SOS Bushmen

It's my first night at Xaranna, a safari lodge on an island in the Okavango delta. We eat outdoors at a long table, as the shape of a hippo ploughs the moonlit water and tiny reed frogs make their xylophone music. I find myself watching the face of the guide sitting opposite me. Tight black curls, high smooth cheeks, laughing and avid as he relates how two hyenas mugged an impala off a cheetah. As the story unfolds, his excitement builds, and he morphs into each of the animals in turn. I can smell the ant hill where the cheetah hid her cubs; I can see the plain where the impala cried out. It's as though the storyteller shape-shifts as he sniffs the air. When he becomes the victorious hyenas — each tearing one side of the impala — it seems his face is covered with blood.

I have come to Botswana to search for the San Bushmen, with Laurens van der Post's unsettling book The Lost World of the Kalahari under my arm. Writing in 1956, Van der Post says most of the Bushmen have been wiped out. I recall his lyrical description of how the Bushman "seemed to know what it felt like to be an elephant, a lion, an antelope, a steenbok, a lizard, a striped mouse, mantis, baobab tree, yellow-coated cobra or starry-eyed amaryllis... his world was one without secrets between one form and another". Van der Post describes the San people as "gallant, mischievous, unpredictable and defiant", and laments their passing as he journeys through the swamps of the Okavango and into the Kalahari desert. Huh.

The storyteller across the table from me is a Bushman, and anything but wiped out. He introduces himself: Ketshabile "TJ" Thamago.

"You know," teases one of the other guides, "when TJ first came to work here, he thought you had to hit the canoes like donkeys to get them going."

"Yes," retorts TJ, "but when you need some difficult tracking done, who do you ask? Remember how I tracked that python in the sand...?" The story starts up once more.

THE DELTA is all about light — light flashing off butterfly wings, pied kingfishers and shiny frogs; the hammocks of spiders' webs trailing from reeds; pink lilies opening out to the sun. It's a gorgeous place, and water camps such as Xaranna and Xudum make the most of it, with their terraces, outdoor showers and plunge pools overlooking the emerald swamps.

After four days in these watery paradises, I moved down to the Kalahari. It was here that Van der Post found Bushmen living in loincloths, but you don't see that now. Many have become guides and trackers, like TJ, dressed in smart safari outfits, maintaining their traditions as hunters while working in conservation. Others live in their own villages. About 100,000 Bushmen remain, and those I met were clever, dignified people, who took pride in their culture.

After the opulence, colour and noise of the Okavango, the Kalahari is all browns, blacks and silence: brown hyenas, black vultures, immense stretches of emptiness. The austere landscape refreshes the overloaded western soul as much as the waters of the delta soothe it.

At Camp Kalahari I meet Cobra, one of the "salt Bushmen", and a group of his friends. My time with them is a revelation. They take me out into the scrub, and within seconds their knowledge has transformed this vacant area into a teeming Wind in the Willows of secret moles and scorpions and porcupines, as they interpret the animals' stories from their tracks or droppings.

The creatures have no secrets. This porcupine had eaten brandy berries; this jackal had eaten grass to make itself sick because it wasn't feeling well. An indentation means a scorpion lives below, and within seconds the boys are calling the scorpion by name — "Corcan, Corcan" — and digging her out. And there she is, yellow, pregnant and angry.

The Bushmen teach me how to set traps for guinea fowl; how to sit when shooting a poisoned arrow; and how to catch a spring hare with a hook on a spear, which you slide into its burrow — the latter was recorded by Van der Post, too. All useful skills if climate change and the end of oil mean we ever return to being Bushmen. After all, experts tell us all mankind is descended from a group of about 150 African Bushmen who travelled out to populate the world some 50,000 years ago. Thank goodness for their nomadic lifestyle.

I learn which leaves to eat if you want to cure gonorrhoea; which ones to go for if you have malaria; and all about the hoodia plant, which looks like a cactus and suppresses hunger and thirst — in the developed world it is used in a slimming pill. The Bushmen eat the hoodia on hunting trips, and I watch Cobra and his friends dig for its roots, squeezing the bitter liquid into their mouths.

THERE IS a loneliness about the desert, with its outcast male wildebeests etched black on the horizon. The wet season runs roughly from November to April, when there is plenty of game, while the dry season fills the rest of the year, when you can sleep out on the saltpans under the bright stars.

Locals fear going into the pans, for they believe it is a place where people disappear. Indeed, the sparse trees are heavy with black vultures, and the insolent eyes of jackals turn to stare, as if wondering why you're not dead yet.

