- Maasai traditional religion, practices and values, led by a laibon, or spiritual leader, have conserved the Loita Forest in Kenya for generations.
- However, the spread of Christianity and government plans to privatize land in the forest worry traditionalists and environmentalists who say the new converts won’t stick to the old community-based conservation ethos, as seen elsewhere in the country.
- Different religious worldviews come with different ways of relating to land, with the age-old customs guided by the laibon no longer carrying the same authority.
- The Loita Forest is an integral part of the greater Serengeti-Masai Mara ecosystem, covered in old-growth cloud forests and home to a collection of charismatic species.
LOITA FOREST, Kenya — Wrapped in fingers of moss, where the spindly upper branches of giant trees tickle the clouds, a highland tropical forest conceals secret groves. These are where the local Maasai practice rites of passage and old religious beliefs that preserve this place. But as life, religions and the way people see land change in this remote corner of Kenya, some Maasai leaders, elders and environmentalists wonder whether tradition alone will be strong enough to protect the Loita Forest.
The Loita Forest, also known as the Naimina Enkiyioo Forest, which means the Forest of the Lost Child, is named in memory of a young Maasai girl and the flock of sheep she was guarding. As the tale goes, she vanished without trace when she ventured deep into this forest.
There’s no denying that Naimina Enkiyioo is a special place to get lost in. Although it’s an integral and important part of the greater Serengeti–Maasai Mara ecosystem, the landscape here is utterly different from that of the nearby grasslands and classic images of an East African safari. Deeply undulating, the valley floors are dotted with small Maasai villages, around which small-scale subsistence farming takes place. But otherwise, the bulging hills here, which reach elevations of up to 2,800 meters (9,200 feet), are covered in old-growth cloud forests dominated by giant cedar and podocarpus trees adorned with strangler vines and fluffy Spanish moss.
There’s also a diverse and surprising collection of animals. The birds are probably the most visible, in particular Hartlaub’s turacos (Tauraco hartlaubi), several species of hornbills and effervescent sunbirds by the dozen. Of the mammals, the most attention-grabbing are the black-and-white colobus monkeys (Colobus guereza) that crash from tree to tree with their cloaks of black and white fur fanning out behind them.
More discreet are the bushbucks (Tragelaphus scriptus), forest pigs (Potamochoerus larvatus) and the huge numbers of grumpy buffalo (Syncerus caffer). These hide from the numerous leopards (Panthera pardus) and even lions (Panthera leo) who find a home in these forests. Herds of elephants also use the forest as a corridor to travel between the Maasai Mara and the Rift Valley.
But perhaps what makes Naimina Enkiyioo special in Kenya is that it survives with no official governmental protection. And local people often say the forest is all the better and healthier for it.
In a country where state conservation of landscapes is almost a reflex and where even fully protected forest ecosystems face constant threat from exploitation, the Loita Forest is unique. What’s been holding the forest together so far is the traditional Maasai religion, culture and community-based conservation. But life is changing in the Loita Forest, worrying traditional followers Mongabay spoke to. Christian missionaries have made great headway in converting the Maasai, and, more importantly, government plans to privatize land no longer seem so taboo for new converts.
This land privatization process is already underway, an act that may eventually rupture the type of community-based conservation the Maasai have been practicing. If in Christianity one can own and dominate land as a gift from God — but steward it well —, in traditional Maasai religion and culture a different logic prevails.
“The Maasai in Loita live in villages and all land is communal, which means if the community — and religious belief — doesn’t allow the forest to be cut, then nobody will do it,” says Pelua ole Siloa, a Maasai teacher, community development worker and a Christian in southern Loita.
The traditionalists follow a god called Enkai. Similar to many precolonial Indigenous religions, Enkai is very much influenced by the power of nature. It the belief in Enkai and the continuing strength of traditional Maasai culture in this area that have so far done much to keep Naimina Enkiyioo safe from the chainsaws impacting nearby forests.
In the heart of the forest, it’s forbidden to cut any trees as the forest is sacred and is where communities hold big ceremonies. Traditional healers and midwives also gather plants and herbs from the forest to make traditional medicine.
“There are certain trees, a type of fig tree, throughout the forest that can never be cut because they are used by women who want to have a baby, or to cleanse themselves,” says Lemaron ole Simel, a Maasai religious leader in training. “They hang some beads or a shuka [blanket that the Maasai wrap themselves in] in it and this will help them to conceive. If you cut the tree then you will be cursed.”
