Follow me and view the world from my perspective.
|
On the Thursday evening, rather than heading out with the boys for their walk in the bush, I was instead guided to the car, where I was told tonight’s dinner was waiting; ‘Menu’ as we later called him, was tried onto the back seat of the truck, scared and confused as we came towards him. My heart went out to the goat as I knew what was about to come, and as we rode over to the village, we joked and light heartedly said our goodbyes, but deep down I had an uncomfortable feeling knowing what was going to happen. A ball of nervous energy and excitement, I arrived at the village with Menu in tow. After many greetings, warm smiles and some bad Mar on my behalf, it was time to prepare supper, and so say our last goodbyes to the goat. It happened very quickly as they held its mouth and nose to suffocate it with as much respect as possible; with each animal they kill they find new leaves for it to lay it on as their way on honouring its life. After checking the goat’s pulse to ensure it was dead, one of the elders began skinning the neck, creating a pocket, or ‘bowl’ half attached to the muscle. Before I agreed to this homestay, I was advised that I must graciously accept anything I was offered – including goat blood; in the Maasai society, it is only elders and warriors who are allowed to enjoy this delicacy, and so to be offered any would be a great honour. That is exactly what happened. With a quick slit of the throat, the hot thick blood came pouring out into the makeshift ‘bowl’ below, as two elders on their knees gulped down mouthfuls. Then it was my turn. It all happened so quickly and I was in shock having naively thought the blood would have been poured into a cup, not drunk directly from the source. The blood continued to gush from the animals neck, threatening to overflow, and as I was ushered to my knees and asked to drink. Gratefully, there was little time to comprehend what I was about to do. Leaning down with my face almost to the floor, the loose skin between my fingers, a rush of revulsion and excitement flowed through me. Ignoring my churning stomach, I brought my lips to the fury skin and drank. It was hot and uncomfortably thick as it coated my tongue, but to my surprise I drank with ease. I received a little chuckle from the elders and a pat on the back from James – I expect in disbelief as I was later told most girls run from the blood! Having watched part of Ross’s own goat experience, I knew that the raw kidney was next. Creating a small slit by the spine of the goat, Dominic reached in, felt around for a second, pulled out one kidney, slit it in two, and handed me half. By this point my stomach was not too happy, and despite the entire bottle of water I’d drunk, the iron-y taste of blood would not leave my mouth. Before I could think about it, I threw the kidney into my mouth. The kidney less enjoyable, and I definitely struggled swallowing it with it tasting and feeling like warm bloody jelly. I caught James’ eye as I turned away and slightly gagged, as he urgently told me to ‘swallow it’ with amused eyes. After both kidneys were removed and eaten, the skinning of the goat continued, and I was really given time to reflect on what I had just seen and done. What stood out to me was the overwhelming sense of gratitude and respect I felt towards the animal, and to my surprise, and despite my predispositions, I understood that this was not a cruel or nonchalant experience – it was one of great appreciation and love. For this community, who only eat meat once every couple of weeks, it is so clear how grateful they are of these creatures, and how much pride they take in respecting the animal. They suffocate the animal first so that it can die in relative peace, avoiding blood being spilt. By drinking the blood not a single drop of its life I wasted. Yet it was the encompassing atmosphere and their appraisal of the animals sacrifice that really showed their love. As many more hunks of were eaten, including roasted liver, boiled neck, and what I have named ‘neck soup’, the light faded fast, and so the elders and I settled down for an evening of language barriers, star gazing, and many more plates of goat. By this point, my churning stomach had had enough for one day, and so I managed to use the excuse of having a small appetite to not being ‘a big strong Maasai warrior!’ They found this rather amusing and let me off the second plate of goat. The rest of the evening was relatively peaceful, as they told me their stories of the stars and I told them about England. They were surprised to hear how ‘old’ women tend to marry, and they explained their traditions on dowry’s and having many wives. Rather amusingly, one of the toddlers joined us around the fire, however every time I came over to him he instantly hid in his father’s arms – he definitely did not understand what a Mzungu was yet! The night ended as I was shown to my boma, with the bleating goats, and meowing kittens filling the evening silence, and the lingering smell of goat which followed me everywhere.
