Jonchards in Uganda

Posted by: Helen

Here is the story of an important reunion...

Lake Bunyonyi on Easter Monday 2007

Dan and I first set foot in East Africa five years ago.   Albert Mugumya, our good friend from Lancaster University was back home in Uganda, and invited us for two weeks during Easter.  It was an amazing trip: travelling, partying, going on our first safari, visiting his family and even taking a day trip to Rwanda.  We flew home to the UK feeling determined to return to Africa…couldn’t we work overseas? Maybe volunteer?  There’s this organisation called ‘VSO’, shall we apply?   We could have been ‘sent’ to one of 40 countries with VSO, but when we were offered placements in Kenya, our first thoughts ran to Uganda; we were thrilled to be going back to East Africa, we can visit Albert!

Albert: five years younger

And so it was: over Easter this year we spent six days back in Uganda, exactly five years after our first visit.  Shunning the 14-hour bus journey to make the most of our Easter break, we took a one-hour flight, landing at Entebbe Airport late at night to a warm welcome from Albert (and Uganda’s tropical lake-side climate!).  Whilst we’ve made firm buddies in Kenya, it was wonderful to be greeted by a friend who’s known us for 10 years, and all the sweeter because we’d not seen each other in the last five.  Albert lives and works in Uganda’s capital, Kampala. The plan was to hang out in the city, then drive to his rural home in South-Western Uganda, and chill there for a few days.  Relaxation was on the agenda, and we couldn’t wait…

Driving through Kampala on our first morning brought back vivid memories of our previous trip.  The Uganda we remember was simply MAGICAL, an impossibly fascinating land unlike any we’d seen.  We were under no illusion that this trip would hold the same sparkle; back then we were 25, untraveled and utterly enthralled; we’re 30 now and East African residents.   Working in Kenya has given us a taste of daily life in this region we were keen to experience when we first discussed VSO, but it’s also given us a depth of understanding to interpret what we saw from the windows of Albert’s car...

Kampala, Uganda's capital city

After Nairobi, we found Kampala to be a green, clean, safe, ordered city with much less traffic and a more relaxed attitude.  Built on seven hills, the city showcases its neighbourhoods at the top of every hill, giving awesome views of a city at work.  Kampala is now run as a city authority like London, Albert explains and we see no street stalls, stiff fines for littering and compared to five years ago, the roads are good, and a few beautiful modern buildings are taking shape.  Best of all, we are ridiculously excited to see brand-shiny-new buses that are replacing matatus (called taxis here).  These gleaming machines wouldn’t be out of place on a London street and (yes, it’s sad but) we gazed and gazed, in disbelief and joy.  A VSO placement in Kampala would be a sweet deal!  Dan announces, thinking of the ugly, over-crowded, broken-down Nairobi of our daily lives.

Shiny bus: a sight for sore eyes

We were also immediately struck by how we were treated in Uganda as foreigners. Whilst we caused mild curiosity, we were not hassled or yelled at and we always felt safe; the same cannot be said for Nairobi.  In Kampala we saw many white people walking on the streets after dark (!!), which our friends in Kenya will recognise as a big difference.  Uganda was never a British colony, only a Protectorate, and perhaps that leaves a mark on today’s Uganda. Plus Ugandans have none of the shove and aggression we often see in Kenya, and so it was a welcome break from all that.

Kampala life was fun: it was a treat to be driven around in a private car, catch up with Albert and go walking in a nearby rainforest (Mabira National Forest Reserve).  We were reminded that Albert’s wider family has succeeded in many areas of life, as we hang out with government ministers, shadow-ministers and ex-presidential candidates at the Kampala Club, discussing the issues of the day, including a president who is extending term limits beyond the patience of his people. We also discovered that Ugandan 40% spirit Waragi is sadly no longer sold in sachets, but is just as strong... 



On Friday it was off to ‘the village’, a homestead on Mugumya family land in Ibanda county, five hours drive from Kampala.  We whooshed past lush green valleys and through small shopping centres on our way to Ibanda, remembering again how extraordinary this journey was for us in 2007, and how it feels almost like normal life these days.  Weird.

