subject: Kenya Masai Tribe Fashion And Changing Times [print this page] My friends Lemarti and sirikwa each have one foot in the modern world while the other remains firmly in the manyatta. (Masai village.) Conveniently, these two Kenya safari guides wear the open-toe sandals made from recycled car rubber tires that Kenyans call Thousand Milers or Akala. Lemarti is a Samburu while Sirikwa belongs to the Maasai tribe.
During the hot, dry months before the spring monsoon season brings welcome rain to equatorial Africa, both wrap kikoi, a striped cotton sarong, around their waists. They also stack elaborately beaded necklaces and bracelets on their spare, muscular frames. Even here on the arid plains below the Laikipia Plateau, in this outmost region of northern Kenya, tribal styles change quickly--just proof that wearing last year's look is social death in every culture. That's why we recently took a 4 wheel drive land cruiser and jolted overland from Lemarti's Camp on the Uaso Nyiro River to a neighboring village on the Koija Group Ranch.
After finishing their morning tasks, Masai women often meet under the shade of a drought-toughened acacia to bead and sell new jewelry. On this tour, they laid out on the ground magpie-bright belts, bangles, chokers and tasseled collars. We noticed that iridescent beads imported from India have come into vogue.
While beadwork has been a favored personal adornment in Africa for thousands of years, more recent trade with the Far East and Europe has influenced accessories beyond indigenous traditions. As I negotiated for a beaded cuff and cow hair fly whisk, Lemarti choose a carved club (rungu) for his collection.
Then Sirikwa invited us into his mud-and-wattle house, where his wife ole-kipsie made tea with fresh milk from their herd of goats. A cooking wood fire kept the shared room warm so carrying my tin mug back outside, we were later joined by children who grabbed up newborn goats to show them off.
They bowed shaved heads for me to touch their crowns with my palm in a formal greeting and then skipped away, giggling at the unadorned white woman. Just then, honey bees swarmed my faded blue jeans. (Khaki is the default color for tourists on safari because it doesn't show dirt or attract pesky insects, but since I look awful in tan my new whisk came in handy.)
Once the others finished their morning tea, I asked Sirikwa to show me how he wraps his kikoi so that it doesn't accidentally come undone and flop to the ground when trotting full tilt, iron spear in hand, through thorny scrub. "A warrior always shows his chest," he said, pointing to an abdomen notched with ritual scars. (Before becoming a guide, Sirikwa earned a college certificate in AIDS counseling)
He untied a striped swath and then wrapped it round and round again on his narrow hips, folding the tasseled edge and tucking a corner behind his back to fasten it. Joining us, another warrior named laimon showed me the pheasant feather in his ndarasha headdress and a plastic hand mirror stamped "made in China" strapped to a bicep sling. The metal charms on his chest bands jingled softly. Meggis's kikoi was flipped over a beaded belt to expose a lethal-looking machete.
Back at camp, I talked tribal fashion with Lermarti's wife, designer Anna Trzebinski, who embellishes her own line of suede coats and pashmina shawls with African bead patterns at a studio workshop in Nairobi. "When you are a warrior, your job is to adorn yourself and protect the tribe," she said.
"These men really are peacocks and will use whatever they come in contact with, from white ash for body paint to plastic flowers for their headdresses." Or, in Lemarti's case, pairing his everyday beads with stunning crocodile wrist cuffs and a Gucci jacket for occasional forays to the Explorer's Club in Manhattan. (Former members Ernest Hemingway and Theodore Roosevelt, both safari junkies, never looked so good in their rumpled khaki.) Then Anna explained that the pepper-red checked wool cloth called shuka, which has become a Maasai trademark, was originally introduced by Scottish missionaries. It seems the tribesmen just picked apart stitches from kilt pleats, and then knotted the tartan like a shawl around their shoulders.
by: Edwin Muriithi
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