Whenever I go shopping on the peninsula, there's a good
chance that this will be at one of the established supermarkets like Shoppper's,
at The Village, or even Oyster Bay.
And in the end, I tip them anyway.
The outsider will notice that the parking lots are patrolled
by what appear to be Maasais, who are hard to ignore in the middle of what is the largest city of
Tanzania. Clad in their shukas,
really just a long, red piece of fabric (usually cotton) that is wrapped around
their bodies, the Maasais take pride in their origins or whatever tribe they hail
from. Very notable are also the piercings and the stretched earlobes. The hair
is worn either in strands, or not all, meaning many Maasais just go Mr. Clean.
That's remarkable, I kept thinking to myself. What a great way to integrate the Maasais into urban society. Not only that, but this way they can also still cling to their own dress code without unnecessarily raising eyebrows in an office. The Maasais are paid by the shopping center, bank, barber, or whoever hires them, although they don't mind tips by the customers, should they be so inclined.
I never minded the Maasai…at least until my colleague, Iddi, made a stunning claim about them one day. "They are fake," he said. "They are bean eaters, not meat eaters."
Whoa there, I am thinking. That's quite an accusation. I mean, what if some pranksters suddenly dressed up as Native Americans on reservations? Or as aborigines in the Australian outback? Who would really want to imitate being a Maasai? Do you really want that reputation of being a blood drinker and a raw meat eater?
I can absolutely see the dress code part. Most days on the peninsula are scolding hot, so which better way is there to keep cool than having these toga-like garments wrapped around you, while your employer actually welcomes a no shirts-no shoes policy?
That said, I absolutely had to find out. The next time I parked my car at the Oyster Bay shopping center, I was approached by a Maasai parking lot attendant and simply asked him outright: "Are you a real Maasai, or are you fake?"
So this is what I do now. I simply ask them. I suspect Iddi was right, that most of these Maasai are, indeed, fake, but that admitting this would entail a certain loss of income. I have yet to have one parking lot attendant admit that he is a fake Maasai. The closest I ever had was a Maasai claiming his colleague across the parking lot was fake. In some cases, it is hard to say. One of the Maasais may not have the stretched earlobe, some of them might not answer to the Maasai greeting of Sopa (meaning hello) or Serena (good bye).
Even so, I will not quit, even if it just means relieving the boredom at times. I am pretty sure the Maasais, fake or not, seem amused, that there is even a mzungu who can be bothered to find out where they are from.
"Mambo," one of the parking lot attendants will greet me.
"Don't you mambo me, Maasai," I chide him. "Sopa! SOPA!" That's a good way to weed out the fakes, when they really have no idea what you are talking about. They don't, anyway, but not knowing a common Maasai greeting is quite telling, I think.
That's remarkable, I kept thinking to myself. What a great way to integrate the Maasais into urban society. Not only that, but this way they can also still cling to their own dress code without unnecessarily raising eyebrows in an office. The Maasais are paid by the shopping center, bank, barber, or whoever hires them, although they don't mind tips by the customers, should they be so inclined.
I never minded the Maasai…at least until my colleague, Iddi, made a stunning claim about them one day. "They are fake," he said. "They are bean eaters, not meat eaters."
Whoa there, I am thinking. That's quite an accusation. I mean, what if some pranksters suddenly dressed up as Native Americans on reservations? Or as aborigines in the Australian outback? Who would really want to imitate being a Maasai? Do you really want that reputation of being a blood drinker and a raw meat eater?
I can absolutely see the dress code part. Most days on the peninsula are scolding hot, so which better way is there to keep cool than having these toga-like garments wrapped around you, while your employer actually welcomes a no shirts-no shoes policy?
That said, I absolutely had to find out. The next time I parked my car at the Oyster Bay shopping center, I was approached by a Maasai parking lot attendant and simply asked him outright: "Are you a real Maasai, or are you fake?"
So this is what I do now. I simply ask them. I suspect Iddi was right, that most of these Maasai are, indeed, fake, but that admitting this would entail a certain loss of income. I have yet to have one parking lot attendant admit that he is a fake Maasai. The closest I ever had was a Maasai claiming his colleague across the parking lot was fake. In some cases, it is hard to say. One of the Maasais may not have the stretched earlobe, some of them might not answer to the Maasai greeting of Sopa (meaning hello) or Serena (good bye).
Even so, I will not quit, even if it just means relieving the boredom at times. I am pretty sure the Maasais, fake or not, seem amused, that there is even a mzungu who can be bothered to find out where they are from.
"Mambo," one of the parking lot attendants will greet me.
"Don't you mambo me, Maasai," I chide him. "Sopa! SOPA!" That's a good way to weed out the fakes, when they really have no idea what you are talking about. They don't, anyway, but not knowing a common Maasai greeting is quite telling, I think.
And in the end, I tip them anyway.
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