Neighbors

Just to our south is a cluster of mud huts. Two brothers live in adjacent clusters. The first brother has two wives and his mother and all their goats in his cluster of three huts. A fence made of thorn branches marks out the homestead. 

This is a manyatta, a family hut cluster. This one is not in our area, but it looks similar.

The second brother lives a stone’s throw away in another cluster consisting of four huts. His two wives and his two son’s wives make up the women in the group. Added together, this makes exactly six younger mamas and one kokoo (grandma) who are my neighbors to the south.  There’s an estimated 15 children between the lot. Whenever I go to share some vegetables from my garden, I make sure to divide it into seven small bags, one for each woman. There are already favoritism issues in those households, I don’t want to add to the fray.

Najile gas station

All of these ladies come by regularly, though some more than others. They come to greet me, to get their cell phone charged, or to ask for water if there’s none running at their closest water point. 

A special affection has grown in me for these ladies. They are my friends, they help me learn Maa by talking slowly and using simple words. I don’t think any of them know their own age or birthday. The two youngest ones may not be 20 yet. I’m sure they all were teenagers when they were given out for marriage by their fathers. 

Neighbors Lois and Nalamai dress their best when they get a job cooking for an event at the regional girl's secondary boarding school.

None of them can read, or write their own name. Their sweet smiles and open friendliness towards me puts me to shame when I get impatient with them coming to the door at any given hour. It is a common spot where our native cultures rub- mine being a culture of privacy and individuality, theirs being a culture where everything is shared, anyone comes by any time and can walk straight in (They learned with the previous MCC-ers that this is not ok so we’ve had little problem with unannounced visitors).

I know that their husbands beat them. Some of them bear the scars on their faces. It tears me up to think of it. They are traditional Maasai and believe it is just what you do.  They discipline their wives and their children similarly- it is common thought that you need to do it every now and then to help them respect you and remember your authority as the man. 

This hut belongs to my neighbor lady named Parakuo Sokento.

They cover their mud huts with pieces of plastic sheeting and hold it down with stones. Besides building and doing maintenance on their house, the women are responsible for buying and making food, hauling all the water, taking turns watching the animals all day out in the bush, milking the cows, walking the 10 km to market to shop (carrying the shopping back on your back), making bead jewelry, collecting firewood from the bush,  and having and caring for babies.

All our neighbors use wood for cooking every meal- many cook in small cook sheds or inside their huts.

Nearly all my neighbor ladies sing in one of the church choirs every Sunday.  They deck themselves out in their finest handmade jewelry and newest shukas combining all colors of the rainbow. As they sing, they bob their heads and back sides, jutting their chins and knees forward in succession, faces emotionless. Maasai, and Kenyans in general, tend not to show much emotional expression.

the choir finishes their song as they dance back to their seats.

Many of the “Maasai gospel” songs follow a repetitive chord pattern so that the untrained ear may hear the same song over and over. They sing with their lips barely moving. For this reason, though I’ve listened to the same songs over and over, straining my ears, pushing the flap of my ear forward to try to help me hear, I am still only able to make out a few words that I can identify. Though I recognize many tunes, some I find hard to replicate due to their sliding nature.

Ewuaso Town regional market- people walk hours to get here on Monday. This is the larger town  about 10 km from our house.

Some of my neighbor ladies would never ask me for anything and have offered to pay for the tiniest thing. Others scan my trash cans and will try to get as many things as possible from me. Some are loud and bossy, others are shy and sweet, others get mad easily and stomp off, but later act like nothing happened. 

Though they love to wear uniform shuka outfits for a special choir Sunday or a special gathering, each of these neighbor ladies of mine is unique and has a story. I hope to learn more of them.  Right now, my limited Maa keeps us talking about basic neighborly things like the weather, their kids, local events, etc. 

Najile Town Centre- this is about 1 km from our house.

Maasai and their cows. It is common to see boys or girls as young as 5 out in the middle of the bush with their family goats.