Born out of millenia of living at the mercy of the Earth’s vagaries, rural Africans have an innate understanding of nature. With the current environmental problems facing the planet, traditional Africa is a good place to search for the wisdom that points the way to ensuring our continued place here.

With this in mind I went looking for the Keepers of the Knowledge, the Sangomas and the Healers in rural South Africa recently.

In some cases I had an introduction, in others I went ‘blind’, receiving what synchronicity arranged.  I met many fascinating people with stories to tell. What a surprise it was to discover how willing they were to share their knowledge. It is as if there is a transcendent recognition of the chaos we are causing in the natural patterns of the only home we have.

Something else I discovered was that it would often take a couple of days of mulling over what I had heard for my mind to grasp the truth. I learned to query myself when I didn’t ‘get’ what they were saying. “What am I not understanding here?” I would ask. I then let it stew for a while, until the penny dropped.

I learned a lot.

Everywhere I went people said that wildlife was part of their heritage, their culture. They said that messing with wildlife was messing with people’s identity. One woman went so far as to say that she didn’t want to win the lotto (the reason behind the slaughter of vultures). “It is not good,” she said. “You will get bewitched.” Not only by other people, who are envious, but also by the ancestral spirits because you have meddled with the natural order of things.

On the subject of rhino, a Shangaan Sangoma told me that the rhino actually has a ‘soft’ horn when it is with other animals. It is only when it sees a human that its horn becomes hard. This is an evolved way of saying that a rhino’s sole predator is man. She went on further to explain that rhino are vengeful creatures, that they will chase a person up a tree and then dig at the base of the tree to topple it.  They would also wait many days to exact their revenge.

There is great prescience in her pronouncement. In light of the recent extinction of the Northern White Rhino, the largest mammal to have disappeared since the mammoth, and the current onslaught that the remaining species face, we hear a dire warning in this story. If we allow the rhino to go extinct we will be pushed up a tree – a tree that the rhino itself will undermine.  Retribution may not be immediate. The rhino is patient. I can’t think of a better analogy for the threat that biodiversity loss represents to humans. It is quite probable that the rhino is a key species in the collapse of the natural systems that have supported our own evolution – if not physically, then psychologically.

Another interesting take was on vulture parts.  As already mentioned, the driver behind the poisoning of vultures is the belief that by placing vulture parts, especially the brain, under your pillow you will dream the winning lotto numbers.  As the lotto is a modern phenomenon this is not a traditional belief. Like the belief that having sex with a virgin will cure AIDS, it has come about recently, particularly in the urban areas. It is an urban myth.

One man in the small town of Elim, near Makhado, told me he couldn’t understand why people thought a vulture was so special. He considered an ostrich much cleverer as they know how to distract predators away from their chicks and how to disguise themselves from attack.  An ostrich also has good eyesight and runs fast. My understanding of this is that there is a greater sense of dominion in the image of the ostrich. In other words, if people want to get ahead they must not rely on dreaming the winning numbers of the lotto, something that is totally out of their hands, they must be clever, run fast, and have good vision, just like the ostrich.

The ability to identify the necessary qualities for a successful human life so easily with the natural world confirms the affinity that many Africans have with the environment.  And should ostrich parts become the vogue for taking control of your life there are surely enough ostrich farms to supply the necessary muti  legally.

I learned much, much more about traditional beliefs, and their links with the environment, a great deal of which relates to the inner lives of Africans. I will write them down in due course. Here I share examples of the thinking of southern Africans on two of the most pressing issues affecting wildlife and the heritage of our people.

The potential for finding lasting solutions to the crises we face lies in learning to speak the language of those involved.

We find a shady spot.   It’s September – The Month When Messengers Come – so called by the Bugakhwe because when leaving home in the cool mornings on food gathering expeditions one doesn’t anticipate the heat of midday.  Caught unprepared, someone has to be sent to the nearest settlement to ask for water.

Shengaera is a traditional healer, a repository of ancient knowledge for the Bugakhwe.  His worn face is testament to a hard life in a land where water is plentiful but opportunities for his generation were scarce.

Our presence draws a crowd of women and young children. “Where are the older boys and girls?” I ask.  “At school,” replies our interpreter.

We ask our questions and are fascinated by the stories that come forth.   They’re African versions of Aesop’s Fables, morals and ethics tightly woven  into their fabric.

