Blood & Milk (6 page)

“He see I not belong here with whole heart. So I not be warrior.”

I took a steadying breath to tamp down my temper. “What do you think?”

“I belong here. I not know how to belong in other place when I am only here.”

Damu’s logic was sound. How could he belong somewhere else, when he’d never
been
anywhere else? He’d never set foot outside this valley or away from his people. Of course it would be absurd to consider belonging somewhere he’d never been.

“I don’t belong in my home either,” I told him. “Not any more than I belong here.”

Damu turned to face me. “Is that why you come here?”

If I stripped away the complexities, the horrors I’d lived through, and if I stripped away the emotions, the answer was quite simple. “Yes.”

“Are you man in your country?”

“Yes.”
Though some would argue
, I thought humourlessly to myself. Those men in the alley certainly would.

“You have not wife or children?” He’d asked me this before, so it clearly confused him that I was a certain age and not married and had no children.

“No. In my country, it’s very different.” I couldn’t even begin to quantify how different
very different
was. Jesus Christ. “We don’t need wife or husband to be a man or woman. In my country, your age and how you treat people makes you a man.” It was more complex than I could explain, but I gave him the shortest version I could think of. “If I am older than eighteen years and treat people with respect, if I contribute to my people and city by working and paying taxes, then I am an adult. And that makes me a man, and it makes a female a woman. There are many variables,” I added. “Someone doesn’t have to over eighteen years. They might be sixteen and looking after brothers and sisters and working full-time to feed them. I would call them an adult and therefore a man or a woman. Or they might not work or have a family, but they are still an adult, therefore a man or a woman.”

He seemed to ponder this foreign concept for a long hard moment. “Why so complicated?”

I laughed because the Maasai way, although completely foreign and bizarre to me, was so much easier. “It is complicated, I agree.”

We set about our chores, though this time I helped Damu. I wasn’t given any directive to stay with the women, so I took it as an opportunity to spend the day with him. As the milk drinking ceremony had suggested, the change of season meant winter was coming, and so we collected the firewood for the manyatta.

One aspect of the Maasai people which I truly admired, was that everything was shared. All food, all water, and all tools. The entire kraal worked together in that respect, to see the betterment of the whole, not the individual. It was a principle many world leaders could learn from.

Damu and I took swathes of cloth, much like old blankets, and headed toward the river and the trees which lined it. We worked in a happy silence, collecting sticks and small dried branches into piles on our blankets.

At one point, Damu picked up two sticks and held them to his head like antlers. He stomped the ground with his foot like he was going to charge at me, so I wielded one long stick like a sword. Damu roared and ran at me. His height and expression made him terrifying. I threw the stick, squealed like a child, and hid behind a tree. I stuck my head out to find him laughing, like
really
laughing at me. He was doubled over, holding his sides.

I stomped over, much like a petulant child, and shoved his shoulder as I walked past. “Not funny.”

“Much funny,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Much funny.”

I stole sticks from his pile to make mine bigger. “Now it’s funny.”

He sobered, looking at my now-bigger-than-his pile. “Not funny.”

I grinned at him. “Much funny.”

He relented with his usual grin, and as he brushed past me, he slid his hand up my arm. It was a gentle touch, a lingering touch, and one that caught my breath. I hadn’t been expecting it, and despite my damaged heart, I welcomed it. If Damu noticed my reaction, he didn’t let on.

We wrapped up the kindling and secured them in bundles on our back. When Damu had helped me with mine, I put my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He gently touched my face and smiled warmly at me. “Welcome.”

It was an intimate thing to do. Well, it was to me, though I had no way of knowing what it meant to him. Not without outing myself and possibly getting thrown out of the kraal or even killed.

But so began the smallest touches between us. I had put my hand on his arm first, I remembered, as a gesture of friendship and comfort. Maybe that’s all his were to me as well, I reasoned. Maybe I was reading way more into it than I should. Maybe I was so starved of human touch, I was seeing things where things simply were not.

