Maasai Song

It is dark. The elegant, small lodge is lit with lanterns. Lanterns that remind you of the Sultans. The fire roars in the massive fire place. An Irish man plays acoustic guitar and his voice carries off into the hills. The Maasai who work at the lodge listen intently, wide eyed. When the Irish man finishes, the Maasai are asked to sing. In their red shukas they gather and break into song and dance. It is an ancient tradition, a guttural song and pulsating dance. It is a privilege, an absolute privilege to listen and watch. To be a part of such an ancient custom. What will the world be like without these rich tribes? Will anyone notice?

Scars

Agree with me, a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty ok? Take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived. -- Chris Cleave, Little Bee