The Accidental (Cultural) Tourist

After a long day of game drives at the Mara, it was back to the campsite for dinner. We were all sitting enjoying our copld tuskers on the stone porch of the main dining area, when our guide came by to tell us to grab our beers and migrate to a clearing, we could could watch dinner being prepared.

Therein followed one of the weirder meals I've had in a while. I;m not sure who asked for this or whether it was part of the package our guide thought we wanted. It had been intimated that dinner would involve a bonfire and goat meat, but none of us realized quite what this would entail.


We all dutifully trotted out with our folding chairs to a pretty clearing where waiting for us were two Masai warriors and a white and brown goat. Disbelievingly, we arranged our chairs in a semi-circle as the Masai prepared the goat for its death. Gently, they tied it up and lay it on a bed of clean branches that would serve as executioner's platformm and butchers block. I didnt watch the kill, but I heard one horrible bleat - and it was over. After we all go over out shock, there was much discussion of why mass-produced meat didn't bother us as the Masai broke down the animal, putting the traditional cuts on fresh spits for roasting over the flame and reserving the rest of the cuts for themselves. At least almost none of the animal went to waste.


We all sat down to dinner after sunset by the fire, ready to try the nyoma choma, or roasted goat. The worst part of the affair was that none of us could stomach the meat - it was tough, chewy, gamey, and came with too much baggage. I think our guide had anticipated this reaction, as there was plenty of other food. After dinner, we let the fire wind down as the hyenas howled in the darkness. Our cousins in carnivory, I guess


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Sunday morning, the group split with one set of us goingv back into the park to track lion cubs and the other half going to a nearby Masai village to see the cows leaving and watch the sunrise over the hills.


The trip started innocently enough - we spilled out of the van in front of a circle of mud and dung huts in time to see the last cows straggle out of the thorn bush gate. One of the young men of the village came out to talk to use as we stared about wide eyed as the sky started to turn. We asked him questions, and he asked us if we had our cameras - the first intimation that something fishy was going on. Our conversation was interrupted by a cry of "elephant," and we all went running across the middle of the village, dodging cow patties (it also served as the cows' night pasture). In the distance was a herd of dark shapes, and we felt very happy with our decision to forgo the game drive - we still got pachyderms! A few sunrise photos followed.


Our village guide then informed us that our entrance fee to the village allowed us to see inside a hut, to watch a warrior's dance, a woman's dance, and a fire starting demonstration, and visit the gift shop. Startled looks were exchanged - we thought this was just cows and maybe a few blankets for sale.


The inside of the house was pretty interesting - past the baby cow's room to sit by the warm firm and interrupt a family having tea, the little children pouring the hot liquid back and forth between mugs to cool it. Then back outside into the chilly air. The young men started dancing and jumping in a way that suggested total boredom before physically pulling us into photos with them. I was absolutely mortified and the pictures show it. I don;t want people paying to see me dance, but it would almost have been rude to demure, since our guide had paid our fee.

The women followed the men, looking even less enthusiastic about their performance, and I turned even redder for that photo. Finally, a short fire-making demonstration anda quick turn around the village store, and it was mercifully time to go.

We had been warned that a village vist could be touristy, and it was really too bad to find it as farcical as we did. We would have been content just to see the village and talk to people there - no need for the show.

The one cavaet to the village debacle is that Masai do actually live in a traditional way, as evidenced by the number of other villages and people in traditional garb wandering around as we drove out of the vastness of the reserve and back toward semi-civilization (No offense to Nairobi)