Breaking Cultural Barriers

How was I to know? I couldn't have known. I didn't mean for any of it to happen.

Two months ago, I, Calvin Masterson, set about to climb the great cliffs of Namibia in Africa. It took the better part of a day to summit the plateau.

At the top, I looked out in wonder at the great expanse before me, marveling at the sheer beauty of our planet.

As a seasoned adventurer, I had planned out my food and water supply for a week, with a bit to spare. My plan was to relax for a couple of days and enjoy the plateau before repelling down.

I set up my small tent and hung my food stores in a tree, out of the reach of animals, if there were any up here. After a day of exertion, I was sleeping soundly in minutes.

In the morning, I pulled my food stock down to get my allotted breakfast. I knew immediately that things had been tampered with. After a quick count, I discovered that one bag of trail mix was missing.

I reasoned that if it had been a primate or some other animal, all of my food would have been gone. The only conclusion I could make was that I was not alone on the plateau.

I hadn't planned to leave my campsite, but curiosity is a strong force for adventurers.

I took only my small fanny pack with some essentials, and my water bottle, intending a day scout. I walked all morning, seeing no signs of humans or dwellings.

Sitting on a rocky outcrop, I pulled out my lunch. I nibbled and sipped, all the while keeping an eye out ahead of me.

That's when I heard it behind me. It was a rustling of leaves and branches. My head snapped around fast enough to see a tiny, bare foot disappear into a bush. If I hadn't heard it, there was no way I would have known anyone was there. So camouflaged was this little person.

I approached the bush low and slow, in a squatting position. I spoke soothingly, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Come on. Look what I have for you." I held out what little remained of my energy bar.

A child's hand reached out and snatched it from me before I could fathom what was happening. I heard the wrapper crinkle and soft chewing sounds.

That's when all hell broke loose. Suddenly, I had eight naked adult males surrounding me, all with spears. They were speaking loudly in a language that sounded like gibberish.

I held up my hands in surrender. "Whoa! I mean you no harm," I said, knowing my words would sound like gibberish to them.

The child from the bush leapt out and got in front of me, gesturing and speaking up, I hoped on my behalf. Sure enough, the spears were lowered but held on alert.

The oldest came forward and spoke to the child, who then ran to the women, also naked, who had come up behind the men.

The elder ranted on and then pointed with his spear. Assuming he wanted me to walk in that direction, I stood slowly. Another man led the way, seven followed, and the women and children were at the back of the procession.

We approached an open area with a ring of stone benches and a small fire ring in the center. I only hoped I wouldn't be cooked for their pleasure- or dinner.

The man gestured down, so I sat crisscross on the ground. The tribal men all sat on the benches, and the women and children sat on the ground across from me.

I pulled out the other energy bar from my fanny pack, opened it, and put the wrapper in my pocket. I said, "Good!" I broke off a tiny piece and ate it to prove it was safe. Then, I handed it to the elder.

He sniffed it, broke off a piece, and ate it. He said, "Goo!" and laughed. The bar was passed around. Soon, they were all laughing, speaking their language, and adding "goo" to their vocabulary.

The man spoke to one of the women. She ran off and brought back a large leaf. The elder unwrapped it and identified it. He took some of the slimy substance and ate it. Then, he handed the leaf to me.

I knew it would be insulting to decline this offering, so I reached in and put some slime on my fingers and promptly put it in my mouth before I could convince myself otherwise. It wasn't as bad as it looked. I said, "mojoombay," trying out the word.

They all laughed, and soon I was too.

I held my hat out and pointed to his head. He put it on and then pranced around, shouting a string of words I could never hope to comprehend. My hat was summarily passed around to similar results.

There was a whole lot of talking and gesturing going on amongst them. One of them brought out a hollowed-out gourd and started playing it like a drum. Soon, they were all singing in call and response and dancing with leaps, steps, and hops.

I was delighted, and no doubt they could see it on my face. They kept at it for something like 15 minutes. When they stopped, I applauded. They copied, clapping and hooting.

This was amazing to me that we were breaking down cultural barriers.

Then, three men brought all of my climbing gear and my tent, still assembled. They put everything outside the circle. It seemed I was invited to stay.

I bowed and said, "Thank you."

The elder bowed, "Tane oo." Close enough.

My new friends laid in the dirt, exposed to elements and bugs, while I slept comfortably protected in my tent. I felt guilty and planned to leave my tent for them.

Two days after my arrival, I awoke to the sound of loud keening noises. The tribe members were in a tight circle. The elder was on the ground in the middle, dead. When the weeping calls ended, they carried him to the edge of the cliff and threw him over. This "burial" custom was so foreign and sad to me.

The others started falling over, dying as they landed on the ground, until they were all down.

I don't know if it was an allergic reaction or a disease that I brought to them. I do know that I, Calvin Masterson, was responsible for killing off an entire reclusive tribe of Namibians. It wasn't murder, but it felt like it.

One by one, I threw them over the cliff, tears streaming down my face.

As I packed to leave, I vowed to keep my adventures closer to home.