Painted with Love
By Karen Diana Montee
Written and developed by Karen Diana Montee
AKA Diana Anderson
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2013 by Diana Anderson
Published by Words as My Wings at Smashwords
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
Dedicated to my supportive parents
and my loving partner
Contents
Chapter One: The World in Picture
Chapter Two: Exploding Sky
Chapter Three: A Sky Surprise
Chapter Four: When the Truth Hurts
Chapter Five: New Explosions
Chapter Six: Over Sharing
Chapter Seven: Two Lies Balance the Scale
Chapter Eight: Into the Unknown
Chapter Nine: A Long Way to Go
Chapter Ten: Reality is Perception
Chapter Eleven: New Perspective
Chapter Twelve: Reuniting with Disappointment
Chapter Thirteen: The Power of Two
Chapter Fourteen: Back in Time
Chapter Fifteen: Dressed in White
Chapter Sixteen: It isn’t Fair
Chapter Seventeen: To See or Not to See
Chapter Eighteen: Relativity
Chapter Nineteen: Discovery
About the Author
Other Books by this Author
Connect with Karen Diana Anderson
Chapter One: The World in Picture
Masai Mara, Kenya September 20, 2005
I woke suddenly, my eyes wide, gasping for air, my heart pounding. I listened intently, afraid to move. Suddenly, I leaped from my cot and flung open the covers checking for a snake, then scanned my body for bites. With shaky hands, I unzipped the tent door.
The camp looked the same as the past few days. The air was warming up and smelled of wet soil, unwashed bodies, monsoon clouds and cattle dung. Masai women and children moved about as if the tiger were not on its front paws ready to strike. My hunches were never wrong, so I stayed alert for the silent steps of a savannah cat. Something’s coming.
Climbing out the tent door, I met Brian.
“Good morning sleepy-head,” Brian called. I found the predator, I thought smiling.
“Sleepy-head? When did you get up?”
“I was up at five…”
“It’s been a rough morning. Be nice.”
“I’m just teasing you Dee. What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know-- yet.”
“Talk to me girl. What’s on your mind?” Brian asked.
“I have a bad feeling.”
“What do you mean a bad feeling?”
“A premonition, you know. Something terrible is going to happen. I need to call home to talk to my daughters.”
“I’m sorry Dee, but do you know how far it is to the nearest telephone? Nairobi is a five hour drive on mud covered roads and I have no transportation for you today. Besides, you would need to locate a phone, make an out of country call and hope that you would get someone to pick up. You’re a million miles away from home. There is nothing you can do. You are just nervous about the upcoming events. Maybe you don’t want to see this girl get her parts cut off.”
My stomach clinched.
Brian continued, “Today is a big day for all of us. I will talk to the tribe leaders regarding teaching their youth English. The Masai women are preparing for Kurary’s circumcision to celebrate him entering manhood in two days and Rata’s clitoral circumcision before her marriage. We are all on edge, but I need your attention here. This is big stuff going down. Keep your focus. Don’t worry about things at home. Changing your travel plans would take at least a day. We are leaving in a few days anyway.”
When I didn’t respond, Brian added, “What are you thinking, Dee?”
“You remember that I’m leaving tomorrow to get some pictures of Kilimanjaro?”
“I remember.”
“I could stop in Nairobi tomorrow to call and check on the girls.”
“Dee, if you’re going to make it safely from Mara Reserve to Amboseli Park, you won’t have time to stop in Nairobi and travel before dark. It’s a nine hour drive if all goes well. Please let this go. You will be home in four days.”
“I can’t let this feeling go, Brian. Something is wrong.”
“Alright. Stop in Nairobi tomorrow if it makes you feel better,” Brian said.
“Thank you.”
“Are you ready to take some pictures today?”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“You might enjoy coming along,” I said raising my eyebrows.
Brian paused. I waited, holding my breath with hope, yet not letting him see how scared I was to go alone. “You know that I’m not a tourist here Dee. I’m here to work.”
“I am working too. I cannot travel across the world to photograph a story and not include the wildlife and the largest mountain on the continent. These pictures belong in the story of the Masai. Readers want to see the environment as well as the people.”
“So, you need me after all,” he said smugly.
My face twisted and tightened into a squinted mess. I saw no way out of this one. I nodded my head once.
“I tell you what. I’ll think about it,” he said with a warm smile as he turned and walked away.
***
Two year earlier my girlfriend and I walked into The Pike Pub and Brewery in Seattle one November night and she recognized her neighbor Brian sitting with two other guys. We sat down at their table and visited and laughed for hours. Brian had an easy way about him and a great sense of humor. We talked about traveling, great restaurants in Seattle, our favorite wines and places we loved to hike or camp. Occasionally, I shivered from a cold breeze that entered the pub each time the door opened. Brian rubbed his hand up and down my back to keep me warm. Although he was forward, he warmed me up better than my vodka and grapefruit. He asked for my number. We dated for a month. I realized, from our long conversations, that we both had passion for the work we did around the world.
