Blood & Milk (3 page)

They talked a little amongst themselves, and I realised this was a trial of sorts. My stay here was still being decided. Maybe even my life. I just sat there, staring at the dirt, and waited.

It was only when they spoke in English that I looked up. “White man,” one of them said. It wasn’t a racist comment, it was merely an observation. I nodded my acknowledgment and looked at each of them in turn, hoping it would show my respect. Of course it allowed them all to see my different coloured eyes, and they started talking amongst themselves again.

“Kafir! Kafir!” one of the men cried. “Eyes of Kafir.”

“He dreams,” the diviner told them.

They talked amongst themselves some more. All the while the angry warrior never took his eyes off me. “Where you come?”

“I’m from Australia. A city called Sydney, in Australia,” I answered.

“You have wife?”

“No.”

“You no wife, no children, no cattle?”

“No.”

“You come here for wife?”

“No.” Even if I wasn’t gay, finding a partner was the last, last,
last
thing I wanted.

He stared at me, like my life and intentions were unfathomable.

So I said, “I want to help you. I want to live here and help, be a part of your people.”

“How you help our people?” the diviner asked.

I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. It was probably fifty thousand Tanzanian shillings or about thirty Australian dollars. I had more money stashed and figured buying my way in for thirty bucks was money well spent. I held out the money. “For your people.”

Apparently this was a good thing. They were pleased, even the angry warrior seemed mollified after he’d snatched the money from my hand. So, while I was in their good graces, I needed to know some names. Diviner and angry warrior were apt and all, but hardly polite. Not that they’d made any attempt in asking me my name―I guessed they didn’t care.

I kept my head bowed. “May I ask your names? I would like to know what to call you.”

After another brief meeting amongst themselves, the diviner nodded. “Kasisi.”

Angry warrior’s name was Kijani. And the other elders were Makumu and Mposi and Lomunyak.

I put my hand to my chest. “My name is Heath Crowley.”

“No,” Kasisi said. “You are Alé.”

The other men laughed, but they nodded. “Alé. Alé.”

Right then. So apparently my name was Alé. It sounded like Ah-leh, and I had no clue what it meant. Probably
Stupid White Man
, but as it meant they’d accepted me even as an outsider, I just smiled and nodded.

Then Kijani pointed his spear to the left. “Damu. Go to Damu.”

They found something funny about that, repeating “Damu and Alé” as they laughed. I didn’t care. I took my leave with a bow of my head.

And under the warm African sky, I shed my name of Heath Crowley, along with my old life, and for the briefest moment, it was the lightest I’d felt in over twelve months. From that day on, I wasn’t Heath anymore. There was no dark cloud hanging over me, there was no all-consuming heartache, there was no devastating loss. I was Alé.

And I went in search of Damu.

Damu was coming out of his hut with his bucket in hand. “Damu,” I called. “Kijani said I was to find you.”

Damu gave me a hard nod. “Yes.”

His English wasn’t great, but I was grateful he spoke any at all. I knew English was common in Tanzania, but I hadn’t realised just how difficult it might have been if they spoke none at all. I had to make an effort to learn more Maa words. I doubted I’d ever be fluent―it seemed so fast and very foreign, but I was determined to at least try. I motioned to his bucket. “Where are we going?”

His voice was quiet, his whole demeanour was placid. “Water.”

“Oh, of course.” I looked around, seeing nothing but thorn fencing, mud huts, and dirt. “Where do we go?”

He nodded over the thorn fence and started to walk. Of course I followed, and as we went through the small gate, we headed in the direction he had nodded. Outside the kraal was something else. When I’d arrived the night before, I couldn’t see any of my surroundings. Now it was a perfect summer day: the sun was still hovering over the horizon and the sky, well, I’d never seen a sky so big. The landscape was flat, undulating to low rolling hills on the horizon. The grass was knee-high and browning off, a sign of the blistering heat. There was a line of greener trees to the west, and in an otherwise dry environment, I assumed the thriving vegetation meant water.

I must have assumed right, because we headed in that direction. There were some women walking a few hundred metres ahead, their laughter carried when the wind blew towards us. Damu and I walked without speaking, and yet, I didn’t mind it. It was a peaceful silence.

I was still wearing the clothes from yesterday, and I hadn’t eaten since… I couldn’t remember. The plane flight from Sydney?

“So, what do you eat for breakfast?” My voice sounded loud in the silence. Damu looked at me, confused, so I broke it down and put my hand to my mouth. “Food?”

“Yes, yes,” was all he said.

