Billionaires love to flaunt their wealth by shooting rockets into space, the so-called last frontier. But many scientists love to say that, in fact, the ocean is the final frontier of exploration, a deep blue space we have only just begun to cover. But while trekking through these vast savannas, I begin to wonder if Africa should not play some part in this debate. The mystique of this enormous continent was romanticized to the extreme during the colonial period, leading to its subsequent complete exploitation. This kind of exploration was not at all what I wanted to represent, and I have consistently faced struggles as a person of mostly European descent trying to work in Africa. But like the early explorers, I have found fascination with the endless undocumented aspects of this enormous piece of land. The Maasai are not known for their written language. Centuries of colonization and exploitation have made that practically impossible to achieve now, and the poverty inflicted on this enormous group has meant that many youth must now stay home and work on the farm as supposed to getting an education.
This has both positive and negative effects on the community. The Maasai who stay are often taught the culture better by their parents, including the remedies I had come to preserve. Meanwhile, the Maasai who go to school often achieve better knowledge of the world, money, and how to become successful, at the cost of a sub-standard understanding of their own culture. This is by no means always the case-- my guides, for instance, were blessed with both. Most of the schools, however, have purely western-based curriculums. This means that while many secondary-school students may have an intimate knowledge of the causes and effects of the English Civil War, they may not know how to fill out a tax form, how to build a boma, how to make a sandal, or how to search for medicines in the wild. At the moment, it is not my aim to change the curriculum of the Tanzanian public schooling system. But what I have come to realize is that in many of these rural communities, projects like mine are desperately needed to provide a way for the educated to stay in touch with the things their culture needs to survive.
In the long hours of the afternoon, thoughts such as these often worm their way into my head, causing me to spring up from my editing with the intent of going out and exploring the world. But on this particular day, there was no need for pursuit. After the morning walk and a quick lunch, I, my guides, and a local friend of theirs began our longest walk yet, to a ceremony taking place near the town of Longido. Through the African bush we walked, beneath the acacia forests, over the stony hills, following the dusty footprints of other Maasai as giraffes and antelope grazed nearby. Finally we reached our destination, a boma at which forty or so men and a handful of women had gathered.
The day was a joyful one, for a young warrior was getting married and there would be subsequent celebration. But the moment I made myself apparent, I felt my face grow hot as every single eye turned to me. Never had I had the direct and personal attention of so many people, and never had I felt so much like an outsider. These people were of true rural Africa, and I guessed that a high number had never seen a white man in the flesh. While there, I chatted with several tribal elders who gave me new and interesting insights into their local medicinal traditions. As I sat, I realized that never had I been so fully and deeply immersed in a foreign culture, venturing so deep into the very roots of Maasailand-- the rural bomas where the reliance on tradition was absolute, where the remedies I had come so very far to preserve were continuing to live on, as yet untouched by the outside world.
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