Being „Kamba‟ among the Maasai: Identity dilemma in the field

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are supporters of Moi”). To the Maasai respondents, I was not just a researcher but an ambassador who would bridge some of the gaps identified between them and the Kamba. To other Maasai, I was an informant and for these, they did not lose an opportunity to make enquiries about the Kamba, particularly their political orientation. It appeared that some sought to confirm what they already knew. All in all, this reciprocal relationship, where I got research partners who volunteered information and allowed me to stay in their midst while they had in me a listener who would take a message of goodwill to the “other side”, enhanced commitment to the study. There was evidence of commonalities and the fluidity of social boundaries as Maasai actors said they voted for a Kamba presidential candidate in the 1997 elections or that both groups “support Moi”. There was an attempt to deconstruct certain stereotypes e.g. by saying that the Maasai are not “ignorant” as well as appreciating forces of social transformation which had resulted in reductions in cattle raids. Others alluded to the fact that some of the „local‟ tensions and misunderstandings had an external dimension and cautioned: “Ignore what the politicians say”.

Since I was not proficient in Maa language,⁵⁸ I employed the services of a pre-university student to assist me in the interpretation of texts or during interviews where the respondent could not speak Swahili or English. He played a crucial role in the enhancement of my hermeneutic approach, that is, in the pursuit of a more integrative ethnographic experience. I do recognise that command of a local language permits access to a wide range of data that may not otherwise be taken advantage of. I must say however that my inability to master Maa at times worked to my advantage. As a „stranger‟, I became a centre of interest. The study generated a lot of curiosity among the Maasai. As some spoke in Maa, others volunteered to translate. Maasai respondents got immersed in the study with commitment that I did not witness among the Kamba. One of them told me that an exercise that had forced me to talk to people who could only speak Maa “must be very important”.⁵⁹ He noted further that “people come here to ask about water problems or to laugh at us! They don‟t ask how we relate with our neighbours”. Besides, I was to learn in due course that the Kamba who spoke Maa were often despised and treated with suspicion by the Maasai.⁶⁰ They were the wajuaji or the

58 The time available for fieldwork (one year) was not adequate to learn and master Maa.

59 A remark by Mr Palalelei, a Maasai elder, in Kiboko (15/04/2000). More information on Palalelei is provided in the empirical chapters. A photo of his homestead is provided in chapter five.

60 Although mastery of other people‟s language can no doubt facilitate assimilation or integration, there are occasions when this is not the case. During my stay in Germany for instance, there have been situations where good command of German contributes to appreciation and builds bridges that would otherwise be impossible to achieve but I must add that in some other situations, speaking broken German or English has served me best. The latter scenario portrays me as a „foreigner‟, somebody on transit or incapable of accessing certain benefits in the German job market or the welfare system thereby attracting sympathy. I am taken as somebody who needs help, one who is not a „threat‟ or competitor.

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“know it all” who “exploit the Maasai”. This was a surprise since bilinguals should theoretically provide fertile ground for harmonious coexistence, common understanding and integration.

In some instances, some Maasai assumed that I could speak Maa fluently and that I was therefore „pretending‟. Sitonik⁶¹ asked me: “Why are you speaking to me in Swahili?...I know that you speak kimasai”. When I told him that I had learnt only a little, he said “we know that you speak but it is okay”. My concern was that by this assertion, he had concluded that I fitted into a Maasai analogy where the Kamba are said to be “cunning”. In actual fact, most Maasai respondents were more comfortable with “foreigners” who could not follow all their conversations. Other experiences were perhaps more dramatic.

Negotiating for an interview

A respondent selected for interview as a key informant refused to cooperate and proceeded to justify his position. This was the immediate and long serving chief of Kenyewa location. I went to visit him in the company of his son, who, in the course of my study, had become a friend and an informant too. After the son (named Tenka) introduced me to the old man, the former chief spoke with the son for about 20 minutes in Maa. Then the father posed a long question in Swahili: “What is your name, what do you want and where do you come from”?

After I answered those questions, he said that he wanted to know three things; one, what the study was all about; two, whether I had a letter from the local chief since he did not want to be accused of undermining him; and thirdly, whether he stood to benefit in any way from the study so that he would know “how much time I should allocate” for the exercise.