We marked our arrival in South-Western Uganda by visiting a new museum created by a local-guy-done-good, which aims to preserve the traditional culture and stories of the area’s tribes; ways of living that have only disappeared in the last 100 years.  As the museum guide explained, This museum is about how our grandparents lived before the coming of modernity. Albert is Banyankole, and pointed out which traditional practices and foods are still part of rural life today.

Museum lady and Albert showing they belong to different sub-tribes.
So we are allowed to marry!  they joke.

Then on to Ibanda, for an Easter weekend reunion.  Our lives over this weekend once again revolved around food, sleep and Albert’s grandmother Eva, who was already 90 when we met her five years ago.  Mother to Albert’s late father, she is the 95-year-old matriarch of the family, lands, crops and livestock that surround her simple house.  No running water, no electricity but she’s ably assisted by cooks and houseboys who help run her businesses and home.  She remembered Dan and I - possibly the only white folks to ever come? – but certainly as Albert is a favoured grandson. 

Albert and Eva, his Grandmother

As in Kenya, most older people in the rural areas only speak their local language, so we had a refresher before we arrived of the three Lanyankole words that were handy last time:


Agaandi  Hello, how are you?

Nimeronji  I’m fine

Webare  Thank you


We were warned not to use our Swahili. Still the language of the police and armed forces, it has come to stand as the language of the Amin regime.  People were tortured in Swahili, says Albert, just use the local language or English. Good tip.  Meeting Grandma Eva again was really great – a very small lady so loved by her family and respected by all.  Everyone squealed with delight as we greeted people in poorly-pronounced Luyankole.  Her sister was there as well, two elderly ladies who must have seen so much in their lifetimes.


Young Uganda was represented by Albert and cousin Peter, also home for the holidays, so nice to be out of hectic Kampala!  Several happy hours were spent sitting on a sunny porch, watching the birds and butterflies in this green, hilly area and discussing internet entrepreneurship in East Africa, the validity of Nairobi as a regional hub and Dating in Uganda.  Interesting for us to hear these young men talking about why they will only marry a lady from Western Uganda (we will understand each other), why their children should be able to speak the local ‘vernacular’ better than them (they should know our culture) and all discussed on the family land where they expect to retire, and within sight of the family plot where they expect to be buried.


We visited an elderly neighbour in a small damp house on prime land on the opposite hill.  He showed us political campaign posters from the last 20 years and his wedding photos from the 1940s: a severe-looking, unsmiling couple surrounded by equally serious well-wishers.  He pointed out his best man, who’d been killed in the 1970s under Amin’s regime.  He also said a prayer for our safe travels.

Albert's brother Moses, Albert, the elderly neighbour, Peter and Dan

On Easter Sunday, Albert woke us to meet the goat that was about to be slaughtered ‘in our honour’.  It must be the first time I’ve petted a goat on death row whilst wearing pajamas.  Preparations for the lunch took over most of the day as we watched, and others worked.  We took a short walk with Peter and saw the fields and cattle that were producing the feast (and a very large Black Mamba snake in a tree!), and so of course  the meal was completely delicious with vegetables and other ingredients all grown in these surrounding fields. And we know how fresh the goat was (is this becoming a theme?  How many goats must die in the making of this blog?!).

Walking the land

MASSIVE BLACK MAMBA!! (apparently they kill)

The efforts of many people resulted in: delicious lunch for all!

All this peace and quiet gave Dan and I the chance to look back on our VSO experience from a distance, to chat about what brought us back here, what we’d like to do before leaving Kenya, what awaits us back in the UK, what we want from our lives and to wonder how we’ll make it all happen.  It was truly some of the most relaxing days we’ve spent since we arrived last July.  Wonderful.


As we left on Monday morning, Eva gripped our hands, talking fixedly in her language and holding our gaze.  She is saying you are now also her grandchildren, Albert translates, her grandchildren from overseas.  We promise her we’ll be back, that we’ll bring our future family to this land in years to come.

