A couple of months ago my housemates and I were having a house dinner with our house supervisor. Sitting around our tiny dining table, all the six of us, including the supervisor, went around the table introducing ourselves. It was an exhilarating moment to talk about the kind of foods that my housemates treasured and enjoyed. I remember how my Brazilian housemate talked charismatically about farofa, a quintessential Brazilian side dish made from cassava flour. When it was my turn, all I could think of was Pilau, a traditional Kenyan festive rice dish made with a blend of various spices and customizable to several flavors. However, the harmonious exchange took an unexpected turn when the supervisor, caught in the web of Western stereotypes, cast a skeptical eye my way. The trigger? My mixed heritage, predominantly Maasai.
“My cousin had quite the experience in Africa,” she remarked, recounting a tale of goat testicles served to him. “Why are goat testicles served to guests?”, she asked. This marked the genesis of a conversation that often haunts those of us whose cultures are consistently oversimplified and misunderstood. In essence, this encounter exemplifies the danger of a single story, where a singular narrative shapes perceptions and leads to misconceptions about the rich tapestry of diverse cultures.
As I navigated the awkwardness of that moment, it echoed countless similar instances where Western perspectives reduced the complexity of Maasai culture, and other African cultures, to a single, misleading narrative. A narrative that portrayed my people as vampire-like, blood-drinking nomads, fixated on the consumption of raw meat. It was this encounter that stirred a desire to unveil the rich tapestry of Maasai traditions, specifically exploring the intricacies between their traditional food practices and cultural identity.
The Maasai people have always been nomads since when Enkai created our ancestors. Traditionally, our food is mainly meat, milk and blood. But food isn’t just food; it’s deeply interconnected with our culture, tradition and our spiritual beliefs. The type of food that you’re allowed to eat aligns perfectly with your role in the community as well as the stage of life that you’re at.
Let’s take a goat and see why, if it happens at all, guests are served with the testicles. To get the testicles, we need to slaughter the animal. The goat to be slaughtered, a senge (male goat) in this case, is escorted out of the barn to the bush where it will be slaughtered by men. At no point should a woman go near the slaughtering bush. There the men slaughter the animal and collect its blood. Blood can also be obtained by arrowing the jugular vein and patching it back up while the animal stays alive. The collected blood is served hot and raw as the slaughtering continues. Sometimes it’s allowed to cool and clot. The clotted blood is then sieved with wild leaves and the liquid obtained is mixed with traditional herbs and animal fat forming a concentrated strong soup which is served hot. The blood can also be mixed with sour milk and fed to newly initiated and circumcised morans (warriors) to enhance healing and replenish the blood that’s lost during circumcision. The same is given to women after childbirth to help with healing and lactation.
We’re now close to serving our guests the testicles. After it’s ready, the goat’s head is boiled in a pot to provide goat head soup which provides protein, minerals like iron and zinc, and collagen from the bones and connective tissues. The head, tongue, ribs and liver are given to the elderly men. They are the head of the community, the spokespeople and also oversee diplomatic relations. The neck is served to morans who are strong enough to extract everything from the axis and atlas vertebrae. Symbolically, they are the neck of the community and will soon step in to replace the head. The back is reserved for child-bearing women and teenage girls. It is meant to strengthen their backs since they are the backbone of the community. The pelvis is meant for elderly women like grandmothers and mother-in-laws to strengthen their pelvis after all the hard work of birthing. Young boys, illayiok, are given the diaphragm to strengthen their torsos as they grow to throw spears with mighty thrusts. The intestines are given to women who cook it as an appetizer. No woman would want to miss this. Symbolically, women tend to digest and absorb a lot of daily issues that are often overlooked by everyone.
The ribs, which are the yummiest part of the goat, are reserved for adored and respected chiefs and elders. The ribs are roasted and grilled by young men at Orpul, slaughtering bush, who serve it to the elders in order of seniority, which is determined by age sets, from the oldest to the youngest. It’s not just goat meat that embodies our cultural interconnectedness with food. Children, for instance, are raised with mostly milk, milk cream, and porridge. Usually they are not allowed to drink tea, which is reserved for adults and guests. Tea, or chai in Swahili, is the most common beverage offered to guests in most Kenyan households. What follows after varies from community to community depending on their culture and traditions. Where are the balls? You might be asking. Honestly I don't know, but I will tell you what I know. These culinary traditions, seemingly intricate and purposeful, underscore the interconnectedness between Maasai culture and their food practices. However, when viewed through the lens of a singular story, these rich customs are often reduced to sensationalized misconceptions. The symbolic significance attached to each part of the goat reflects the depth of Maasai cultural traditions, challenging oversimplified narratives that may perpetuate the misunderstanding of their way of life.
Months later after my encounter with my house’s supervisor, I hosted a Kenyan dinner at that very table. It is then that I learnt that among the Kikuyu, goats’ testicles are served for boys, among other tribes like the Luos and Luhyas, only men are allowed to eat the testicles, while it is meant for the elderly among the Kalenjin. The supervisor didn’t entirely miss the point, she just knew that single story. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says in her TED Talk “The danger of a single story”: “That is how to create a single story, show a people as one thing, as only one thing, over and over again, and that is what they become.”
The realization from the Kenyan dinner underscored the importance of recognizing the richness and diversity within cultures, dispelling the temptation to reduce entire communities, like the Maasai people, to oversimplified stereotypes. The Maasai, in particular, are not merely blood drinkers; they constitute a complex and multifaceted community with a rich and diverse culture, challenging the danger of perpetuating a single, misleading narrative.
