Maasai Identity on the Periphery

P E T E R D . L I T T L E / U N I V E R S I T Y OF K E N T U C K Y

Maasai Identity on the PeripheryA HEADLINE IN A Kenyan newspaper proclaims thatthe Ndorobo, a collection of hunting-and-gatheringcommunities with disparate identities and histories, de-serve their own land. The article suggests that these for-gotten people should now be officially recognized andassisted to recover territories lost during the past 100 orso years (Daily Nation 1994a). On an almost weekly ba-sis an ethnic-based claim such as this is voiced in thepopular press and in national political forums.1 Some ofthese identities, including those of the Laikipiak andUasingishu Maasai and of the Talek, represent groupsthat were thought to have disappeared in the 19th cen-tury. They are now occasionally invoked in public dis-course, especially by politicians and journalists, as arethe traditions and histories of more recognized identi-ties and cultures. In the contemporary context of globaland African politics, ethnicity, tradition, and history areopenly debated, contested, and at times reinvented withdrastic political and economic implications.2

The ways in which hidden histories and identitiesare disguised by relationships of dominance is an im-portant theme in recent works.3 As William Roseberrypoints out, "A particular ethnic configuration, or a spe-cific notion of community emerges at particular con-junctures, within particular fields of power, and par-ticularly complex and uneven sedimentations of thepast and present" (1991:10). In the ethnography of Af-rica, these processes are highlighted in recent studies ofthe San of southern Africa and the Maasai of East Af-rica. These are two groups that have figured promi-nently in anthropological images of the other.4

This article examines the political and historicalcontexts of ethnic identity among the Maasai-related IIChamus (the so-called agricultural Maasai; see Hunting-ford 1953) of Baringo District, Kenya.5 Like the Arushaand Pagasi Maasai peoples of northern Tanzania andsouthern Kenya, they represent one of those ambiguouscommunities of Maa speakers upon whom pastoralMaasai depended for grain and refuge but who were

PETER D. LITTLE is a professor in the Department of Anthropology,University of Kentucky, Lexington, KY 40506.

held in relatively low esteem by them.6 This group of ap-proximately 10,000 members is geographically on theMaasai periphery, although being Maasai was always apart of their heritage.7 What constitutes Maasai identityis riddled with contradictions and ambiguities. This is-sue is even more complicated for groups like the II Cha-mus. To examine the politics of II Chamus identity,analysis must move back and forth through time so as touncover those hidden identities that give meaning toculture.

Land, the commodity that has figured so strongly inethnic relations and struggles in Kenya, is used as thewindow for exploring identity among the II Chamus.8

Land issues in Kenya, first pursued by the colonial stateand now by the contemporary state, forged identitiesand boundaries which had scarcely existed in the 19thcentury but which in the 1990s are fiercely defended onthe basis of tradition (imagined or real). In the currentdebates about ethnicity and land claims certain groups,such as the Maasai, are privileged by the label of indige-nous while other groups, such as the Kikuyu, are not.These classifications, which are reinforced through in-ternational conferences and forums that support theplight of indigenous people (Bodley 1996; Miller et al.1993), have strong implications for the outcomes of cur-rent land struggles in Kenya.

Multiple Histories and Heritages

In a regional context, the homeland of the II Cha-mus contains some of the most important grazing landand water points in the Rift Valley between Lakes Nai-vasha and Turkana in what is today Kenya (Figure 1).This area, known as the Baringo Basin, was heavily con-tested by most of the important pastoral groups of the19th century, including the Samburu, Maasai (Laikipiak,Uasin Gishu, Purko, and Loosekelai sections), Turkana,and Pokot. It was among the most turbulent regions inprecolonial East Africa.9 The Baringo Basin and itspopulations are mentioned in the oral histories of anumber of different pastoral groups of northern Kenya.10

These groups contested for seasonal control of the

American Anthropologist 100(2):444—457. Copyright © 1998, American Anthropological Association.

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toliit ' ;f til

mim>; UAAXM

Figure 1Peoples and places of Central Rift Valley, Kenya.

basin, which in the 19th century would have providedrelatively easy access to important Purko Maasai-con-trolled grazing areas further south around Nakuru andNaivasha (Anderson 1982:41-45). As one group re-placed another in the struggle for dominance, splintergroups of families would join the II Chamus community.

It was a location that also attracted smaller huntergatherer groups and farmers, who sought to utilize thebasin's abundant wildlife resources and potential for ir-rigation. As Richard Waller so vividly points out, themixing of clans and ethnicities "over a wide area are laidbare like geological strata through the accretion of dif-ferent groups to a permanent core population" (1985-350). Today one can trace local families and clans in thearea to both "living" (Tugen, Rendille, and Turkana) and"vanished" (the Uasingishu Maasai, Laikipiak, II ToijoSamburu) identities.

The ecological richness of the Baringo Basin ishighlighted in myths of the Samburu and other groupswho sought refuge and pastures in the area. An earlyethnographer records a story of how the II Toijo Sam-buru first came to the Lake Baringo area during a time ofextreme drought:

Now it happened, that one day, when the drought was at itsworst, an old man lying under a tree, as is the custom of oldmen, saw a bird come to the tree holding in its beak a bladeof green grass. . Select therefore forty young warriorsand let them follow this bird and see whence it obtains thegreen grass. [Dundas 1910:50]

The account goes on to explain how the Samburu cameacross the Lake Baringo Basin w ith its abundant peren-nial pastures, befriended the local inhabitants, and soonb^gan to graze their cattle in the area. Some of theseearly immigrants settled among the II Chamus and re-mained there after the Samburu moved north followingtheir defeat by the Turkana around the 1840s.11 For pas-toral groups like the Samburu it was important not onlyto have access to perennial water sources and pasturesbut also to grains and other nonpastoral products pro-duced at Lake Baringo.

