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A Masai on an American safari
Author John Spence

When we go on safari and leave behind our familiar surroundings, we are often surprised, amazed, delighted and sometimes taken aback by what we see.  What are the reactions of a Masai tribesman when, on a sort of reverse safari, he visits us?

When I was asked in January 2007 to support a charity fundraising event in Oregon, I readily accepted.  My next task was to decide the best way to promote the safari prize we were offering, and I thought it would be great to have a Masai tribesman join me and Charlotte on the trip.  So, after a few phone conversations it was arranged that Tuleto Sengeny (aka James), head guide at Rekero Camp in the Masai Mara.

This proved to be a truly wonderful experience for us – James is one of the finest people I have ever travelled with.  He worked hard, never stopped smiling, and charmed people with his warmth, compassion and intelligence.  To see our part of the globe through his eyes was a real honour for Charlotte and me.

Before we met up with him James had spent a few days with friends in Dorset, where he’d been very impressed by the local Friesian cattle.  He’d also visited the local primary school which he’d much enjoyed.  His favourite questions from the children were: did he wear underpants under his robes?  And did he eat lions? Why is it children can ask the best questions?

On being asked what his first impressions of the UK were, he said that we have a superb road system.  Not the answer I expected, but compared with the network of dirt roads around the Mara I suppose the A303, M3 and M25 probably do look pretty impressive.

The Asian lady on the BA check- in deck recognised James’ Masai robes from her Kenyan childhood and a quick chat in Swahili followed, while Charlotte and I looked on somewhat bemused. On James’ second ever international flight he got upgraded. Not a bad average, I thought, as I put my useless BA Executive Club card in my pocket with my non-upgraded ticket.

In the USA we went to Seattle, Portland and LA, finally driving to San Diego. We visited clients in their houses or offices, or in restaurants and cafés. In between clients, just to appease Charlotte, we squeezed in the odd shopping trip. As James’ confidence grew he asked me more about the clothes on sale. He was amazed to see ready faded and ripped, dirty looking jeans for sale. He found it incredible that people would pay extra to look tatty in second hand looking clothes. I think he had a fair point, but how do you explain it without feeling stupid?

Toward the end of our time together James tried to pick out ties and suits for me. He obviously felt that as a ‘boss man’ at Aardvark I needed to sharpen up my look.   I was a bit concerned that a bloke whose morning fashion routine is to slip on a pair of ‘thousand miler’ sandals (made from old tyres), and decide which shade of red robe to wear with which tartan blanket, should start giving me fashion tips.  

He has however promised to take me to the local market next time I am in the Mara to have some thousand milers tailor-made to my feet. Apparently motorbike tyres are best because they are light, but extremely rare, whereas the ubiquitous mini bus tyres are best for longevity.

On another occasion the three of us visited a client in a fashionable part of San Diego. Afterwards we went for a walk along the beach, and I tried to persuade James to slip off his sandals and get his toes wet.  He admitted that he had never been in the sea and that he had seen it only once before in Kenya.  Also he was frightened of a tsunami. This seems strange to us, but I wonder how many of us are scared of getting eaten by animals as we camp in the Mara.

In case he was missing being surrounded by animals, we visited a boutique pet shop in the same area.  It became abundantly clear that Californians indulge their pets a little more than your average Masai. James’ eyes lit up when he saw an inflatable chicken that squeaked and very quickly bought some for his kids.  I am not sure what the owners made of the three of us hooting with laughter as we bought his chickens.   

As we were leaving the shop armed with our chickens, a tall blonde Californian designer lady came in accompanied by her perfectly groomed grey standard poodle. James was very impressed by the dog, and commented in a slightly too loud voice that it had a handsome face similar to a large male baboon. This was meant as compliment but judging by the intake of breath, and the feeling of daggers being transmitted from behind the designer glasses, I am not sure it was taken as one.

After ten days James left us to fly on to New Mexico, where he was to stay with old friends. On the rest of our trip we missed his quiet charm and gentle humour, and his colourful response to the oddities, in his view, of our way of life. As a travelling companion he will be a very hard act to follow.

 

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