Following my last post, and the supper with the wooden vaginas, Mackrine invited some of the volunteers to join her on a visit to the Engarooji Maasai community. She has been working with the Engarooji people for a number of years to eradicate FGM. Only recently have the Engarooji birth attendants relinquished their circumcision instruments (in exchange for sheep), and our visit provided a reason to celebrate their progressive, brave decision.
I must admit, I was fascinated at the thought of journeying into the bush to visit a traditional Maasai community. As well as having the opportunity to meet some incredible women, I wanted to see the warriors; the jumping; the long hollowed earlobes; the vibrant robes; the big disc necklaces, the bomas (mud huts).
As our mid-last-century minivan hurtled off the main road, and lumbered cross-country over the soil and scrub, I let the dust sting my eyes to really soak up the experience. An hour and a half later, we were still chugging off-piste in our tin truck (sans suspension) in pursuit of the Engarooji village. The romance and mystique had just about worn off when at last some bomas materialised on the horizon.
We could hear their song as we approached, and yes, there was jumping (*squeals*). As we disembarked the vehicle, we were engulfed by a throng of about thirty Maasai women in bright red, blue and purple robes, and swept into the procession. Whistling, singing, dancing, bouncing; there were colours, sounds and tits flapping everywhere. Being a tourist, I was shamelessly videoing the entire reception, and even managed to capture the time I was hit in the face by a rogue Maasai breast on film. Priceless.
The women shepherded us into a clearing where the formalities would take place. Mackrine and the village elders addressed the group, and congratulated the former FGM practitioners on the courage it took to abolish the practice. We then participated in a Q&A exchange on women’s issues, shared some warm sodas, and enjoyed a bit more jumping and singing. The carbonated drinks encouraged a great deal of burping and farting from the Engarooji women, and I had to bite my tongue really hard not to laugh. I am hopeless. It was an insanely great afternoon.
I must admit, I was fascinated at the thought of journeying into the bush to visit a traditional Maasai community. As well as having the opportunity to meet some incredible women, I wanted to see the warriors; the jumping; the long hollowed earlobes; the vibrant robes; the big disc necklaces, the bomas (mud huts).
As our mid-last-century minivan hurtled off the main road, and lumbered cross-country over the soil and scrub, I let the dust sting my eyes to really soak up the experience. An hour and a half later, we were still chugging off-piste in our tin truck (sans suspension) in pursuit of the Engarooji village. The romance and mystique had just about worn off when at last some bomas materialised on the horizon.
We could hear their song as we approached, and yes, there was jumping (*squeals*). As we disembarked the vehicle, we were engulfed by a throng of about thirty Maasai women in bright red, blue and purple robes, and swept into the procession. Whistling, singing, dancing, bouncing; there were colours, sounds and tits flapping everywhere. Being a tourist, I was shamelessly videoing the entire reception, and even managed to capture the time I was hit in the face by a rogue Maasai breast on film. Priceless.
The women shepherded us into a clearing where the formalities would take place. Mackrine and the village elders addressed the group, and congratulated the former FGM practitioners on the courage it took to abolish the practice. We then participated in a Q&A exchange on women’s issues, shared some warm sodas, and enjoyed a bit more jumping and singing. The carbonated drinks encouraged a great deal of burping and farting from the Engarooji women, and I had to bite my tongue really hard not to laugh. I am hopeless. It was an insanely great afternoon.
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