Father, I don’t want to be hurt again….
She closed her eyes, which were smarting from the hours of strong sunlight, heat, and dust, and let the salty tears wash them clean. If only I could wash my heart clean. As the silent tears dropped and made a stain on her once clean sundress, her anxious mind quieted enough for God’s Spirit to bring to her memory a Scripture verse from the book of Matthew: “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.”
“Things,” she thought, is the all-encompassing word describing what can become my distraction. I must first seek His kingdom—that is the key. Only then will I find the very best in life to enjoy.
In an act of her will, choosing to obey, Sable opened the Land Rover door and got out, feeling the dust and heat rise to her feet and ankles, and spoke aloud, “I claim this Maasai manyatta for you, Lord. I give myself first to your heart’s desire—the precious souls of the Maasai.”
And suddenly—as if in mockery and opposition—she felt a painful bite, not just one, but a score. She cried out, looking down at her sandaled feet….
She was standing on a moving brown trail some four inches wide. Giant safari ants! She screamed hysterically, running from the track and trying to knock them off as they bit painfully.
“Sable?” Kash came running, followed by a young European man and several tall Maasai warriors carrying spears and wrapped in blankets, but she hardly noticed as Kash knocked the large brown ants from her legs, then carried her toward the manyatta.
A babble of voices resounded about her, but the hot swelling was now so painful she couldn’t concentrate on understanding the Swahili. Kash was speaking to the Maasai, standing with her in the center of a large compound encircled with bomas—four-foot-high huts built of pliable green branches plastered with a mixture of hardened mud and cow dung.
The next thing she knew, she was being carried into one of the huts, through a small entrance room where animals were kept. Dean threw a blanket over some straw, and Kash stooped and laid her there. A calf was penned next to her, and she heard it moving around. The boma had no windows or chimneys and was incredibly dark and smoke filled in order to repel the flies that swarmed in vast numbers around the cattle.
“I’ve a medical kit in the Cessna,” she heard Dean telling Kash.
As he started out, Kash called, “See if you can dig up a light.”
“I’m…I’m all right now,” said Sable, trying to sit up, her teeth chattering despite the stifling heat. The strong smells assaulted her nostrils, and she sneezed.
“Didn’t I tell you to wear safari clothes and boots?” gritted Kash.
“You sound like my father.”
“I assure you I’m not. Lie down. We’ll soon get some medicated ointment on those bites.”
“I don’t want any fleas and ticks,” she whispered so her voice wouldn’t carry.
“You can just lie there and scratch. It’s better than standing in the center of a line of safari ants. How’re your legs?”
“Swollen and painful, if you must know, and stinging horribly.”
“And we’re twenty grueling miles from Kate, and eight more from the lodge! Not very good timing.”
“If you cared at all you wouldn’t make me feel worse by sounding so critical.”
“I’m sorry,” Kash said softly. “Thirsty?”
She smiled ruefully. “Can you get me an ice-cold Coke over ice?”
“How does lukewarm boiled milk sound?”
Sable moaned and scratched a flea bite. “I’m ready to go home now….”
“Ah yes, the daring, rugged missionary, who’s anxious to trek into Samburu with far worse conditions, is now ready to fly home to Canada.”
“Last Christmas I went skiing…the snow was wonderful. Can you ski?”
“No, I carry revolvers and drive dusty Land Rovers over drought-stricken East Africa. But I have climbed the snow and ice of Kebo,” he said of Kilimanjaro’s highest peak.
“I didn’t know how to ski, either. I wonder if you’d like it.”
“I might, if you were there. Was ‘dear’ Dr. Adler there to keep you company?”
“No…I was all alone, mourning Mother’s death and thinking—” She stopped. Of you, she could have said. “But I wish Vince were here now!” She winced, touching her swollen legs and imagining the hideous sight they must be, all red and inflamed.
“Cheer up. I can apply ointment as well as he can.”
“No one is applying anything, thank you. I can do it myself. Dean’s back….”
A lantern was lit, and Sable grimaced at the sight of her ankles.
“This will help,” said Kash, handing her a tube of ointment and uncorking a bottle of pills. He handed her one with the canteen of water.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Just swallow it and ask questions tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”
“We can’t very well drive thirty miles at night. The sun’s about to set, and it’ll be black out there on the Serengeti. Dean and I are staying in here with you, so no need to worry.” He turned to Dean, a stocky, muscular blonde around twenty-seven, in Levi’s and a dusty black shirt.
“What can you dig up to eat?” asked Kash.
“Boiled milk.”
Kate would like him, Sable found herself thinking as the two men stepped outside while she applied the ointment. Minutes later she lay down and surrendered to the provender. At least the blanket had come from Dean’s plane.
She listened to Kash and Dean talking in low voices outside the room. In the sweltering heat she felt her brain buzzing—or was it a mosquito? She looked over at the liquid-eyed calf in its pen staring at her, then as the buzzing grew louder, she found her brain growing heavier until her eyes shut wearily. I’m sorry…Lord…I didn’t mean to complain…. Thank you for the Maasai, for this nice boma, the bed, the boiled milk….
