Lendikenya
After walking for perhaps four hours from Monduli town, we finally reached Lota’s boma in Lendikenya. It was a longer journey than I had anticipated although I was fairly warned that Lendikenya was far away. Earlier in our day’s journey, when we were still in Mondulli town and into Ngarash, we had run into three students who, when they heard we were walking to Lendikenya, gasped, looked down at our Chaco-laden feet, and said, “That is too far away.” But we had planned a visit with Lota and there was no stopping us, which is good because Lota ended up walking hours himself to meet up with us for fear we’d get lost without any assistance. He would’ve been right.
Orkeeswa students come from three villages – Lashaine (where the school is located), Ngarash, and Lendikenya – and some students live around Monduli town. Most of the ones who’ve grown up in Lendikenya currently live with other students so they don’t have to wake up at 4 or 5 am in the morning to get to school by 8. I recall during my first couple weeks of teaching, when I had Form One English first period, I’d just be starting my lesson when Lota would enter the classroom late, tie loose, sweating. He’d slink into his chair and attempt to get settled in unnoticed but I’d call attention to him. I had no clue that he had just been walking for two and half hours and probably ran the last mile of it because he knew he’d be late.
Lota – who’s full name is Lotang’amwaki – is without a doubt one of my and Scott’s favorite students. Lota’s probably been the favorite of a whole slew of teachers throughout his life. He exudes positive energy and good will. Each and everyday, every time you see Lota, he will, without fail, give you a huge smile and the most sincere greeting. He is one of those people that wakes up and is happy to be alive, even at the prospect of having to walk/run for hours before reaching school. He looks forward to agriculture tests and will say to me on a Wednesday, “I am so excited for newspaper club.” He’ll come in dead last in a 1500 track race, but will run with determination all the way through and will just be happy he got to race. Scott and I like to joke that if Scott were to tell Lota that he was going to slam his face in the wall, Lota would run up to me overjoyed and said, “Guess what? Scott is going to slam my face in the wall!” He’s just that kind of kid. And by being that kind of kid, he’s been a saving grace for me. No matter what kind of day I’m having, Lota, just by being Lota, will always make me happy. Scott and I had to see where he lived.
As we were walking, Lota kept pointing to landmarks in the far off distance to let us know where his home was in relation to the expansive, flat landscape – the big tree, a white roof – markers I couldn’t see myself, even as we were getting closer and closer. Somewhere along the way, we passed the border into Lendikenya. Lota said zebras were often spotted in his area during the rainy season. Ostriches, also, find themselves meandering into people’s bomas (‘boma’ can mean both one dwelling and a collection of dwellings). As his boma finally came into view, we met up with Lota’s brother Barnaba. He had been getting worried about Lota, who had left so many hours earlier. He warmly welcomed us to his home.
As you approach any boma, one thing that is usually a constant is that you’ll find a gaggle of children, a random collection that you can never quite make up the composition of – some are siblings, some are cousins, some are just there. At Lota’s, the number of children were small, due to the fact that no other bomas were that close by. And all of them were identified. One of them was Lota’s uncle who was at least seven years younger than Lota himself. I kept asking, “Are you sure he’s not your nephew?” figuring that his English vocabulary on family was a bit rusty, but he insisted he was his uncle and a few minutes later, introduced us to his two nephews – sons of his sister.
We sat on a bench beside the house in the sun. It felt good to sit down. We knew we couldn’t stay long – an hour at most – before having to head back home. It was already late afternoon and the sun would set between 6:30 and 7. The four of us sat and chatted. We met Lota’s mother, an old, sweet looking woman. Encounters that Scott and I have with our students’ parents tend to be limited due to our lack of speaking Maa. As the four of us talked though, a neighbor came for a visit and this woman and Lota’s mother ended up sitting outside by us, clearly talking about Scott and I. We were told later that one of their topics of conversation surrounded Scott’s arm hair – why on earth he had so much of it, like an animal.
