Eco­Tourism & Local Involvement Among Southern Kenya’s Maasai: Adapting to a Shrinking World

Sateesh Daniel

April 2011

Submitted to the Department of Environmental Studies of Amherst College in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Bachelor of Arts with honors

Faculty Advisor: Jan Dizard Faculty Readers: Katherine Sims, Joe Moore

1 Acknowledgments

I would not have been able to complete this project without the help of Professsor Dizard, who was a great help both in general editing and in steering the direction of the paper. Likewise Professor Sims was extremely helpful during the fall semester while I was working to get this paper off the ground.

Much of my writing here has been an extension of the work I did for the School for Field Studies in Kenya and Tanzania. I would therefore like to thank Salaton Tome, my fellow students, and every one of our guides, translators, and drivers. The local Maasai and key informants who were willing to take time to talk are the only I reason I have any understanding—however bare—of their situation today.

I can only apologize for the inadequacies of this paper. After a semester of study in Kenya and a year of writing, I feel that I have put onto paper only a small portion of my own understanding of the struggle between the Maasai and their national park neighbors. That understanding, it goes without saying, is incredibly limited in itself. I hope that I have been able to convince the reader that the small picture I have presented is factual, relevant, and intriguing.

2 Table of Contents

Introduction 4

Chapter 1 Gradual Constraint: The Maasai From Pre­Colonialism Onwards 6 I. The Pre‐colonial Maasai 6 II. British Impact 9 III. Independence 12 Amboseli National Park 14 Kenya Wildlife Service 16 Group Ranches & Shifting Livelihood Strategies 18 The Future of Group Ranches? 23 IV. A Tightening Rope 24

Chapter 2 Where to Turn? The International Boom of Nature Tourism in the Developing World and its Relevance to the Maasai People 25 I. Introduction 25 II. Why Nature Tourism? An International Perspective 26 III. Tourism & the Maasai 31

Chapter 3 Help and Hindrance: The Local Political Economy of the Maasai Today 34 I. Introduction 34 II. District & County Councils 35 III. The Group Ranches & Collective Management 37 IV. How Do Failed Institutions Affect Participation in Tourism? 43

Chapter 4 Culture & Participation in Tourism 48 I. Introduction 48 II. Remaining “Traditional’ for Profit? 50 III. Education & Employment 52 IV. ‘Traditionality’, Stereotype, & Employment 60 V. The Limits of Cultural Tourism 66

Chapter 5 In Conclusion: The Future of Amboseli’s Maasai 68 I. Introduction 68 II. Adaptation & Group Ranch Facilitation 68 III. The Future of Cultural Tourism 71 IV. An Uncertain Future 72

3 Introduction:

The Maasai are a group of nomadic pastoralists spread throughout Northern

Tanzania and Southern Kenya. Their traditional livelihood strategies depended upon moving large herds of cattle over open rangelands, using their access to a wide area of land to mitigate the effects of drought and regional catastrophe. During recent years, however, the Maasai have found themselves increasingly constrained—by a growing population, the immigration of outsiders to their region, and government‐held National Parks which completely limit human access to large areas formerly used for grazing. All of these factors have meant that traditional pastoralism as a practical way of life is rapidly vanishing, forcing Maasai to look for other ways to make a living in a ‘modernizing’ world.

Because of the unsuitability of regional agriculture, many Maasai have looked for answers to the industry that has played a large part in making pastoralism unrealistic. Eco‐tourism is dependent upon the complete exclusion of Maasai from huge areas of parklands. Many of these safari parks—Maasai Mara, Amboseli,

Nairobi National Park—are world famous. They attract a large yearly influx of visitors from wealthy Western nations, and have facilitated the growth of a large and lucrative tourist industry. By offering employment opportunities for local people, this tourist industry also has the potential to reconcile the longstanding battle between poor rural villagers and pro‐conservation initiatives. Unfortunately, employment by actual Maasai in the tourism industry is staggeringly low and primarily concentrated in low‐level, low‐paying capacities. These capacities include

4 ‘cultural tourism’, through which Maasai present themselves ‘traditionally’ to

tourists for small tips or trinket sales.

My thesis is based on two ideas. First, that the traditional Maasai way of life

is being gradually infringed upon by the eco‐tourism industry and other factors,

leaving employment in that industry as one of the few practical remaining livelihood

strategies. Second, that genuine participation and benefit from eco‐tourism is

prevented by a combination of local political and cultural realities. Local political institutions, including Jomo Kenyatta’s ‘Group Ranch’ system, have failed to adequately represent their communities. Meanwhile, a tourism industry that encourages ‘traditional’ behavior from Maasai uses that same behavior as justification for discrimination in employment..

There are many other external factors that are limiting Maasai participation in tourism, such as large foreign investment and financial leakage. I chose here to focus primarily on factors that are internal, i.e. related directly to the Maasai

community itself.

5 Chapter 1:

Gradual Constraint: the Maasai From Pre­Colonialism Onwards

I. The Pre­Colonial Maasai—

The Maasai originated in the dry, arid climate of what is now Northern

Kenya, near Lake Turkana. Before colonists ever arrived in East Africa, they had

spread through the rest of Kenya and were spread broadly across both Kenya and

Tanzania (Dowie, 2009). The Maasai have always been primarily known as a

pastoralist people. Dorothy Hodgson notes that while Maa‐speakers did exist as

farmers, hunter‐gatherers, and agro‐pastoralists, many were assimilated through

conquest into purely pastoralist culture. There is a point at which the term ‘Maasai’ came to refer exclusively to pastoralists, with other terms for the few remaining

Maa‐speakers with alternate livelihood strategies (Hodgson, 1999).

A pastoralist livelihood is primarily centered on the herding of cattle. As they are today, cows have always been integral to Maasai life. Cattle are rarely killed for beef. Instead, they are depended upon for milk and blood, both of which are ingested for protein. Though they are clearly used as a resource for survival, cattle are far more valuable to Maasai than as a simple source of food. They have a social importance that includes status as a source of currency—because they can be traded for other items, but also because owning a larger herd of cattle is the greatest signifier of social status, as money is in much of the Western world. (Dowie, 2008).

Perhaps the second greatest indicator of status is the accumulation of wives and children. Maasai men are polygamous, living with multiple wives, many

6 children, and other dependent family members (Grandin, 1999). Even today, there are particularly successful Maasai men with as many as fifty children (Salaton Tome,

2010). The enormous size of many of these families naturally requires an equally enormous herd of cattle, so these two forms of wealth—cattle and children—go hand in hand with one another. It also means that Maasai populations have been growing exponentially for quite some time, putting greater strain on local natural resources.

Through the pre‐colonial era until very recently, Maasai lived in village‐like compounds called ‘bomas’, formed by a series of six to twelve households (Jacobs,

1965). Each family lived spread throughout a number of huts, roofed with thatch and walled with cow dung. The use of cow dung even for living quarters is one indication of just how fully and creatively the Maasai have always depended on their cattle for survival. Bomas were naturally clustered relatively close to water sources, necessary for sustaining both the people and the animals they depended upon

(Grandin, 1999) A group of bomas within a kilometer of one another would make up what Grandin refers to as a ‘neighborhood’, a series of which would in turn make a

‘locality’. These localities would control a large area of land that included water and grazing areas for both wet and dry seasons (Jacobs, 1965). In many ways, a ‘locality’ would be a model for the group ranch system put into place after independence.

Each of these units of social organization would contain different levels of interconnectedness and ownership. Cattle would be owned at a household level, natural resources managed by a neighborhood or locality. Individual households were highly mobile and might split apart and reconnect seasonally for cattle‐grazing

7 purposes. The Maasai at large, spread over a vast area of rangeland over what are now two sovereign nations, also shared bonds with one another. The language of

Maa and specific cultural practices were and are a source of pride and connection across East Africa. During particularly severe droughts or wars, different groups of

Maasai might share access or grazing lands (Grandin, 1999). These connections of ethnic identity persist today; during the devastating recent drought of 2003, many

Kenyan Maasai brought their cattle across the border to greener Tanzania for grazing (Kisui, 2010). In fact, it is rare that any contemporary Maasai person will identify himself as Kenyan or Tanzanian; he is simply “Maasai”.

It is easy to speculate at land and wilderness use practices from the information we know about Maasai culture today. Local plants and trees are of course still used for traditional medicine and for building of fences. As today, wildlife would have been an occasional antagonist for pastoralists, since Hyenas,

Lions, and Leopards will kill and eat cattle. The Maasai likewise once held a longstanding tradition in which a teenager would kill a lion upon his entrance into manhood (Ikanda, 2005). The pre‐colonial reality was therefore not some simple harmonious relationship between the Maasai and their wild surroundings. That said, relatively low population density meant that pastoralists were able to live sustainably alongside all kinds of wildlife now protected by the strict borders of

National Parks.

8 II. British Impact—

Colonialism radically altered the way of life for many Kenyans, and the

Maasai were no exception. Newly drawn artificial borders would begin to gradually

constrain the once wide‐ranging pastoralists. Where the Maasai were concerned,

the most damaging constraints put into place by the colonial government were

centered on the National Parks, explicitly designed to promote conservation and

ecotourism.

Indiscriminate big‐game hunting had been popular through the 1920s,

though natives were usually disallowed from participating: “Colonial settlers and even their children were permitted to kill wildlife at their pleasure, while Africans were forbidden to own or carry firearms and allowed to hunt only with spears and arrows in areas of minimal interest to safari guides and their customers (Dowie,

2009).” Native Kenyans, who had survived in a consumptive but sustainable pattern with wildlife, were seen as dangerous to the preservation of wilderness, since they used its resources unscientifically and out of necessity. British colonists, who hunted only for sport, were expected to restrain themselves. They did not; wildlife populations declined and some species began to near extinction. Faced with visible evidence of environmental impact, and “in concert with a nature aesthetic that had been blooming in both Europe and North America over the fifty years since the

“discovery of the Yosemite Valley”, the colonial government enacted new laws to limit hunting and promote conservation (Dowie, p. 24). These laws would finally acknowledge that European hunters were damaging African ecosystems. However,

9 restrictions placed on Westerners would once again apply far more harshly to the

Maasai and their neighbors.

Western interest in ‘conservation’ began in the 1920’s, but the broad creation of national parks began in earnest in the British Colonies after the end of World War

II. Kenya’s National Parks Ordinance was passed in 1945, bringing with it a series of national parks that would eventually prove to be strictly exclusionary, following the

United States’ Yellowstone model (Beinart, 2007). The land on which these national parks were placed had been used heavily by pastoralists for cattle grazing and dry‐ season water supplies. These Africans were initially tolerated and seen as attractions if they behaved in a ‘traditional’ manner, but were eventually removed en masse after some began to convert to agricultural livelihood strategies and behaved in ways that were less appealing to white visitors (Beinart, 2007). The tensions leading to this dynamic are still in play today.

The principles driving this early conservationist interest are defined by

Beinart and Hughes as “preservationist” (Beinart, 2007); that is, they were based not on the idea of sustainable wildlife usage but on the prevention of any human contact with ‘wilderness’ whatsoever. These researchers see a correlation between the political movement towards preservation and a general shift in white attitudes towards nature, which was for the first time being seen as more than a strictly economic resource (Beinart, 2007). There were no commensurate shifts in attitude among Maasai who were dependent on an active relationship with nature to survive.

