Maasai Mara is my Home. The Maasai are my people.

One of the questions I asked my kiddos this week on our biweekly zoom was “what’s something you haven’t done for a while that you’ve gone back to?” I shared with them the example of how growing up I used to wear soccer shorts and fancy tops (much to the chagrin of my sisters). And that in quarantine a few times I had noticed that my “laziness” allowed for me to don similar outfits. They each shared something lighthearted and it was nice to see them all giggle with one another. Boy, do I miss these kids.

A few days later I was standing outside on the deck and did something I haven’t done in yeeears, I balanced on one foot and rested the other on my knee pointed straight out in front of my. I used to stand like this all the time as a child. My dad would call me a Massai warrior. And I claimed it and felt a special camaraderie with that tribe. So much so that I chose them to do a project in in seventh grade. But standing like this again felt natural. It made me smile and remember my time in Kenya. It made me think of my mom’s time in Zaire—I can hear her words from the journal she left behind if that time. And I thought about my dear dada (sister) Winnie who I met in the states through the Umoja project—though I will forever hate the roof we worked on that year of ASP, I will always be thankful Jack needed me to sub for him that summer.

Maasai Mara ni nyumbani, Maasai ni watu wangu. (Blog title in Kiswahili).

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