Hidden Identities, "Inferior" Livelihoods

An examination of oral histories reveals severalthemes that accent the intricacy of II Chamus identity.Some groups are remembered as having cattle, whileothers are noted as being hunters and fishermen with-out cattle filtorrobo), farmers {ilmeeh), or some comb'nation of these livelihoods. The nonpastoral labels arenot used by the II Chamus in the pejorative sense nor dothey refer to distinct identities (Galaty 1982; Jacob1965). Most elders, many of whom acquired considerable livestock wealth in the present century, do not dis-pute, disguise, or understate the hunting and farmingbasis of their heritage. The core aboriginal population,called the Keroi, pursued mainly cultivation, hunting,and fishing activities and are referred to locally as the"true' Chamus. The Keroi were in the area by at least thelate 18th century, since around that time UasingishuMaasai refugees are said to have joined a community ofMaa speakers at Lake Baringo (Vossen 1978; Weatherby1967). They spoke Maa and had historical ties to Kalen-jin-speakirg hunting groups on the Laikipia Plateau(.Blackburn 1974; Herren 1991). Today the Kalenjin-speakirg peoples of contemporary Kenya include theKipsigis, Tugen, Nandi Marakwet, Keiyo, and Pokot.

The population core at Lake Baringo to which refu-gees of pastoral groups later attached themselves wasstrongly infused with a hunting gathering legacy, a cul-ture held in low esteem by pastoral Maasai sections. The."inferiority" of hunters from the Maasai perspective isconfirmed in much of the literature, including some ofthe earliest ethnographic accounts on the group.13 Forsome scholars they represent the antithesis of theMaasai way of life. "The Maasai see themselves as digni-fied, honorable, wealthy, favored by God, and brave;they see the Torrobo (hunters) as offensive, mean, poor,and cowardly" (Galaty 1982:6). In the 11 Chamus case,the mix of different Maa-speaking groups, historicallegacies, and livelihoods counteracts such strong cate-gorizations.

The earliest movement to the Lake Baringo area ofclearly recognizable II Chamus clans, the II Mae and IIKapis, probably took place during the latter part of the

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18th century. These clans reflect a compendium of dif-ferent identities and livelihoods and are revealing of thecomplexity of precolonial Baringo. The II Mae are saidto have come from near the Kerio River (see Figure 1)and to include both Kalenjin-speaking (Marakwet andTugen) agricultural and Maa-speaking (Uasingishu andLoosegelai Maasai) pastoral elements, as well as someexpert hunters. It should be emphasized that it remainsdifficult to relate clan and ethnicity to the region's cur-rent ethnographic landscape because many groupswere called by names or terms that are rarely used nowor their identities at the time were very fluid. The Ta-pukai section of the II Kapis clan is said to have been thesecond group that moved to the area to join with theKeroi. They claim to have come from the Laikipia Pla-teau during a drought and to have joined with the II Maesouth of Lake Baringo. As elders recall the story, the Ta-pukai combined with the II Mae to eventually defeat theKeroi, forcing the latter to accept their control or fleethe area. Some Keroi families remained with their con-querors, while others fled to the nearby Uasin Gishu Pla-teau to join Maa speakers there or linked up with com-munities on the Laikipiak plateau.

Igor Kopytoff s (1987) treatise on frontier commu-nities is especially helpful in understanding the types ofinteractions between immigrant and indigenous popu-lations that took place in Baringo and elsewhere in Af-rica. An ideology of superiority is often invoked by con-querors to justify their actions, although remnants ofthe culture and social structure of native populationsare usually embedded in frontier communities. While anaura of a single ethnicity and origin is portrayed, thevanquished lineages often maintain "secretly nurturedclaims to primacy of occupation" (Kopytoff 1987:55)which may be displayed conspicuously in rituals. Thesehidden identities and histories may also surface undercertain historical and political conditions.

The collective history of early encounters betweenthe Keroi and II Chamus reveals a technique of decep-tion and trickery. The Tapukai, who are said to have hadcattle (an important ethnic marker of "being Maasai"),occasionally sought drought refuge among the Keroieven before some settled permanently in the area. Lateron, both the II Mae and II Kapis were welcomed on amore lasting basis by the Keroi. They were allowed tolive among them and permitted to share in the area'sabundant resources. At some point, oral histories sug-gest that they tricked the Keroi at a feast, where withoutwarning they turned on them and shot them with arrowsand chased them from the basin. Thus, while the Keroiwere more closely identified with the "undesirable"livelihood of hunting-gathering, it was the II Mae and IIKapis (including Tapukai) families with stronger claimsto a pastoral Maasai heritage who were dishonorableand cowardly in warfare.13

Salient Identities, "Superior" Livelihoods

Throughout the 19th century the II Chamus com-munity received immigrants and refugees from theMaasai wars and other conflicts in northern Kenya.14 Be-cause of their extensive irrigation system, the II Chamusin the 19th century welcomed these potential laborers,some of whom worked for a few seasons and then re-turned to pastoralism (Anderson 1988; Little 1992). Flu-idity and flexibility characterized relationships at thetime, and oral historical accounts of the period rarelyacknowledge particular territories as belonging to cer-tain groups. Around the mid-19th century the II Chamusbegan to take on large numbers of pastoral families andto project a pastoral orientation in their culture andidentity, although they themselves possessed few cat-tle. A distinct age-set system, characteristic of Sam-buru/Maasai social structure, can be traced to aboutthis time (Anderson 1981). The incorporation of manyrefugee families gave an explicitly Samburu orientationto local culture and political dominance that has per-sisted. While many II Toijo Samburu eventually re-couped their livestock losses and rejoined the largerSamburu community, their presence influenced the for-mation of the II Chamus community. Today the II Toyoaccount for a major segment of clans.

The eventual defeat of the Laikipiak Maasai by thePurko Maasai in the 1870s resulted in the movement ofseveral Laikipiak families and clans into the II Chamusarea. Some of these were to achieve considerablestatus, while the influx added to the pastoral hegemonythat was increasingly reflected in the local culture. Itshould be noted that, while the Maasai label was in-creasingly ascribed to the II Chamus by neighboringpastoralists and Europeans, the community actuallyhad little interaction with core Maasai sections untilaround the 1870s. Instead, most of their relationshipswere with other peripheral Maa-speaking groups, suchas the Uasingishu, Samburu, and Laikipiak, whom theMaasai distinguished from themselves (Galaty 1991,1993; Jacobs 1965). Thus what was to become an impor-tant form of identity for the II Chamus was actuallybased more on an imagined than a real relationshipwith the main Maasai sections.