All too soon we had to catch a plane ‘home’ to Nairobi.  But not before we’d eaten Pork Mchomo (roast pork).  In Kenya, most people prefer goat, chicken or beef (in that order) but I think Ugandans have it right – sweet, succulent pork served with perfect roast potatoes, fried cassava, fresh tomatoes and avocado.  All eaten with your hands.  Beats Kenyan nyama choma and ugali any day of the week, and I even enjoyed munching on pigs ears…

Pork mchomo: vying for our
'tastiest food in East Africa' prize

As we said goodbye to Albert once again, it felt like a long time had passed since we’d stood here five years ago, like we’d all changed a bit.  When visited in 2007 Dan and I were both in very different jobs, we were living in our very first flat together, and we were still marveling at the wonder of taking pictures and reviewing them instantly with my very-first brand-new digital camera.  More telling than that, there was no Facebook in April 2007, we’d never even heard the word.  Whilst Facebook has certainly helped us stay in touch with our Ugandan friend, it’s good to know that whatever happens in life, we’ll stay firm friends.

On the shores of Lake Victoria, Entebbe

Thanks for hosting us again so brilliantly Albert – we will miss you so come to the UK soon!  Or better yet, come to Nairobi before July :o)

Albert Gomes Mugumya: full of lunch and happy

______________________________________________

A final note:


Jonchards say Visit Uganda!  Rightly named as the No. 1 place to go in 2012 by Lonely Planet, Uganda is a beautiful, friendly, fascinating corner of East Africa.  You can go on safari, swim in the deepest lake in the world and even meet mountain gorillas.  Even if your budget doesn’t stretch to that, Uganda’s simple pleasures are all still magical as they were on our last trip: drinking gin in the warm night air, eating pork with sticky fingers and dancing to Ugandan artist Chameleon (check this out).  These all remain some of the highlights of my life so far….so we suggest you visit sometime.  Uganda rocks.

Check out some more photos below or click through to Picassa to go at your own pace...

Tutafundraise!

A post to prove I've been working a bit recently...

Trainers: extraordinaire

Last month, I worked with fellow VSO Nicole Johnson to design, and then deliver two training sessions in one week on the theme of: 'Resource Mobilisation'.  The first was designed for the organisation where I work, Kenya Union of the Blind, and the second was put together for Nicole's colleagues at the HIV/AIDS-prevention organisation, I Choose Life.

KUB staff

On Tuesday we held a session for KUB staff at a grubby hotel in East Nairobi.  I named the training Tutafundraise! (We will fundraise!).  'Mobilising resources' is currently left to just one person, our CEO Jackson.  But with his blessing, this was a chance to share sales and fundraising skills more widely.  All staff at KUB's head office attended: logistics, finance, programme and reception staff (7 in all).  We covered just two sessions in the day: introducing my colleagues to basic sales skills (how to talk about the organisation to external people) and a simple structure for writing a proposal.    Although it was a challenge to bring my colleagues 'out' and engage them in discussion, once again people just LOVED the participatory/interactivity of the day, as they are so used to just listening and being 'told'.  After the training, whilst I was glad we had introduced these ideas, I didn't really expect anyone in the room to be able to write a proposal or give a sales pitch without more practice.  But it was a good start, and they all really enjoyed the chance to get out of the office and learn new things.  

 

I Choose Life staff

On Wednesday we held a session  for I Choose Life staff at a nice hotel in West Nairobi.  'Mobilising resources' is currently the responsibility of a team of 5 people, most working part time on proposal-writing.  The training was a chance for them and others (15 in total) to build on their skills, think broadly about where resourse might be available and perfect their relationship-building. We covered eight sessions in one day on a variety of topics. Compared to the team I work with, Nicole's colleagues are highly educated, media savvy, and with plenty of exposure to the wider donor landscape.  They were also very welcoming and attentive to all 6 hours of training.  With the CEO in the room towards the end of the day, we were able to clearly identify further training needs and ways to improve their already well-developed communications.


It was great working with Nicole on these training sessions - lovely to bounce ideas around in the planning stages, and then receive support with the logistics and demands of training a room full of people for whole-day sessions.


