had spent the morning trying to harvest honey from a natural beehive atop a very tall tree. The method of extraction was quite interesting: With no protective gear or anything modern to aid them in the harvest, the group of young men and boys climbed up the tree with smoking embers in their hands, and directly approached the hive of unsuspecting bees which, as we will soon discover, proved themselves very hostile. 

The half-clad group precariously perched themselves on the tree and straightaway begun swinging the pungent-smelling embers this way and that towards the beehive in a bid to numb the winged inhabitants. Scarcely had the honey-producing insects become fully anaesthetised when the young men begun scooping their hands into and out of the hive and licking the sweet liquid off their fingers while transferring some into a handy container. 

That’s when hell broke loose. 

The bees attacked this group of sword- wielding warriors and delivered painful reminders to them that the African bee may be more deadly than any lion. The more flexible of the group hurriedly scampered down the tree while the more disadvantaged unceremoniously fell off, landing in painful heaps on the rocky riverbed beneath the tree. A small boy, he told me animatedly, was stung on his shaven head so many times that his scalp was white with the stings. As much as they tried to run and get rid of the pursuing bees, their efforts were in vain because they all endured several stings, and one should have seen their ballooned faces the next day when they came back to the same hive to complete the previous day’s failed attempt, albeit with more caution and discretion. 

“Fear”, he emphasised again , “does not exist in our community.” 

 

One has no choice but to ponder on how “civilisation” has made many indigenous African tribes lose not just their culture, but has also surreptitiously stolen from them some sentiments that existed only in pre-colonial or, if one permits, “uncivilised” Africa. For example, my peculiar fears of living in a shaky tent or a wobbly shelter did not exist in the days of my ancestors. Those days, one would easily sleep in an open tent made of sheepskin for years on end. Today, the idea of camping a fortnight in a strong, secure and waterproof tent does not appeal to our highly imaginative personalities. What’s more, the thought of walking in a forest alone does not sit well for most of us. What adventures our forefathers enjoyed! What pleasure (and pain) they got by interacting with nature! My aged relative likes reflecting on those days. He once made a detailed account to me on how they were chased by loud elephants down the slopes of Nyeri. He also told me on how they used to learn important life lessons that proved lifesaving, like how to avoid a leopard attack while alone in the forest. Dear modern men, how many would readily defend themselves from an offensive sharp-toothed beast in the wild without the aid of a rifle? How many of us can outrun a stomping herd of elephants at their heels? How many of us can actually run 😆 ? How many can face a lion bravely and, provided with a spear or some primitive weapon, strike it dead before it pounces on you and shreds you to pieces? How many can outsmart a charging bufallo or challenge an angry rhino? While it may never be required of some of us to study and practice the ways of the jungle, a knowledge of the same is imperative for a people like the Maasai. Sadly, this group of indigenous people is not well appreciated. Thier survival in the forests for centuries is enough proof that they are a highly intelligent and cultivated community. One cannot be more disappointed when one hears in the streets of town a civilised conversation that ends like this: “unanidangany’a unadhani mimi ni Mmasai?”, the mouthpiece of this derogatory expression often being from a community which so willingly bent to the wishes of colonial masters who took away their lands and gave them a strange book filled with even stranger words a century ago.

The Maasai, ironically, still own all of thier traditional land and cattle. What’s more, they still possess something more precious than even traditional itself: they have preserved the strength of mind to carry on in spite of apparent danger. Of the two primitive insticts fight or flight, they have embraced the former. They are brave, self-propelled and enduring, just like their ancestors. I am shy to narrate what has befallen the majority of most other communities, especially mine. We have fallen from grace to grass while the Maasai, and a few select communities have, despite the rapid changes surrounding them, chosen to live in thier own age-old customs. 

 

I have observed that if any man who considers himself civilised could train thier mind, they might gladly spend a month in a doorless hut in the middle of a lion-infested forest, but not without ensuring that they are well protected behind an electric fence all round and having a loaded rifle by thier bedside. 💔🤣 

 

While we might consider ourselves refined and sophisticated, we should look to the past and draw inspiration from the lives of our ancestors who knew not fear. 

 

A big salute to every Maasai tribesmen out there who, hundreds of years after civilisation , can still use the bow and arrow, still throw the heavy spear, and still wield the glimmering sword with the calculated precision of their forefathers.

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