On Safari in Tanzania

“Jambo!” said the young hunter, as he reached out a hand, still bloody from the freshly-skinned baboon he had just deposited in camp. He couldn’t have been more than 15, wearing a circlet of baboon fur around his head, a strung-together hide vest, and a pair of red denim cutoffs, frayed at the edges and stained with blood.

“Jambo”, I replied, hesitating for only a moment before stretching my hand out in return.

It was a scene right out of Lord of the Flies, except that this wasn’t a work of fiction. It was my introduction to the Hadza people of Lake Eyasi, Tanzania, and this was a reality show of an entirely different kind.

In fact, this was no show at all. The Hadza didn’t know we were coming. As one of the few nomadic bush tribes left in Africa, they go where their hunting and gathering lifestyle leads them, a lifestyle that has remained unchanged for 10,000 years. They have no real village, no cell phones, and most of them barely speak the local language – which at least gave us one thing in common.

Today wasn’t the first time this Hadza tribe had met visitors, however, and it turned out there was to be a bit of a show after all. Gathering a few of the men, including “Red Shorts”, the village chief invited us on a demonstration hunt. Within half an hour of leaving camp, the hunters had brought down three birds with their bows and arrows, and immediately set about building a fire. No lighters or matches here, though: one of the men rubbed sticks together until the tinder caught and in no time the birds were cleaned, plucked and grilled (and yes, they tasted like chicken.)

As exciting as all of this was, we couldn’t help but feel like spectators. After all, how could we possibly connect with a people who lived a lifestyle so primitive and so completely foreign to us?

The moment finally came on the walk back: Red Shorts was admiring my hat, and gestured that he’d like to try it on (which I’d learned from similar encounters meant it would be a gift). Pointing between the sun, my face and his cutoffs, I tried to explain that without the hat, my face would turn as red as his shorts.

It was the chief who figured out what I was trying to say and in his own click language, explained to the others. Which started the entire group laughing.

And there it was.

Genuine smiles, and a good laugh shared between us all. Even if only for a moment, it was a moment of real human connection – and one I’ll never forget.

For me, it doesn’t get more real than that.