Okay, then. So maybe there would be breakfast after we got water? I had no clue. Now that I’d thought of food, my stomach growled in protest. If Damu had heard it, and I assumed he had, he said nothing.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. It must have been a kilometre away, and as we neared the small river, the women who had been ahead of us were walking back. They carried plastic containers of water, and their chatter and smiles died away when they saw me. They spoke in passing to Damu, pleasantly enough, but it got me thinking…

All the other males had gone, herding their cattle. I’d seen them off in the distance―not only the cows and goats, but the striking tall dark figures draped in red were pretty hard not to notice.

As was the man beside me. So why wasn’t Damu with them?

“Were you told to look after me?” I asked, not knowing if he’d understand. “Did Kijani make you mind me?”

Damu eyed me cautiously but stayed quiet as he approached the edge of the river. Just when I thought he hadn’t understood me, he said, “Kijani make you responsibility for me. I do what Kijani tell me.”

Despite his broken English, I understood him just fine, and I was right. Damu was my babysitter. I couldn’t even be offended. I’d much rather spend my days with Damu than Kijani, the spear-wielding warrior with anger management issues.

But it can’t have been good for him. My presence had taken him from his daily work with the other men. “I’m sorry.”

Damu’s gaze shot to mine. Was he shocked at my apology? “Why you be sorry?”

“Looking after me is not what you want. I trouble you?”

“No, no,” he said, then stepped down the muddy bank and waded into the water. He filled the bucket and left it on the bank, then went back into the water downstream. He washed his face and cupped his hands in the water and drank.

I sat down and pulled off my sneakers and socks, pulled up the legs of my pants and followed him out. The water was cool and a little muddy, and I paused, wondering if I should drink unboiled water, but considering I hadn’t had anything to drink since my flight here, I drank it anyway. And it was good. I hadn’t even realised how thirsty I was.

After standing in the cool water for a minute or so, I guessed now was as good a time as any to start with the dialect. “What is your word for water?”

Damu smiled. “Water.
Enk-áre
.”

“Enk-áre,” I repeated. The ending sounded a little similar to the name Kijani and Kasisi had called me. “What does Alé mean? The elders called me that. The leaders, that’s what they called me.”

Damu almost smiled. “Milk.”

Oh.
“Because I’m white?”

Damu gave an unapologetic nod and walked out of the water.

Fair enough, I thought. The Maasai people lived the way they had for thousands of years, almost untouched by time and what we called “progress.” Being politically correct to a strange white man was not on their cultural radar. Nor should it be. I understood there would be very few similarities between their world and mine long before I’d set foot in Tanzania. It was half the reason I came here. I wanted no reminders of the world I’d left behind.

Damu was waiting for me on the river bank, so I quickly got out and pulled on my socks and shoes. He waited patiently, and I made a mental note to be more aware of those around me, their ways and practices.

I stood, my wet feet now uncomfortable in dry socks and shoes, and I wasn’t really looking forward to the walk back. “Why is the village so far from the river?” I asked. Then I corrected my phrasing. “The manyatta, why is it so far from the enk-árê?”

And just as I’d finished speaking, I swatted a mosquito on my arm, making Damu laugh. It was a contagious sound, but then I had to swish another mozzie from buzzing near my face. “I see why.”

“Yes. Yellow… Yellow?” He looked unsure of his wording.

Yellow. Yellow
… Oh shit. “Yellow fever?”

“Yes!” Damu said with a bright smile.

Well hell, I certainly didn’t want malaria or any other mosquito-borne disease. Even though I’d just gulped mouthfuls of river water. Shit. I’d had a dozen different shots before I came here, but still. “Water make me sick? Enk-áre make me,” I pretended to dry retch.

Damu only laughed, which wasn’t too comforting.

“Should I boil water?” I asked. Then something else occurred to me. Damu had his water, what the hell was I going to drink. I pointed to the bucket he was now holding. “Ah, your water. Where is my water? I didn’t bring a container or a canister.”

Damu looked at his bucket. “My water, your water. Responsibility is you to me.”

“Then allow me to carry it,” I offered, holding out my hand.

“No. Responsibility is you to me.”

Okay then. I was his responsibility for all things.

He turned and headed back the way we’d come, and I had to jog to catch up. His long legs strode much quicker than mine. I wondered how much I’d slowed him down already.

“Any mals,” Damu said. “Also why we build great far from river.”

“Any mals? Oh.
Animals
? What kind of animals?” Because truly, Australia had some scary critters, but we sure as hell didn’t have lions and hippos and rhinos.

Damu laughed at my expression. “Animals need water like we need water.”

“Are there lions here?” I asked, given he’d not freely given up what kind of friendly wildlife we could encounter.

“Some.” He pointed one hand further to the west. “Serengeti. Some here.”

Holy shit.

“Mostly beasts.”

“Wildebeests?”

Damu nodded. “Yes. Wildebeests come. Many wildebeests.”

