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Published: April 21st 2006
Tuesday 15th February Harriet had asked us before whether we wanted to go to the mnada earlier in the day and cut our Akie visit short, but we had declined as we were not particularly interested in seeing the animal slaughter which was taking place in the morning. We would miss some of the commerce and most of the cattle and goat selling, but the Akie visit more than made up for that. There would still be lots going on at the market in the afternoon and Harriet especially wanted us to eat some goat meat which could be bought and to meet a friend of hers called Mr Moita, who, although he is not old in years, is a Maasai elder and would show us around the market.
Mr Moita spotted us immediately when we arrived, and he was very happy to see Harriet. I was very taken by Mr Moita; he was so nice and polite to us even though it was difficult to talk as he had no English. He is a very handsome man, and was dressed in a red/purple shuka over his shoulders, with a blue and red striped one underneath. His head was
shaved and he had quite large holes in his ears but not a lot of jewellery apart from a large gold watch and a bracelet. He was carrying a long stick as were most of the Maasai elders. He is interesting in that he married a woman who is not Maasai, and as such had to fight a lot of prejudice from his family. Due to his high status there was very little anybody could do about it, but it means that he is more open to differences than perhaps some other Maasai.
We were keen to buy some shukas and some kangas and Mr Moita promised to help us select good quality ones at a fair price. This offer we were delighted to accept, as I knew we would otherwise pay a hugely inflated sum for whatever we chose. We started off at the cloth stalls and looked over loads of shukas, with Mr Moita and his friend fingering the cloth and discussing quality. We bought 4 at what seemed a rather high price, but Harriet assured me that it was fair. We then moved over to kangas and they were a lot cheaper. The Maasai shuka is different
from the kanga in that it comes in only one part and is thicker than the kanga. The pattern is often checked and legend has it that it was originally Scottish tartan that became fashionable in the late 1800s in Kenya, when the British regiments there supplied the Maasai and other tribes with cloth to show themselves ‘decent’ for the puritan Victorians.
The market was spread out over a large area. We walked through stand after stand selling second hand clothing called mitumba. There were not many Maasai in this part of the market, and after some thought I realized of course that because they only dress in shukas, these clothes would naturally not interest them. There were however lots of others and we were followed by a crowd of youngsters wanting me to take pictures of them. The wonderful thing was that no one was begging or being a nuisance in any way, which tends to happen in places where tourists go. The mitumba is very interesting and something I immediately noticed when I arrived in Tanzania. The people are now much better dressed than in the 1970s and 80s, apart from when they use traditional dress like kangas
Mitumba clothes
The mitumba clothes hang very neatly on stands. There are no changing rooms of coursethat always look smart. It was virtually impossible to buy clothes in Tanzania then, although you did find tailors sewing trousers, shirts and dresses sitting outside with their Singer foot pedalled sewing machines in most towns. These were expensive and you would constantly see children dressed in nothing but rags and think nothing of it. Now everyone seemed both comfortably and well dressed, in fashionable clothes. The difference is mitumba; the second hand clothes sale which happens not only in Tanzania but in Kenya as well and most probably in other third world countries too. The clothes we in the West bring to charity shops eventually end up here and at first I was a bit shocked at what we believe to be free gifts finishing up in a commercial situation, but after a little contemplation I realized that this is a perfect way to redistribute our unwanted surplus. Huge bales of tightly packed clothes arrive at the harbours and are distributed from here to the sales people who buy the clothes by the kilo. These self employed people then go around the markets selling the clothes very cheaply indeed. This means that everyone can actually afford to buy nice,
Mitumba clothes
The mnada market was colourful whole clothes without feeling like they are getting a hand out of charity. This is of course very good for morale and not only that but a lot of people get employment in this way. In a country with big unemployment problems that can only be a good thing. Harriet and her family wore almost only mitumba clothes and she was better dressed than I. While we were in Tanzania there was a big ongoing discussion in the newspapers, as the government wanted to put up the tax on mitumba by some 200 percent, which is a dreadful thought as the clothes would then again become too expensive for the average person to buy. This had apparently already happened in Kenya and had caused a lot of anger. I do not know how the matter was resolved in the end.
Here at the mnada market though there was plenty of mitumba being sold, most of it tidily hung on rope tightly strung between wooden poles, but some in piles on the ground. Shoes especially were sold in great heaps, how the pairs managed to stay together is anyone’s guess.
