Finally we made it to Oldonyo Samba--36 km northwest of Arusha along the highway. At the time I was amazed at the paved road. Although it was a lengthy journey (if not allergies then I definitely had a case of the "are-we-there-yet"s), it wasn't bumpy. I labeled it "The Highway to Nowhere" but Thomas later corrected me. It goes to Nairobi.
It couldn't have been any more different from Mulala. The plains were dry, dusty, and expansive. Also, surprisingly free of "wazungu" calls. Not to worry, those were quickly replaced by requests--actually, more like demands--for candy (pipi) or pens. While still overcast I felt like I would probably feel if I had ever been to Arizona (which I haven't). Clad in brightly colored plaid-like fabric and beads, Masai herding their cattle dot the open plains. On clear days, Mount Kilimanjaro and Mount Meru can also be spotted. I'm just not that lucky.
After a tea break--the only thing Mama Anna's and this Masai village had in common--we headed for a tradition Masai dwelling. The "model home" was round in structure but not altogether impressive other than that it is made out a mixture of mud and cow manure. Comforting to know that during the dry season, the cows don't sleep inside the house. To say it was a polar opposite in comparison to the model homes of Cielo in Rancho Santa Fe would be quite the understatement.
Awkwardness ensued when Thomas said, "You might give the woman of the house a donation for letting you see her house." With only a wad of 10,000s (a little too generous a donation) and a 100 coin, either option was inappropriate: ask for change or shortchange. The whole money thing was awkward (okay, another similarity with Mama Anna's). Next off to the medicine man who pulled out a lot of gourds and a surprisingly accurate fortune (for 10,000 TSh). I wasn't sure if Thomas was making stuff up as we went along or if the rocks and shells that spilled out of his gourds are just that well attuned to the cosmic forces of the world. I think the whole thing was creepy but I'm not into that whole rocks predicting my future thing. Plus, he said I was only going to have one kid--that can't be correct.
Then B and I were escorted hand-in-hand to lunch by a pair of young girls. Mine pinched the stretched out hair thing around my wrist. Another literally tried to remove the bracelets on my right wrist. Uh, I don't know about that. I know I don't have candy but maybe if something is attached to me I want to keep it. Just a thought. More awkwardness when it came to paying, although to Thomas's credit he didn't ask us for a tip for his services as guide. Another donation, this time to the non-existent orphanage--orphaned children live with family members or pseudo-foster parents at the discretion of the village elders.We waited on the side of the road to nowhere (okay, fine...Nairobi) for an hour. Thomas, B and I all pulled out our cell phones creating an interesting scene of the traditional and technology. Finally a dalla dalla that took us to the Masai market where a plethora of noises and colors overwhelmed me. Again suggesting that we "support Masai culture" through opening our wallets I was convinced to buy two Masai blankets...not a terrible buy but still.
Disappointed by the whole awkward money situation and mostly impressed by Thomas's brother who made it all the way from this rural, isolated Masai village to Boston to study on international scholarship at MIT, this "cultural tour" was a little less than advertised but well worth the escape from the Arusha rain and the emergency poncho that had become a recurring stylistic addition to my already adorable Tanzania wardrobe.All of the pictures are here. (NB: B has much more of a photographers eye then myself. The impressive ones are probably hers but...she did teach me how to use most of the functions of my camera, including the digital macro one)
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