Back to the Watoto: Loise

I’ve had very sad and mixed emotions about Loise for the past two days. My assessment is her age is closer to 10 than 8, based on her teeth, size and movements. Loise came to us dressed in a shuka. Just a shuka; no shoes, underwear or anything else under the shuka. No personal belongings. She had been treated at the hospital, but still needed very deep and thorough bathing. A shuka, by the way, is a very celebrated colorful cloth that Maasai men and women wear in the bush. It is their traditional garb, and distinguishes them from any other tribe. We are in Maasai country, so this is a very common sight here in my village, Kiserian and neighboring towns.

Loise has never been to school. She will not attend school here, because she is in temporary custody of WWC until November or December. Because she is alone during the day with the matrons while the rest of the children are in school, I brought over crayons and a giant coloring book yesterday, to color with her. Loise looked at the book, the crayons and me. In confusion, she ran off. When she returned, I began to color, feeling her looking intently at me. I casually placed a crayon in her hand, and she kneeled down across from me to begin coloring. When the force of her hand against the paper broke the crayon in half, I realized: this child has never seen a crayon, much less used one. I turned the giant piece of paper over and wrote her name, motioning for her to copy me. It was a terribly difficult exercise for her, but she pressed on.

To prevent frustration, I pulled out my phone to show her pictures. Loise has never seen a picture, much less a phone. She poked and prodded at the children in the pictures she was seeing, as if to make them come alive. Tony told me to show her a mirror, so I did. She pointed to herself as a baby does when they view themselves in a crib for the first time, but was entirely confused. She poked at her reflection and I said “That’s Loise, that's you, wewe!!” Loise chuckled for a second, digesting this new information. Seeing the reflection of a bucket in the mirror, she tried to get it. I got the bucket so she could hold it, uselessly talking to her as I did. I suppose the tone of my voice made her feel momentarily safe, as we both laughed together for a couple of seconds. Despite the laughing, inside, my heart broke. I could give countless examples of the last two days of my time with Loise, but the one that really got me happened this evening. I went to the store to get the children each two Hershey Kisses. Tailing me, Loise watched me carefully open one, and as I handed it to her, I motioned for her to put it in her mouth. She quizzically looked at me, shook her head and motioned to me to do it first. Mundia and Eric had come in and were watching this scene in fascination, as I was. “She doesn’t trust us, eat one” I said. Only after each of us popped one into our mouths did Loise do the same. She wasn’t sure, so I gave her another. Loise then took off with the bag.

I’ve asked myself countless times over the past 48 hours: what goes through someone’s mind when they determine they will sell their child off for early marriage at the tender age of 10 or 12? How does this kind of decision get made? Traditions passed down through generations? The Maasai are pastoralists whose main source of income is cattle. Cattle represent wealth - the more one has, the richer they are. What happens when they are down to their last cow? Women sell exotic beadwork to tourists. Their insistence on sales has no bounds, when it comes to seeing the mzungu pass through the National Park gates. When one doesn't purchase, they become sullen and angry...and why not? Their families will not eat that night unless they sell a necklace or two bracelets. These pieces of jewelry represent a packet of maize of porridge. Drought has taken its toll on this nation, and particularly in our region, Maasai country. Desperation takes over. I am not making excuses; I am simply trying to figure out how such an abominable practice takes place. Word is, Loise was to be sold to one of the men who took her childhood away, in one moment of her life. I have to force myself not to dwell on this, but to fight it, every step of the way. Our role is to pick up the pieces, one child at a time.

Something very wonderful comes out of every day. Loise smiled and laughed. As I took this image of the sunset, Loise stood by me, looking at my camera to the sky and back again. She poked and prodded at my camera, trying to understand how this image became available in two separate images: one real, one not. We all got her laughing when we tried to help her to understand, it was a momentous moment for each of us.