Mark Dowie takes care to note that many of the conservationists who are still revered in Kenya today regarded the rangeland Maasai as little more than a

10 nuisance to their dream of unspoiled wilderness. Bernhard Grzimek, whose son is

honored with a monument outside Ngorongoro Crater, would write that “not even

natives” should be allowed to live within the “primordial wilderness” of the

Serengeti (Dowie, p. 24). He would propose that the park could one day be fenced

in, restricting the local Maasai from an area of prime rangeland the size of modern‐

day Connecticut (Dowie, 2009). Lewis Leakey, whose son would one day hold

Kenya’s most powerful conservation‐centered political office, would write that the

Maasai, who “disdained all forms of ordinary labor,” had no real right to the

Serengeti plains, which instead belonged as a source of wealth to the world at large

(Dowie, p. 26). In these cases and many more, disdain for and misunderstanding of

the Maasai’s pastoralist livelihood strategy would mean that they were excluded

from massive swathes of grass and water resources. ‘Conservation’ in actual

implementation would be just as much a system of disenfranchisement as one for

protecting animals.

While the decisions made by the British Empire were based on a number of

racist and paternalistic beliefs, they did lead to the creation of some of Africa’s first

protected areas, many of which are rich with rare or endemic species and are of

great financial value today. With that said, the lingering resentment created by the

initial, “preservationist” system has proved a barrier to continued conservation

efforts sixty years later. Many of the barriers drawn between the Maasai and their natural resources still remain.

11 III. Independence—

Kenyan Independence introduced a government that, while run by black

Africans, was hardly more amenable to Maasai concerns than the colonial

government that had preceded it. Jomo Kenyatta, president for the first 14 years of

Kenya’s existence, was a transformative figure—and a Kikuyu. He would frequently

be accused of favoring Kikuyu interests and drawing upon ethnic differences as a

political tool, leaving minority groups like the Maasai in politically marginal

positions (Holmquist et. al., 1994). This marginalization would be relevant for the

Maasai when it came to securing rangeland freedoms. Formal approaches towards conservation would begin to take human concerns into greater consideration.

However, the creation of new parks and the reality of growing populations would

mean that the Maasai continued to find themselves constricted.

In the 1970s official Kenyan policy began to acknowledge the

impracticalities of the ‘fences‐and‐fines’ approach (Honey, 2008). In 1975 the

Wildlife Conservation and Management Division drafted and passed a

comprehensive mission statement that espoused the idea that wildlife should “pay

its way”. This change in policy had both social and environmental goals. It was an

acknowledgement that Kenya’s people needed to benefit more from conservation,

but also that wildlife would not be able to survive in contained parks without

corridors and migration zones that passed through habitated areas (Honey, 2008).

These decisions mark the beginning of an understanding that an improvement in

community‐wildlife relations was not only desirable but also necessary for

successful conservation.

12 This reframing of conservation policies would, however, not mean an across‐

the‐board liberalization of restrictions. In 1977 consumptive utilization of wildlife

(including the granting of hunting licenses) became officially illegal at all levels in

Kenya (Honey, 2008). This law has angered some Maasai and caused continued

problems for a perpetually cash‐strapped wildlife service that is prevented from the lucrative and controlled big‐game hunting allowed by its neighbors in Tanzania.

Hunting blocks that range from $27,000 to $60,000 U.S. dollars a year are expected

to bring that country $53 million in 2011, making it a substantial foreign exchange

earner (Ihucha, 2011) While more stringent animal protection might be

theoretically admirable, avoiding this source of income makes conservation

practically more difficult and places a greater burden on the people living around

the parks. The topic remains a controversial one today.

In the decades following the war, there was a shift from an overtly colonialist

approach to conservation towards a latently colonialist ‘internationalist’ one, where excluding Maasai and others from natural resources was justified by those resources’ value to the world at large (Beinart, 2007)—as Lewis Leakey would say,

“to inhabitants of all races for many centuries to come.” (Dowie, p.26) This included the creation and growing power of the International Union for the Conservation of

Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN). Beinart and Hughes write of immediate conflict between local poor and the IUCN’s ecologists, “some of whom were ‘prone to be dismissive of human needs and to value most highly those ecosystems not disturbed by people.’” IUCN was also dominated by Europeans and Westerners—

“no one from a developing country became chair of any IUCN commission before

13 1984” (Beinart 2007). Groups like the IUCN have been able to bring intense pressure down on developing nations like Kenya. It was not until the late 1980s, according to Beinart and Hughes that the organization began to acknowledge that protected areas “must serve human beings, too.” (Beinart, 2007)

National parks today make up 8% of the country’s total land area (Okello,

2008). In a nation with a booming population that is hugely dependent upon agriculture, excess land is increasingly rare. Today, many farmers live on the literal borders of parks without fences. These farmers are vulnerable to attacks and crop‐ raids by animals in times of migration and drought. The Maasai in particular are dependent on large land areas for grazing, particularly in times of drought. All of these groups are understandably resentful of the exclusionary protected‐area system in a country that is sometime short of the resources necessary to feed its own people. The complex history of Kenya’s conservationist movement, which has been dominated by outsiders, only exacerbates these issues.

Amboseli National Park

Amboseli was an early experiment in community conservation, intended around 1961 to be managed by the local and county councils. By 1968 the Kajiado

County Council was getting 75% of its annual income from Amboseli, though it is unclear how much of this revenue made it beyond the politicians themselves

(Honey, 2007). It is probable that the Maasai saw little benefit, since conflicts continued to erupt between the councils and pastoralists who were grazing their cattle on protected land. In 1971, after the government adopted a more

14 exclusionary policy, the Maasai began spearing lions and elephants, the most

valuable species for attracting tourists. “Their message was clear:” writes Martha

Honey, “Take the land and the Maasai would take the animals (Honey, p. 318).” This

is an early example of the power that local communities do in fact have over the

ecotourism industry. When sit‐down meetings finally took place between local

leaders and the ministry of tourism and wildlife, Amboseli was converted to a

national park under government control, but with a number of community‐centered stipulations.

Today, it is clear that many of these stipulations have failed to have the desired results. Amboseli is one of Kenya’s top tourist attractions, bringing in over

150 million Kenyan Shillings annually (Okello, 2008), but conflicts between its animals and local community members persist. The Maasai remain unhappy as they are forced to defend their lands from invading animals, and conservationists are faced with the killings of lions and other valuable species. Community conservation in this region is far from functioning: it remains a ground zero for the war between communities and the KWS.

Two expensive luxury lodges exist within the boundaries of Amboseli

National park. Both of these lodges offer largely self‐contained experiences in which a large portion of their visitor’s arrangements is made through the hotel (Osuri,

2010). Due to this insular system, possible interactions between community members and tourists are significantly reduced, subsequently reducing the benefits that the local community receives from the tourist industry. In addition, these and many other luxury lodges make only a minimal effort to involve the surrounding

15 community. For example, though much of the surrounding community is agriculturally based, these lodges and most others supply the majority of their produce from outside sources (Hemmati, 2000). Meanwhile, there are a number of lodges and other tourist enterprises just outside Amboseli, with many more under construction. It is apparent that the park is providing lucrative business to someone. It is clear the that the Maasai have not benefitted, for reasons we shall explore.

Kenya Wildlife Service

In 1989, with growing evidence that multiple organizations with both differing and overlapping responsibilities were failing to adequately deal with environmental issues, the Kenya Wildlife Service was created (Honey, 2007). The

Service was to be financed independently from the government, through fines and park fees, to avoid political (re: corruption‐related) influences. KWS was initially headed by Richard Leakey, a white Kenyan, highly regarded scientist, and son of explorer/conservationist Louis Leakey (Honey, 2007). There is great significance to a white man’s appointment to this office. For one, the appointment was met with acclaim by international organizations like the IUCN. For another, it continued to perpetuate the internal conception of conservation as imposed upon poor blacks by foreign whites. KWS was given theoretical wide authority, which included a mandate to improve distribution of benefits to local communities. Leakey pledged to deliver 25% of all national park gate fees to surrounding communities. He would not be able to complete this promise after allocating funding for operations fees.

16 This failure bred great resentment in local communities, but the overpromising and

over‐ambition proved popular with the World Bank and the international

community at large (Honey, 2007).

Today, KWS is seen by Maasai and other rural Kenyans not as a liaison

between humans and wildlife but as a dangerous force standing firmly against

people in an ongoing battle. In a series of interviews I conducted among farmers in

the Amboseli region, it was clear that KWS is both feared and blamed for many

animal‐related problems (Daniel, 2010). While people believed that retribution would come swiftly if they killed an animal in defense of their crops, applications for compensation after an animal killed a farmer were frequently ignored. In a surprisingly candid internal report, KWS itself has admitted the inefficiencies of the government’s compensation system, admitting that few people are able to

successfully extract money from the bureaucracy and that the amount paid is

generally considered far too low. The Service has also acknowledged that its

officers have gained a “reputation for brutality” (KWS, 1994). KWS officers receive

paramilitary training and carry AK‐47s. They have been known to burn the houses

and fields of suspected poachers and are rumored to have committed murders in

Northern Kenya.

On one hand, the fearsome reputation of KWS is a positive for

conservationists when so many wildlife‐protection organizations worldwide are

seen as impotent. The group holds the power to intimidate potential hunters of

many animals, such as elephants or rhinoceros, which would otherwise be in danger

of poaching. On the other, the negative reputation of KWS has unfortunately helped

17 to shape the viewpoint of many Maasai towards wildlife in general: dangerous to

humans and unfairly favored by the government and the world at large. This will

have to change for conservation to be successful. KWS is the manager of every

national park in Kenya. They are an essential component of conservation, and they are dependent on ecotourism revenue to survive. Inevitably, they have come into conflict with the Maasai, and acted as the most visible arm of a conservation system that excludes local people from good rangeland with one hand and fails to provide adequate benefits with the other.

Group Ranches & Shifting Livelihood Strategies

Within the Amboseli region today are five Maasai group ranches: Mbirikani,

Kuku, Kimana, Eselenkei, and Olgulului (Lekanyia, 2010). These ranches are part of a government system instituted under Jomo Kenyatta that was intended to let the pastoralist tribes continue their way of life without disruption, a “livestock production system or enterprise where a group of people jointly own freehold title to land, maintain agreed stocking levels and herd their livestock collectively which they own individually (ALDEV, 1962). Membership in the ranches is based on traditional ownership and family membership (Ng’ethe, Year Unknown). Most of the wildlife in the ecosystem lives outside of the National Parks, allowing these group ranches an opportunity to take part in the eco‐tourism industry through the creation of wildlife sanctuaries and other community conservation enterprises.

Kimana has built a community‐run wildlife sanctuary, while Mbirikani has a

18 longstanding deal with an outside investor who has erected a luxury tourist lodge

within the ranch’s borders (Berger, 1993).

The Group ranches, created in 1968, are one interesting example of a novel,

community‐based idea that simply did not succeed as desired. It was believed that

they would protect Maasai homelands while helping to commercialize Maasai

livestock practices and stabilize environmental degradation from outside encroachment (Mwangi, 2007). Instead, frustrations over the commune‐style system has led group ranches to seek permission to subdivide and parcel out privately owned pieces of land to their members. These demands have come from within the Maasai community and have only increased in recent years.

Pressure to subdivide began in the early 1980s. Many group ranch members had no collateral to offer for loans, and therefore began to seek the rights to private land title that could then by leveraged for investments in livestock production and living standard improvements (Ng’ethe, Year Unknown). This pressure came primarily from growing populations of young men. J.C. Ng’ethe writes: “the registration of group ranches to their fathers had denied them their natural inheritance to ancestral land and condemned them to a state of landlessness and unredeemable poverty (Ng’ethe, p. 14).” Over the next thirty years, many group ranches would be subdivided into smaller plots with government permission.

Esther Mwangi writes that while “theory suggests” Maasailand is better suited for collective ownership, tribesmen see greater security in individual ownership (Mwangi, 2007), especially in the face of corrupt ranch officials and family feuds. However, subdivided rangelands are unviable for pastoralism

19 (Mwangi, 2007), and individual ownership of small parts of land will exacerbate the

growing issue of increased conversion to agriculture.

