Written by Bill Schmick
Millennium marriages seem all the rage this year as couples vie to tie the bond in unusual and creative ways. On June 10 and then again on the 27th, we were married—twice, once for our family and friends on a mountaintop in upstate New York. The second time, however, was just for us. It was an emotional experience, one that will unite us forever. We married among Africa’s Maasai and became members of the tribe along the way. We exchanged milk, honey and tears among the clouds and mists above Ngorongoro crater in Tanzania. Our village is called Oloiribi and this is our story.
Both of us have been married before. At 51 and 41, we are painfully aware of the pitfalls of past relationships. As hard-bitten New York professionals, we routinely view life through steel-rimmed sunglasses racing from meeting to meeting with cell phones glued to our ears. We have been to countless weddings and we know the routine: credit card gifts through anonymous registries, wedding party clothes that no one ever wears again, raising our glass to the happy couples that have only a 50% chance of making it through the first seven years. We swore that our wedding would be different.
It was and it wasn’t.
We did manage to express ourselves. We had a dress-down wedding on a sunny Saturday afternoon at the top of Catamount, a ski slope in the Berkshire Mountains where I have taught skiing and snowboarding as a weekend hobby over the last decade. The guests rode chair lifts to the top. Our friends sang and played guitar as Barbara, dressed in a white gown and sneakers, exchanged vows in a strong and certain voice while I, decked out in a formal morning suit, had to stop three times as my voice refused to cooperate with my heart. The remainder of the wedding was a blur. There was the obligatory first dance, then the dance with mom, the dance with family members, the wedding party dance, the toast, the presents, the minor details, and they all conspired to divert our attention. We had to wait for the wedding video to see most of the celebration that we missed. The last guests left well after 2:00 A.M., and reappeared before 8:00 the following morning to wish us well before departing for their respective destinations. We went back to work the next day.
People have accused me of being a romantic, and to that I plead guilty, because while we were planning our Catamount wedding, I had been simultaneously planning a second, secret wedding, for just the two of us during our upcoming honeymoon in Africa. But it wasn’t easy.
It took six months, countless phone calls and a great many negotiations – with the Maasai tribal elders in Kimba! The Maasai had never married anyone outside their tribe before and were rightfully suspicious of two American strangers with such an unorthodox request. In fact, it would have been impossible without the aid of Barbara Kirby of African Skies Travel in Johannesburg and Tonya Siebert, assistant manager of the Conservation Corporation of Africa (CCA) based at the Ngorongoro Crater Lodge in Tanzania.
As it happens, I have long been fascinated with Africa, and the Maasai people in particular had captured my imagination and admiration since childhood. Their tall, stately bodies swathed in bright red shukkas, herding cattle through the mountains and plains of the Serengeti, had always appealed to my sense of adventure. They are one of the few isolated tribal groups still struggling to maintain their traditional way of life among the pressures of the global village. To me, they are ancient Romans, spear in hand, manfully daring predators to attack them in their eye-catching, bright robes. Maasai men still believe they are not qualified to marry without first slaying the fierce black-mane lion.
According to Tonya, it was hard for the Maasai to understand my motives for wanting to get married under tribal law. The Maasai do not take marriage lightly, and there is no divorce. It is a sacred ceremony involving the whole village, and those who marry become members of the tribe.
Fortunately, Tonya and the CCA have a long track record with the Maasai. Tonya’s father was a missionary in Africa, and she has been attempting to follow in his footsteps along her own career path. The CCA has provided that opportunity.
The Conservation Corporation of Africa (CCA) was founded in 1990. The CCA model was revolutionary within the continent, consisting of a twofold objective: establish a string of profitable, first-class safari resorts throughout Africa, while at the same time create a not-for-profit division, The Rural Investment Fund, that would incorporate area tribes into the effort. This was to be accomplished by providing fair compensation for leasing tribal lands, hiring and training local people to run the camps wherever possible, and offering economic and professional assistance in building schools, hospitals and infrastructure within the tribal lands. Tonya became involved in the non-profit effort among the Maasai in the Ngorongoro area during her free time, when not managing the lodge and its guests. The results were highly successful, which created a favorable atmosphere for Tonya’s negotiations on my behalf.