We drank tea. Lota’s mother offered to slaughter a goat for us, and we, as politely as we could, declined. We were offered one of their many wandering chickens to take home. Again, we gently said no. Then Barnaba brought out something we couldn’t decline – fresh honey. We took home a container of honey which, when we eat it now, we have to be careful not to get any bee parts. Although, as Scott reminds us, we creatures are all made from the same stuff so a bee part here or there on a piece of toast will not harm us. We talked about Barnaba’s schooling – he’s just finished form 6. We watched Lota’s nephews run around barefoot and kick around a small homemade soccer ball made of balled up old socks. Lota introduced us to his dog, Charles, who Lota had found and brought home when Charles was a tiny puppy, probably one week old. Charles, who’s nine and is more affectionate than other dogs we’ve encountered in Maasai land, had seen better days Lota said. He used to walk with Lota and hunt antelope and rabbit.
The latter part of our visit was spent taking pictures which is typical of the end of boma visits. The students are used to getting photographed at school, but a camera is still a novel thing in the villages. It’s rare for them to get a picture with their mother at home or with their cherished dog. And the small kids at bomas, after taking their picture, will shriek with delight when they get to see the image immediately after.
Barnaba, Lota, his young uncle, and two nephews.
When the time arrived for Scott and I to start the epic journey home, Barnaba, Lota, and Lota’s young uncle joined us. Lota told me his uncle, who walking shyly beside me, was a cheetah killer, that he’s probably killed two of them. I was a bit shocked at this news but I suppos when something is threatening your livestock there isn’t much room for negotiation. I asked Lota if he’d ever killed a cheetah and, true to Lota’s character, he replied, “I don’t like killing things.”
After a little while, Lota and his uncle turned around to head home. Barnaba continued with us all the way to Monduli, where he stays during the school year. We took a more direct route between Lota’s boma and Monduli town than we had getting there, but it was still very, very long. We passed bomas of students and people we knew from the school. We passed corrango after corrango – big ditches and small canyons where the earth had cracked long ago. Barnaba kept saying, “Madame (yes, he called me ‘Madame’), I think you are going to sleep all day tomorrow after this walk.” The sun was gradually setting until we were walking in seemingly total darkness. We marched and we marched until we reached Monduli town where we said goodbye and thank you to Barnaba, until we reached our house.
Even sitting here now typing about it, Lota’s boma feels as if it’s in a far away land.
Lota's mother and her grandson.
Orkeeswa students come from three villages – Lashaine (where the school is located), Ngarash, and Lendikenya – and some students live around Monduli town. Most of the ones who’ve grown up in Lendikenya currently live with other students so they don’t have to wake up at 4 or 5 am in the morning to get to school by 8. I recall during my first couple weeks of teaching, when I had Form One English first period, I’d just be starting my lesson when Lota would enter the classroom late, tie loose, sweating. He’d slink into his chair and attempt to get settled in unnoticed but I’d call attention to him. I had no clue that he had just been walking for two and half hours and probably ran the last mile of it because he knew he’d be late.
Lota – who’s full name is Lotang’amwaki – is without a doubt one of my and Scott’s favorite students. Lota’s probably been the favorite of a whole slew of teachers throughout his life. He exudes positive energy and good will. Each and everyday, every time you see Lota, he will, without fail, give you a huge smile and the most sincere greeting. He is one of those people that wakes up and is happy to be alive, even at the prospect of having to walk/run for hours before reaching school. He looks forward to agriculture tests and will say to me on a Wednesday, “I am so excited for newspaper club.” He’ll come in dead last in a 1500 track race, but will run with determination all the way through and will just be happy he got to race. Scott and I like to joke that if Scott were to tell Lota that he was going to slam his face in the wall, Lota would run up to me overjoyed and said, “Guess what? Scott is going to slam my face in the wall!” He’s just that kind of kid. And by being that kind of kid, he’s been a saving grace for me. No matter what kind of day I’m having, Lota, just by being Lota, will always make me happy. Scott and I had to see where he lived.
As we were walking, Lota kept pointing to landmarks in the far off distance to let us know where his home was in relation to the expansive, flat landscape – the big tree, a white roof – markers I couldn’t see myself, even as we were getting closer and closer. Somewhere along the way, we passed the border into Lendikenya. Lota said zebras were often spotted in his area during the rainy season. Ostriches, also, find themselves meandering into people’s bomas (‘boma’ can mean both one dwelling and a collection of dwellings). As his boma finally came into view, we met up with Lota’s brother Barnaba. He had been getting worried about Lota, who had left so many hours earlier. He warmly welcomed us to his home.
