A walk in the bush

(Fair warning, if you are feeling squeamish or rather prim and proper, best not to read this one.)

Visiting neighbors is always an adventure. Yesterday we walked with a friend to visit her mother on the other side of the Ewuaso Kedong river. It took some convincing, but she finally agreed that we could walk instead of drive. She was concerned that we might get too tired. I have to admit what I do get tired of is people thinking I’m as strong as a soggy noodle and the best thing for me is to sit around and ogle at the wall! But what reference point do they have? Nothing except seeing olashumpai (white folks) going places in cars, eh?

dry river bed

So, off we went, under the sun, into the bush. I had wrapped my lesso around my skirt where it could take the snag of the “wait-a-bit” bushes (thorns) as we brushed past. I found myself in conversation in Maa with Kimanyisho as she led the way along the path to the bluff. For the first few minutes I felt deaf, like I couldn’t hear the language, but then my mind swung into step with the rhythm of the Maa words.

Kimanyisho’s family home was in a lovely spot, not far from the river, with big trees and cool shade. Her mother’s house was situated next to another that was in the process of being demolished. The new house was partially mudded so you could see the inner construction. It was a well made house with strong pieces of wood, solid weaving of grasses. The ceiling was high, too. I didn’t have to stoop, which is a rare thing. 

We were ushered in and seated in the back dark room to wait for our food. We never know quite what is coming or what is expected. We just have to relax and realize time will reveal all. So we waited. Soon, the mama came and showed us her “cuhbud” where she kept an open pot of milk with a thick scum.  She proceeded to pour two metal mugs full of room temperature milk and distribute them to us. 

I knew Doug would be working hard to get down a whole cup of plain milk, let alone milk who’s history was dubious with regard to the standard of preparation/preservation accustomed by our intestines. I said an earnest prayer of blessing over the drink and started in. It was not long till I knew my body was planning an evacuation. However, considering the circumstances, I quickly decided the best thing for me was to endure. And I did, through a dry chapati and another cup, though this time of hot milky tea. 

When might we head home? I had no idea, but hoped it wasn’t too far off. After various requests for pictures and recieving of beads and a bracelet, one of our hosts asked us when we were going to leave? Inwardly I smiled at the frankness, but I was grateful for this cue. “Whenever Kimanyisho wants,” I said. 

Without giving the gory details, suffice it to say that at some point, my insides became more insistent and I realized I could not wait till the hike home to take my walk into the bush. Most Maasai homes do not have a latrine. Everyone simply uses the bush. In this dry dry land, I imagine the results do not last long and soon become dust in the wind. 

The trick became to figure how, as one of the guests of honor, to make my departure without causing a lot of fuss and what I feared might be embarrassing effort to “assist” the “inexperienced” olashumpai. 

My break came as we moved outside. Our guide Kimanyisho went back into the house for one last “eating the news” with her mama. I quickly left the premises, hoping for a spot of privacy since the bush is always crawling with cows, goats and the people that herd them all day long, men, women, children. Praying as I hurried along, I mercifully found my spot and my relief. I regained my dignity and returned with gratefulness to the house where there was another round of thank you’s and then we were on our way. 

brother and sister

The path wove its way back across the river and up toward the low bluff, the other side of which was our house (the walk was estimated 2-3 km total). At the bluff, the incline increased, our guide and her sister who joined us, worried that maybe we were tired. “Go slowly, slowly”, advised the one. This is a culture where survival is more important than fitness (in fact fitness is not even a concept.) I remembered this perspective as I smiled calmly and assured my caretakers that I was not tired and in fact I was very happy to be taking a walk in the bush.