hey busied themselves around the carcass, sharing the duty of whipping up a feast. A fire started by the ancient act of friction kept a pot of soup boiling hot. The earth was their kitchen; their swords doubled up as carving knives. Under this rare spot of shade in the dusty village of Ngereyani, the scene in front of me played out like a Steven Spielberg movie.

I looked around the ngarmy, a men-only assembly place tucked away behind rock walls and cactus trees, where elders usually discussed important matters, conducted rituals and prepared sacrificial meat.

“Father sacrificed a goat in honour of your visit,” Kassi said, glancing at the old man of stature next to him. “We welcome you to our home.”

Kassi, a 25-year-old Maasai guide at our lodge, had brought us to meet his family. We spent the last few days chasing down some of Tanzania’s greatest wild to see them in the flesh. Today, after reading so much about the Maasai from guidebooks and the Internet, we wanted to learn more about this fascinating group of nomads whose age-old customs have stood the test of time.

kassi and his parents

The Maasai son g and dance is usually performed durin g celebrations and ceremonies. It is an audio and visual feast of high- pitched rhythmic chants where men show off their jumps to impress the crowd.

Earlier on, our arrival was met with much fanfare. A line of Maasai warriors started performing the adumu, a customary jumping dance where men jumped rhythmically to screams of “Nga-ya-AY!” with utmost gusto. As they outdid each other with powerful leaps off the ground and vigorous neck movements, women took us by the hand, chanting high-pitched lullabies and parading in their dazzling outfits.

I sat next to Kaipay Oletiamasi. At 66 years of age, he was the most respected elder in his extended family, playing the roles of husband to two wives, father to eight children and leader to the warriors in his community. His weather-beaten eyes and dry, cracked skin hinted at the decades spent wandering the lands as a pastoralist.

Kassi approached with a skewer of meat and stuck it into the ground. He sliced a thin piece of barbequed goat’s lung for Kaipay and offered me some too.

“Try some,” encouraged Kassi. “Papa will be disappointed if you don’t.”

Kaipay sits by the doorway of his hut for a photo. We called him “Papa” as a form of respect.

It was quite a sight watchin g the men cook up a storm with whatever they had. Every part of the goat was utilized to its potential and nothin g was wasted.

From friction comes fire

WA R R I O R S O F A B E T T E R A G E

Originating from Kenya, the Maasai are among the more well known African ethnic tribes like the Zulu and Bantu, due to their distinguishing customs and homes near popular game reserves in East Africa. Famous for their fearsome reputation, they have stood against a history of slavery and governmental pressure that threatened their traditional pastoralist ways. An estimated one million Maasai live in Kenya and Tanzania today.

Kaipay’s eyes lit up when he recalled the big move, a historic event that saw hundreds of thousands of Maasai move from the Serengeti National Park to his current home in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area.

The year was 1959. Repeated conflicts with park authorities over land use led to the British evicting the Maasai to Ngorongoro, where they could live and carry out sustenance cultivation without harming the wildlife. Kaipay, then a young warrior in charge of protecting his family and livestock, led them on a five-day walk across rough terrain. “We had no choice,” he said. “They didn’t want us to disturb the animals so we had to go.”

Like other Maasai warriors, his rite of passage into warriorhood was no park in the walk, either. Lifting the checkered red and blue cloth draped over his shoulder,

Kaipay revealed two deep scars on his right arm. “Lions,” he said with a hint of pride. “I fought two of them, I was very strong.”

Considered a sign of bravery and achievement, lion hunting was the way to go for men who wanted to show off their fighting ability and elevate their status in society. Customary laws stated warriors were not allowed to hunt injured lions and females, unless they posed a threat.

Kaipay was 25 years old when he brought down his first lion, with help from two other warrior-wannabes. It was a challenge done to impress the ladies, with just a spear. After the fierce battle, he also had to bring back the lion’s mane, tail and claws as proof of his skill. Time has since taken its toil on this warrior, but this is a story he always loves to share.