The animals that survive here are the desert oryx, with its elegant horns; the beguiling, shuffling aardwolf, looking for termites; the eagle; the ostrich, the kori bustard, and the diminutive meerkat — only about a foot high, like so many film stars they're surprisingly small in the flesh. A man from the camp stayed with them during the day so they were accustomed to humans and happy to use me as an anthill, climbing over my knee. We also find the tracks of Kalahari lions in the sand, beautiful and soft, curiously without menace.

"Our senses were totally immersed in sounds and colours... it was as if a great physical burden had been lifted from us," wrote Van der Post. I feel this way, too. And while it has been exhilarating to see lions, elephants and cheetahs, it is also exciting to spend time with our ancestors. I liked our species rather more after getting to know the Bushmen, and finding them, just as Van der Post promised, gallant, mischievous and defiantly clinging to their old ways.

Sally Emerson was a guest of Audley Travel and British Airways. Her latest book, New Life, An Anthology for Parenthood (Little, Brown €12.50), is published on Thursday

Travel details: Audley (00 44 1993 838000, audleytravel.com) has a 10night trip from €5,424pp, staying at the Xudum or Xaranna safari camps (andbeyond.com), and Camp Kalahari (unchartedafrica.co.za), with BA flights from Heathrow to Maun (via Johannesburg), meals, drinks and guided activities. Or try Expert Africa (00 44 20 8232 9777, expertafrica.com) or Scott Dunn (00 44 20 8682 5000, scottdunn.com).

Under clear, starlit skies in a remote corner of Botswana's Kalahari Desert, the orange reflection of the fire illuminated the medicine man as he danced. Bare to the waist and moving in short, measured steps, he was nearing a state of altered consciousness.

With every move, the sound of the rattles attached to his ankles echoed through the night. Suddenly, his footing became less sure; his breathing more erratic. He appeared in pain, perhaps in response to the spirits that had entered his body. The healer had slipped into a trance.

Slowly circling the flames, he methodically placed his hands on those seated around the fire. With a sudden shriek, he expelled sickness from some while protecting others from evil spirits. His face, beaded with perspiration, glared in the firelight.

When his rounds were finished, he slowly approached the fire's edge. Falling to his knees, he leaned over the flames, almost touching them. Finally, utterly exhausted, he stumbled backwards, collapsing into the sand.

Just a few days earlier, I had travelled by bush plane to the far western edge of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve. I had come to visit the Grassland Safari Lodge, an attractive remote outpost that would be our base for the first several days of our adventure.

This same area was also home to some of the few remaining Bushmen clans that continue to pursue a traditional hunter-gatherer lifestyle. The way of life for these incredibly resilient people is made possible, in large part, by the wild and undeveloped state of this part of western Botswana.

But it's also increasingly aided by the fact that, each year, a small but growing number of tourists, like myself, pay to observe and partake in a once-in-a-lifetime cultural experience.

Formally recognized by the United Nations as the "First Peoples of the Kalahari," the Bushmen have successfully inhabited one of Africa's most unforgiving and arid regions and, as the world's oldest culture, they have a history that dates back almost 30,000 years. They are the ultimate survivors.

Yet, of the 90,000 Bushmen that remain in all of southern Africa, only 1,500 or so continue to follow the old ways. A growing interest in cultural tourism is providing some hope that their traditions and customs will survive to be passed down to future generations.

Shortly after arriving, I met the owner of the lodge, Neeltjie Bower, who has developed a very special relationship with the nearby San. She is renowned for dealing with locals in a sensitive and respectful manner. As a result, they are all too willing to give visitors like me a special insight into their world.

During my time there, local villagers taught me much about their daily life. I learned about dozens of plants used for various culinary or medicinal purposes. I was shown how bush foods are prepared using the most basic of tools and how to make a fire by rubbing sticks together in a bed of dry grass.

Before I knew it, it was time to head to my second destination so I bid a sad farewell to both my San hosts and the owners of Grassland Lodge. I then hopped on a bush plane bound for the legendary Jack's Camp.

Located on the edge of the Makgadikgadi Pans (the largest salt pan in the world), Jack's is renowned as a classic desert safari camp combining a bit of 1920s west African panache along with a host of activities focusing on desert-adapted wildlife, stone-age archeology, scientific exploration and Bushmen anthropology.

Comprising several lavishly appointed walk-in tents in a stunning palm grove surrounded by more than 60,000 square miles of sand and grass, the camp is run by Ralph Bousfield, whose father, Jack, lived among the San people for many years. Several Bushmen continue to live and work at the camp, playing a key role in various cultural activities centering on the San's traditional ways.

I had come here in the hope of learning from them. After getting settled in my tent, I met Xuma, Xixae, Nxexao and Xaashe, all related Bushmen who would act as my guides. Just as I hoped, my time with them turned out to be a great journey of discovery.

As I walked with Xuma and the others, I learned much about their ancient traditions and ways. During our rest stops, I even learned some Bushmen games, including one that reminded me of our own rock-paper-scissors.

