Read The White Masai for Free Online Page A
Authors: Corinne Hofmann
covered in sweat. ‘What’s this? You’re cooking sitting on the ground?’ says Jelly in surprise. ‘Yes, did you think we had a kitchen?’ I reply. As we start to extract the spaghetti, strand by strand, from the pot with forks, Lketinga and Priscilla vanish out of the hut. Priscilla’s gone to get her neighbour, who looks at the white spaghetti, then the pot with the red sauce. She points at the pasta and, making a face, says: ‘Worms?’ We have to laugh. All three of them think we’re eating worms with blood and won’t touch it. Somehow, though, I know how they feel because the more I look at the plate and think of worms and blood the less appetite I have.
Washing up is the next problem. There is neither detergent nor a brush. Priscilla deals with the problem by using Omo washing powder and her fingernails. My brother addresses me soberly: ‘My dearest sister, somehow I don’t see you staying here forever. In any case, your pretty long fingernails won’t need a file any longer!’ He’s not wrong.
They have two more days left of their holiday, and then I’ll be on my own with Lketinga. On their last evening in the hotel, there’s a Masai dance, just like last time. Even though I’ve seen it before, Jelly and Eric haven’t, and even Lketinga is going to be there. The three of us sit waiting in eager anticipation. The Masai gather outside the hotel and lay out spears, jewellery, cloth and strings of pearls to sell afterwards.
There are about twenty-five warriors who come in singing. I feel an affinity with these people and am as proud of them as if they were all my brothers. It’s unbelievable how elegant they are in their movements, and what an aura they exude. Tears come to my eyes at this feeling of belonging, something I’ve never known before: as if I’ve found my family, my people. Jelly, a bit wary of so many crazily painted, decorated Masai, turns to me and says: ‘Corinne, are you sure that your future is here?’ I can say only one word: ‘Yes.’
The performance is over by midnight, and the Masai disappear. Lketinga comes and shows us proudly the money he has made selling pieces of jewellery. It doesn’t look like much to us but for him it means survival for another few days. We say our farewells emotionally because we won’t see Eric and Jelly before they leave the hotel early in the morning. My brother has to promise Lketinga he’ll come back: ‘You are my friends now!’ he says in English. Jelly holds me tight, sobbing, and tells me to look after myself, think things through carefully and come back to Switzerland in ten days’ time. I don’t think she trusts me.
We set off home. The night sky is filled with thousands and thousands of stars, but there is no moon. Lketinga could find the way through the bush blindfold, but I have to hold on to his arm for fear of losing him. A yapping dog comes towards us on the outskirts of the village, but Lketinga emits short sharp noises and the hound scampers off. In the hut I reach for my torch. When I finally find it I look for matches to light the paraffin lamp. For a brief moment it occurs to me how simple everything is back in Switzerland. There are street lamps, electric light, it seems as if everything works of its own accord. I’m tired and want to sleep, but Lketinga has been working and is hungry and says I should make him some tea. Up until now I’ve always left that to Priscilla! In the semidarkness I first have to fill up the spirit burner and then when I find the tealeaves, I ask him: ‘How much?’ Lketinga laughs and shakes about a third of the packet into the boiling water. Then sugar, not two or three spoonfuls but a whole cup. I’m shocked and can’t imagine such tea being drinkable, but it tastes almost as good as Priscilla’s. Now I understand that a cup of tea can indeed replace a meal.
I spend the next day with Priscilla. We have washing to do, and Lketinga decides to go up to the north coast to find out which
Washing up is the next problem. There is neither detergent nor a brush. Priscilla deals with the problem by using Omo washing powder and her fingernails. My brother addresses me soberly: ‘My dearest sister, somehow I don’t see you staying here forever. In any case, your pretty long fingernails won’t need a file any longer!’ He’s not wrong.
They have two more days left of their holiday, and then I’ll be on my own with Lketinga. On their last evening in the hotel, there’s a Masai dance, just like last time. Even though I’ve seen it before, Jelly and Eric haven’t, and even Lketinga is going to be there. The three of us sit waiting in eager anticipation. The Masai gather outside the hotel and lay out spears, jewellery, cloth and strings of pearls to sell afterwards.
There are about twenty-five warriors who come in singing. I feel an affinity with these people and am as proud of them as if they were all my brothers. It’s unbelievable how elegant they are in their movements, and what an aura they exude. Tears come to my eyes at this feeling of belonging, something I’ve never known before: as if I’ve found my family, my people. Jelly, a bit wary of so many crazily painted, decorated Masai, turns to me and says: ‘Corinne, are you sure that your future is here?’ I can say only one word: ‘Yes.’
The performance is over by midnight, and the Masai disappear. Lketinga comes and shows us proudly the money he has made selling pieces of jewellery. It doesn’t look like much to us but for him it means survival for another few days. We say our farewells emotionally because we won’t see Eric and Jelly before they leave the hotel early in the morning. My brother has to promise Lketinga he’ll come back: ‘You are my friends now!’ he says in English. Jelly holds me tight, sobbing, and tells me to look after myself, think things through carefully and come back to Switzerland in ten days’ time. I don’t think she trusts me.
We set off home. The night sky is filled with thousands and thousands of stars, but there is no moon. Lketinga could find the way through the bush blindfold, but I have to hold on to his arm for fear of losing him. A yapping dog comes towards us on the outskirts of the village, but Lketinga emits short sharp noises and the hound scampers off. In the hut I reach for my torch. When I finally find it I look for matches to light the paraffin lamp. For a brief moment it occurs to me how simple everything is back in Switzerland. There are street lamps, electric light, it seems as if everything works of its own accord. I’m tired and want to sleep, but Lketinga has been working and is hungry and says I should make him some tea. Up until now I’ve always left that to Priscilla! In the semidarkness I first have to fill up the spirit burner and then when I find the tealeaves, I ask him: ‘How much?’ Lketinga laughs and shakes about a third of the packet into the boiling water. Then sugar, not two or three spoonfuls but a whole cup. I’m shocked and can’t imagine such tea being drinkable, but it tastes almost as good as Priscilla’s. Now I understand that a cup of tea can indeed replace a meal.
I spend the next day with Priscilla. We have washing to do, and Lketinga decides to go up to the north coast to find out which