Mwangi also fails to consider one of the most important reasons that calls for

subdivision have become more and more fervent as time goes on: increasing

populations mean that the later land is privatized and parceled off (seen by many as

an inevitability), the less land will be available for each family member. Ng’ethe

finds that as of 1992, if every group ranch in Kajiado District were subdivided: “all members in 21 ranches would acquire land pieces of 100‐149 hectares, members in

12 ranches would acquire land pieces of 50‐99 hectares, members in 12 ranches

would acquire land pieces of 100‐149 hectares, members in four ranches would

acquire land pieces of 150‐199 hectares, and only members in three ranches would acquire land pieces above 200 hectares each. All these sizes would be below subsistence requirements (italics added) (Ng’ethe, p. 17).” If the same results were tabulated today, almost twenty years later, the ranches that have yet to be subdivided would yield even smaller land plots to their members. This call for subdivision therefore becomes one of the key results of demographic pressures.

The calls for group ranch subdivision are also representative of a larger trend by which the Maasai are shifting from pastoralism to sedenterism. Individual

ownership of land encourages members to stay put on their property. It also makes

pastoralism difficult since large of herds of cattle require access to wide‐ranging

grazing areas. While a group ranch at large may be big enough to support the entire

community’s cattle, a smaller plot may not have enough grassland for a single

family’s herd, and is more vulnerable to localized drought or environmental

20 calamity. Subdivision therefore has led many Maasai to shift from nomadic pastoralism to localized agriculture. It has also allowed for the sale of former group lands to non‐Maasai outsiders, bringing an immigrant influx that is slowly changing demographics and altering culture (N’gethe, Year Unknown).

A survey I conducted in the Amboseli region (part of the former Kajiado

District), found that only 76% were Maasai, representing an influx of Kikuyus and various immigrants from Tanzania and other regions of Kenya (Daniel, 2010).

Among Maasai interviewed only 38% described pastoralism as their primary livelihood strategy—53% were now agriculturalists, as were almost all members of other ethnic groups. This shift represents a serious change in cultural tradition—a departure from a system in which cattle are the greatest signifier of value and status to one in which an individual chooses to own few cattle at all.

Recent droughts have been another factor helping to push many Maasai towards a more sedentary agricultural economy. Drought can lead to sudden and unexpected herd losses in arid‐semi‐arid regions, and in recent years the highly variable rainfall in East Africa seems to have become even scarcer than usual

(McPeak, 2001). Pastoralist herders in general have only a few options for mitigating exposure to drought: mobility, drawing upon financial savings, obtaining insurance for cattle, selling cattle through the market, increasing herd size, diversifying their activities, or relying on external assistance to survive (McPeak,

2001).

Most of these options are either unavailable or impractical for Maasai encountering drought. Mobility is increasingly impeded as rangelands are infringed

21 upon by farmers, protected areas, tourism ventures, and an exponentially growing

population. Few Maasai have access to bank accounts, there is no formal system for

obtaining livestock insurance, and herders are notoriously unwilling to sell their

cattle at market. Herd accumulation, by which every cent a household earns is spent

on more cattle, therefore has become the most common reaction to harsher grazing conditions. While increasing herd‐size does increase mortality, the ratio of cause to effect is not 1:1, and therefore more cattle does mean more access to meat and milk during hard times (McPeak, 201). Still, simply adding more animals to the herd in the hope that some remain when the rains finally come is a shortsighted and ruinous strategy because it exacerbates problems of overgrazing. The only practical option remaining to most Maasai is therefore activity diversification. This means primarily increasing involvement in farming—which requires far less land and can be centered on drought‐resistant crops.

But the transition to agriculture has led to more intensive and destructive land use. While wide‐ranging nomadic pastoralism naturally allows soils and grasses to recover, sedentary agriculture does exactly the opposite, as plowing and intensive monocropping leave soil vulnerable. Heavy erosion is visible all over the regional landscape, as the intermittent but torrential rains interact poorly with unprotected ground. The transition to mixed agro‐pastoralism has even increased the impact of the goats and cattle themselves, as a more sedentary lifestyle focuses grazing impact and allows less time for regrowth.

Increased dependence on agriculture has also given rise to an increase in human‐wildlife conflict as animals raid farms for crops and occasionally cause

22 injury while they are being chased away (O’Connell‐Rodwell et al., 2000). The

result, inevitably, is a growing resentment among the Maasai towards a national

parks system that has placed dangerous animals so close to their homes but gives

them little for their troubles in return.

The Future of Group Ranches?

Theoretically, the presence of group ranches pre‐subdivision should give the Maasai an advantage, positioning them to take communal advantage of the area’s natural resources. In practice, however, poor leadership and corruption

within the ranches have prevented many from benefitting as they should. One NGO

representative claims that ranches are receiving 3‐5 million Kenyan shillings a year

from a portion of park revenue, but see little of it because their leadership has so

little accountability (Warinwa, 2010). In other cases the ranches and their

leadership know they are sitting on veritable gold mines of valuable natural land,

but are locked into ultra‐long term leases with outside partners. This is the case in

Mbirikani, which contains one of Kenya’s most exclusive, expensive, and valuable

eco‐lodges. Ranch leadership is entering into new contractual discussions in 2014,

and hope to obtain a more favorable lease agreement (Kilitya, 2010).

A group called the ‘Tsavo Amboseli Group Ranch Association’ has made

efforts to bring different ranches together for political lobbying over issues such as

compensation. The association has had some successes in negotiating shared revenue with Kenya Wildlife Service, and is attempting to improve local capabilities for employment in tourism. One plan has been to begin a vocational school centered

23 around tourism, with training based on meeting the specific demands of local hotels and businesses. The group has likewise attempted to highlight corruption within group ranch associations, many of which claim massive overhead in administrative capacities (i.e. official salaries) before distributing revenue to the communities themselves (Lekanayia, 2010). Whether any of these projects will ultimately be successful remains to be seen.

The future of the group‐ranch system is dependent upon its ability to harness communities’ organizing power in battles versus powerful outside entities. If the ranches continue to fail in providing benefits to their communities, public uproar will lead to subdivision and the devolution of this community‐empowerment experiment.

IV. A Tightening Rope—

Since colonization, the Maasai have found themselves gradually constrained by outside forces, particularly those interested in conservation. The expulsion of people and cattle from former rangelands means that larger pastoralist populations are harder to sustain, particularly in times of drought or hardship. A majority of

Maasai has begun to abandon a centuries‐old system of pastoralism and look to alternate livelihood strategies for survival. Meanwhile, community‐minded reforms such as the group ranch system or KWS’ revenue sharing have failed. The Kenyan government has remained an antagonist to the minority Maasai.

24

Chapter 2:

Where to Turn? The International Boom of Nature Tourism in the Developing

World and its Relevance to the Maasai People

I. Introduction—

The gradual constraint that the Maasai have encountered over the last

hundred years has limited both land access and economic opportunities. McPeak

and Barrett described activity diversification as one of the few practical options

available to former pastoralists facing drought and limited rangelands (McPeak,

2001). While most Maasai have turned to agriculture to diversify their source of

livelihood, another option remains: involvement in tourism.

Wherever conservation has staked a claim, there has inevitably been an

uproar related to local business and local communities, and we have seen that

conservation has been staking its claim for decades in East Africa (Honey, 2008).

Protected areas worldwide are often admired for their vision of a prehistoric, untouched land: they are the raw material for every popular nature video (Simpson

2009). Just as often, they are derided for their negative effect on the people who live on their margins, forced out of their homelands and deprived of the natural resources on which they have depended for generations (Dowie, 2009).

Progressive thinkers are caught between a rock and a hard place; hesitant to sanction the disenfranchising of powerless peoples but unwilling to open up

25 endangered species and habitats to guns and agriculture. Meanwhile, even the most

cold‐hearted conservationists have been forced to accept that local resentment makes their jobs not merely difficult but often impossible in the face of poaching,

encroachment, and ever‐limited funding (Honey, 2008). The eco‐tourism business has the potential to reconcile some of these differing points of view, by using conservation as an input to provide large amounts of money to surrounding communities, but it has so far failed to achieve that potential. More importantly for the Maasai, eco‐tourism has the potential to provide a source of income that is not in conflict with the powerful governmental and international forces that have tried to claim regions like Amboseli as their own.

II. Why Nature Tourism? An International Perspective—

According to a report issued by the IUCN World Parks Congress in 2007, the

tourism industry accounts for more than 10% of global GDP and over 8% of global

employment. The growth of global tourism, meanwhile, is outpacing the growth of

global GDP (Bushell et. al., 2007). The reasons for this industry boom (which has

undoubtedly been dampened in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis) can be easily

guessed at: modern technology has made transportation cheaper while increased

access to information has made exotic destinations less foreboding to less

adventurous types. Because nearly every region in the world is equipped with

natural and manufactured phenomena that can attract traveler’s business, these

technological changes have allowed a large group of new and struggling countries

and areas to find access to the market. In the same breadth has come a new interest

26 in the ‘unspoiled’ developed world, both as a reflection of environmental fears and out of a genuine curiosity magnified by wider access to information and travel.

These factors have increased both the number of customers and the number of suppliers, meaning an influx of new competitors onto the scene (Hemmati, 2000).

These changes have created an international environment for tourism that is potentially high‐reward but also requires a keen eye towards quality, advertising, and innovation in a competitive world scene.

One reason that tourism is an exciting industry is that it allows developing nations or regions a rare comparative advantage in an international industry.

Heavily industrialized nations, no matter what their technological capacity, cannot offer access to the natural wonders, endemic wildlife, or “exotic” cultures that many poorer nations can. It is, of course, the lack of development itself that is attractive to many visitors from Western countries, but it is also true that infrastructure in these countries can theoretically be developed to decrease poverty and improve the tourism industry without visibly disrupting the “wildness” or “exoticness” of its product.

IUCN also reports that within the growth of tourism as an industry, tourism in protected areas is increasing at an even greater rate. Nature‐based destinations, the authors write, are “doing better than ever before” (Bushell et. al., p. xiv). This particular area of tourism is often looked at hopefully by environmentalists because it is one of the most lucrative ways in which to make money from natural resources while (ideally) avoiding consumptive use and long‐term damages to the environment. IUCN describes this theory well, writing of eco‐tourism as “the only

27 opportunity for natural areas to develop an economic activity without deteriorating

their environment or disturbing the ecological balance (Bushell, et. al., p. xiv).” Many

environmentalists see ecotourism as a wonderful opportunity to prove that nature can have great economic as well as inherent value. More than 12% of global land area is taken up by protected areas which provide myriad ecological positives

(Adams et al., pp. 1146‐1149). With that said, many governments are increasingly looking to protected areas to pay for themselves, making tourism revenue essential for their very survival (Bushell et. al., 2007).

These reductions in funding do not simply make it more difficult for the parks to sustain themselves, but also make it more difficult for them to morally justify their existences. This is because the creation of protected areas inevitably

has at least an initial negative impact on local, rural peoples who are displaced from

their homes or prevented access to natural resources including firewood, water,

animals to hunt, and plants that are utilized for traditional medicine. These

sacrifices should be justified with a commensurate increase in benefits from

protected areas. These benefits are most frequently expected to come as an

outgrowth of increased tourism, whether through employment, access to financial/entrepreneurship opportunities, or community welfare programs based on charity and fees.

However, all benefits to the community must come from revenues that are surplus to those already spent on upkeep and maintenance of the protected areas themselves (although some local employment exists within the park for scouts or park rangers). In the past, protected areas have often failed in their promises to

28 local communities. Richard Leakey, the first head of the Kenya Wildlife Service, promised distribution of 25% of park gate fees to local communities (Honey, 2007).