Maasai slippers made of old rubber tyres

When a Maasai boy is ready to become a warrior, he undergoes circumcision, the most important ceremony in his life that initiates him into adulthood. After it is completed, he dresses in black and paints his face white for close to a year.

S H E W H O B U I LT T H I S H O M E

Maasai homes centre around a kraal, a circular neighborhood of mud houses. The kraal is usually fenced with acacia thorns to prevent lions from attacking their prized cattle.

It was Kassi’s mother, Maria, 47, who single-handedly built their boma, a four-room mud house a decade ago. Shaped like a loaf and standing only around one and a half metres high, the structure is held together by cow dung, urine, grass and sticks. With a lifespan of twenty years, it is a fine example of sustainable indigenous technology, where a family unit can develop.

I sat in Maria’s kitchen, shrouded by darkness. It was a cool respite from the heat and flies outside. The only light came from tiny circular holes in the walls. Smoke from a boiling kettle irritated my eyes and stuffed up the house, which was crowded with her friends who had gathered for tea.

“At night we use torches,” said Kassi. “If no torch, we use the moon.”

With her intricate hand-made beaded ornaments and bright garments, Maria was a picture of style. Her earlobes, stretched by thorns and twigs, and decorative cuts on her face were believed by the Maasai to be symbols of beauty.

Maria’s days were divided between chores like fetching water, collecting firewood, milking cattle and cooking. As I asked her about her hopes, she passed me a mug of hot black tea, clasping my hands with a smile that said more than words. “For the children to go to school and get an education,” she said. “Then we can live a better life.”

Women form the backbone of each Maasai household, takin g care of children and the daily chores. The Maasai are polygamous and it is common for men to have more than one wife.

A Maasai family’s precious possessions

C AT T L E A N D C H I L D R E N

Back at the makeshift kitchen, a Maasai stirred the deep red plant-based soup vigorously as it bubbled over the fire. He added in a ball of fats carved from the goat’s skin and poured in a bowl of blood. The soup thickened and the men looked pleased. In a while, they would lap up bowls and bowls of the delicacy, widely believed to boost one’s immune system and make them energetic and fearless.

It was quite a treat. Drinking blood from a sacrificial animal was often reserved for special occasions like circumcision and birth, as well as to treat the sick. Its popularity is waning now though, especially in times of dwindling livestock numbers.

Over generations, the fates of Maasai families have been intertwined with their livestock. These four-legged workhorses formed the foundation of Maasai economy and were regarded as a good stream of currency. Trading cattle provided the tribe a means of sustainability as it helped to pay for school fees, tided them over tough periods of drought and built social standing among the tribes.

Faced with challenging weather conditions, limited grazing area and modern influences, many Maasai have turned to commerce and government as alternate employment means. Tourism, in particular, has been an attractive option for youth like Kassi.

“The most important things to us are our family and cattle,” said Kassi. Although he only started work as a tour guide two years ago, Kassi has managed to build up

a small herd of livestock that his parents care for. “With enough cattle I can get married and have children,” he said with a hopeful grin.

We sat outside Kassi’s hut, gazing at the cattle in the distance. His kid brother, Kushiro, five, had just returned from the day’s work and ran towards us. “I want to come back here because it is our way of life,” he said, giving the boy a hug.

Although it is tempting, he has no plans to move to the city. While mud huts are no match for shiny high-rise buildings and his family’s wellbeing is dependant on the earth, a strong sense of belonging will pave the way forward for this young Maasai.

Intricate bead work done by Maasai women.

Kushiro, 5, the youn gest of Kaipay’s children, will start school next year in a village nearby.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE | The information, text, graphics, images, and information published or otherwise contained in this book are owned by, or licensed to, ASB Development Limited and, except as specifically provided herein, may not be copied, distributed, displayed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of ASB Development Limited.

Stories and photographs by Logue| Jean Qingwen Loo, Huiwen YangCover illustration by MissyricaConcept and design by Duet Design, Singapore

Copyright © 2012 ASB Development Limited. All rights reserved.