The Road From Ngorogoro Crater to the Serengeti

Karibu (pronounced kaa-ree-boo)! A Swahili saying that means "welcome"- I heard this often while visiting Tanzania. When we arrived outside the fence of the Maasai village, we were greeted with "Sopa." I had grown accustomed to Karibu but quickly learned that Swahili is not the language of the Maasai. Sopa is the Maasai word to welcome you.

The unpaved road between the Ngorongoro Crater Conservation Area and the Serengeti, winds through Maasailand, offers amazing scenery, has wildlife that is indigenous to only this part of the world, and creates the illusion of traveling back in time. At first glance, there doesn't appear to be anything spectacular about this road-but looks can be deceiving. Not only are there historical stops, such as Oldavai Gorge, where Mary Leaky discovered the first "pre-human" remains; migrating animals and nomadic people often cross the road. It was soon evident that a Northern Circuit Safari includes more than what lies within the boundaries of the national parks and conservation areas. Experiencing the Maasai culture in a Maasai village, and traversing their feral land, filled with the wildebeest and endless plains, I left a changed person witnessing a world I had only dreamed about.

My transformation began almost as quickly as our journey began on the road between Ngorogoro Crater and the Serengeti. We had traveled for only a short time when I spotted what appeared to be smoke from a fire racing across the vast grassland. I squinted to see through the billows. Drawing near, I recognized that it was a thunderous group of wildebeest. Thousands of them were perfectly lined up, running at top speed, a sure sign that the legendary migration was beginning. We drove through their dusty clouds and I had to duck back down inside the Landcruiser. Our guide, Maji, pulled the Landcruiser off to the side of the road. Year after year, the wildebeest migrate as they have for many centuries. Reflecting on this annual event, I felt an immense appreciation for the land and its creatures. Generation after generation the wildebeest are certain of the path they must take. Their destination is clear, horrid weather conditions, attacks by lions, and rough terrain will not stand in the way of their instinctive goal.

Beholding these wonders of nature, with my family and our guide, I wanted to capture each moment with my digital camera only to realize that the photos couldn't capture my feelings. Click, click went the camera shutter followed by the whine of the tiny camera motor. My lens focused on images I had only dreamed of seeing. Being so close to the stampede of wildebeest was surreal; it felt as if we were in a scene from a Planet Earth documentary. An occasional group of zebras, traveling in single file, were interspersed amongst the galloping beasts. I could have watched for hours but we had to get to the hotel in the Serengeti before nightfall. "Twende?" Maji asked in Swahili. Let's get going? "Twende," my son-in-law Brandon replied. Our guide, Maji, was impressed that Brandon had learned Swahili. I was equally impressed with Maji's English fluency, and his plethora of knowledge on every subject we questioned him about. I asked Maji, "Who are the men draped in red cloths on the hillside?" "They are the Maasai," Maji answered. My curiosity about the Maasai piqued, and Maji fed me with the information I yearned for.

I had always thought of the Maasai as a mythical, mysterious tribe that I would only read about. I never envisioned that I would one day visit Maasai land. The Maasai are a nomadic tribe that moves to where the grassland is lush and full of nourishment for their grazing cattle. The rains are a blessing to the Maasai, but we were worried that our journey would be treacherous because it was the rainy season in Eastern Africa. The torrential rains often make the roads impassable during this season. Large herds of cattle accompanied by the men in red cloths dotted the hillside. Children with goats lined the side of the road. "Mzungu, Mzungu!" White person, White person, the children shouted and waved. Beautiful, barefooted, Maasai children were smiling back at us. The Maasai had once dominated the range in East Africa, Maji explained. In attempt to preserve the land of the Serengeti and Ngorogoro Conservation Area, the Maasai had been forced from their land by the government. They now live on land that is not always suitable for grazing cattle. The cattle are the center of the Maasai culture. The Maasai believe that God gave them all the cattle in the world to care for. The more cattle a man has in his herd, the wealthier he is considered by his tribe. He can also marry as many women needed to milk his cattle. More cows, more wives…I knew what the men in the Landcruiser were thinking....more headaches! The Maasai only kill their cattle in times of celebration; however, they do drink the cow's blood daily. An arrow is used to pierce the jugular vein in the cow's neck and blood is collected in a gourd. The blood is then mixed with milk and drank for nourishment. All of this information with which Maji supplied us only made me feel anxious about stopping at a Maasai village. I was uncertain of how I felt about entering a strange, primitive world.

With my hesitancy increasing, we pulled up next to the opening in the fence. The fence, or kral, appeared to be made of small trees tied together, encircling all of the homes of the village. The animals are herded into the fence at night to protect them from predators. The men and the animals share the same sleeping quarters for protection. We gazed with wonderment at the settlement before us. Maji got out of the vehicle and spoke with a very thin older man. Many eyes stared cautiously at us. I resisted the temptation to stare back. Whatever we were about to do felt like an invasion of privacy to me.

Looking remarkably like someone from a century long ago, the elder greeted us, "Sopa." Maji had obtained permission from the elder to visit the settlement. We paid the old man twenty dollars, the negotiated amount, as a token of appreciation for letting us visit their settlement. The payment also allowed us to take pictures. A young, tall, handsome boy approached us. "Karibu," he greeted us, "Welcome to our village," he spoke with a mix of Swahili and broken English. Obviously, he had left his village to get an education. The expectation was that he would come back home and work when school wasn't in session, the boy explained. A group of women were gathered on the other side of the kral we were about to enter. Two very different generations were trying to live in harmony with the other, the educated boy in contrast to the primitive women.