The experience of working with two very different groups of people really opened my eyes.  My colleagues suffer from a lack of exposure to professional environments and different ways of working, mainly because KUB does not have the leadership or funds to attract experienced people. Also, for those with visual impairment, attending schools for the blind, and socialising mainly in the visually impaired community affects their personal and professional confidence.  Training these folks was, in Nicole's words, 'one small slow step at a time'. 

In contrast, Nicole's colleagues were typical of the organisation they represent: I Choose Life is focussed, high-achieving and with clearly a lot of talented professionals.  Nicole's Resource Mobilisation placement is obviously very different from mine, but in lots of ways much more challenging - so much is expected, everything moves very fast and a high level of commitment is demanded; it's more like working in the western world. I must say it was a big reverse culture shock to be back in a room of people talking about strategy, communications and donor development.  I felt very far from East Nairobi, but I was pleased to discover I can still 'cut it' in that environment despite 9 months working at a much slower pace.

Nicole has brilliantly captured how it all went down in her blog post on the training, so do click through and check it out.  The training felt like one of the first tangible achievements of my placement, and highly enjoyable too!

Big thanks to Nicole for suggesting our successful collaboration and being great to work with (go team!) and I Choose Life for being so welcoming and teaching me all about their awesome youth-focussed HIV/AIDS prevention work.  Check out their website here.

Witch doctors, puppets & human rights

I wanted to report back from recent visits I have taken with SEP to the slum areas of Kariobangi and Kibera. I’ve written about both these areas previously, but this time was a little different, a little more practical, a little more hopeful.

Having spent some months now doggedly writing funding proposals to various national and international bodies – something I hadn’t done before arriving in Kenya – my colleague and I were well chuffed when we got a “yes” from a German organisation to a proposal for a series of workshops for mothers and caregivers of children with special needs from these poverty-stricken areas. I can’t take much credit, since this proposal was written in German.

I suspect this is a standard feeling within many small NGOs who spend half their lives seeking money to fund their work, but within minutes of the initial elation and high-fiving, we were panicking. “The problem is”, my colleague laughs, “now we have to do what we said we’d do!”. Thankfully, my role in these particular workshops was limited to moral support, showing up and taking pictures.

The plan was to deliver a series of two-day workshops within the slums. Day 1 would be led by other organisations we’ve partnered with – Save The Children and Sarakasi – and would focus on “sensitising” (raising awareness – I refer you to the Kenyan-English dictionary) the parents on the human rights of their children with disabilities, and how they can demand those rights. Day 2 would be much more practical, led by seasoned SEP therapists training the parents in positioning, handling and playing with their children – ensuring those with conditions like cerebral palsy and Down’s syndrome are able to develop, progress and have better quality of life.

Shall I go back a step? Why do SEP think this kind of workshop is important?

Kariobangi slum

In Kenya’s poorest communities, thanks to traditional beliefs, a child with a disability is frequently seen as a curse on the family. They are hidden away, ignored, refused education and unable to play with others. Fathers blame mothers for giving birth to disabled children and leave them to bring up the children alone. The mothers don’t understand what is wrong with their child, and often have to leave them alone in search of work and food for the family. Meanwhile, there are not enough specialists, not enough facilities, not enough funding for special needs care in Kenya, and the little there is is unaffordable for these poor families. This situation is facing an estimated 1.8 million children in Kenya, and most are among the 2-3 million people living in slums with limited access to food, water, electricity or sewage disposal. SEP can’t solve the wider problems of poverty and lack of healthcare, but they have the expertise to build the skills of these mothers, making them better carers for their children, and working to destroy the old taboos about disability here.

I found that, much like my previous experiences in the slums, my reactions to these workshops swayed from hopeful and positive to baffled and despairing. Although to be fair, my understanding of what was going on was slightly undermined by the fact that the whole workshop was in Swahili. But it gave me a good chance to practice!

People came!

Both the Kariobangi and Kibera workshops started well. Although we had the predictable wait for people to come (“starting promptly” isn’t a concept understood in Kenya), by the time we started an hour or so late, we had rooms packed with mothers and children. The nerves that you always have about whether people will actually show up for your event, washed away as I started making friends with some of the children...

