Traditional garb, his spear in hand
The Massai warrior stands tall,
Proud of his heritage and of his ability
To frighten the enemy by his mere sight.
Today he danced before a foreign President
Who had no notion of the rites of passage
Or the way to hunt, or why this manly man
Could dance in front of him, so confident.
A difference in skin color and foolish documents
Called degrees, supposed to prove one’s worth,
Made the other feel self-righteously superior.
Does he know the patience with which
You arm yourself while waiting for the kill?
Is his arm as strong as yours when you cast
Your spear and neatly kill the beast?
He need not strike his prey himself;
He lets others do it for him; his victims
Are not animals, but men he never sees at all.
He kills with bombs, with machine guns.
He heat senses those he cannot see.
You dance defining strategies, you give
The prey his chance and in your deep beliefs
You honor him, his spirit and his place
Within the cycles of this life. Not he,
Who kills for gain alone, not game.
Who then is the greater warrior?
© Nyuka Anaïs Laurent 02.02.2010