Maasai Warriors and Motorcycles

Yesterday I had arrived at Osiligalai Maasai Lodge, a place for which I have many fond memories. The lodge itself is a work of art: situated on a grassy hill, the mud-walled and thatched collection of buildings gently taper onto an enormous savanna, striped with grasses and dotted with medicinal plants of all kinds. But the sight doesn’t end there, for once the eye has travelled the many miles of savanna stretching before the lodge, it must then begin the climb up the unmissable, towering, overpowering view of Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain on the whole continent. As if that wasn’t enough, a glance in the opposite direction will reveal Mount Meru dominating the other direction, almost more impressive than Kilimanjaro with its sharp slopes ending in a stereotypical point.

The view from the lodge

I had been extremely fortunate to know several Maasai employees at the lodge, among whom was Gabriel. When I had first met him, he was an ambitious young warrior whose visions of what he could accomplish far outpaced many of his comrades. Not much has changed. Unlike most Maasai, Gabriel was intent on seeing the world, starting a safari company, and managing the lodge. He was also a proud Maasai fighter, wielding a spear and the characteristic red cloak of his people. Thanks to his focus on education, Gabriel spoke excellent English, and we had bonded over our love of travel, and of course, Maasai culture.

Gabriel: Friend, guide, warrior.

At the gates of the lodge I bid farewell to my drivers for the extent of the visit, and stuffed down a quick lunch, which Gabriel kindly provided. And finally in the afternoon, I set foot on the African savanna of medicines and herbs I had come halfway across the world to see. Gabriely, like most other Maasai with knowledge of natural remedies, was taught by his parents and by his village elders many of the medicines present in the bush. The bush was by no means hospitable. Many of the plants sported thorns as long as a man’s hand, many of the grasses would whip at one’s shins in the wind, and one bite from the wrong plant could inflict all manner of maladies on any unfortunate soul. But as stewards of the land, the Maasai saw past these dangers. The bush was their home, their community center, their workplace, and their hospital. Still today, many Maasai trek long distances with their cattle for better grazing and for fresher water. The Maasai know and love their land-- unless of course, there is no more land to know and love.

The whistling thorn and its 'fruit'.

The day ended in spectacular fashion. I was not staying in the lodge. Instead, so that I could save money, Gabriel had rented a tent and set it up in a boma a few kilometers away. After dinner and as the stars speckled the unpolluted sky, my two bags were strapped to the back of motorcycles in preparation for the move. The quiet night air was suddenly split by the revving of engines as our team of motorcycles ripped into the bush. There were no defined roads. I simply clung on as my driver swerved between rocks and bushes threatening to tear us apart. At last the headlights fell upon our destination; a traditional Maasai house complete with Gabriel’s tent. It was here I would spend my next four nights, sleeping by the goats in the boma of a Maasai warrior.