A Weekend with Bushmen
It seems it is human nature to be fascinated (and all too many times fearful) by that which is foreign to us, especially when it comes to other members of the human race. This is made evident with the token visit to a Himba village which no Namibian tour is complete without (mine would come later). These interruptions into their daily lives seem to walk a fine line between serving as an educational opportunity to gain an undestanding of an ancient culture and an opportunity to exploit an already marginalized people with a strange curiosity akin to that with which we view animals in a zoo. I can only imagine what they must think of our requests to peer into their lives while capturing it all on our fancy digital cameras.
In the case of both the Bushmen (also known as San) and the Himba tribes in Namibia the fascination for me is more of an immense respect for soceities which still live life so deeply connected to the earth and its natural environment in a world where our food is prepackaged, our dependence on limited resources grows, our need to leave our home or office vanishes with the advancements of technology, our patience is replaced with an expectation of now, and the majority of us are too distracted with {fill in the blank} to be aware of our own bodies, let alone mother nature and the delicate relationship between the two.
Bushmen used to populate a large part of Southern Africa, but today their hunter-gatherer culture has been almost extinguished. Farmers and cattle breeders have seized much of their land and mining companies and national parks have also contributed to the demise of their traditional way of life. As hunter-gatherers they could recognize more than 35 species of edible mammals, birds, reptiles and insects and list more than 250 edible plants. They would cover up to 2500 miles per year in search of game. Today many of them earn a living as farmhands or survive on the outskirts of villages without any prospects.
Charitable organizations such as UNESCO have arrived on the scene with the best of intentions to help these displaced communities. Every once in a while they succeed, but as is the case with aid all over the world, their attempts are often in vain or gravely misplaced. Tractors are given when there is no petrol to run them, elaborate plans are devised to provide electricity for houses which don’t exist, and more money is spent on executives making visits to these villages than on the villages themselves. But, here in Onamatadiva a new school had been built and would soon begin educating a new generation of Bushmen children. Some of whom had walked as far as 60km alone to reach this village when they heard a school was being built. And it was our mission to paint a mural on the outside of that building.
Our presence seemed a continual source of delight and entertainment, something out of the ordinary. They don’t often get visitors in this remote village, especially white ones. I understood nothing of thier language spoken with clicks, but all that needed to be said was communicated through smiles and kind gestures. And, of course, through the univesal language of dance! It was the weekend and I am not exaggerating when I say that if they weren’t sleeping or eating, this village of young and old alike was dancing. From first light to well after dark the sound of drums and singing was audible. And with it, the well-rehearsed movement of bodies unfamiliar with restraint was visible. Bodies that know to dance before they can walk. Bodies that celebrate the gift of music in an otherwise quiet existance. Bodies that truly feel what it is to be alive.
Before the painting began
Despite their faces they begged to have their picture taken and
absolutely loved looking at their images afterwards!
Cleopaz looking for last minute inspiration
My playmates while the rest were at church
Everyone took their turn in the circle
Their hut-like homes
The finished product
A very happy bunch of people!
see more photos at: http://ej.smugmug.com
Tags: Travel
Administrator