tell us that he does have to go to his school from time to time.
As we’re talking over all this, four women in nun’s habits walk by heading for the Mission. Then shortly afterwards the new Colombian priest appears and sits down to join us. He asks us how we’re doing and how we’ve enjoyed our stay so far. He’s very interested in how Lketinga behaved towards me and is pleased to hear that we’ve had no problems. He explains that James and he have worked together on several projects. For example, James is the agent and financial manager for a group ofwomen who make traditional jewellery that is sold as far away as Nairobi. The women are paid per piece and several of them have already had good wooden houses built on the proceeds. I’m impressed to hear all this, particularly that he has been helping the women.
The priest tells us he’s been here in Barsaloi for five years and arrived just after the bloody conflict with the Turkana. He also tells us about events at the Mission since my hasty departure. Immediately after Father Giuliani left in 1991 more missionaries arrived, one of whom died of tropical malaria. He was taken to Nairobi where they tried for over a year to save his life. The story sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of my own horrific experiences of malaria. More than once I nearly died of it. The most dramatic time was two months before Napirai’s birth when Father Giuliani saved me from the worst only by summoning the Flying Doctors who flew me to the hospital in Wamba literally at the last moment. It comes back to me how close a brush with death I really had.
In response to our curiosity about the Turkana business, the priest tells us as much as he knows:
‘Nobody was expecting it, even though there had been a few attacks on individuals over several months and even a couple of deaths. But the occasional minor incident between the two neighbouring tribes of Turkana and Samburu were not exactly unusual. But what happened at the beginning of December 1996 took everyone by surprise. The day began normally enough. The warriors and children set off from the village with their herds as usual. But a rumour spread like bushfire that during the night gangs of robbers had been seen lighting campfires by the side of the roads. Nobody knew anything for sure, however. Then around midday suddenly some six hundred armed Turkana attacked the outskirts of Barsaloi. They swept down out of the mountains and surrounded both people and animals, driving them down towards the river bed. Anyone who tried to defend themselves, warriors with spears or even women and children, were simply shot. When people here in the village heard the first shots they had no idea what was happening. Then the first of those who had escaped arrived and told them. After a brief discussion it was decided that everyone should flee as quickly as possible, but there was only one direction they could go. The Samburu could do nothing but watch as their entire livestock herds were driven away: some twenty thousand goats and a few thousand cattle. With their own survival at stake, the peoplesimply fled. At the time nobody could explain why the Turkana had suddenly got hold of such superior weapons. The raid was carried out like an organized crime.
‘The four priests who were here at the time refused to leave the Mission and offered people sanctuary in the church. But even they were attacked, and the daughter of one of the Mission employees was killed. One of the priests had a bullet shot through his leg, and another was wounded in the arm. When the dead girl was found it was a complete shock to everyone. The Mission was evacuated at short notice and emergency aid requested from Nairobi. But it took days before anything happened. In the meantime all the Samburu warriors had got together and decided to go and get their animals back even without firearms, which they managed in large part. But it was only days later after many, many dead that
As we’re talking over all this, four women in nun’s habits walk by heading for the Mission. Then shortly afterwards the new Colombian priest appears and sits down to join us. He asks us how we’re doing and how we’ve enjoyed our stay so far. He’s very interested in how Lketinga behaved towards me and is pleased to hear that we’ve had no problems. He explains that James and he have worked together on several projects. For example, James is the agent and financial manager for a group ofwomen who make traditional jewellery that is sold as far away as Nairobi. The women are paid per piece and several of them have already had good wooden houses built on the proceeds. I’m impressed to hear all this, particularly that he has been helping the women.
The priest tells us he’s been here in Barsaloi for five years and arrived just after the bloody conflict with the Turkana. He also tells us about events at the Mission since my hasty departure. Immediately after Father Giuliani left in 1991 more missionaries arrived, one of whom died of tropical malaria. He was taken to Nairobi where they tried for over a year to save his life. The story sends a shiver down my spine, reminding me of my own horrific experiences of malaria. More than once I nearly died of it. The most dramatic time was two months before Napirai’s birth when Father Giuliani saved me from the worst only by summoning the Flying Doctors who flew me to the hospital in Wamba literally at the last moment. It comes back to me how close a brush with death I really had.
In response to our curiosity about the Turkana business, the priest tells us as much as he knows:
‘Nobody was expecting it, even though there had been a few attacks on individuals over several months and even a couple of deaths. But the occasional minor incident between the two neighbouring tribes of Turkana and Samburu were not exactly unusual. But what happened at the beginning of December 1996 took everyone by surprise. The day began normally enough. The warriors and children set off from the village with their herds as usual. But a rumour spread like bushfire that during the night gangs of robbers had been seen lighting campfires by the side of the roads. Nobody knew anything for sure, however. Then around midday suddenly some six hundred armed Turkana attacked the outskirts of Barsaloi. They swept down out of the mountains and surrounded both people and animals, driving them down towards the river bed. Anyone who tried to defend themselves, warriors with spears or even women and children, were simply shot. When people here in the village heard the first shots they had no idea what was happening. Then the first of those who had escaped arrived and told them. After a brief discussion it was decided that everyone should flee as quickly as possible, but there was only one direction they could go. The Samburu could do nothing but watch as their entire livestock herds were driven away: some twenty thousand goats and a few thousand cattle. With their own survival at stake, the peoplesimply fled. At the time nobody could explain why the Turkana had suddenly got hold of such superior weapons. The raid was carried out like an organized crime.
‘The four priests who were here at the time refused to leave the Mission and offered people sanctuary in the church. But even they were attacked, and the daughter of one of the Mission employees was killed. One of the priests had a bullet shot through his leg, and another was wounded in the arm. When the dead girl was found it was a complete shock to everyone. The Mission was evacuated at short notice and emergency aid requested from Nairobi. But it took days before anything happened. In the meantime all the Samburu warriors had got together and decided to go and get their animals back even without firearms, which they managed in large part. But it was only days later after many, many dead that
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