Mystery Meat In a Dung Hut

Bumping along a dusty, crumbling road with the window rolled down I sit in the front seat of Mama Martha's old boat. In the back sits Nicole and Elizabeth, a Maasai nurse from Martha's clinic. The trunk of the car is stocked with biscuits, water, juice and bread for the our visit to Maasailand and as we drive into the heart of the Ngong mountains I can feel the familiar excitement I get just before an adventure. The car turns around a sharp bend and then suddenly the horizon explodes into a magnificent display of mountains like I've never seen. Nicole is gasping in the back seat making me smile, I turn around to catch her expression and watch her snap endless shots out the open window. Mama Martha is pleased with our amazement and she begins to preach about God's glory and love in her beautiful African, motherly way. Cows crowd the road at points and the Maasai shepherds can be seen sitting underneath the scraggly trees scattered around the dry earth. Martha zooms along the roads dodging the potholes as they appear and Nicole and I stare contently out the window. Suddenly Martha takes a sharp turn right into the shoulder of the road and, feeling a little shocked at the erratic off roading, I hear Nicole question whether or not this is even a road. Mama Martha laughs and says yes, it is a road. The dirt path takes us to a quaint, little village and in the distance I see children standing under the shade of one of those magnificent trees that one always imagines when thinking of Africa.We pull the car underneath another, similar tree a short distance away and park in a cloud of dust. Moments later I am sitting in a lawn chair and being introduced to the members of the tribe. Our translators name is James and he looks to be of about 17 years of age. His father, he tells us, had 8 wives and 62 children. He is the youngest and the only one that has gone to high school. We smile and congratulate him as I inwardly am starring opened mouth. 62 children is a lot of children, it was like listening to a bible story or some other ancient tale that is too old to really comprehend but there you have it. The women were beautiful, wearing layers of colourful clothe strewn elegantly over their skinny arms and backs. Theirs ears, as was tradition, were decorated with beads. The lobes of the older ones ears had been punctured with a knife and then stretched out to an impressing length. The larger the lobe the more experience the women had. Mama Martha was launching into another powerful sermon telling them that their children were equal to all the children of the world and they deserved education just like every other child. She then looked over to me indicating that it was my turn to stand and preach. I swallowed nervously eyeing the tribe elder that had just joined us. I stood and started preaching, stopping after every sentence so that James could translate for me. They seemed to enjoy it any ways. My age is cancelled out by my colour and they drink every word I speak and then clap for me when I finish. It was simply invigorating! I feel like a true missionary now that I've preached to a remote African tribe but at the same time humbled because they, in many senses, are so much more in tune and in love with God then I. Next, after handing out food to the adorable children and listening to them sing to us, we headed over to the dung huts to my great, great pleasure. How many times have I envisioned myself sitting in a dung hut and now I am passing through the threshold of one! We sit on wooden benches and I run my hand on the wall of the hut. Its very dark inside and quite a few degrees cooler. James explains that the dung/mud mixture is both a shield from the sun and a water proof seal. Its hard to see but Martha points to the side and says that there is a kitchen in that area. Two Maasai figures hand out a meal containing some chipotle and potato meat mash. This was the challenge that I had been destined to face since my arrival. The mystery meat. In the dim light I push the lumps around with an old tin spoon. Lump by lump I slowly masticate and, tilting my head back with closed eyes, I try to keep what had already been swallowed down...
The entire day was amazing and spiritually rejuvenating. From the sites to the company to the tribal education I received, I shall never forget any of it. In fact, now that I have the low down on how to make those huts I think I'll be ordering a load of cow dung upon my return.

Five people live in this dung hut