****
It was late, but how late she didn’t know. She raised herself to an elbow, listening to Maasai voices outside the boma. Something was going on. She struggled to her feet and examined the swelling in her ankles. The lantern was still glowing, and she looked about for Kash and Dean. Dean was in the next room, and Kash was on the other side of the pen where the calf was kept. He was still awake and must have heard the Maasai voices outside at the same time she did, for he pushed himself up from the dirt floor and came around the pen.
“What is it?” she whispered. “What do you think they want?”
By now Dean, too, had come awake and followed Kash outdoors. Sable tried to distinguish the voices and caught snatches of words….
“Warrior dances?” she whispered to herself, heart pounding.
Dean came back inside, smiling at her. “It’s midnight, and they’ve invited us out to learn some of the Maasai warrior dances and to take part in jumping contests.”
A rare experience! “I’m coming,” she told him. “Give me time to put my boots on.”
Kash stood in the doorway as she was digging into her bag for her safari clothes. “You’ll never get those boots on now.”
“The swelling’s gone down. I’ve got to come, Kash! I remember when you and Seth told me about the dances.”
“Kash got the warrior chief to agree to the film showing next week,” Dean said, offering his hand to help her up. “I guess you know how rare a privilege it is to have permission to come back and show the film in a warrior’s initiation camp.”
Sable smiled with delight and looked at Kash. “All we need is for Mckib to show up tomorrow with the equipment.”
“Not much chance of that, but you’ve got your open door,” said Kash.
Her eyes sought his. “Thanks to you,” she said quietly.
He swooped her up into his arms. “Any woman brave enough to get those boots on deserves to be carried in style.”
Eleven
Sable sat between Kash and Dean, watching the Maasai warriors parade out like ebony giants.
More dry brush was cast onto the flames. While the white moon enveloped Mount Kilimanjaro, the Maasai warriors began their ancient dance, their spears held straight up toward the black sky. The firelight illuminated their extremely tall and lean bodies garbed in what looked to Sable like red tablecloths. With their black hair intricately woven and adorned and their faces painted with red ocher, they wore fixed grave expressions, gripping the long spears that were as famous as the moran themselves.
They stepped out with a deep guttural voice in unison: “N-ga-AY!”
Then, one by one, they began the long, leaping Maasai trot used in war and cattle raids that once brought them three hundred miles or more running over the plains.
At the spectacle, Sable stiffened with a chill. Kash leaned toward her, taking her hand. “The Maasai have legs that can run forever. There’s a saying: No one can outrun a Maasai.”
She watched, transfixed. One by one, the warriors leaped straight up—the highest jumps she’d ever seen—then came down landing lightly, firm and flat on their feet, not a muscle twitching. “UM-ba-AY-uh!” came the deep male voice, almost a hum blending with the rhythm of a few drums. Then two stepped out together, spears glinting. Their chins shot out with grave dignity; they arose tall, then shot up, coming down again and stamping the dusty ground with the right foot. Then all the warriors in the main body began to jump straight up and down, and on each leap the spears twirled. The chant grew heavy, low, and repetitive: “AH-yea-AH-y! AH-yea-AH-y!”
The dance grew more complex. Their entranced faces, painted with ocher, glistened with sweat. They formed circles and then circles within circles, continuing to leap so high off the ground that Sable caught her breath. The metal on their forearms gleamed in the light; the beads clicked with the rhythm of their voices. Sable felt fear, exaltation, and the underlying sense of mournful loss.
As she sat with Kash and Dean near the fire, watching the dance unfold before them, Sable thought about the noble Maasai people she had grown to care about so deeply. She remembered the stories her mother had often told her—of their history and customs. A semi-nomadic people who depended exclusively on their cattle, the Maasai believed that all cattle on Earth belonged to them, and it was their right to take them from others. It amazed Sable that for the most part predators seemed to bypass the Maasai cattle, as though they knew their own preservation depended on cooperation.
She had always been impressed with the Maasai because they did not kill wild animals for any purpose except to protect their cattle or their people and for a few ceremonies. The one exception was the lion, which they used to kill in order to prove their bravery, but the practice was now forbidden by the government. Sable had learned from her father that, because of the great respect the Maasai showed for wildlife, many of the best parks and reserves in Kenya and northern Tanzania were located either within Maasai country or on their borders.
“There’s no doubt the Maasai are an especially attractive and interesting tribe,” her mother had said. “In colonial times the Europeans had a saying that they had ‘caught a disease called Maasaitis,’ meaning only that they had become fond of the tribe. They are a dignified people who are courteous and friendly to those who treat them on equal terms. But however much we respect another people’s culture, never think it is sufficient in itself to save them. The Lord tells us not to forget how lost any people are without Him. Since we admire the Maasai from afar, we must also come close to their hearts with the Light. The Maasai are open to the gospel,” she had said, “but they reject our Western ways.”
Her mother had taught her that the Maasai’s present importance was as nothing compared to their former glory. Perhaps four hundred years ago they had pushed south from the Lake Rudolf area and by 1850 had established their rule over all the open country in what is now known as central and southern Kenya and northern Tanzania. For fear of them, the slave traders avoided the Maasai, and they were never captured or sold.