Brian wanted to get serious. A relationship with Brian did not feel comfortable to me, although I couldn’t decide why. Perhaps my divorce had damaged my ability to take a risk, and Brian was a risk. He’d never been married and didn’t have kids. My daughters were a huge part of my world and I didn’t see him adapting to that. He agreed to be friends, reluctantly, but claimed that I was making a big mistake by passing up a great guy like him. Maybe I was.
One evening we were sharing dinner and he told me about his mission in Kenya. I listened to his every word with keen interest.
“There’s a great need in Kenya to educate the native people. When the Egyptian rule spread south in Africa thousands of years ago, their religion was forced upon the natives. These religious beliefs have been passed down over centuries and include male and female circumcision upon teenagers. Women are forever damaged by the brutal ceremony. Education is the key to save future women from this mutilation.”
My heart swelled with pain as I imagined the fate of these young women. I wanted to save them all.
“Additionally, the government is limiting the land in which these natives can graze their cattle. Centuries of tradition are threatened more each year. Teaching the youth to speak English provides the tribes opportunities for outsi
de jobs and income to help support the needs of the tribe. Those of us who are brave enough must speak to each chief separately and get permission to educate their youth. We have already been successful with a few tribes.”
Faces of youth that I had photographed all over the world flashed in my mind. Beautiful, ambitious smiles, innocent of the trials life can pose. No doubt I would see similar smiles and fall in love with new children.
Brian’s conviction showed in his face. From the tone in his voice, I knew he was affected by the needs of these native people. His compulsion to help the Masai was contagious.
Then he shared an opportunity with me. “Do you know of any good photographers?” He asked smiling. I could see this project fitting in nicely with my other photojournalist work.
“Oh, indeed. I know this vivacious, clever lady who loves to travel and is an up-and-coming famous photographer,” I replied.
“Do you know if she’s available?”
“Let me check her schedule,” I said looking off into space thoughtfully. “Yes, she’s available. When do we leave?”
“Dee, are you sure you want this assignment? It takes a lot of strength and will not be easy.”
“Of course I want it.” Goosebumps climbed my body as I said the words. “I don’t have any photos of African villages. It will be perfect to go into my current series. I have a show coming up the first week of October in San Francisco. I could include the Masai in the exhibit. The diversity will add dimension.”
“You have an eye for this work. You can come along, but you will have to do what I tell you. I know these people and the land. Can you listen and follow my lead?”
“Yes,” I said reluctant to make such a commitment.
“Okay, if you’re sure. I know how independent you are. In Kenya you might need me more than you think. Are you ready for the messy details?”
“Hit me with it,” I said.
“Okay. Your photographs will be taken in an effort to show potential supporters the brutality to the young Masai women so we can eventually prevent these mutilations from happening. You will have to take some difficult pictures of bleeding teenagers in terrible pain in order to tell this story.”
“I can handle it. I want to make a difference,” I replied, cringing slightly.
“Very important…Dee, you must respect your place in the eyes of these people. You cannot be your usual outspoken and direct self. Speaking your mind as a woman from another part of the world will alienate you very quickly.”
“I promise to hold my tongue, but I know it won’t be easy,” I said pursing my lips.
“Good. Having the chance to photograph this fierce tribe is not a simple matter, but it is a privilege. Most of the Masai keep themselves separate from outsiders. This is not for the faint of heart.”
“I’m honored.”
“There’s more. Kenya has developed into a more educated country with larger cities. The indigenous people living outside of developed areas struggle to keep their customs, and at the same time, adopt a better way of living. My purpose is to convince each tribe to allow their children to be educated. Your job is to document the struggles of a village in transition with pictures, and show the world the challenges the Masai face in trying to save their customs while adapting to a modern world.”
“I can do this.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. The greatest danger in Kenya is being mugged, often at knife or gun point. People are killed this way every year. You need to always stay with locals. It’s usually foreigners who are targeted. You’re one hundred times more likely to be robbed by a local than attacked by a wild animal. The second greatest danger is driving on the roads, but most of the accidents are minor. Of course there are a slew of diseases to catch. Be sure to get all of the recommended vaccinations.”
“Yes sir! I will.”
“Okay. You can come with me.”
“Yay,” I said with a big smile.
“I’ve one request, Brian.”
“Oh no, here we go...what might that be?” he asked.
“I would like to photograph Kilimanjaro among other natural land formations in Kenya. It’s the largest peak on the African continent.”
