There were also groups of men. Some bought and sold goats. When a purchase was made, the new owner would either march the goat away holding onto one of its legs or attempt to control it with a short length of sisal rope. In another area, men bartered over goatskins. I’m told that they’re still commonly used for bedding – like a sheet or a blanket. Like the other one we’d passed by earlier, a group of older men were clustered together under a tree, apparently holding a serious discussion. Several young people strolled around the area; their clothing and jewelry were captivating. A few school children were out for lunch break.
I found all the people gathered for market day to be utterly fascinating. Ironically, I believe everyone was as mesmerized with me as I was with them.
I discovered the Pokot don’t like being photographed, at least not by a stranger. To be sure, they were less gregarious than many people groups I’ve encountered in Kenya. In fact, I would say they are rather somber and almost suspicious. I had the distinct feeling they weren’t too fond of the idea of me intruding into their space. Although my presence didn’t arouse much noticeable attention, I was aware of people staring at me. I guess I can’t complain. After all, I intently observed them as well.
Geoffrey and I were hot, tired, and parched after our long walk. While he bought some mangos, I found a piece of comparatively unoccupied shade and sat down on a stone. A group of children formed a semi-circle around me to nonchalantly watch me from a distance. I spotted a “duka” (small shop) with a sign boasting “Cold Soda”. I sent Geoffrey to test the truth of their claim; incredibly he returned with cold soda for each of us. I do believe it was possibly the most refreshing soda either of us had ever had! I gave the last few swallows of mine to a young boy who had stood only two feet away the whole time. Even though he tried his best to appear aloof, he had never taken his eyes off of me.
Throughout my two-day excursion into West Pokot, I was dumbfounded with all I had witnessed. The Pokot live nearly the same as their forefathers did several generations ago.
I submit that it’s irrelevant whether or not these people are aware of the Middle East crisis. It’s immaterial whether or not they know about the hatred between the Jews and the Arabs.
Rather, what they do understand is that if a neighbor steals their livestock, they feel hatred. And in turn, they seek revenge. Strange as it may seem to you or I… that’s their reality.
That morning, I had woken up early to watch the sunrise. In the distance, a lingering fog hung in low-lying areas. Birds heralded the new day. Suddenly, a gloriously beautiful orange ball appeared from behind the undulating peaks and ridges.
In countless villages and homesteads across the expanse of West Pokot, families engaged in their normal morning routines – milking goats and preparing breakfast.
Another day dawns. God is on His throne. In spite of everything, He is in control of history.
By your and my estimation, surely the Pokot live a sparse life. They have few amenities or luxuries.
The vast majority certainly isn’t savvy about current world events.
Nevertheless, what is important is that if they know and fellowship with the living Christ, their lives are complete! If they can enthusiastically say, “Kwole Jotion” (Praise the Lord), then they can rejoice in the commencement of a new day, all the while oblivious to the crisis in the Middle East.