A Community In Transition

By the late 19th century the II Chamus communityencompassed no more than 2,000 members, precari-ously bound through overlapping clan, age, and residen-tial relationships (Little 1992). It was not uncommon foran II Chamus family to have members living among andparticipating in the rituals of neighboring groups whileother members remained in the area. Throughout thefirst half of the 20th century the community was still

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incorporating clans and fractions of clans, predomi-nantly from the nearby Kalenjin-speaking Tugen, who atthe time were gradually moving from the Tugen Hills tothe lowlands. In short, many notable events that con-tributed to II Chamus identity took place within 60 yearsof formal British occupation in 1901.

For a small community the II Chamus were splitinto several competing and sometimes overlaying fac-tions, which the British sharpened through their admin-istrative policies. The main axes of division are trace-able to particular historical events; for instance, thedual clan structure of the community emerged after amajor conflict between the Saniburu and Turkanaaround the 1840s that resulted in the immigration of IIToijo Samburu clans and families (II Toijo versus "true"II Chamus; see Table 1). When non-Toijo families andclans such as those of the Uasingishu and LaikipiakMaasai joined the community in the 19th century, theyfrequently were allied with the II Mae, II Kapis, andother "true" (indigenous) II Chamus clans. Soon afterthe II Toijo settled among the II Chamus, the commu-nity splintered into two distinct settlements (Little1992:28-31). Since the mid-19th century, when that di-vision occurred, the two settlements have operatedtheir own age-set ceremonies and elected their ownleaders.

The smaller of the II Chamus settlements (Lekeper)had only about 300 members in 1900 and was made up ofa large number of II Keroi, Laikipiak, Uasin Gishu, andTugen families. The larger of the sections (Labori) wasdominated by Samburu clans and their allies and had apopulation of about 1,700. Each II Chamus section had

an age set of young men to protect the settlement, andskirmishes between the two villages were not unusual.15

Even within each section there were strong differences.At times during the latter half of the 19th century, up tofour competing age-set ceremonies and systems wereoperating simultaneously, a strong indication of thefractious nature of the II Chamus community.

The Laikipiak Maasai families and some of the Sam-buru who joined the II Chamus community in the 19thcentury maintained certain pastoral values distinctfrom the general II Chamus population and assumedconsiderable importance in age-set politics.16 For exam-ple, the position of age-set leader (launoni) among theLabori II Chamus is always reserved for a member of theII Kapis clan, usually a member of a lineage derivedfrom Laikipiak Maasai and Tugen. A member of one ofthe Samburu clans or the Loiborkishu clan (Laikipiak)usually assume the second important age-set office (loi-borgene). Among the Lekeper II Chamus, the age-setleader is reserved for a Samburu or an II Kapis, usuallyan Odompere (Uasin Gishu Maasai and Tugen) member.The other important age-set office is alternated be-tween a Kapsang (Tugen and Uasin Gishu Maasai) and aPasikir (Keroi) clan member. Individuals in each ofthese positions could claim a small number of cattlefrom the community, and disputes often erupted overthis privilege. In one instance in the 1940s an attempt bythe Samburu clans to claim some of the cattle awardedto the II Kapis resulted in that age set splitting into com-peting factions.

Table 1II Chamus clans and their origins. "X" denotes of major historical importance, and "Y" denotes of minor historical importance. Sources: Anderson1981 and Little 1992:29.

Clan

II Chamus grouping

11 Kapis11 Mae(incl. Lokumwae)11 MeroLoiborkishuKapsangCmcL Ngang Leleboo)Sakaam

II Toijo grouping

11 Murtanat11 PasikirLoimisiIlToimalIlKesiani11 Kunguan

Samburu

XX

XXXXXX

Uasin Gishu Maasai

YX

Laikipiak Maasai Tugen Rendile II Keroi

XX

XX

XX

XXX

XY


Colonialism and the Consolidation of "Tribe"

In a classic monograph on ethnicity and national-ism in East Africa, anthropologist Peter Gutkind (1970)concludes that, when the British could not find "tribalidentities" for their system of indirect rule, they createdthem. This observation is especially appropo to the situ-ation in northern Kenya, where not only the II Chamusbut most groups were still characterized by fluid and ill-defined boundaries and "rather fragile ethnic identities"(Lamphear 1992:40). Nevertheless, the colonial statedemarcated the area into tribal reserves and districtsduring the early 20th century in an attempt to bind eth-nicity to territory and to improve the administration anddomination of native peoples. The goal for northernKenya was to keep tribes "separate and limited to thoseareas in which they belonged" (Sobania 1988:229). Whothese tribes were and where they belonged were ques-tions to which colonial administrators assumed theyhad the answers.

As was true for other groups of northern Kenya, theadvent of British colonialism forced the II Chamus to ac-cept more of a corporate identity and territoriality thanat any time in their history. Assuming a certain identitywas the key to laying claims to land, even when tradi-tions had to be modified. Because the British hadworked out a series of special treaties and arrange-ments with the Maasai, who were greatly feared by theadministration, this identity was both convenient andpractical for the II Chamus (Galaty 1991; Waller 1976).The Maa language of the II Chamus and the age-set sys-tem could be highlighted as ethnographic evidence oftheir "Maasainess."

Colonialism did more to transform II Chamus econ-omy and social organization than any other single event.British administration and its military forces clearedthe Baringo region of many of the II Chamus's strongerrivals (Turkanaand Purko Maasai), which allowed themto establish their own cattle herds without the constantfear of raids. Land was the key issue, and while the terri-torial base of most pastoral groups shrank, the II Cha-mus and Tugen were able to expand and colonize pas-tures vacated by others. With these changes II Chamusidentity became more closely tied to control of particu-lar territories. Thus, for example, identities based onnewly established neighborhoods were adopted insome cases, as was the use of such traditional Maa con-cepts as enkutot, a, term used to define the broad geo-graphic parameters of a settlement and its grazingrights. Maasai institutions and traditions were the guid-ing beacons for these changes.