As you approach any boma, one thing that is usually a constant is that you’ll find a gaggle of children, a random collection that you can never quite make up the composition of – some are siblings, some are cousins, some are just there. At Lota’s, the number of children were small, due to the fact that no other bomas were that close by. And all of them were identified. One of them was Lota’s uncle who was at least seven years younger than Lota himself. I kept asking, “Are you sure he’s not your nephew?” figuring that his English vocabulary on family was a bit rusty, but he insisted he was his uncle and a few minutes later, introduced us to his two nephews – sons of his sister.
We sat on a bench beside the house in the sun. It felt good to sit down. We knew we couldn’t stay long – an hour at most – before having to head back home. It was already late afternoon and the sun would set between 6:30 and 7. The four of us sat and chatted. We met Lota’s mother, an old, sweet looking woman. Encounters that Scott and I have with our students’ parents tend to be limited due to our lack of speaking Maa. As the four of us talked though, a neighbor came for a visit and this woman and Lota’s mother ended up sitting outside by us, clearly talking about Scott and I. We were told later that one of their topics of conversation surrounded Scott’s arm hair – why on earth he had so much of it, like an animal.
We drank tea. Lota’s mother offered to slaughter a goat for us, and we, as politely as we could, declined. We were offered one of their many wandering chickens to take home. Again, we gently said no. Then Barnaba brought out something we couldn’t decline – fresh honey. We took home a container of honey which, when we eat it now, we have to be careful not to get any bee parts. Although, as Scott reminds us, we creatures are all made from the same stuff so a bee part here or there on a piece of toast will not harm us. We talked about Barnaba’s schooling – he’s just finished form 6. We watched Lota’s nephews run around barefoot and kick around a small homemade soccer ball made of balled up old socks. Lota introduced us to his dog, Charles, who Lota had found and brought home when Charles was a tiny puppy, probably one week old. Charles, who’s nine and is more affectionate than other dogs we’ve encountered in Maasai land, had seen better days Lota said. He used to walk with Lota and hunt antelope and rabbit.
The latter part of our visit was spent taking pictures which is typical of the end of boma visits. The students are used to getting photographed at school, but a camera is still a novel thing in the villages. It’s rare for them to get a picture with their mother at home or with their cherished dog. And the small kids at bomas, after taking their picture, will shriek with delight when they get to see the image immediately after.
Barnaba, Lota, his young uncle, and two nephews.When the time arrived for Scott and I to start the epic journey home, Barnaba, Lota, and Lota’s young uncle joined us. Lota told me his uncle, who walking shyly beside me, was a cheetah killer, that he’s probably killed two of them. I was a bit shocked at this news but I suppos when something is threatening your livestock there isn’t much room for negotiation. I asked Lota if he’d ever killed a cheetah and, true to Lota’s character, he replied, “I don’t like killing things.”
After a little while, Lota and his uncle turned around to head home. Barnaba continued with us all the way to Monduli, where he stays during the school year. We took a more direct route between Lota’s boma and Monduli town than we had getting there, but it was still very, very long. We passed bomas of students and people we knew from the school. We passed corrango after corrango – big ditches and small canyons where the earth had cracked long ago. Barnaba kept saying, “Madame (yes, he called me ‘Madame’), I think you are going to sleep all day tomorrow after this walk.” The sun was gradually setting until we were walking in seemingly total darkness. We marched and we marched until we reached Monduli town where we said goodbye and thank you to Barnaba, until we reached our house. Even sitting here now typing about it, Lota’s boma feels as if it’s in a far away land.
Lota's mother and her grandson.
posted by Siapiau | 7:50 PM
1 Comments:
I am so glad you went to Lota's home. I don't know why, exactly, except that you made him come superbly alive for us, and it is clear that he deserves your care for him, and you deserve to have a student like him. I am so proud of you both. Hooray for you!! viva Africa ....
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