I made it my mission to watch the others and see how the Maasai treated the act of touch. I’d been there over a week but hadn’t paid any attention to if and how they acted intimately. But hopefully, I could interpret what Damu’s touches meant and what they didn’t mean, without landing either one of us in trouble.

When we walked back to the manyatta, Damu walked a little closer than he did before. Or maybe I imagined that as well. Maybe drinking blood and milk made people hallucinate or delusional, or maybe the hit of protein made my brain work cognitively and I could now see what had always been there.

We got back to the kraal around midday, and there was much excitement. Some of the warriors and young moran were taking a goat to be slaughtered for dinner. I noticed two younger warriors holding hands as they ran with the unlucky goat.

“They must take it away from kraal,” Damu explained. “No kill it here.” I was thankful, because as good as eating meat sounded, I certainly didn’t want to watch them slay it.

“Why is everyone leaving the kraal?” I asked, as all the people left the safety of the acacia fence.

“No eat meat in manyatta,” Damu explained.

I was pretty much resigned to not being surprised by any new developments in what I learned about the Maasai. All new cultural findings were just taken in stride, and again, I didn’t want to judge. Maybe the Maasai would think it completely absurd that we’d use a telephone to order food in plastic containers, then pay extra to have them deliver it to our front door.

The women prepared a fire, all while laughing and singing, and the children sang and clapped, play-acting and jumping. I’d never known such truly happy people. Always smiling, always laughing.

And, as I’d started to notice, always touching.

The women touched the women, and the men touched the men, while men and women didn’t touch in public, even those who were married. Which, in such a homophobic society, struck me as odd. Especially with guys I’d noticed holding hands. And this was a homophobic society, as was much of East Africa. I’d known that before I came here, but I never considered it a problem because I wasn’t travelling with a male partner and certainly had no intention of finding one.

Damu was tending to the roof of his hut, and while we were afforded privacy, I decided I would ask. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Always with you questions,” he said, smiling as he continued his work.

I looked around, just to make sure we were out of earshot. “I’ve noticed people touching. The women touch other women, fixing beads or wiping faces,” I said, then took a deep breath. “And the men touch men and hold hands. But the men don’t touch the women.”

Damu’s hands stilled. He blinked and licked his lips. “No touching. Not allowed.”

“But the men were holding hands?”

“Warrior brothers will do this,” Damu explained, patting down some mud on the roof. “It is… acceptable we touch in this way.”

“But not married people?”

Damu shook his head, which I took as no.

I don’t know why I needed to ask this―I knew what the answer was going to be―but the masochist in me needed to hear him say it. “And in your country, men can’t be married to men?”

Damu’s gaze shot to mine, and there was something in his eyes. A flicker of fear? Of knowing? I couldn’t tell. “No.” He shook his head. “No. Marriage is for purpose of children.”

I nodded slowly. I understood. In the eyes of the Maasai, wealth was determined by how many wives, children, and cattle a man had. It was bizarre to me, archaic even, yet I forced myself not to pass judgement. “In my country,” I said softly, “marriage is for love. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter.”

Okay, so that was boiling a complex societal institution into one very short sentence. But I needed to simplify it so he understood. No, Australia didn’t have marriage equality, but marriage back home was a wedding ceremony and a legal document between two people, with permissions by a church. Here, in Maasai culture, it was simply an agreement within or between tribes. There were no marriage certificates, no prenups or other legalities, apart from the promise and exchange of dowry. So, by Maasai law, any two people who declared themselves to married, simply were. Sure, the tribal priest performed ceremonies to qualify the act of marriage, but the bindings were that of word and honour.

So, to simplify it, in Damu’s eyes, a marriage was two people who were bound together by a promise. And I had to admit, I liked that.

It meant that what Jarrod and I had would have been considered a marriage, and that both warmed me and devastated me, in equal measure.

