wife.
She is sitting just a few feet from us milking a goat. It would appear she has been out with part of the herd, which is why I haven’t seen her until now. Considering that their wedding – and therefore the grim ‘circumcision’ – only took place a month ago, it can hardly be easy work for her.
I try to observe her without drawing attention to myself. She’s a well-built young girl wearing traditional Samburu jewellery but comes across as rather shy and unsure of herself. It’s no wonder, as she hasn’t been here long and her home is several hours away on foot. She has no idea when she’ll see her parents or friends again. She obviously feels an outsider here still and, apart from anything else, is living with someone she hardly knows who must seem an old man to her. The more I try to imagine myself inher place, the more sympathetic I feel towards her. As it’s getting dark I can’t see her face properly but I make a point of looking out for her tomorrow. It’s strange that Lketinga hasn’t even introduced me to his new wife yet!
James asks if we’d like something more to eat. His wife could make spaghetti. I have to laugh because back in the old days they turned up their noses at food like that even in Mombasa, saying we white people were worm-eaters. And yet now even out here in the bush they’re cooking pasta. How things change! But we’re all still full from the filling stew and don’t feel like anything else. I make do with a cup of chai and the freshly produced goat milk.
By now it’s dark and in the huts people are talking and cooking. First of all they make chai and then the maize porridge they call ugali . Children of all ages are running between the manyattas doing little chores. James is feeling rundown and feverish again and we too slowly begin to notice how exhausted we are. There are people all around us all the time and there’s never a minute when you can retreat and be on your own for half an hour to chill out. All the time there are men, women and now children clustered around us talking to us in Maa, which we don’t understand, or just standing and gawping at us.
I’ve already had several young men come to see me. Two of them were schoolmates of James and used to come by our house regularly to play cards. I’m pleased to see them and that they’re doing well. However, they all have the same problem: no jobs. That’s partly why they want to go into further education but they can’t find anyone to sponsor them. They ask me if I can offer them any financial support but it’s hard to promise something to one and not the other, and how am I expected to make a decision like that? Apart from anything else, they’re all about James’s age – just over thirty. I promise to think about it and make a mental note to ask some questions up at the Mission.
An Evening In The Mission
T o give everyone a bit of a break we decline a communal evening meal tonight and decide to retire to our camp. We agree to meet up in the morning for a long chat with James, Lketinga and Mama. There are so many things I still want to know about the past few years.
Back at the camp we settle down on our folding chairs and our drivers Francis and John light lamps to provide us with a little light. We spoil ourselves with a drop of red wine to round off the day. As a selection of nibbles are magically produced from inside the vehicles it occurs to me that this time, as opposed to my previous incarnation in Barsaloi, I’m not going to lose any weight.
I tell the others it should be possible to get in touch with Father Giuliani over the Mission radio and we decide to have a go the next day. As we are due to be on the White Masai film set in two days’ time we could go and visit Giuliani afterwards and then come back to Barsaloi for an end-of-trip party. It also makes sense for us to leave the family in peace for a while. We’ve caused a lot of disruption to their everyday lives. Even James has had to
She is sitting just a few feet from us milking a goat. It would appear she has been out with part of the herd, which is why I haven’t seen her until now. Considering that their wedding – and therefore the grim ‘circumcision’ – only took place a month ago, it can hardly be easy work for her.
I try to observe her without drawing attention to myself. She’s a well-built young girl wearing traditional Samburu jewellery but comes across as rather shy and unsure of herself. It’s no wonder, as she hasn’t been here long and her home is several hours away on foot. She has no idea when she’ll see her parents or friends again. She obviously feels an outsider here still and, apart from anything else, is living with someone she hardly knows who must seem an old man to her. The more I try to imagine myself inher place, the more sympathetic I feel towards her. As it’s getting dark I can’t see her face properly but I make a point of looking out for her tomorrow. It’s strange that Lketinga hasn’t even introduced me to his new wife yet!
James asks if we’d like something more to eat. His wife could make spaghetti. I have to laugh because back in the old days they turned up their noses at food like that even in Mombasa, saying we white people were worm-eaters. And yet now even out here in the bush they’re cooking pasta. How things change! But we’re all still full from the filling stew and don’t feel like anything else. I make do with a cup of chai and the freshly produced goat milk.
By now it’s dark and in the huts people are talking and cooking. First of all they make chai and then the maize porridge they call ugali . Children of all ages are running between the manyattas doing little chores. James is feeling rundown and feverish again and we too slowly begin to notice how exhausted we are. There are people all around us all the time and there’s never a minute when you can retreat and be on your own for half an hour to chill out. All the time there are men, women and now children clustered around us talking to us in Maa, which we don’t understand, or just standing and gawping at us.
I’ve already had several young men come to see me. Two of them were schoolmates of James and used to come by our house regularly to play cards. I’m pleased to see them and that they’re doing well. However, they all have the same problem: no jobs. That’s partly why they want to go into further education but they can’t find anyone to sponsor them. They ask me if I can offer them any financial support but it’s hard to promise something to one and not the other, and how am I expected to make a decision like that? Apart from anything else, they’re all about James’s age – just over thirty. I promise to think about it and make a mental note to ask some questions up at the Mission.
An Evening In The Mission
T o give everyone a bit of a break we decline a communal evening meal tonight and decide to retire to our camp. We agree to meet up in the morning for a long chat with James, Lketinga and Mama. There are so many things I still want to know about the past few years.
Back at the camp we settle down on our folding chairs and our drivers Francis and John light lamps to provide us with a little light. We spoil ourselves with a drop of red wine to round off the day. As a selection of nibbles are magically produced from inside the vehicles it occurs to me that this time, as opposed to my previous incarnation in Barsaloi, I’m not going to lose any weight.
I tell the others it should be possible to get in touch with Father Giuliani over the Mission radio and we decide to have a go the next day. As we are due to be on the White Masai film set in two days’ time we could go and visit Giuliani afterwards and then come back to Barsaloi for an end-of-trip party. It also makes sense for us to leave the family in peace for a while. We’ve caused a lot of disruption to their everyday lives. Even James has had to
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