The celebration was fun - to get there we set off across the red dust landscape, Zho-Zho, Mama Cass (the home help, who regards Matt and I with the deepest suspicion), Philip, Matt and I, with Laishan, the baby, strapped firmly to Mama Cass's back (her name is not really Mama Cass, it's Mama something else, but we have decided it's definitely Mama Cass...). We could hear the party before we got there, with the sound of singing drifting, as it turned out, UP, over the large cliff we had to negotiate down, in order to get there.... Slipping and sliding away, with squeals of excitement coming from Laishan, we shimmied down the cliff and towards the sound of the singing, until we could make out hundreds of dots of red in the distance, the Maasai men, all wearing their red shukkas to mark them as stewards, ushering people towards the enormous tubs of rice, choma (barbecued meat) and chapatis. Eating done, it was time for the speeches, then some more speeches, topped off with a few more speeches. At one point a helicopter arrived bearing some important political figure or other, which was overshadowed by what at first appeared to be a small riot breaking out on the other side of the field. Everyone, mid politicians speech, ran from the tent in which he was speaking, to the truck advancing from the other side of the field, shouting and waving their sticks in the air,a sea of red, leaving the poor politician speaking to himself. Slightly alarmed, I of course joined the throng to find out what was going on, only to see a mass of cheering , shouting people running alongside the truck, with my host mum, Maggie, out in front, waving her shawl in the air and whooping.The truck travelled as far as the politician (who was still gamely speaking), complete with crowd. I thought at this point that there was bound to be a bit of trouble, the army boys who had arrived with the politician were sure to get a bit excitable, but to my surprise, the two sides met.......and started singing. A choir appeared from nowhere and joined in, and order was restored. Turns out the chap in the truck was some sort of local hero , a boy barely out of school, who is running for office in the coming election - if the crowd is to be believed there should be no problems getting elected.
Tuesday was clinic, busy as usual as it's market day. We have the saddest little girl I have ever met coming to us daily for injections. She looks to be about nine, and has TB. The usual TB medications are not available here, so she is on a course of intra-muscular injections of a strong antibiotic for sixty days. As we do not have the facilities to administer intra-venous drugs here, the thick, oily substance has to be injected into her tiny little buttock every day. She is such a downcast little thing - she comes up to the house on the weekends for us to continue the course - I gave her injection on Saturday and spent the rest of the day thinking about her and how much she had screamed afterwards. She missed her dose on Monday, so on Tuesday came to clinic in the morning for a dose, then sat mournfully on the steps of the half built building next door all day, intermittently crying, to wait for an evening dose to catch up. She has worn the same torn yellow satin dress since I met her three weeks ago, and if anyone signifies the stark divide between what we can provide here, and what we can provide at home, then this little girl is it.
Monday February 18th
We're going to a big celebration in the village today. Cecilia is still in Ngong, so I was going to the clinic this morning to run it with the aid of my trusty interpreter Naomi, until I was firmly informed by Maggie (she who must be obeyed) that it was not opening, and we were to make an effort to dress "Maasai". Matt, my house-mate was not as enthralled by this as I was, seeing that Maasai men traditionally wear two (short) coloured sheets, hung from opposite shoulders to form a mini dress. a beaded belt, all topped off with a "shukka", a Maasai blanket, usually red tartan, casually slung around the neck. They also have big canes, with a large bobble at the end, to herd cattle, beat down thorny trees, and lean nonchalantly on, looking debonair. Matt is currently agreeing to the shukka....I am a little bit more fortunate, and have a white top decorated with embroidery and dangly silver bits, and a type of cape - which I am popping in my bag for now - I am definitely walking the middle way again, and am wearing trousers as opposed to a selection of wraps (mainly because I have just not got the hang of tying them properly, and it would be awfully embarrassing to lose them...).
We think the celebration is to honour the new chief of the area, and there seem to be a whole host of dignitaries from all over coming along with some two thousand people (I'm trying not to think about the speeches.....). More importantly, there have been fifty goats and three cows slaughtered, so plenty of yummy barbecued meat .. Needless to say we were told to be ready for eleven, and are now sitting patiently waiting for "maybe twelve, twelve thirty" before we set off.....
Just as an aside, we had plenty of visitors yesterday,including the local Pastor (recognisable on sight by his too-large, shiny suit.) He opened innocently enough , with the usual chit-chat about football, then seamlessly asked if we had heard about Jesus, and did we know the ten commandments... Matt stepped to the fore with "don't lie - that's one isn't it?" which left me in a rather uncomfortable position when asked if I believed in God...... I declined the offer to attend the church as gracefully as I could, swiftly thanking them for their interest and burying myself back in my book. Narrow escape........
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