As a bothersome middle school student relatively uninterested in multiculturalism, I never liked the fiction, nonfiction, and memoirs that explored the lives of people from parts of the world I had never been to and had no intention to visit. Thus, the brilliant imperialist critique of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, the powerful resistance to apartheid found in Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country, and the real beauty of Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth were almost completely lost on me. This was probably because my uninspired English teacher didn’t know or care to highlight the social justice themes in those books, but whatever the case may have been, they failed to capture my attention. While Joseph Lemasolai Lekuton’s Facing the Lion is of an entirely different literary caliber than Things Fall Apart or The Good Earth, his memoir similarly exposes students to a worldview and culture distinct from that of Western Europe and the United States that, in time, could be lost forever due to the powerful forces of social exclusion and oppression. However, unlike those books cited above, Lekuton wrote his memoir specifically for children; he quite deliberately refused to write a more sophisticated book for adults. As such, Facing the Lion is instantly accessible and prompts young readers to ask important questions about the history of western imperialism and even moral relativism. It’s also short enough to read rather quickly so that students won’t find themselves bored with the inspiring details of Lekuton’s adolescent life. Still, it fails to deliver on any kind of literary level, and Lekuton’s story resembles one of many students will come to encounter on their intellectual odyssey into the realm of multiculturalist literature. So is it worth your time in the classroom? Perhaps, but only if teachers use Lekuton’s memoir as a catalyst to facilitate more substantive historical, literary, and philosophical conversations.
With Facing the Lion, Lekuton describes his life from birth until the time he entered college at Saint Lawrence University in the United States, which afford him the unique opportunity to teach at an elite private school in the Washington D.C. area. However, Lekuton’s real identity is rooted in Maasai cultural traditions that he learns and embraces as a boy and, later, a Maasai warrior. The Maasai, a nomadic warrior tribe prominent in southern Kenya, traditionally raise cattle, their primary source of sustenance; warriors thereby protect their families not only from other people, but also from lions that hunt cattle for food. Lekuton’s opening chapter describes his first encounter with a fierce lion that killed his family’s most prized cow; Lekuton, who overestimates his own bravery, flees from the lion almost immediately and abandons his brothers and friends to destroy it themselves. While no other lions make an appearance in Lekuton’s memoir, the lion thenceforth serves an important metaphorical role; Lekuton’s struggle to reconcile his distinct lives as a Maasai warrior and an accomplished student at boarding school constitutes the primary conflict of Facing the Lion.
Notably, Lekuton quietly introduces issues of cultural imperialism in his memoir from time to time, especially with respect to his education at a Western-style missionary school. There, he can’t wear the traditional dress of the Maasai people; students are uncritically forced to wear Western clothes. More problematically, students must learn English—not, for some, their native Swahili—the tenets of Christianity, and Christian moral values. Thus, Lekuton experiences firsthand the culturally destructive Western imperialism at play in African countries for hundreds of years. While Lekuton does not name this as such, he does vociferously assert that no matter the substantive benefits of his Western education, he consistently prioritizes his identity as Maasai over and above all else. While this is extremely difficult at times—for instance, Lekuton struggles with his mother’s unscientific acceptance of geocentrism and her incredulousness at the existence of airplanes—Lekuton refuses to see the Maasai people as primitive or backward. Their customs may be different than those practiced in Nairobi, Kenya and the United States, but not at all less valuable simply due to their ostensible exoticism from a Western-centric perspective. Without the Maasai, Lekuton maintains, he would not be the person he is today.
Nevertheless, many middle school American students may take issue with some of the cultural practices Lekuton describes. Teachers who decide to read Facing the Lion with their students should encourage students to voice these real concerns while still emphasizing a healthy dose of cultural sensitivity. Importantly, Lekuton’s memoir can actually engender classroom discussion about meta-ethical and normative moral relativism—namely, the notion that there exists no universal standard for morality and, thus, that we should tolerate the ethical norms of different cultures even if strongly disagree with them. This kind of in-depth philosophical discussion, which I readily contend is quite appropriate for middle school classrooms, is especially appropriate with respect to Lekuton’s vivid depiction of his circumcision, an important and necessary step in becoming a man in Maasai society, and his description of the patriarchal norms that dictate women’s second-class status as housekeepers and caregivers. Ideally, teachers can strike a critical balance between resisting students’ inevitable tendency to exoticize Lekuton and his people and encouraging critical thinking about substantive moral questions that deal with bodily mutilation and gender studies. I wouldn’t put it past middle schoolers to explore these kinds of questions authentically and meaningfully.
That being said, other books tackle these issues as well, and some do so with remarkable eloquence and nuance, both of which Facing the Lion unfortunately lack. In the end, I recommend more challenging memoirs like Elie Wiesel’s Night and Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings—both of which introduce similar social justice-related themes—even for students in the seventh or eighth grade. Still, Lekuton’s triumphal coming-of-age story can inspire and motivate, and may prove more valuable for students more comfortable with simple, uncomplicated prose, struggling to improve their reading skills.