(Hiking out. Now that's a good tree.)
And that's when it happened; the moment where I felt totally loved and accepted in Rendille-land. As we passed some warriors, they naturally asked our Abayas who these white ladies were and how in heaven's name we survived the walk out into the bush. Without missing a beat, Esymbasele and Bagajo said, in Rendille, "These are our ladies - who we work for." That's right! "Our ladies." Though they probably come home and talk about the crazy things we do, and whine about how sometimes we forget to give them chai, at that moment they were proud to call us "our ladies" and I was proud to be called as such.
(We call it Mancala, they call it "Bolaa." Sitting outside Bagajo's min.)Leaving those warriors staring behind us, we ran into one of the goob primary school teachers, a man who we've met briefly a few times and who also speaks English well enough to act as our translator. He was just about to send his camels out into the fora, and I was handed Bagajo's stick and told to go herd them. What am I supposed to do?!
(Attempting to herd the camels)Nobody was a help as they were all laughing so hard at me chasing these things around the goob in no particular direction. Alicia joined in on the fun with Esymbasele's stick, and for some reason I was relieved of my duties. Their owner took control and sent them out to join the other camels, and the girls and I entered Bagajo's min.
We were greeted by a chaotic, American-esque, family-arriving-for-Christmas-scene. Bagajo's wife sat inside with his two children, 4 year old Kulaamo ("She who brings people together") and 1 year old Ilmaliyon ("Born in the afternoon"). At least a dozen other curious children piled into the hut as well, and we were immediately served chai.
(Ilamaliyon getting some love.)The real miracle, however, was that Bagajo's kids actually liked us! To them we were no White Witches of the West but fantastic play things with cameras that would make fun flashes! Ilmaliyon is exactly like his father - personable and goofy while Kulaamo seems like her mother, observing the chaos around her with calm collection.
(Abaya Bagajo, Kulaamo, and Ilmaliyon)Some 45 minutes later we went with Esymbasale to meet his kids; three precious little girls named Ndegeyey ("Of the plane" - she was probably born when the plan landed in town), Dukano (whose name I can't translate), and the 3-month old baby (whose name I've totally forgotten, but it means something like "bells.") Once again we were surprised by the girls' acceptance of us, and willingness to sit in our laps and even smile at us shyly. The kids look exactly like their father, with "indo wen" ("big eyes"), but they have their mom's ebony skin. Precious angels.
(Everyone piled into Esymbasele's min.)Esymbasele proudly pointed out the kikoi we gave him and the microwave Loutjki (the missionary whose home we're living in now) gave him. What he does with a microwave 6 km away from an outlet is beyond me, but it sure does look impressive in the corner of his min. More pictures and cuddles later, we had to set off back home because it was about 10 am, and the weather was warming up.
(Abaya Esymbasle's beautiful wife and the baby!!)
(Suckers.)Rarely do you go to a new place and find such warmth - a place where you feel it would be totally fine to show up unannounced. We found that in Goob Neebey, and can't wait to go back out with candies to spoil the kids, and (hopefully) better Rendille to communicate with "Our Abayas."
(The girls with Abayas and Ilmaliyon)
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