Today, that payment goal has been reduced to 10% and KWS is still struggling to meet it.

Eco‐tourism can be extremely lucrative not only for the operators of protected areas but also for those who take part in the industries that build up around those areas. Hoteliers, restaurateurs, tour drivers, and others are all able to benefit from this international business. Unfortunately, much of this revenue does not stay within the area in which it is spent. This phenomenon of financial leakage is especially problematic in a tourism industry which is by nature both very dependent on a local product and includes a variety of international actors. In many developing countries, there is little access to capital for local people, and hotels and tour companies are most often foreign direct investments. In many of these cases, an estimated 60‐75% of the tourism revenue leaks outside of the country (Wheat,

Sinclair 1991). While impressive profits can be made, very little seems to trickle down to the local people. General benefit may be great, but in these cases local benefit is slim indeed.

With this said, many still believe that protected areas are capable of providing a net positive benefit to local communities through tourism and related business. One 2009 study provides evidence for this belief. Based in Costa Rica and

Thailand, the study used national indices (poverty index and poverty headcount ratio) from census information to compare similar communities with or without heavy protected area impact while controlling for as many factors as possible. The

29 study found a net decrease in poverty (Andam et. al., p. 9997), an encouraging result

for believers in the ecological and economic benefits of preserving these regions.

However, the two countries studied are notable for their political stability and

economic strength compared to many other developing nations that seek to benefit

from ecotourism. It remains to be seen if these results could hold true in many

African nations that are plagued by government corruption and outside influence.

In addition, the study indicates a net decrease in poverty without considering

impacts on individual groups or areas. It is possible, for example, that benefits to

tourism workers are eclipsing increased negative effects to the very poor or to the

parks’ immediate neighbors. These are aspects which could be explored more fully

in a more detailed, ground level study that might nonetheless be unable to offer the

same quality of ‘big‐picture’ narrative.

One such study was conducted in India using a structured questionnaire

given to 180 households in the Sariska Tiger Reserve. While it failed to analyze any

actual financial improvements in the surrounding communities, it did find that 68%

of the surveyed populace was supportive of conservation, despite only 24% of those

households receiving any direct benefit from tourism. There was a significant

correlation nonetheless between a visitor’s position on the “attitude scale” and the

economic benefits he or she had received from tourism (Sekhar, p. 343). Here is

some evidence that a strong and equitable tourism economy can push local people to view conservation favorably, but plenty of barriers remain. 63% of respondents were not happy with unequal distribution of tourism benefits, and the author notes

“lack of locals involvement in tourism” (Sekhar, p. 344) as a serious problem. Even

30 where there are examples of success in such cases, that success is almost invariably

limited by problems of low involvement and unequal revenue sharing.

For these reasons and others, tourism is a fascinating place to explore the

potential for ‘green industry’. It is a mechanism by which invaluable protected areas

can be kept fully functioning. It is also ideally a mechanism by which local people

can benefit more from conservationist practices than they could from destructive

ones such as mono‐crop agriculture or intensive hunting.

III. Tourism & the Maasai—

All of the international issues discussed above have relevance to Kenya and

the plight of the Maasai. Tourism has boomed around Amboseli National Park, but

local benefit is slim. As in so many developing countries, the business is dominated

at higher‐level positions by outsiders—whether foreigners or Kenyans from other regions—and locals (here the Maasai) are left to search for opportunities around the margins of the industry. The factors that are gradually constraining the Maasai have left them with access to few practical livelihood strategies. The most popular alternative has become agriculture, but this leads to erosion and unsustainable land use in arid semi‐arid lands. In rangelands that are world‐famous for their wildlife, tourism remains a theoretically practical option for Maasai forced to find new ways to survive.

Of a surveyed group that was 78% Maasai (Daniel, 2010), only 3% could claim tourism or wildlife conservation as a primary livelihood strategy. When all

31 live in lands essentially bordered by national parks, 73% claimed that they were not

at all involved in tourism (Daniel, 2010). On the whole, therefore, considering the

visibility and importance of eco‐tourism in this Maasai‐dominated region, local

participation in the industry is very low.

Even among the few locals who are able to participate in tourism, the kinds

of jobs available are generally low paying and offer few opportunities for

advancement. Of 275 local people who actually worked in tourism, most of them

Maasai, 35% were making and selling trinkets—such as beads and carvings—often

forced to approach parked cars as they wait to enter the park gates. 20% engaged in

cultural activities, such as singing and dancing for tourists. Only 14% of those

interviewed had access to jobs at hotels or tourist camps (Daniel, 2010), usually in

low‐level (non‐managerial) capacities (Daniel, 2010). There was little of the desired

‘trickle‐down’ effect from the tourism industry, despite its tremendous presence in the region—those not directly involved in it were far less likely to claim that it had any impact on them at all. In fact, while some Maasai described benefits through bursaries or business interactions, most believed that tourism had no effect on their daily lives (Daniel, 2010). Considering that the Amboseli is an internationally renowned tourism destination, this is a curious fact indeed.

Many Maasai are being pushed towards involvement in tourism by the lack of alternatives and the industry’s steady encroachment over their homelands. With that said, many people still view the industry positively, and would embrace an opportunity to participate in it. Only 8% of the interviewed group had a negative attitude towards tourism, and very few believed that the industry had affected them

32 negatively (Daniel, 2010). It seems, therefore, that tourism has the potential to act as a positive force if this is indeed the twilight of pastoralist livelihood strategies.

Maasai‐majority regions of Southern Kenya certainly hold great appeal for visitors, and have contained the necessary infrastructure for decades. Local people generally accept and sometimes appreciate the growth of tourism, and are actively seeking to become involved in it. Why then is the rate of Maassai participation so low? Why is general benefit so limited? The answers are related to outside factors, but also to the political economy of the Maasai today and to the realities of the cultural and eco‐ tourism industries that have taken shape.

33 Chapter 3:

Politics and Tourism: The Problematic Political Economy of the Maasai Today

I. Introduction—

Through the group ranch system, the district councils, and other political

means, the Maasai have attempted since the nineteen‐sixties to grasp a greater

share of benefit from the tourism industry. Group Ranches theoretically contain a

built‐in system for grassroots‐level advocacy, by which locally elected leaders can

negotiate with businessmen and Kenya Wildlife Service to secure more favorable

and equitable deals. In ideal situations, group ranch leaders have been able to

encourage investment by these outside groups in infrastructure which benefits

communities, such as the provision of school fees (bursaries) or health centers. The

group ranch system has also allowed for the facilitation of community‐owned

wildlife sanctuaries and hotels, which could not be possible in a system of individual

land ownership.

However, there are likewise many problems with the political system as

currently construed. The authors of ‘Maasai land, law and dispossession’, writing of

Kenya’s land tenure system, describe a system of laws that is as indispensable to

those who wish to usurp traditional Maasai land as it is for those who want to

“maintain the integrity of Maasai lands and communities (Munei et. al., p. 6).” In a

similar fashion, in regards to tourism, the laws of the group ranch system have been

equally valuable to exploiters of the Maasai as to those seeking a more equitable

relationship between local people and industry leaders. Through corrupt behavior,

34 kleptocratic group ranch officials have made tourism benefits even scarcer for their

constituents.

Simultaneously, both the county councils and the group ranch system were

meant to replace—or at least to modernize—already existing forms of government.

One official claims: “there has been a deliberate effort to dismantle all the social and

political structures of the Maasai people and replace them with a modern form of

government (Ole Dapash, p. 3).” Whatever the intentions, these traditional political structures have not been adequately replaced. The group ranches and county councils—dual representative systems available to regular Maasai—have been both boon and curse.

II. District & County Councils—

District councils are the longstanding core of local government in Kenya.

These councils are democratically elected and hold considerable regional power.

The area in which this study was conducted was formerly Kajiado, and is now

Loitoktok district. The disconnect between these local government leaders and the

people they are supposed to serve—the Maasai in particular—is palpable and has a

strong historical basis. In 1961, at the dawn of independence, the Kajiado district

council was given full control of the Amboseli reserve and its finances as an act of

pre‐independence consolation (Lindsay, 1987). While the group was theoretically

equipped to negotiate for grazing land and benefits for the Maasai, they apparently

35 had little desire to do so: Lindsay writes that “the council, based in Kajiado, a town

over 100km from Amboseli, represented only another level of bureaucratic

authority to the Maasai, who received no direct revenue from the reserve (Lindsay,

p. 155)”. The result was a system favorable to conservationists but not to

pastoralists, with 80km2 set aside as “cattle free”. This first act of political decision‐ making by the district council is emblematic of a Kenyan government that would consistently favor conservationist interests over those of its Maasai constituents.

Meitamei Ole Dapash, Executive Director of the Maasai Environmental

Resource Coalition, describes from personal experience the disconnect between the

Maasai and their council leaders in the Maasai Mara region of Kenya. “Over a period of time,” he tells an interviewer, “the Narok County Council became very strong, and the Maasai representative in Parliament realized that actually the council was beginning to make a lot of money.” As National Parks like Amboseli and Maasai

Mara began to be visibly lucrative, it became increasingly clear that the Maasai people were receiving little benefit at all, especially relative to these county and district councils (Ole Dapash, p. 2). The explanation for this, Dapash claims, is that the county councils, while elected democratically, hold power only “by proxy”, and therefore are incentivized from “the top down, not the bottom up. “Unfortunately…” he says, “The political arena in the Council is such that the elected council is actually seen to have more loyalty to the member of parliament (Ole Dapash, p. 2).” This means that councilmen are more likely to respond to the needs and demands of the government official who outranks them than those of the people who have ostensibly had them elected. While local people are capable of voting for their

36 leaders, those leaders are easily equipped to hold power through political connections and bribery, and therefore can lobby successfully for reelection by ignoring the needs of Maasai in lieu of those of more powerful interests. The tragedy in this system is that the Maasai people continue to bear the costs for conservation, just as they did when their grazing land was sacrificed during independence‐era negotiations. “65 percent of wildlife in Kenya is outside the protected areas, 65 percent of wildlife is actually in the communally‐owned lands, and that should tell you how important it is for the local communities to have a voice in the decision‐making processes of the local authorities (Ole Dapash, p. 1).”

III. The Group Ranches & Collective Management—

The group ranches were intended to rectify the Maasai’s political impotence.

Instead, Group Ranches have lessened Maasai abuse by outsiders only slightly, while creating an entirely new category of insider exploiters.

One of the responsibilities of Group Ranch leadership is to negotiate deals with tourist operators, with the intention of providing maximum benefit for the

Maasai people. The negotiating power of the Group Ranches exists because they

(collectively) are the owners of the land on which many of these operators wish to build hotels or operate safaris. The African Wildlife Foundation is one of a number of NGOs who work with these Group Ranches to facilitate conversations with

37 potential outside investors, though like any group they have their own stake in the deal—in this case, the promotion of wildlife conservation (Warinwa, 2010).

An AWF representative named Fiesta Warinwa described to me and other students some of the deals that have been negotiated between investors and the

Group Ranches surrounding Amboseli. A certain amount or percentage of revenue from the investor’s business (usually a new lodge on Group Ranch property) will be provided to the ranch, usually about 15% annually (Warinwa, 2010).

