Face to face with Stone Age man: The Hadzabe tribe of Tanzania

by ANDREW MALONE

The rocks by the fire were still warm. Old animal bones and feathers were scattered around the clearing.

The skin of a wild cat was stretched out to dry in the sun.

Startled impala and dik-dik — small deer — darted through the undergrowth; colourful birds whirred into the sky.

"They are near," whispered our tracker, Naftal Petro, as clouds of tsetse fly swarmed around us in the stifling African bush. "We must wait and see if they come. They will decide if they want us to know them."

Suddenly, shadows of human forms started moving around the bush. The noise of sing-song voices floated towards us. Here, in one of the world's last untouched wildernesses — the dense bush south of Africa's Rift Valley where the first humans emerged upright more than two million years ago — a group of men from the mysterious Stone Age tribe were ready to make their introductions.

Draped in animal skins and carrying arrows tipped with poison, two slim, wiry characters walked slowly towards us in the clearing. Time has stood still for these men — two of an estimated 400 remaining survivors of the Hadzabe tribe — whose way of life has scarcely changed since human evolution began.

These nomadic hunter-gatherers live as all humans once lived: wandering the plains with the changing seasons, killing game for survival, constantly avoiding aggressive wild beasts, and, finally, dying as they were born — under the sun and the stars.

They meet other humans only a handful of times in their entire lives. This was one of those rare occasions. The men shouted greetings to us in clicks and whistles — their sole form of language, which, although it sounds basic, is capable of expressing complete thoughts and concepts.

They had been out hunting with bows, and rested them alongside their arrows against a fallen tree. I introduced myself and Naftal translated my words into clicks and whistles to an older Hadza called Gonga (Good Hunter in Swahili).

He smiled warmly, revealing surprisingly well-kept teeth.

But his response was startling: "You are welcome here. But please tell your people how things are for the Hadzabe. Please do not add things and please do not take things away. Please just tell the world that we are dying."

More than wild animals or sleeping sickness, what Gonga fears is that rich men with guns and helicopters from the 'new world' are about to arrive on his doorstep, spelling the end for a tribe that, with the exception of headhunters in remote parts of Papua New Guinea, represent the only bridge between modern and ancient man.

Once numbering more than 10,000, the Hadzabe are the last huntergatherers on the African continent, where 'homo habilis' (the forerunner of modern man) first emerged more than two million years ago.

It is only in the past 12,000 years that man has managed to domesticate animals and grow crops. Before that, we all lived like the Hadza.

To the dismay of anthropologists and champions of the Earth's remaining tribal people, two wealthy Arab princes, who have made billions from oil and gas in the United Arab Emirates, are negotiating with the Tanzanian government to buy the Hadzabe's ancient lands to use as their own private hunting grounds.

To them, it's just another commercial deal — and a chance to kill wild animals. But to the Stone Age tribesmen, it would spell the end.

In return for the dubious pleasure of shooting lion, leopard, buffalo and elephant, Crown Prince Hamdan bin Zayed (the UAE's deputy prime minister) and Crown Prince Mohammed bin Zayed (deputy supreme commander of the air force) want the Hadza evicted from the area to prevent them competing for game.

As bait, they are offering to pay the impoverished East African country a reported £30million, and have offered to build private homes, hospitals and schools for the displaced tribe.

The Tanzanian government supports the plan and, for years, has considered the Hadzabe an embarrassment — 'a backward people who should be living decently in proper houses'.

The Dubai princes have also pledged to pay Tanzania a 'tax' of £5,000 for each animal killed.

But apart from removing one of the world's last tribes, the Arabs will likely bring their ruthless hunting habits to the bush.

For example, royal big game hunters from Dubai were accused five years ago of starting fires along ancient migration routes used by animals on their way into the famous Serengeti wildlife park, in a bid to drive them onto land which they have already leased in a separate deal and where they could be shot.

There have also been allegations — never refuted — that a private airstrip large enough for cargo planes had been carved out of the bush to let the princes and their guests airlift vast quantities of skins and trophies out of Africa to decorate their Gulf state homes.

