This Maasai village, or manyatta, was located just a bit off a well traveled bumpy dirt road. There are several villages stretched out along the same road that are open for tours, but our safari guide, Mussa took us this particular village because he said they are "good singers". Danny, I, and our safari friend, Sharon were all about good singing.
We were greeted by Paul, a young Maasai man who would be our guide through the village. Maasai typically require payment if you want to take their picture, but paying a fee for the tour meant that we were allowed to photograph as much as we wanted. I was excited about this.
Paul then called to the others in the manyatta to gather round to welcome us with traditional song and dance. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed that all the music was made with only their voices. It sounded like a small orchestra of foreign instruments. Pretty cool. The dancing consisted of some very high vertical jumping from the men, and bouncing of the traditional beaded disk necklaces from the women. Later, the Maasai encouraged us to join them in their dance. It was not easy. They looked graceful and beautiful. We looked ridiculous.
Paul then took us inside the thorny bush wall surrounding the manyatta that serves as protection from wild animals. He showed us where their cattle and goats are kept, the preschool made of sticks, and the short and very small houses where the Maasai live.
We were invited into one of the short mud houses which I felt a bit reluctant to enter. It felt weird because Paul had to shoo a Maasai woman and two babies out of the house so that there would be room enough for us to enter. Did I mention that the houses are very small? Inside the hut was very dark and very smoky. In the center of the house there was a small pile of smoldering coals and one overturned bucket which served as a chair. There were no windows, no electricity, and no running water.
Paul pointed to where the beds were, but I couldn't really make them out because of the darkness. I think they were basically a pile of sticks and branches covered with a few blankets. Paul sat on the bucket and motioned for us to sit on the bed. At this moment I began to feel very awkward. It felt so unnatural for us to be making ourselves at home in such a small personal space, and yet I didn't want to offend our host. Sharon brilliantly bowed out of the hut making the excuse that she needed to leave due to the smoke aggravating her asthma. (She really does have asthma.) Danny muttered only to me that he genuinely wished that he'd had asthma at that moment too. At Paul's insistence, Danny and I sat on the very narrowest edge of the bed while Paul explained a little about life in the hut. I tried to listen, but in reality I couldn't wait to get back out into the open air.
After the hut we were escorted to the last stop of the tour, a "shop" where there was a display of handmade beaded jewelry and other items for sale. Let me just say that there was a lot of pressure to buy something. Fortunately the handiwork was really beautiful and we found a few things that we wanted to take home. I felt like they were gouging us when haggling over prices, but Danny told me not to worry about the money. He really is very generous.
I was surprised by the confusing swirl of emotions I felt after we left the Maasai manyatta. As I tried to sort it all out on the long drive still ahead of us, I made a few determinations. It's important to note that these conclusions are based more on my personal anxieties than the hospitality of the Maasai.
Although the Maasai welcomed us into their manyatta, I didn't truly feel welcome. There is a big difference between being invited into someone's home and paying to be invited into someone's home. I especially felt this gap this when I would take their picture. The Maasai were friendly, yet when I snapped photos of them, I felt as if I were invading their privacy. It lacked the warmth of photographing a friend who wants to preserve a memory of a special moment.
I expected the Maasai lifestyle to be very pastoral and simple, but my mere presence complicated it in a significant way. The introduction of tourists seems to have robbed the village of its authenticity. Most Maasai tribes don't subsist on the profits of tourism, so the fact that this one does makes it feel a bit contrived.
I think the experience was like getting wrapped up in a reality TV show. Sometimes I get pulled into a show by the characters and their absurd antics as they engage in dramatic situations. I get all emotionally involved in the lives of strangers despite the fact that I know the show is scripted. I know it is all manufactured just to suck me in. And I still fall for it.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad we stopped to visit the Maasai manyatta. The people are gorgeous. Their talents are impressive. Their lifestyle is fascinating. I am inspired by their tenacity and commitment to minimalism. It was certainly a valuable experience. And afterall, I did get some really beautiful photos.
Paul pointed to where the beds were, but I couldn't really make them out because of the darkness. I think they were basically a pile of sticks and branches covered with a few blankets. Paul sat on the bucket and motioned for us to sit on the bed. At this moment I began to feel very awkward. It felt so unnatural for us to be making ourselves at home in such a small personal space, and yet I didn't want to offend our host. Sharon brilliantly bowed out of the hut making the excuse that she needed to leave due to the smoke aggravating her asthma. (She really does have asthma.) Danny muttered only to me that he genuinely wished that he'd had asthma at that moment too. At Paul's insistence, Danny and I sat on the very narrowest edge of the bed while Paul explained a little about life in the hut. I tried to listen, but in reality I couldn't wait to get back out into the open air.
After the hut we were escorted to the last stop of the tour, a "shop" where there was a display of handmade beaded jewelry and other items for sale. Let me just say that there was a lot of pressure to buy something. Fortunately the handiwork was really beautiful and we found a few things that we wanted to take home. I felt like they were gouging us when haggling over prices, but Danny told me not to worry about the money. He really is very generous.
I was surprised by the confusing swirl of emotions I felt after we left the Maasai manyatta. As I tried to sort it all out on the long drive still ahead of us, I made a few determinations. It's important to note that these conclusions are based more on my personal anxieties than the hospitality of the Maasai.
Although the Maasai welcomed us into their manyatta, I didn't truly feel welcome. There is a big difference between being invited into someone's home and paying to be invited into someone's home. I especially felt this gap this when I would take their picture. The Maasai were friendly, yet when I snapped photos of them, I felt as if I were invading their privacy. It lacked the warmth of photographing a friend who wants to preserve a memory of a special moment.
I expected the Maasai lifestyle to be very pastoral and simple, but my mere presence complicated it in a significant way. The introduction of tourists seems to have robbed the village of its authenticity. Most Maasai tribes don't subsist on the profits of tourism, so the fact that this one does makes it feel a bit contrived.
I think the experience was like getting wrapped up in a reality TV show. Sometimes I get pulled into a show by the characters and their absurd antics as they engage in dramatic situations. I get all emotionally involved in the lives of strangers despite the fact that I know the show is scripted. I know it is all manufactured just to suck me in. And I still fall for it.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad we stopped to visit the Maasai manyatta. The people are gorgeous. Their talents are impressive. Their lifestyle is fascinating. I am inspired by their tenacity and commitment to minimalism. It was certainly a valuable experience. And afterall, I did get some really beautiful photos.
