“Men don’t know much about lions anymore or how to kill them,” laments a Maasai elder in The Chairman and the Lions. The documentary, directed by Peter Biella, an anthropology professor at San Francisco State University, finds inspiration in the research of its producer, Kelly Askew, a fellow anthropology professor at the University of Michigan. It follows the trajectory of Askew’s article “Of Land and Legitimacy: A Tale of Two Lawsuits” (co-authored with Faustin Maganga and Rie Odgaard; Africa 83 [1], 2013), which examines poverty, property rights, and land conflicts in the Lesoit village. It also reflects, to a lesser extent, Askew and Odgaard’s “The Lions of Lesoit: Shifting Frames of Parakyo Maasai Indigeneity” (in The Politics of Identity: Emerging Indigeneity, edited by Michelle Harris, Martin Nakata, and Bronwyn Carlson, UTS ePress, 2013), an exploration of song and ritual among the Maasai. The Chairman and the Lions has already received numerous accolades, most notably the 2013 Jury Award at the Zanzibar International Film Festival and the 2013 First Prize at the ETNO Film Festival for Ethnographic and Anthropological Film, and it was screened at a number of other prestigious film festivals.
Framed by the training of young Maasai warriors in the technique of lion hunting, the film gives voice to Frank Kaipai Ikoyo, who, at thirty-three, is the chairman of the Tanzanian village of Lesoit. He was elected at the unusually young age of twenty-six, due to his completion of primary school; however, his nuanced understanding of the nation-state, paired with his appreciation for community processes, has made him successful in combating both the real and figurative lions that plague his people, including land grabbers, “bush” lawyers, unemployment, outmigration, and poverty. Within the confines of the film, Ikoyo faces land disputes over village property and an exploitative legal contract, along with the arduous job of persuading mothers to send their daughters to school.
Reflecting these subnarratives, The Chairman and the Lions is most successful in its deconstruction of the dichotomy between traditionalism and modernism. Indeed, the film convincingly demonstrates that these factors coexist in compelling and often contradictory ways. For instance, Ikoyo’s voice-over contextualizes the Maasai as a migrant people, and their permanent housing as a new development enforced by the national government. As encroaching farmers attempt to steal their land, however, the ensuing lawsuit calls into question the validity of Lesoit as a village. No longer just an argument about land, but now also a debate about legitimacy, Ikoyo responds to a suspected spy at the council meeting by first interrogating him, and then suing him for attendance without an invitation.
In a subsequent scene Ikoyo discusses the village’s decision to grant permission to an outside party to harvest their forest. In the process of carrying out his task, the contractor finds that some of the wood is substandard and pays Lesoit a sum that is decidedly smaller than what was initially promised. The chairman terminates the contract, but upon being sued by the contractor he considers an alternative proposal. However, he challenges one component of the new contract, which would involve the replacement of inferior trees with healthy ones. In speaking of a nearby tree he inquires, “What’s it worth? . . . And the shade it provides?”
While striking an appropriate balance between Ikoyo’s narration and relevant action sequences, The Chairman and the Lions demonstrates visible difficulty navigating the precarious space between the performative and the practical. Notably, Ikoyo and a village councilman, Juma Mriga, both served as producers for the film, a responsibility that inevitably forced them to be conscious of the direction of the narrative. This is best illustrated in a scene in which a lone Ikoyo gestures to Juma, who is standing outside the camera frame, and asks him to leave: “No, Juma. What you’re wearing isn’t good. . . . We don’t want it. You’ll ruin the film.” Juma appears, nonetheless, sporting a Manchester United blanket draped over his shoulders in customary fashion, and both men continue to look at the camera—or more appropriately, at those behind the camera—for approval. This is not the only instance in which a hyper-awareness of the camera distracts from the content of the scene. When Ikoyo and his council interrogate the suspected spy, general confusion persists as to where the accused should be situated, how he should be questioned, and ultimately, whom this spectacle is intended to benefit—the common good of the village or the narrative of the film.
Nevertheless, just as a postscript reveals that the main problems were resolved in a positive manner for the people of Lesoit, The Chairman and the Lions demonstrates that though the Maasai may face what Ikoyo refers to as “different lions,” the techniques used to address them have persisted, and more aptly, their culture is believed to have sustained them to the present day.