Mokompo ole Simel, the father of Lemaron ole Simel, is one of the last great Maasai laibon. Considered a direct descendent of Enkai, the laibon are people of great importance in the Maasai community, said to be gifted with the power to see the future. Neither a fortune teller nor a witch doctor, laibon are similar to seers, with some said to have the power to cure illnesses. They are the ones who advise the community as a whole on the best course of action to take in a given situation. This means a laibon’s decision carries great weight.
When it comes to the environment, Mokompo, who lives on the edge of the Naimina Enkiyioo forest, is very much aware of the need to continually protect this ecosystem. “I believe conservation of the wilderness is of the highest priority,” he tells Mongabay. “We must look after the wilderness and the forest for all future generations.”
“Currently not one forest area in Loita has official government protection,” says Lemaron, who is in the process of training to take over his father’s role when he passes. “The whole area is protected by the Maasai community.”
But will that be enough to protect these important forests into the future? Ntoros Senteu, a Loita Maasai who serves as a board member with the Kenya Forest Service, says he isn’t sure. A former chairman of the council of Narok county, in which the Loita Forest is located, and a nephew of the laibon Mokompo, Ntoros says it’s not just the land privatization — there are other issues at play.
“The Loita Forest has, since time immemorial, been under conservation and protection of the local community using Indigenous knowledge and spirituality. But the Loita Forest is now under unprecedented threat unfortunately from some in the local community,” he tells Mongabay. “The population explosion over the last few years is the main cause of this. There is also an element of greed, where people from outside encourage members of the community to harvest timber for commercial exploitation.”
Making inroads
Throughout Kenya, Christianity has made huge inroads in recent decades among followers of traditional beliefs. The Maasai are no exception, and in some areas Christians far outnumber followers of the other faiths. Although there are no official statistics on the number of Enkai and Christian followers living around the Loita Forest, locals estimate the Enkai faith is still the dominant one here.
“From my observations, around 70% of the Maasai here continue to follow Enkai,” says Pelua, the teacher.
But there’s no doubt that Christian missionaries and their teachings are gaining ground and Enkai is losing its hold. One of Mokompo’s sons is a pastor, and one of his wives is Christian. Among the many young Maasai Mongabay spoke to, few were interested in Enkai. Some claimed to be Christian by day and follow Enkai by night.
According to Pelua, the problem is not that the religions themselves are changing — it’s that land is being privatized by the government. Different religious worldviews will help determine whether locals will allow this to continue, whether they’ll hold on to the ethos of nature as sacred and whether they’ll respect the authority of the laibon. In some areas of the forest, people have already taken their parcels of land and are awaiting their title deeds.
With each plot demarcated by the government, a family gains its own official land. The concern, among almost everyone Mongabay spoke with, is that private land and its management is then up to the private owners; no longer will the decision-making based on cultural customs and the laibon to protect the forest prevail. Private owners might feel it’s fine to put up fences and chop down the trees on their land to plant crops or graze their cattle.
“This has happened in other parts of Kenya and it’s caused big problems for wildlife because [the wildlife] then can’t move around freely,” Pelua tells Mongabay.
However, this doesn’t necessarily have to be the case. There’s currently discussion in the community about turning a large part of the forest into a community wildlife conservancy or putting it up for state conservation, instead of dividing all of it. The government now considers conservancies an important part of its national wildlife conservation effort and is generally encouraging of such plans.
“Government, forestry department or KWS [Kenya Wildlife Services] are not the solution at all. They are a bigger threat in my opinion,” says Ntoros, the Loita native who sits on the Kenya Forest Service board. “The solution is the formation of conservancies and other economic activities not involving forest timber-based products. The promotion of tourism activities compatible with forest conservation is one answer.”
But the future is still uncertain as a growing number of families claim their own piece of land to manage as they please. What does seem more certain is that the traditional beliefs that have long protected the Loita Forest no longer carry the same authority they used to. In the meantime, community leaders are calling on others to not take part in unsustainable activities on their land — though the latter aren’t obliged to comply.
“We already have wildlife corridors [in the area] and as a community we have already requested that nobody can put in fences or block these corridors,” Pelua says.
Banner image: A Maasai man armed with a spear stands on a hilltop close to the highest point of the Loita hills. Image by Stuart Butler.
Related Mongabay podcast episode: In ‘the century of Africa,’ Mongabay’s new bureau reports its biggest environmental issues and solutions. Listen here:
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