Of that percentage, around 20% will be provided to a ‘capital fund’, which is portioned out by the AWF to Maasai who make a strong case for a capital injection for individually‐run businesses (Warinwa, 2010). The negotiating NGO, an outsider, is therefore granted great power over a small part of these tourism benefits, and could use that power to support its own interests—for example, to favor projects that are conservation focused rather than those that may be more popular but conservation‐neutral or detrimental. Still, there is a positive aspect to this outside influence, as the NGO is able to provide some oversight and accountability over this part of the funding. Financial capital for businesses that are not community‐run is almost impossible to secure without NGO funding, since Group ranches themselves will not provide start up capital (Kilitiya, 2010), and small‐scale tourism operations hereby have some means to get started.

For better or for worse, the remainder of this 15% is given directly to the

Group Ranch committee (Warinwa, 2010). Theoretically, this money will be spent on projects that benefit the community at large, such as schools or bursaries. In practice, however, the extremely low level of accountability for committee members

38 means abuse of these funds is rampant and even expected. Fiesta Warinwa described AWF attempts to monitor committee spending for accountability purposes, by asking for work plans and monthly accounts. In reality she claimed that these measures were difficult and “almost always” unsuccessful (Warinwa,

2010). A ‘project’ only requires the signatures of three Group Ranch committee members to begin operation—the political system itself contains many such inbred opportunities for accountability to be bypassed. In the end, one former Group

Ranch official told us, most money is spent in politics and ‘administration’— including reelection campaigns (Lekanayia, 2010).

The evidence here is that dependence on county councils and Group Ranch committees means that most Maasai people have little access to the money that comes from conservation and ecotourism. Many people are aware of this problem, though they feel unable to circumvent it. A fair percentage of interviewees (Daniel.

2010) felt that Group Ranch officials were the primary beneficiaries of tourism, implying that they themselves were not. In a similar study, Okello found that

“Group Ranch members indicated that they wanted a new professional, transparent, and accountable local committee to handle the wildlife sanctuary and ensure equitable revenue sharing (Okello 2003, p. 72).” Because these sort of ‘collective‐ aid’ revenue‐sharing packages so often fail to have any impact on the majority of the

Maasai people, direct, individual participation in tourism—employment—becomes even more important.

A positive in the Group Ranch arrangement is the option for setting aside community land to attract animals in an entirely community‐run enterprise. These

39 community wildlife sanctuaries have been proposed and created in some of the ranches that have yet to be subdivided, the first in Kimana in 1996 (Okello, 2003).

They have plenty of theoretical potential to allow Maasai to tap into the tourism industry directly without depending on foreigners or park officials. The community sanctuary idea also draws upon a unique comparative advantage for Maasai communities, since they alone have access to vast uncultivated plains that are sometimes full of migrating animals. There are few landowners in Kenya who have access to areas that are large enough and properly located to attract the large mammal species that appeal to tourists. Group ranches such as Kimana and Kuku, which border National Parks, are directly in the migration areas and home ranges of the same species that draw thousands of visitors to Amboseli each year (Okello,

2003).

Okello’s study suggests both that Maasai are open to the idea of creating sanctuaries, and that tourists are open to visiting them. One large barrier to the success of these enterprises is attracting tourists when they are in direct competition with well‐known national parks next door. Okello suggests activity diversification and appeal to younger visitors to attract a different market (Okello,

2003). Once again, political realities make successful business more difficult: tour companies who could act as potential partners in attracting clients are wary of

“insecurity and unpredictable institutional arrangements in Group Ranches (Okello

2003, p. 70).” While these community sanctuaries have potential (and are naturally a huge hit with conservationists), they have yet to truly bear fruit.

40 When it comes to distributing the benefits from community conservation

projects, the same problems of Group Ranch leadership will rear their heads. The

net revenue of Kuku Community Conservation Area is $116,000 per year. While

population data on Kuku is not available, the similarly sized Mbirikani contains an

estimated 4,600 members, all with dependents—up to 30,000 in total, claimed the

chairman (Kilitya, 2010). The amount parceled out to individual family members would therefore be negligible, meaning that Group Ranch officials once again have

justification for controlling this money themselves through ‘community projects’—

once again including plenty of non‐starters and administrative fees.

Ethically it would be questionable if any outsider, even a presumably well‐

intentioned NGO, were given access to a larger part of these funds that belong

rightfully to the Maasai. In practice, however, the committee members may be as

much outsiders as the AWF or the county councilors miles away. In fact,

consideration of federal and international impositions on the Maasai as a

homogenous block of people may mask the inequities that are held in place by these

local leaders. As Phillip Woodhouse writes, “The current policy emphasis on

increasing the power of local authorities tends to obscure important and rapidly‐

evolving power relations between local social groups (Woodhouse, p. 7).” Local empowerment in ecotourism or conservation is essential to the success of the

national parks, but not if it simply creates a new, local class of exploiters.

These problems come inevitably with any system of collective management

that is run by few leaders with little accountability. In the colonial and immediately

post‐colonial areas, traditional resource tenure systems were considered

41 exploitative and disorganized by governments. This approach has been criticized in retrospect, but traditional systems may have been fetishized as a result

(Woodhouse, 1997). The theoretical positive powers that stem from collective management have not been realized. They may not even exist: “Implicit within much of current policy is the assumption that the devolution of natural resource management will be socially redistributive as well as environmentally benign.

Evidence from Maasai group ranches suggests this assumption may be misplaced

(Woodhouse, p. 1).” Although collective management is environmentally ideal for rangeland usage, as it promotes pastoralism rather than agriculture (Mwangi,

2009), it is not in and of itself a prescription for either sustainability or equality.

Woodhouse presents a list of factors that must exist if collective management of a natural resource (in this case, the rangelands) is to be successful. It includes:

“clear boundaries of membership to the resource users group; clear boundaries to the resource in question; homogeneity of information between different stakeholders; homogeneity/small number of stakeholders; homogeneity in stakeholder’s endowments (for example wealth, assets); homogeneity in stakeholders’ preferences (Woodhouse, p. 3)” Most existing group ranches may contain the first and the second. But the number of stakeholders is increasing rapidly with population growth (Mwangi, 2007), and elite members of the Group

Ranch committee have a clear advantage over others in both assets and access to information. The preferences and priorities of the elite therefore differ greatly from those they are representing, and the result is a management system that is

‘collective’ only in name and in shared burden.

42 In fact, the failures of this political system have led to the widespread calls for Group Ranch subdivision that may represent the greatest threat to conservation in the region. In this manner, the failed political systems of County Councils and

Group Ranches threaten both the Maasai and the sanctity of the parks themselves.

IV. How do failed institutions affect participation in tourism?—

There are many cases in which failed government has failed to provide services that could lead to greater participation in tourism. Overall, most Maasai interviewed believed that the government was responsible for coordinating interventions to improve local participation in tourism (Daniel, 2010). People not involved or only partially involved in tourism were particularly resentful of government, most likely to claim that it—and not themselves—is the primary beneficiary of tourism (Daniel, 2010)

Extensive conversion to agriculture through subdivision (Daniel, 2010) has been partially a result of general distrust in the collective management systems that make pastoralism possible (Mwangi, 2007). The conversion of visibly ‘untouched’ rangeland to agriculture will make the Amboseli region exponentially less appealing to tourists who might otherwise be encouraged to spend money exploring outside of the parks (Okello, 2003). As the home ranges and migration corridors of large mammals are disrupted, island biogeography models suggest those animals will lose population density (Diamond, 1975). Any reduction in large mammal populations, especially after the harm caused by a recent, massive drought (Tome, 2010), could

43 mean fewer tourists and less business, decreasing local employment and opportunities for selling of trinkets.

A successful community‐based ecotourism project in Chile and a failed one in

South Africa hint at the importance of the underlying political systems to the success of these enterprises. Maria McAlpin describes the creation of the RML, a Chilean rainforest project intended to “increase and diversify per‐capita incomes in a way that preserves the area’s environment and culture by establishing tourism based on a system of parks, trails, campgrounds and local services (Mcalpin, p. 51).” These goals are the same that form the basis of ideas behind many Amboseli‐region ecotourism projects. However, the RML project was successful in many communities because its immediate emphasis was on creating a forum for local political coordination. Eight different communities sent elected leaders who together made what McAlpin describes as “autonomous yet coordinated decisions

(McAlpin, p. 53). McAlpin writes that one of the greatest accomplishments of the

RML has been to “strengthen organizational and leadership capacity within the communities.” This organizational strength allows greater access to funding and negotiation with the government over land title and resource usage.

The approach of combining leaders from different communities for coordinated area‐wide decision‐making is starkly different from the Group Ranch system in which leaders from each ranch make decisions on their own without regard to their neighbors. For example, Mbirikani residents have converted a large portion of an area near a swamp to agriculture, while their immediate neighbors in

Kimana have elected to turn their property, which borders the same swamp, into a

44 wildlife sanctuary. Large conflicts between the two ranches over land and water

usage have been the unsurprising result, and wild animals that are essential to

attraction tourists to Kimana’s sanctuary have been killed after raiding crops on the

other side of the ‘border’ (Tome, 2010). Greater coordination between and within

communities could help to mitigate some of these problems. Putting local elected

leaders in part of a decision‐making committee with their neighboring peers can

help to increase accountability by reducing the extreme level of autonomy many

Group Ranch leaders hold in relation to their constituent’s demands.

The RML project has to date lead to positive infrastructure spending and an

increase in regional tourism (McAlpin, 2007), though it has become nothing near the

booming Kenyan ecotourism industry and the positive local political structure may

begin to fray as populations grow. Nonetheless, it is a good example of the ways in

which an accountable and coordinated local political system can make community

ecotourism ventures viable. In South Africa, a similar project has fallen apart and

failed to bear any fruit because of its inattention to issues of local governance

(Cousins & Kepe, 2004). The problems surrounding this project are very similar to

the conditions that exist in the Amboseli region of Kenya.

The RML system preemptively confronted issues of community political involvement before problems of funding and infrastructure creation were addressed. In one “high‐profile” ‘Spatial Development Initiative’ on South Africa’s wild coast, these issues were ignored entirely. The goals of the project are very similar: “helping unlock economic potential and facilitate new investment and job creation in a localized area or region (Jourdan, p. 718).” This project was also

45 intended to emphasize decentralization of decision‐making and devolution of responsibility to local communities.

However, Cousins and Kepe write that decentralization was “poorly defined”.

The bodies designated as representative of local communities had little accountability to their members (Cousins & Kepe, p. 1). As in Kenya, one of these bodies was a group of elected councilmen who lived far away from their constituents. To help rectify this problem, the other group granted representative power was the Joint Management Committee, an organization begun by the senior chief of a local tribal authority. While chiefdom may have allowed this man to position himself to speak for local people, in reality he and his supporters were mainly from the wealthier and politically powerful elite (Cousins & Kepe, 2004).

They represented local people at large barely more adequately than the district councils.

These issues of representation, as in Kenya, are pervasive here. Councilors

“were not widely known to their constituents and were not very active in promoting local development.” In land disputes key to the intended infrastructure development, these leaders were found to live nowhere near the areas for which they were advocating (Cousins & Kepe, p. 9). The central government, uncertain about local political realities, has been indecisive about who should be granted authority. As a result, the planned area nature reserves, which could have been a strong source of income run by the community, have failed to appear (Cousins &

Kepe, 2004).

46 These cases are fundamentally different in some ways from those of the

Maasai. However, they both indicate how important issues of political

representation are to the success of eco‐tourism enterprises, which depend on

coordination and outside funding, and need true community involvement to be

genuinely successful. Community‐run enterprises do not function without strong

political leadership, but the same problems will prevent communities from

advocating private enterprises to increase local hiring and education.

In addition, the failure of these government institutions to provide benefits

from tourism exacerbates the need for greater individual involvement in the

industry. If people are not able to depend on their leaders to make sure wildlife

conservation revenue is spread equitably, the only way for them to benefit from

tourism is by personally engaging in it—cutting out local leaders who have become

a form of middleman between the spenders and the majority of people bearing the costs of production.