Our cultural mission accomplished,  we stay awhile and chat to these engaging people. “How’s the life?” I ask in general terms.

Shengaera thinks on this and, probably drawing from the context of our earlier questions, finds a comparison to foregone times appropriate.

“Good,” he responds. “ The children go to school. There is a clinic now. The post office gives us pensions.”

It’s time to move on to another settlement in the same area.  Our interpreter introduces his mother, Dedom //Qeyexo.  She’s an elderly woman with a proud face. She sits straight legged on a blanket covering the sand, her back erect as a drill sergeant’s dream.  It’s clear she is the head of the family. We ask our questions and receive dignified answers.

Business concluded our interpreter hands over an A4 envelope to his mother.  Her face softens and lights up at the same time.  Tentatively, like she’s approaching a sacred object, she opens the envelope and slowly withdraws a certificate. She looks at her son, eyes shining with admiration.
The action brings out the neighbours. We’re not the curiosity this time.  No. It’s this symbol, this wonder of education. This certificate means so much. Not only to an individual – but to a family, a tribe, a nation.

It’s unlikely that //Qeyexo or Shengaera have ever heard of Survival International and its call for a boycott on their country’s diamonds. One has to ask what they would think if they knew their children’s future hung in the balance.

Because all of it – education, health and pensions – is paid for with diamonds.

What is less on our minds is the fact that 2010 has been declared as the United Nations International Year of Biodiversity. The rapid loss in biodiversity on the planet gave rise to this attention-getting intiative. Species extinctions are almost a daily occurrence, and they are only the ones we know about – there are many more, unknown to science or beneath the surface of our awareness that we remain ignorant of. The real scary part is that these extinctions are, in almost all cases, caused by human beings.

The Bushmen have collided with this realisation – that biodiversity is important to safeguard our future – in their desire to remain on traditional land. When they lived as hunter/gatherers their impact on the land was minimal. However, things have changed and the former hunter/gatherers have now acquired livestock, drive vehicles and shoot game with rifles. This is their lifestyle choice. Their ecological footprint has increased signficantly from times of yore.

The situation in the Central Kalahari Game Reserve in Botswana highlights this issue. The land the Bushmen wish to remain on is declared a game reserve. It receives an average of around 300 mm of rain each year. Desertification, caused by overgrazing livestock, is a real and imminent threat.

Parallel to this the Government of Botswana has long recognised, and implemented, a sound Tourism Policy that utilises the country’s natural resources in a sustainable manner. Tourism is a vehicle that provides benefits for its citizens into the future. The choice presented to the Bushmen of the Central Kalahari goes something like this: if you want to keep livestock you need to move out of the reserve; if you want to stay here then continue to live the true hunter/gatherer lifestyle or get involved in the tourism industry.

As the responsibility of preserving biodiversity falls to governments and citizens alike, the assumption that the Bushmen don’t understand the issues of sustainability is patronising, to say the least.

Which is not to say that we shouldn’t mourn the loss of the old way of hunter/gatherer lifestyles, along with the knowledge and skills that went with it. In light of the vanishing culture the preservation of that wisdom should be encouraged (e.g. museums, books, storytelling etc.). But it certainly is not up to outsiders to decide how the Bushmen should live.

So in this year of 2010, of African Pride, could there be an emerging trust that sometimes Africans do know what they’re on about?

The sustainable use of the Earth’s natural resources is a lesson the whole world needs to learn.

]]> http://www.clarissahughes.com/people-and-culture/biodiversity-and-bushmen-in-2010/feed/ 2 http://www.clarissahughes.com/people-and-culture/bushman-san-or-tsaasi/ http://www.clarissahughes.com/people-and-culture/bushman-san-or-tsaasi/#comments Wed, 23 Sep 2009 09:38:28 +0000 Clarissa http://www.clarissahughes.com/?p=357 I recently met with an old Bushman woman, called Ouma Khunna. She lives near the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, in which she was born in 1931. Her clan are known as the Khomani San and were the first people in this corner of the Kalahari.

I asked her what she preferred being called, Bushman or San. And she answered in a definite tone, “Ek is ‘n Boesman.” I am a Bushman. This apparently started a thought train going because she then went on to explain that really her people were Tsaasi (I’ve spelt it phonetically) and that she was a Khomani Tsaasi.

“Tsaasi?”