We were not buying clothes today, so we wandered towards the
Unsorted mitumba
Great piles of unsorted clothes were sold a bit cheaper food selling part of the market. Most of this commerce was actually finished for the day, but there were still some vegetables spread out on top of sacking laid out on the dusty ground. Heaps of red onions and potatoes were left, and a few limp looking lettuces. Harriet bought some dagaa, the strong smelling Lake Victoria fish which she feeds to Dessie and the cats. This dagaa was also piled high on the ground, and sold by the scoop. Some of these scoops were old children’s stacking toys I noticed, all in different colours. A lot of stuff is often ingeniously reused in Tanzania, but not all. Jon-Erik had told me what a big problem the new plastic water bottles had become; people just threw them out of cars and buses so road sides were often littered with these un-biodegradable objects. The same applied to the very thin plastic bags used instead of baskets.
After our dagaa purchase, we walked through the market towards the seating area where some large ground sheets had been put up on poles as shade from the hot sun. We passed a fire where goat meat was being roasted, strapped on to sticks which
Some boys that followed us
The lovely thing about this remote market was that no one begged or hassled in any way were put at an angle into the ground over the hot coals. This was the meat we were going to eat later, and I was quite thankful that we had missed the slaughter in the morning, as this looked quite a crude way of cooking and one can only guess at the spectacle of actually getting the meat this far. We arrived at the refreshments area, and sat down on wooden benches placed in a square under the tarpaulin. There were quite a few of these seating areas, all in a row side by side. In each of these was someone who sold beer and soda from a stack in the middle, no glasses or anything fancy, just the bottles. Mr Moita was there and also a couple of men from the agricultural ministry with their wives and some others we didn’t know. After some time our goat meat arrived and was placed, still stuck on its spit, into one of the soda crates. A huge, sharp knife was resting on the plastic crate and I was wondering who would cut the meat and how would it be served? Mr Moita stood up and someone got out a bottle of
water which was duly poured over his fingers. He then started to cut chunks off the goat leg and offered a piece to everyone in turn. It was delicious, and we did enjoy it, especially Anja who loves roasted meat. I had expected there to be a lot of flies, but there was not really a problem with that. Some friends of Harriet’s, a young couple, turned up to say goodbye as they were off on a long trip. They were volunteers, and had not been in Tanzania very long and didn’t speak English very well, but Harriet said she would miss them while they were away.
We attracted a certain amount of interest and there was one man especially who was almost making a nuisance of himself, in that he tried to get Paul to buy him a beer. He was an old Maasai, poorly dressed and very drunk already. Mr Moita saw that Paul was getting a bit bothered by this attention, so he ordered the old man to keep his distance. He stayed nearby though, keeping a close eye on everything especially the meat. Mr Moita had almost carved it to the bone, when it suddenly fell
to the ground. I quickly whispered to Scott not to accept any more if he was offered some which had been on the ground, but as it turned out my fears were completely unnecessary. Mr Moita quickly looked around to see what he could do to save the situation, spotted the old man hovering just behind him, and thrust the goat leg at him. Everyone was surprised for a few seconds, but then a huge roar of laughter welled up under the tarpaulin, as the old man started dancing and waving the leg about. It was so funny and we saw him for a long time afterwards wandering the market, clutching his prize.
In the square next to us I noticed a woman who kept looking at us and eventually she wandered over and said she wanted urgently to speak to me. Harriet helped to interpret and it turned out she wanted to marry her daughter off to Scott, after enquiring how old he was. We didn’t take this seriously of course, but played along, and Scott went up to her and got a very nice bracelet as a token of affection. There was again plenty of laughter at this
Dagaa
This is a pile of dagaa, the Lake Victoria dried fish ‘engagement’ and the only one who was missing was the girl herself, who apparently was at home, but was promised to be very beautiful. Scott was quite fascinated as something like this had never happened before to him, and at first he was quite apprehensive as to the possible vow he may have committed himself to.
After a while Scott and Anja left with Massud for home, while we sat talking for some time more. Mr Moita wanted us to come to his village and stay over night, but this was completely impossible as we had to leave the next day. I suspect Harriet had to use all her diplomatic skills to refuse the invitation, although it was very tempting. We said goodbye instead and also headed for home as the sun was setting. It was another glorious sunset and one which felt almost painful as it was our last on this trip.
Back at the house Paul and Harriet started making our farewell dinner while I started packing our bags in readiness of the following day. Paul had made a yogurt curry marinade earlier in the day for some chicken that Harriet had defrosted and before long our dinner
was ready. Although we had only been in the house a couple of days it felt much longer somehow, and we felt real affection for Kibaya. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Harriet would feel when she eventually had to leave the following summer. She would be together with her family more, which is the most important thing of course, but surely this wonderful place would leave an ache for a long time to come.
After dinner I went out on the veranda with my glass of wine and just listened to the sounds and smelled the night air, drawing huge breaths, imprinting it onto my mind so that I would never forget it. Dessie scraped at the door so I let her out and together we watched the bats flying, dipping in and out of the lamp light.
It was so difficult to end that last day, but eventually we had to get to bed and we could only conclude that our thirteenth day had been perfect.
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