It was clear the Rasta was drunk: he began to shout, toka!
over and over again. (Toka!
is an extremely rude and emphatic, get out!
) He had somehow acquired a Maasai stick (a half-stick, half-club just over a foot long). He used the stick to try and rally nearby dogs to his cause: the peaceful dogs were comically unhelpful rounding up the Maasai. We had to turn away and laugh.
The Maasai stood his ground, clearly displaying that he was unafraid. The Rasta stormed off, repeating toka!
with every step. The Maasai seemed to be waiting for the Rasta to calm down so that he could comply while keeping his self-respect.
But the Rasta drunkenly decided to turn back and argue his point once more. A couple of other Maasai who were strolling by came to investigate; a couple of Rastas also appeared to see what their co-worker was up to.
All parties (minus the drunk) seemed to understand each other. The drunk looked quite happy to have company: he used his friends to hold him back while he lunged at the Maasai. His friends gladly played along, restraining and disarming him.
The Maasai all watched.
I should interject: Maasai warriors are almost invariably armed and skilled. If one Maasai warrior were to square off against all three Rastas, I have no doubt the Maasai could send them running. Or kill them. With three Maasai, the prospect of a fight is a joke. All six parties (yes, even the one with addled senses) knew this.
It looked like everybody was satisfied. But one of the Maasai must have muttered a taunt, because all of a sudden the Rastas leapt into action. One ran and fetched empty beer bottles and hurled one at a Maasai. The throw was hilariously inaccurate: it sailed harmlessly into the sea. Had the throw been more accurate, the bottle might have hit us (ten feet away from its target).
Another Rasta with a makeshift weapon received a threatening lunge from a Maasai who had unsheathed his blade. This, too, was ten feet away from us.
The Maasai proudly walked off together. The inept bottle-thrower tried his luck again, receiving a threatening, unflinching glare in return.
We left.
I can draw many morals from this story. One moral is that there is some element of tribalism in Tanzania (though I still blindly contest the tensions do not run as deep in Tanzania as in Uganda or Kenya). Another moral is that even after six months here, I can still experience something completely unexpected.
The real lesson, to me, is more internal: I was siding with the Maasai.
Why? I can rationalize all I want that the Maasai were acting less childish or more diplomatic; I can argue the Rastas had no right to behave the way they did; I can even claim that the Maasai would win if the situation erupted into violence.
All of these reasons, though valid, are dishonest. I sided with the Maasai for the reason I wrote in the first paragraph: I have a Maasai friend. I picked sides before there even was a situation.
Whose side did you pick?