What rights do we have?

First up was a talk about human rights, the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disability, and how parents of children with special needs can demand those rights.

I had mixed feelings. Many of the mothers, having walked that morning from their slum shack homes through the mud and shit with their child strapped to their back and the weight of poverty on their minds, looked at the facilitator as if to say “that might be the world you live in love, but it’s not the one we’re in”. There’s a palpable sense of defeat in the air. The UNCPWD might sound good on paper, but these mothers sense that nothing like the aspirations written on the flipcharts around the room will ever be a reality in their lifetimes.

“But remember”, says the facilitator, “the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”. “Don’t give up”, she says. “Demand your rights”. “It’s up to you”.

During a break, she sits down next to me, exhausted and demoralised. “Look, they’re not even talking to each other about it”. But as we look more closely, we realise the mothers are talking to each other, incredibly quietly, their words almost lost under the din of their wailing, laughing, gurgling children. At the end we ask them for their thoughts – What have you learned? What are your needs? How will you take action? And serious, specific, carefully thought-out responses came back:

“We need more schools that accept children with special needs, and they need to be here, not miles away”

“We need more physiotherapy”

“We need day care centres so we can leave our children safely and go to work”

“We need more workshops and visits – once isn’t enough!”


Clowning around

Our other partners for these workshops was The Sarakasi Trust. They’re an awesome organisation using clowning, acrobatics, theatre, music and general fun as a development tool. They’re a group of awesome young Kenyans, and their Hospital Project is all about bringing joy to the lives of vulnerable children – they visit hospitals all over Nairobi and bring smiles to everyone with balloons, puppets and all kinds of silliness. 



See! A poster in Nairobi city centre

For our workshops they created a short play in Swahili about the parents of a child with a disability who, taking bad advice from a friend, go to a witch doctor who can “cure” their child. This might sound bizarre and unreal to you, but believe it or not it’s a frequent occurrence in many poor communities in Kenya and other African countries. When parents have no idea what causes disability, or what to do about it, it’s tempting to turn to traditional healers for solutions, and communities will often put pressure on these families to seek such answers to their “curse”. And it’s not just about children with disabilities – belief in the power of traditional healing still holds strong in many areas. As we walk around Nairobi every day we’ll pass a poster for a “Healer” offering his services in solving every problem from marital difficulties to lost possessions to poverty to even “man power”!


The mothers nodded sagely and laughed knowingly as the drama unfolded, but the real highlight was the character of the witch doctor, sauntering onto stage mumbling incoherently, demanding an ‘offering’ before talking to the higher forces only he could see, and suggesting radical solutions to the problem: “by tomorrow morning, you must bring me… the elbow of a snake! The eggs of a squirrel! The bones of a worm!”. The children loved this Disney-like character, but for the mothers, a serious point was made. The final message: you are not cursed, you are not alone, your child deserves all your love, and real help is available from professionals like ours.


Next up, a Sesame Street style puppet show featuring a little girl with a disability who loves going to school. “Sasa!”, she screams at the children (“hi!”). “Poa!” they shout back (“cool!”). There’s great silliness, sing-along songs, and both mothers and kids are soon wiping tears of laughter from their faces. The aim again to get across a serious message – your child deserves education regardless of their disability. Don’t hide them at home. They need stimulation to develop, and having a disability doesn’t mean they are incapable of learning or doing things.

What kind of day has it been?

Leaving the slums on those days, it’s hard to feel like you’re changing the world. The poverty is still all around you. You know that most of those mothers will be going home to appalling conditions and raising children with very difficult challenges on their own, with little knowledge, little support. It’s not surprising that a child with a disability is seen first and foremost as a “burden”. But as we wave goodbye, shift the goats from under our car, and drive away, we can maybe say that we’ve helped some people take some small steps on that thousand mile journey.