I was shocked since I had not experienced this kind of resistance before. Even after expounding on the study objectives, he told me that he did not see how he would “benefit”

from the exercise. He introduced an interesting dimension in the conversation when he said that “the Maasai have been taken advantage of by other people for so long”. Though fairly reticent about his experiences, he talked at length on how “people from outside” exploit the Maasai thinking that they are very “stupid”. He said that he was not going to be “another victim”. He was blunt: “If what I know is important, then you must pay for it”. He noted further that if I did not know, the Maasai have “woken up” and are not going to be “taken advantage of” anymore. He said that I was “lucky” if I had met Maasai who had assisted me with information “free of charge”. Telling him that data gathered for academic purposes should ordinarily not be monetarised did not change his mind. I tried to explain that the

61 A male school teacher.

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information he was to share with me was invaluable and could only be shared freely. To this suggestion, he quipped: “Kijana (young man), nothing is for free these days”. The statement was pregnant with meaning. My interpretation was that he was talking about the Maasai society in general whose leaders have been seeking redress for past and apparently present forms of exploitation. When I told him that I was doing the study for scholarly purposes, he said “now, are you not a Mkamba?, how will the Maasai benefit from your study?” I tried to insist that “we are all Kenyans”⁶² and that since I teach in a local university, students from all parts of Kenya would indeed benefit. He interjected and asked: “How many of your students are Maasai”? I told him that students are not admitted in the university on ethnic basis and therefore it would be difficult to know how many students are Maasai.

I told him though that there were some students I knew personally from Samburu district. He asked me: “You don‟t know that there is a difference between the Maasai and the Samburu?”⁶³ He said that the reason I was not saying the number of Maasai students at the university was because “there is none...so you see, people like you come here get a lot of information but nobody cares about us”.⁶⁴ Saying “nobody” cared about the Maasai struck me since the Kamba on the other hand talked about the Maasai as people who were “enjoying state protection” and “favours”. His arguments appeared to be consistent with some of the Maasai leaders who have been pressing for “indigenous” status on the one hand and a federal system of government on the other. The conversation is very similar to what Teresa Gowan experienced during her study among homeless recyclers. She warns that “one limitation of doing ethnography with the marginalised is that it is hard to see the mechanisms of exclusion”

(2000: 75).

On the issue of ethnicity, I explained that impartiality was one of the guiding principles of the study and that I was working with research partners drawn from the Maasai and the Kamba.

As for the letter from the chief, I told him that I had not transgressed rules governing research as I had obtained a permit from the Office of the President and that I had reported to the chief in question who had in turn given me the go-ahead to conduct field research in the area. When I produced the permit, he said that he could not trust “documents from Nairobi” as they might have been forged. At that point, I had to leave and think of another strategy or look for alternative informants. But, in his bitterness, he had provided very useful information.

62 A familiar phrase in the multiethnic Kenyan society. It is analysed in chapter 8.

63 This distinction is discussed in some detail in chapters one and four.

64 A common opinion among the Maasai.

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Besides the fact that it proved rather difficult to trace the new chief⁶⁵ for a letter, I had to acknowledge that the basic mutual trust with the former chief had been breached. Later on, I tried to make sense about the whole experience. The old man had behaved as if approaching him in the company of his son had amounted to some form of insubordination. A generational issue could not be ruled out considering the highly structured Maasai society. As a senior elder, he might have felt intimidated and would not submit to his son‟s request. On the other hand, he appeared not only quite unhappy with the Kamba but he also maintained an intransigent position. I was to find out later that some of the most serious interethnic conflicts were witnessed during his tenure as chief in-charge of what used to be a very expansive Maasai territory. I had also to take into account that he served during the one-party state when research was restricted.

Apart from such challenges, my marital status was a problematic subject among the Maasai, where men marry as early as in their late teens and early 20‟s. It was often taken for granted that I was married. So the question used to be “when” I married and “how many children” I had and what my “wife” was doing for a living. With time, I discovered that depending on who was asking or making the assumption, I could jeopardise my position as a researcher by insisting on the truth. Being a society where age-grades and sets define relationships and responsibilities, being „unmarried‟ gave me a junior status. In some cases, saying that I was not married is what was seen as a lie. If the question was posed, I answered correctly, when it was taken as a foregone conclusion, I had to judge what would be the consequences of my clarification.