I spoke earlier in this chapter about a Group Ranch system that is valuable both to exploiters and advocates of the Maasai. When it comes to participation, it becomes evident again that local political institutions are both allies and antagonists—people depend upon them to provide education and access to the industry, and to keep whole the environmental product that tourists come to see. At the same time, this system positions certain elites to glean great advantage from tourism while preventing general participation through negligence and corruption.

47 Chapter 4:

Culture & Participation in Tourism

I. Introduction—

While the tourism industry encourages the Maasai to behave in an appealingly

‘traditional’ manner as a point of advertisement for visitors, these same ‘traditional’

behaviors are part of what prevents Maasai people from participating in—and therefore

benefitting from—tourism at mid/high levels. Meyer and Geschiere (Meyer, p. 1)

describe simultaneous “homogenizing tendencies which appear inherent to globalization” and “the continued or even intensified cultural heterogeneity asserted on the local level.”

This paradox is the focus of this chapter. Reneé Sylvain writes of South Africa’s San

Bushmen that because of international interest in cultural preservation, “the Omaheke

San are, ironically, encouraged to conform to the very picture of pristine Bushmen that continues to justify their exploitation as an underclass (Sylvain, p. 362).” Tourism

imposes similar pressures upon the Maasai, and these pressures have led to similar

results.

In some cases, this type of cultural pressure is borne out through the necessities of

the political scene. Sylvain writes of the San that attempts to gain proper benefits or land

rights through activism are “most positively received in public forums” when the activists

present themselves as stereotypical ‘Bushmen’ linked “organically” to the land. In fact,

Sylvain describes the San people having their greatest legal and political success when

their arguments are based upon this “noble savage” misperception (Sylvain, p. 357).

While the San have made political headway only recently, Sylvain believes this kind of

48 internal promotion of stereotypes may call into question (if not with overwhelming

strength) the source of these stereotypes in the first place: “Stereotypes of ‘feral’

foragers,” she writes, “did not, however, result from a straightforward imposition of

colonial ideologies onto passively subaltern San. Rather, these stereotypes emerged out

of struggles over land, labor, and political position as white settlers attempted to secure a

livelihood in the Omaheke (Sylvain, p. 358).” The writer concludes that most stereotypes

have been imposed by whites—whether directly or indirectly. However, seeing these stereotypes as fluid, complex, and motivated not just by belief by but objective is key to an understanding of their nature today.

Intrinsic benefits of ‘traditional’ culture are often drawn upon to justify cultural preservation movements. However, third world peoples such as the San and Maasai are able and willing to take a more pragmatic approach towards which elements of culture are preserved and which are put on display. “What is important here is that the San are not asserting ethnic or national identities in an effort to get their bearings so much as they

are mobilizing an idea of culture made available by globalization to secure resources and

social, economic, and cultural rights (Sylvain, p. 357).” McKercher and du Cros write

that “Tourism’s commodification needs may mean that little of the ‘culture’ tourists

consume is indeed representative of authentic intangible knowledge (McKercher & Du

Cros, p. 78).” Many peoples are conscious of Western expectations and demand and are

willing to revise or create ‘traditionality’ where necessary. In Bali, for example, ritual

performances seem to have increased in frequency in response to increased spending

from tourists (Crick, 1989).

49 I do not seek to pass judgment on cultural shifts that can be attributed to tourism

or other outside influence because, as Malcolm Crick notes: “In a general sense all

culture is ‘staged authenticity’. That being so, if change is a permanent state, why should

the staging bound up in tourism be regarded as so destructive, and why should the

changes be seen in a negative light (Crick, p. 336)?” Culture and tradition are in a

constant state of flux, and it is the role of the insider, not the outsider, to decide what

should be maintained and what should be abandoned. These decisions, as they are made

by a community, often come pragmatically, without the nostalgia of the outsider who is

entranced by any culture that appears static. The presentation of the ‘traditional’ is often

altered to be as appealing as possible to outsiders. ‘Tradition’, therefore, becomes

something that can be changed to make it more useful.

II. Who causes cultural change?—

It is important to note that while we are discussing the impact of tourism on cultural behavior, this does not necessarily imply some one-way imposition of power in which visitors are simply forcing their hosts to change their culture. Instead, both host and guest are engaged in an exchange of materials—money and culture—that incentivizes each party to behave in a particular way.

Anthropologist Amanda Stronza writes that “anthropologists have argued that host-guest interactions tend to be asymmetrical in terms of power, and that guests will have the upper hand in determining how any given interaction will unfold (Stronza, p.

272).” This is true, primarily if not exclusively because of the financial relationship

50 between guest and host—the host is doing what it takes to please the guest and receive

money in return. “One has economic assets and little cultural knowledge,” writes Crick,

“the other has cultural capital but little money (Crick, p.331).” What the host is offering

the guest (a picture of his culture) is more personal and important than what he is

receiving (money). If the host alters his presentation to cater to the guest’s desires, the

implications of his decision may be far-reaching. The guest, on the other hand, is offering only monetary compensation, which requires no personal alteration to be valuable. Likewise, the host is competing for the attention of the guest, who has the option to spend his money elsewhere if is not seeing what he desires. Therefore, the dynamic of the exchange is, as Stronza says, asymmetrical.

In the case of the Maasai—in particular regarding cultural tourism, where so many entities are competing for a small number of tourists—this asymmetry can be particularly apparent. Lack of access to tourists is one of the greatest concerns among

Maasai looking to take part in the industry (Daniel, p. 28), and this competition for attention creates very strong pressures to give visitors exactly what they want to see.

However, Stronza also notes: “missing in these analyses is the possibility that locals can, and often do, play a role in determining what happens in their encounters with

tourists (Stronza, p. 272).” The image that the hosts present is something they have

consciously calibrated to achieve their desired results. While Nairobi’s Mayers Ranch,

for example, presents for their Western guests a colonial-era image of Maasai servitude

(Bruner, 2005), the reality is more complex: these Maasai have made a conscious

decision to exploit their image and skill as performers to gain desirable employment.

51 While various outside factors do work to force changes in Maasai livelihood

strategies, it is important also to recognize that there is a constant give-and-take between

host and guest in which pressures from each side are created and then reacted to. The

dynamic is more complex than cultural change simply being imposed by guests upon

their hosts, and Maasai do have some hand in shaping the cultural tourism industry that

grows up around them: “local hosts can influence the success or failure of tourism,

regardless of the external inputs and intentions of outsider consultants (Stronza, p. 276).”

II. Remaining ‘Traditional ‘for Profit?—

Like the San, the Maasai have and do benefit politically from the promotion of

cultural stereotypes. The importance of this ethnic minority to Kenya as a nation is far

greater than the sum of their population—less than 5% of the country (CIA World

Factbook)—but only so long as they remain stereotypically traditional. Billboards

surrounding Nairobi’s Jomo Kenyatta International Airport carry pictures of lions,

giraffes, and red-garbed Maasai—they have become an essential part of the image Kenya

wishes to present to visitors. If the Maasai were culturally less distinguishably ‘unique’

and renowned in a visible sense, one could speculate that access to unique political

treatment—such as the group ranch system—would likewise be harder to obtain. After

all, the creation of the group ranches was intended to facilitate the maintenance of a pastoralist lifestyle seen as special to the Maasai. As that lifestyle has become less culturally unique, with many pastoralists becoming sedentary farmers, so the political system meant to protect them has begun to disappear—gradual subdivision has meant

52 few group ranches remain today (Mwangi. 2007). The fate of the Maasai’s unique political cache is tied to their ‘traditionality’.

With this said, the devolution of the group ranches is evidence that for many

Maasai, neither the maintenance of a ‘traditional’ lifestyle nor the access to government it creates are desirable. Many are happily transitioning to agriculture, content to leave the group ranches behind with the knowledge that the same corruption exists within the smaller system as in the government at large (Mwangi, 2007). The political gains of cultural adherence may not be worthwhile, and the Kenyan government has in fact made efforts in recent years to mainstream traditional Maasai lifestyle by converting pastoralists to businessmen and agriculturalists (Bruner, 2005). The individual economic gains available through participation in tourism create different and possibly stronger incentives for the Maasai to emphasize or exaggerate their ‘Bushmen’-style appeal.

The factors that might encourage an ethnic group to embrace some form of

‘primitive traditionality’ to achieve political goals function at even greater strength when the goal becomes receiving attention and money from tourists. Simply put, ‘primitive traditionality’ is what many tourists are looking for when they visit the Third World.

Cohen writes of tourists’ “desire to reconnect with ‘the pristine, the primitive, the natural, that which is as yet untouched by modernity’ (Cohen, p. 374)”. Of course, the Maasai are far from ‘untouched’. Still, there is a belief among many that the more pristine and primitive, the greater the attraction to Western visitors. Edward Bruner writes of Maasai being presented to appeal on the same terms as wildlife: “The thrill of being so close to wildness is located here in animals and in people more than in landscape: the ‘legendary’

Maasai ‘enact warlike scenes’, perform ‘awesome’ dances, and ‘leap high into the air

53 from a standing position’ (Bruner, 1994).” These terms could be applied as easily to

gazelles as to humans, and any visible assimilation or education among the performers

detracts from this desired vision. The authors of ‘Cultural Tourism’ write: “Tourists want

authenticity but not necessarily reality (Mckercher & du Cros, p. 40).” In this manner,

tourism incentivizes ‘traditional’ behavior—cultural accuracy notwithstanding.

‘Traditional’ is placed within quotations because its meaning is difficult to

establish. The ‘traditions’ displayed for the benefit of tourists do not necessarily correspond with behaviors Maasai would have exhibited fifty or a hundred years ago.

Rather, the term ‘traditional’ has in some ways begun to carry a loaded connotation as a replacement to the now defunct term ‘native’. I use ‘traditional’ to refer to cultural behaviors that are unique to the Maasai, whether or not they are exaggerated or exhibited exclusively for the benefit of tourists.

If tourism does incentivize ‘traditional’ behaviors for visitors’ benefit, it is important to consider some examples of the forms these behaviors take. In an earlier study, I found that ethnicity and the type of tourism-related activities people practiced were connected (Daniel, 2010). While Kikuyu, stereotypically the ‘businesspeople’ of

Kenya (Warinwa, 2010), were far more likely to be employed by hotels or camps, most

Maasai either sold trinkets or attempted to draw tourists through ‘cultural activities’, including performances and village tours. Both trinket-making (the selling of beaded jewelry, for example) and performing are clearly dependent on the culturally traditional reputation of the Maasai.

The ‘cultural boma’ is one form of business that has sprung up in recent years. A boma is a living area within which a branch and thorn-constructed fence surrounds a

54 series of dung huts. The iconic thatched roofs and bare dirt floor suggest for many

Westerners the popular conception of a ‘traditional’ African village. While most Maasai families do today live in bomas little different from those constructed for tourists, most cultural bomas are constructed away from a family’s genuine living area, near a road or a tourist hotbed like a park gate (Daniel, 2010). These bomas are intended as full-time employment for the men and women who work within, ready to exhibit themselves as cultural artifacts for any tourists who come by.

