We left Osiligalai on a cloudy Friday morning. The whole lodge seemed sleepy -- half the staff had yet to awake, so I left for the most part unnoticed. At the breakfast table I was reunited with Loma and Nicholas, and we began the long drive through country roads to my next destination: Kiserian, nestled among the hills of Tanzania, and the birthplace of the Future Warriors Program, which had provided me with many of the guides and destinations for my trip.
On the road we suffered a multitude of issues. Before we had even left the Osiligalai area, we got a flat tire, coupled with engine troubles which prevented us from moving another inch. Out among the remote bomas of Tanzania, it was a while until we were able to source a mechanic to fix both problems, complicated by our lack of a jack to lift the car. Next we arrived in the roadside town of Oltepesi for lunch, and promptly discovered another flat tire. By the time we arrived in Kiserian, it was late in the day, and we still had to get food, water, and internet access. Luckily the market was packed to the brim on this particular day, and we were shortly stocked with every vegetable, fruit, and rice bag our car could carry. As the sky rapidly darkened our group of three raggedly lifted our bags and groceries up the stairs and into the two-room building which would serve as our home for almost a week.
Despite the rustic conditions, I woke up the next morning feeling rather refreshed. The camp shower outside did wonders as I felt the dirt and grime tumble out of my hair and skin. Along with this dust, I had also brought three bottles of medicine back from Osiligalai. Each bottle was filled with a reddish-brown liquid, the final product of our treks into the wilderness to gather remedies. Unlike much of the western world, Maasai medicine is taken as more of a preventative tool against disease. There are certain leaves and roots that can be ingested after a disease such as malaria is discovered, similar to how an American might take Advil only when they discover they have a headache. But there are many, many more remedies that strengthen the immune system against mosquito bites, that toughen the skin, and that create an environment in the body hostile to malaria -- a bit like a vaccine.
Normally, Maasai remedies are mixed with blood or meat to allow for the medicine to better enter the system. The Maasai make a kind of soup out of goat fat and blood into which the plants are boiled. But as a long-standing vegetarian, I was not obviously not enthusiastic about this option of consumption. Thankfully my Maasai friends were accepting if slightly confused, and agreed to make a separate, meat-free drink for me. The result was what I had in my bottles, simply the boiled water in which the plants had been soaked. I suppose I should have been prepared for what was to come, but after all the excitement I could barely choke down a couple mouthfulls of the concoction. My guides, on the other hand, were quite ecstatic about the juice, and I watched in wonder as they swigged down almost the whole bottle of boiled bark and roots. I mused to myself just how much syrup or sugar I would need to do the same.
This experience, and many more in which I tried berries or fruits in the bush, made me realize how sensitive we in the western world have become to all things sweet and tasty. Much of the food in Tanzania I had received had been absolutely delicious, and I already had developed a deep love for Ugali, the national dish. But the Maasai, who sometimes had to go weeks without a full belly as they herded goats or cattle, had a much different view of food. The small amounts of berries and roots they consumed was plenty in their eyes, the sweetness and comparable taste of the food itself came second in priority. These small portions of food did come at a cost, however. In the early years of cow-herding, many Maasai children suffered dearly from malnutrition. I saw this firsthand with the my host family in Osiligalai. The oldest child I assumed to be about nine, but to my shock I realized his frail frame belonged to a fifteen-year-old, nearly my age. In Maasailand, food was needed little, both a blessing and a curse.
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