(Dust swirls in the air obscuring our view as we drive to visit the Hadzabe Bush Tribe in Tanzania)
It was the end of our second hour driving down a pot hole-infested,
rattle-the-teeth-out-of-my-head dirt road in Tanzania, and I was
starting to feel as if my body was going to shake apart.
The wind
was strong and hot, and the dust swirled high into the air. Even though
we were inside the jeep we looked as if we'd been covered in a thin
layer of terra cotta.
We were on our way to visit the Hadzabe bush
tribe that lived on the outskirts of the Ngorongoro Crater, where we
were going to spend the next couple of days. On this little adventure, I
would pay for the pleasure of the Hadzabe's company with a goat -- a
first in my world travels -- and at that time I had no idea what that
really meant.
(When I arrive, the Hadzabe men sit separately from the women and children)
The Hadzabe population is under 1,000 in Tanzania, and the ones we were
meeting still lived like their hunter-gatherer ancestors did thousands
of years ago. I was incredibly excited to meet them.
The tribe was waiting in a shaded clearing, the men on one side, the women and young children on the other.
They didn't speak English, of course, only Hadza, and we communicated through another guide who translated.
(The little boy who was the first to let me take his photo)
Their language included clicks and clucks, and I felt as if I'd walked into a Nat Geo documentary.
The men were welcoming, inviting me to sit down near their circle; the women, far less so.
The
men lit up what looked like a joint and because of their amiable nature
and their blood-red eyes, I didn't think it was their first of the day.
They
offered me a hit but I'd been told the night before that their
"tobacco" was incredibly strong and I may regret it. I politely
declined, shaking my head with an expression I hoped would convey the
simple truth: I was a lightweight. They chuckled and whispered between
themselves, apparently agreeing with me.
Chili
and the other guide asked if they could leave me alone with the tribe
while they went to a nearby shepherd to purchase the goat that would be
my currency. I was apprehensive, language barrier and all, but I nodded,
made a bad joke about getting a receipt, and off they went.
We
watched them depart and then the tribe turned and looked at me. I
instantly became self-conscious and my mind went blank; the Hadzabe were
expecting me to take the lead and I didn't know what to do.
A saw
a cute little boy sitting with the women, so I raised my camera and
nodded at him indicating I was asking if I could take his picture. He
grinned and I snapped a quick photo.
I showed the boy his sweet
face in the screen and he laughed. (A digital camera's LCD is wonderful
tool for breaking the ice and bridging the gap of unspoken languages.)
Thankfully,
as I'd hoped, the other children wanted their picture taken too, and I
happily obliged. The women watched stoically as I methodically took
photos of each child and then showed them their likeness on the screen.
It was a good game and I was grateful for their enthusiasm.
(A Hadzabe man ties a beaded bracelet around my wrist as a gift )
After the children, many members of the tribe wanted in, and I was happy I was earning some points with the crowd.
Nearby,
impala horns dangled from a tree, next to them were handmade bows. (The
Hadzabe are known for being excellent hunters.) A young man grabbed a
bow and shot an arrow which landed squarely in a patch of dirt he'd
pointed to moments before. He turned and handed the bow to me.
The
string was so tight I could barely pull it -- evidently the Hadzabe
have the strength of Superman -- and the arrow was so skinny and light I
couldn't keep it level long enough to shoot.
The young man
adjusted my grip, tilting the bow slightly to the left so that gravity
would keep the arrow in place, and then I let the arrow fly. And when I
say fly, I mean it barely went 10 feet before pathetically dropping to
the ground. It was clear: I would make a terrible Hadzabe.
( A woman nurses an infant while I photograph the ladies)
Mid-visit the tribe offered me a handful of berries they were passing
around. The fruit was wonderfully sweet, but they were so fragile, just
holding them in my hands tore their skins and the juice latched on to my
fingers like glue.
I tried to wipe it off on my cargo pants but I
only managed to make things worse, adding red dirt to the mix of berry
juice and sweat.
If I hadn't known better I would have thought it
was a Hadzabe party trick. The tribe didn't seem to be suffering the
same fate, or they didn't care, I'm not sure which, but I was a gooey
mess.
My visit abruptly ended when Chili returned with the other
guide and a new man with a goat. Holding the beast over his shoulders
like a shawl, the man walked into the center of the clearing, wedged the
goat's head between his knees and grabbed its horns.
(My ill-fated goat)
In
a flash I realized what was coming next and I poked Chili in the arm.
"They're going to kill the goat?!" I said in a frantic whisper. (Though I
never asked, I assumed that the goat would be added to the Hadzabe's
herd; it was only then that I learned they didn't have one). Yikes!
Turns
out the goat was their lunch. "I can't watch this, Chili, " I said, a
bit freaked out and feeling like a silly American tourist. What they
wanted made perfect sense but within two seconds of seeing the goat, I'd
already named it. I couldn't watch it die.
Yes, I know, I'm a wimp.
"Okay," Chili said, looking at me as if I was a nuts. "But then let's go soon. They're hungry."
Fair enough.
My
visit had been extraordinary, and I didn't see any point in prolonging
the inevitable, or making my hosts wait. We said our goodbyes, which
consisted of a few waves and head nods, and we walked to our jeep,
leaving my goat (their goat) to its sad fate.
really nice.
ReplyDeletesure....thnx!!!
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