The Oloirobi village chief, Thomas Kidiri, is a strapping six-foot six-inch Renaissance man who lives in a Western-style home and drives an old Land Rover, a first among his people. He became my champion during the discussions with the tribal council, which understandably harbored a great deal of skepticism over my marriage request. In many ways, Kidiri represents the transitional challenges that beset the Maasai today. Some in the village worry he is pushing them too quickly to embrace modernization, technology and the medical and scientific wonders that the millennium offers. He still boasts a herd of over 300 healthy cattle, but he no longer personally grazes them on the crater floor each day like many of his fellow tribesmen.
To the Maasai, cattle are everything. Maasai legend speaks of the Mountain of God, Oldoinyo le Engai, located in the Great Rift Valley of East Africa, close to the Kenya-Tanzania border. To them, its semi-active volcanic status represents the presence of God seen clearly in the occasional great claps of thunder and towers of flames. Engai, so the story goes, had three children to whom he gave three arrows: to one son he gave an arrow for hunting, to another he gave one to dig the land and raise crops, and to the third son he gave a long arrow or stick to herd cattle. That son, Natero Kop, became the father of the Maasai. As keepers of the cattle, Kop taught his people to graze their herds following the rich grass and seasonal rains that sustained life. This semi-nomadic way of life taught the Maasai much. They became fierce warriors who defended their cattle from wild beasts, usually the lion, and from other tribes. They taunted their adversaries by wearing bright red robes and proudly fashioned headpieces from the black manes of slain lions. They believe that all the cattle on earth are rightfully theirs and even today raid rival tribes to retrieve herds that were thought to be lost in the distant past.
Today there are less than half a million Maasai, and their wandering ways are systematically being curtailed by an encroaching civilization. The people are being faced with the need to embrace the second arrow, of agriculture, as grazing land becomes less available. Lions are no longer permitted to be killed except in self-defense, and stealing cattle is a criminal offense. As pressure mounts, the younger generation questions the value of the traditional ways. The large cities of Dar Salaam, Nairobi and Arusha beckon with promises of Western clothes, CDs and a more exciting way of life.
So, asked the tribal elders, what would two New York professionals find meaningful in a traditional Maasai wedding ceremony? Something of value, I responded via a long-distance telephone line. Something we have lost in the concrete canyons, Internet highways and maze of cynical prenuptial agreements of modern America. It was not necessary to believe in or agree with every Maasai tradition in order to desire a Maasai wedding. I argued. I was not planning, for example, to wed more than one wife. The Maasai male may have any number of wives, depending on his wealth. Women have little choice in a husband, the bride price is the determining factor. Women also manage most of the household and even build the house that the couple will share. These were practices that were neither feasible nor desirable for us, as an American couple. Yet, the fact that I had no interest in owning nor herding cattle did not negate my admiration and respect for the Maasai way of life. In every meeting of two cultures there are many things to admire and learn from each other and then there are areas which are best left alone. To each his own. For me, a Maasai marriage was something both intimate and joyous without pretense. The tribe, its communal belief in marriage and its wholehearted involvement in the event would strip away the veneer of place cards, throwaway cameras and take home centerpieces from our wedding table. It would be replaced with something deeper, more in touch with the nature of Barbara and myself. The discussions continued, the questions and answers examined and qualified but in the end sincerity won out. The tribal elders finally accepted, believed and agreed. The wedding plans could now take shape—none too soon.
