to the lineage of his predecessors and his progeny. He
described what it meant to be the Oloiboni Kitok: It was not a
choice. He was born into the position. He spoke of “his” forest:
It is a shrine and cathedral, a refuge and fuel source. It’s the
garden of God, the “guesthouse of rain.” It is school, supermar-
ket, hospital, pharmacy, and nursing home. Human perfidy
threatens it—gluttony, pride, lust, and envy, in particular.
The Oloiboni told of wave after wave of incursions byoutsiders: shady government officials, faux preachers, and
eager developers. They all spoke in subtle but deadly terms:
fences, demarcation, title deeds, bank loans, road through the
forest. He alluded to ceaseless plots, particularly from deep-
pocketed international conservation groups that purported
to tell the people—the Iloitai—what was best for Loita.
We spoke about the importance of the land. “If we losethe land, we lose the culture,” the Oloiboni said. “Lose the
culture, lose the peace. Lose the peace, lose the community.
Lose the community, lose our way of life. Forever.”
We sat in silence. I saw an elderly Atlas, holding up notjust the heavens but also his Earth. A weaver bird trilled
insistently. The Oloiboni looked in its direction. Tranquility
settled over him. I should’ve asked,
What did it say? But instead, I
turned the conversation to the
changing climate.
“I’ve heard such things,” he said.
Have you seen the seasons
change here?
“The cold hits harder and more
often, that’s true.”
What about drought?
He frowned. “Just once, five
years ago. But that was the conse-
quence of our misdeeds. We had
raised fences. We fixed that error.”
The weaver trilled again.
Do you have a message for a
humanity that is confused by this
changing climate?
A long pause. “What can I say?”
he finally answered with a humor-
ing smile. “As temporary guests of
this home called life, in this house
that is Earth, shouldn’t we know by
now how to behave honorably?”
For the Maasai, he explained, this
meant adhering to olmanyara. It’s
a difficult term to translate. On a
previous night around a campfire,
Mores described olmanyara as an
ethos that is less about conserva-
tion and more about custodianship.
It’s about receptivity to nature, of
being aware of and hospitable to
existence in its every form.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
It was raining in the Mara, a prelude
for the primordial animal migra-
tions to resume.
“Are you ever afraid of the
future?” I asked.
“Should I be?” he teased. Quickly,
the elder swerved, and I was a stu-
dent again. “Now you’ve been to
our forest. What did you see?”
“My ignorance,” I said. “I had
thought of the forest as only trees.”
The Oloiboni laughed. It was
a mirthful sound. It made every-
one laugh too. “What else did
you see?” jWE SPOKE ABOUT
THE LAND:
‘IF WE LOSE THE LAND,
WE LOSE THE CULTURE.
LOSE THE CULTURE,
LOSE THE PEACE.
LOSE THE PEACE,
LOSE THE COMMUNITY.
LOSE THE COMMUNITY,
LOSE OUR WAY OF
LIFE. FOREVER.’
—THE OLOIBONI KITOK
Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor, based in
Nairobi, is author of the novels Dust
and The Dragonfly Sea.