http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/moderator08.09/TurkanaVillage?feat=directlink
On Tuesday 12th, David had originally hoped to take us to a Turkana village about 20k out of town, where the indigenous culture is more ‘pure’. One of his MAF staff has an uncle living in the village and he was willing to take us to visit, but unfortunately, due to heavy storms the day before and overnight, our guide was stranded on the wrong side of a swollen river and couldn’t get back to Loki in time.
Instead, we went looking for Pastor Francis who himself lives in one of the villages that make up Loki. He wasn’t at home, he was in class at the PCoS Mobile Bible School, but we arrived just as they broke for their mid morning interval and when we went and explained to Pastor David (who’s in charge of the school) what we wanted Francis for he said he could leave, as long as he wasn’t too late back for the next lecture!
We took a short cut, along the walking paths that link the villages across the back of the town, but in truth it was an easier drive than the roads anyway. Having parked the car, we had to walk across a muddy little ravine and Alison duly gave us all a laugh by sliding done a small slope and landing on her backside!
Even with Francis explaining in their own language who we were and why we were there, many of the older Turkana were still reluctant to get into photographs, preferring to hang back and view us with suspicion.
The village elder, however, was happy to get into a picture, but unfortunately he rushed inside his tucal to change out of his traditional tribal garb into a pseudo soldier uniform and came out carrying his rifle. Apparently his appointment as a kind of local policeman was the official stamp on his authority as an elder, so it is really important to him.
The children were incredible, full of laughter and excitement. They were carrying big lumps of mud/clay, which apparently they love to mould into dolls or toys. They were absolutely filthy – but then, my mother has always said that when I was a kid I was the mankiest in the neighbourhood, and I certainly remember the fun playing in the burn (stream / creek) across the road from the house and the wetter it was, the muddier it was, the better!
There was a mixture of clothing styles, with some in western clothes and some in traditional Turkana. It’s difficult to generalise, because on Sunday at church there were certainly plenty of the teenage females in traditional dress, but I think most of the younger generations were in western style, often just t-shirt and trousers or skirt.
I wonder if the native standards and values are dying out; as they have done in so many indigenous communities around the world. I guess it’s kind of inevitable.
The church has a very strong influence here. Not only does Pastor Francis live amongst them because he is himself Turkana, but we were also introduced to another Turkana Pastor on our way out of the village, who was sharing the gospel with two of the men.
