‘A pure Masai man’
Posted: Thursday, September 20, 2007 2:25 PM
Filed Under:
On Assignment
By Martin Fletcher, NBC News Tel Aviv Bureau Chief
MASAI MARA, Kenya – One thing that has always bugged me is when people interrupt each other, not letting the other person finish their sentence. Everybody is in such a hurry to say something, we rarely really listen.
So when Kipas, a Masai chief on the edge of the African Rift Valley escarpment in Kenya, gave me his talking stick, I was thrilled. We have a lot to learn from these simple nomadic Masai herdsmen, I thought, and their wonderful respectful customs.
When the men gather, whoever holds the talking stick, speaks. Everyone else listens. If you want to talk, you wait until you are handed the talking stick. It is a narrow piece of smoothed wood about eighteen inches long with a knob on one end, like a small club, decorated with brightly-colored, patterned beads. It is a thing of honor and the chief gave it to me as a present.
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| NBC News/ Martin Fletcher |
| Masai Chief Tobias Ole Kipas Manie watches over his herd with local village boys. |
I humbly accepted it with my left hand and he grabbed it back. "No," Kipas said, his perpetual happy smile suddenly replaced by a grimace, "Never hold it in the left hand."
"Oh, sorry," I said.
"It is our custom," he explained.
Here, among the Masai, an ancient, proud tribe struggling to fend off the encroachment of the modern era, custom explains everything, but when I asked if women carry talking sticks too, Kipas didn’t smile. For while men gather to talk, to decide, to rest beneath the tree, and in general while away the day delightfully, custom and tradition dictate a different way of life for their womenfolk.
Lots of work, laughter, too
It isn’t for me to criticize or judge, but here is a list of what a typical Masai woman does in her day.
She walks to collect water and then carries it back home – which can be miles away. Then she goes out again to gather and carry wood for the fire. She prepares the food and cares for the children. If the family moves to a new or temporary home, the woman builds the house, mostly of mud and sticks.
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| NBC News/ Martin Fletcher |
| Masai boy herding his cows. Masai herders use a lekolulo (a flute) and whistles in the herding process. |
A Masai woman can share her husband with a number of other wives, usually depending on how wealthy the man is, which is measured in cows and goats and land. She can be divorced almost at will by her husband, as long as the men of the tribe agree. And certainly the women don’t gather beneath the tree, pass the talking stick, and decide on the affairs of the tribe.
A myriad of other customs confirm the superior role of the man, and the subservient role of the woman, to an extent that may startle an American.
Yet here’s the funny thing. In the days that my NBC team and I spent with the Masai, the dominant sound in the village and around the water spring and in the fields was women laughing.
They chattered happily with each other, stroked the heads of the children and cared for each other – and all the while they smiled and seemed happy. As they toiled and bore the burdens of village life, one word came to mind – acceptance. They accept their lot.
Even so, I thought, I wouldn’t want to be a Masai woman; but I wouldn’t mind being a Masai man at all.
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| NBC News / Jeff Riggins |
| NBC's Martin Fletcher with Masai Chief Tobia Ole Kipas Manie. |
Not so badTake Ben, resplendent in bright Masai red, a color they believe frightens away lions and other predators. He was chatting with a couple of friends by the entrance to the village. Strings of beads and shiny tin dangles hung around his neck and his ears had decorative holes in the lobes. He smiled and was friendly.
"I wear all this decoration because I am a pure Masai man," he said.
"And what do you do all day?" I asked. His English was good.
"I herded my cattle this morning and tend for them, and at the end of the day I will bring them back to the village," he answered.
"Oh," I said. "Where are they?" I peered into the distant rolling, wooded hills of the escarpment, shielding my eyes from the sun, searching for his cattle. The Masai are tall and lean and can walk fast for hours.
"There," he pointed. And there were his cattle, lolling and grazing by the nearest tree, a hundred yards away.
"That’s your day?" I asked in envy.
"Today, yes, but sometimes I rest."
