Welcome to Jackson's Village

The highlight of our trip was a visit to Jackson's village. The women first welcomed us with two songs and dances, as the video clip shows. 

Then the men took their turn. Like young men in the U.S., they each show how high they can jump. Unlike young men in the U.S., they have a long stick that they call a club rather than a basketball in their hands.

Next, we went into the corral and watched how blood is obtained from a cow without harm to the animal. An arrow has a piece of leather tied about one inch up the shaft to limit it from entering too far into the cow's jugular vein (Jackson, correct me if my memory is wrong--I was so intrigued that my notes are poor). After it was shot into the cow's neck, a woman collected the blood in a gourd already holding milk. She mixed blood and milk until they coagulated. I must admit that we Americans were too cowardly to taste it, but the gracious Maasai didn't hold it against us.

We sat around a fire where a kettle of chai, or tea with sugar and much milk, was boiling, in the house of Jackson's father and mother and learned about their village and traditions. Then on to the house of Jackson and Susan Nekwama and daughter Mereso where we drank the chai. Jackson's house is a little different from his parents; Susan has hung lovely lace panels on the walls and it has a corrugated metal roof (pics tomorrow!). 

Then--I still am in a daze about this--we were made honorary members of the Liaram family, decked out in gorgeous Maasai outfits. The women formed a semi-circle and dressed Jennie, Hope, and me, and then photographer/husband Carl. Most of the village people speak Maa, some also Swahili, and a few English. Happiness, however, transcends language barriers, and being outfitted in such lovely fabrics and beaded jewelry brought tears to my eyes. We exchanged the gifts we brought them, chatted a little more, and said good-bye to new friends now half a world away.