It is 3 A.M. in the morning on the 17th of August at the Makurian boma of Il Ngwesi. A crowd of men, women, and children assemble around the center of their home, forming a circle mimicking the shape of the surrounding fence formed from withered acacia branches. A fire is blazing bright, and the sparks rising from the ashes hover overhead, dwindling in luminosity as they blend into the starry skies. An eerie silence sweeps through the crowd as a group of young boys are led from the dark, desert void, towards the crackling embers where their fate awaits. Cups of Maritina, the honey and aloe brew of the Maasai, flow steadily among the elders. The sweet nectar trickles down their throats, blending in their stomachs with fresh meat from a slaughtered bull. The festivities had carried on throughout the day prior, but now lay the very climax of the celebration: the climax of youth, the turning point of any bildungsroman, and a promotion in the community that not only carries a great responsibility, but a test of strength and great pain as well. Tomorrow, these boys will be men, and their mother’s arms will no longer provide protection for them. Tomorrow, it will be their turn to provide protection for their mothers.
Our cameras were rolling, but something so sacred, so fundamental to the beliefs of these people, seemed to be demanding our respect. As if a secret was being whispered into our ears, Apo Calypso kept silent, simply processing the information within the sequence of events taking place. Something in the air that evening reminded us that some secrets are meant to be kept silent.
Javid had spent the previous day observing, but also taking part in the celebration. He filmed, and helped slaughter the bull, he drank Maritina with the elders, and he drank, with the Moran’s, the blood of the cattle. No doubt over the course of his time there, he had not only earned these peoples respect, but also demonstrated that he and they were not so different. They welcomed him, Cam, and Max, with open arms into their home. They shared with us their culture, knowledge, and beliefs. They shared with us their smiles, their laughs, and even at times their frowns. And we shared with them, our willingness to change. To put the camera down, when the incisions had begun was the last obligation to them that we could provide.
And so, a long night of celebration brought a long morning of sleep and regeneration. Javid arose reenergized, and prepared for one last visit to a good friend, Richard Leggae. At Richard’s boma, Javid recounted his experiences over the last two months, and gathered an intimate look at the Maasai family, for one last time.
On the 19th, Javid returned to Nanyuki, where he obtained the edited copy of the Enatum Youth Group’s recordings, which he had worked so hard to arrange, as well as an edited short video for the community to use as a marketing tool for the Il Ngwesi Lodge. He returned to Il Ngwesi for a brief visit on the following day, in order to provide the offering to the community, who needless to say were more than grateful for the gift and the opportunity to share their songs with the world.
Time was wearing thin, and up to date we had only obtained a long distance shot of a lion. We needed more. The ultimate predator, the king of his domain, is the ultimate challenge for a warrior: a challenge not only with the beast, but with any lingering fears in the hearts and minds of the newly graduated warriors. Only a Moran would seek out such a ferocious beast with nothing but a spear and an arungu to protect him. The five-century old tradition is a test of a warrior’s ability, one that has been revoked by the Kenyan government under poaching regulations.
Fortunately, as tables once again turned our way, a chance meeting in Nanyuki on the 21st brought us the acquaintance of Gabrielle, a Project Biologist, for the Living with Lions Large Carnivore Conservation of Laikipia. Her interest in our project extended her will to help us in obtaining the footage we needed, via the extensive archive of lion footage that they have already obtained. By the end of the day, the warm hands of hope and reassurance guided us towards the next objective: Javid’s last visit to Il Ngwesi before his departure. The plan: to ride to three different locations in Il Ngwesi on dirt bike, where three interviews with three of the oldest members of the community had been prearranged.
The purpose of these interviews was to gather a story: the story of Il Ngwesi. We hoped to cover where the name Il Ngwesi originated, where the people came from, and how the community came to be. While all three interviews were successful, there was one in particular that stood out. A 93 year old Moisay, or elder, from Nadungoro, gave us a lengthy hour-and-a-half compassionate history lesson about his people. The story he told was one of suffering and sadness, but nonetheless one of pride for the perserverence of his people through abuse and persecution. Despite his anguish, the man understood the importance of what we were doing, and appreciated our want to listen to his experience, and the story of his people, whose strength we are forced to envy. For his willingness in sharing his story, we are very grateful.
As Javid returned to Nanyuki to finalize his outstanding debts, and distribute some of the equipment that we will no longer need: a steady-cam and tripod for B Ware Production, the bittersweet awareness of his departure from that world into another was over consumed by his anticipation to return to Toronto. With a total of 73 hours of footage obtained, we have but only splattered the paint onto our pallet, with which we must produce a work of beauty that we pray will do the reality justice. There is still much work to be done, paint brushes to buy, a concept to create, and we will continue to move forward in the upcoming months. Today, we will all reconvene together for the first time since our return, and we will see just what kind of picture we can paint.
We would like to extend our gratitude to all of those who provided us with help and strength throughout our journey. Though no words can express how much your support has meant to us: without you, none of this would have been possible.
Thanks for your support,
Apo Calypso Productions
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