I was also fascinated to learn that the eland, the largest of all African antelopes, is considered the most important animal to the Bushmen, not only for its meat and skin, but also as a spiritual symbol.

To the Bushmen, the eland has attained a deity-like status; so much so that the rite of passage from boyhood to manhood was once sanctified by a successful hunt of this beautiful antelope. When a kill was made, the hair from between the eyes of the animal was removed and inserted into incisions cut between the hunter's eyes, instilling within him the power of the eland.

For those remaining Bushmen that choose to pursue the old ways, my hope is they will be given the space and freedom to do so. And I took some comfort knowing that cultural tourism, if done in a dignified and sensitive way, could provide an additional means and incentive by which the incredible culture of San might be preserved and passed on to future generations.

IF YOU GO

Most visitors travel to the Kalahari in the peak months of June through August. But the best time to visit may be the months of April and May, when temperatures are not as hot and the desert retains a glint of green from the earlier rains. Details on the lodges mentioned in this article can be found at www.grasslandlodge.comandwww.unchartedafrica.com.

Photo: Mark Angelo, Special To The Vancouver Sun, Canwest News Service / A village medicine man kneels over the fire during the end of the healing trance dance in Botswana's Kalahari Desert. ;

Le vieux bushman Kleinbooi Katuwe, au visage buriné par le soleil, espère en avoir fini de son errance et "mourir en paix" sur l'exploitation agricole achetée par le gouvernement namibien pour sa tribu déracinée depuis un siècle.

"On appelle cette ferme notre maison", explique Kleinbooi Katuwe en contemplant la plaine alentour du Kalahari, parsemée d'herbe folle et d'acacias.

Pour l'instant, il vit sous une tente, avant d'aménager l'une des maisons de briques en construction. "C'est l'hiver et les nuits sont froides sous les tentes. Heureusement les maisons financées par le gouvernement seront bientôt terminées", se réjouit-il, assis sur une chaise en plastique fissurée.

"J'espère que je vais pouvoir mourir en paix sur cette ferme qu'on nous a allouée. Je suis fatigué d'être chassé."

Kleinbooi Katuwe est le plus âgé des quelque 300 bushmen ou San installés sur la ferme de Uitkomst, à 240 kilomètres au nord-est de la capitale Windhoek.

Le gouvernement namibien a acheté cette propriété dans le cadre de la réforme foncière lancée en 1995. Il compte ainsi redistribuer d'ici 2020 quelque 15 millions d'hectares, appartenant essentiellement à la minorité blanche, à 240.000 Noirs sans terre.

Uitkomst est la première des trois fermes achetées par le gouvernement pour les bushmen, une tribu de cueilleurs chasseurs marginalisée depuis de nombreuses années.

Au début du XXe siècle, les Allemands, qui contrôlent la Namibie alors appelée Sud-Ouest africain, autorisent les colons blancs à tuer des bushmen et à s'approprier leur terrain de chasse. Puis le territoire passe sous contrôle de l'Afrique du Sud jusqu'à l'indépendance de la Namibie en 1990. Les bushmen sont là encore déracinés, car utilisés comme soldats à la frontière avec l'Angola pour lutter contre les combattants de l'indépendance.

Les San, descendants des premiers habitants d'Afrique australe et qui vivent entre la Namibie, le Botswana et l'Afrique du Sud, ne sont plus que 30.000 actuellement en Namibie.

Aujourd'hui encore, leurs terres ancestrales sont illégalement occupées. Début mai, à quelque 300 kilomètres à l'est de Uitkomst, 32 bergers parlant herero ont fait entrer 2.000 têtes de bétail sur une réserve protégée et clôturée où vivent quelque 2.600 bushmen.

"Les 32 personnes ont été arrêtées" mais ont été libérées sous caution dans l'attente de leur procès, explique un avocat des San, Zeka Alberto.

Faute de logement ou de terre, de nombreux bushmen aujourd'hui relocalisés à Uitkomst occupaient encore récemment une ancienne piscine municipale dans la ville d'Okahandja, à 75 km au nord de Windhoek.

"On n'avait pas le choix", explique le leader des San de la ferme de Uitkomst, Paul Chapman. "La municipalité n'a rien dit, donc l'info s'est répandue et d'autres San qui étaient sans toit nous ont rejoints", raconte-t-il.

"Au bout du compte on est devenu un problème pour le gouvernement, et il y a un an, on nous a amenés ici. Maintenant nous avons une maison."

Mais pas grand chose pour vivre. Quelques San travaillent comme petites mains dans les fermes alentours, mais la plupart dépendent de l'aide alimentaire du gouvernement et attendent d'être formés aux métiers de l'agriculture, comme l'ont promis les autorités namibiennes.