The White Masai

by Corinne Hofmann

  I change and go to the bar. Lketinga’s sitting there with Edy. I greet him happily too. And then we try to exchange stories. I learn from Lketinga that after he was released he went back to his tribe and only came back to Mombasa a week ago. He heard from Priscilla that I was coming back. A special allowance had been made so that he could greet us in the hotel because blacks who don’t work there are normally not allowed in.

  It occurs to me that without Edy’s help I can say hardly anything to Lketinga. My English is still pretty basic, and Lketinga knows barely a dozen words. For a while we just sit on the beach beaming smiles at one another, while Eric and Jelly hang around the pool or in the room. Eventually it gets towards evening, and I’m wondering what we do next. We can’t stay much longer in the hotel and, apart from our initial handshake, nothing has happened between us. It’s hard when you’ve waited six months to see a man; in my mind’s eye I’d lain in this man’s arms often, imagined kisses and the wildest of nights. Now when he’s here next to me, I’m afraid even to touch his brown arm. I just give in to the happiness of having him next to me.

  Eric and Jelly are off to bed, both tired out from the long journey and the insane heat. Lketinga and I slope off to the Bush Baby Disco. I feel like a princess with my prince. We sit down at a table and watch the dancers. He laughs all the time. Even if we can hardly have a conversation, we sit there together and enjoy the music. The atmosphere and his presence give me goose bumps. I want to stroke his face and know what it’s like to kiss him. When at long last a slow record comes on I grab his hands and point to the dance floor. He gets up and stands there helplessly, doing nothing.

  Then suddenly we take hold of each other and start moving to the rhythm of the music. All the tension in me drains away. My whole body is shivering, but this time I can hold him tight. It seems as if time is standing still, and my desire for this man, suppressed for six long months, comes back to life. I don’t dare lift my head and look at him. What will he think of me? I know so little about him! Only when the tempo of the music changes do we go back to our seats, and I notice that we were the only ones on the floor. I imagine I can feel dozens of pairs of eyes following us.

  We sit together a little longer then get up to go. It’s long past midnight when he brings me back to the hotel. At the entrance we look in each other’s eyes, and I think I see a changed expression in his. In these wild eyes I think I recognize astonishment and excitement. At long last I dare to come close to his beautiful mouth and softly touch my lips to his. All of a sudden I feel his whole body go rigid, and he’s staring at me in horror.

  ‘What you do?!’ he asks and takes a step backwards. Brought down to earth with a bang I stand there, understanding nothing; then, suddenly ashamed, I turn around and run into the hotel distraught. In bed I’m overcome by a fit of crying, as if the whole world’s falling apart around me. There’s only one thing going through my mind: that I desire him to the point of obsession and he obviously feels nothing for me. At some point, eventually, I fall asleep.

  I wake late, long after breakfast. I don’t care because I don’t feel the slightest hunger. The way I look at the moment, I’m not fit to be seen, so I put on a pair of sunglasses and crawl down to the pool where my brother is romping around with Jelly like a dog with two tails.

  I lie down on the beach, stare up at the blue sky and ask myself: was that it? Were my perceptions so totally wrong? No, something inside me screams. How could I have had the strength to break up with Marco, to shun sexual relations with any man for six months, if it weren’t for that man?

  Suddenly I sense a shadow fall over me and a soft touch on my arm. I open my eyes and look straight into that man’s handsome face. He gives me his beaming smile and says, ‘Hello!’ I’m glad I’ve got my sunglasses on. He spends ages looking at me as if he’s studying my face. After a while he asks after Eric and Jelly and rather awkwardly tells me we’re invited to tea with Priscilla this afternoon. Lying on my back I look up into two soft, hopeful-looking eyes. When I don’t immediately reply, his expression changes, his eyes get darker and a proud glimmer shines in them. I struggle with myself and then ask what time we should come.

  Eric and Jelly agree, so at the arranged time we’re waiting at the hotel entrance. After about ten minutes an over-filled matatu stops and two long legs emerge, followed by Lketinga’s long body. He’s brought Edy with him. I know the way to Priscilla’s from my first visit; my brother casts somewhat sceptical glances at the apes playing and eating along the route.