We left for our African honeymoon, arriving in Johannesburg June 19. It was Barbara’s first trip to the continent and I wanted her to experience the Africa I have grown to love. We spent three days in Singita , a private game lodge on the edge of Krueger Park in the Eastern Transvaal. Luck was with us, and on our first game drive we followed a pride of 10 lions for almost two hours. By the end of our visit there, we had photographed the Big Five – lion, cape buffalo, elephant, leopard and white rhino. We were alive with excitement as we flew to Tanzania, spending one night in Nairobi before traveling on to Kilamanjaro and finally Tanzania’s Lake Manyaro in the Great Rift Valley. It was there that we met our first Maasai at Maji Moto, a CCA tent camp on the lake’s edge. My expectation that Barbara would quickly fall under the spell of these proud, majestic people was on the mark. “They’re so warm and friendly,” Barbara said. “I feel like a stranger in a strange land who is suddenly invited into a family.”
In the meantime, Tonya, a two hours’ drive away at the Crater, had been frantically planning our wedding. Afterward she told me, “I was so worried whether we would get it right,” said Tonya, “The tribe was great. We did a practice run-through three days before Bill and Barbara arrived. I had our Chief Financial Officer, Mr. Chuwah, stand in as the groom, while I played the role of the bride. We ironed out the wrinkles in places where we wanted to depart from tradition in some minor ways. I had most of the staff at the lodge involved in working on the logistics and details.”
We arrived at the Ngorongoro Crater Lodge on the afternoon of June 26, and by now we were totally immersed in the African experience. Our smattering of Swahili, the national language of Tanzania, combined with our growing expertise in animal lore (tracking spore, distinctive cries and calls) and our safari experience made us interesting dinner partners among the guests at the lodge. We had a lively conversation with one “Brian” of New York City, only to discover the next day that our personable conversationalist was none other than famed rocker Brian Adams. During the evening I managed to escape for a meeting with Tonya, whom I had never met, and other staff members who were part of the wedding endeavor. It was agreed that the wedding would take place the next day at 4:00 P.M. We would be picked up at the lodge an hour prior to the wedding for the five-kilometer drive to the village. It would be up to me to tell Barbara at the appropriate time.
The next morning, well before dawn, we were in the crater, getting a first glimpse of game. I was bursting to break the news but had decided to wait until our picnic lunch. Beside a popular hippo pool, hand-in-hand, I told her of the marriage plans and my desire to wed that afternoon.
“At first I couldn’t believe it,” Barbara recalled. “But I quickly realized he was serious because I know he can make anything happen. I was so excited, I couldn’t wait to get out of the crater. It was already past 1:00 P.M. and I had less than two hours to prepare. He knows me so well. He gave me just enough time to get ready but not enough time to get nervous. Back at the lodge, preparing for this wonderful event, I still couldn’t believe it was happening. And yet, somehow, it seemed so natural and so right. We had shared a growing feeling that neither of us had had the time to appreciate and absorb our Catamount wedding. I so wanted to do it again, to recapture those fleeting feelings we had at the top of the mountain. We had tried to make that wedding for us, but it really was for everyone else. We never had time to savor it – we went right back to work, then Africa, game drives morning and night. It was starting to feel like there had been no wedding at all. Just when I started to feel off, Bill changed it all like magic. Robert, our ranger, picked us up right on schedule at the lodge.”
All game lodges at Ngorongoro Crater are perched on the rim of a circular caldera, a massive bowl-shaped geological structure whose sides are thickly covered with verdant vegetation an evergreen trees. It is a 40-minute drive top to bottom, to the crater floor where a paradise of thousands of wildebeest, buffalo, elephant, flamingo and other species graze and wander under the protection of the government’s national park system. The crater is actually the largest national park in the world, stretching 18 kilometers across with a circumference of some 250 kilometers. The walls of the caldera are so steep, lofting some 2200 meters above sea level feet in elevation, that the rim is normally immersed in clouds and mist for the greater part of the day. We drove in the clouds over small rutted dirt roads, through rolling farmland, but always up, up into the mist. We passed Maasai on the road. They waved and greeted us as they walked toward the village. They were coming to our wedding.
