The wind blows softly in the morning. The camels wake me just before sunrise, their groans low and ancient. An elder woman stands facing Mount Ololokwe, whispering a prayer into the still air. Before the milking begins, the day is already unfolding.Camel tea is the first drink of the day. It stings the tongue and leaves a salty aftertaste that is oddly pleasant, like a memory you don’t expect to enjoy. It is handed to us with warmth at Johnson’s boma, our friend, who welcomes us like family into his home.Samburu opens herself slowly, but without hesitation. She knows she is beautiful. She knows she is alive. When the first orange-yellow light touches the red soil, it bounces back soft and golden. It lands on faces already smiling, on necks heavy with copper beads and threads of elephant tail hair.