What was already a period of social instability en-tered a new phase of conflict that often favored militar-ily weak groups like the II Chamus who could ally withthe British and punished stronger groups like the

Turkana. From 1900 to 1920 the British used II Chamuswarriors on three occasions in military campaignsagainst the Pokot and Turkana, each time rewardingthem with cattle for their assistance.17 In most cases theII Chamus were recruited and integrated with UasinGishu and Maasai fighters. To their Turkana opponentsthey were hardly distinguishable from the Maasai (Lam-phear 1992:177). As Anderson (1982:56) points out, thepayoffs in cattle confiscated from the Pokot andTurkana provided a stimulus to the II Chamus's fledg-ling pastoral economy. From the perspective of the Brit-ish, they were a peaceful island in a sea of endemic con-flict at a time when there was growing concern aboutpotential skirmishes between Africans and nearbyEuropean settlers. The latter group were beginning tolay claim to the best agricultural and pastoral lands ofthe Rift Valley (East African Protectorate 1905:27). Inthe European model the II Chamus were good nativeswho were unlikely to resist colonial rule.

With the onset of British administration, some indi-viduals moved out of their original settlements in thewetlands south of Lake Baringo and established resi-dences near British outposts, first at Loiminange (1901-04) and then later at Arabel and Mukutan (Figure 2).Guarding the II Chamus was one of the important func-tions of the Baringo colonial station, and the II Chamustook advantage of this association (Lamphear 1992:68).They started to graze their newly acquired cattle on

J 6 S 12 KILOMETERS

Appnulmulr l<K~jllnn» of IMh*c«ilui; xlllcinenli

I Soioiml nctlamli

Figure 2II Chamus area. Asterisks mark approximate locations of 19th-century settlements; shaded areas indicate seasonal wetlands.

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/231746993_The_Maasai_and_the_British_1895-1905_the_Origins_of_an_Alliance?el=1_x_8&enrichId=rgreq-892eca63-f853-4c24-b32b-651b99e5f5a9&enrichSource=Y292ZXJQYWdlOzIyOTY4MzI5NDtBUzoxNTI2OTI5MTU3MDc5MDRAMTQxMzQxNjIzNjg5MA==


lands that had previously been used by the Maasai andothers, while they relied on the state to help mediatedisputes with other groups in the region. British admini-stration added a new dimension to land relations in thearea, often assuming the role of a third party in localconflicts. In short, colonial actions created a vacuum incentral Baringo that both the II Chamus and highlandTugen took advantage of, moving into and establishingclaims on lands that for the previous two decades hadbeen used seasonally by the Purko Maasai, and earlierby other Maa-speaking groups.

With the protection of the colonial state, the II Cha-mus began to practice a form of transhumant pastoral-ism, moving cattle between the lake basin and the nowvacant highlands east of the lake. Old divisions based onthe prior settlement pattern took on new meanings, asdid the age-set structure that assumed a prominent rolein the new pastoral economy. At this time the II Chamusdid not hesitate to call on administrative assistance indisputes, especially in altercations with the Pokot alongthe northeastern boundary of the Njemps (Chamus) Re-serve. The two groups were vying for control of waterand grazing rights in the area.

During the period 1900 to 1912, the II Chamus werein close contact with the Purko Maasai, who by this timeoccupied their own government-imposed reserve on theLaikipia Plateau. Anderson (1982:58) notes that II Cha-mus males are likely to have observed many of thePurko age-set rituals during this period and that therewas close communication between the two groups.Around this time the II Chamus assumed the practice ofseparating young men from the community in encamp-ments after initiation ceremonies, an age-set customnormally associated with Maasai (Spencer 1965, 1988).In the 1910s and 1920s they utilized these traditional set-tlements of young men to graze animals and to invokeproprietary claims to disputed areas on the LaikipiaPlateau and nearby hills. Settled in the hills aroundNgelesha and on the edge of the Laikipia Plateau, theyoung men were in a position to reinforce claims to pas-ture, as well as to defend against raids by other groups.Discussions with II Chamus elders who had resided inage-set encampments suggest that they served this utili-tarian purpose rather than the larger ritual function thatis noted for the Maasai (Spencer 1988). By the 1950swhen the II Chamus had lost access to much of the high-land area, the practice of sending young men to age-based settlements ceased and, thus, an important tradi-tional practice in the area ended up having a life cycle ofless than 50 years.

The forced resettlement of the Purko Maasai fromthe Laikipia Plateau by the colonial state in 1911-14 leftthe II Chamus completely surrounded by non-Maa-speaking peoples: Europeans to the east and Kalenjingroups to the south, north, and west. For the first time

the II Chamus were without strong interaction with an-other Maa group. In the short term the relocation ofMaasai opened up more lands for pastoral use by the IIChamus in the Laikipia area, but within a decade Euro-pean settlement on the plateau halted this process andcriminalized any further use of the area.

Land and the Praxis of Identity

Among those groups scrambling for control of therangelands of central Baringo the II Chamus fared rela-tively well, at least initially. Early on, the state acknowl-edged their right to occupy what became the NjempsReserve, including the highland areas to the east aroundArabel and Mukutan, to the west up to Kampi-ya-Samakiand Ndau, and to the south around Sandai near the wet-lands (see Figure 2). These territorial boundaries wereofficially acknowledged in the 1930s following the Car-ter Land Commission decision that gave the II Chamus"ownership" of Ngelesha and Arabel, areas forcefullydisputed by the Tugen and to a lesser extent by thePokot (CPK 1934). Yet land and water disputes weretaking place at virtually all of the boundaries of whathad become the Njemps Native Reserve. These conflictsinvolved the Tugen, a population more than 15 times thesize of the II Chamus, and the Pokot, whose numbers ex-ceeded the II Chamus's by a factor of about five. Such al-tercations were not uncommon in colonial Kenya wheremost ethnic boundaries had been forcefully imposed byEuropean administrators (Berman and Lonsdale 1992).

The Carter Land Commission was established to in-vestigate "native" land rights and to resolve land dis-putes. Leaders of numerous ethnic groups were askedto provide evidence. For many groups it was an oppor-tunity to plead for additional land and to mimic notionsof territory and identity that were consistent with aEuropean worldview. For pastoral peoples the colonialgovernment was persistent in rigidly associating ethnic-ity with particular pieces of space, even for nomadicpopulations. Thousands of pages of documentation andevidence were produced, a perverse testimony to howAfricans had to openly debate and negotiate their cul-tures and identities with British administrators (KenyaLand Commission 1934). At these deliberations II Cha-mus elders emphasized the pastoral orientation of theireconomy and their close ties to the Maasai. Elderspokesmen implied that their agricultural orientationwas recent and even used the "ole" prefix in theirnames, an ethnic marker characteristic of Maasai butrarely used by the II Chamus.18 Colonial officials at thehearings noted that for Lake Baringo "the small amountof cultivation is very recent and shambas seem ownedindividually" (Kenya Land Commission 1934:1846). Re-call the elaborate irrigation systems that had existed in


the Baringo Basin less than 40 years earlier (Little 1985,1988). There were advantages, in terms of the amount ofland that could be claimed, to being Maasai at the time.Association with the Maasai assured a special nichewithin the colonial schema of ethnic politics, sincethere was little doubt that Maasai sections could evokehistorical claims to the Laikipia Plateau and surround-ing areas. After all, most of the locations and geographicfeatures there still had Maasai names, and LaikipiakMaasai families were settled among the II Chamus.