*** I think what struck me the most about this experience is how infrequently I consider where our food comes from. Having that animal sit right there, next to me in the car as we named and befriended him was a hard reality to be happy with considering our knowledge of his not so long future. I had never seen such a large animal be killed, and knowing that he would be dying for me was a perspective I had never had to consider in such a personal way. By buying meat from the supermarket, we as the consumer are removed from the reality of where that meat has come from, and therefore the process of how it arrives so perfectly clean and packaged. It is so easy to bypass the thought of each individual animal, and moreover that it has died for our consumption. Ross made a very interesting point after his stay at the village. He explained he believes that all meat should be labelled directly after its animal – so ‘cow’ instead of ‘beef’, and ‘pig’ instead of ‘pork’. Arguably, by using a word other than the name of the animal’s species, it removes the association and detaches the consumer from the reality of where the meat has come from. Maybe by implementing changes such as this into Western society, people would be more grateful, and so less wasteful of what food we do have. I know from my experience that by raising and tending to their livestock that it makes the communities here wholly grateful for the meat they do eat, and I think that is something we should all be more thankful for.
0 Comments
Last night was easily one my favourite nights of the trip so far.
As the girls Football came to a slow end with a 0-0 score, we headed back to the camp for some much-needed relaxation time after spending a long day with the students. It is really amusing, interesting and sometimes inspiring speaking to the children here, but it is also draining in a way I wasn’t expecting it to be. Maybe it’s the constant smiles that I feel Ihave to keep up around them. Or maybe it’s the slightly guilty feeling I have in my heart as we walk around their home telling them about England when all they can do is imagine. Nearly every student I have spoken to wants to leave Kenya, and move to England… or the USA, or Canada. But I expect most will never even see these places. One boy even said to me on our first day, ‘once I am in England I will be happy’. It was hard hitting to hear, and to a degree upsetting, as that happiness and ease of life they associate with England is clearly a perception they have learned from the wealthy tourists who can travel here. The concept of a poor, or homeless westerner, or ‘Mzungu’ as they call us, is incomprehensible, and it is clear they do not believe us when we tell them of the many dynamics of western societies. Most people in the West work hard day and night to lead the lives they do, and that is something that, considering the Kenyan ‘poley poley’ (slowly slowly) attitude to life, that has been hard to convey to many of the people I have met over here. As with the West, if you work hard here, it seems you can lead a fulfilling life, but it is hard work, and, from what I have gathered so far, it is not the dreams many of the Kenyans are lacking, but the hard-work attitude, understanding, education and examples of how to pursue them that is holding even the smallest of dreams back. … Leaving the smiling faces of the students behind us, we retreated for our camp; it was obvious from the dark ominous clouds looming overhead that the rains were coming, and the winds picked up as if on command. We showered, relaxed, and settled down for supper under the mottled sky of stars and cloud. The occasional flash of lightning brightening the horizon, and the calls of an African Bull Frog signifying the coming rains. The lightning picked up after supper, and so too did the thunder. The first peal sounded like a base speaker in the sky, as its waves of sound never ended just faded and then came again like a thumping beat. Less than 30 meters away, the diurnal migration of the elephants directly past our camp had begun, and their crashing, stomping and growling added excitement to the evening; maybe tonight we would finally catch a glimpse. Their heavy breathing, the swaying and snapping of branches, and their occasional low guttural growls were incredible, as we sat in silence and strained our eyes into the darkness. By now there was near constant succession of lighting and thunder, as the eye of the storm moved closer and closer. The crashing and great rumbling boomed throughout the sky, and the lightning was so bright it would highlight the trees around. The elephants continued to ‘graze’, or, more appropriately, destroy the trees around us with ever greater crunches as another branch fell. At times it was even hard to distinguish between the elephants and the thunder! We walked the remaining 10 meters to edge of our camp, and crouchingby the electric fence, we were by now no more than 15 meters from the herd. Hiding ourselves in the shadows, we watched and waited for a body to appear, as Francis and Sam shone their torches between the