Words

Sometimes, y'know, the words don't come easily. Don't get excited, it's not that I have something major to tell you that I can't explain. It's just that for the last few days, these missives feel a little laboured. Yes, lots of events recorded and places visited, but it feels a little 'what I did this weekend'. Not sure what it is, but inspiration seems to ebb and flow sometimes. Beer often helps, I think, because I stop thinking about it and just write.

Anyhoo, soldiering on, right now I have two very different things to tell you. Either a) The Maasai village and community round these parts or b) the new girl on the truck who tells us she has three vibrators but has broken two. Best until last? Okay, then...

(she's from Eastbourne, incidentally)

We were met at the camp by a local Maasai guide, dressed in full costume and 'Pirellis'. Pirellis are basically sandles fashioned from car or truck tyres, with canvas straps. If you canpicture them, there's no finishing or craft to them. They're not shaped, they're just two oblongs of car tyre strapped over the foot. They actually look really quirky and cool. Anyway, he introduced himself twice, then led us into the museum. This is a building set up with a number of scenes depicting Maasai life and culture. It was reasonably interesting, although I didn't learn much I didn't already know. On the subject of circumcision – male and female are both still practiced – I managed to draw a diplomatic opinion: that, while the government has outlawed female circumcision, it has to come from education rather than law.

After this, we were led out into a group of about ten huts, each of which was basically a Maasai craft shop. It's difficult not to get slightly ticked off with the constant selling, although I guess they're all trying to make a living. I got rather tired, though, of walking past each hut and hearing, 'Welcome! Welcome...', as they tried to encourage us in.

Things took a turn for the surreal at this point. Four camels sat outside the camp. Eight of our group were encouraged to mount them (no, no ,no), and off we went. At the next village, we were assailed by the usual gang of small children, all eager to be picked up and photographed. We also saw some Maasai dancing, which consisted of four or five blokes yelling and shouting while one jumped up and down on the spot. It would be rythmic for two minutes, then it would break and one would yell incoherently in a high-piched voice. It reminded me of a rather poor bunch of verbally-disadvantaged carol-singers who'd just seen someone they know across the street. I charged in and gave it a go, and I reckon I was actually a bit better than them at the jumping up and down.

Anyway, more picking up small children, and back to camp.

So, I happened to be sitting on the truck, when a conversation about boyfriends broke out. Vicky is from Eastbourne, as I mentioned, and she’s perhaps not quite as sharp as the rest of the people on the truck. She left school at fifteen, etc. and now works in the ‘Visuals Team’ at Debenhams. Sadly, it was one of those roles she described as terribly important, and I’m sure she’s done well. She’s still a window dresser, though. Anyway, she’s been missing her boyfriend, but she has the paranoia that only the young (and, I suppose, the emotionally-challenged) have. He hasn’t texted, therefore he’s dumped her. Or he’s only put two kisses instead of the usual three. The thing is, the joke escalated, but she didn’t get it. Someone suggested he, ahem, plays with himself instead. She insisted this wasn’t true, to which all the other girls were, like, ‘Yeah, right.’ Anyway, the conversation moved on to vibrators, at which point she said, ‘I have three, but I’ve broken two.’ Amongst the laughter, I couldn’t help but ask, ‘Um, was that structurally or mechanically’. Not much sense was spoken after that. I think the girl might have some problems going forward, though…