I visited a number of cultural-boma like entities myself. These included a Maasai female run boma constructed in part by the African Wildlife Foundation, a Maasai male run boma near the gates of Amboseli, and a carefully staged Iraqw village in Northern

Tanzania. While these bomas are intended to present some view of traditional day-to-day life to visitors, the most shocking aspect of their presentation may be how utterly different the lifestyles of the performers are from those of other Maasai. A guest at the

Maasai Women’s Boma near Karatu, Tanzania, is deluged with the song of eight women upon disembarking from their vehicle, even before making their way down to the boma itself. The implication is that these women have been singing before the tourists’ arrival; the visitors are watching Maasai live their lives—this is what they do. Of course, visits are practically never spontaneous—tour drivers will have contacted the boma operators before their arrival (Daniel, 2010)—but the women within work to present some element of casual spontaneity. The disconnect between tourist perception and reality is here made manifest and is remarkable; visitor expectation is that Maasai women spend much of their time singing in tandem. In fact, Maasai women lead lives far busier than that of a

Western housewife. Their responsibilities include cooking, caring for children,

55 procurement of water, and almost all maintenance of living facilities (Daniel, 2010). The freedom (or responsibility) to sing during an average day is exclusively a construction of the cultural tourism industry. A widespread ethnic stereotype is drawn upon: the happy, carefree native people. The misperception of Black people as ever-singing, ever-dancing entertainers is also called to mind.

Boma tours progress from singing performances to exploration of houses, traditional lifestyles and pottery. A tourist may wish to interrogate a woman about the hardships of her life, and with a translator will be welcome to do so. African children, endlessly popular among white tourists, are presented where possible.

For the local proprietors and performers of these boma businesses, the difficulty comes in extracting money from these tourists. There are few easy points for solicitation.

In fact, competing bomas may have been forced to pay a fee to the tour driver for bringing a group to them, placing them in the red before their guests’ arrival (Charnley,

2005). To charge an entrance fee might pollute the casual, natural image that is being presented. When fees are charged, they are often pocketed by corrupt tour drivers

(Charnley, 2005). Tourists, aware of the extra attention but still convinced they are strolling through a functioning village, may be indignant to be asked for money simply for staring and taking pictures. Essential to their enjoyment of the myth is their ignorance of the fact that the entire scene—from the construction of the huts to the simple presence of the villagers—has been created for their benefit.

Because of these factors, most bomas make their money at the end of the ‘tour’, when guests are presented with a spread of beadwork and woodcarvings for purchase.

Tourists may or may not haggle over prices, and may or may not leave with a few

56 souvenirs to take home. Some may be aware of the nature of the business and feel obligated to spend money, and others may not. Few of these bomas will sell genuinely expensive items such as the massive ebony or rosewood animal carvings many bring home from Africa. These can be found at curio shops run by businessmen with capital, who are able to stock large inventories and purchase appropriate facilities. Despite the difficulties involved in sustaining a community of people from these bomas—which may average a visitor a week during the offseason—they are common throughout Maasailand and each is in fierce competition with its peers for the business that is available.

The difficulties inherent in all low-level tourism involvement are encapsulated in the boma system. Workers abandon farming or grazing activities to run businesses that have difficulty extracting money, are incredibly vulnerable to seasonal shifts in demand, and are entirely dependent on outsiders to connect them with potential customers. And yet the Maasai who have established cultural bomas are not wrong in gauging demand— the village walkthrough is becoming popular among Western tourists. This said, there is not necessarily any connection between that demand and any real benefit for host communities. While Maasai are aware that tourists wish to see them living

‘traditionally’, many have yet to accept that the downside of catering to these demands may mean that the boma system is not worth the implicit demeaning relationship.

Besides, this form of Western demand for cultural tours is completely independent of the affluence or vitality of the communities being visited. Much of the draw of the developing world is bound up in economic inequality. Crick: “Tourists do not go to Third World countries because the people are friendly, they go because a holiday there is cheap; and that cheapness is, in part, a matter of the poverty of the

57 people, which derives in some theoretical formulations directly from the affluence of those in the formerly metropolitan centers of the colonial system (Crick, p. 319).” In some grimmer cases—the ‘slum tours’ in Nairobi’s Kibera are one example—it is the actual appeal of the cultural entity itself that has a strong inverse relationship with prosperity. Scarcity is shamelessly and successfully advertised. Any form of demand that increases the greater the poverty and struggle on display seems frighteningly dangerous for a community to cater to. This kind of cultural tourism—though exponentially less extreme than those Kibera tours—creates a misperception of positive involvement in the tourism industry while the Maasai proprietors are still woefully disconnected from lucrative and dependable employment.

Bruner’s Mayers Ranch offers another striking example of the limitations created by cultural tourism. This colonial-retro establishment offers an on-site group of Maasai morans (young men and traditional warriors) as performers: “Living together in a

Manyatta, the morans at Mayers perform an idealized colonial construction of themselves

(Bruner, p. 437).” These young men are recruited to embody some view of ‘traditional’ culture, and are likewise cared for as long as they are needed for employment. But what are they left with? The owners of the ranch hold great interest in keeping the morans as picturesque as possible, secluding them and discouraging visible assimilation. While they are able to perform admirably—and their employment in tourism, however low- level, is desirable to many—men spending the formative years of their life in this manner will find themselves without the skills or experience that can lead to more advanced participation in tourism or even alternatives such as agriculture. Performers will not be positioned to succeed in later obtaining hotel employment—instead, these jobs are

58 offered to non-Maasai from tourism heavy coastal regions, or to the smaller percentage of

Maasai who have been able to obtain an education and a functional understanding of

English (Daniel, 2010). Crick writes that most of the jobs usually available to locals in third world countries “are unskilled; tourism can thus breed what one critic calls ‘flunkey training’ (Crick p. 316).” These performers are as low or lower on the totem pole as porters, maids, and other local workers—they will also receive less exposure to the business and day-to-day management of the hotel. Likewise, they will likely be the first to lose their jobs during the next inevitable ebb of international tourism demand.

What Bruner describes is a very formal type of cultural performance for the benefit of visitors. Today, as with boma walkthroughs or ‘slum tours’, tourism has become more intrusive. In these cases, guests seek to actively enter communities

(Charnley, 2005). The pressures discussed above may become more pervasive in these cases than it is when performers can simply remove their traditional dress and head home at the end of a day of employment. One wonders whether the depth of influence is broadened by these changes, wherein people are very literally hosting tourists inside their homes. The presence of tourism does passively create negative cultural impacts.

Charnley writes of “increased prostitution” among the Maasai of the Ngorongoro

Conservation Area, as well as “idling along the main roads of the NCA, dressed in traditional attire, waiting for tourists to stop and take pictures in exchange for money for other goods or outright begging (Charnley, p. 80).” In attempting to maximize economic benefit from their comparative advantage in cultural appeal, these Maasai are instead catering to a system that provides them with little real benefit.

59

III. Education & Employment—

The examples above describe systems of ‘traditionality’-based tourism that are

fragile and unrewarding for their participants. But how does catering to a ‘traditional

image’ prevent participation in tourism in other ways? Formal education, given little

importance in the traditional Maasai lifestyle, is one important barrier. Among lodge

managers interviewed, there was a common refrain when they were asked to justify such

low-level local participation in their enterprises: lack of experience and education among

Maasai was making other Kenyans a superior option for employment (Personal

Correspondence). The Ol Tukai lodge in Serengeti National Park is no new-fangled eco-

lodge; it is one of the region’s older enterprises, and fits to the old-style of sprawling

estate, with multiple restaurants and bars, various incorporated activities for guests,

shops, a swimming pool, conference rooms, and even a chapel (oltukailodge.com, 2010).

The manager claims to employ only six local residents among these buildings. When

asked to describe the necessary criteria for management-level jobs, this man cited a

university degree and past hotel work experience (Daniel, 2010). Education is a

prerequisite for these jobs, which require at the very minimum a functional understanding

of English in order to interact with foreign management and the majority of guests.

In some cases, even government systems created to prioritize hiring of Maasai are

subverted by this lack of education. Of Tanzania’s Ngorongoro Conservation Area,

Charnley writes: “Policy gives Maasai residents first priority in hiring if they have the

needed skills. However, the NCA feels that most Maasai lack such skills as many do not

study beyond primary school (Charnley, p. 80).” Higher-level positions would naturally

60 require even more complex abilities, including an understanding of business management that would be difficult to learn informally. Valerie L. Smith writes that in a general sense “Tourism is especially favored where significant segments of the population have minimal education or technical skills, inasmuch as other industries may require extensive training (Smith, 1989).” It is as complex as any service-based industry, and it is fair for employers to expect relevant technical knowledge.

Among a Maasai population within which only 7% have graduated from college and 41% have no education whatsoever, these credentials are few and far between

(Daniel, 2010). Ernestia Coast has described the problem as stemming from “the traditional antipathy of the Maasai to sending their children to school (Coast, p. 20).”

This ‘antipathy’ could simply be related to the rigors of rural life. Rural livelihood strategies—whether pastoralist or agriculturist—put greater pressure on children to begin working for their families at an earlier age. Coast also notes, however, that of Kenyan children aged 7-12 years, only 32% of Maasai were attending school compared to a national average of 65% in rural areas (Coast, 2002). This suggests that there are cultural realities among the Maasai that discourage education which are not strictly related to the need to keep children at home to work.

Our questionnaire confirms that the same trends do exist in the Amboseli region as compared to Kenya as a whole. The region surveyed contains only a few small towns, and at least 91% of the interviewees live rural lifestyles, claiming either agriculture or pastoralism as their primary livelihood strategy (Daniel, 2010). Therefore it should be fair to assume that any variation in education levels among ethnic groups is not dependent on whether respondents lived in rural or urban environments.

61 Compared to Kikuyu, Kamba, and others, therefore, the dearth of education

among Maasai was staggering. It bears repeating that 53% of Maasai had no education at

all compared to 4% of Kikuyu (Daniel, 2010). “That Maasai are marginalized in terms of

access to education… is underlined in the data presented here (Coast, p. 22).” If the lack

of education among Maasai cannot be explained simply by factors such as rural necessity

compared to other ethnic groups in the region, the implication is that there are cultural

factors unique to the Maasai that explain what Coast refers to as this “traditional

antipathy”.

We know that education levels are exceptionally low among the Maasai of the

region and that lack of education is partially to blame for a lack of participation in

tourism. The fact that education levels are tied to ethnicity seems to suggest that there

are cultural reasons for this lack of education. Maasai have been famously resistant to

educational pressures, viewing them as an infringement upon tradition. Edward Bruner writes: “In recent years, the state has insisted that Maasai attend school. Many Maasai parents protest that the integrity of their way of life is being threatened (Bruner, p. 437).”

Tangentially, it should be noted that the type of education being discussed here is not necessarily that form of environmental or ethical ‘education’ so often offered by conservationists as a panacea for various problems, wherein third world citizens are

‘educated’ by exposure to a set of pre-determined values. One example might be the

Peace Corps’ Environmental Education program in Armenia, aimed to “Increase community participation in projects that raise environmental awareness and protect the local environment, (and) increase youth participation in environmental stewardship in the communities (Peacecorps.Gov, 2011).” While this kind of education in sustainability—

62 implemented by NGOs across the developing world—has an important place in progress towards conservation, it is yet unproven both in effectiveness and in short or long-term community benefit.

In 2010, a group of researchers from London’s Imperial College conducted one study based on the synthesis of 68 different worldwide case studies of conservation projects. This study sought to connect different forms of cultural and community involvement with the outcomes they produced—whether those outcomes were improvements in attitude, in behavior, or in economic or ecological factors. One of the researchers’ hypotheses was that “interventions that provide conservation education are more likely to succeed.” Conservation education was found to lead to successful attitudinal outcomes—meaning an improved outlook from communities towards nature—but had no significant behavioral, ecological, or economic outcomes (Waylen et. al. 2010). While this study represents a relatively small sample size and is by no means definitive, it does suggest that the practical impact of ‘conservation-style’ education may be overvalued. Perhaps this should come as no surprise; even in their home countries, many NGOs have been unsuccessful in persuading people to embrace sustainability and conservation through education alone.