“I was sitting there thinking, ‘This is it Barbara, this is your life.’ I felt so happy, so joyous and free. It was so strange, yet I felt so good, so unafraid going into this completely alien environment. I started to cry. And I thought ‘Thank you God for giving me this life, this experience. What have I done to deserve so much happiness?’ So we drove…”
The Land Rover’s two-way radio was alive with voice traffic. Messages to and from Tonya and the staff flew from village to lodge and back. We arrived to singing and clapping as the entire tribe stood at the village entrance. The men, dressed in red and plaid patterned robes, their necks, arms and feet covered in finely beaded necklaces, wristlets and anklets, pulled me one way, laughing and shouting, while a group of elderly Maasai women, similarly dressed and led by Tonya, accompanied Barbara to her dressing room. The chief provided his own house to affect our transformation to Maasai.
Inside I met Mr. Chuwah of CCA. Several more warriors were present, and I soon found myself dressed in red and plaid shukas with necklaces of brightly colored beads adorning my neck, while cinched around my waist was the chief’s own beaded belt. As my clothing transformation gradually took place, the men’s attitude toward me, a perfect stranger, changed from caution to guarded admiration to final ebullience as they surveyed the end product. In fact, their concentration and enthusiasm occupied so much time that, in the end, they neglected my complete transformation by opting to forego the shedding of my pants and boots in exchange for sandals (much to my later relief, although not Barbara’s, as it turned out). Finally, the Engila – the groom’s symbol, a tanned cowhide studded with colored beads – was slung over my shoulders. I was ready.
“The women whisked me into one room while you disappeared into another,” Barbara later explained. “Tonya, my instant friend (I had only just met her and yet felt a deep connection right away), explained everything and assured me that she would be by my side the entire time. She was to be my Maid of Honor. Two Maasai women dressed me in record time, yet with a gentleness I have rarely known. I wore the Entente, a long straight link of beads reaching to my knees as well as a beautiful beaded necklace that Maasai women typically wear in layers around their necks. My robes were blue, red and white, and overlaying the gown were the Olekishopo and Alakesena, a long two-piece garment made of the softest and most beautifully tanned sheepskin. Around the edges and center of this wedding garment, the women of the tribe had sewn multicolored beads in intricate patterns. They tried to place an ornate, beautifully beaded headdress on me, but my hair just wouldn’t cooperate (Maasai women usually shave their heads). I hesitated on the sandals, but I knew you would go the distance, so I would too.”
We met at the door and I was handed a traditional Maasai spear, its tip covered with black ostrich plumes symbolizing peace, and a red cane that signified my upcoming status as a village elder. Barbara looked exotic and beautiful – a vision of barbaric splendor – as she was given her white elder’s stick as well. We walked slowly toward the village Boma, or kraal – a large, corral-like structure fashioned from five-foot stakes driven into the ground at the center of the village. This is where the village keeps livestock at night to protect them from nocturnal predators. The best man walked before us, clearing sticks, stones and any other obstacles from our path. Barbara was reminded to keep her head bowed and not to look back. The Maasai believe that if you do, you will turn to stone out of grief for what you are leaving behind.
At the Boma entrance lay two stakes, the gate, which the procession walks around twice. The first circle signified our commitment to each other as man and wife. The second circling represented our joint commitment to the tribe as new members and elders. We then entered the Boma. Traditionally, it is at this time that the groom pays the “bride price,” – seven cattle is the minimum, although the bride and her family can demand more. The bride raises her head when the final tally of cattle reaches the agreed-upon price. I was fresh out of cattle during this trip, so we dispensed with that part of the ceremony.
“We walked into the Boma,” said Barbara. “The maidens and warriors formed a semi-circle, singing Maasai wedding songs. I couldn’t understand the words but their voices were beautiful and in such harmony. At the same time, the clouds disappeared as if by magic, and bright sunlight illuminated the village. I noticed a group of Morani – young circumcised warriors dressed entirely in black with stark, white-painted faces – off to the side of the kraal. I knew this was unusual, since Morani were normally exorcised from the village until their wounds were healed. Tonya explained later that this event was so momentous that the elders had made an exception.
“The Boma was full of cow dung and my sandals were not what you would want to wear for a Maasai wedding. I looked longingly at Bill’s boots, but honestly, it was a minor detail, as were the flies that swarmed around us. Somehow, I was not repulsed. It was part and parcel of what we were doing. I laughed as I pictured my Madison Avenue clients seeing me now.”