  Seeing Priscilla again is great. She gets her little spirit cooker out and makes tea. While we’re waiting the three of them talk together, leaving us looking on, not understanding anything. Every now and then someone laughs, and I get the impression that I’m being talked about. We leave after about two hours, and Priscilla tells me I’m welcome to come with Lketinga any time.

  Although I’ve paid for two more weeks at the hotel I decide to move out and lodge with Priscilla. I’ve had enough of eating without him and going to the disco. The hotel management warns me that I’ll end up without any money or clothes. Even my brother is more than sceptical, but he still helps me to carry all my stuff into the bush. Lketinga carries my big travelling bag and seems happy.

  Priscilla has cleared out her hut and moved in with a friend. When it gets dark and we can no longer hold off the moment of physical contact, I sit down on the narrow little cot and wait with pounding heart for the minute I have longed for. Lketinga sits down beside me and all I can see is the mother-of-pearl button on his forehead, the ivory rings in his ears, and whites of his eyes. All of a sudden everything happens at once. Lketinga presses me down onto the cot, and already I can feel his erection. Before I can even make up my mind whether or not my body is ready for this, I feel a pain, hear strange noises and it’s all over. I feel like bursting into tears of disappointment. This was not at all what I had expected. It’s only now that I realize that this is someone from a completely alien culture. But my thoughts don’t get any further than that when suddenly the whole thing happens again. It happens again several times during the night; and after the third or fourth time we ‘do it’, I give up trying to uses kisses or caresses to prolong the experience. Lketinga doesn’t seem to like that.

  At long last day breaks, and I wait for Priscilla to knock on the door. In the event it’s around seven before I hear noises outside. I peek out and find a basin full of water in front of the door. I bring it in and wash myself thoroughly; I’m covered in red marks from Lketinga’s body paint.

  He’s still asleep when I go to see Priscilla. She’s made tea and offers me some. When she asks me how my first night in a real African home was, it all comes tumbling out. Obviously embarrassed, she listens quietly and then says: ‘Corinne, we’re not the same as white people. Go back to Marco. Come to Kenya for holidays, not to find a partner for life.’ She has learned that white men treat their women well, even at night. Masai men are different; what I have just experienced is normal. Masai don’t kiss. The mouth is for eating, and kissing – she makes a face – is contemptible. A man never touches a woman below the stomach and a woman is not supposed to touch a man’s penis. A man’s hair and face are also taboo.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I desire this wonderful man, but I’m not allowed to touch him. All of a sudden I remember the dreadful scene when I kissed him that first time and I realize that what I’m hearing is the truth.

  Priscilla hasn’t looked at me while we’ve been talking, and I realize too that it must be hard for her to talk about things like this. Everything is rushing through my mind, and I’m not sure if I’ve understood it all properly. The night’s experiences force themselves into the back of my mind, and the only thing I know is that I want this man and nobody else. I love him and beyond that everything else can be dealt with, I tell myself.

  Later on we take an overcrowded matatu to Ukunda, the next biggest village, where me meet more Masai sitting around in a native teahouse. It�
��s nothing more than a few planks nailed together, a roof, a long table and a few stools. The tea is brewed in a white pot hung over the fire. We sit down together and people look me over with an eye that’s partly critical, partly curious. And then they’re all talking at once, obviously about me. I look each of them over in turn, and none of them looks as handsome or as peaceful as Lketinga.

  We sit there for what seems like hours, but I don’t mind not understanding anything. Lketinga is touchingly attentive, continuously getting me something to drink and then fetching a platter of meat: little pieces of goat that I can hardly bring myself to swallow, they’re so bloody and tough. Three is as much as I can manage without choking, and I indicate to Lketinga that he should finish it, but neither he nor any of the other men will take anything from my plate even though it’s obvious that they’re hungry.

  After half an hour they get up, and Lketinga tries to explain something to me using his hands and feet. The only thing I understand is that they all want to go and eat but that I can’t come with them. I’m determined, however, that I should. ‘No! Big problem! You wait here,’ I hear. I watch them disappear behind a wall, followed minutes later by mountains of meat. After a while one Masai comes back. He looks like a man with a full stomach, and I ask him why I had to stay behind, but all he says is: ‘You wife, no lucky meat.’ Something else I’ll have to ask Priscilla about.

