I have been thinking about chickens again. Last January one forlorn morning I was on my way to nowhere when I spotted a truly impressive Massai character with red dyed braids down his back, and full get up, walking with a westerner also in Massai wear with long hair- struck up conversation- Massai’s name was ‘Merinyo’ – ‘warrior’- They had a traditional medicine project in their village. Seven months later- last week I finally visited.

Merinyo’s slicker friend Langai came to escort me- the westerner was back in switzerland.
We took public transport- a dilapidated Landover that takes the Massai to their villages starting on paved road, continuing on open countryside. When the Landover had me and all the Massai packed in like tuna fish, we took off. Four of us to the front seat- the driver reaching between us to shift gears. The driver bragged that he had announced he’d depart at 3, and here it was -3- with us departing. I thought he’d said he’d depart at 2, so offered cheerfully ‘Africa time!’ He looked at me like I’m a fool and said ‘Not ‘Africa time’!’ 20 minutes later on the outskirts of town we pull into a mansion. Driver jumps out leaving the engine running. After quite a while Langai reaches over to turn off the engine. He’s just spotted the driver leaving in a taxi with the priest- owner of this Landover- apparently they have some sort of errand to run.
I conversationally remark to Langai how it’s funny; were a driver in America to leave a transport packed full of passengers with no explanation the passengers would get angry- Langai says ‘even here it’s not good’ – I am thinking it is like we are so many goats packed in, without need for room or explanations. 50 minutes later our driver is back- I have forgotten to ask what he was doing, and we’re off! We reach the turn off from the paved road an hour later, drive a bit into the brush, and come to a halt. Langai tells me the conductor –in charge of selling tickets and collecting money- sold all possible places to sit in the truck, and so is coming by dala dala -he’s not allowed to ride on the roof in town. Langai says it’s like an old Swahili saying: “be careful you don’t sell all the seats or you’ll have to ride on the roof” I think the conductor was having a few beers in town as we wait for close to an hour. - we’re out in the flatlands with big sky and dry, open landscape and are firmly back in ‘Africa time’ now. Our conductor finally appears, hops on the roof, we all get back in and set off.
People here pass around live chickens as though they are umbrellas, not animate. One guy for example was riding his bike holding the handlebars and also with his last two fingers holding a chicken. The funny thing too is how amiably the chickens tolerate it all. I was thinking on that truck we were packed in like goats but it also reminds me of chickens- appreciation of our animate-ness reduced to something like cargo.
That said, I loved the ride. The traffic police were surprised to see me riding in the ‘massai truck’. Traffic police - whose job seems to be to flag down vehicles, remark on their un-roadworthiness, and accept a small bribe to disregard it.
When we got out to Massai-land there is something beautiful about the way of life. Family clusters scattered across the countryside- a ‘patriarch’ and his 1st wife and their children in one ‘boma’, his subsequent wives and their children each in their own boma, the bomas forming a big circle. Around that circle a brush fence for protection. in the center of the circle another circle with brush fence to keep the livestock. We had dinner when we arrived after dark in the boma –dark warm womb-like mud hut- with Langai’s father, 1st wife, Merinyo, fellow warriors, and children. Much warmth and laughter in the boma- Obvious harmony and mutual enjoyment between men and women. It’s easy to hear nothing but stories of oppressed Massai women, but I think it’s not that simple.