Make Mine Strawberry

It goes without saying that Africa is certainly my favourite continent, and having been to nearly a dozen countries, I am still mesmerized by the animals and the people. During my second last trip there I had the pleasure of visiting a Maasai village, and spending a fair bit of time with the people who called it home.

The morning sun cast a warm, golden hue over the vast plains of the Maasai Mara as my jeep rumbled along a narrow dirt path. The trek had already been filled with breathtaking encounters with wildlife, but my excitement grew as we neared a small village nestled against the horizon. This was no ordinary stop. It was an opportunity to meet the Maasai people, whose traditions and way of life have remained largely unchanged for generations.

My guide, Raffi, a friendly and knowledgeable local, explained the significance of the village ahead. The Maasai are renowned not only for their vibrant attire and intricate beadwork, but also for their deep connection to the land they call home. Their lives are centred around family, community, and their cherished cattle, which serve as a measure of wealth and sustenance.

As we pulled up to the edge of the village, I was struck by the sight of the traditional Maasai homes, known as enkangs. These low, circular structures, made from a mixture of mud, sticks, and cow dung, stood in harmonious contrast to the sprawling wilderness around them. Each house, Raffi explained, is built by the women of the village, a testament to their resourcefulness and strength.

We were greeted warmly by the village elders, who ushered us into the central clearing. The women and children gathered nearby, their colourful shukas, traditional wraps, fluttering in the breeze. Beads of every shade adorned their necks, wrists, and ears, forming patterns that told stories of their heritage and identity.

My first interaction was with a young Maasai warrior, who demonstrated the traditional jumping dance known as adumu. It is often performed as part of an initiation ceremony, a celebration of youth and strength. The warriors leapt high into the air, their bodies moving with an elegance that defied gravity. Their deep chants resonated in my chest, creating an atmosphere of unity and pride.

After the dance, I was invited to explore the village. I spoke with one of the elders, a woman named Namelo, meaning sweet one. Her calm demeanour and wise eyes reflected the years she had witnessed. She shared stories of her youth, when the Maasai lived as semi-nomadic herders, moving their cattle to follow the rains. She spoke of the challenges they face today, from changes in the weather to the pressure of modernization. Yet, Namelo’s words carried an undeniable strength. It turned out she was in her nineties and quite thin. In my ignorance I assumed she was undernourished, but she soon explained it was her diet. “I eat well,” she said. “If I did not, I would be fat like you.”

I chuckled and asked her what she ate and she said “Like a milkshake. You want to try?” I love milkshakes so I was definitely in. She motioned to a younger person, spoke in Swahili, and a few minutes later I was handed a wooden cup filled with what appeared to be a strawberry milkshake. I sipped and was pleasantly surprised at how tasty it was. It was not long before it was gone, and Namelo smiled.

There was no electricity in the village and I did not see any mixers, so my curiosity was peaked. I am not sure why, but interest made me ask what was in the tasty milkshake. Namelo took me to a section of the village where they kept their cattle. She explained how they make a small incision in the cow’s neck, let the blood drip into a cup, and then reach for the other end of the animal, and fill the remainder of the cup with milk. She showed how they mix the two with a stick and that was it. I declined the second one, and ran for my backpack and a handful of Gaviscon.

One of the most memorable parts of the visit was learning about their beadwork. A group of women sat in a semi-circle, threading tiny beads with remarkable precision. They explained the significance of the colours: red for bravery, blue for the sky, green for the land, and white for the cows that sustain them. Watching their skilled hands create intricate patterns, I could not help but marvel at their artistry and patience.

Before leaving, I again visited the cattle enclosure, or kraals. The Maasai’s relationship with their cattle is central to their way of life. Every part of the animal is utilized, from the milk that nourishes them to the hides used for clothing and bedding. The pride they take in their herds and their careful stewardship ensures the survival of both their livestock and the ecosystem.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the village, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This visit had been far more than an opportunity to observe; it was a chance to connect with people whose values of community, resilience, and respect for nature, offer lessons that resonate deeply.

As I said goodbye and drove away, the chants of the Maasai warriors echoed in my mind. They were a reminder of the strength and beauty that can be found in simplicity. The Maasai do not try to dominate their environment; they live in harmony with it, drawing from it what they need while giving back in equal measure.

You may be interested to know that I have not had a strawberry milkshake since that visit, and more than likely, never will.