A war of bows and arrows in the heart of Kenya's crisis
KAPUNO VALLEY, Kenya (AFP) — At daybreak, the lanky silhouettes of Maasai archers skim down the green pastures to meet their opponents, charging down the opposing hill in Kenya's scenic Trans Mara region.
Far from the political wrangling taking place in Nairobi's corridors of power, a medieval-like ritualised warfare of bows and arrows has been raging several times a week between Maasai and rival Kalenjin tribesmen.
"Here, we believe in fighting on a battlefield. We don't go at night to attack. It's no good," says Chris Kosgei, a young Kalenjin usually employed in the world-renouned Maasai Mara natural reserve.
Unlike the lawless rioting and looting that marked the immediate aftermath of Kenya's disputed December 27 elections, the fighting taking place in the Trans Mara region is very codified and follows age-old traditions.
Old grievances and rivalries resurfaced on December 28 when Maasai voters irked by the Kalenjin candidate's lead in early counting ransacked the polling station in the constituency's main town of Kilgoris.
Both sides have since been methodically killing each other, in almost daily arching contests run like clockwork and barely interrupted by the police.
Leaders from both communities showed AFP several places used as battlefields, most of them pastures.
A buffer zone is designated and, generally just after dawn or before dusk, the archers pour down the hills from their communities to fire salvos at each other, sometimes for several hours, without ever engaging in close combat.
"Nobody can remain at home doing nothing. You have to go. One day, instead of going to church, everybody went fighting," Kosgei says.
In this feud, there is no mention of President Mwai Kibaki and the opposition leader who challenged his re-election, Raila Odinga.
But as has been the case in many parts of Kenya, the political row has exacerbated long-running rivalries on issues less directly related to the elections, such as land and ethnicity.
Kosgei admits that he would pull out of the battle if he spotted one of his Maasai friends among enemy archers, or at least would move down the field to make sure he does not harm him.
Respectful though they might be of certain shared traditions, the battles are no less deadly and brutal. According to community leaders and security sources, at least 20 people have died in such fights since January.
"One day, they (Kalenjin fighters) brought a wounded Maasai back to the village. They finished him off here," Kosgei recounts.
The fighting is mainly between men but the whole community is involved: among the Maasai, the women are tasked with scanning the horizon to spot an enemy offensive and sound the alarm with strident ululating.
-- After battles, 'we keep talking to each other' --
Maasai warriors can exchange vital information through a variety of distinctive glottal and guttural sounds.
Joseph Kopasar, a veteran warrior, demonstrates a number of extraordinary vibrations with his throat: "Cattle has been stolen", "They've killed someone," or "We're coming."
The rival groups fight to kill when they meet on the battlefield but have lived together on the same land in harmony until recently and admit all channels have not completely been broken since the battles started.
"We keep on talking to each other," Kosgei explains, adding that text messages are exchanged on mobile phones to warn of the next onslaught or to propose negotiations.
After a few days in the area, the visitor picks up on signs of tension in the otherwise idyllic landscape of lush rolling hills.
For example, cattle herded away from grazing valleys and natural watering spots means there is a security threat: the herders know of an imminent attack on their community or fear a rustling raid.
The Maasai -- a tribe which accounts for barely one percent of Kenya's population -- often consider they are only hosting the Kalenjins, one of the country's largest tribes, on their "ancestral land".
Now they argue that they want, at the very least, to retain political control over their territory.
"They (the Maasai) gave them that land. They gave them titles. But we can't accept that the Kalenjins should rule our constituency. This is our land. This is our area," says Kopasar.
The Kalenjins -- a patchwork of smaller ethnic groups -- settled the fertile region in successive waves and similar clashes broke out in 1969 and 1992.
On some days, a police deployment keeps the belligerents at bay but the fight resumes the next day, on a different battlefield. In the meantime, displaced people remain stranded and schools keep their doors shut.
As negotiators representing Kibaki and Odinga begin to hammer out points in the final and crucial chapter of their roadmap, the Trans Mara clashes are just one example of how intertwined politics, ethnicity and land issues are.
"It's important for us to get an MP because we want a link to the central government so that in case of sharing, they will have a representative," says the chief of the nearby village of Nagwenyi, whose son was killed by an arrow.
The storming of polling stations during the counting process in December resulted in the elections being annulled.
A new vote is to be held at a date yet to be decided, but if a Kalenjin wins, the village leader warns "there will be more fighting."
