When a Pokot warrior is killed at war

If a Pokot warrior dies at war, no tears are shed. A burial site will not be prepared. No grave will be dug. He might be missed, but as he lies on the blood-soaked battlefield, his people will watch as hyenas, vultures and other scavengers tear away at his corpse. Then they will walk away.

When the rains come, and the ground sprouts, his kin will revisit the site. With them will be the village cows, brought to graze over the tufts of grass that would have grown where their man bled to death.

“We leave him out in the open... where he was felled. We let him be and allow his spirit to haunt his killers and not only lead him (killer) to his death, but wipe out whole generations after him,” Carlos Kapkoitat says.

Kapkoitat knows and is proud of the ways of his people.

“If you die in Pokot, you are just like a dog. Where you come from, can a dead dog stop you from crossing the road?” he asks. This disregard, however, does not mean the community thinks less of you. Those who die in war are heroes and heroines of the community.

The killing fields of Nadome are littered with such heroes and heroines. Speared. Shot. Stabbed. Dead.

In a few days, a combination of heat and constant plucking and biting from the masters of the terrain will leave nothing behind. Perhaps, just a bullet spat out by a cautious hyena after a bite off a corpse. No statues of honour will be erected.

On April 7, volunteers from the Kenya Red Cross Society accompanied a high powered delegation from Nairobi, Kenya’s seat of power. Theirs was a simple task. Get to Nadome, assess the damage, count the dead then arrange for their transportation and eventual burial.

The death toll as we went to print stood at 67: 42 Turkanas and 25 Pokots. Of these, four were children and two women in spite of the fact that an ancient pact exists between the two communities prohibiting the killing of women and children in times of confrontation.

The high powered delegation from Nairobi left Chemolingot town by a helicopter. Their sole aim, preside and assist in the burial of the dozens of bodies dotting the landscape. They had body bags. Face masks. Rubber gloves. Ready for the arduous task ahead. But upon landing, no one, even the residents whom they had come to assist, went anywhere near the bodies.

“Hawaziki, kumbe ata hawajui kaburi ni nini. Tumeacha miili mingi kwa msitu, ata zimeoza na kupasuka kwa sababu ya joto (They don’t bury the dead. In fact, most bodies scattered in the bush have bloated and burst due to the sweltering heat)” said a volunteer who preferred anonymity because he works in Tiaty.

But even amidst this abandonment, a level of mourning occurs.

All family members of the deceased have their heads shaved clean with a razor blade. They are then secluded from the rest of the village until a new moon is seen.

“They may stay in a cave, a hole or anywhere that will keep them away from any other human contact. This is meant to keep the evil spirit that befell their kin from spreading to other villagers,” Lomeri Adungo, a 72-year-old elder from Chesitet village in Tiaty said.

Three days after the emergence of a new moon, Adungo says a cleansing ritual is performed on the entire village affected by the killings. “This casts away the demons of death,” he said.

It is after this cleansing ceremony that the village returns to the scene of death to graze their cows. By this time, heads previously shaven are full of hair. “The cycle of life continues... the hair grows back, the pasture we fight over regenerates...life goes on,” Adungo says.

From Naudo to Suguta and from Turkwel to Silale, you will never find mounds of earth denoting graves—at least that’s what the elders believe.

And they believe something else too. “The Turkana who attacked Nadome killed children and women...a curse will descend upon their nation,” Joshua Katiar, another of the elders said.