13:06, Friday, 29 July, 2011

Wednesday was Market Day. On the way into Talek, Jackson had to get out and run at a bunch of cattle, tapping them on the butt with an old dead vine because they were blocking the crossing that requires speed to get up the other side. It looks as though you are going to go off the edge of a cliff, a definite hubcap-locker and consequently my favorite crossing.

At the market, we got mobbed from every side by women trying to sell us their jewelry. It is extraordinarily stressful; people literally surround you and shove their bracelets and necklaces in your face, saying “this one, this one.” And then if you see one you like, you have to haggle a price, almost certain to pay too much because your skin color gives away your lack of knowledge concerning worth in a Kenyan economy. Heaven forbid you settle on a price and buy something, because obviously if you can afford one bracelet you have enough money to buy something from everyone. Thank goodness we found Julianna and Lucy, sisters who are old friends of Fisi Camp, and bought the majority of our things from them. Lia, Eli and I got dressed up as Maasai with the whole town looking on. I felt like a legitimate Maasai woman in my flowered shukas, kanga, beaded belt and jewelry, like I actually belonged there, which I loved. Eli aged himself with an mzee blanket and sword. It was so much fun! And I saw Ana; she came up to the car window while Eli and Benson were out getting eggs, along with several other women who had followed the car and were holding their jewelry through the window repeating prices. Ana remembered me, and I gave her the orange cloth headband I was wearing because she touched it in admiration, telling her now she wouldn’t forget me. She was wearing it when we passed her on the way out of town.

Thank goodness Joseph got a haircut, because his hair was getting pretty darn long (also known as it looked like a buzz cut from the states). It was fun teasing him, telling him he was right, he sure needed a haircut! Now he is completely bald. Joseph, Jackson, Benson, and Joseph Mzee made a great fuss over us in our Maasai garb, telling us we looked “very smart.” Jackson said that he would get some husbands for Lia and me, and they would send the money worth the cattle bride price to our parents. Sorry Mom and Dad, but I professed that I could never live as a Maasai woman because of the lack of choice. Thinking back, I really hope I didn’t offend anyone, because it got pretty quiet when I asked “Well what if a girl doesn’t want to marry someone, can she refuse?” Sometimes maybe it would be better to bite my tongue and respect the fact that things are different here. I could not love Maasai culture more for the most part, but I struggle with the fact that I might just as easily have been born a Maasai been married to a forty year old man who already has two wives at the age of twelve, have undergone female circumcision, left school, and have three children whose names I hadn’t picked. Suddenly relativism doesn’t cut it. Much though I hate change, there are some things I would change if I could.

On a brighter note, I got stuck in a downpour while running! It was glorious throwing my arms out to catch the fat drops that were causing dirt from the dry ground to spring up into tiny dust clouds, mountains and savanna all around receiving a well-deserved drink. I slipped in the mud on my way down a little hill, and waved at a biker coming down the path sheepishly while absolutely covered in mud. The children who had yelled at me that they were lions on the way out had ceased their game on the return trip, nowhere to be seen. I literally surfed down the bank, crossing the river as quickly as possible because I would have been helpless to do anything but slide to my doom should a hippo or croc be around (a very rare occurrence in that particular section of the river, Mom and Dad, and I always check very carefully before going down). I reentered camp relieved and exhilarated, where sweet Lia was worried and about to send out a search party. Our shower is currently broken, so I washed up by dipping a pitcher directly into the bucket of river water and pouring it over myself as the rain had currently lulled.

We ended up getting forty millimeters that night within the span of maybe an hour and a half, twenty being the cutoff for not going out on obs at all the entire next day. It was coming down like crazy! We sat cozily in the lab tent drinking chai and playing cards; Eli taught us a new game called “Durack” (sp). It’s got to be one of my favorite card games ever. We had sweet potato soup for dinner, and gathered around Brian’s computer to watch a terrible exhibition of American culture; I don’t even want to know what Benson, Jackson, Joseph, and Lasinko thought of The Big Labosky (sp). What a stupid movie, but I must admit it cracked me up at parts, especially the character Walter. He was pretty great.

By the time we went to bed, the stars were glittering through the acacia branches, the clouds all rained out.

Next morning, we slept in until ten, played some more cards, and did some work (found a new Serena lioness and named her Cranberry for The Cranberries). The rain had brought the safari ants out like crazy, and I sustained my first bites, luckily only two, neither from a warrior. They have infested the choo-most unpleasant. We have to dance our way to the seat, and then hold our feet out in front of us while precariously sitting crooked. It’s not easy, let me tell you. Brian, Eli, Lia and I went for a walk to ease our restlessness around 5:30. It was wonderful out, the ground still freshly wet, everything glinting and wide open. Everyone had boots except for me, and eventually I got sick of sliding around in my sandals and left them under a bush for the return trip. My feet have never been so muddy, which is saying something; it took two thirds of a jerry can to get them clean. We saw some elephants and three hyenas though! No snakes, although it would have been the ideal time to see one, far from camp with three other people to keep you brave.

Everyone was at dinner: Kelsey, Roberta (“Mama Kelsey”), Triple B, Mama B, and a new addition named Chuckles, the boldest of the bushbabies. Kelsey crouched under Lia’s chair, giving off the most endearing little growl at the babies. Triple B climbed the pole right in front of the table, effortlessly holding himself in place to its side while staring at us with enormous eyes. I nearly died: SO CUUUUUTTTTTE! We discovered that bushbabies both sniff very loudly and love spaghetti noodles; at one point Triple B stood on his hind legs with noodles in both hands, unable to eat them fast enough and unsure which fistful to go for first. I coaxed Chuckles (we needed a “ch” name for “creepy hands”) up to grab noodles from me with his adorably weird digits. Before we parted for bed, Kelsey was running around, hissing and playing, jumping on her mom’s back and rolling into the lab tent, chewing on the zippers. She was full of it! She also crunched through a dung beetle that Lia set in front of her; apparently genets like to eat insects.

Before bed I got some news on the phone that has made today very hard; Minerva is missing back home. Her personality is not one in which she should have been gone four days, but I don’t want to give up hope. It really hurts to imagine that I might never see her again, and that Albus is all alone. My little baby girl.