HUNTING SNACKS WITH THE BUSHMEN
Parched land. Few giant Baobabs dot the endless plains. 4 meter-long dried snake’s skin nailed to one of these giant trees. White sculls – chimps probably – pegged on sticks.
Welcome to Bushville.
Tucked somewhere in nowhere, Tanzania, it took us several hours of off-road navigation just to get there. Now that we’re inside, all the corny “missionary-in-a-boiling-Calderon” images pop into mind. Are we truly in danger, or just victims of our own ignorance and prejudice?
The lost Hadzas
Tanzania’s Hadza Bushmen are a dying breed. Hunting their prey with bows and arrows and living in tiny straw shacks, this tiny group of people (only about 1,300 individuals spread all through central Tanzania) offer a rare glimpse to what all mankind was like before the invention of the wheel, written history, lawyers and the internet.
Traversing the backwaters of East Africa, these Bushmen are unique in every way. They have no possessions, no written history, no guns, and very little interest in the outside world. Anthropologically, the Hadza are not closely related to any other African people. Their “click” language appears to be an isolated branch, unrelated to any other. As descendants of Tanzania’s aboriginal hunter-gatherer population, they have probably occupied their current territory for time before time. In fact, the small clan dazing at our beaten 4×4 Toyota is a forgotten relic – a window to another eon, a Time Tunnel, but there’re no Doug and Tony around.
Into the African outback
Few years ago, two of us buddies decided – probably as result of some mid-life crisis – to ascend the 5,900m summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. To prepare our bodies for this challenging climb we also decided – in another stroke of “pure genius” – to practice our skills at the slightly lower, but much harder to climb, Mt. Meru. Situated only 70Km west of the African giant, Mt. Meru is Kilimanjaro’s “evil twin” and worthy of its own future post. Enough to say for now that, climbing down Meru, we were in no physical condition to drag our tired bodies to breakfast, let alone to clime the tallest peak in Africa. Instead we opted for a few hundred dusty and bumpy Kilometers on the b
ack bench of a tough Toyota Land Cruiser.
It seems common sense was not included in the package.
The ride took us – two white, aching, sweating “farangs” – to the heartland of the bush and the home of the Bushmen.
To Kill a mockingbird – literally
The Hadza are hunters and gatherers, locating their current hangout wasn’t easy, but when we did, we received a full welcoming party. The snacks, though, we had to gather ourselves. Since we had zero surviving skills, we had to relegate the task to a younger generation. The clan’s young adults were more than happy to oblige.
They grabbed their bows and arrows, we grabbed our cameras and hats, and off we went.
The race was frantic, jumping from one bush to another the posy was out for blood. Bows were drawn, arrows released. The air was filled with yells of agony and frustration with every miss.
I guess bullseying a flying bird is not easy with a piece of wood and a string. But then again, practice makes perfect, and these kids had a lot of time to practice (no schools, no homework, no exams. My own kids thought this must be the reincarnation of paradise, until I told them there were no Playstions).
It wasn’t long until one of them made a kill – a tiny shishkabird skewed on an arrow. Yummy. Not!
The kid dispatched it with a quick twist, and immediately when on with plucking its weather. At the same time the others were busy building a small pyre and setting light to it – National-Geographic-style.
The bird was cocked and consumed on the spot. As manner require, we were offered a bite, which we politely declined. Our religion, we said, forbade us eating any birds.
It’s good to have god when you need it.
🙂
PS: I decided to spare you the image of the Hadza devouring the snack. It’s available on demand.