Two things happened when Rhodia Mann was nine years old. One, her father took her to northern Kenya, which in the 1950s was closed to the outside world; and two, she went on holiday to Zanzibar, where crawling on the beach, she found her first treasure — a handful of beads.

“They were incredible,” she says, handing them to me in her living room, where her collections from Asia and Africa are displayed.

Years later, through her research, Mann found out that the beads came from southern India and were traded as precious commodities from the 9th century, on settlements along the East African coast, and further inland.

“I had no idea that beads were going to form a significant part of my life,” she says.

Born of European refugee parents who escaped with just the clothes on their backs from the Nazi genocide, her parents found their way to Kenya with the help of a US diplomat.

“My father was Polish. He was a vet, and naturally loved animals. That’s how he met the US diplomat. My mother was Romanian and an architect. When my parents arrived in Kenya, no British settler wanted to be posted to the then Northern Frontier District, and my father was assigned there. He built the slaughter house at Archer’s Post, and got the local Samburu people to collect bees wax which was then shipped to England for use as seals. My mother was employed as a town planner and was asked to design a city (Nairobi) for 250,000 people,” says Mann.

Mann attended the prestigious Kenya High School in Nairobi, and went on to study fashion design in London, which she hated; and then business studies, which she hated even more.

She then moved to Manhattan, New York in the US. In 1961, while visiting her on their way back from Afghanistan, her parents bought her a box of jewellery.

“I showed the stuff to a shop at the Plaza Hotel and they bought it all,” says Mann.

At the bottom of the box were small glass beads that she retained.

“I bought some thread to string the beads into a necklace and hung it on the wall. A friend saw it and asked me how much I was selling it for. A figure came to my head and I said $60. That was my first sale,” she says.

Since then she has travelled all over the globe in search of rare beads, and the stories behind them. She has made ornaments using beads, exhibited some around the world and sold many others.

“My home is all about my life and it’s not a museum. I know everything in it, where I got it from. Every piece has a story,” says Mann, showing us her signature designs of ethnic jewellery, many from beads that are now hard to come by.

Unfortunately, the most beautiful beads are the ones that were used in the slave trade, she adds.

Her most prized beads are the Chevron beads — huge blue beads — that were given as gifts to African chiefs and kings by European explorers and slave traders seeking permission to travel through tribal territories. Hand-blown white glass beads made in Venice during the 19th century were also traded in exchange for the most handsome male slaves.

She then points to an elephant-hair bridal necklace that’s at least half-a-century old and is worn by Samburu women of northern Kenya.

“The centre-piece bead is what connects my two stories. They are Venetian beads,” she notes. “I found that out when researching on beads in the British Museum. There’s a catalogue by a Dutch merchant who was in the bead business in 1830. It has samples of beads used by explorers and traders coming to Africa. I found a sample card in which British explorer HM Stanley chose which beads to bring to Africa.”

Safari to the stars

Mann then goes on to tell us more about the story of her northern Kenya connection.

“When I was 16, I had a dream in which I had returned to Samburu, standing at the edge of the Losiolo escarpment. I wrote it down and knew I had to return one day,” said Mann. “I returned at age 30. The first person I met was a traditional blacksmith who showed me everything about the Samburu.”

Mann became a regular visitor, taking tourists up north.

“I was in a privileged position. I met everyone in the community where I lived, was adopted and given the name Noongishu. It means cattle, and in practice it signifies an independent woman,” she says.

In 1995, Mann attended a Samburu circumcision ceremony, which ushers young men to becoming warriors, at the ages of between seven and 14 years.

“I was intrigued that in an area that covers 21,000 square kilometres, the circumcision ceremony is done at the same time by all clans. (we’re talking pre-mobile and Internet days). I learnt that it was a sage who gave the word. He lived at the foot of the holy mountain — Mount Nyiro,” says Mann.

The adventurous Mann decided to visit Mount Nyiro to learn more about the sage and the local customs, driving for two days.

“I stopped at the Catholic mission in Tum, and asked if they knew who the sage was. They did. His name was Lesepe,” she says.

For an escort, Mann was given a 12-year-old boy named Joseph.

“We started walking to the holy mountain early in the morning carrying some water and fruits. We walked and walked, and walked. Every time I asked Joseph how far, there was just one answer, ‘not far.’ It was high noon and we were heading towards Suguta Valley,” says Mann.

Suguta Valley is one of Kenya’s remotest and driest places, and has had its fair share of bad press due to cattle rustling and banditry.

“We found the old sage’s son who told us that his father had dreamed I was coming,” she says. “But the old sage was on his death bed and even though I had a thousand questions, the only one I asked him was ‘how do you know (referring to the time of circumcision)?”

“I talk to the stars,” the sage replied.

“I realised then that I knew nothing about the hidden workings of their culture,” says Mann.

For the next five years, Rhodia immersed herself in researching more about Samburu culture that resulted in a coffee table book, with pictures of ceremonies titled, Talk to the Stars: The Samburu of Northern Kenya.

The book traces age-sets of the Samburu from 2005 to 1781.

“They (Samburu) can see stars and constellations that the naked eye cannot see. The most fascinating thing is that they know about Sirius B, a star that orbits Sirius A every 52 years. I have corresponded with the Cape Town Planeterium who have confirmed all that the Samburu star-gazers have shown me,” says Mann.

“They tell me they see it with the third eye. But I think it’s also because they live away from all the modern day clutter, are closer to God and see things differently, like all ancient tribes who are the holders of ancient wisdom.”

However, a lot is changing about the Samburu.

“The young generation doesn’t believe in stars any longer, and many of their traditions are disappearing. This is the transition period, says Mann. “My book is a record for future generations.”

Mann hopes someone will pick up from where she has left, for there is little recorded on the Samburu, even in local museums.

“The elders tell me that they represent tradition but the young want to leave, and they have to let them go. A Samburu elder who is a sage told me in 2005 that this generation will follow tradition and obey the elders, but after that they will wait for the stars to speak,” says Mann.