Early in the morning, they gather around the fire to keep warm. There is neither tea nor coffee; instead, we share wild fruits believed to help kick-start the metabolism. No one knows their age, or even what day or date it is. Without a word or signal, they rise to their feet, sleep still in their eyes, and move.
Guided by an experienced tribesman, Momoya, I join them on a thrilling hunting adventure. Gentle rays of sunlight slant through the trees as we hear the distinct chattering calls and flight signals of a bird. The Hadzabe respond with whistled dialogues, mimicking its songs through unique sounds of clicks and ejectives, and follow the bird as it leads us to a tree holding beehives.
Using smoke, they subdue the bees and harvest the honey, leaving the remaining beeswax for the Honeyguide. I begin to understand how a wild bird learns to communicate and coordinate with humans. The honey is delicious, and I join the Hadzabe in joyful singing and dancing. Honey holds deep mythological meaning for the Hadzabe and is also essential to their survival.
With neither speed nor shortcuts, they move through thick bush, eyes scanning the shrubs, reading footprints in the dust. Feeling the wind, their ears are tuned to the faintest rustle of leaves. It is about patience, and timing is everything. Suddenly, a sharp click from one of the Hadzabe sends the dogs into action, chasing a flock of fowl proudly marching through the grass. Within two minutes, they return, each dog carrying a striking bird with cobalt-blue feathers – the Vulturine guineafowl.
I realise the dogs are not pets; they are more like highly trained police tracker dogs, responding to the slightest sound made under the breath of a Hadza. Their sole task is to catch elusive prey in the Yaeda Valley, home to the Hadzabe, a tribe of hunters and gatherers.
No one here is overweight in any way. They use traditional healing plants as natural herbal remedies, their slight, wiry bodies telling the story of how much work it takes to survive. Yet this is their way of life, and they are happy. Every attempt by religious groups and government authorities to assimilate them has failed. On my personal happiness index, the Hadzabe rank far higher than most people in the world.
The dogs bark again, and Momoya tells me the hunters have made another kill – a handsome porcupine. We have been walk-running for hours now, and I find it extremely hard to keep up. I have no idea where they will set up camp: small shelters that are easy to build and just as easy to dismantle, reflecting the Hadzabe’s transient existence, free from material possessions.
As I watch a rare warbler, the Karamoja Apalis, perched on an acacia and singing a long duet, I decide to call it a day.