“Ja, ons is die mense van die tsaa.” We are the people of the tsaa.  Tsaasi.

“And what is a tsaa?” I enquired.

With great meaning resonating in her voice she explained that Tsaa was the eland, an antelope of profound importance to the Bushmen.  When it cries it sounds like a human being, she continued; and I understood there is a deep psychological identification with this animal.  Her lively eyes, set deep in a lined, apricot face, sparkled as she explained that an eland’s dewlap provided really good medicine.  Eating the fatty meat and wearing the skin of the dewlap would protect like nothing else.

It was so clear to me that she regarded herself and her kinsmen as People of the Tsaa, that I wondered about the other names bestowed on these gentle folk.  “Bushman” was obviously imposed by outsiders, but the politically correct “San” seemed odd, and I couldn’t really see how San would link to Tsaa. Then I thought about the Setswana name, Basarwa. The Ba prefix denotes the meaning People of.    So “People of the Sarwa” seemed closer to what she called herself.

It was time for me to go and I was thinking about a suitable farewell when the Setswana phrase “Sala Sentlê” bubbled up and came out my mouth. Ouma Khunna looked at me quizzically. “Oa bua Setswana?”  You speak Setswana?   I explained that it was very rudimentary Setswana and that I hadn’t practiced for years.  But there was no stopping her.

It was like opening a dam wall. “Oh, dis ‘n besonderlike land, daardie.”  It’s an exceptional country, that.   If she wasn’t so old, she said, she would go and live there.  And I knew that something had touched her in our conversation because she then opened up with a very personal story.  I could see her relatives were nervous about the reception the story would receive.  Would I laugh?  Would I dismiss it as nonsense?  On the contrary, I felt extraordinarily privileged.  It was a story of such personal meaning that I will treasure it forever.

Thank You, Ouma Khunna.

Dignity and respect are mentioned in at least two southern African countries “Visions” that I know of.  Botswana and Lesotho.  Could it be that this will become a worldwide phenomenon?  Global civility.

Let me put my cards on the table.   As a young adult with an innate curiosity in the world I became convinced that,  in our time in history, the gravest danger to humanity was humanity itself.  Considering this,  I believed that the most generous gift one could give to this amazing phenomenon called Life was to forego the joys of personal procreation.

Sounds weird but stay with me.

I thought about why people have children. To leave a legacy? My question here revolved around what kind of legacy would you leave?   The science is indisputable. Human numbers are gobbling up the planet like a cancer. Feeding the cancer doesn’t seem to be such a good legacy to me. And once the cancer consumes the host, well, then the cancer dies off too!

The desire to love unconditionally? Well, if that’s the driver I can’t think of any better way to test it than by adopting a child. Now that’s Unconditional Love. In other words, it seems to me the issue is not that there are not enough children in the world, rather it’s that there is not enough love for the existing children of the world.

In Africa human reproduction has a lot to do with tradition and what society expects of you. But we live in the Age of the Individual, where individuals can (and do) get to choose their lives. Barack Obama’s “Yes We Can” campaign is about just that. If there’s one thing in Life that’s constant, it is Change.

Several people have said “But you should have children. Your genes are good and need spreading.” This notion appals me. There are Nazi strains in that tune.

Finally, I asked myself this simple question.  Would my life be more meaningful if I had children?  I couldn’t answer in the affirmative.

Having said all this, if I had a life partner who had strong feelings on the subject  I would co-operate.

But back to the transpersonal.  The links between overpopulation, over-utilisation of natural resources and poverty are clear and direct.

Anyone who’s travelled through the back streets of Africa, Asia and South America’s most populous cities will have witnessed the naked horror of poverty caused by overpopulation. Thanks to India’s blossoming global culture (e.g. Slumdog Millionaire, White Tiger) the misery of penury is slowly filtering into mainstream imagination.

Is it wrong to desire a decent standard of living for human beings? Is it somehow anti- humanity? On the contrary, it is hostile to carry on breeding as before.

The groundswell of voices calling for self-restraint does not propose that people stop having children altogether, but rather that sensible numbers be considered.

At the Fringe one already hears that it’s way uncool to have more than two kids per couple. In twenty years time I’m pretty sure the youth will be saying it’s totally selfish.

So out of a Love for Africa and her People I add my voice to the clarion call for sensible population self-control (read self-empowerment) on our continent.

