Everyone's heard of Kenya, of Tanzania and of the Maasai, but few people know about the
harsh and lonely Nyika region in northern Kenya. The Samburu people live in this dry, forbidding area.
The local fauna have adapted to merciless dry heat.
It's hard for me... but not for the natives. The Samburu and their
cousins the Maasai are in their element. Although the two groups split apart a couple of hundred
years ago, their dress and customs are similar. Likewise their diet.
They drink the milk and blood of their animals. With a headless arrow they make an incision
in the animal's vein and collect its blood in a bowl.
Later they'll mix it with milk. It's an original kind of milkshake, strawberry in colour and very nutritious.
They also eat meat and roots. They don't hunt, though, unless it's time
to initiate their boys, called ilayeni in their language.
All around there are birds with colourful plumage.
These youngsters hope to become il-murran, or warriors. The more birds they kill, the
greater their prestige. No-one can say they're not a good shot. They
display the birds they kill around their heads. What different worlds. To the Samburu it's an honour to have their heads full of birds.
Painting themselves red is a privilege reserved for warriors.
Everything in its time. First they're simply young men; then warriors and finally married men,
the highest status of all.
But what's really striking about them is their jumping.
It's as though gravity didn't exist. They love to impress, and they make it look easy.
The goal is to see who can jump the highest.
When they dance, the men stand on one side and the women on the other. As always, the object is to impress the opposite sex.
They certainly impress me.