Oh good. Because if the odd lion here and there wasn’t scary enough, stampeding wildebeests kind of was. I shook my head, dumbfounded that I was in a real life game of Jumanji. “Do you see elephants?”

His brow furrowed, so I made a trunk from my arm and made some lame elephant noise. It just made Damu laugh. “
Il-tomíá
.”

“Elephant.”

Damu repeated the English word and seemed happy with this exchange, so I kept asking questions. “Giraffe?” I pretended to elongate my neck. “Long neck. Giraffe.”

He grinned, his white teeth a stark contrast to his skin. “
E-mára
.”

And as we walked back to the manyatta, we swapped the names of relevant things: all the animals I could think of, trees, birds, day, night. I didn’t expect to remember them all but the conversation was good.

“You speak good English,” I told him as we neared the familiar thorn fence of the manyatta or kraal. “Did you go to school?”

“No,” he replied. “No school. I learn by others.”

Wow. He was self-taught. “Do you go to the towns?”

Damu shook his head. “No. I not leave.”

“Ever?”

He didn’t answer with words, but his silence told me all I needed to know. Jesus. He’d never left the manyatta in which he was born.

“How old are you?” I asked.

Damu didn’t answer and the look that crossed his face was one of confusion. Did he not understand my English? I tried rewording my question. “How many years are you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

I didn’t know if he didn’t know what the answer was in English, or if he didn’t know what a year was. I had to think more laterally. I had to forget what my culture had taught me and look at it from Damu’s perspective. “What are your seasons here?” I asked instead. “Where I’m from, we have summer.” I waved my hand at my face like a fan to imply it was hot. Then I pretended to shiver and rub my arms like I was cold. “And winter. And we have spring, when the baby animals are born, and autumn when the leaves fall.”

This he seemed to understand. He practised the names of the seasons with me and it was very clear he liked to learn new things. “We have
nkokua
, means the long rains,” he said. “
Oloirurujuruj
is the drizzling season, and
oltumuret
for the short rains.”

They really did live their entire lives around the land. “Three seasons,” I said, holding up three fingers. Damu nodded. “We have four.”

He smiled happily, and I couldn’t help but like him. Well, the very little I knew of him. “What is your wooden club?” I asked, nodding toward the weapon tied off in his belt.

“
Rungu
.” He pulled the wooden club out and held the handle end. It looked like a short, golf driving club or even a wooden human thigh bone. It was smooth and about forty centimetres long. He pulled it back and motioned to throw it, almost like a boomerang. “Mposi not want it. Say it not good, but I have it.”

I ignored the fact he only had it because someone else didn’t want it. “You throw it?” I asked. “At animals?”

He grinned and stopped walking. He put the bucket down and pointed to a tree about thirty metres away, then motioned to the low branch.

“The low branch?” I asked. It stuck out at about ninety degrees, lower than the other branches. “Wait,” I said, putting my hand up in a stop signal. I ran over to the tree and pointed up above my head to the branch in question, but also to a discoloured knot in the branch. I wanted to see how good he really was.

He grinned and waited for me to come back to him before he aimed. He walked back about ten metres, simply felt the weight of the rungu in his hand a few times, pulled it back over his shoulder, and taking a few long strides in, he launched it at the tree.

And he hit it, right at the part I’d pointed to. Perfect aim.

I stared, speechless. “Oh my God!” I cried. “You got it!”

He let out a laugh but hurriedly went to retrieve it. He checked it for damage and seeing none, he slipped it back in his belt.

I was still staring, not quite believing what I’d just seen. “Remind me to never make you angry.”

“No, no,” he said, waving his hands.

I laughed, hoping he meant he wouldn’t ever throw his rungu at me, and so we talked the whole way back to the kraal. I wanted to learn as much as I could, and Damu was very patient with me. “You have many questions,” he said as we neared the thorned acacia fence that surrounded his village.

“Do I annoy you?” I asked. “Like mosquito?”

Damu laughed and as we walked back in through the gateway, we were met by Kijani. Damu’s laughter cut off abruptly. He stopped walking, and he put his head down. Kijani barked some order at him, and from what I could tell, Damu was in trouble for being late.

“I slowed him down,” I said, then realised all too late that it was not my place to speak.

Kijani glared at me with fire and ice in one look. He didn’t speak to me, but rather he murmured something low and threatening to Damu instead. If Damu was responsible for me, any anger I caused the warrior leader would fall back on Damu. I wouldn’t make the mistake of speaking out of turn again.

Kijani snapped another order at Damu and Damu grabbed my arm and quickly led me back to his hut. Only when we were inside, in the absolute darkness of his home, did I find my voice again. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble. I won’t speak out of turn again.”