* The author is part of the community of readers of La Vanguardia
Mustafa and I left Lake Natron behind and said goodbye to its mantle of flamingos. We also say goodbye to its people, who, located on both sides of the strip of land through which we walk, can be seen in the distance taking care of their flocks.
Anyone who thinks that Africa is synonymous with widespread drought is making a mistake. There are countries like Uganda or Tanzania that are full of natural freshwater reservoirs. Of forests and waterfalls, of immense meadows that reach all their splendor after the rainy season.
The distance between both lakes is not long, but a truck accident collapses the road for hours. Without double lanes or shoulders, with an obsolete and dilapidated vehicle fleet, it happens frequently.
It's noon, the vans that transport travelers, like canned sardines without oil, become ovens; children crying, without water or food. We carry both in the SUV and we try to take care of the little ones. The sun is scorching. Your patience and tolerance draws my attention. There are no outbursts or angry grumbles, it is just a harmonious wait for the authority to arrive and clear the lane. Quite an example.
It is at sunset when we reach Lake Eyasi. Taking into account that in these latitudes the sun becomes a clock and marks its hours of light, between 6:00 AM and 6:00 PM.
The land becomes gray again and sporadic trees populate it, until Mustafa stops the engine, just at the moment when the silver layer of water can be seen in the distance.
But it's the closeness that catches my attention. Huts made with palm tree branches, plastic beer hall chairs, colorful clothes drying in the sun. Barges stranded and scrapped. A handful of people. Women and children coming out of the hollow of their homes to greet the only visitors and several men chatting who don't flinch. Networks. I see a former fishing village, almost unpopulated.
And the well-worn climate change is not just a topic of conversation at expensive summits and lengthy banquets. It fully affects human beings and preys on the most vulnerable.
Because in this case, warming causes the waters of the lake to recede, turning its shores into a mudflat. Preventing fishermen from transporting their heavy boats that far. Without means or aid of any kind, they suffer shortages, hardships, they end up abandoning their home, their habitat, to set out like so many other human beings on this planet, heading towards hope, heading towards any opportunity.
We give chocolates to the children and take a photo. We reciprocate his smile, although I do not do it from the heart, there is too much imbalance and too much injustice for me to leave the place, only imbued with its natural and stratospheric beauty. It's that stone in the shoe that just won't come out.
The next morning we would return to the lake, but not to its shores but to its forests. More than ten thousand years of coexistence and collusion between the Hadzabe tribe and nature.
I make one of my mistakes by pretending that they don't hunt in my presence, but Mustafa extracts my ignorance, like a rotten tooth the dentist. "They hunt to eat, not for fun, you can't starve them," he tells me.
With the greatest humility and empathy I discover them at the top, at the entrance of the cave, with fire and breakfast. There is no toast or milk, but dried meat that they share.
They also do not wear pajamas, jeans, or T-shirts, because their semi-naked bodies are covered in fur.
They offer me a crown, their women's handicraft, as a sign of welcome; and they smile. That flag that should be the reigning one on the entire planet. And they teach me how to make a fire, with a wooden stick that has to be rubbed while using force and that fits into the hole of another piece of wood, which is supported by the sharp blade of a knife.
With your help I achieved it and I feel great. I suppose, because in the civilized world everything is done for us, but we would hardly survive if we had to do it for ourselves.
They also show me their arrows finished with different steel tips that they select depending on the animal they intend to hunt. And their bows, made with flexible branches and flexible giraffe neck tendon.
Finally, the chief, with great pride, presents his prey to me, with his arms raised, as if it were the silver cup of a renowned tournament. In this case the impala's head does not shine, but it smells, and the smell of it is nauseating. There are no refrigerators in these parts.
After the renewed strength that breakfast gives them, they begin their morning search for sustenance.
Mustafa and I follow them through the forest in silence, but without neglecting each other, because they are walking very fast and predetermined; They look like an army.
Once again, climate change and the overexploitation of resources are palpable, because the density of trees and vegetation is insufficient to maintain and protect the largest animals, which migrate. When they emigrate, the doors are closed for the survival of this ancient ethnic group that, with difficulty, keeps any window open.
That's why we return empty-handed. We barely have a product similar to honey and made by small insects, which they extract from trees. No animal, no bulb or root.
Only "honey", water collected from the bowl formed in a trunk, and the lotion that we distribute throughout our body, also extracted from trees, which protects us from mosquitoes, hydrates our skin, and is a natural disinfectant, which replaces the shower in times of drought.
But even so, they don't lose their stride or their smile. Nor their overwhelming hospitality.
That is why they show us the huts in which their wives and children live, they do it in the cave. And they teach us how to use the bow. That's why they say goodbye to us with songs and dances, to which we join, without any prejudice or sense of ridicule that could be emasculating and/or frustrate the experience.
Bittersweet is our last handshake. Sweet; because for me the wonder of finding human beings thousands of miles away, from different cultures and circumstances, with whom you can feel extremely comfortable, extraordinarily empathize and generate indissoluble bonds of friendship, is undeniable.
Sour, because the Aryan and civilized world, the world with power; In no case would I have to overwhelm them, go over them like the steamrollers on the asphalt, but on the contrary I would have to understand them, protect them and learn.
The thought of assuming knowledge is harmful. Wisdom is the heritage of humanity and in the humanization of each being the greatest progress and the least suffering will always be found.