Elim houses

It started out in March 2008 as a way to educate people on how to care for their animals, and since then Andrea has seen an enormous improvement in the animals’ condition. “Sometimes it’s as simple as saying ‘It’s OK to care for your dogs’”, she says. The dogs are brought to a central point in the village where mange, ticks and open wounds are treated.  Matted hair is cut away and de-worming medication administered.  Belinda keeps the records.  Says Andrea, “Putting down an animal is not a solution as the owners will just get another one.  Sensitising people on how to care for their dogs is the only way.”

The success rate is good and those who return like Rover, a very handsome Boerbul, are proof.  Slightly undernourished, the only other sign of previous ill health are the remnants of mange scars.  Rover’s owner and his son are justifiably proud of their pet.  Funds for spay days are being raised as Andrea says there is an explosion of puppies in the village.  An animal behaviourist by training, she is planning puppy classes to socialise the dogs to livestock.

There are many layers of encouragement in this kind of help. Firstly, it’s education and therefore enabling, rather than encouraging dependency.  Then it’s about self-esteem for people who own well-cared-for dogs. The psychological scars of apartheid are still lurid amongst many of the so-called Coloured communities. Of course, the dogs benefit too.  And then at its deepest level it is about a sense of husbandry for the natural world. As we go into an era where man’s responsibility to the natural environment is going to make or break situations (I’m talking water and food wars, too little for too many, fomenting terrorist attacks etc.) an exercise in taking care of  “those who cannot speak for themselves”  will hopefully engender a less narcissistic, and therefore healthier, attitude to the planet at large.  For me, teaching people how to care for their animals is up there with tree-planting initiatives.  It is positive on so many levels.

Elim is a story in itself. Established in 1824 as a Moravian Mission it was dedicated to the indigenous people. Through the dark years of apartheid its excellent school attracted the children of surrounding farmers and it was one of very few multi-racial institutions in South Africa.  Since the advent of democracy in 1994 Elim has not succumbed to the temptation of opening up to outside political influences and has maintained its municipal independence. This is achieved by the fact that Elim is situated on 7,027 hectares of private land, owned by the Moravian Church. By avoiding becoming a municipality it has averted the mushrooming of low cost housing that has sprung up in similar villages, and by doing so has kept its olde worlde charm. The houses and cottages of Elim are quaint and steeped in history. The population of around 3,000 is predominantly elderly as there is not enough work to keep the youngsters in the village. There may not be much work available but what is, is conducted with immense pride. Elim thatchers are world-renowned and the skills, which are handed down from father to son, are sought internationally. Women are engaged in two areas. The wild flower industry employs many Elimers as the village is situated in the fynbos belt and the Elim Home is a well-known school for disabled children where children from far and wide are taken care of. No liquor sales are permitted in Elim and the village recently won an award for taking ownership of its self-governing responsibilities. It boasts a primary school, a pre-primary library, an E centre, a post office and a police station.  After 1994 the provincial government installed a sewage system for Elim but instead of a municipality the Overseers Council manages the maintenance and operation of it.

The annual Church Bazaar is a fund raising event that all Elimers participate in. Women bake delicacies and sweets and, for a week prior to the big day, they are sold from the homes of the bakers. Then on the big day itself there are cake sales, children’s plays, raffles, a blind auction and general hilarity. The Church hall is the venue and from the outside you see a few cars and people milling around. Take a step inside and it hums with activity. On the floor the business is taking place with everyone buying everyone else’s koeksisters, samoosas and ginger beer. On the stage the children are fishing for prizes in a blow up splash pool and in an annex the men are loudly slapping dominoes down in exuberant play. The old folks sit outside watching the passing parade while visitors arrive for the big event. The atmosphere in one word: delightful.

Elimers’ sensibleness and sensibilities are something they can be proud of and with the help of individuals like Andrea Booysen and Belinda Owens much is being achieved. If not already the case, outsiders will wish they were born into this community because that’s the only way you can live here. Otherwise you may get a feeling for this uplifting South African story and gorgeous Overberg village by visiting and staying in the guesthouse.

