Translation: Vomit those blessings out Satan that you stole from me!
In the middle of class in Engikaret, we saw 3 large trucks pull into the base. A couple of the police officers hoped out to use the restroom. They jumped back into the trucks and rode off into the bush to quiet down the violence. The women in class, though, were already too discrupted to continue with class. The thought of the men from their village in harms way was too much. They all began to weep; wailing prayers for their husbands and sons.
The Arushan Tribe has plenty of water, but not enough land for their cattle to graze. The Maasai have space. They've kept their birthrights, their family lands and have plenty of room. But the water passes through Arushan' territory. The water line was cut and war broke out. At the peak of the incident there were over 10,000 warriors stationed on either side of a property line chanting, clanging spears, daring each other to cross the line.
The police failed, the chiefs failed, the government failed. The last line of defense before the military opened fire was a small group of pastors that met to pray and adjure the warriors to stop!
A week later I was 20 miles into the bush, again in the middle of class when a small boy ran into class. "The Arushans are here!" Again, the class was beyond salvaging so again we cut class short. That night I got home safely but the Chief of Engikaret didn't. Angry youth saw him on the road and speared him twice knocking him out of a tree. The elder that was with him was punctured by the same spears over 20 times in his legs and arms.