  We leave the teahouse and take the matatu back to the beach. When we get to the Africa Sea Lodge we decide to get out and visit Jelly and Eric. We’re stopped at the entrance, however, and I have to explain to the doorman that we just want to visit my brother and his girlfriend before he lets us in without saying a word. At the reception desk the hotel manager greets me with a smile and says in English: ‘So you will now come back into the hotel?’ I say no and tell him I like it just fine in the bush. He shrugs his shoulders and says: ‘We’ll see how long it lasts!’

  We find Eric and Jelly at the pool. Eric comes up to me and says irritably: ‘About time you showed yourself.’ He asks if I slept well, which makes me laugh, and I reply: ‘Well, I’ve spent more comfortable nights, but I’m happy.’ Lketinga’s standing there, and he laughs and says: ‘Eric, what’s the problem?’ A few white people in swimsuits stare at us. A couple of women stroll past noticeably slowly and gape openly at my beautiful Masai in his finery and freshly applied body paint. He pointedly ignores them, rather embarrassed at the sight of so much flesh.

  We don’t stay long; I have shopping to do – paraffin, toilet paper and above all a torch. Last night I didn’t need to go out in the middle of the night to find the bush toilet, but I might not always be so lucky. The toilet is outside the village, reached by a rickety chicken ladder six feet above the ground – a little hut made out of woven-together palm leaves with two boards for your feet and a hole in the middle.

  We get everything in one shop, obviously where the hotel employees do their shopping, and for the first time I notice how cheap everything here is. Compared to what I’m used to, all my purchases – apart from the batteries for the torch – cost next to nothing.

  A bit further along there’s another shack with the word ‘Meat’ painted in red. I follow Lketinga inside. A hunk of goat carcass is hanging from a big hook fixed to the ceiling. Lketinga looks at me questioningly and says: ‘Very fresh! You take two pounds for you and Priscilla!’ I shiver at the very thought of having to eat this meat, but even so I do as he says. The butcher takes an axe and chops off a rear leg, then with another two or three blows he measures out our piece and hangs the rest back up on the hook. He wraps it all up in newspaper, and we head back to the village.

  Priscilla is really pleased to get the meat. She puts tea on and goes to get another little cooker from a neighbour. She cuts the meat up, washes it and boils it for two hours in salted water. In the meantime we drink our tea, which I’ve come to like. Priscilla and Lketinga talk non-stop. After a while Lketinga gets up and says he has to go but will be back soon. I try to find out where he’s going, but he says only: ‘No problem, Corinne. I come back,’ smiles at me and disappears. I ask Priscilla where he’s gone but she says she doesn’t really know, it’s not something you can ask a Masai, it’s his business, but probably he’s gone to Ukunda.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I protest. ‘What does he want in Ukunda? We’ve just come from there.’

  ‘Maybe he wants something more to eat,’ replies Priscilla.

  I stare at the simmering meat in the big iron pot: ‘Who’s this for, then?’

  ‘That’s for us women,’ she tells me. ‘Lketinga can’t eat this meat. No Masai warrior ever eats anything that a women has touched or even looked at. They are not allowed to eat in the presence of women, they can only drink tea.’

  The curious business in Ukunda comes back to me, and suddenly my question for Priscilla about why all the men disappeared behind the wall is superfluous. So Lketinga can’t even eat with me and I can never cook anything for him. Funnily, this is something that shakes me even more than the idea of never having good sex. When I have collected myself I try to find out more. What is married life like? Once again her answer is a disappointment. Basically the wife stays with the children while her husband associates with other men of the same status, warriors, at least one of whom must accompany him at mealtimes. Eating alone was not done either.

  I’m speechless. All my romantic fantasies of cooking and eating together out in the bush or in a simple hut collapse. I can hardly hold back my tears, and Priscilla is looking at me in astonishment. Then she breaks out laughing, which makes me furious. All of a sudden I feel quite alone and realize that Priscilla too is alien to me, someone who inhabits a completely different world.

  But what has happened to Lketinga? It’s night and Priscilla has served up the meat on two battered aluminium plates. I’ve got hungry by now so I try the meat and am astonished at how tender it is. The taste is quite unique, salty like slow-braised pork. We eat with our hands, in silence.