This kid clearly bemused by the beardy mzungu

Chilling out while our Mums learn about human rights

This little one was constantly on a journey

Sweet Business

Posted by: Helen

Kenyans love sweet things.  Three sugars in your tea, lollipops available at every kiosk in every town and - the ever-present sodas.  Even I call fizzy drinks ‘sodas’ now.  They’re loved everywhere, sold everywhere, bought everywhere.  Generally drunk where they’re sold, the glass bottle carries a deposit so is returned and recycled.  Fanta, sprite, and the rest are all universally adored: a treat for children, a joy for adults and not yet linked in the public consciousness to obesity and rotting teeth.  Often the only soft drink available, when all I want is some drinking water – I’m given a soda.  I suspect I’ve drunk more sweet fizziness in the last 9 months than in my previous 30 years.

No surprise then that Coca-Cola is one of the most widely available brands in Africa.  It’s the largest employer in the continent with 65,000 employees.  Its market share in Africa and the Middle East is 29 percent, which adds up to a staggering 9.1 billion litres of beverages a year (thank you Business Week).  But with coke sales flat in developed countries, Coca-Cola will need to push its product hard on some of the poorest nations to generate the growth investors expect.

Coca-Cola’s latest campaign is called ‘Billion Reasons to Believe’, and they’re launching it country by country.  The marketing is ruthlessly clever.  The national launch in Kenya this month saw Coke bringing together a host of celebrities and nationally loved musicians in Nairobi, to deliver a youthful, inclusive, positive message.  The newspapers here reported the launch almost as a peace and advocacy summit rather than a brand exercise for a sugary beverage:

‘The Pan African campaign is geared towards inspiring Africans to see the brighter side of their continent and use their capabilities to fuel positive change’.  

The Star newspaper, 9^th April.

Big claim for a soft drink, eh?

At the centre of the campaign is the TV advert, which was shot in Kenya but now shown all over the continent.  We saw it first in Uganda, we were hooked, not realising the brand.  Smartly targeting all the demographic groups with football, fashion, music, business, politics and love, this slick advert is sure to appeal to all ages and all countries whilst making it personal for everyone.  Is this clean happy place real?  It doesn't matter, because we all want it to be.  Aspirational marketing at it's best.


I’m ashamed to admit I really like it.


It’s cheesy, it’s selective, it’s manipulative; but it effectively channels the central psychology of the continent: optimism. It’s totally joyful.  Plus it captures the global moment, using footage from the UK riots to ride a wave of African pride all the way to the local kiosk.  Directly comparing itself to the west - Africa comes out on top.  It feels like a very easy way to win African customers, but I like it because it’s achieving what we try to do with this blog; depict the Kenya we find, and fight the 'wars and famine' image of Africa.



Take a look.  It should be an ad for the African Union, promoting traits that would heal ethnic wounds: harmony and a shared identity.  But instead, it’s just for a soda with no nutritional value.  Luckily, the message is so tasty it will be shared by the most cynical of bloggers...

Horrible manipulative whitewash by an evil global corporation?  Or a welcome relief to the relentless negative images, reminding Africans why they should be proud?  Or should I just stop giving free ad space to a company that really doesn't need the help...?


What do you think? 

Goat's blood - yummy?

Helen’s parents’ recent blog post about their visit to Kenya briefly mentioned our awesome trip to stay at the award-winning Il Ngwesi eco-lodge on the Maasai lands near Mount Kenya, but I felt this needed further elaboration. One shouldn’t play down the importance of the night one is re-born as a Maasai warrior, after all.

The Maasai tribe make up just 2.1% of Kenya’s population, but they are of course the most well-known, the mainstay of tourism campaigns alongside lions, elephants and all that. To many ‘mainstream’ Kenyans, however, the Maasai are known as being, frankly, more than a little bit “crazy”. They traditionally take many wives, their coming-of-age rituals include circumcision for both boys and girls, they believe they own all the world’s cows, and their favourite drink apparently involves a combination of milk, fermented with cow’s urine and ashes. Yum.

But like all cultures, you have to take the rough with the smooth (just look at the Brits, for instance – total weirdos). The Maasai are also deeply respectful of nature, at one with the land and the animals, fiercely protective of everyone in their communities, proud warriors, and really good-looking. They are very protective of their traditions and their culture, many of them refusing to ‘modernise’ in the way other tribes in Kenya have, despite significant efforts by the Government to persuade them. There’s something surreal and quite special about seeing a Maasai moran (young warrior) in their traditional shuka (robe) and sandals, wearing their beads, their hair hennaed, carrying their herding staff and striding through downtown Nairobi on their mobile phone.

