All that for a silly bird…

So we were pretty jazzed this weekend. There was an excited buzz going around the villages about all this stuff they were going to do.
Saturday morning, the women called us out of our house to stand in the drizzle and watch with them as the men ran down the mountain and into the valley. They were all dressed up, fully loaded down with ammo and guns and running full speed, all joining in the valley like little ants and spreading off into two directions around the ends of the U of the mountain range.
It was the great hunting day, and they were off to kill all sorts of delicious animals—some to give to the rainmaker, some to keep for them to enjoy. The kids in Cath and Jen’s village were giddy as they explained the Munu Miji were going to go kill an elephant (!!!) and carry it back to the village. Other, more realistic (or perhaps just pessimistic) folk spoke less of giant elephants and more of gazelles and antelope. But whoever was talking about it was talking big and with wide, excited (yay even hungry) eyes.
So, they went and we waited all day, anxious for the footrace that was supposed to take place later. The Obejas (runners) from our cluster of villages and three or four other clusters were all coming to race one another. Craiger was invited to join them, the lone white representative. (I was also invited to join, by virtue of my white skin, I imagine, and name, Ibeja—the female form of runner. I declined on the virtue of my gender—I would have been the only woman running!) Then there was all the rumblings about the big wrestling match that would take place in the dancing place of the main village later.
Oh, all the excitement! It seemed a bit to me like a town preparing for the summer’s county fair… sans, of course, the funnel cakes, other delicious fair food, carnival rides and—this might be the worst part—the rodeo. But, still, good times were afoot!
Or so we thought.
The Munu Miji (I spell this differently each post) came back with much fanfare, hooting and yelling and dancing and all that as they paraded into the rainmakers compound, still in their garb. They kept coming and coming, but Cath noticed a little something missing—all the bamboo poles with dead animals tied on them. She didn’t see a thing.
So she asked one of the Muni Miji where everything was.
Awkward pause.
He held up a pint-sized carcass.
“All we got was this bird.”
Cath did her best to keep a straight face.
“There was just so much rain, Toriana.”
Sympathetic nodding. I’m not sure how she didn’t die laughing. I guess her and Jen were in fits when they got back home, though.
Imagine, all those Munu Miji, armed to the teeth, trying to stalk all sorts of wild game and finally having to resort to a silly little bird. Can you imagine dozens of AK-47’s pointed at the poor, unlucky thing? I’m surprised there was anything left of it, with all the bullets that must’ve flown in its direction. Oh, I mean, WOW, that’s funny.
And, yes, of course I do feel sort of bad for them—all of them standing there, shivering something terrible from the rain, and presenting a single silly bird to their beloved rainmaker.
And I do feel bad for the guy I met on the path today. His foot was badly swollen and bandaged above his ankle. What happened?! I asked. He was shot in the foot on the hunt.
So, a bird and this poor fella’s leg.
Maybe not quite the carnival it was supposed to be.