The Gift of Receiving

I suppressed an inner moan as I looked at the mass of food on my plate yet to eat. A horrible thought popped into my brain. What would happen if I need to rush out of the manyatta because my stomach might reject the pile of "endaa" (food) which I was pressing down into it...

We had arrived after a couple hour walk to the manyatta of Maria, a gentle lady with the sweetest smile. After a refreshment of 5 pieces of white bread served to each of us on metal plates and a cup of hot watered down cocoa, we rested and chatted, getting to know the friends of our friend who were there to keep us company while our hostess put finishing touches on lunch (Its kind of faux pax to let guests sitting by themselves even if it means you talk with strangers the most and hardly get to talk with your friend you came to visit).

The method of cooling your hot drink so you don't burn your mouth is pouring it back and forth between two cups.

I had promised Maria that I would visit her before I go back to "enkopai", my land. In these final weeks of our time in Kenya, we are trying to get in the last promised visits. A visit from us is a sought after thing and both of the other ladies who were attending us soon were asking if it weren't possible for us to come and visit their homes, too before we leave. "In fact, how about coming back and sleeping overnight in my house!" I wrapped my refusals in as much velvet as I could muster. "Ashe oleng oleng! Ashukunye teneyieu Enkai. Neaku kalo nanu abaiki iyie", I said. Thank you very very  much. I'll come back(to Kenya) if God wants and then I can come and visit you.

It wasn't too long before the next course arrived; another metal plate full of stew: green peas and grated carrots, big potato halves, a few pieces of Maaai style chunks of goat. Ok, I thought, no problem. To my dismay, the rice arrived in another bowl and was spooned in two large  slabs onto the top of my already full plate. At my exclamation of how much food there was, the woman next to me said, "Inosa, inosa." Eat, eat.

I picked up the spoon  and remembered the tortoise who won the race, slowly by slowly. I can do this, I thought and pulled my cheeks into a smile. Just then, the chapati pan came round. When they saw the conservative stack of two wedges I took (I knew one would never fly), they said to each other in Maa, "Did she take only one?! She needs four!"

With my work before me, I plodded along spoon by spoon. It was half-way through the pile when I had that dire panicked thought, wondering just how far I could push my innerds.  Slowly I eased piece after piece into my mouth, though I was reprimanded by the lady next to me when I paused too long! Inosa!*

Thankfully, I was distracted with lots of conversation, where they grilled me gently and good naturedly to see just how much this white lady knew of local Maasai places, names, and language. Mostly I passed the tests but I have to admit, I chuckled to myself, wondering if they might just ask me to light a fire to see if I knew how (whenever I hold a baby or cut grass or walk long distance, there are always amazed remarks about my abilities).

Just as I was gratefully finishing the last spoonful, a sprite soda (a special treat out in the bush for a special occasion) was handed to me to wash it all down...

We stayed an appropriate length of time, chatting, reading scripture together, taking pictures. Then after the mandatory "kitejo ashe" (we say thank you) speeches by each party, we hoisted our over-satiated selves out of the chairs and headed back toward home along the dusty track.

 Sometimes receiving graciously and humbly can be pretty hard work, an exercise in selflessness and cross-cultural sensitivity.  Understanding the context in which your hosts live and out of which they are pouring their generosity and demonstration of love is important.(One of my good friends also explained it well here in her post about hospitality in Eastern Europe).

Visiting Maasai homes is our privilege, to be sure. Yet admitedly, its not always the most comfortable or easy experience. Sometimes being the object of people's attention (especially people we don't know so well) and desire for generosity can seem overbearing from our cultural perspective. However, we know how huge it is to community members to have us come and receive their hospitality, spending time in their home. So, off we go. And down we sit and eat we do!

Delight fills the faces around us as we attempt to speak their language and as we eat their sacrificially offered food. There is a big drought on. Anytime I'm offered milk or food, I know it is a big investment of my host.  As we accept the gifts of carefully crafted bead necklaces we know this is also a huge gift back to the givers. It is the gift of our receiving. Appreciating and engaging with their generosity, especially as foreigners, honors them and validates their experience and lives.

So, for a time, we set aside our finnicky stomachs, our personal food preferences, our "rich man's worry" about too much fat or too many carbs and we partake with a hearty "Ashe pi!". Thank you completely.

* We don't do this every day, thankfully. It always takes some time to recover.  In larger group meals we are able to employ some tricks to control our own intake without offending a particular host. These last weeks of our time here in Najile, the need is excentuated for enough  grace to extend the gift of receiving over and over.

Receiving Masaa.

All in attendance.

Maria, our hostess, giving Doug his gift of Masaa (jewelry).

Beading out under the shade of the tree.