He has come to sit by the fire and, without even asking, he has started talking as if he felt the need to do so. During our last bonfire in Botswana, under a spectacular canopy of stars, we listen in silence to the stories he tells us. He speaks without haste, with a half-smile and his gaze fixed on the flames that seem to dance serenely to the rhythm of his words. Living for months alongside a tribe of San Bushmen, the oldest nomadic people in Southern Africa, provides many stories…
And he unravels them little by little, while stoking the fire with a piece of cardboard and skillfully placing some branches that try to escape. We listen incredulously to the story of the lion that attacked a couple with a newborn baby, how the man fled in terror and the woman, wounded in the leg, managed to escape the feline. Once safe, she saw that the animal’s claws had torn her little one’s stomach. She herself wrapped the wound with tree bark and pressed him against her chest for days. In this way, she saved his life. He tells us that he knows that baby today, now a young man, and that he has seen the marks on his belly.
He tells us about how difficult it is to learn their dialect, a highly complicated way of communicating based on tongue clicks which, furthermore, often varies depending on the area. Thanks to his learning, he was able to translate for us the unintelligible sounds with which the Bushmen addressed us during the walk with them at sunset. Without him, we would have had to focus on deciphering their looks and gestures.
While the nocturnal sounds of Africa are heard in the background and small eyes are glimpsed in the dark, he explains sadly that he estimates only a few years remain before the traditional life of these people disappears completely. The youth do not want to suffer the harshness of extreme heat and cold in the open, nor search for roots, seeds, and tubers for food. They disdain ancient customs, migrating to the cities where, for lack of employment, many of them end up falling into marginalization and alcohol.
But there are also, he tells us, those who are forced to leave their ancestral desert lands because the absence of water makes survival impossible. Although he doesn’t explain it to us, we know from Survival International that a diamond deposit caused the expulsion of many Bushmen from the Central Kalahari Game Reserve, the ban on hunting for food, and a constant struggle by denying them access to water wells. One of the traditional ways of keeping fresh water for days is to store it in ostrich eggs and plug the small hole with grasses that keep it clean.
Bushman drinking water
He recalls with nostalgia when they were still allowed to hunt. No rifles, no facilities. Only man and animal. For hours, they simply ran after the prey, such as a kudu, until it collapsed from exhaustion and then they overtook it with arrows. Because in the traditional lifestyle of the Bushmen, which is also on the verge of dying from exhaustion, everything is natural, without artifice, without banal needs.
Food, shelter, medicine, fire; everything that is truly necessary they borrow from nature. Just as nature has molded their bodies over thousands of years to adapt them to the harsh conditions of the desert and remote lands of the Kalahari. Nature, he explains with interest, has colored their skin a beautiful honey color, gifted them with large eyelids to protect themselves from intense sunlight, devoid them of body hair, and regulated their organisms to withstand physical feats and lack of fluids.
With every word, he displays his admiration for these indigenous people, his gratitude for having been welcomed for a time as one more in their tribe and for having been taught all the knowledge that now allows him to work as an interpreter and guide at the campsite. His salary supports his wife and children, whom he hardly sees because they live in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. Everything he earns goes to them, while he makes do with little and gratefully receives the food we have left over, even the wet packets of powdered soup that seemed useless to us.
For his shared stories, for leaving us an indelible memory of our last night around a bonfire in Africa, we dedicate this small tale to him and wish that his passion for helping the Bushmen remain in their ancestral lands does not die.
Some practical data:
Currency:
1 Botswana pula = 0.10 €
Where to sleep:
The walking activity with the Bushmen was done at the same campsite where we slept: Ghanzi Trail Blazers. In addition to basic camping pitches, they also offer rooms and the possibility of sleeping in a recreation of a hut like the ones they use to sleep. They have a small restaurant where we ate the best food of the trip and shared a table with the campsite owner, her son, and other travelers.
How much it costs:
The activity plus one night of camping cost us about 250 pulas. The homemade buffet-style meal with drinks for two came to 190 pulas.
How to get there:
The town of Ghanzi is in Botswana, very close to the Kalahari Desert and almost on the border with Namibia. Driving from its capital, Windhoek, will take almost seven hours, and if you do it from Maun, the gateway to the Okavango Delta, a little over three hours. Fill your car well with fuel because gas stations are not abundant in that area.
Tips:
If you want to take home a good souvenir, you can buy pieces of jewelry made by Bushmen artisans from ostrich eggshells or Kalahari sand. A good place to do this is at the small Gantsi Craft shop, established in the village since 1953. All the profits they make go towards community development.
Left undone:
Enjoying their ritual dances around the fire at night.
Stories from other travelers #postamigo
A practical diary of the Trip to South Africa, Botswana and Zimbabwe by Mi Baúl de Blogs
