Treesleeper

Here’s the story I wrote for Katie’s cousin Tess, who turns 3 one week later than Katie. One day, Katie drove with her family down a long road through dust and heat. At last they reached the forest of the Treesleepers. There, everyone walked quietly, listening to the news of the wind and sucking on dry sweet berries picked from the bushes. In the dark, kids danced and clapped and sang around a leaping fire. Katie’s family slept in a tree that night, just as the Bushmen had done to protect their hunt from lions so long ago. The next morning, 2 girls appeared out of the bush: we bought a hat as a birthday present and gave them each an apple. From an old carver, we bought a family of elephants. The orange one is of Tamboti, the Treesleepers’ tree.
The real story is almost that magical: Treesleeper now ranks at the top of our list of places to stay in Namibia. Check out www.treesleeper.org if you’re ever going to be in that neck of the woods with a tent – or even if you’re not, because the pictures are evocative.
It came as a surprise to me to learn that the !Kung are not the only Bushmen in Africa, contrary to what I’d learned from National Geographic and the like. In fact, there are at least 5 San (Bushmen) ethnic groups in Namibia, each speaking a click language so distinct that the groups often cannot understand each other. These groups traditionally differed in their distribution and also their degree of nomadism. All, however, had adapted culturally to survive in areas of incredibly low rainfall, knowing not just natural water points and edible succulents, but remembering where ostrich eggs filled with water had been buried, or reading the news of water in paintings left on rocks by previous travelers. They hunted with small bows that were effective primarily because of poison arrows – the array of poisonous plant species offers a wealth of possibilities. The Hei//omn group lived in northern Namibia, where Tamboti trees are sparsely distributed: these are relatively tall, with no lower branches and a Y-split in the trunk big enough to hold a person out of reach of predators. If a hunter killed game late in the day or far from camp, he could haul it into a tamboti tree and himself afterwards. Sometimes the hunters would prop poles with pegs against the trunk for easier climbing. Somewhat safer in the tree, they could sleep, or at least survive through the night: Hei//omn means Treesleeper. Just beyond living memory, San hunters walked 150 km from Okaukuejo to Namutoni, areas that are now resorts within Etosha National Park. The eviction letter for the San came when the park was established in 1907. For a hundred years, their hunting and gathering existence slowly eroded – when land is off-limits or private, a nomadic culture is squeezed out. Some San were hired on farms (we heard stories of farmers promising food and income to willing workers, then bringing them to a new place from which they could not easily return home, and not following through). Some worked as exceptional trackers for the South African army during the 1980s independence struggle (which may explain current discrimination from other ethnic groups). Some have been jailed for poaching on private land (killing a cow is apparently a much more serious offence than killing a kudu, regardless of whose land). At independence in 1990, the village of Tsintsabis, perhaps 100 km east of Etosha, was opened for “resettlement” of people with no land of their own and so is largely composed of San inhabitants. Housing construction has been borrowed from ethnic groups to the north – San people never used to make thatch roofs or reinforce walls with cowdung/ termite mound clay. So has basketry – palm fronds from the Makalani are woven for laundry containers or food storage. Each year, maize seeds are distributed for planting – at this time of year, it was difficult to judge the success, although the harvest was reported to be high. There were village chickens, but not laying (chickens are non-ruminants, so we immediately began trying to diagnose the egg problem, or at least trying to dispel the myth that a rooster was required to get eggs). A program of providing 2 goats per family to start herds had a short-term result of increasing goat meat in the village diet, but a similar program for cows (starting with fewer families, and requiring “repayment” in the form of passing along cows to the next family) seemed to be a bit more successful. Still, the older people in the village wondered what was the point of agriculture when the bush still held so much food that was simply there for the taking.
We took advantage of every opportunity offered at Treesleeper to learn about history and culture: We walked to the village with a guide, bringing some food as a thank-you present to the families that met with us. We walked through the bush with a guide, learning some of the plants that were traditionally used and watching in amazement as a twirling stick turned into fire in a matter of minutes. We saw a set of dances performed by teenagers who are part of the Traditional Dance group at their school in town – we only wished there had been a CD available of their clapping and singing, because it was some of the best music we’ve heard in Namibia. Maybe it helps if you’ve walked down a long, winding trail in the dark and into a clearing of firelight, huts, and smiling faces. We slept in trees. Okay, well, Abby and Teddy pitched their tent on the 10-foot platform built against a strangler fig. Katie, Alan and I still slept in the Kombi. Also in contrast to the original Treesleepers, we had a private flush (!) toilet and hot shower (solar heater thoughtfully donated by the US ambassador).
Treesleeper is entirely run by San – most seem in their mid-20s and are computer-savvy and exceptionally good with tourists. We enjoyed the staff immensely. The design and implementation of the camp were apparently facilitated by a visiting graduate student (wow!) in anthropology, who helped turn an idea into a business plan worthy of financial support from the Dutch government. Large groups of young people from overseas (we’ve encountered several that we’d never heard of before: Raleigh International, World Challenge…) helped build the campsites. The camp had about 600 visitors in 2007, which looks to be doubling this year. In general, Namibia is recognized as a world leader in Community-based Natural Resources Management, which has empowered local groups to diversify their activities and therefore strengthen the economic return from their (otherwise arid, pretty unproductive) land. Community rest camps or campsites are a prime example, because they attract tourists. Tourists go places where they can see wildlife and striking natural features. So, communities shift emphasis towards conservation of natural resources, rather than just using land to grow sheep, cows, and goats. Treesleeper Camp has carved out a different sort of niche: this has been necessary because, in fact, this community has not been granted conservancy land, but only a lease on 10 ha. Against all odds, Treesleeper has emerged as a luxury camp with this tourist attraction: the opportunity to visit a cultural group, not as a voyeur or spectator, but as a participant in their development.

