The Maasai, a Nilotic ethnic group in Kenya, are renowned worldwide for their powerful traditions, courageous warrior culture, and distinctive beadwork and attire. But today, amidst the challenges of climate change and a shifting landscape, their legacy is evolving. In collaboration with the Elewana Collection, the Edges of Earth team spent time with Dalmas Malcom Lemaiyan, a modern Maasai eco-warrior whose age—like much of his life—is rooted in the rhythms of his community rather than Western conventions. Together, they explored the changing face of Dalmas’ homeland and uncovered what it means to bridge centuries-old traditions with the urgent need for environmental stewardship in a rapidly changing world.
GROWING UP IN KENYA
I come from Ngarendare, in Laikipia County, one of Kenya’s 47 counties. I’m a safari guide based here and work across East Africa with the Elewana Collection. My childhood, like most Maasai kids, was rooted in tradition—waking up early to tend cattle and livestock, and a life shaped by family, community, and respect.
I am one of 26 siblings. In Maasai culture, polygamy is a way of life, and my father had four wives. My mother, the first wife, has ten children, and I’m the eighth born. The second wife also has ten, the third (now deceased) had two, and the youngest has four—and likely more to come. Despite the size of our family, harmony prevailed. Divorce doesn’t exist in Maasai culture; marriages are lifelong commitments, and the extended family is deeply interconnected.
Growing up in such a large family instilled respect for age and hierarchy. As children, we couldn’t casually engage with elders. Instead, there were designated times for them to teach us about our roles and responsibilities, fostering discipline and a strong connection to tradition from an early age.
Opportunities beyond pastoralism were rare. I was the first in my family to attend school—not out of a desire for education, but because I was terrible at herding cattle! In our community, education wasn’t valued, and being sent to school felt more like punishment than privilege. Yet, what began as a consequence of my poor herding skills turned into an entirely new path for me.
For most Maasai boys, the traditional path remains the norm. At 16, we undergo a rite of passage called circumcision, becoming warriors tasked with protecting the community and its livestock. This period often involves extended nomadic journeys during the dry season, searching for grazing land and water. For over 85% of Maasai boys, this is still the only life they know. For me, however, being “bad at herding” became a blessing, giving me the chance to pursue something different.
BECOMING A WARRIOR
Becoming a Maasai warrior symbolizes courage, discipline, and readiness to protect one’s community. The transition begins with circumcision, marking the passage from boyhood to becoming a Moran, or young warrior. This step, known as Eunoto, is part of a ceremony held every 10 to 15 years, introducing a new age set into warriorhood.
Traditionally, Maasai warriors are known for their strength and bravery. They protect their livestock and community, armed with long spears and buffalo-skin shields dyed in vibrant red, black, and white patterns. We wear distinctive braided hair dyed with red ochre, beaded necklaces, and capes (shukas) made of cowhide. In my father’s generation, earning the title of warrior involved hunting lions, a test of courage where young men would work together to bring back the lion’s tail as a trophy to present to elders. This practice, though phased out due to conservation efforts today, is how we used to prove the bravery expected of warriors.
The preparation for Eunoto is intense, lasting 30 to 45 days. During this time, young men undergo mental and physical conditioning. The community gathers each evening to sing songs praising past warriors, instilling a sense of pride and readiness. These rituals have been passed down for over 300 years, with the ceremony itself taking place under a full moon, symbolizing peace and ancestral approval. The ceremony is deeply personal—a true test of one’s mental capacity and endurance.
After the ceremony, the new warriors spend weeks resting. Marked by distinctive black shukas (thick colorful blankets adorned by the warriors), they are sustained by diets rich in red meat provided by every household they visit. This period also marks their integration into warrior responsibilities, including leading cattle during the dry season, patrolling the landscape to prevent trespassers or cattle rustlers, and mentoring younger Maasai boys. The warrior stage of life lasts between 15 to 20 years, during which Morans embody the strength and unity of the Maasai community. As they transition into junior elders, they are guided into marriage by the elders, ensuring the next generation is ready to take their place in this rich and disciplined cultural cycle.
BREAKING THE MOULD
My journey into education was far from typical for a Maasai boy. Like every child, I was expected to herd livestock from dawn until dusk. But I often returned with fewer animals than I started with, losing goats and causing constant worry for my family. Herding is a source of pride, and my inability to manage livestock was seen as a failure to honor my role.
One day, my father called me aside and said, “Son, I’m not going to let you keep losing animals anymore.” He decided I should stay home while he figured out a solution. Those two months were the longest of my life—isolated while other kids swam in rivers and played hide-and-seek in the bush. Eventually, my father sought advice from an Englishman, a nearby farmer, who suggested training me to herd cattle. My father quickly dismissed the idea and asked if there was anything else I could do.
The Englishman mentioned a small school he had set up for local children, and my father decided to give it a try. The next morning, he walked me 10 kilometers to the school—a decision that changed my life forever.
At first, school felt entirely foreign. Education wasn’t a priority in our community, and most Maasai saw little value in it. But I quickly fell in love with learning, even though getting to school was a daily challenge. Each morning, I walked wildlife-filled paths, often encountering elephants, lions, or leopards along the way. My teacher—strict and relentless—refused to accept excuses, even when I blamed the elephants. Looking back, I credit her for teaching me resilience and commitment.
The school let me attend without a uniform, allowing me to wear my traditional Maasai clothes, which eased my transition. My father sold livestock to pay my fees, a decision that caused tension among my siblings. During a severe drought, I was pulled out of school for eight months as our family moved to find grazing land. When we returned, the Englishman came to check on my progress. Learning I hadn’t returned, he drove to my new village, picked me up, and paid my fees from then onward.