“Most other tribes lived in fear of the very tall and exceptionally fast-running Maasai warrior,” her mother had told her. “The other tribes confined themselves to the forests, where the Maasai fighting tactics were less effective.”
The extent of past Maasai rulership was clear to Sable by the place names they left behind in East Africa, even in areas where they no longer lived. Nairobi itself was a Maasai word. It was taken from the expression “ngare nairobi,” meaning “cold water,” and probably referred to the Nairobi River.
As if reading her thoughts, Kash leaned over and said quietly to Sable, “It’s important you understand them if you would share the message of Christ.”
She looked at him in the flickering firelight and carefully listened to his explanation, amazed at his concern for the souls of the Maasai and how she should approach them. Dean smiled his encouragement as Kash went on.
“They’re a democratic group with no actual source of hereditary temporal power, but there are certain men called ‘laibon,’ believed to have supernatural powers, who advise when a particular action is needed to be carried out. In the old days, Europeans would call them witch doctors, but the Maasai found this insulting. Showing respect is the key to gaining their audience.
“All Maasai males pass through three main stages,” Kash told her. “First he’s a boy, then a moran—a warrior—then an elder. Boys are circumcised between the ages of fourteen and eighteen—the actual time for each generation is decided by the laibon. The older half of a circumcised group is known as the ‘Right Hand.’ On reaching warrior status they used to become the front-line troops. The younger half is the ‘Left Hand.’ They used to form the reserve. Today the warriors are forbidden to attack other African tribes or to kill lions—but it still occurs in secret. In an effort to dampen their warlike nature, the black, white, and red buffalo-hide shields have been taken away from them by the Kenyan government—probably more out of fear than reason, although they still carry their spears as a defense against wild animals.”
As the campfire crackled, Kash, Dean, and Sable envisioned the early days when stately files of Maasai raiders in black ostrich plumes and lion headdresses, spear points gleaming, crossed the plains with confidence. Kash continued to explain: “On the morning of the circumcision ceremony each boy goes out very early and lies on the open ground in order to become cold. Cold water is also poured over him. While the operation is being carried out, the candidate must not flinch or cry out or he will become an object of ridicule. Immediately after the operation he remains in his mother’s hut for four days, and on emerging for the first time he wears female clothing.
“Once the wounds have initially healed, all the circumcised boys blacken their bodies with charcoal and make a white pattern in chalk on their faces. Two ostrich feathers form a headdress, and the boys roam the countryside in a group. They shoot birds with bows and arrows and mount the feathers on a wooden frame to make their own headdress. They also shoot blunt arrows at girls of their choice. Gradually during this period their hair is allowed to grow, until it is sufficiently long to do up into plaits and weave the characteristic elaborate styles. At this point the young men become full moran and remain so for about eight years.
“Today, the moran have no duties apart from defending their people and cattle against enemies and wild animals. In the past, on suitable occasions, they sometimes took the offensive. They were a formidable standing army that was responsible for the military dominance of this tribe, but now the role of the moran has lost much of its significance.
“During their period of warriorhood the moran live in a manyatta, like this one. Each moran takes with him some of his father’s cattle and a senior female relative to look after him. After seven or eight years as warriors, the moran have their heads shaved and are allowed to settle down, marry, and take their place as elders of the tribe. At this time two are elected from the group to act as the leaders and representatives of their generation.”
Sable continued to listen to Kash and watch the dancers, until her h
ead began to nod against his shoulder and the sounds of the night blended with her dreams. She felt Kash’s strong arms lift her and carry her away from the fire into the darkness….
****
The next morning Sable awoke feeling miserable from a reaction to the safari ant bites. Kash had already spoken to Dean about flying her back to the relief camp, where Kate could better treat her, but Sable wanted to stay at the manyatta until Mckibber arrived with the film and equipment.
“That could be a few days,” said Kash. “You need treatment now. There’s little else I can do with this medical kit.”
Disappointed, she finally gave up and allowed him to bring her out of the manyatta to where the Cessna was tied down.
Dean was walking around the plane, apparently checking everything on the outside, while Kash helped her into the passenger seat.
“I’ll wait for Mckib,” said Kash once she was seated.
Dean then climbed into the pilot’s seat and began methodically going through a checklist while turning all sorts of knobs and levers. After checking to see if her seat belt was secure, he pulled the starter switch. The propeller turned slowly at first, then the engine sprang to life. He checked instruments and controls, then taxied to the end of a clear area and applied full power. The small plane gained speed on the rough surface until her seat tilted back and the ground fell away.
The plane banked twice, and Sable looked out the side window at the figure of Kash becoming smaller as he stood near the Land Rover.
I can’t help it, she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. I’m still in love with you.
****
Dr. Vince Adler was waiting with Kate at camp when Dean landed the plane on a flat strip some distance from the tents. As Sable managed to get out of the seat and step down to the ground by herself, Vince and Kate came hurrying toward her. Kate was composed but became concerned when she noticed Sable was walking very carefully. Vince wore a thundering brow, the wind tossing his thick dark hair.
“Nice of you to return,” he stated curtly. “I’ve worried ever since Kate explained where you’d gone with Kash Hallet.”
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