  When it gets late I say goodnight and retreat into what was Priscilla’s hut. I’m tired. I light the paraffin lamp and lie down on the cot. The sound of cicadas outside fills the air. My thoughts drift back to Switzerland, my mother, my little shop and my everyday life in Biel. How totally different the world is here! Despite all the primitiveness of their lives, the people seem happier, maybe because they can get by with less expense, and that thought lingers and makes me feel better.

  All of a sudden the wooden door squeaks open, and Lketinga is standing smiling in the doorway. He has to lower his head just to get in. He takes a look around and then sits down beside me on the bed. ‘Hello, how are you? You have eat meat?’ he asks, and the way he asks about me and listens attentively makes me feel good, and I feel great desire for him again. He looks magnificent in the glow of the paraffin lamp. His jewellery gleams, his chest is naked, adorned with just the two strings of pearls. The knowledge that under his loincloth there is nothing but flesh excites me. I grab his long, slim, cool hand and press it against my face. At this moment I feel bound to this man whom I know to be wholly alien to me, and I know that I love him. I pull him towards me and feel the weight of his body on mine. I press my head against the side of his and inhale the savage perfume of his long red hair. We stay like that for what seems an eternity, and I notice that he too is excited. The only thing between us is my thin summer dress, and I pull it off. He forces himself inside me, and this time, if only briefly, I feel a whole new sense of joy, even without reaching a climax. I feel myself at one with this man and now, this night, I know that despite all the barriers between us, I have already become a captive of his world.

  During the night I feel stomach cramps and grab hold of my torch, which I have luckily left near my head. Apart from the never-ceasing cicadas it is quiet outside, and everyone must hear the creaking of the opening door. I make my way to the ‘chicken toilet’, literally jumping the last step and reaching my destination only just in the nick of time. Because everything
has to be done squatting, my knees are literally trembling. With the last of my strength I get back to my feet, grab my torch, clamber back down the chicken ladder and make my way back to the hut. Lketinga is still sleeping peacefully. I squeeze myself onto the cot between him and the wall.

  By the time I wake it is already eight a.m. and the sun is shining so strongly that even inside the hut there’s a sticky heat. After the usual ritual of tea and washing I decide I want to wash my hair too. But how am I going to do it with no running water? Our water comes in five-gallon canisters, which Priscilla fills up each day from the nearby well. I try to explain to Lketinga what I want to do and he’s immediately ready to help: ‘No problem. I help you!’ Using an empty tin he pours water over my head then laughing hilariously rubs the shampoo in for me and then professes amazement that with so much foam I’ve still got any hair left.

  Then we decide to go and see my brother and Jelly at the hotel again. When we arrive, they’re both sitting over a lavish breakfast. Looking at this magnificent spread I realize just how frugal my breakfast is these days. This time I decide to tell them a bit, and Lketinga sits there listening but not understanding. When I get to my night-time visit to the toilet and they both stare at me in horror, he goes: ‘What’s the problem?’ ‘No problem,’ I tell him with a smile. ‘Everything is okay!’

  We invite the pair of them to come and have lunch at Priscilla’s. I’d like to cook some spaghetti. They both agree, and Eric reckons he can find the way. We have two hours to find spaghetti, sauce, onions and herbs. Lketinga hasn’t a clue what sort of food I’m talking about but smiles and says, ‘Yes, yes, it’s okay.’

  We take a matatu to the nearest supermarket, where they do indeed have everything we need. By the time we get back to the village I don’t have much time left to prepare the ‘party meal’. I prepare everything sitting cross-legged on the ground. Priscilla and Lketinga watch the spaghetti boiling with amusement but say: ‘This is no food!’ My Masai stares into the boiling water, watching with amazement as the brittle strands of spaghetti slowly soften. This is a mystery to him, and he doubts that a meal will emerge from it. While the pasta simmers I use a knife to open the tin of tomato purée and pour it into a beaten-up saucepan. Lketinga looks on in horror and asks: ‘Is this blood?’ Now it’s my turn to laugh out loud: ‘Blood!? No, no, tomato sauce,’ I answer, giggling.