In no time, the Maasai women surrounded us. A few of the women had babies slung on their backs. The women were swaddled in brightly-colored pieces of fabric. Their necks were adorned with many necklaces, a display of their beautiful beadwork. The women looked curiously at us and motioned for someone from our group to join their dance. Brandon, eager to please, willingly jumped into the center of the line of women. Appearing unsatisfied with just one taker, they grabbed Amanda's arm and pulled her towards the waiting group. An older woman put a disc-like necklace around Amanda's neck. They all joined hands and started to hum and rock back and forth. It was very hot. Beads of sweat had collected on my brow and my hair had grown into a big poof ball! It's no wonder that all of the Maasai women shave their heads. With no running water and no beauty salons for miles, a shaved head seemed to be the most appropriate hairstyle. The ears of the women were not only pierced, their earlobes were cut so that the lobe itself was a loop that hung down to the chin. I tried not to stare-this was really uncomfortable. I hoped that I wasn't encouraged to dance. Seeing how the Maasai women live, the clothes they wear, and the food they eat, I realized how these Maasai women held steadfast on their beliefs and traditions in such a rapidly changing world. My respect for them grew as I contemplated that in the western world we lose sight of many of our important traditions, trading them for the current fads or personal gratification.

The men of the village approached us, wrapped in their traditional red cloths, the men were all very tall, lean, toting sticks and ready to dance. They challenged Mike, Joe, and Brandon to join them. The men stood in a circle and the chanting began. The shaved heads of the Maasai men glistened with sweat. One man jumped into the center of the circle and began jumping as high as he could for as many times as he could. Then he would let out a loud grunt and step back with the others. This was indication that the next male should jump in the center and repeat the jumping. Mike, Brandon, and Joe all took their turns jumping. The goal is to jump really high, and multiple times. It is true; white man can't jump. Later, Mike would brag about how much "air" he had gotten. My camera held the proof that there was no "air" beneath him. Our Maasai guide interrupted the chanting and dancing. The Maasai men appeared to have so little in worldly possessions, and yet they appeared satisfied with the gifts their God had provided for them.

Our next Maasai experience was to visit one of the huts, which unpredictably became another place that would influence my views. It is a woman's job to build the hut. It can take many months to build. The homes are dome structures built of branches, twigs, and grass. They are held together with a plaster made of cow dung and urine. The hot sun dries the cow dung. I couldn't detect any cow poop smell…and I have a really good nose! Once inside the hut, there was nothing but darkness. There were no windows and no ventilation. Stunned by the small size of the hut, we apprehensively felt our way to a bed. With no other place to sit, we hardly noticed the person curled up in the back of the bed as we sat down. The air burned my eyes. The fire pit in the center of the tiny space appeared to be the source of the smoky air. There was cardboard stuffed into the walls of the house. I recognized the cardboard to be the boxes from the picnic lunches the hotels would pack each morning for the tourists. Our guide was telling us about the life of the Maasai, their customs, his schooling, cooking in the hut, and the importance of the cattle. All of a sudden his face lit up and he displayed the biggest, whitest, yet slightly toothless, mischievous smile. "Baba Kubwa" he laughed, looking directly at Mike. Brandon burst in to laughter. We were all asking, "What does that mean? What does that mean?" "Big Daddy" Brandon giggled. Apparently Mike's healthy size amused the Maasai warrior. The walls of the hut were closing in on me. I had never realized how primitively so many people in the world live, and being of "healthy" size myself, I felt guilty for
my obvious over indulgence when amongst people with so little food.

I grew increasingly uncomfortable and decided to separate from the group, and head back to the Landcruiser. Maji was waiting nearby. This experience felt deplorable to me. If people were to visit my home and take pictures of me, I would be outraged. It felt too much like The Truman Show. Maji explained that the average Tanzanian earns around $500 per year. The Maasai earn even less. The Maasai depend on the money from tourists to pay for their children's education. "Shouldn't they be able to educate their children?" he asked. The pit of my stomach ached from the visit. Two adorable children ran past me chasing a trio of tiny goats. All children deserve an education, I thought to myself, but isn't there another way? The proud, beautiful Maasai people depend on their pictures being taken and their jewelry being sold to educate their children? I knew I would never look at education the same, knowing the sacrifices the Maasai make to educate their people.

So many of the beliefs I had before taking this trip to the land of the Maasai, the experience of their unique culture and natures instincts, were now evolving into a different set of values. With mixed feelings, I climbed back into the Landcruiser. Tanzania is a country that so rich in natural resources and yet a country that is so poor economically. It was as if the hot African sun had lit my brain on fire, burning thoughts of the numerous wasted opportunities engulfed me. The increasingly bumpy, rutted road was jostling my tired body as well as my brain blazing with contradictions. I had been procrastinating about enrolling in college, something many Americans take for granted. This journey to Africa made be realize that I need to complete my education and fulfill my dreams. I need to appreciate more and be satisfied sooner. Like the wildebeest, I need to determine my path, my destination, and determine how I will achieve it. Maybe one day I will be able to return the favor to the wildebeest and the Maasai people.