But I’m teasing you – you want to know about the goat’s blood, right?

Well first, I should explain how we came to be there. At Il Ngwesi, one of the most special activities you can do is to visit the local community near the lodge. I should emphasise that this is not one of those hideous tourist experiences where fake Maasai appear in five star hotels after dinner and do the classic jumping for a few minutes of reluctant entertainment. These guys are the real deal, and the profits from the lodge go to this community. Having visited the village once before, we were keen to encourage Helen’s parents Sue and Mike to take up the invite again, but this time it came with a difference. “If you want, you can buy a goat for the village”, says David, our handsome guide. “It’s a good thing – the village gets to enjoy a goat, and you get to stay in the evening and watch, get involved, and eat some”. Sold!, we say.

And so we rock up at the village. We learn about the history of the Il Ngwesi community, we fail spectacularly to use the traditional bow and arrow, we see how they collect honey, make fire, we have a look in a manyatta (hut), all the time surrounded by goats and wide-eyed children. The women sing for us, the young warriors dance. We settle down to watch. It’s a mesmerising, beautiful spectacle, and it’s very clear that we just happen to be here, but it’s not really done for us. The Maasai love to dance, and they’re obviously having a great time, egging each other on, seeing who can jump higher, paying us very little attention.

As the sun lowers and afternoon turns to evening, we spot a small group of returning warriors outside the village perimeter, and we see that they’re carrying a particularly fine-looking goat…

There’s definite excitement in the air as we’re invited to join the slaughtering ritual. I expected something brutal, messy and quick, so I’m surprised to see two of the young men simply holding the goat to the ground. One holds the legs while the other presses down on the goat’s wind-pipe, slowly suffocating it. It might seem crueller that way, but it’s a strangely peaceful scene. Everyone’s quiet. After a couple of minutes, sure that the goat is now a former goat, it’s time for some real excitement. A knife is produced and, by peeling back the skin of the neck and nicking the jugular vein, the fresh, warm goat’s blood pours out and forms a reservoir in the neck cavity.

“You want to try?”, they ask, “but you must be quick”. The blood is coming out quickly, and they don’t want to waste any if it overflows onto the ground. Helen, previously open to the idea, backs away at the idea of drinking straight from the goat. Sue and Mike don’t look keen either. I’m determined to try. I step forward feeling self-conscious, but there’s nothing for it – I’m onto my hands and knees and leaning in to lap up the blood. The surrounding warriors grin in a mixture of appreciation and amusement – I’m evidently not experienced at this.

I have to confess to being pleasantly surprised. The blood is very fresh, very warm, tastes smooth, almost milky. It’s distinctly goat-y. I can’t pretend I’d drink it regularly, but I’m pleased to find I don’t gag in disgust. I raise my head, blood dripping from my beard, feeling decidedly carnivorous.

After some quick blood-drinking for the most respected warriors, an older fellow steps in with an incredibly sharp knife and in no time, he’s skinned the entirely goat. The skin will be dried and used for bedding. While we’ve been distracted, the dancing in the village has continued unabated (like I said, it wasn’t for us), and a nice cooking fire is on the go. Mr Goat is jointed, carved and “thrown on the barbie”. We learn that different parts of the beast are reserved for different groups. The elders get the head and back, the warriors the legs and stomach, the women the neck and sides, the children most of the offal. Nothing will be wasted. One goat will feed the entire village, and it’s a very special occasion.

It’s an incredibly atmospheric evening. As it grows dark, the firelight reaches into the clear starry night, the dancing continues, the goat cooks, and we savour a truly unique experience. They even bring out a cake to end our meal, with icing on top thanking us for coming to visit. It’s a huge cake, and most of it is divided amongst the children of the village, who by now are tired, still excited, and still staring at the white people in their midst. It definitely ranks as one of our most unforgettable Kenyan experiences.