The bleating of cattle stirred me from my sleep and, with the first soft, tinged rays of dawn light, hushed voices could be heard whispering nearby. Squeaking open the door of the mud and wattle hut in which I had been sleeping, I stepped outside to see that despite the early hour, the Maasai manyatta (farmstead/village) was awake. Women, crouched beside brown cows with big eyes, were easing milk from bursting udders into cheap plastic cups. Half-dressed children skipped through the dirt, while the men, in royal reds and purples, sat on a rickety, wooden bench and drank morning tea that tasted of wood smoke.

To read the rest of the story of the writer’s stay in a Maasai village, click here.