The village of Engikaret lies nearby Mount Meru and Mount Kilimanjaro. It is a Maasai village consisting of about 2,500 people, spread out over a large area. The landscape is scattered with thorny, distinctly African Acacia trees and black volcanic soil. Yesterday we arrived here along a dusty road in Nyayo’s 4 green Land Rovers (Nyayo is the tour company that will be hosting us for the field portion of our safari; Nyayo means ‘footprints’ in Kiswahili). A long line of cattle bulls was strutting its way in single file alongside the road through the dust. Occasionally a Maasai man dressed in his traditional 3 ‘shuka’-ed outfit would be standing watch over a herd of cattle or goats. For the shukas, one thinner wrapping covers the body, tied on over one shoulder, of a Maasai youth of the warrior age set. On top of that is wrapped another thin or thick layer is wrapped and even a third shuka of varying thickness adorns the shoulders on top of that one, depending on the age set of the person (thicker for Elders, thinner for warriors). Red is a common color for a shuka, indicating strength and blood. A shuka is basically a blanket/tablecloth.
Today I got up early and went on a walk in the bush. I saw the sun rise beyond the far western reaches of Mount Kilimanjaro! It was gorgeous. The Maasai men guiding us discovered some recent giraffe tracks and we followed them. It as amazing because we eventually caught them! There were 5 of them looking at us curiously and I got a bunch of decent pictures!
The most intense and important even of the day was witnessing a goat ‘orpul,’ otherwise known as a ceremonial slaughter. It was intense; they suffocated the goat and disarticulated it. When they cut out the heart the blood inside drained quickly into the chest cavity. They then would cup their hands into the pool and drink it until it was gone. One Elder offered me a whole kidney, but I hesitated in my response so he popped the whole thing into his mouth. I had a tiny bit of the other one, though. It was very soft and had an overpowering taste of blood. All the meat and organs I tasted there, which included kidney, liver, ribs, heart, lung and stomach (the last 3 were in the broth of medicinal soup that they cooked), had that overpoweringly fresh taste of blood. Blood is very symbolic to the Maasai. Red is the color of power and strength, so ingesting it means gaining both of those things. No women were present at the orpul.
Tonight we danced with the Maasai. Underneath a clear night sky we walked to a Boma and marched inside, chanting with them. The men led us in, singing at an unusually high pitch and with a guttural quality to their chants. We then stood in a circle, men forming an inner and women an outer. We sang, chanted and danced in place with them for quite a while whilst children ran around, filling the gaps between people and holding hands with us (the only light was the starlight). When I closed my eyes I really could sense the spiritual vibe at the event, the mixture of chanting and singing voices. It was late when we got done, but I am glad that we did it. It’s probably something that I’ll never experience again.