What is being considered here is basic, essential education, beginning in language and mathematics at the primary level and ideally concluding in technical training at one of Kenya’s national universities. Every environmental group that seeks—rightfully—to educate rural peoples like the Maasai in environmental realities should also remember that it is often the absence of basic education that prevents these people from surviving through activities—such as participation in tourism—that are more conservation-friendly

63 than pastoralism or agriculture. This kind of education does not seek in and of itself to

create a more sustainable environment, but rather to provide rural peoples with

alternative options that make sustainable living possible. Basic skills can offer a wealth

of opportunities in tourism. For example, Maasai tour drivers are among the most

popular because of their extensive knowledge of the land and animals in and around

safari parks. However, they are rare because of the dearth of English and driving skills

within Maasai communities (Charnley, 2005). Further education will allow vastly greater

participation in tourism, whether or not an adherence to formal education is culturally

‘traditional’.

IV. ‘Traditionality’, Stereotype, & Employment—

The Maasai are educationally disadvantaged compared to Kenya’s other ethnic

groups. Even in cases where individual Maasai have received formal education, the perception can be as harmful as the reality for a man or woman seeking tourism

employment. Likewise, this perception may prevent Maasai from taking jobs in tourism

that do not necessarily require formal education. Even a representative from the African

Wildlife Foundation, reported frankly that the Maasai needed help because they were

simply “not good at business”, a fact attributable in some manner to their culture

(Warinwa, 2010). Is this kind of belief truly relevant to their lack of education or is it

simply an example of a stereotype being used as justification to provide one ethnic group

with inferior wages and fewer job opportunities? Sylvain describes the lower pay and

economic mistreatment the San receive from agricultural employers, often erroneously

64 explained away as a result of ethnic, inborn realities in San behavior. San are paid less because outsiders claim they might leave on a whim, or execute their tasks less dependably than non-San (Sylvain, 2005).

The situation of the Maasai is not identical, but negative cultural stereotypes likely lead to much of the same mistreatment or hesitation as they influence hiring patterns. Maasai, some believe, are fine for performances—but if you need a manager or even a bartender, you are best off hiring a Kikuyu (Daniel, 2010). They are equally underrepresented even in lower-level hotel jobs that do not require any particular level of education (Daniel, et. al., Appendix 7). In the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, Maasai are most commonly employed as guards, where it is believed their experience with defending livestock against animals will be beneficial. For other positions, however, they are seen as unreliable because of their nomadic lifestyle (Charnley, 2005). While ethnic prejudice is no fault of the Maasai themselves, a man who emphasizes his adherence to

‘traditional’ Maasai culture will likely be seen skeptically by hotel employers, especially in a former colony where Westernization is so often seen as a sign of professionalism.

One Maasai university graduate spoke in a frustrated tone of the questions he heard from other Kenyans while dressed in his everyday uniform of khakis and a dress shirt—

Shouldn’t he be wearing a red blanket? In a field with his cattle? Employers often use the reputation of the traditional Maasai in this manner as a rationale for discrimination.

Though this reality is inarguably unfair, a Maasai who takes pains to broadcast his

‘traditionality’ may find himself fighting against negative stereotypes when he searches for more lucrative and responsibility-laden job opportunities.

65

V. The Limits of Cultural Tourism—

Researcher Susan Charnley (2005) acknowledges the tension that exists between modernization and maintenance of cultural identity, which tourism brings to a head. Her recommendation is that Maasai circumvent this tension by finding “culturally appropriate” ways to become involved in tourism, such as with cultural bomas or walking safaris. These activities draw on existing Maasai knowledge and behavior, and allow for flexible scheduling with regards to pastoralism (Charnley, p. 82).

Unfortunately, evidence suggests that many forms of culturally-centered activities are ineffective in two key ways: they are not lucrative or dependable enough to be as effective as other tourism employment, and they often exaggerate or perpetuate stereotypes that make this outside employment more difficult to achieve. Maasai knowledge can be relevant and act as an advantage for tourism-workers—the high demand for Maasai tour drivers (Charnley 2005) is a perfect example. Likewise, learning the skills necessary for tourism employment does not necessarily mean that over- westernization or cultural erosion must take place. However, for the Maasai communities surrounding Amboseli to become active roleplayers in the tourism industry, they will need to avoid playing strictly to ‘cultural tourism’. These positions are less reliable and allow little control over the industry’s movements. Instead, outsiders are allowed great leeway in making decisions regarding what is essentially Maasai land. It is often suggested, both explicitly and subliminally, that Maasai should cater to tourists by retreating into some form of ‘native, primitive’ shell. I disagree. The Maasai should not

66 be limited by the value placed on their culture by outsiders—all positions, including managerial ones, should be achievable.

67

Chapter 5

In Conclusion: The Future of Amboseli’s Maasai

I. Introduction—

The problems I have outlined above—both the forces pushing Maasai towards

tourism as the best available option and those preventing successful participation—are

the cause of realities that are both internal and external to the Maasai themselves.

Recommendations for mitigating them, however, cannot be centered on the actions of

outside forces, whether they are governments, NGOs, conservationists, or tourism

industry officials. History has shown that while each of these groups has an important

part to play in the eco-tourism/local development conundrum, each likewise has its own

very particular stakes and interests that it will work to achieve. These interests do not

necessarily coincide with those of the local people—in fact, they are often strictly

oppositional. Conservationists such as David Western or Richard Leakey, for example,

might pay lip-service to the importance of local benefit but will always prioritize the

preservation of natural habitats and species (Honey, 2008). The Maasai, therefore,

should look wherever possible to internal sources to improve their situation.

II. Adaptation & Group Ranch Facilitation

The problem with this advice, as outlined in Chapter 3, is that local capacities for political mobilization are weak, and even locally elected officials can rarely be depended upon to genuinely address local needs. The result of this corruption and mistrust is that

68 the Group Ranches, institutions meant to empower the Maasai as a community, are

splintering.

I am not able to offer a blanket solution to address the political corruption that

exists among Maasai institutions, since it is essentially only a symptom of the massive

corruption that exists in Kenya (and much of the rest of Africa) at large. However, the

Group Ranch’s best hope for survival in the face of subdivision is to prove their worth by

beginning to use wildlife revenues—now spent largely on political campaigning—to

provide tangible benefits to communities.

The most important way in which this money can be spent is in capacity building.

While prejudice has allowed tourism employers to justify the hiring of non-Maasai, so

have realities; Maasai are on the whole less educated than their Kenyan counterparts, less

likely to speak English or even Swahili, and less likely to have business management

experience. While stereotypes may have denied Maasai full access to some low-level

hotel jobs as porters or maids, local people must aspire to higher positions than these if

they intend to have some hand in controlling the future of the region.

Improving tourism capacity among the Maasai will require education in practical,

relevant, in-demand fields and skills. The Group Ranches have the ability (through

access to funding and administrative mandates) to facilitate access to this kind of

education. One of the more hopeful signs for Maasai futures in tourism is in the creation

of tourism training schools, such as the one near Maasai-Mara and the one currently

being constructed in the Amboseli region (Daniel, 2010). Directly preparing young

Maasai men and women for jobs as required by the tourist industry will help to eliminate

any employer excuses about lack of training among the Maasai at large. Agreements

69 between lodges, parks, and group ranches that require certain levels of local employment in tourism exist today (Warinwa, P.C., 2010). Vocational training will ensure that these agreements can no longer be circumvented by claims that ‘there are no qualified Maasai available for the position’.

Lack of education among the Maasai, of course, is not simply a problem of access—it is also related to a cultural aversion to formal schooling in lieu of more

‘practical’ activities. As populations continue to increase, as subdivision grows more widespread, and as pastoralism therefore continues to disappear as a valid livelihood strategy, Maasai will inevitably begin to look to alternatives that may include greater commitment to education. However, this process might be internally hastened by increasing connectivity between the tourism industry and local Maasai who may not understand what it takes to truly benefit from tourism. Internally, this should be facilitated by bringing Maasai villagers who have managed to become successfully employed in tourism to talk and answer questions for the community at large—to offer general advice to young people struggling to adapt to a new world. Forums such as these could be easily facilitated by Group Ranch leadership, which has too often allowed a growing disconnect to build between Maasai who are ‘successful’ and those who are struggling.

In these ways and others, Group Ranches are equipped to facilitate adaptation of their communities into the changing economy of the rangelands. The greatest barrier to implementation of these types of changes is corruption and disinterest from leadership. If those factors do not change, subdivision is inevitable—a new individualized system will allow each family to seek its own way in the modern Amboseli with neither aid nor

70 barriers from community institutions. Some will succeed in adapting and some may

not—however, increased subdivision will almost inevitably mean large-scale conversion

to agriculture, leaving the rangelands less desirable for conservationists and representing

a complete abandonment of the long-standing Maasai way of life.

II. The Future of Cultural Tourism

The validity of cultural tourism as an institution is open to debate. The case can

and has been made that it offers a way for a community to benefit simply from living its

life as it always has. My experience with the Maasai pushes me to disagree. Ideas of

cultural ‘preservation’, of maintaining and exhibiting ‘tradition’, are often imported

wholesale. They create strange and artificial pressures upon the host communities that

often do not have any connection to local realities or local benefit. In the case of the

Maasai, the encouragement and perpetuation of ‘traditional’ cultural stereotypes have

directly led to difficulties for people seeking employment in genuinely lucrative areas of business and tourism.

It is my personal belief that cultural tourism as presented by the boma system holds no real net advantages for local people. It is dangerously low paying and financially inconsistent. It creates complete dependence on outsiders who are therefore

likely and able to cheat performers, and the market for visitors may already be

oversaturated. Group Ranches could try to facilitate better arrangements with tour

drivers, but the level of competition between so many different cultural bomas means that

these drivers and tour operators would simply be able to find a better deal elsewhere.

Maasai are far better off converting to agriculture or seeking hotel employment through

71 education. Cultural tourism as currently construed is simply not a sustainable livelihood

strategy.

If Maasai do wish to use their inherent cultural advantages to benefit from

tourism, they might be better served using their regional knowledge to offer tour guides

as trackers of animals and hike leaders. Maasai Group Ranches still today contain

animal-filled rangeland areas that can be legally explored on foot—not true within the

borders of the National Park. This is one comparative advantage that could be exploited

without the degradation implicit in ‘cultural performances’.

III. An Uncertain Future

The winds of change described here are not just beginning to alter the landscape

of Amboseli. In most cases, they already have transformed the face of the rangelands. It

is the Maasai, in many cases, who have not yet adapted to the world that has imposed itself upon them. These changes, brought first by colonialism and now by globalization, are likely only to increase in upcoming years, and the Maasai themselves have no real hope of slowing the pace of that change. With that said, tourism does offer an opportunity for the Maasai to benefit from the outside world’s intrusion, while preserving their rangelands (and pleasing conservationists) and perhaps keeping their culture fundamentally intact. For that benefit to take place, the Maasai will need to mobilize themselves to circumvent the challenges posed by abusive outsiders and unequal insider politics.

72

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Interviews:

Kilitya, J. Mbirikani Group Ranch Chairman. Interviewed 4/18/10

Kisui, Professor at School for Field Studies. Lecture 4/10

Kodoosi, B.S. Representative of KCB Loitoktok. Filled out questionnaire 4/23/10

Lekanayia, J. Coordinator of Tsavo Amboseli Group Ranch Association & Secretary of

Tsavo-Amboseli Ecosystem Tourism Forum. Interviewed 4/22/10

Osuri, G. Senior Warden of Amboseli National Park. Interviewed 4/16/10

Tome, S. Professor at School for Field Studies. Lecture 4/10

Warinwa, Fiesta. Representative of AWF. Interviewed 4/16/10

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