Out in Africa

Last week Eleanor, Tim, his two research assistants, Isiah and Gabrielle and I headed out of Arusha to The Siminjero Plains- Tim's field site. Situated roughly three hours west of the city, accessible by dirt tracks leading from the tarmac out into Africa, is the boma (a circular enclosure of thorny tree branches) which we will call home when we're in the bush. This was my (and Eleanor's) first time to the Maasai villages which will be the subject of Tim's dissertation research and the experience was...well...how can I put this?...spectacularly and indescribably complex and fascinating and awe-inspiring and challenging. 

So much so, in fact, that it has taken me a week and five or six failed attempts at starting this post to put the experience into words. I continue to puzzle over why this is so difficult, especially when I take stock of the experience. In between the short and long rains, as we are now, the plains are spectacularly full of life, both plant and animal. Covered in lush green grass and wildflowers, the plains were roamed by families of giraffe, gazelle, the occasional wildebeest and hartebeest, and hundreds of species of birds. Each morning, from the entrance of the boma, we watched herds of zebra graze and fell sleep to a chorus of superb starlings and the sounds of zebra keeping their nightly watch for lions (they sound a little bit like donkeys).

The people were equally as beautiful. Each day we were visited by no less than half a dozen villagers. Some would come to deliver our daily supply of milk, others would come just to talk, or see the white mtoto (child). Eleanor, and her things, were a real fascination to them, especially her light-colored fine hair and her children's books. I will never forget the image of two grown Maasai men reading her Baby Touch and Feel Animals book, marveling at the dog's furry chest, and the bumpy legs of the starfish.

In the moment, however, I was faced with the reality of having a child (and all that comes from being in a car all day, or in a place where she can't simply crawl around at will). My days were spent making sure that she was content if not happy, safe (in the car- where she quickly tired of the car seat-, outside- away from the sun- and at camp where the tall grass prevented crawling and hindered walking), fed, engaged...and not eating something she shouldn't be. I often felt too distracted to give the experiences we were having their full attention. To really appreciate what we were seeing, hearing, touching, and experiencing.  To be fully present in the moment.

But hindsight is 20/20, and when I look back on the experience I am honored to have been given the opportunity to become so intimately familiar with Tim's field sites, to know the challenges he faces when conducting his field work, to see him in action-- taking charge each day to make use of the time he had, the dry and passable roads, his assistants' expertise. I think this, more than anything, is why I have struggled to describe the experience. It feels, at times, like Tim's ability to successfully complete his research depends, at least in part, on my loving the experience of being at camp. After all, that is why we're all here.

In the end, though, I know that whatever feelings about camp that I have will ebb and flow. And I know that this is normal and expected-- and that is immensely comforting. I look forward to my next time out in Africa.
-kjd

 Eleanor, first morning.

 Tim's research vehicle, and zebra.

 Just a fraction of the migrating white stork we saw.

 

 Eleanor with one of her many admirers.

  

Tim collecting firewood- signature sunglasses and all.

 

 A typical village house.

 The cool kid on the block, check out the 'do.

 Eleanor's Maasai necklace, a gift from a local mama.

 

Cooking dinner, a goat's leg.

They were pretending to ignore us.