While it was easy to justify the valuable wetlandsaround Lake Baringo as traditional II Chamus lands, thehighland areas toward the Laikipia Plateau were ofmore uncertain status, and claims to these lands werestrengthened if a Maasai heritage could be highlighted.It was acknowledged by the commission that thesewere traditional grazing areas of the Maasai and otherMaa speakers as well. In their discussions before theCarter Land Commission the II Chamus emphasizedtheir economic needs, to accommodate their expandingcattle herds, and their historical rights to the Ngeleshaand Arabel areas near the Laikipia Plateau. Their rea-soning was accepted. Official boundaries were drawnup in the mid-1930s which gave the II Chamus rights tothese important areas and, once again, formally tiedtheir culture to a piece of territory.

Because of these historical circumstances, the IIChamus soon claimed the most valuable pastoral re-sources of the region. These were added to the NjempsReserve and included most of the area's perennial riversand watering points along the lake. To maintain theseclaims, however, they needed support from the colonialstate, and on several occasions they required adminis-trative intervention to resolve disputes with their larg-er, more dominant neighbors. Police were occasionallystationed in areas of intense dispute, as at Ngelesha, toensure that trespass by Tugen and Pokot did not takeplace (Anderson 1982). The district records show sev-eral major disputes between the II Chamus and eitherthe Tugen or Pokot from 1910 to 1950, including somethat resulted in violence and death; interviews with el-ders, however, indicate that this was a glaring under-statement of the number of conflicts.

In theory the II Chamus seemed to have done well,in terms of both official boundaries and the resourcesthat they were said to own. But the reality was quite dif-ferent. The removal of the Maasai from the Laikipia Pla-teau and the settlement of Europeans in the area haltedany further expansion of the pastoral sector that reliedon seasonal use of Laikipia. The weakness of the ad-ministration in Baringo in enforcing controls, and of theII Chamus in defending those lands that the state ac-knowledged as theirs, also added to their difficulties.The formal ruling of the commission did not halt en-croachment by others in the Arabel and Ngelesha areas,

and the state proved to be inconsistent in supporting thecommission's findings.

Old Disputes, New Contexts

Throughout the 1950s the II Chamus continued tolose grazing lands, and by the time of Kenya's inde-pendence (1963) they had lost about 75 percent of Ara-bel (FAO 1967:1). In the mid-1960s debates over officialboundaries and traditional homelands again assumedcenter stage in Baringo. But this time it was under a dis-course of "development" and an African administration.For rangeland areas like Baringo, the newly inde-pendent government sought the establishment of groupranches as the means to developing the pastoralists. Bydesignating central Baringo as rangelands, suitable onlyfor group land registration, the Kenyan state embarkedon an ambitious program of group ranches in the dis-trict that would create corporate landholding entities.At the time, the government was already introducinggroup ranches in the Maasai areas and had plans toextend them to other pastoral areas.19 Since officialboundaries and land rights had to be verified and de-marcated, this program raised the same thorny prob-lems of user rights in Arabel that the commission con-fronted some 30 years earlier.

By the mid-1960s Tugen agropastoralists alreadyhad effectively occupied most of the Arabel zone,although the II Chamus wanted them to be evicted. Todo so, a list of "outsiders" was drawn up by the II Cha-mus, indicating those non-11 Chamus who, while livingamong the II Chamus, had not effectively become partof the community. The II Chamus considered them to besquatters and had devised their own criteria, includingparticipation in circumcision and age-set ceremonies,to distinguish recent arrivals from those earlier immi-grants who had effectively become II Chamus. The ad-ministration did not act, in part to avoid a conflict withthe Kalenjin-speaking Tugen. The Arabel zone was de-scribed as being on the brink of war in the 1960s whenthe government, with support from the Food and Agri-culture Organization (FAO), began to plan for the devel-opment of group ranching schemes in Baringo (FAO1967; Ministry of Agriculture 1967-68).

Internally the II Chamus had also undergone con-siderable change since the 1930s. The distinction be-tween Lekeper and Labori, which had been reinforcedby the colonial state through the designation of sepa-rate chiefs and administrative units, was abolished in1936. At this time the Njemps Reserve was representedby a single chief drawn from the Labori section. TheLekeper, whose traditional territory was now argued toinclude the neighborhoods of Eldume and Kailerr andmost of southern Njemps Location, were upset by this

M A A S A I I D E N T I T Y ON THE P E R I P H E R Y / PETER D. L I T T L E 4 5 1

decision. On several occasions they took their case for aseparate administrative entity to the government. Oneach occasion they were refused, and when the areawas finally redivided into two administrative units in1983, the decision did not take account of the Lekeper'sdemands. Instead of using the Labori-Lekeper distinc-tion as a basis, the government subdivided the area ongeographic grounds, creating two roughly equal size ad-ministrative units divided along a north-south axis. TheLekeper area remained under the control of a Laborichief. A second government chief, based in Mukutan,was drawn from the Labori section to head up the newunit (called Mukutan Location). The creation of thisnew administrative unit in the 1980s only added to thesectional rivalry.

Postindependence gave certain regional groups un-fair advantage over others. After the collapse of coloni-alism, the II Chamus found themselves with even less re-gional political clout at a time of increasing outsiderencroachment on their lands. A team of techniciansworking in the area in the mid-1960s reported: "As iswell known, the Njemps [II Chamus] are at present be-ing hard-pressed from all sides" (FAO 1967:1). Nonethe-less, the 1967 plan for group ranch development in-cluded the formation of an Arabel ranch with over20,000 hectares and two other smaller ranches, Muku-tan and Ngambo. The implementation of the plan, how-ever, was delayed because of local disputes over landclaims.

