I knew of the Masai long before I met them. They were the majestic warriors of the East African savannah, their bodies so thin and tall they barely cast a shadow in the scorching sun. They were the romance of humanity’s birth continent, among the few on the planet who still live by ancient rites the rest of us have long forgotten. So when I learned recently that the modern scourge of hiv/aids might wipe them out, it seemed important to travel to their lands on the edges of the teeming Serengeti.
It was my honeymoon. My husband and I landed in the north of Tanzania, near Mount Kilimanjaro, and made our way to the village of Mto wa Mbu (“mosquito river” in Swahili), where Charles Luoga of the Institute of Cultural Affairs, a non-governmental organization, has set up one of the few programs in East Africa to deal specifically with aids and the Masai.
We could hardly wait for our first glimpse of the iconic tribespeople, and it wasn’t long in coming, only a few hours from the airport at a handy roadside attraction set up for tourists like us. About a dozen Masai women dressed in red, neck hoops bouncing up and down on their chests, danced and sang a song about their “Masai market.” We posed with them, took pictures, and bought jewellery. Astonishingly, all of the women wore beaded hiv/aids pins.
Mto wa Mbu is down a new paved road, just a few kilometres from Olduvai Gorge, the fabled site where Mary Leakey unearthed fossil remains of some of the world’s oldest human ancestors. The Masai don’t live in the town, Luoga explained. Rather, clustered in boma, groups of mud and thatch homes spread out on the wind-torn plains that surround it.
It’s impossible to know how many Masai live in Monduli, the district that includes Mto wa Mbu, or, for that matter, how many altogether inhabit Tanzania and Kenya. Estimates range from 600,000 to over a million. Draped in red shawls, Masai men roam between the two countries in search of grazing land for their thirsty herds of cattle, keep to themselves, and are often missed by government statistics gatherers. Indeed, while there are examples of certain communities embracing change (e.g., the adoption of Christian burial practices), for the Masai in general, traditions and age-old cultural practices tend to be adhered to. Around Mto wa Mbu, all but the most critically endangered babies are born on the boma, and the dead, according to Luoga, are ritually put into the bush for the hyenas. (If the hyenas are not quick enough, Luoga said, the Masai smear the bodies of their dead with goat fat to attract them.) There are no official records of births, deaths, or local population size.
It’s also difficult to determine how many are affected by hiv/aids. Dr. A. S. Swai, a former medical officer of health for the Monduli district, told me that about 14 percent of all tribespeople in Monduli are hiv positive, roughly twice the Tanzanian average. He could only guess at the number of hiv-positive Masai, but there are troubling stories that they might be especially vulnerable, perhaps even catastrophically so.
As we drove back to Mto wa Mbu, Luoga pointed to a group of huts in the distance. Each boma is the household of an extended family, and the number of huts roughly indicates how many wives the patriarch has. Most have several. The richest have a dozen. Luoga knew of one who had twenty. Masai men pride themselves on having enough wives to share with others in their age group, both locally and from other Masai land, and some Masai women also have lovers. As a result, Masai often have dozens of sex partners, putting them at considerable risk of contracting hiv. Many Masai girls become sexually active when they are just seven or eight years old, so it’s possible some will become infected and die before they can bear their own children.
The next day, we arrive at the turquoise-walled courtyard of the Institute of Cultural Affairs in Mto wa Mbu to meet some of Luoga’s local volunteers. (Naseriani Mollen, a Masai woman, walked twelve kilometres to attend.) Some are hiv positive; others keep promising to be tested. However, while antiretroviral drugs are free in Tanzania, they don’t seem to be reaching the Masai: only one person in this group is taking the drugs.
Samuel Laizer, with holes the size of silver dollars in his earlobes and, like many Masai, missing his left front tooth — a precaution against lockjaw, to allow an entry point for herbal medicines from traditional healers — told us that many Masai don’t believe hiv/aidscan affect them. There is increasing awareness of the disease, but a general reluctance to take necessary precautions, if these are even available. Masai men, for instance, are vehemently opposed to using condoms. Laizer described visiting a family nursing a sick relative, probably in the advanced stages of aids. The wife met Laizer at the entrance to her boma and told him her husband was asleep. When he returned the next day, she offered the same reason. On the third day, he snuck into the boma and witnessed a witch doctor making circles around the husband’s head with a chicken. Within a week, the man died from lack of food and water. He had not been attended to because his family thought he was bewitched.
It can be tough to get treatment in this part of Africa, even if you admit you need it. Mto wa Mbu has the sole health centre in a ninety-kilometre radius, and only here can people get antiretroviral drugs. The centre is run by the Lutheran Church, and, with its sprinklers and planted flowers — all but unheard of in a district so dry that people and cattle drink from the same muddy ditches — it struck me as an oasis of sorts. On the day we visited, the doctor, Steven Mchau, and his staff were treating fifty-one patients with antiretrovirals. Not many were Masai, however; apparently, they tend to be on the point of death before they come to the clinic, if they come at all.