I didn’t wait for Damu’s response. He seemed stuck for words anyway and I needed to take a breath. Usually whenever I thought of Jarrod, be it while awake or asleep, it wrecked me.

Though this time, I had no time to drown in my own thoughts and misery.

Momboa raced up to me and grabbed my hand. He pulled me along, speaking so fast I couldn’t understand, but his excitement was universal. “Alé, Alé,” he sang my name, dragging me with him. “
Adumu, adumu
.”

Adumu
was the Maa word for what basically meant to stand in a circle and jump. And all the young boys, no older than eight or ten, were standing in a circle pretending to be warriors. They had shirts and strips of cloth tied around their heads, pretending to have long warrior hair. They were singing and jumping like the Maasai were famous for.

The basic rule was whoever jumped the highest won.

Momboa pointed at me. “Alé!”

So I jumped too, and all the boys laughed and clapped. I noticed the women were watching and laughing as well, even Damu had stopped fixing his roof and was watching. I waved him over. “Damu!” He shook his head, but I wasn’t giving in. Kijani wasn’t here, and he was the only one who seemed to care. “Damu, adumu.”

Momboa ran over and grabbed Damu’s hand, pulling him into the circle. The little boy jumped, his eyes as wide as his smile, and eventually Damu gave in. And he jumped.

He was a striking figure, tall, lean, and graceful. He stood completely still, then launched upwards, jumping at least a foot from the ground. He landed silently, then jumped again, only three times in total, and stopped still. All the boys laughed and cheered, and I clapped, unable to hide my shock.

Shock that he was so profound, so striking, and completely humble. And shock that I liked what I saw.

Damu simply bowed his head, a gesture of grace and nobility. The boys all ran off, singing as they went, which left me with Damu. “You win at jumping,” I said. “I’m very impressed.”

He tried not to smile, and I’m sure he blushed. It was hard to tell, the way he ducked his head. But the sound of the returning butcher party singing and chanting broke the moment between us, and Damu quickly went back to being hidden as Kijani came in carrying the carcass of the goat.

The excitement was hard to ignore. The feast had brought with it much anticipation, and not only did it distract me from thinking about Jarrod, but I saw the dynamics of the tribe in its full hierarchical glory. The men, being the elders, warriors and moran, ate first. They ate the best cuts of meat and they ate as a group, away from the others. Only when they were done did the women and children eat. And not only did they eat what meat was left, but all chargrilled innards and even the skin, fur attached.

Damu and I were, of course, included with the women. My enthusiasm for meat lagged a little when I saw what was left, and in accordance with my customs, I waited for the women to eat first.

Damu eyed me warily as he ate, and he nodded toward the scraps of meat and offal. “Eat.”

Amali handed me a chunk of charred meat without a word, a silent insistence that I eat.

I didn’t know whether it was meat or grilled innards, and as I put it to my mouth, I realised I didn’t want to know. I was grateful to be included, and I was grateful for the food. “Thank you.”

The children chewed on rib bones and the women sang as we ate, and I stopped overthinking and just enjoyed it for what it was.

After all, I was eating a ceremonial season feast with the Maasai in the heart of the Serengeti, Tanzania.

And with that in mind, I had a second helping.

When the meat was gone, the children sat around with the women and their matriarchal leader, Amali, retold the story of the hyena and the hare. I understood parts, but Damu translated, explaining how two creatures who were once close friends became eternal enemies after each deceived the other for his own gain. I had no doubt the children had heard these stories before, but they listened intently.

I sat with my legs crossed, like a school kid at story time, and Momboa climbed into my lap. And when they finished singing songs, Momboa asked me to sing a song. “Alé sing.”

I had no clue what I was supposed to sing, and I looked to Damu for help. He just laughed. “Sing song,” he said, grinning as though he knew how much I didn’t want to. God, there was no getting out of it. So, with Momboa in my lap, I took his hands in mine and clapped his hands together. And I don’t know why, but I sang the alphabet song.