The deal struck, the bride price paid, and with Barbara’s face uplifted toward the bright sunlight, the tribe gave way with an electric trilling yell. We were escorted to the Manyatta, the tribal communal hut, where the Chief awaited in a gray sport coat and bright shuka ropes. At the entrance, he anointed our foreheads with cow’s fat (body lotion from the lodge, a la Tonya). We trooped into its pitch dark thatched interior in the wake of over 50 villagers. How so many people fit into such a small place will forever be a mystery to us. Traditionally, a small fire would light the interior, but a candle was substituted in recognition of the number of packed bodies and the potential of smoke from scanty ventilation.
Behind us in the darkness, the maidens and warriors continued to sing. The chief first poured honey from a gourd onto our outspread hands and feet. Once again our foreheads were anointed with oil, and a gourd of milk was shared by Barbara and I. The honey and milk symbolized a wish for a deep relationship and a good life for the two of us. The chief then said the marriage blessing. He was such an immense man sitting there in the semi-darkness. He could have been frightening, but his eyes sparkled and his smile was so wide, we could just feel his compassion and tenderness. At that moment, I loved them all – the flies, the pungent odor of too many bodies, the singing, and our wedding party. I could see Tonya to my right, crying in the darkness. I kissed Barbara tenderly, with so much feeling that my body trembled. I was bonded to this woman forever. I struggled to focus on everything. I dared not forget anything. Please, God, do not let my mind go on cruise control. Yes, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the pure assault of strange new sensations, were too much to absorb – but I tried.
“We were in the Manyatta when I really began to lose it,” Barbara told me. “I was crying so hard, the singing filled my heart and soul. The Chief said his blessing, the tribe responded with ‘nyaii,’ which means amen. I kept looking into your eyes and knew that this was right. My love for you at that moment went so far beyond what I’ve ever felt. At the same time, I felt your love for me. Your eyes were on fire – I couldn’t stop crying, sobbing. The faces around me were so full of joy for us. I was so happy.
“We exchanged rings and then exited the Manyatta to say our vows. At our Catamount wedding, it was you that had a hard time speaking, but now it was my turn. I barely spoke a sentence or two before the emotion of the experience simply drove me into another bout of crying. I couldn’t go on, the emotions overpowered my ability to speak, and the tears streamed from my eyes and down my cheeks.”
The tribe went from sheer exultation to dead silence as Barbara burst into tears and could not continue her vows. The Maasai are a joyous people who, even at funerals, dance and laugh. Tears are a bad sign. During a wedding they could spell disaster. Peter, our stalwart guide, quickly understood Barbara’s true emotional state and explained that, unlike the Maasai, this event had been so joyous and emotionally wrenching that Barbara was overcome with tears of joy and happiness. Once this was understood, the maidens and warriors erupted in a tumult of cheers and trills. I, on the other hand, now fully forewarned, gave my vows in what I thought was a deep, passionate (but manly) voice. Peter translated (with some literary license) to both warriors and maidens. It evidently succeeded, for the entire population proceeded to dance and sing their way back to the Land Rover.
The ceremony should have ended there. In a traditional marriage, the bride and groom would stroll over to their parents, to where beer and beef would be served to the tribal guests. Since we were staying at the lodge, that did not seem possible, but several maidens and warriors had a better idea: In a spontaneous moment of creativity and joy, the group asked to accompany us back to the lodge. However, they requested that we first drive around the village, encompassing several miles of side trails and roads. They wanted to make the entire population aware of our wedding and sing so loudly that even the grass would understand that this couple was wed. We readily agreed, and set off on a ride we will never forget. The sun setting over rolling hills and mountains, the picture perfect visions of Maasai walking the trails with cattle, young men and women returning from fields of planted maze, and the occasional zebra and giraffe silhouetted on the skyline will ever be our picture of Africa.
