Leer la Tierra

When I was a child, I was taught the importance of reading and writing in all their forms. Over time, I learned to read between the lines, to understand people. I learned to play on the earth, but not to read the earth. I thought I understood what it meant to be connected to nature—at least that’s what I believed.
In 2018, I embarked on a journey to southern Africa. It was there that I began to unlearn much of what I thought I knew about life, community, and belonging. My perspective had been shaped by my roots in the city—a fast-paced, rule-bound world that felt worlds apart from where I was headed.
The Maasai Cultural Camp, Maji Moto, located in the savanna near the Maasai Mara National Reserve, became my home for this journey. Salaton Ole Ntutu, a Maasai warrior and community leader, and Susan Deslaurier welcomed me with open arms. They treated me like family, patiently answering my endless questions and inviting me into their lives.
From the very first moment, I was captivated by the light, their vibrant clothing, the cadence of their voices, their songs, and their way of life. There was a profound happiness in their simplicity. Days began with the first rays of the sun and ended with its descent—no clocks, just rhythms. Every day, women climbed the hills to gather firewood for the chilly nights, carrying it on their backs. In the afternoons, they washed clothes at the river, their laughter and stories passed down through generations: grandmothers, mothers, daughters, and granddaughters, sharing a living history.
I witnessed the raw beauty of sunrises and sunsets, the searing equatorial sun, and the occasional storm of hail that felt apocalyptic. During walks, I listened to Meeri, a Maasai woman, conversing in Maa with a warrior. She explained how stories are shared in their culture—passed on through conversations, weaving a communal fabric of shared ideas, traditions, and emotions.
Having grown up in the city, my understanding of community had always been about individuals living side by side. The Maasai showed me something profoundly different: a world where no one works solely for themselves, where the concept of “individual” exists only as part of a greater whole. Peace comes from the natural order of things. There’s no need to search for more; the Earth provides enough. Fires are tended together, and abundance is shared.
They gave me a profound sense of belonging—of home. It wasn’t about a physical place but about being part of a community. I felt supported, nurtured, and seen in a way I hadn’t known before. They celebrated life with rituals that marked transitions, like the coming-of-age ceremonies that transform a young man into a respected elder. These were moments of reverence and wisdom, connecting generations through tradition.
It’s hard to articulate exactly what changed within me. This experience gave me something words often fail to capture: an understanding of the magic of being part of something greater. It was about living in tune with the rhythms of nature—the unhurried flow of rivers, the seasons of planting and harvest, the warmth of fire, and the quiet strength of the wind. And through it all, finding my own pace within that harmony.
This journey awakened in me a longing to return home—not to a specific place, but to a deeper understanding. It inspired in me the desire to learn what I had overlooked: to truly read the earth.