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Published: October 29th 2023
We drove about an hour to Lake Eyasi
, although we didn’t see the lake. We were visiting the Bushman or Hadza culture, courtesy of a group that had migrated from the Kalahari generations ago. They live in the forest, foraging for fruits and roots and killing animals with arrows.
Not realizing that we had arrived, I wondered where they lived, since only fairly small amount of low forest was in view; after walking a short distance and hearing about Hadza life, I decided the forest was bigger than it looked. We met only a handful of people; presumably, the others lived well out of sight. The fees for the tours pay for the children to attend primary school, which is compulsory. In all other ways possible, they avoid modern developments in any form and follow their own cultural ways.
About a dozen men and boys greeted us; during the day the women and men live in separate parts of the compound. Basically, men hunt and women gather. Three little boys, one a toddler, tried to keep up with the young men who hosted us. The Hadza rarely live longer than 45 years, because their life is so hard. The
population is declining rapidly, from about 8000 once to 1500 now, due both to attrition and to the difficulty of maintaining their lifestyle.
After each man and boy had introduced himself by name, we did the same. They speak a “click” language, so it was hard to pronounce their names, which was a good joke to them. The central feature of the compound was a big baobab tree with a hollow inside. A few of us squeezed in with a singer and a player of a stringed instrument. Indeed, inside the trunk the singer and the instrument were wonderfully resonant.
Next, a young man full of energy and love for his culture explained about their four types of arrows. We almost didn’t need the translation by the guide, because he “became” the bird or baboon with expert actions and sounds. The “soft” arrow for birds had a collar on it, just below the barb. Fred thought it was a piece of corn cob, to knock the killed bird out of the tree. I thought it was to keep the barb from penetrating through the bird. (We should have asked.) The regular arrow was for small animals, the barbed
Digging for taro root
Gathering is the skill of women.one for baboons, and the poisoned one for large animals. For poison, they boil the highly toxic euphorbia milk; they have an antidote which is added to the victim’s meat, to prevent their own poisoning during consumption.
When we moved over to where the women were, they demonstrated beading, all wearing fine adornments on their heads and wrists. One woman carefully showed me how to slide the bead onto the grass thread. These colourful modern beads were bought with the money we paid.
The whole group started a round dance, singing and dancing in a stepped rhythm. Someone tapped on my shoulder, and before I could look around, a woman firmly clenched my hand and brought me into the circle. Except that the rhythm was a bit faster, it reminded me of the First Nations’ round dance at home. The dance also ended the same way, that is, with everyone taking hands to form a circle and moving into the centre several times. A toddler had been dancing in the centre, but he found this mass approach too scary and his mother came to rescue him.
The boys challenged us to target practice with their arrows; they
hit a far-away stump every time. Amongst our group, close to the stump was as good as it got.
The final demonstration showed us how to find food. A couple of boys looked for mice by digging under small clumps of grassy plants. When a lot of digging produced nothing, a couple of women started digging for a taro root that is a staple in their diet. After a lot of hard work, one woman dug up what resembled a sweet potato. She peeled and cut into it with a knife, offering us some. I took a small piece; the flavour was like jicama, but it was very fibrous and I couldn’t do more than suck the juice. Suddenly, the boys started running frantically and came up with a mouse that they speared with an arrow. Proudly displaying it to us first, they had to give it to the women, who I think quickly ate it just like that! With everyone successful, we took a group photo.
We drove a short way to a big rock outcrop. In one side was a large, shallow cave. This was a ceremonial place, where marriages were confirmed and prayers offered in
times of trouble. On the wall were paintings, which our guide carefully explained. The elephant painting at the entrance was about 12”x15”. Its spirit was “success”, thus it was the most revered. (I thought they might not kill an actual elephant, but there was no such prohibition.) The giraffe painting was the spirit of “baby”, thus important to mothers. The hyena’s spirit was “success in hunting large animals”. The paintings of people were “ancestors”. Initially, I was upset that some of the paintings had fresh black paint on them, but eventually I realized, from a comment the guide made, that these were “active” drawings not artifacts. “Touch ups” were important to the continuity of their beliefs.
Our elevation: 1739 metres
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Isabel Gibson
non-member comment
Thanks for this glimpse into a very different and very hard life.