And when I’d done A through to Z, the kids all clapped and bounced, then demanded I sing it again.

By the third time I’d sung it, they were singing along with me and even some of the women, Yantai and Damisi, were singing along too.

Just when I was sure I was going to be singing it all night long, the warriors all stood in an adumu, a circle for jumping. The women stood near them and began a chanting beat, completely a cappella and completely hypnotic. The warriors took turns to jump, leaping tall in the air. As the sun set on the horizon, the sky changed from blues to oranges and purples. The Maasai, as a whole, the Serengeti, mesmerised me. I nudged Damu to join the adumu, but he shook his head no. “Not my place,” he whispered to me. He watched the warriors, not with jealousy or longing like one might expect, but with admiration and respect.

And that was why I liked him. He had an inner strength I admired, and I wished the others would see him like I did.

That night, I expected my dreams to taunt me. Not only had I thought of Jarrod and had those emotions of loss and longing pummel through me, but I’d also admitted to myself that, even for the briefest second, I looked at another man like I swore I never would again.

But I didn’t dream that night. And I woke up with a new sense of purpose. I knew what I had to do.

Damu was already awake, standing outside the hut. He was watching the sun rise. I squeezed out the small door and stretched my back, feeling every kink pop as I did. “You sleep without dream,” Damu said.

I looked up at him. “I did.”

I wondered if he missed my nightmares and the excuse to pull me onto his mattress. I hated to admit that, while I didn’t miss the vivid, haunting dreams, I did miss the safety of his arms.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to think like that. That wasn’t why I was here.

“Where is Kijani?” I asked.

“Why?”

“I need to ask a favour of him.”

Damu looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

I smiled at him. “I want to teach the children English. I want to teach them how to read and write.”

* * * *

Kijani was talking with Kasisi and Mposi when I approached them. I figured it would work in my favour to have Kasisi there, as he’d always been favourable toward me. Kijani, not so much.

“May I interrupt?” I asked, my head bowed with respect.

Kijani looked at me with his usual contempt, and when his gaze shot over my shoulder, I turned to see Damu was behind me.

“Ah,” Kasisi, the small elder addressed me with a smile. “Eyes of Kafir.
Ol-óíborr
.”

Nice. My knowledge of Maa wasn’t great, but I knew enough to know he’d basically just called me “white man with weird eyes,” and this was from the one that liked me.

I nodded. “I have come to ask a favour,” I said, still with my head bowed, but not low enough to miss Kijani tightening his grip on his spear. They waited for me to speak. “If the elders approve, I would like to teach the children. Like a school, to read and write English.”

Kijani’s immediate reaction was to stomp his spear. “No.”

Without taking his eyes off me, Kasisi raised his hand to silence the angry warrior. “Why you do this?” he asked me.

I looked up then, into their eyes, so they would see the sincerity in mine. “Because I am able to. I can teach them, basic words, so they don’t have to leave to go to school.”

Maybe that was a low blow on my behalf. I knew from what little research I’d done before I came here, that not only was displacement a threat to their culture, but so was the fact the younger Maasai needed to leave their lands to get schooling.

The three elders spoke then, too fast and all at once, so I couldn’t understand. Kijani looked at Damu, and I couldn’t believe they were brothers. Sure, they looked alike, but their demeanours were polar opposites of each other. Kijani was stress and anger, and Damu was calm and peace.

Kijani barked something at Damu, and I didn’t have to understand the words to know what he was implying. I put my hand up. “No. This was my idea. Damu is not to blame.”

Damu dropped his head like this was the worst thing I could have said. I didn’t know what was customary and what was forbidden. But I wanted to do this, and it would be on my head, not Damu’s. “Damu.” I waited for him to look at me. “If it was wrong of me to ask, then I am sorry. I just want to help.”

Apparently this was not to Kijani’s liking. “You seek his forgive?”