Faced with pressures from their Western donors(financiers), the government agreed, under the terms ofa World Bank livestock development loan, to embark ongroup land registration in Baringo (Ministry of Agricul-ture 1975). At the national level significant impetus ex-isted to transform the pastoral areas and make themmore commercially oriented (Evangelou 1984; Galaty1988). At the local level, however, group ranches wereperceived as mechanisms for reestablishing land rightsand not as a means for promoting development (Galaty1980). II Chamus elders pointed to the aged stone mark-ers and hilltops that defined the colonial boundaries oftheir reserve to show where the demarcation of ranchesshould be placed. They viewed the land reform pro-posed under the group ranches as a convenient vehiclefor reestablishing the territorial boundaries put in placeby the colonial state.

Local administrators had no choice but to turn tothe II Chamus chief to organize the initial meetingsabout the Arabel ranch, since the proposed enterprisewas completely within the boundaries of Njemps Loca-tion. A series of discussions were held in 1977, but to thedismay of the government a "caretaker" ranch commit-tee was elected that included only II Chamus members.Tugen who were settled in Arabel were excluded bothfrom the meetings and from committee membership.

The composition of the Arabel committee itself demon-strated the seriousness with which the II Chamus treat-ed land issues in the area. Unlike the ranch committeesfor Mukutan and Ngambo, the Arabel committee in-cluded prominent leaders from neighborhoods outsidethe proposed ranch, although they were mainly from theLabori side. Committee membership read like a "Who'sWho" of notable II Chamus leaders, and, as they haddone with the Carter Land Commission in the 1930s,they voiced many of the same arguments about theirown and the Maasai's traditional rights to these lands.

At another level the composition of the group ranchcommittees was equally revealing about the internal dy-namics of the II Chamus community. Old identities anddivisions were conspicuously visible, and considerableposturing for representation took place. Although fewelders were included on the caretaker committees, theywere carefully balanced between II Toijo and "true" IIChamus clan members. They also included representa-tion of Keroi families. The Keroi descendants used theoccasion to reinforce their identity and indigenousclaims, factors that increasingly figure in contemporarylocal politics. The young, educated elites from II Toijoclans were overrepresented on the committees, whilevery few Lekeper families had representation. TheLekeper felt alienated by the process because their tra-ditional territory was to be split between two differentgroup ranches. This oversight eventually had an effecton the implementation of ranches in the area.

The Tugen protested their exclusion from the Ara-bel committee and formed their own organization. Byearly 1977 there were two caretaker committees forArabel Group Ranch, drawn largely along ethnic lines,and a series of heated local meetings was held that year.These deliberations were attended by II Chamus andTugen leaders, district administrators, and local repre-sentatives of government ministries. Finally it wasagreed that a mixed committee of 24 members would beelected, comprised of one-third Tugen and two-thirds IIChamus members. The chief of Njemps Location wasappointed the interim committee chairman, and until in-ternal differences could be resolved government offi-cials attended all meetings. What made the situationeven more problematic is that the open-ended nature ofII Chamus identity made it difficult to devise a consis-tent distinction between cultural insiders and outsiders.The long process of negotiation and compromise overthe formation of the committee still dodged the pricklyissue of land rights in Arabel. Once again, that topic wasput off until a later date.

Registration of Tugen rangelands in southern andcentral Baringo, where border disputes were largely ab-sent, was started in the late 1970s and completed by1985. The II Chamus voiced discrepant views aboutwhether group ranches were a favorable prospect, but


most publicly supported some reconfirmation of theirterritorial boundaries. According to formal and infor-mal interviews conducted in 1981 and 1984, the majorityof herders favored one large group ranch that entirelyencompassed Njemps Location and that excluded out-siders (mainly Tugen) who had settled in the area dur-ing the past two decades. In short, they wanted to reaf-firm the boundaries of the old native reserve that hadbeen imposed by the British earlier in the century.

By 1990 the political situation in central Baringohad changed dramatically. More than a decade of politi-cal "Nyayoism" under Daniel Arap Moi brought consid-erable resources to the Tugen of Baringo and somebenefits to the II Chamus.20 Two local irrigation schemesthat received substantial subsidies from the state wereimplemented during the 1980s. While both were in IIChamus territory, the II Chamus were encouraged bytheir leaders to accept a large number of Tugen as mem-bers. The Kalenjin factor of II Chamus heritage is nowoften emphasized among local leaders, some of whomhave strategically married Tugen women. At a summer1991 meeting one local leader emphasized that theTugen and II Chamus are almost the same people: "Weoccupy the same lands and often marry each other'sdaughters."21 Different elements of the II Chamus "past"could be highlighted by local notables to reconcile com-promise with the Tugen and to acknowledge the practi-cal reality of the situation. President Moi and his politi-cal party, the Kenya African National Union (KANU),had generously rewarded local leaders with lucrativedevelopment schemes and loans, and Baringo began tobe seen as a region that had conquered the problems ofunderdevelopment (Ministry of Finance and Planning1994). Unfortunately, most of the current developmentsassociated with the new political patronage, includingcapital-intensive irrigation and tourism, benefit few andundermine the diversified herding and agrarian econ-omy that has characterized the region for most of thepast two centuries.

Registration of land on a group basis began in 1991.The blueprints had changed dramatically during the in-terim years, and instead of three large ranches in thearea, eight smaller ones of about 7,000 hectares eachhad been substituted (Ministry of Reclamation and De-velopment of Arid, Semi-Arid Lands and Wastelands1992:14). These smaller units were mainly based on theneighborhood (latiaj, which is a sociospatial unit thatis a historical product of this century. By doing this thestate had effectively dismantled a common identitybased on the previous boundaries and replaced it with afragmented system of land holdings and loyaltieswhereby outsiders have only to negotiate with leadersand residents of a particular neighborhood to attainland rights. The original Arabel and Ngambo rancheswere subdivided, and the Lekeper people, who had com-

plained bitterly about the original plan, were given theirown ranch. The fate of the now-smaller Arabel ranch re-mains unclear, but it is likely that it will be reservedmainly for Tugen. By dividing II Chamus territory intoseveral ranching units, the state practiced on a mi-croscale the divide-and-rule policy that was so commonand so vigorously protested during the colonial period.

