Massai

Ezra wants to sponsor someone.

Everywhere he goes,  my cousin is approached by young boys, generally in packs, begging for him to pay the $300 school fees that are a the annual entry price for the Tanzanian education system. Sick of turning them down, he’s decided to sponsor just one or two kids, and is busily trying to wrap his head around the impossible challenge of giving money away. He has a few kids writing essays for his “Sponsor Me” program, but has no idea how many hoops he will make them jump through or what those hoops will look like. We discussed the particulars of philanthropic strategy while milling over a late breakfast of Africafe and white bread when the radio crackled. Ezra left the room, then returned a minute later and announced that I had five minutes to pack a bag and decide whether to come with him “to do clinics.” Choices choices.

Heading out to the clinics

Heading out to the clinics

30 minutes later I was in the air in the copilot seat of a bumpy little Cessna and Ezra was handing over the controls to use me as a kind of preschoolish autopilot. I cooperated by gleefully slolemming around the clouds until we reached our destination, a wooden shack with a couple dozen Massai, a 23 year old doctor named Barnabus who looked 14, and two Danish medical students both (conveniently) called Erasmus.

Our team- Barnabus, Ezra, Erasmus and me

Our team- Barnabus, Ezra, Erasmus (one of them) and me

A Clinic

A Clinic

We went up immediately for another bumpy ride, landing next to another stick-hut clinic. As we unloaded I was given a task- weighing Massai babies while their doting mothers looked at me suspiciously, writing the weights down on cards that the mothers all carried carefully wrapped in plastic bags, then dropping polio vaccines into the babies mouths while their mothers pinched their lips open and looked noble. Barnabus got to work on more intensive procedures while Ezra donned his flight jacket and expertly managed the crowd.

Massai chilling under our wing

Massai chilling under our wing

3 hours later and Barnabus was still at work. Having finished my task and prepped tetanus shots (with careful instruction from the Dutch Erasmi) I had retreated to the wing where Massai warriors were huddling in the shade. We had started chatting until one of them decided to amuse his friends by trying to teach me Massai and Swahili. When that got old he had taught me a game that they play with their walking/beatdown sticks, sort of a stick-assisted one-man limbo.  As the game was wrapping up and I scratched my arm on the hard ground, Ezra called urgently that it was time to wrap up.

Hurriedly we packed our gear and took off for the next clinic. Once in the air, Ezra informed us that we had to finish the next clinic and get to the Mission where we would spend the night or risk what he called a “cultural experience.” Once on the ground we worked with startling efficiency, weighing and vaccinating quickly and efficiently and treating 20 patients in just 30 minutes. We piled back in the plane just as the sun was setting, and took off at full throttle. The Ebotamu Mission, Ezra explained, had no landing lights, and a nightime bush landing was not advisable. His eye locked on the setting sun, Ezra put it down just as the last light of dusk was twickling away.

Ezras eyes locked on the sunset

Ezra's eyes locked on the sunset

Inside a joyful, curly-haired Brazilian preast served us a meal of freshly hunted Impala and complained about the drought. Apparently the Mission’s borehole was the only one in the region that worked, and a neverending stream of Massai had been driving tractors for half a day to buy his water. “I can’t refuse them” he explained, “they need to keep their cows alive, but soon our water too will be gone.”

The Mission selling water to Massai ranchers

The Mission selling water to Massai ranchers

After a good night’s sleep and another breakfast of coffee and white bread we set out for another day’s journey. I noticed the cats eating our leftover Impala while the preacher started with the early morning’s customers.

Cats eating our leftover Impala

Cats eating our leftover Impala

After one more clinic in a converted schoolhouse we headed back to Arusha. In the airport we met one of the boys who had been writing Ezra’s essays and I bought him a coke. Ezra looked at him sternly as if daring him to panhandle, while I asked him about his hopes and dreams. The kid was smart, though clearly the product of an education system aimed at rote memorization. It took 15 minutes for him to stop telling us what he thought we wanted to hear, and another five to take the first sip of coke. He wants to be an accountant, he thinks, but he’s not sure. He just has to choose. He wants to help his country grow, but was too fixated on our help to really tell us how. As we left I asked him to teach me a word in Swahili. He lowered his head, embarrassed and  said “kadoga. It means small.

Advertisements

3 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

3 responses to “Massai

  1. elazarus

    Thanks, David…your trip sounds like it’s pretty great, too. I’ll definitely write a bunch more about my host family at some point soon.

    -Eben

  2. Eldon Kelley

    This sounds exciting. Glad to hear all the good work you are doing. Keep it up. I am heading to Kenya at the end of August for 3 weeks. Not nearly long enough.

  3. Jill Gorey

    Wow, you sure are hitting the ground running! *hugs*

    And, awww I loved the end of your post about the boy choosing to teach you the word “small.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s