Photos by Tynan Daniels
Gaunt granite outcrops amongst the grey-tawny bush near the shores of Lake Eyasi. Every bush and tree here, it seems, has thorns that reach out and cling at your skin and clothing.
We are visiting a small band of Hadzabe, the Bushmen of Tanzania. Only a few hundred remain, living their traditional hunter-gatherer lifestyle. In common with aboriginal peoples on other continents, they are increasingly marginalised. Once, they roamed freely over this whole vast landscape, but these days they are restricted to a relatively small area, as land-hungry immigrants from other tribes move into what appears to them to be unutilised land.
We catch up with the hunting group at their small encampment in the hills, a collection of small grass huts. ‘Huts’ is putting it a bit strongly, as these are very basic shelters, easily assembled from local materials: grass, a few branches and twine made from bark. This makes perfect sense for a nomadic people who need to be light on their feet, able to pack up and go quickly in response to changing ecological factors such as trees coming into fruit at a distant location.
The men are busy making new arrows, checking the straightness with the utmost care and shaving off small sections where necessary. They are sitting on skins of Lesser Kudu, a beautiful spiral-horned antelope found in these parts. The women are nearby, cooking and playing with healthy looking children.
Later, we set out on a hunt with the men. It is rare nowadays for Hadzabe hunters to find big game – the pressure on the land is too great with all the newcomers. In any case, having a bunch of flat-footed wazungu (whiteys) trying to keep up, would cramp their style. Not to worry - I am fairly certain that they would forget all about us, in the excitement, if a decent-sized animal were spotted and they would tear off, leaving us floundering. Quite right too.
They move through the bush, quiet but intent. When a hyrax is spotted there is a flurry of activity and the scrawny hunting dogs scramble under the boulders, trying to flush the prey. One man cocks an arrow and takes careful aim. The unfortunate hyrax is hauled unceremoniously from his hiding place.
***
It is a few days later and we are in Serengeti. By the road, lions have killed a buffalo. They are pretty full but every so often one wanders over to the carcass – maybe just a little bit more, maybe a tiny space still left to be filled. In the melee, we can make out five small cubs, maybe 2-3 months old.
***
The Western corridor is alive with the honking of wildebeest, like a chorus of demented bullfrogs. Hidden in dense bush by the Grumeti River, we watch as they make their nervous way down to water. There is tension in the air: as animals of the open plains, they are fully aware of the dangers inherent in the prosaic act of drinking: large predators lie in ambush and the placid water might erupt at any moment, as a crocodile attempts to catch breakfast. The Grumeti crocs are particularly large and probably only get to have a decent meal when the migration comes through for these few short weeks once a year. The rest of the time, pickings may be skimpy.
Today, fear wins out over thirst: something spooks the herd and they whirl away, out of the forest and onto the plains once more.
***
A herd of ellies finds a lovely muddy pool. An ecstatic youngster churns up the mud for better wallowing. The babies lie flat, kicking their legs up in the air, while the adults, more sedate, squirt mud behind ears and under bellies. A good mud bath is a wonderful way of cooling off, as well as for removing pesky parasites.
***
Later on, we sip our wine as the sun sinks to the horizon in a blaze of red and gold (all that smoke from the Park Managements early burning program has got to be good for something!). It’s time to head back to camp. A lioness… she wasn’t there a moment ago. There is probably a whole mob of them in the tangled thicket of sickle bush from which she has emerged. After a few minutes, we leave her scanning the plain, looking for dinner while we head back for ours.
•••
After a long flight, we are on the shores of Lake Tanganyika. We know it’s a lake, but it feels oceanic: the mountains of the Congo side, 25 miles away, are shrouded in dry season haze and the water merges with sky at the washed-out horizon. We head out for a walk in the forest – there are Red-tailed Monkeys in the trees overhead, but they are difficult to spot. Moving stealthily and peering up for a glimpse, we are probably behaving just like a party of hunting chimps and they whirl away with bird-like chirrups of alarm.
•••
June is often tough for chimp tracking. Many of the fruiting trees they favour are way up high and it is hard work for Homo sapiens, particularly an unfit specimen such as myself, to get to. Today the news is good: last night, they nested low down and the trackers have set off to locate them early to give us the best chance of catching up with them. We head south by boat to the trailhead and start into the forest. Here the guides stop us: the chimps are on the move and they want to be sure of their direction before deciding which trail to take. The trackers radio down: they’re off toward the river. The trail hasn’t been cleared yet, as it’s still early in the season, so the guides have to hack a way through with their pangas (machetes). Soon, there is no trail at all: we branch off along the river, and have to cross several times, teetering mid-stream on precarious boulders. If the chimps cross before we get there, they will disappear up the densely forested mountain slope, where we have little hope of following. All of a sudden, there they are: 2 males, Darwin and Carter, grooming each other in the classic Mahale Handshake style, clasping each others hands overhead while they search for parasites and flakes of skin.
More appear from the forest, making their way to the water’s edge to drink, before crossing, taking care not to get their feet wet. This they achieve much more elegantly than our party of their closest cousins.
It is a perfect situation for photography, which is ironic, as my camera has chosen this moment to go on strike…
Six of them settle down to a group grooming session, crowded around the thuggish alpha male, Pimu. One female, Omo, has a small infant cradled on her lap. He is only 6 months old, and has a pink, wizened old man’s face. We are totally rapt. All of a sudden, a single chimp pant-hoots from above. The group immediately leap to their feet, replying in wild crescendo, ending with a series of high screams. Then they disappear into the wall of forest. It is perfect – the curtain has come down on the scene and we, the privileged audience, walk slowly back down the hill.
Next day, we don’t find them at all. The trackers only hear a single distant call – how incredibly lucky we have been.
***
It’s our last night. Everyone has gone to bed, Steve, Kiri and I are sitting around the camp fire before heading off to bed. I glance over my shoulder – why has the moon gone red? Wow, IT’S AN ECLIPSE! I race off to rouse my guests and we stand and watch in awe. It is a relatively rare event as this time as the moon passes right through the centre of the earth’s shadow, so it is a total eclipse – the moon gets very dark.
The fates are clearly smiling on us…
A Hadza lady in her boma