For these men, money is the main weapon. But for tribesman Gonga, hunting in an area 200 miles from the nearest village, his weapon of choice is a wooden bow with a string made from giraffe tendons, which he raises to his eye while crouched behind the twisted roots of an ancient baobab tree.

Pulling back the string, he held the 100lb tension for ten seconds, making sure of his aim before firing. The arrow sped away, striking a bird (a Crested Francolin — similar to a grouse) 30 yards away. As it twitched and fluttered, he ran to collect it and cut off its head.

A small child emerged from a nearby hut, grabbed the carcass and scampered off to hand it over to be prepared for supper.

Gonga sat back by the fire and told how, with the exception of elephants, he had killed every species of animal, including lions and leopards.

"Only when I am sleeping, I am not a hunter. I am a hunter all the time I am awake. That is what I am and who I am. I kill animals for meat."

For 24 hours, I had the privilege of being one of only a handful of westerners to have experienced how the original Hadza live, eating with them and spending the night in their camp as they spoke of the deep meaning of their lives — one said he had heard from other tribes, whom he encountered only once a year, that the modern world was falling to pieces.

Gonga lives with his family — his two wives, his mother, an aunt, his son and his wife, and five grandchildren — near Lake Eyasi, south of the Serengeti and the Ngorongoro Crater parks, where western tourists pay up to $1,000 a day to view the animals.

Accessible only by driving along dried out river beds and through seemingly impenetrable scrub for hours, the Yaida Valley is home to all manner of game, ranging from the smallest squirrels to herds of giraffe, elephant and armies of deadly soldier ants.

The Hadza women and children had been nearby when we arrived, collecting wild vegetables and tubers from surrounding scrubland, and cautiously came up to introduce themselves.

Matayo, the youngest of Gonga's five grandchildren, was particularly perplexed by my presence. Aged around three (the Hadza don't count years), he didn't understand why my skin was white. He gently took my little finger in his hand, then started rubbing it, as if trying to clean it, seemingly baffled that black skin was not underneath.

"He thinks you are hurt," said Philimon, his father. "He thinks you have scraped away your own skin. He thinks that you must be in pain. He doesn't understand that you have a different colour of skin."

Matayo wandered off. The children tumbled around in the dust, laughing and playing, while they waited for food the women were cooking on tree branches.

The sun was slipping below the horizon; embers from the fire flickered in the dusk, turning the dancing children into tiny silhouettes. This scene must have happened unchanged, every day, for centuries.

The men eat separately, after a day's hunting. Often disguised under animal skins as they wait for passing prey, they then leap out and shoot their poisoned arrows.

They sometimes hide under meat, pouncing on vultures when they land. They are also expert fire-makers, taking less than 30 seconds to light some kindling by rubbing two pieces of wood together until sparks ignite it. They come and go as they like, disappearing for days on end during hunting expeditions.

Bahatia, Lea, Ngwalu and Rachu — the four women — do all the rest of the work: preparing the meat, looking after the children, collecting roots and berries, building the camps, cleaning the huts, skinning animals and doing the cooking.

They must have sex with the men on demand; they cannot refuse.

"We are happy as long as we have meat," said Bahatia, prodding the fire. "We are all equal here — we have as much say in things as the men. They cannot do anything unless we agree. It is all fair — they are good hunters and we look after the children."

All ages contribute to Hadza life. By the time they were toddlers, Matayo and his siblings were being taken with the women to learn how to identify roots and plants.

When he is ten, Matayo will have been taught how to shoot small animals such as birds, squirrels and hares. He will be given a bigger six-foot bow at a ceremony. "To become a man, he must kill a lion," said Philimon, Gonga's son.

In the rainy season, the family retreat to caves in the valley, which have been used for thousands of years. In the dry season, they move camp every two or three weeks, leaving behind only animal bones and feathers.

James Woodburn, the Cambridge anthropologist who published the definitive work on the Hadzabe more than 30 years ago, discovered that the men hunt as a group only in exceptional circumstances. In search of baboon meat, men from different camps join forces to hunt the fierce primates.

The Hadza are opportunist hunters. Operating solo, they eat most animals, except reptiles, and they are lovers of honey, braving huge swarms of bees to steal combs from high up in baobab trees.

