The first thing we did was make chai. I have been advise to live by a to do list of only three things. 1.Ask people what they time and listen. 2. Eat food with them and 3. Drink chai tea.

Minutes after Steph and I arrived in Melita and Nirosim’s boma for our homestay, Nirosim offered us chai. We sat with her in her musky and cozy cattle-dung numba, as she poured powered tea into our hands and tipped them into the steaming pot. She cut open the cartons of milk we brought and added them in, along with an ample amount of sugar. Once the drink began to foam she poured it from the pot to the mugs and from the mugs into the thermos. Then she filled us each smug and smiled.  As I think about it now as I remember sipping the sweet, frothy liquid–how one can feel so completely welcomed, ever so far from home.

Steph and I at first didn’t want to get out of the Van when we arrived at the bomba. When we waved out the window at the Mama, and she didn’t wave back, we exchanged worried glances. But now as we sat with Mama Nirosim, sipping chai and trading what little Kiswahili we knew, we felt perfectly at ease. For the rest of the day we were to fallow our Mama through her chores and duties as a Maasai woman. Everyday matters for her were adventures to us. We helped her collected poles and firewood for her boma. She is building a new village for her family (construction is women’s work here) not far from her old one.  She gently strapped bundles of cut and de-thorned  branches with a leather band and hung them across or foreheads. It is amazingly easy to carry heavy burdens this way, I don’t know why I’ve ever bothered to pick things up with my hands when I can walk with them hung against my back.

From there we helped drive out the cattle, which are friendly and quite large. A huge bull- walked by as Nirosim’s husband Melita gave us the names of each.

“How do you say- not small hapana kidogo- mm…” I stretched my arms out wide as the bull walked by.

“Big! Kumbwa!”  replied Nelita, laughing. The corners of his eyes wrinkled around his Maasai cheek brandings. “Any questions on us or learning words, you ask!” He said. “And make photos, many photos- for to share.”

Nelita spoke nearly flawless English, and taught me a lot of KiMaasai during the day. His wife never went to school, he explained, and speaks only KiSwahili and KiMaasai. We helped them cut branches to feed the sheep and goats.  He asked if I wanted a picture of them.

Next it came time for some home repairs. Like I mentioned before, Maasai houses are made of cattle dung, so we weren’t using any nails or paint brushes for Nirosim’s DIY project. She mixed together cattle dung, urine and water. Melita reminded us to take off our bracelets and rings. With a grimace, but also with excitement, Steph and I scooped up the dung-plaster and smeared it along the cracking walls of the numba. Niromsim directed where to apply the mixture, and we pressed it into the holes and exposed framework of the house.

“You work and she take photo? Then wash hands and you can switch,” said Melita.

Next, and maybe a little ironically, we helped cook. We had brought a gift of cabbage, corn meal, milk, tea and vegetable fat with us, and now Nirosim helped us prepare it for lunch. We helped (rather slowly) chop up the cabbage and tomatoes and an onion. Melita laughed when I told him many cooks in American are men, and college-age women like us couldn’t really cook. But we tried our best. Steph and I blanched as she guided us in scooping two large heaps of vegetable fat into the pot. We stirred in the vegetables and waited.

“Tunakupika,” smiled Nirosim. We’re cooking.

We also made Ugali, a blend or cornmeal and water that is the Kenyan bread and butter. It’s white, warm and cake-like, with virtually no flavor. I love a chunk of Ugali with soup but couldn’t handle the entire pound-slab our Mama cut for me. She served Steph and I each a quarter of the pot-sized mound. She also heaped three helpings of cabbage on my plate. When I tried to refuse with a “Sawa sawa” Okay, okay, she smiled and reached for more. In Masaai manners you are expected to finish, and we tried our best. But today the Ugali won.

After lunch we helped Nirosim herd the goats to a local river so they could drink. On the way back, she mentioned being tired from carrying her baby. I offered to help, secretly having wanted to hold him since I saw he was coming along, and was thrilled when she slide him off her and tied him onto my back.

“Maybe I should just stay here,” I told Steph as she snapped a picture.

We stayed longer, talking to Melita. He taught us KiMaasai colors as Nirosim sat beading. He pointed out one of each color and taught us the names patiently. Nirosim let us help make the necklace with her, directing the pattern of beads and helping us pull the wire through each hole.

Beading was so peaceful and calming. It’s amazing how quickly our time went. Before we knew it, it had gone from 8 to 5 and our van was here to pick us up. I told Melita I would rather stay, and promised to send copies of the photos.

Location: Kimana, Kenya