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Last year, while traveling through the Kalahari, I stopped for the night at a cluster of huts, encircled by cactus and low thorny scrub. The leader of the hamlet, a fine-boned San warrior, thanked me for making the journey to his world. He invited me inside, and we sat down in the darkness of his one-room home. When we were comfortable, I said it had long been my dream to see for myself the ancient ways of the San.
"You are too late," he replied. "Everything has changed."
"When did it change?"
The warrior pushed himself up on his stick and thought for a moment.
"A lifetime ago," he said.
The San people of the Kalahari, a vast desert region (120,000 square miles) in southwest Africa, have sometimes been ridiculed for their simplicity, their naiveté and their gentleness. (The tribe got the world's attention back in 1980 with the movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy," in which an ordinary Coca-Cola bottle lands in one village, with catastrophic results.) . They possess a kind of refinement that is almost impossible to describe. Historically, their lives have never been cramped with consumer goods or supercharged by self-induced stress. Instead, they lived in a world that respected the elements above and the dry soil beneath. They walked lightly on the Earth .
Throughout the 20th century, the San were a beacon of light, shining back to an ancient time . . . that of our own ancestors. By learning about them, we were able to learn about ourselves. It sounds simple: You found a so-called primitive tribe, you studied it, and you concluded that what they are and what we were are the same. But it's not that simple at all. It takes an anthropologist blessed with extraordinary sensitivity and foresight to understand how the chain has worked. And it takes a greater one still to break it down into bite-sized chunks and feed it to laymen.
Elizabeth Marshall Thomas is one of the most important champions of the San "Bushmen." She has spent a lifetime gently alerting us to their cause -- and to the fact that we have not only polluted the planet but have wrecked the delicate balance of tribal Africa as well.
At the age of 19, Thomas traveled to Botswana with her parents and her brother and lived with the Ju/wasi tribe of Bushmen. Her father, Laurence, was a civil engineer, and her mother, Lorna, became a respected anthropologist, writing a seminal work on the !Kung San. Thomas turned her early feelings and experiences of the Kalahari into a book entitled The Harmless People (1959), a work that has not been out of print since.
Now, with a lifetime on which to reflect, she has published The Old Way, a work of impressive scholarship and, more important, a book that connects the dots linking us to the first stages of the human race. And how many dots there are! Thomas explains our human ancestry by citing the evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins's illustration: "You are standing beside your mother, holding her hand. She is holding her mother's hand, who is holding her mother's hand. On and on goes your lineage, each of you holding the hand of your mother, until your line is three hundred miles long and goes back in time five million years, deep into the African rain forest, where the clasping hand is that of a chimpanzee."
Early in the book, Thomas reflects on how it felt to first stumble into the serene land of the Ju/wasi in the 1950s: "[It was] as if I had voyaged into the deep past through a time machine. I feel that I saw the Old Way, the way of life that shaped us, a way of life that now is gone." For her, the Ju/wasi reflected a time almost 150,000 years ago, when the "Old Rules" governed our species. We were a people in fear of lions, of sickness and of darkness, and we had yet to create the kind of agricultural, non-nomadic societies that frame our lives today.
The Old Way concludes with the disheartening truth that the Ju/wasi and other San groups now struggle to coexist in a world rocked and ravaged by homogeneous modernity -- a similar plight to Australian Aboriginal groups and other native peoples. Many San are living under a blanket of poverty, tormented by alcoholism and AIDS. They wear native clothing only when tourist cameras come out, and few can remember a relatively recent time when ostrich eggshells were used to carry water or when digging sticks were used to unearth prized tubers and roots.
The Kalahari desert continues to touch all who gaze upon it. But in a way, the land is not the same now that the fragile tapestry of humanity has been torn apart. When I finished reading Elizabeth Marshall Thomas's remarkable book, I found myself wishing I could step into the time machine as she did almost half a century ago and emerge into the real Kalahari, the world of our ancestors.
Reviewed by Tahir Shah
Copyright 2006, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved.
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