The Walk for Water.

The walk for water can be a perilous one at best; navigating thorny bush and scrub land with the African sun beating down on your head.

Walking for miles carrying buckets and jerry cans in the pursuit for water is hot, laborious work and yet the women do it every day with strength and grace.

This daily household chore in the absence of a water well or kitchen plumbing is a necessity to clean, bathe, drink and cook in the boma. Without it, the health and hygiene of the Maasai people is compromised.

When we reached the watering hole, it was a lot smaller than I had expected. It also looked cloudy and I wondered if it had ever been tested to see if it was safe for human consumption. I kept quiet. This was not the time to add my two pence. Given the size of this small hole, it was baffling to learn that this was for the entire Maasai village and a herd of 30 elephants.

Coexistence with these not so gentle giants had proven costly. Six women on different occasions had been killed earlier in the year after unintentionally startling a group of elephants who were heading to the watering hole with their young. True to form, the elephants’ highly protective instincts had kicked in, resulting in loss of life and understandably left many of the Maasai women traumatised.

How and why did they get here you may ask? The Maasai men notoriously move with their cattle and goats, following rainfall patterns for their beloved livestock to graze but the women build houses and remain with their children. This nomadic way of life had infuriated farmers as the Maasai’s cattle would trample or eat their crops. The situation between the Maasai and farming communities became so volatile that the government had to intervene and allocate vast areas of land to Maasai so that they could continue their cultural practices without disturbing the agricultural livelihoods of others.

It seemed a logical way of finding a harmonious ending but visiting this particular village not far from Mikumi National Park unveiled a few truths. In playing Benvoli, the relocation had come at a price; schools, health facilities, electricity, running water and sanitation were all absent, but hyena, elephant and python were plenty. A desperate compromise perhaps, but now the Maasai were having to co-exist with not so compromising wild animals on new territory.

“The elephants are coming.” We were ushered back into our vehicle and made our way back to the Boma through painfully dry bush and shrub land - my mind was already pre-occupied; buzz boxes, beekeeping, drilling wells, sand damns… thoughts fleeted, experts I knew came into mind, projects I had been a part of swirled around.

Water and Elephants. Both big problems in this set of circumstances.

We arrived back to Mama Deborah’s enkaji* where they were busy preparing a feast of ugali, rice, tomato gravy and a goat. After eating the generous and thoughtfully made meal, the children built a fire and played made-up games with rocks, sticks and ran in between the huts before bursting into fits of giggles. Our host, my friend who is married to a Maasai pointed to the trees overhead, “That’s the fruit tree that the elephants love. They have come here several times now and just walk through the fences that the Mamas have built.”

It did not take much imagination to understand how terrifying an encounter with a herd of elephant would be, especially living in such an isolated place at the pitch of night.

On the drive home, I thought of the meal that they had cooked and how they had given us such warm hospitality. I smiled as I listened to the little voices in the back seat; the children were enthusiastically reminiscing about the little boy’s impressive fire making skills. They had enjoyed their day; finding joy in the moment, playing and just being children regardless of language, upbringing or colour - adapting to the environment like ducks to water. Then I thought about the women and how brave they were to walk for water despite knowing the risks.

What was possibly the hardest part to wrap my head around, was the fact that, by car, the Maasai village was only about an hour from where we called home. In terms of proximity, we were so close, and yet apart from having monkeys and green snakes in common, we were worlds apart from elephants and hyenas, lions and zebra and that felt odd.

I felt restless and that’s usually the tell tale sign that I would be back.

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*Boma: A Community Enclosure for both humans and animals.

*Enkaji: ‘Home’ in the Maasai Language.