“Yes,” I answered, looking Kijani right in the eye. “Damu is my guide. He has shown me my way here. He has shown me kindness.”

Kijani leaned toward me, never breaking eye contact, and I briefly wondered if people had died for speaking to him in such a way.

Again Kasisi raised his hand, silently quelling all talk. He spoke again in rapid Maa and he, Mposi, and Kijani quickly fell into conversation like I wasn’t there. They turned and started to walk away, their conversation never stopped.

Damu put his hand on my arm. “They will discuss.”

I turned to him. “I am sorry. If I caused you problems, that was not my intention.”

He replied with a small smile and a nod. “Come. We must get water.”

And just like that, he collected his bucket and we made the trek to the river.

“Do you think they’ll allow me to do it?” I asked. “To teach the children?”

“Do not know.”

“But it’d be good, right?”

Damu just smiled as he walked but didn’t answer.

“Then they wouldn’t have to leave,” I added. “They could stay with their own people. They could learn here, and they could teach me more words in Maa.” The more I spoke about it, the more I was convinced it was the right thing to do.

We approached the river, and given the women and children were long gone, Damu sat on the bank and took off his shoes. Then he proceeded to unwrap his shuka and let the red cloth fall on the rocks. He stood, wearing only a small wrap that was more a codpiece than underwear.

I tried not to ogle, but I couldn’t look away. He was tall, lean, his movements fluid and graceful. I’d used the word “striking” to describe him before, but he was more than that. He was stunning.

Then he dropped the codpiece and stepped into the water.

I looked away to give him some privacy, but not before I saw him completely naked. He was, well, to put it politely, he was in proportion. His flaccid cock hung, long and thin. Just like the rest of him, tall, dark, and beautiful.

He immersed himself in the water, finally surfacing with a deep breath and a smile. He began to bathe himself.

I wondered if I could do the same, because the water sure looked inviting... I stripped down too, completely naked and not caring for modesty, and dived into the water. It was cool and fresh and felt heavenly against my skin. I didn’t realise how gritty I’d become. Sure, I’d dived into the water a few times in my time here but never fully naked.

It was sublime.

Underwater, I raked my hands through my hair letting the water sluice through the strands to remove any grit and sand. Daily face washes, shaving, and teeth brushing served its purpose, but a proper bath was unbeatable.

I’d forgotten what a shower felt like. And as amazing as the water felt, I didn’t miss running water. I didn’t miss electricity. I didn’t miss anything.

Except Jarrod.

I broke the surface, gasping for air. As usual, the memory of Jarrod squeezed my heart and crippled my lungs.

Damu laughed at me, oblivious to my struggle to breathe. And strangely enough, his laughter, his smiling face, calmed me. I exhaled with a rush and laid back, allowing myself to float, feeling my lungs expand and contract with every inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, until my panic attack passed.

Damu floated beside me and without a word between us, with a peace that soothed me, we floated naked in the water under the Tanzanian sky.

* * * *

When we climbed out of the water, still naked, I almost slipped on the rocks. Damu caught me before I fell, holding me close, and for a moment neither one of us moved. He kept his hands on the tops of my arms, our fronts almost touching. He was half a foot taller than me, and when I finally looked from his bare chest up to his face, I found he was looking down at me. His lips were parted, his eyes alight with fire, and I thought for a second he was going to kiss me.

I didn’t know how I would react. I didn’t know what that meant for me, to be held and touched by another man―I was sure my heart wasn’t ready. But what I
did
know was that no matter how unsure I was of moving forward, I knew I couldn’t go backwards. I might not have wanted him to kiss me, but I didn’t want him to
not
kiss me either.

I was so conflicted.

Then I felt his cock brush against my stomach. I instinctively looked down. He was hard, his reaction to me was undeniable. He turned quickly and grabbed his clothes, dressing quickly, scrambling to hide himself. He was not only embarrassed, but he was ashamed, and that saddened me. It also worried me.