Brian was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke seriously. “Kilimanjaro is in Tanzania. You can get to it from Kenya and see it from Kenya, but we would need to cross the border to get to the mountain and that would further complicate matters and take away precious time. It’s also a long way from where I will be meeting with the tribe in the Masai Mara National Reserve. I will not have time to go that far for leisure travel.”
A sad feeling spread through my body.
Brian watched my face, then spoke. “I guess I could arrange for a good guide to take you close enough for pictures. The mountain would be in the distance. Would that work for you?”
“Yes, yes, yes! Thank you.”
“It’s very dangerous for a white female to travel across Kenya. Perhaps some other locals will go with you and the guide. I will see what I can do.”
“You’re awesome, Brian.”
“Don’t mention it. This trip will be good for us. It will give us some quality time together. Did I mention that we will have to share a bed?”
“What? I thought we would be camping?”
“Don’t freak out. I’m teasing. But you can sleep next to me if you get scared. You never know Dee, you might decide that I’m not such a bad guy after all.”
I think I would have figured that out by now, I thought while I shot Brian a forced smile.
When I packed for the trip, I was acutely aware of the information Brian had shared. I prepared as best I could, knowing I would be without all modern conveniences. During the flights to Kenya, he continued to educate me and prepared me for working around the native Masai. By the time I arrived in Africa, I felt only a little nervous to face the upcoming events.
***
I settled in as quickly as I could, acting comfortable in my strange surroundings. The past three days had gone well, and with the big day almost here, I felt I could interact with the tribe and get the shots that I needed.
The hot sun reminded me that the heat of the day would test my body. I walked back inside my small tent to grab my large brimmed hat and beloved camera before heading out to take some pictures. Then I slipped a protein bar in my pocket to go with the milk I would be served for breakfast.
Outside my tent, I took a few shots of the interior of the Masai camp which was surrounded by a tangled, thorny fence gathered from the dessert and assembled with care to prevent puncturing their skin with the four inches thorns intimidating enough to deter lions and hyenas from attacking the cattle. The eight foot high barrier wasn’t pleasant and posed a stark contrast to the vast landscape, including snow peaked Mount Meru.
The thorn gates were open to the wild desert. Far away I saw the men herding cattle outside camp to graze on whatever grass was available, which was little. For the past three nights I watched them bring the cattle back into the safety of camp to protect them from wild predators.
Brian explained to me how the Masai followed the same practice as their great-great-grandfathers, believing that their God, Enkai, had entrusted them with all cattle. They took the responsibility seriously. Wealth was determined by how many cattle each man had. Their women could not own cattle.
My eyes lingered on the dark bodies of strong warriors, respected throughout the region for their skill, strength and hunting prowess, as well as jumping high, leaping straight up several feet. I felt intimidated and excited to be among men who were fast and brave enough to kill a lion with a spear. I observed them guiding their cows and searching for grazing ground while moving to the rhythm of the weather, sun and moon.
The women were fit, agile laborers who cared for their children and men with fortitude. They tended to the animals and meals with a rhythmic unity and patience. They wore long draping, multi-colored dresses that covered their bodies except their arms and lower calves. Most of the
women were barefoot in the camp and some wore wood sandals for walking outside of camp. After the women cleaned up from the morning meal of milk, they were ready to hike to the river and retrieve water in preparation for a ceremony in two days where a fifteen year old boy, Kurary, would be circumcised and honored. Brian had arranged for me to tag along to the river. I had already documented the preparations of the past two days and felt confident that the story was coming together in pictures.
On day four of my stay with the Masai, making friends with the women proved more challenging than settling into the dust, mud, strange food, new language and dark nights without electricity. I felt like an orphaned child that was a bother rather than a helpful addition. The camera protruding at my breastbone must have seemed strange to them. I didn’t speak their language. I didn’t look like them and I didn’t work hard in the hot sun like they did every day. Each time I offered to help, I got in the way and couldn’t understand the instructions offered in a language I didn’t know.
It was slightly easier with the children. Mostly they laughed and pointed at me, or walked cautiously around me. Some of them gathered around to pose for my camera when I took pictures. They loved to watch me pick at my food. I watched them eat in complete appreciation of nourishment and comfort to their bellies. I ate in hopes that lack of running water and proper sanitation wouldn’t cause me to become ill and lose my lunch. Quickly I tired of eating their staple foods: fresh, warm milk and curdled milk. I smiled a huge ‘thank you’ for their hospitality, but felt relief that I had packed my suitcase with snack bars and nuts, as Brian suggested.
I strolled out of camp towards a tributary of the Mara River along with four women carrying buckets. A mule, five young girls and two young boys joined us. The mule was loaded with a harness and buckets dangling from each side. The women leading us began to sing a simple tune in higher tones than most American songs. Their merriment drowned out the coos of nearby birds. I photographed the singing women carrying the empty buckets on their heads.
Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death Page 1
