Blood & Milk by N.R. Walker Page B

you angry?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “No. I cannot change it. One is not show anger at the sun for setting. I am not angry that the water runs or that the lion hunts.”
    “Well, it pisses me off,” I told him. “Makes me very angry that they would treat you this way.”
    His lips twitched as he fought a smile. “It is no matter.”
    “Well, it matters to me. I wish they’d see you like I do.”
    He scoffed, like the whole notion of a compliment was absurd. Then an idea came to me. “Who will tend to the cattle when the boys are gone?”
    “Komboa,” Damu answered.
    “But he’s just a baby! He can’t be more than five.”
    “Maasai learn very young. It is the way we live for many lives.”
    I sighed. Centuries-old traditions be damned. “Could you and I look after the cattle?”
    “We will, yes.”
    “We will? For real? Do we get to see the Serengeti?”
    Damu grinned at my excitement. “Yes. Everyone does this when warriors are gone.”
    Everyone chipped in when the tribe was halved in number. Awesome! Herding cattle and goats and teaching the kids in our spare time. I clapped my hands together. “This is good news. Good news.”
    Damu laughed.
    So that’s what we did for the next month. We grazed cattle in the mornings, then I sat with the children in our little school until the sun called it a day. Joseph and Mbaya did come back with a blackboard. It was old chipboard that had been painted over with blackboard paint, and it had also been well used. I didn’t ask if they’d stolen it from a school somewhere, because I truthfully didn’t want to know, and I didn’t particularly care. Because we had ourselves a blackboard for our school! It was cause for major celebrations with the children, who were fascinated by chalk and the ability to draw then wipe it away and to draw it again.
    Finding such joy in the simplest of things was a truly grounding and humbling experience. I was so far removed from the life I’d once known… and it was the happiest I could remember being in a long, long time.
    But as good as it was to see the children so excited and to watch their faces as they learned to draw letters on the chalkboard, my most favourite thing was to herd the goats.
    After water collection and breakfast, at Kasisi’s instruction, Damu and I would take goats into the plains to graze. We would head northwest to the rockier outcrops while the younger boys, like Momboa and Jaali, would take the cattle south. Goats were peskier, more stubborn, so the much easier cattle were shepherded by the kids.
    They were probably better at it than I was, but that was a thought I kept to myself.
    Kasisi had given Damu and me long sticks. Not the long white sticks of the elders and certainly not a spear like the warriors had. It was merely a tool for herding, not a status of rank, though Damu was still very proud to have received it. I followed Damu’s cues by bowing my head and thanking Kasisi, as though we’d been bestowed with a great honour.
    Some customs I could understand, some I could appreciate, and some I could respect. But some were a test to my resolve of not judging. Some I didn’t think I would ever understand.
    “What you be thinking?” Damu asked, breaking me from my train of thought.
    I looked out across the Serengeti. “That if I ever questioned why the Maasai chose to live so removed from the rest of the world, then this is my answer.” I waved my hand across the panoramic view. The grasses were brown now, the colder weather had put an end to the afternoon storms, and the days of rain were few and far between. But there were a few spots of animals in the distance. Antelopes and possibly some buffalo. I hadn’t seen many animals roaming free―mostly oryx, gazelles, and some wildebeest. They were truly magnificent to watch, even from this distance. The scenery was so beautiful, so remote, and so perfectly disconnected. I loved it. “This is very good.”
    “You happy here?”
    Well,