First few
paragraphs of a 2,000-word story I wrote on a journey among Kenya’s Samburu
cattle herders:
Simon, my Kikuyu
driver, is begging the attention of two Samburu moran languorously leaning on their spears.
“Would you, for a fee, guide my friend
around the Ldoinyolenkiyo Range?” he asks, pointing to me. “He came to photograph
your people.”
But they keep their heads haughtily
turned away, gazes lost in the distance. They have ignored me with even greater
earnestness, looking through me when they could not avoid looking at me, as if I were invisible. Samburu morans,
unmarried young Kenyan warriors, think of themselves as the salt of the
earth.
“Let’s move on,” I say. “Those men don’t
speak English.”
And why should they? They look as their 19th-century
forebears may have appeared to Austrian Count Teleki, the first European to set
foot here. But for a short length of red cloth wrapped about their loins and
lifted on one side by a machete-like panga,
which unveils their nudity when they move, they are naked like all Samburu.
They love red, to judge by the way they also use it to dye their feather-topped
hair and to paint their faces. Multicolored beads adorn their necks and chests.
But I touched a raw nerve, for now the
morans swing around.
"Of course, we speak English,” says
one, obviously shocked, but finally acknowledging my presence.
"I am Leneemi," he says
contemptuously, "and this is Lekerepes.”
He will go
with me, he says, if I hire a third man.
A third man, he alleges, will be helpful if we run across murderous
Somali poachers. A third spear will be of no use against powerful Somali firearms,
but I accept, as tribal gregariousness will not be satisfied in smaller
company.
They can provide three pack camels to
carry our belongings, food, and water. Except farther north, few Samburu own camels,
and then mostly for milk and status. Cattle is what they herd, and with great
pride. Cattle give them meat, blood, and milk for food; hides to make thongs
and to sleep on; horns from which to carve tobacco boxes; and manure to
waterproof their huts against rare but violent downpours. Mostly, cattle give
them prestige and wealth, pay for a wife, help a son get married, and pull
friends out of need in times of hardship.
The Samburu also herd goats and sheep. They
keep them close for milk and, rarely, for food. In times of drought, when they
lose calves and milk, the smaller chattel becomes their last resort, for it
reproduces quickly. But its care is the domain of women and children. It gives
a man no importance.
Next morning, Simon leaves before sunrise,
while I help my three new companions to load the camels.
