The Cutting Edge – Observation of a Maasai male circumcision ceremony
It is night. Not just any night, but “bush” night, which means the only light is the flickering flames of fire and the dim, steady glow of the few kerosene lamps around the camp. we drink our chai (tea) and kahua (coffee) to warm our insides against the wind that sweeps across the plains of Simanjiro as our fellow Maasai, Alterere and Leiyo, hurry us on our way…we’re going to be late.
We jump to our two-tone pickup. Our ill-mannered Maasai friends comically and desperately try to negotiate mine and my sister’s two front seats to no avail, reluctantly jumping into the back. We head into the night for the telltale gleam of eyes in our headlights, weaving and bouncing along the unforgiving road. There is no one in our path, no one crossing our path, no one hitchhiking as is often the case here during the day. It is around 9 at night when we arrive at the boma (Maasai people) and we quickly discover that we have missed it: the ceremony is over. Now what?
We sit in the car, surrounded by Maasai, waiting for Hassan, who will determine our next move, occasionally waving at a faceless arm that curiously navigates through the total darkness and out the window. I wonder how they live in such darkness at night and realize that modern technology has messed me up. Outside our car, there is a kind of meeting, we hear the murmur; the torch flashes on and off, briefly exposing a face, eyes, and a set of teeth, but that’s about it. Apart from that, it is the night that prevails. Hassan is out of the car, talking to the elders and doing some much-needed PR on him to get us permission to enter the ceremony. From time to time he pokes his head in to give us an update: “… there were already four circumcised boys here… all of them can’t walk and are in bed… the doctor is still here… we have been invited to another ceremony… He then returns to the abyss of darkness.
It is important to point out that respect and communication among the Maasai are not only extremely important, but two governing forces in their lives. The first half of any meeting is usually devoted to greetings and formalities. Nothing is too important to rush out; here we are in the “time of Africa”, and so we continue to wait. It is arranged after some discussion and clarification with the elders that we will follow the doctor (is he certificate?! not sure…) to a neighboring boma an hour and a half away. Once again, the headlights light our way and we set out after the doctor and his team. While I mentioned that nothing is too important to rush, I didn’t say that nothing is too important to rush. a. I had (up to this point) never seen any African display any sense of urgency at all, but this doctor gave new meaning to the phrase “… out of hell.” Our vehicle occasionally slows down to smoothly maneuver over a pothole or hole in the road and within seconds the dim red taillights we’re following are out of place. On numerous occasions we were left alone with its sedimentation to continue. Then, like a beacon in a storm, we spot the lights in the distance, the car weaving through the bushes. The hour-long chase (as it happened) is interrupted by a few cowed hyenas trotting down the road, and (finally) when the “getaway” car breaks down due to a broken front wheel axle (shocking). This led us to be the only vehicle, immediately promoting from being mothers who are observers of the ceremony, to the real precursors of it! I, more somber in my metaphor, compared us to the horsemen of the apocalypse for these young people about to suffer what I imagine is insurmountable pain.
We arrived at the boma with butterflies in our stomachs, again in complete darkness, with the faint sound of a rhythmic and sinister chant. “It must be the boys about to be cut…” I speculate in a whisper. But as we get closer to the sound, we see a tableau against the moonlight of a group of about eight Morani (Masai warriors) in a circle (a circle is usually the way they not only build their villages but also their ceremonies). The singing and chanting never fail, with one vocalist yelling solo and the others playing in unison afterwards. The sound is guttural and hypnotic, actually quite captivating and beautiful even though the Maasai language is foreign to us. After doing some research, we found out that the Morani don’t sing at all, but verbally insult the two. Leoni (uncircumcised) who are completely naked in the middle of it all. We learn from Hassan that this is done in an attempt to irritate the children enough to endure the pain that awaits them, the nudity is to expose them to the cold in an effort to numb them. The entire tribulation can be compared to fraternity hazing; however, you can imagine that the university’s “bonding” ritual pales in comparison to this esteemed and ancient rite of passage.
Another click of a flashlight confirms it: in the center of the circle are two skinny, quivering bodies whose spindly arms cross over their private parts. The light goes out again. The chant continues and another flash of light exposes the chattering teeth (it is freezing) and the whites of his eyes. I am so nervous for these two guys that I am overwhelmed by the weight of the moment ahead. Circumcision is done with a razor, without anaesthesia, and if a boy lets out a howl, flinches or shows a tear, he has failed this test and is expelled from the village, greatly embarrassing his family. I can’t help but think that these young people (ages 9 and 13) are too young to carry such a huge responsibility.
Finally it’s time to wash them and my friend Leiyo leads me by the hand to the area outside the boma where the ceremony will take place. It is done outside the village because only after undergoing circumcision can they be invited back to the boma, this time as men. The doctor has a flashlight now and the area is fairly well lit. The men of the boma begin to crowd around as two cowhide mats are placed on the ground and each chattering child is led to one. The women are in their huts (forbidden to see this ceremony) – the cries of the mothers mark the screaming wind. The feeling I get in the pit of my stomach can be compared to the feeling you get when watching a movie in which a brave character is stoically led to the guillotine: a feeling of sadness, anxiety and a desire to end the whole ordeal. as soon as possible.
The boys sit on the mats, legs apart in front of them, their upper bodies in the strong arms of a guy. In this particular case, their faces are covered with their shukas (Masai traditional cloth). I hold my breath. The doctor exposes a new razor that shines in the light and does not rush to cut. The first guy is tough, not even moving a toe or clenching his fist when the knife makes its cuts. My tense body doesn’t relax until I find out what happened. Apparently his mother found out about this too; Her sobs of pride, joy, and relief echo through the night.
The second child, very small, has my stomach in my throat with the first cut as he lets out a gasp of air that sounds through clenched teeth. Let out a few more of these and I’m pretty sure he’s snapping. When all was said and done, the elders spat on the ground around them, forcing me to believe that I had failed, but I’m wrong. Spitting is a form of respect, and the boy (who, as we shall see later, is given some leeway because of his young age) has shown his vigor and courage.
They take them to recover with their mothers waiting for them and that’s it. The actual circumcision lasted only about 15 minutes, but we found out that the hazing we’d gotten into had been going on since 6pm (it was now past midnight), so it’s actually an all-day event.
The entire ordeal left me with a surreal feeling that was only overshadowed by the tremendous relief I felt for each child. I immediately felt connected to the Maasai and in particular the children for allowing us to witness the most important event in the life of a Maasai man. It was incredibly sobering and reminded me how beneficial and socially solidifying rites of passage are. I cannot think of a single event in the life of the average American that bears the social significance of this event that I have just described. I can’t help but feel that maybe we are missing this idea or construct that strengthens bonds and builds character in the way that Maasai circumcision does. He was not barbaric, rude, heathen, or fanatical; he was, in fact, quite the opposite. The extremely rare event that I was lucky enough to witness is not only the construction of the soul, the engendering of pride and it is so completely admirable… it is, in a way, even handsome.
If you would like more information on how to experience something similar yourself, please contact Tropical trail safari company located in Arusha, Tanzania.