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Long thin legs
Long lanky bodies
Long cane poles in hand
Long red blanket draped over shoulders
Long strides in a long purposeful walk
Long tradition - Maasai men

Maasai baby boys
Much too young to walk
Still, small stick in hand

Old man
Long switch
Under the shaded tree
Herds of goats grazing
Do you think about standing there as a young boy?
And your father and grandfather before him?

Long cane pole
Resting on shoulders
Wrists over the pole

Two hundred goats on the side of the road
One boy
One long switch

Young boy
In America you would not be left alone
But here you are tending the village’s most prized possessions
Cattle, sheep, goats
Moving slowly across the land
Where predators are real
And back home again
Too small to wear the red blanket across your shoulders
But holding your tradition and the long cane pole

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“The Nepalese girls are leaving tonight,” the head mom says, “so I am going to make a chicken.” And she sends a young man off. Twenty minutes later he arrives with a white chicken hanging upside down, his fingers holding the yellow feet securely. I watch as he walks through the compound, unable to follow, grossly curious about what will happen next. I cannot decide if I want to know.

I watch the whole process. Twelve year old Agrippina holds it’s body down, puts her foot over the wing, bends it's head back, plucks it's neck feathers and slits. Slits further and removes the head. Blood leaks from the neck and the body tremors for a few more minutes.

“We eat the whole thing,” Lillian explains, “Agrippina’s tribe and mine: feet, head, eyes, intestines.”

The bird goes into the boiling water and four hands begin to pluck the feathers. The bird becomes bare and it is brought out of the water and taken to the table, for the fine plucking of the fine feathers, then the butchering. It is chopped into pieces, washed, set on a tray, seasoned, and ready for cooking.

All parts are used for baking, stock making, and the added treat: drained intestines put into the coals. “It is sweet,” says Linda, “Our tribe’s tradition.” She smiles and pops a piece charred intestine into her mouth.

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The jackal and the vulture stand side by side making an interesting pair of thieves. Patiently waiting and edging ever closer.

The flies swarm the carcass of the day old hippo kill. Deep guttural noises come from the bellies of the two lions feasting. They rip the flesh from the open cavern. Teeth crunching the carcass as it is slowly devoured. They raise their heads to survey the scene and go back to the work of eating and grumbling warnings to each other.

Another jackal shows up and takes position to the north. Slowly pacing back and forth in short segments, it smells dinner, but is not bold enough to challenge the lions. It is a waiting game.

Together these elderly lions have brought down this hippo and they work together to protect their kill. They take shifts, guarding, eating, and resting.

The jackal and the vulture stand side by side an interesting pair of thieves. Almost cartoon funny they stand, sit, pace and stare at each other and then back at the lions as they wait for their opportunity to feast.

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I don't think I can do this day justice. I think in this instance words will fail me and a camera would do a better job.

With a camera, I could zoom in on this male lion's face and you could see his yellow colored eyes with pupils so small they are almost invisible. His snout so massive and his nose so black. You could see the blood stained fur around his mouth gaping open, his breathes coming quick, cooling himself in the heat of this African day.

His open jaws expose his massive canine teeth, two inches easy in size. You would see that one is broken off and the other is flesh ripping sharp.

He has an open wound under his right eye, fresh blood still holds its place. Obvious battle wounds from trying to hold his pride. Where the strongest win the rule of territory and females. This old man can no longer compete. He has taken up with three other elderly males.

His mane reveals his age. With a camera you would see the thick golden brown hair encompassing his face and cascading over his shoulders, turning into deep black between his front legs. The length and color both sign of age. It sashays as he walks.

This magnificent creature has walked, hunted, bred, and slept on this savannah for twelve or thirteen years. His body is lean and more scars are present. Each one is telling a story of prey fighting back, or another lion trying to take over.

With a camera you would see inside his left leg, high on the thigh, where more blood is dripping from fresh wounds but he is not bothered by this as he settles into a sitting position. He has joined the two other males around an isolated tree. He holds his head high to survey the scene, before lowering himself onto the ground for a full on, full belly nap.

One of the other males begins to stir. With intention, and without urgency, he lumber to his feet, shakes his head to shed his rest and looks straight at me. I cannot tell if he sees me, but I can see deep into this sacred animal's soul.

The king of the jungle is the title given in children's books and is said with reverence throughout the savanna.

This amazing beasts stretches and begins to move. If I reached my hand out the window, I could touch him as he passes. But this time, I know he doesn't see me, his eyes are now beyond me. He marks a path I cannot see and moves into the sun hanging low in the late afternoon sky.

His gaze is straight but his hips move back and forth as his huge padded feet confidently lead his way. The camera would catch the sun casting golden shimmer onto his coat and the vast, almost empty wildness around him. He moves slowly, and we follow. Visitors in his land.

He is magnificent; I stand in awe.
Awe inspiring, I cannot believe I just had this encounter. The animals of my childhood dreams have come to life.

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Cheetah in the bush
Lean spotted body, fierce eyes
I can see your stealth

Long, lanky body
Revealing your speed and grace
Pacing back and forth

Cheetah in the bush
Worried about your babies
Predators are near

Tear stains under eyes
Dark circles perfectly round
Muscles strong beneath

Cheetah in the bush
Fastest animal on earth
How blessed am I?

Take my breath away
With your long, purposeful stride
Nothing can compare

Lean
Spotted
Fast

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Mon, Feb 02, 2015

2/2/2015

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Today I wake up in Masai Mara under a mosquito net in a safari tent. I am not stirred by the quiet chatter and laughter of girls fetching water and shutting doors. I am listening to birds and chirpers. It is not loud, but it is a deep surround sound.

Light slowly fills the air, first giving trees silhouettes and then exposing their shape and texture. It is still.

The Mara (a place set aside) is vast and remote. The dangers are real. The people distinct and rich in culture. The homes are basic dung structures with mud thatched roofs.

Tall trees and branches with sharpened ends are planted upright into the ground seven or eight feet tall in small circles to pen livestock at night and protect them from lions and cheetah. During the day men and boys walk the land to graze the goats, cows, or sheep.

Livestock is everything for the Maasai; they are embedded in home, function, and tradition.

The homes closest to the savannah have the same protective barriers around their houses. Gardens can not be grown because the elephants will devour everything planted. Young boys spend three years in the savannah with a small herd and kill a lion to become men. Living in this land has created a special relationship between human, landscape and animal.

Tomorrow we will go in and experience the wilds first hand.

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Maasai Tradition

Fresh Food

The Waiting Game

Encounter With Lions

Painted reflections

Cheetah

Mon, Feb 02, 2015

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