north are working their way down to the lake, slowly swelling the stream. For a few weeks now, the floodplain itself has been ablaze with color, with flowering herbs splashing pools of yellow and purple against the orange earth and low acacia bushes looking like billowing white clouds. The rainy season is imminent .
Here, in a curve in the stream, we see a small human group, five adult females and a cluster of infants and youths. They are athletic in stature, and strong. They are chattering loudly, some of their exchanges obvious social repartee, some the discussion of today’s plans. Earlier, before sunrise, four adult males of the group had departed on a quest for meat. The females’ role is to gather plant foods, which everyone understands are the economic staple of their lives. The males hunt, the females gather: it’s a system that works spectacularly well for our group and for as long as anyone can remember .
Three of the females are now ready to leave, naked apart from an animal skin thrown around the shoulders that serves the dual role of baby carrier and, later, food bag. They carry short, sharp sticks, which one of the females had prepared earlier, using sharp stone flakes to whittle stout twigs. These are digging sticks, which allow the females to unearth deeply buried, succulent tubers, foods denied to most other large primates. The females finally set off, walking along single file as they usually do, toward the distant hills of the lake basin, following a path they know will take them to a rich source of nuts and tubers. For ripe fruit, they will have to wait until later in the year, when the rains have done nature’s work .
Back by the stream, the remaining two females rest quietly on the soft sand under a tall acacia, watching over the antics three youngsters. Too old to be carried in an animal-skin baby carrier, too young either to hunt or to gather, the youngsters do what all human youngsters do: they play games of pretending, games that foreshadow their adult lives. This morning, one of them is an antelope, using branches for antlers, and the other two are hunters stalking their prey. Later, the eldest of the three, a girl, persuades one of the females to show her, again, how to make stone tools. Patiently, the woman brings two lava cobbles together with a swift, sharp blow. A perfect flake flies off. With studied determination, the girl tries to do the same, but without success. The woman takes hold of the girl’s hands and guides them through the required action, in slow motion .
Making sharp flakes is harder than it looks, and the skill is taught mainly through demonstration, not verbal instruction. The girl tries again, her action subtly different this time. A sharp flake arcs off the cobble, and the girl lets out of yelp of triumph. She snatches up the flake, shows it to the smiling woman, and then runs to display it to her playmates. They pursue their games together, now armed with an implement of adulthood. They find a stick, which the apprentice stone-knapper whittles to a sharp point, and they form a hunting group, in search of catfish to spear .
By dusk, the stream-side campsite is bustling again, the three woman having returned with their animal skins bulging with babies and food, including some birds’ eggs, three small lizards, and—an unexpected treat—honey. Pleased with their own efforts, the women speculate on what the men will bring. On many days, the hunters return empty-handed. This is the nature of the meat quest. But when chance favors their efforts, the reward can be great, and it is certainly prized .
Soon, the distant sound of approaching voices tells the women that the men are returning. And, to judge from the timbre of excitement in the men’s conversation, they are returning successful. For much of the day the men have been silently stalking a small herd of antelope, noting that one of the animals seemed slightly lame. Repeatedly, this individual was left behind by
Here, in a curve in the stream, we see a small human group, five adult females and a cluster of infants and youths. They are athletic in stature, and strong. They are chattering loudly, some of their exchanges obvious social repartee, some the discussion of today’s plans. Earlier, before sunrise, four adult males of the group had departed on a quest for meat. The females’ role is to gather plant foods, which everyone understands are the economic staple of their lives. The males hunt, the females gather: it’s a system that works spectacularly well for our group and for as long as anyone can remember .
Three of the females are now ready to leave, naked apart from an animal skin thrown around the shoulders that serves the dual role of baby carrier and, later, food bag. They carry short, sharp sticks, which one of the females had prepared earlier, using sharp stone flakes to whittle stout twigs. These are digging sticks, which allow the females to unearth deeply buried, succulent tubers, foods denied to most other large primates. The females finally set off, walking along single file as they usually do, toward the distant hills of the lake basin, following a path they know will take them to a rich source of nuts and tubers. For ripe fruit, they will have to wait until later in the year, when the rains have done nature’s work .
Back by the stream, the remaining two females rest quietly on the soft sand under a tall acacia, watching over the antics three youngsters. Too old to be carried in an animal-skin baby carrier, too young either to hunt or to gather, the youngsters do what all human youngsters do: they play games of pretending, games that foreshadow their adult lives. This morning, one of them is an antelope, using branches for antlers, and the other two are hunters stalking their prey. Later, the eldest of the three, a girl, persuades one of the females to show her, again, how to make stone tools. Patiently, the woman brings two lava cobbles together with a swift, sharp blow. A perfect flake flies off. With studied determination, the girl tries to do the same, but without success. The woman takes hold of the girl’s hands and guides them through the required action, in slow motion .
Making sharp flakes is harder than it looks, and the skill is taught mainly through demonstration, not verbal instruction. The girl tries again, her action subtly different this time. A sharp flake arcs off the cobble, and the girl lets out of yelp of triumph. She snatches up the flake, shows it to the smiling woman, and then runs to display it to her playmates. They pursue their games together, now armed with an implement of adulthood. They find a stick, which the apprentice stone-knapper whittles to a sharp point, and they form a hunting group, in search of catfish to spear .
By dusk, the stream-side campsite is bustling again, the three woman having returned with their animal skins bulging with babies and food, including some birds’ eggs, three small lizards, and—an unexpected treat—honey. Pleased with their own efforts, the women speculate on what the men will bring. On many days, the hunters return empty-handed. This is the nature of the meat quest. But when chance favors their efforts, the reward can be great, and it is certainly prized .
Soon, the distant sound of approaching voices tells the women that the men are returning. And, to judge from the timbre of excitement in the men’s conversation, they are returning successful. For much of the day the men have been silently stalking a small herd of antelope, noting that one of the animals seemed slightly lame. Repeatedly, this individual was left behind by
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