vegetation. When we finally caught a glimpse of a trunk swinging back and forth, and then the legs plodding through a gap in the trees, we gasped and giggled with excitement as the elephant walked past, just in sight. Satisfied, we headed back to our table, and settled down for the evening, warm tea in our hands as the elephants, thunder and lightning partied on around us. Our evening activity has become star gazing, and as usual we quickly found Mars, however, tonight we decided to watching a film – Pretty Woman. Lightning, thunder, elephants, tea and a movie in the Kenyan bush – does it get better than this? As the first raindrop hit, I jumped thinking one of the many horrifying bugs had yet again landed on my shoulder(!), but as many more drops appeared, we quickly glanced at one another as someone said, ‘it’s coming!’. Scrambling to gather our things and rush to my tent, we ran for shelter, and within 30 seconds the hammering rain came down around us in true tropical storm style. The regular flashes of the lightning even lit up the inside of our thick, marquee-like tents, and so as the crashing continues and our adrenaline subsided, all five of us huddled down in the tent and enjoyed the remainder of this incredible evening. As I wrote at the beginning of this post, last night was definitely one of my favourite evenings I have experienced in Kenya so far. From what I have gathered about this environment, it is harsh, unforgiving, and unexpected, but so beautiful and awe-inspiring at the same time. From the climate to the wildlife, it really pushes you to your limits in every way, and I’m beginning to realise that maybe that’s why I can’t seem to get enough of this region. There are great highs, and lows too, but everything is an experience, and I’m so grateful for them all. The day began with a huge surprise. Unbeknownst to us, Florence (Culsans) had organised a trip to visit the A.F.E.W Giraffe Centre in Nairobi, a centre whose aims are to protect the endangered Rothschild giraffe and educate on their conservation. With a knowing grin, Florence told us during breakfast to grab a camera and meet at 10am. My first presumption was that we were to be ‘touring’ Nairobi, however, I was very wrong. As our flamboyant driver Charles let us in on his amazing stories of his life in Kenya and introduced us to this ‘5 key words in Swahili’, the bomb was dropped that we were in fact heading to this sanctuary, and we were immediately buzzing; feeding giraffe was something I never expected to be able to do during this trip, but boy was I excited! From what I have seen of Nairobi so far, it is has been incredible and almost indescribable city. The roads are manic but driven with complete confidence, and the roadsides are almost entirely ‘stalls’ with fencing on the left as the only barrier between the suburb and the Kenyan plains. Driving past Kenya’s International School, the stone walls on the right were a mock with baboons who ran and jumped with their young on their backs. It really was incredible, and it dawned on me how life here really is a shared experience between man and beast. My favourite phrase was: ‘we are in their territory’, and so must respect it. Arriving at the sanctuary, as we pulled up in the car, we could see the giraffe, and they were only meters away. With all but a low stone wall between us and them, we were handed a bag of ‘treats’, and began feeding these giraffe one pellet at a time. Their long black tongues reached out to pluck the treat from between our fingers, and after it had been gobbled in an instant the tongues were almost ‘sniffing'(!) and feeling around for another! Walking up onto a balcony to reach their height, the snacking continued, and their playfulness became apparent as they sniffed and craned their necks between our bags for more. Oddly enough, ‘kissing’ the giraffe was actually an amusing way to feed them! After being told that giraffe saliva is very antiseptic, we were shown by one of the staff how to ‘kiss’ the giraffe, and so we all began taking turns to hold the pellet between the edge of our lips. One by one, the giraffe lent in and snatched the treat off us, and I must say it was an funny but albeit slightly odd experience! See below for a picture of me with my eyes very firmly shut! After disappointing running out of pellets, we said goodbye to these wonderful creatures and headed for a walk though the bush, finishing the day with a pineapple and mint smoothie – a new personal favourite, and a combination I highly recommend trying.
Overall, my first experience of Kenya, although a more touristy one, has been incredible and one I will not be forgetting any time soon. The bar has been set high, but I have no doubt that everyday will be better than the last, and I cannot wait to see what is in stall for the next 8 weeks! |
Details
AuthorMy name is Jemima Shepherd, and I am passionate about wildlife, conservation and global warming, which is partly why I have started this blog; I hope to share what I learn on this site, along with some of my favourite experiences along the way. ArchivesCategories |