“We all piled into the Rover – including six young maidens and three warriors. We just kept laughing and smiling, looking back at them, trying to move our shoulders and body in that unique Maasai way of dancing. Maasai waved to us in the fields and on the roads in that dramatic setting sun. Our ranger, Robert, finally stopped at a peak in the mountain road, sprang from the vehicle and raced to the top. He looked down, then turned and waved us forward. We all trooped out of the Rover and walked, singing and dancing, to what I will forever remember as my most beautiful view of the Maasai land, joining the Ngorongoro Crater and Lake Eyasi. Once again, I burst into tears. We kissed passionately as we stood on an overlook called Ehiakati. It was so high that you could see for miles. It is the place that long ago the Maasai had defeated the Laikipyak tribe and drove them down into the crater. Since then, the Maasai have traditionally held their most important celebrations at that spot.”
The lodge had arranged a surprise wedding banquet there in our honor, complete with champagne, beer, food, and even our lodge butler, George, was in attendance. We sang, we danced, and throughout the valley below us, Maasai, mostly children, heard our singing and responded with singing of their own. We could hear their voices echo from the valley below us.
Finally, we called it a day. Both maidens and warriors insisted on escorting us back to the lodge. Our entourage paraded through the lodge houses, singing and dancing, and yes, we were noticed by the other lodge guests. Many of them wondered what was going on, and asked about the two tall white folk dressed in traditional Maasai clothing.
One final surprise awaited us on our return. We entered our room to discover a bridal bed strewn with rose petals and a trail of the petals leading to a drawn bath for the two of us. Well over a hundred candles were placed throughout the room, providing a warm diffuse glow in the African twilight. Dinner was set for two, our chairs adorned with Maasai blankets, set beside a roaring fireplace (the cool air and mists had returned with the spreading darkness on the Crater rim).Yes, we finally had our wedding night, just the two of us. Dinner was delicious, intense and romantic. The sparkle never left our eyes. We snuffed out the last of the candles quite late and needless to say we passed on the morning’s game drive. As for my new wife, Barbara’s reaction;” We finally had our wedding night, just us. Now I know that fairy tales do come true.”
The next afternoon we departed for Klein’s Camp in the Serengeti (another CCA lodge) amid tears, hugs and promises to stay in touch. Tonya had been given welcome feedback from the Chief and tribe. They loved the entire ceremony and felt very proud to be part of it. They were happy that we were now members of their tribe. As newly married Maasai, we both feel a deep obligation as well. The village is building a school and would like at some point to establish a hospital. So far, with the aid of CCA, the school’s wooden frame has been built. However, the school remains without windows, books, pens and desks. As in every marriage, our Maasai wedding had some expenses, the whole cost was a little less than flowers for the bridesmaids at our Catamount event. That money was contributed to the school construction. We do plan to send a check, on our June 27 anniversary to our village every year. We want to see those kids in school.
Three days later we were waiting with a group of young Maasai rangers on a grass airstrip in the Serengeti. We were waiting for the bush plane that would begin our return journey to the Big Apple. We had become local celebrities since our wedding. The word had traveled fast and far throughout the bush camps and villages. The staff at Klein’s Camp, all Maasai, had not believed the tale at first but soon realized the truth of it. They were pleased but at the same time mystified by our desire to marry among their people.
Whether by chance or design, the rangers, all young men with good jobs, with dollars in their pocket and a good command of English, had waited until we were leaving to ask the question. Why had we married among them? What did we see that they didn’t?
I realized, as we heard the distant hum of our plane in that clear, blue Serengeti sky, that these young men had one foot in their village but the other pointing toward those big western style cities. That gleam in their eyes, the anxious set of their broad, powerful shoulders –the message was clear—why stay here in the bush with our fathers and mothers scrapping and fighting for our traditional ways? They have that itch to test their meddle, to try their hand, like us, in a bigger, if more dangerous world.
It all came back to my argument before their tribal elders over the last year. Why? What do we see in their culture that they do not? By now, my reader, you know the answer, (if I have done my job). I gave them mine. Now it is your turn. Go tell them.