The topic that initially attracted me to the festival was “African Wisdom”, which embraced the complexity of African thinking. Traditionally, Africans live close to Nature and understand that peoples’ law is subject to natural law. It is only recently (in historical terms) that the tribal initiate’s sense of responsibility to the environment has abdicated to the impersonal concept of government, and this is where things have gone awry. In light of the excesses of the West it is uplifting to learn that answers to our current problems are innate to this wonderful continent. It will take open minds and consciousness to rekindle them; not necessarily in their previous forms but in new, creative ways, appropriate to modern conditions.  

And there were plenty other interesting sessions too. With the choice of around 40 different themes it was sometimes hard to choose which ones to attend. Some dealt with lean business models in manufacturing industries, others with energy efficiency, holistic land management and climate change. Yet others embraced creativity, in writing, storytelling, dance and music. Education, money and motherhood were all tackled; as was conscious aging, Native American spirituality and that characteristically Western concept called “drive”.

A selection of laidback entertainment by highly talented artists and a good dose of sheer, unadulterated fun rounded out the weekend.

During the course of the last day I witnessed tears welling up in the eyes of many and it took a bit of reflection to figure out what this could signify.

The pervasive atmosphere of the weekend was one of acceptance without judgment.  In a country where the psychological scars of a divided society are noticeable, I think this is what touched those sensitive souls.  But there was more to it than that. The awareness of differentiation and discrimination, an unbelonging, relates to the natural environment too. This embracing and tolerant mood, and its ability to heal, couldn’t have been better epitomised than by the performances of the Balu Nivison Dance Group and their Stories of Hope and Courage. Deeply moving.

A spiritual reconnection with the Earth is something that more and more people are realising is an essential ingredient to humanity’s psychological health. In fact the Wilderness Leadership School makes it their business to sensitise people to this reality.

During a recent sacramental visit I became reacquainted with Belinda Kruiper, widow of Vetkat Kruiper, renowned Bushman artist. Immersed in the society of the formerly dispossessed Belinda is trying, in her own way, to demonstrate to her husband’s people a way of reconnecting with the Kalahari on their terms. These people of the Kalahari have long been marginalized from their land and way of life.  However, a recent land claim awarded a large portion of the Kgaligadi Transfrontier Park to the Khomani San and a community-owned and run lodge has been erected and is operational.

Talking with Belinda I learned that the lodge had been a disappointment to some members of the community. For example, air conditioning isn’t high on the community’s priority list, but management insisted that it was essential if they were to break into the highly competitive tourism market. The complex world of 21st Century luxury tourism is something this community is not yet equipped to understand.

Belinda talked about small groups of the Khomani San going onto their land and being in it for a few hours, a few days, a few weeks. She spoke of an elderly woman who couldn’t sit on the ground anymore at home, but when she went back to her ancestral lands had no problem sitting with legs out straight in the traditional manner on the Kalahari’s red sand. She spoke of how the previously divided Kruiper family had reunited and how Oom Dawid would go out into the bush and walk and walk and walk. A great sense of healing is starting to evolve out of these simple acts.

Listening to Belinda as she sat on her neatly made outdoors bed (it’s far too hot to sleep inside in December) at her house near the Kgaligadi Transfrontier Park, and hearing her articulate her hopes and aspirations for her community, I couldn’t help but think of the French maxim “il faut reculer pour mieux sauter”. It is necessary to retreat in order to leap better.

If a retreat into the wilderness is what the Khomani San need to better equip themselves for fast, modern life, then so be it. In fact, they are no different to any other people in this regard. We all need that reconnection. The irony is that the Khomani San, formerly despised outcasts, seem to be more aware of it, more conscious of it, than many other so-called sophisticated societies.

Virunga was the first national park to be established in Africa in 1925, to protect the variety of wildlife found there, including mountain gorillas and okapi. One can jump to conclusions as to what’s happening to the wildlife populations under such conditions. The hippos have been under fire for a decade or more now, but that’s another story. Or perhaps we would be surprised to learn that Mr Nkunde has instituted some kind of martial lawfulness in an otherwise lawless country?

I visited Kanya Bayonga and Virunga some years ago and a vivid memory is of an outdoor restaurant on the shores of Lake Edward where delicious banana chips and bream were served. Marabou storks wandered between the tables looking for titbits. For those unaccustomed to them it was a little disconcerting to have a long, ugly face suddenly appear silently at your shoulder. However, what was remarkable was that they were accepted and tolerated by the restaurant owner and the customers!

I like to think that this innate forbearance, so typical of Africa, would return once all the ignominious influences either dissipate or are brought under control.