A long flight, followed by a 6 hour drive that felt like a lifetime, and, as we pulled up in a cloud of dust and got stiffly out of the Land Rover, she came flying out of the house in defiance of all custom to give me a hug and tell me how happy her father could be there (Note: she is not my daughter, it is an honorary/obligation thing. Finding a waif and finding a family to look after her - anyone would do it. Most of us have at some stage.).

The children pushed and laughed as they grabbed my bag and took it to where I would be staying, while she lead me inside to cool off and have a drink of tea and a good gossip. Letters can only say so much, after all. Much laughter, jokes, and an incessant buzz of conversation in three languages filled the house. The smell of the flinty dust, like warm copper, running as a base note to the smells of the food being prepared for the evening feast. At last, she gave me another affectionate hug, a gentle push and said "Go. Meet my new husband."

As I left the house, I stop, take a good look around, breathe deep of the dry afternoon air, and listened to the sounds of the village around me, and the immense silence beyond it as the sun sets. Welcome to the Maasai Mara. To me, the most beautiful place on Earth, bar none. It is like coming home.

The first wedding day, up at dawn with the warriors to prepare. As her elder, along with her foster family, my job was to sit in silence while her prospective husband gave the final bride price that seals the deal. To her foster mother, a female sheep. To me, standing as her father, a calf - the pick of his herd. Two cows and a bull to her, as her own property outright and the core of her own herd, and a ram, which is promptly and ceremoniously slaughtered and the fat and oil rendered down for later in the day, while it's body is guest of honor at the first night's feast.

Finally, after several hours, she appears. Her head freshly shaved and anointed in the rendered fat of the ram, her dress the product of hours work by the entire extended family, the beaded decorations, lovingly oiled and some of them several hundred years old, adorning her neck, head and wrists. Every elder in the village blesses her, the men with alcohol, the women with milk.

She then disappears, not to be seen again for two days except by her new mother in law, while the rest of us feast. No, not even her new husband. He is banned from seeing or sleeping with his wife for these two days, instead staying with the warriors in their unfenced house on the outskirts of the village.

Leaving me with two days to kill, and the problem of what on earth to do with a calf that certainly won't fit in an airline carry-on. So we went hunting during the day, and evenings spent yarning and discussing politics and business.

Not the hunting you might think of, but walking 30 or 40 miles, armed with spears, looking for strays, checking up on the herds grazing under the solemn supervision of 8 year old boys and always on the look out for additional meat for the pot. The evenings are filled with dancing, music and laughter as the whole community, plus guests from up to 100 miles away get involved.

Her husband, a tall, slender and very handsome man in his mid 20s, stayed close by and we talked very quietly of many things over the miles and long into the evenings. He explained, with some haste, why he was so late in marrying. He had spent much of his youth walking. 2 hours each way to attend school, meaning he was far slower in taking on the responsibilities of an adult than some of his friends. The drought that decimated his fathers herd at a time when he first started thinking about marriage, and the long, painful rebuilding of the herd to a level where his family could afford for him to marry. The worry that another would be accepted by my daughter's foster family in his stead as her husband, as he had not the ability to provide the gifts to show he was serious about wanting her for his wife. The triumph, the day he killed a lion, brought back it's skin and presented it as his declaration of intent, while the blood ran down from the claw marks on his body. That is now a rare thing, and was accepted as a serious statement of intent despite his poverty.

The final day of the wedding was very quiet. She appeared, in the morning, head freshly shaved and anointed by her mother in law, and that was it. Now not only married, but an elder, with a voice in the direction of the village and her own wealth, free to gain respect and teach the youngsters. Also, no longer anything to do with me, or her foster family, other than as a beloved friend. We hugged, I got back into the Land Rover, and headed home without looking back. I'd not shame her, or him, for the world.

Sounds a lot different from what we get here, doesn't it? You get a tiny diamond, she gets independent wealth, a new family and a husband who will literally kill a lion with his bare hands for her. So who are the civilized ones here? I honestly don't know.

Oh, and the calf? I gave it to her foster father, in trust, with alternate calves going to her.