the patterns of lichens on rocks,
the position of a fallen tree, breaks
in branches, scratches on bark. He
paused over myriad kinds of dung
and indicated what creatures had
left them. He talked about the flight
paths of insects and birds, the inten-
sity and temperature of the wind,
the texture of the light that comes
through the canopy, the scent of
things, the breathing of plants, the
meaning of silences.
As I walked, my concentrationbegan to narrow to what was in front
of me. How the soil changed from
dark brown to bright red and then
to almost black, and then sand and
loam and then orange, and back to
dark and pale browns. I began to see
patterns in leaves and shadows.
We encountered several swarmsof bees. “This is also called the
honey forest,” Langutut said, not-
ing the abundance of flowering
bushes. He pointed at a grove he
identified as nursery trees.
“Trees grow in families,” he said.“Older trees nurture and guide
young trees. They share friend-
ships among themselves and
with people.”
He described the practical,medicinal, and spiritual power
of some of the trees—the oreteti,
podo, wild olive, and date palm.
As we hiked, he mentioned othersecret spaces within the forest—cav-
erns that held pure streams and art
inscribed on their walls. He talked
about a cathedral of giant trees
where the Oloiboni conducts the most private ceremonies.
I learned elemental Maa words—ewang’an (light) and oloip
(shadow). My ears filled with birdsongs, wind whispers, the
whistle and click of insects and other creatures, the rhythm of
raindrops hitting leaves. My nose filled with scents of pungent
earth—rust, rot, citrus, and mint.
One of the guides noted a hornbill honking and a change
in the timbre of a colobus monkey’s gro-gro-gro. These were
rain signals. We picked up our heavy steps.
Finally we emerged above a vertiginous valley lined with
cliffs of brown stone flecked with white. Blue, white, green, and
pale yellow butterflies quivered around us, signaling the end of
the rainy season. A large bird of prey circled overhead. Below
us at last was the waterfall, the Olasur tumbling from a rock
tunnel, falling some 600 feet into a chasm beneath the foliage.
Farther on, Langutut said, it would join the Oloibortoto River
and, left to its natural course, would end up in Lake Natron.
But we could not stay. We had to make our way back
through the forest before nightfall, before mist obscured
the marshes. And as we trekked out of the forest, I learned
another Maa word when we glimpsed the fullest, biggest, and
brightest of moons. Olapa.
When we reached the guesthouse, the Oloiboni had left
word: He would speak with me in the morning.A
A BROWN-FEATHERED COCKEREL carried a locust
in its beak as it strutted in the Oloiboni’s com-
pound. Cows and goats ambled off to pasture
with a young guardian. Still brimming with
the experiences from the forest, I sat beneath
the giant oreteti tree to wait.
The Oloiboni’s eyes lit up when he saw me. I can’t deny that
I felt his aura. Call it pure charisma, or possibly the effect of all
the legends I’d heard mixed with the wonder of the previous
day’s journey. Or perhaps it was the joy of stumbling upon a
leader with an unwavering allegiance to the natural world. I
saw a symmetry between the Oloiboni and his oreteti—both
grounded, ancient, and mysterious, both offering shade and
shelter to those who seek them out.
Our conversations meandered like the Olasur. He referredDATE
DEC. 20 21STORY
THE SPIRITUAL VOICE OF THE FORESTNATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC
WELCOME TO EARTHPAGE
NO. 104