The young Masai boys' hand trembled as he gripped the worn cow hide string, that was tightly wrapped around his razor-sharp spear. He was thirsty, yet all he could taste was the salty sweat as it ran down his face grazing the corners of his mouth. He held his weapon high in the air pointing it and trusting it towards the beast. The boy's head was spinning… he had never been so afraid in his entire life. Not even, when he was out collecting wood for the fire to warm his families’ mud hut. That day, he nearly stepped on a deadly giant black Mumba snake that was hidden deep in the tall grass.
Today, as he watched the beast, he tried to steady his hand and calm his fear by reminding himself that he was prepared for this moment. Like many young boys in his tribe, he too would spend his days watching his family's herd and driving his spear, as hard as he could in the termite hills that were scattered about. However, today death would be inevitable but who would be the victim and who would be victor was yet to be decided.
For almost six weeks, the young boys had walked through the sun beaten bush to search and find the beast. Finally, they had managed to surround it late one night as the sun had set and the darkness made the moon cast mysterious shadows all around them. Even though they were hungry and exhausted, they stood together throughout the night as a human fence trapping the beast. Together, they moved in a circle with wild looks in their eyes and sharpened spears in their hands. Their hypnotic tribal chants continued nonstop and could be heard echoing loudly throughout the evening sky. As the boy danced, he studied the beast and when he caught its eye, the stare of the beast made his heart beat faster and his knees become weak. It was hard in this moment for the boy to ignore his fear and not wonder if he was even brave enough to be a Maasai warrior.
Late in the night and after hours and hours of sizing up its captors, to the surprise of the boys, the beast lowered its large body to the ground, closed its eyes and slept. Little did they know that as the more experienced hunter, the beast knew, that it would need all its strength to survive the battle that was sure to come. The night seemed to have stood still for the boy, except for the hyena’s out in the bush that were seemingly mocking him with their shrill laughter.
The boy knew from the stories his father and the other tribe elders had told that many boys like him had fought the beast and often with devastating consequences. As the boy’s eyes grew heavy and his stomach ached with hunger, he remembered his father’s words “you come from a long line of warriors my son…do not be afraid”.
There would be no sleep tonight for any of the boys. Soon, they would begin to hear the morning doves cry that would be followed by a glimmer of light across the sky. When the stars no longer graced the night sky and the sun began to rise, the boys knew the time had come. As their chants became louder the fear could be seen in their eyes.
The first blow came from a boy that was just sixteen. As he lunged forward, he thrust his sharpened spear as hard as he possibly could into the matted fur on the side of the beast. The beast jerked its head from side to side as it thrashed with pain and its eyes grew dark and fierce.
In what seemed like only seconds, the enraged beast leaped on top of the young warrior and tore at his flesh with its razor-sharp claws. The boy’s shrill scream filled the air and then his body bloodied and torn, fell to the ground. The other boys gasp when they saw his blood become a large red pool in the dirt. As they stood there helpless, they could see his heart exposed and for that moment, still beating.
Within seconds, the beast was eyeing up the other boys watching and waiting to see which would be its next battle. The boy trying desperately to remember his father’s words, was shaking so hard he could barely grasp his spear. Trembling with fear he thrust it as hard as he could and hit the beast firmly in the neck. As he tried to retreat, he tried to pull his spear out, but it was lodged deeply under the thick skin and coarse fur. He stood there now without a weapon and totally helpless. Within seconds the beast sprang at him and with its mighty sharpened claw the beast caught his side and tore the flesh from him. He fell to the ground as his hands felt the sticky warm blood running through his fingers as he tightly pressed them against his wound.
Within moments, he saw the other boys repeatedly jab their spears into the beast until it too, laid beside him in a poll of blood on the ground. He knew he had hit the beast; he had seen the blood squirt from its neck. He had also seen the fear in its eyes. The last thing he remembered thinking before he fell into unconsciousness was that his spear had struck the blow that had brought down the beast and that even if he died from his wound, he had proved to his family and village that he was a brave Masai warrior.
The other young Masai boys carried his bloodied and torn body out of the bush to the nearest Masai village and to the hut of one of the elders. There his wounds were washed with water from the river that was heated over the fire and then bandaged with torn rags. For days the boy drifted in and out of consciousness, but the battle consumed his dreams filling them with frightening visions of the beast.
Weeks later, after the young warrior’s body had begun to heal, he returned to his village and his home. Everyone in the village including his family came out to greet him and welcome him home. As he looked towards his families’ hut, he could see his father standing by the entrance. As he approached, his father smiled proudly and handed him his spear. This was the same spear that he had lost as he imbedded it with all his might deep into the neck of the ferocious beast. His father then pulled the fabric aside from the doorway and motioned his son inside. As the young warrior’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he then saw that hanging proudly on the wall was the hide of the beast. He began to weep as he thought of the lioness. He prayed that before she died, she knew she was also a brave warrior that did battle that day in the bush in Africa.
Lion hunts with young boys is a traditional rite of passage in the Masai tribe. In order to preserve the lions, the government has since made it illegal to hunt any longer for this purpose. This is a true story that was told to us by a fifty-four-year old Masai warrior living in Kenya. This event occurred when he was fifteen making his generation one of the last to participate in a traditional lion hunt. After telling us the story, he then caught us by total surprise when he lifted up his shirt and showed us the long slashes and scars clearly made from the claws of a lion. He further explained that he had received the hide of the lioness since the first boy had died from his wounds and it had been determined that he had been the warrior that struck the lioness with a debilitating blow. The lioness still hangs on the wall in his home today to distinguish him as a very brave Masai warrior.
