Maasai

Soon after arriving in Stone Town, one will likely notice the presence of a Maasai community among the vast mix of cultures and peoples lining the narrow streets. Before this city became my home for eight months, I had read that the Maasai seen in Zanzibar are not from here, but migrate to sell their goods to the tourists who flood this seaside town. So, as I began to recognize the same group of Maasai men selling their wares at the (amazing) night market which attracts local families, tourists and seemingly everyone in between, I was very curious. Had they made a home here? Was their presence temporary, only during peak seasons? How do they fit into this layered tapestry? How were they treated by locals?

Lucky for me, as I enjoyed my Mix Urogo soup some nights ago, my friend and I were approached by a Maasai man,  who began asking us many of the same questions I so desired to pose to him: where we are from, what are our names, etc. Soon we were having a great conversation…he taught us a fun new phrase in Swahili and told us there are no Maasai in Zanzibar, but that he and his friends come here for a few months at a time, leaving their home in Arusha. It was great: he was wonderful and we were so excited to be talking to him. Soon I was sitting with other Masai, surrounded by them as we chatted near the famous beaded handicrafts they had made.

The conversation was fascinating. They told me about how it is hard to be living in Zanzibar, away from their home near Kilimanjaro. That they like to party here, going to Livingstone’s most Friday nights (which seems to be the place to be here on the weekend, by anyone’s standards). That the beads on their shoes mean different things, that certain colours are for Arusha, others for other places. That there are some Maasai women in Zanzibar but that they live in remote rural areas. That they are here to make money off of the tourist industry. About how they kill Lions, often by themselves.  That  the first man I met has himself killed 5.

And soon, one young man was hitting on me, going from telling me that he liked me and was glad I was his friend to trying to kiss me, to calling me his wife. Despite the constant reiteration by both of us that we are friends, the mood definitely changed. And I don’t know why I was so surprised. Should I have assumed that this interaction with a man I didn’t know in Zanzibar would be vastly different than many others simply because he is Maasai? I didn’t feel angry or violated by the situation, but rather fascinated at the perceived and real experiences of this community about which I know next to nothing. I look forward to learning more about their place(s) in the Stone Town tapestry.

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