Before embarking on an overnight hike across the Loita Hills with Martin and Edward, two young men from the Maasai tribe, they presented me with a wooden stick and a bright red cloth. I fumbled around for a minute trying to wrap the cloth known as a shuka around my neck until it draped over my shoulders like a cape. “Now you are ready to enter the bush,” said Martin.
Whether I felt ready myself was another question entirely. I appreciated their confidence in me, but any confidence I had laid directly with their survival skills. Well, my newly acquired cape may have aided a teeny tiny surge of self-assurance. After all, Superwoman wears a red cape, right?
The land belongs to the Maasai and they know how the wind blows. Wild animals like lions, elephants and hyenas roam the Loita Hills. I wouldn’t bet on surviving out here on my own while hiking. However, Martin and Edward stood armed with metal arrows, knives and years of knowledge under their belt. At least, they were ready.
Understanding nature
“This is elephant poo,” said Martin. I watched him proceed to poke with a stick at what looked like balls of hay the size of tennis balls. Once he had our full attention, he bent down and picked up a chunk with his bare hand.
“You see, it’s a few days old,” he said as he pulled it apart between his fingers. I looked closely and watched the poo disintegrate to the ground like sawdust. Out of curiousity I picked up a clump to inspect. Now if someone in the future tells me that I don’t like getting my hands dirty, I can give an account of this event.
“Elephants have a poor digestive system so they need to consume a lot. They eat up to sixteen hours a day and poo a lot too,” said Martin. “This is good for us,” he continued. “Elephant poo has a lot of medicinal properties. We used it to relieve pain such as tooth ache and headaches, help with sinus issues, and even to aid with childbirth.
“It is also used as a primarily building material to built our homes,” added Edward.
“Wow,” I said with absolute awe and admiration. I had no idea that elephant waste had so many benefits, but it made sense. These large herbivores are the definition of clean eaters.
We continued to walk until we came across more animal droppings. I could identify the biggest pile, but there were three other types of dropping in various sizes. It was odd to see them all next to each other as though I was standing upon an unmarked spot where animals liked to do their business. Or could it be some sort of territorial marking?
Neither of the guides commented on it, so I figured it must be a fairly normal sight. However, they did identify the animals through their droppings: an elephant, a bull, a sheep, and an atelope. The atelope poop surprised me. It was so small it looked almost like coffee beans.
Medicinal plants
We moved through the forest in single file, the way they always do. It’s respectful, but most of all, practical. The bushes are thick and the guides expertly hacked through tangled branches to clear the path.
Martin and Edward complimented each other. Their closeness revealed in the way they often put their arms around each other in a brotherly display of affection. Where Martin expressed himself through words and a pearly white smile, Edward was quiter and more reserved. He carried the air of someone who was protecting the group.
Every so often, Martin would stop and point with his stick. There, a monkey in the distance. There, a medicinal tree. There, the imprint of a lion’s footprint, still soft in the dusty ground.
Under the sun, I was getting hot, and without saying a word, Martin presented me with with a sprig of fresh green leaves, “Put this under your armpit. We call it ‘nature’s refrigerator’. It will cool you down and help regulate your body temperature.”
Then there was the Plectranthus barbatus plant, also known as the “toilet paper plant”. This plant can also be used as a natural deodorant. The leaves were soft and fuzzy, perfect for absorbing the beads of sweat running down my forehead. I picked up a bunch and shoved them in my bag, knowing they would come in handy later.
The forest in Loita is not just a forest. It’s a living, breathing archive of the Maasai’s survival. Everything has a purpose: leaves that soothe fevers, roots that treat wounds, plant fibres that can be used as fire starters.
If you listen long enough, the forest starts to talk to you, too. Not in English, not in Swahili. In rustling leaves. In crunches underfoot. In the stories shared in low voices around fires.
Visiting a Maasai village
Occasionally we would pass by a few children bringing their family’s flock of goats to graze. As we approached, they would bow their heads to Martin and Edward. In Maasai culture children bow their heads to their elders in a sign of respect. In return the elders reach out their hand and bestow a blessing by touching the top of the child’s head.
At one village – and when I say village – I mean just two or three families brought to life by a chorus of children playing out nearby an even greater number of goats and cows. The matriarch came out to greet us. She was on her way to collect milk, and she took the opportunity to use the extra hands provided by her new visitors. Little did she know, I was just a clueless city girl without any idea of how to run a farm!
Before I could object, she whisked me away into an animal pen where up to eighty goats stood awaiting. She directed me to stand with a goat between my legs and to bend over in a way that required me to milk the goat without looking. She made it look so easy, but when I attempted, the goat wriggled out from between my legs as though recoiling from either the smell of my fear or total inaptitude.
I had no idea what I was doing. Realising this, the matriarch, dressed beautifully in a bold yellow top and a red and white patterned shuka, held a goat in order for me to proceed to milking once again. It was the first time holding the teat of a goat between by thumb and fingers and it was clearly evident.
Even with the extra help, and vision intact, I only managed to squeeze out a couple of droplets into the jug. At my rate it would have taken me all day. When I asked her how long it takes her to fill a jug, she replied ‘Only two minutes”. At this point, I knew I would never be considered a fit wife for a Maasai man.
Our campfire for the night
We made camp just before twilight. A cosy tent was assembled for me and a rather cute toilet located behind a bush had been improvised out from a wooden chair and a barrel. Even a makeshift ‘shower’ was made from a metal bucket propped up on a branch. I just used it to wash my face and brush my teeth. This was glamping Maasai-style.
The sky was bleeding orange and purple. We were joined by a few more Maasai men helping with the cooking. A circle of stones was quickly formed, firewood stacked, meat slaughtered – goat, of course. Vegetarian options are limited here. You come to the hills, you eat goat. The Maasai don’t care for pretense or moralising. They care about what keeps you alive.
The goat was roasted on sticks, the fat sizzling and dripping into the flames. As we waited, stories flowed – about boys becoming men, about traditions past down from generation to generation, about encounters with lions and sleeping in caves.
At one point, they asked me how many animals I had back home. The assumption that I had at least some animals made me chuckle. It was probably hard to imagine a life without animals when livestock is so central to their lives, to their survival. Here, the more animals you have, the richer you are.
“None,” I replied. “I guess that makes me poor,” I added with a grin on my face.
It was a world a million miles away from my own back home. The fire crackled and the Milky Way stretched out above. No one checked their phone. There was no reception. And yet, I felt connected to everything I wanted to be connected with: people, nature, culture, the stars above.
I turned in for the night and zipped up my tent. It was comfy but I hardly slept. The night alive with movement and noise. The trees rustled. I could hear unfamiliar sounds. I tried to match each noise with a specific animal. Was it a monkey? A hyena? A bird?
I did this before reasoning to myself that it was not conducive to sleeping. I was safe. Edward and Martin were just metres away. They took it in turns to sleep. Someone needed to be up at all times to kept watch and add logs to the fire.
They might be warriors, but out here at night in the Loita Hills, Martin and Edward were my guardian angels.
Angels dressed in shukas.
If you would like to go hiking in the Loita Hills with Maasai guides, you can do so by reaching out to Maji Moto Eco Camp. In total I stayed with them for three nights. They run a host of cultural and adventure activities from their base, ranging from overnight wilderness hikes to nature walks and from bead-making workshops to fire-making tutorials.