Struggles over grazing land and water remain at thecore of the local political economy, demonstrating justhow wide the gap is between the professed regional andnational politics of harmony and cooperation and the lo-cal politics of resource competition. During the 1995-96dry season I heard of several violent disputes over graz-ing and cattle theft within the Kalenjin camp and be-tween the II Chamus and the Pokot. By forging a strongnational alliance with the Maasai and other Maa-speak-ing groups, the Moi regime has strategically under-played cultural and historical distinctions between theKalenjin- and Maa-speaking peoples.22 It has also mobi-lized the necessary support and force to contest the le-gal rights of Kikuyu farmers to reside in the resource-rich Rift Valley (see Weekly Review 1994:4). On severaloccasions the use of traditional symbols and institu-tions have been utilized by Kalenjin and Maasai leadersto evict Kikuyu from the Rift Valley and to disrupt themeetings of opposition political parties (Daily Nation1993). In this strong-handed reliance on culture and eth-nicity, national leaders emphasize the similarities be-tween Kalenjin peoples and the Maasai, while recent lit-erature on Kalenjin peoples incorrectly claims that theirtraditional homelands include the Lake Baringo Basin(Chesaina 1991:1-2).

Ethnic-based formations and traditions are beingnewly configured and old ones revived. A recent crea-tion is KAMATUSU, a confederation of Kalenjin-speak-ing (KA) and other groups.23 As might be expected, itcould become a political force on the national scene.Within it II Chamus identity is ambiguously linked toMaasai, Samburu, and Kalenjin elements—all heritagesthat they can claim on historical grounds. Other earlierethnic-based confederations, such as GEMA (a coali-tion of Kikuyu, Embu, and Mem), are being revitalizedas a counter to the dominance of the Kalenjin peoplesand their allies. The KAMATUSU alliance of pastoraland agropastoral peoples, however, is not reflected inthe day-to-day struggles that characterize life on theplains of Baringo. In spite of the pleas of local KANUmembers and politicians about political unity, conflictsover grazing and water still stigmatize relations be-tween the Tugen, II Chamus, and Pokot. Local herderswho once again suffered devastating livestock lossesduring the 1993-94 drought continue to complain openlyabout farmer encroachment and loss of pastures due toTugen and Pokot migrations. Pokot cattle raiding in thearea is still resented by other Kalenjin and non-Kalenjin

M A A S A I I D E N T I T Y ON T H E P E R I P H E R Y / P E T E R D. L I T T L E 4 5 3

groups in Baringo and in neighboring districts (seeDaily Nation 1995). Elsewhere in Kenya, similar localconflicts are found among members of KAMATUSU, in-cluding between the Maasai and Kalenjin-speaking Kip-sigis in western Kenya and between the Samburu andPokot in north-central Kenya, and within the Kalenjincommunity itself between the Pokot and Marakwet. Inshort, despite the forceful intentions of their politicalleaders, the distance and contradictions between na-tional political rhetoric and local economic realities re-main significant. This further supports an interpretationof cultural identity that is strongly influenced by largerpolitical relations but is open to negotiation and to var-ied interpretations by different segments of a commu-nity.

Conclusions

I have used one particular group, the II Chamus, toexplore the complexity of ethnic identities in the Bar-ingo region of northern Kenya during the past 200 years.I have shown the relationship between history and poli-tics, on the one hand, and the emergence or invention ofcertain traditions and identities, on the other. By usingits power and force to rigidly enforce its own definitionsof identities and indigenous homelands, the state is em-barking on a precarious course of divide and rule that al-ready has revealed contradictions that occur whenfixed categories are imposed on fluid relationships. Thecolonial experience so fundamentally transformed andmisinterpreted the relationship between ethnicity, cul-ture, and territory in Baringo that subsequent efforts toaffix boundaries on this basis have done more toheighten ambiguities than to reduce them. Yet negotia-tions over identity remain at the center of territorial dis-putes throughout Kenya, suggesting that the larger po-litical context of ethnicity has changed little sincecolonial occupation. What has been challenged in thepast few years is the assumption by anthropologists andothers that pastoral peoples naturally seem to be partof the political periphery in the modern nation-state.

The Baringo materials lend support to Eric Wolfsand Roseberry's contention that the ethnographic land-scape of "others" is a product of historical processesand unequal power relations. These relations can struc-ture an environment where ethnic differences are al-lowed to instigate conflict and where histories and tra-ditions are continually reinterpreted to meet politicalends. From the anthropologist's usual vantage point(the local level), these larger historical and political fac-tors must be recognized and integrated into analyses ofethnic identity. This means that natural tendencies toassociate certain groups, such as the Maasai, and theiridentities with the political periphery must be subjected

to the same critical scrutiny as any other social dogma.This interpretation does not reduce ethnicity to anepiphenomenon of structural and political parameters,nor does it deny agency to local actors. The characteris-tics of a particular ethnic identity are too complex andindeterminate to be understood in strictly macropoliti-cal and historical terms.

When one pursues a historical construction of cul-tural differences, it is possible to make sense of thetimely emergence of particular identities that may havebeen dormant for generations or may be based on a par-ticular reading of history. While the revitalization ofKeroi and Laikipiak identities are examples of the for-mer, the contemporary alliance of Maasai and Kalenjingroups is an instance of the latter.

What we seem to be observing now in Kenya andelsewhere in the world, where the ugly side of ethnicdifferentiation is prominent, are identities in a phase ofcreate and incorporate. The powerful party plays on his-tory and tradition to forge common identities with lesspowerful groups and then incorporates them into theirethnic-based schemas, emphasizing their differenceswith rival identities. The material implications of this in-corporation often are greater access to land and otherresources, factors that have always been at the heart ofII Chamus as well as Maasai identity. This political pro-cess explains how some of the so-called peripheralgroups now enjoy strong relations with groups at thepolitical core and how Kenyan communities that wereonce in the core are on the periphery and forced to de-fend their identities and territories. Just as the colonialregime needed tribes to solidify its power relations, thecurrent Kenyan state needs the support of certain iden-tities, even if it requires a peculiar reading of history andethnography, to bolster its position. That the likeness ofMaasai and Kalenjin peoples is now emphasized at thecenter of power is indicative of the degree to which se-lective interpretations of history currently shape ethnicformations in Kenya, as well as determine who is on theperiphery and who is in the core. The challenge for an-thropologists is to remove the smokescreens of tradi-tion and primordialism surrounding ethnic relation-ships in order to understand the fundamental strugglesover resources and power that are disguised by them.