"The bees get our blood — we get their honey," laughed Philimon. "It is fair exchange."

Gonga, whose sole contact with the 'white' world has been a handful of encounters with anthropologists, priests and explorers, looked up at the night sky. "Is it true you have lost men in the stars?" he asked.

While the Hadzabe like to live alone, they periodically come across other tribes and travellers in the bush, who tell them what is happening in the world and trade tobacco in return for animal skins.

Told that a craft had exploded on a space mission, Gonga was puzzled about why anyone would want to go there. "You would fall off the moon and the stars if you got there," he said.

"They are too small to stand on. We have lived a pure life since creation," said Gonga.

"But we hear bad things about the modern world. The people there are confused, they want more and more. But that's not happiness. We, the Hadza on this earth, believe the life we have is enough for us. We are always happy — as long as we have meat and honey."

But what of their souls? Missionaries have made attempts over the past century to bring Christianity to the Hadza. But they all failed.

The tribe worship their own God — Hine, whose skin is black and who the Hadzabe believe is responsible for all creation. "Our God is miraculous," said Philimon.

"Our people don't die. They come back somewhere else — far away in distant lands. But the Hadza must not start misbehaving, or Hine will be angry."

The plan by the Arabs to buy their land is all the more ironic: the Hadza have no concept of private property, roaming unchecked for thousands of years alongside the animals they hunt.

Nevertheless, the Tanzanian government has repeatedly tried to 'tame' the Hadza, building houses and trying to teach them to grow crops. One attempt to resettle them ended when a dozen perished when they were forced into modern homes.

"They just rotted inside and died," said Charles Ngereza, a tribal expert.

After another bid to clear them off the land, ten Hadza died in police custody.

Naftal, our translator, who was educated at a church school after being 'liberated' from the bush by missionaries, is campaigning to raise awareness of the tribe's plight, but faces a five-year jail sentence for allegedly 'causing a disturbance' during one protest.

"I will never stop because this is my motherland," he says. "I am the only educated person in this society. The Arabs will just come and kill all the animals. And that means the Hadza will die."

The tribe is already perishing. Numbers have declined rapidly in recent years. As the new threat looms, Tatoga herders are moving in, pushing the Hadza farther back into their 4,500-square-mile - territory.

Some tour companies have been criticised for offering tourist trips to visit the Hadzas, who have moved into settlements after giving up their hunting ways to live off holidaymakers' dollars.

As a result, alcoholism and drug abuse has become rife among them.

Such a life is not for Gonga. "Look at the happiness we have," he said after dinner, lighting the wild tobacco in his tubular stone pipe with a twig from the fire. "All we want to do is live in peace and hunt for meat. We don't want to fight anyone. We just want to be left alone on our land."

While the UAE Embassy in London refused to comment on the princes' hunting plans, groups fighting for indigenous people condemned their safari scheme.

"We owe the Hadzabe the chance to perpetuate their way of life,' says Oxfam. 'In their ancient simplicity, they have a huge amount to teach us in our allconsuming age."

As I said farewell, I knew that the memory of my time with Gonga and his family would stay with me.

Who could fail to be moved by sitting around a fire on a starlit night in the African bush, chatting to members of an ancient tribe who take us to the very roots of our past.

Yet there is no place for sentiment in the natural world. As Gonga instinctively knows, the weak seldom survive in Africa.

"If any one species does not become modified and improved in a corresponding degree with its competitors, it will soon be exterminated," wrote Charles Darwin in The Origin Of Species, under the heading Natural Selection.

Whether they are driven off their land by the petro-dollars of Arab princes, forced into 'modern' homes by the Tanzanian government, or corrupted with cash and alcohol as a result of performing for tourists, you sense that time is running out for the Hadzabe.

"Our voices will never be heard," said Gonga. "Tell the world we are dying. Tell the world we want to live."

Without help, there will be no shadows in the bush for much longer. Matayo and his brother and sisters may be the last Hadza children to dance round the fire in the deep of the African night.

Soon, there may be only ghosts in the Yaida Valley, and a unique way of life will be replaced for ever by the sound of guns bought with Arab gold.