Goat head for breakfast

Classes have resumed for second semester at the Polytechnic. We are co-teaching non-ruminant husbandry, trying to communicate the joy and fascination and content of biology, but also not cramp our travel style too much, especially while Abby and Teddy are here for a month. Fortunately, a large part of each class involves week-long excursions to farms in Namibia, and the students were off working on agro-ecology and agricultural land management while we traveled elsewhere. But we met up for a day at Mashare Agricultural Development Institute, directly north of Windhoek at the Angolan border. The dinner menu for the night was goat, and the goat was standing in the back of a pick-up when we arrived. Now, these agriculture students have struggled with my emphasis on graphing and modeling skills, but I have to give them enormous credit for their hands-on agriculture. Katie and I went off to watch the goat be slaughtered, while Alan cooked the dinner we had brought along, having heard of stiff competition for food on these excursions (and also desiring a few more vegetables than the standard Namibian fare). A side note about our newest traveling meal investment: We now carry a 3-legged cast iron pot with us. In the US, it’s a dutch oven, but here it’s a … hmmm, well, the label said “potjie” at the store, but the Kleins seem to say “poikie”. You build a nice fire, let it burn down to hot coals, and meanwhile fill the pot with an assemblage of vegetables (potatoes, carrots, maybe a pepper if you have one), a can of tomatoes (African-style spicy is my favorite, but not necessary), a can of corn (not baby corn, though: Katie just eats those plain), and a can of beans or some sausage or meat chunks for protein. Put the pot over the coals, and soon there is a happy bubbling sound. A half hour later or so, Voila! Dinner. If you have a little extra juice and time and coals at the end of the evening, mix up a batch of biscuits and cook them in the poikie too. Yum! The poikie has also proved to be a great community-builder: it’s easy to invite someone to dinner if it just involves putting in another potato or 2 to stretch the poikie stew.
Okay, back to the goat. While some of the students around camp curiously wondered what Alan was cooking (or perhaps why Alan was cooking), the goat was quickly dispatched and bled, head removed, then hung from a hind leg while the entire hide was peeled off. The lower legs came off with the hide, cracked just at kneeline. Katie watched with fascination and absolutely no squeamishness. Zipppp- cut down the midline, and out came an enormous stomach (it’s not a non-ruminant!). The stomach was later emptied and washed – its absorptive surface is incredible, like a shag carpet! In the absence of a pot, the rumen apparently makes a good cooking vessel, but in this case it was cut and cooked. It was great to have Katie along, as a foil to learn a little more ruminant anatomy. “Look Katie, I wonder what that is? Hey guys [yes, all guys], what’s still hanging out of the abdomen?” A uterus. Someone didn’t make the best choice for slaughtering: she was pregnant. Then we got to see liver, kidneys encased in fat, pink lungs, small heart, pancreas, uh-oh, where’s the gall bladder – if it leaks, the meat tastes bad, so don’t simply let it go in the bag with intestine, saved for cooking. After the carcass was gutted, the goat was cut in half down one side of the spine and carried into the kitchen. That’s the last we saw of the goat except for the head and lower legs, which were roasted over the fire that evening, carefully tended and turned by one of the students at the campsite. Katie and I stopped by to ask about the process: roast on a grate – entirely intact, eyes, hair, horns give a good grip for turning – then cover with water in a pot, which is set over the fire overnight. The goat is done the next morning, and the student wouldn’t have to share breakfast with everyone else. But he said he’d let us try some if we wanted. Well, the next morning, we happened to be sitting by the fire when the goat head and ankles were removed from the pot, and, after they cooled, we were offered half a lower jaw with tongue. I didn’t ask, but I’m guessing this is the prime piece, as one of the chef’s friends came by a little later and asked “Where’s the tongue?” Katie had already eaten half of it. Additionally, she downed a substantial portion of goat cheek, really cooked to perfection: very tender, with a lovely roasted flavor. That’s my girl! She turned 3 the next day.