Notes

Acknowledgments. The materials in this article were gath-ered in Baringo, Kenya, in 1980-81, 1984, and 1996, and inEngland at the Public Records Office, London (1988), and theRhodes House Library, Oxford (1991). The article benefitedfrom conversations with David Anderson, David Brokensha,and John Galaty, and written comments from Elliot Fratkin,Terrence McCabe, and Thomas Spear. Earlier versions ofparts of this article were presented in the session "The


History of Land Use in Africa: Problems of Pastoral Land Useand Tenure in East Africa," African Studies Association An-nual Meetings, Boston, MA, December 4-7, 1993, and in thesession "Development Anthropology as Ideology and Prac-tice: African Perspectives," 95th Annual Meeting of the Ameri-can Anthropological Association, San Francisco, December20-24, 1996.

1. By contrast, when I first carried out anthropologicalresearch in Kenya in 1979, discussions of ethnicity ("tribal-ism"), both in popular and academic venues, were stronglydiscouraged and rarely published.

2. For non-African cases, see Bates 1995; Romanucci-Rossand De Vos 1995; Tambiah 1986, 1989; Verdery 1991.

3. O'Brien and Roseberry 1991; Schneider and Rapp 1995;Wolf 1982.

4. On the San, see Gordon 1992 and Wilmsen 1989, 1995.On the Maasai, see Spear and Waller 1993.

5. In the literature these people are frequently referred toas the "Njemps," which is a mispronunciation of the term(Chamus or II Chamus) with which they call themselves.

6. On the Arusha and Pagasi Maasai, see Gulliver 1963;Jacobs 1965, 1968; and Spear and Nurse 1992.

Maa is the language of the Maasai and related groups.Peoples who speak Maa demonstrate certain cultural andinstitutional similarities. Using the term Maa rather thanMaasai avoids presenting a Maasai bias in looking at otherMaa-speaking groups such as the Samburu, II Chamus, andArusha.

7. Here I borrow the notion of "core" and "peripheral"Maasai sections from the model of Maasai culture which ismost closely associated with the work of John Galaty (1982,1991, 1993), although elements of it can be found in the workof Alan Jacobs (1965). Galaty presents a spatial and temporalmodel that presents certain sections, such as the Keekon-yokie and Damat, as being at the core of Maasai culture andhistory, and others, such as the Samburu and Chamus, asbeing on the periphery or fringe. He uses linguistic, ritual, andhistorical data to construct the model, which is presented asa series of concentric circles emanating from a core in thecentral Rift Valley (see Galaty 1993:73).

8. See Haugerud 1995, Leo 1984, and Throup 1988.9. Lamphear 1992:33. The history of the Baringo Basin has

received considerable attention from historians (see Ander-son 1981, 1982, 1988), some of whom have explored the areathrough the optic of other regions (Sobania 1980, 1988,1991,1993; Spear and Waller 1993; Spencer 1973; Waller 1985,1988), and from linguists (Sommer and Vossen 1993; Vossen1978).

10. See Lamphear 1992, Sobania 1988, Spear and Waller1993, Spencer 1973, and WaUer 1985.

11. See Anderson 1982, Sobania 1980, and Spencer 1973.12. Baumann 1894; Hollis 1905. See also Jacobs 1965,

Kipury 1983, and Sankan 1971.13. Another element that is highlighted in the story of the

Keroi defeat is that of sorcery, a practice that still underliestheir special status within the II Chamus community. It isasserted that, after their defeat, the Keroi imposed a "curse"on the II Chamus that diverted and dried up certain rivers, aswell as placed limits on the community's population. Eldersoften point to the dry riverbeds in the basin and to the small

size of the II Chamus population (about 10,000 in 1994) asevidence of the curse.

14. Anderson 1982; Galaty 1993; Lamphear 1993.15. In the 1890s, when European powers negotiated local

treaties in the area, the Lekeper-Labori divide was clearenough that the Germans signed a pact with the Lekeper andthe British with the Labori. A few years after the signing, theGermans ceded control in the area, and the two groups werecombined under the Imperial British East Africa Company.

16. A disdain for fishing and fish products was one valuethat was maintained by certain Laikipiak families. Even in the1980s several families who resided near the shores of LakeBaringo would not consume fish. Other nearby families, par-ticularly those of the Masula clan, actively fished and con-sumed fish products.

17. Anderson 1988; Berman and Lonsdale 1992; Lamphear1992.

18. A male Maasai name might be Lanoi ole Meramba("Lanoi son of Meramba"), but the II Chamus, like the Sam-buru, would shorten it to Lanoi Lemeramba.

19. For a history of group-ranch policies, see Galaty 1980and Migot-Adholla and Little 1981.

20. Nyayoism refers to the political philosophy that Presi-dent Moi has pursued aggressively during his tenure (seeBarkan 1994). It espouses an approach of "following in thefootsteps" of peace, love, harmony, and social developmentIn reality, however, it invokes a program of vicious partypolitics that has pitted the "Nyayo people," who are strongMoi supporters and members of the Kenya African NationalUnion (KANU) party, against members of opposition parties.In Baringo, the homeland of Moi, the ideology and emotionsurrounding Nyayoism is particularly strong. See Abunzwa1990 and Throup 1987.

21. In practice, however, II Chamus women rarely marryTugen males, and most Tugen and II Chamus still dispute landand water rights in the area; see discussion below.

22. Further evidence of the extent to which ethnicity isshaping Kenyan politics is the recent debate over whether ornot the current vice president, Professor George Saitoti, isreally a Maasai. In a recent newspaper article, it is noted theSaitoti's followers defended him "against accusations that hewas not a Maasai. They said Prof Saitoti was born in Ngongtown [in a Maasai location] and that his parents still lived inthe area" (Daily Nation 1994b).

23. KAMATUSU includes the Kalenjin ("KA"), the Maasai("MA"), the Turkana ("TU"), and Samburu ("SU") (People1995).

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Documents

Maasai Identity on the Periphery