He supported me through primary school and helped me secure a spot at a prestigious boys' boarding school in Nairobi. Life in the city was difficult at first. I was the only Maasai among 600 students, most from the Kikuyu tribe. Isolated and unable to speak their language, I spent two lonely years before learning Kikuyu—my fourth language—and finally making friends. With my family frequently moving and no way to locate them, I often spent holidays at the Englishman’s house before returning to school. Despite these challenges, education transformed my life and opened doors I never imagined possible.
STEPPING INTO A NEW ROLE
After finishing school, I felt both excitement and uncertainty about my next steps. Conservation was just starting to gain attention in the late 1980s and 1990s, and I found myself working in a small camp that focused on preserving wildlife. I started by learning the basics—working in dining areas, kitchens, and alongside the staff managing horses. Those early experiences shaped my path, introducing me to the world of safari guiding.
Over time, I immersed myself in this life, spending countless hours with tourists, sharing stories, and learning about wildlife, birds, and the diverse cultures of those I met. Eventually, I pursued formal training to earn my safari guiding certifications, which allowed me to deepen my knowledge and take on greater responsibility.
Working in my home landscape feels like both a privilege and a responsibility. It’s my role to protect the wildlife, connect visitors to nature, and give back to my community. What inspires me most is seeing people from all over the world fall in love with this land, supporting conservation efforts and advocating for the protection of our incredible species, especially in the wake of a changing climate. Every day, I make new connections, and those moments fuel my passion for this work.
One of the most powerful aspects of my role is bridging cultures—sharing the richness of Maasai traditions with visitors while also advocating for community development. The Maasai are among the world’s most recognized tribes because of our strong connection to our cultural heritage. From our beadwork and traditional clothing to our oral traditions, we’ve preserved our way of life by passing knowledge down through generations. When people visit, they are fascinated by how we live—what we eat, how we work, and the stories that define us. These interactions often lead to direct support for our communities, from building schools and providing clean water to hiring teachers. This support is critical as climate change challenges our traditional pastoralist way of life. Diversifying into education and new careers has become essential for our survival.
For me, being a mentor is one of the most important contributions I can make. I want to be a role model in my community, showing that it’s possible to break new ground, succeed in unfamiliar paths, and inspire others to follow. Whether it’s in conservation, eco-tourism, or scientific research, opportunities are growing for the younger generation. With more education and mentorship, they too can find success while contributing to the preservation of our land and culture. The slow pace of change within the Maasai community is both a challenge and a strength. As someone who has lived here my entire life, I see how gradual shifts allow us to honor our traditions while adapting to a changing world.
A WORLD OF CHANGE
The world I grew up in is vastly different from the one we live in today. Education, climate change, and human activity have reshaped our way of life, particularly for the Maasai. For generations, we relied on livestock for our livelihoods, but in recent years, the worsening impacts of climate change is forcing us to adapt. Droughts are now longer and harsher. The most recent one—lasting nearly four years—was the worst in 40 years. It claimed 80% of our herds, devastating families whose entire economies depended on cattle. Elders like my father often struggle to grasp the scale of this change, but for younger generations, it’s undeniable. The land is drier, wildlife populations are shrinking, and the balance of our ecosystem is collapsing.
As an ambassador for conservation and biodiversity, I feel compelled to bridge this understanding. I’ve spent my life encouraging others to see that we can’t rely solely on traditional ways. Climate change is real, and it demands that we diversify our livelihoods. Education is key to this shift. In my community, I work to show families that sending their children to school can open doors to careers as doctors, veterinarians, conservationists, or researchers. This transition isn’t easy—it challenges deeply rooted cultural norms—but it’s vital for our survival.
I also use my role to connect people to the realities of climate change. Visitors from around the world often tell me that they don’t see its effects in their own countries. But here, they witness how our landscapes are drying up, how wildlife populations like buffalo and herbivores are declining, and how this affects the predators that rely on them. It’s a very real reminder of the fragile balance between nature and human activity, and something these people take back home with them. Perhaps my world inspires more action in theirs.
I aim to pass on the knowledge that was once given to me. Whether I’m advising local families to reduce livestock numbers to sustainable levels or encouraging investment in land and conservation, the goal is the same: to create a future where both people and nature are succeeding. I wish the world would realize, faster than it is, that climate change is a threat to humanity. Protecting biodiversity and natural landscapes isn’t just about preserving beauty—it’s about survival. While it’s a responsibility we all must take on, I see it as the modern day reinvention of what it means to be a warrior. An eco-warrior.
As told to Andi Cross in October 2024.
ABOUT THE HLC X EDGES OF EARTH EXPEDITION
The women-led global expedition, Edges of Earth, has partnered with the UN Climate Change High-Level Champions (HLC) to bring to life the Ocean Breakthroughs initiative by sharing personal accounts and climate action stories from remote coastal communities. This media partnership will feature interview-style stories that highlight the experiences and efforts of locals, Indigenous communities, nonprofits, and ocean scientists in addressing climate change. Celebrating its one-year anniversary, Edges of Earth has traveled to 25 countries (with nearly 30+ more to go throughout 2025) working closely with diverse groups to understand and amplify their climate resilience strategies. Through this collaboration, Edges of Earth will spotlight the five Ocean Breakthroughs by showcasing diverse voices and solutions to accelerate global climate action.
