Himba: dreams sand hairstyles
I always end up going back to Africa. First with the heart and the thought; after, with the body and the words. Perhaps I should start to trace the origins of this obsession that has been with me for more than twenty years and that is not limited to one country, but embraces the entire continent.
In Namibia, as in other African regions, nature and people are inseparable. It is difficult for me to see one without the other or vice versa. In Namibia, also, savanna and desert make up a rainbow of water with the Atlantic, sand and valleys over which the oldest tribes on Earth roam until proven otherwise. Many of them emigrated because of wars, misery and political repression of their respective governments. As a last resort, all exploited for the target - now we should also include the "yellow giant" -, who fled Europe because of the wars of religion first - it would be the case of the Huguenots - and to dominate the world later, like Dutch and English, that subdued the south of the continent and where they imposed the abject apartheid.
I could tell a lot about Namibia. Yet, I will not talk about Etosha Park or Skeleton Coast or Dune Number 45 neither from Katutura nor from the dazzling sunsets. I will limit myself to a «comparative» description between two places: a Valencian and a Namibian.
I always end up going back to Africa. First with the heart and the thought; after, with the body and the words
It had been a couple of weeks since he had returned from that South African country and Valencia was still suffering that evening in suffocating heat, more typical of this climatic collapse that has been our bad luck. A series of commitments had led me to the Plaza del Patriarca, where the primitive building of the University of Valencia is located. I was surprised by the way life "flew", for young creatures ran up and down under the watchful eye of their caretakers, mothers and grandmothers; also of some parents and grandparents. All of them belong to a bourgeoisie that inhabits that neighborhood where the most expensive firms in the world have opened a store.
Unconsciously, my memory "flew" to another square in the Kaokoveld surrounded by a "kraal". Let me clarify that a "kraal" is an enclosure in which there are inhabited cabins. It is usually associated with the corral and livestock, although the word "kraal", of Zulu origin, it has nothing to do with our "corral", even though it phonetically reminds us.
I had gone to meet the himba, inhabitants of the far northwest of the region. Even being winter and arriving very early, it was already quite hot. I only met women and children of all ages, since the men had marched with the cattle in search of pasture and humidity or to work in the mines owned by the whites or to fight against neighboring countries or to seek "refuge" in the "rich continent". Perhaps many of them had died of AIDS or in some battle; or they had been taken prisoner and, therefore, enslaved. The only man left in the village, the old chief of the tribe, had been admitted to a hospital because of malaria and died a couple of days later.
The only man left in the village, the old chief of the tribe, died of malaria a couple of days later
Life there goes slowly. Morning, women make up their bodies and hair with a mixture of mud, natural dyes and aromatic herbs that embellish and perfume them, so her skin becomes shiny like copper: a master class in eroticism. The rest of the day they make jewelry and make skirts sitting at the door of their cabins while maintaining a productive chatter..
They are cabins where they keep their few properties, where a protective fire is kept burning all day. I will not describe their skirts —expression of status— or the rooms where they sleep, since they literally live in the open. Yes i would like, however, say something about the chiquillería - sacred to adults -, who has three tasks assigned: to play, take care of poultry and search for underground water so as not to die of thirst in the middle of the drought.
The chiquillería has three tasks assigned: to play, take care of the pen and look for underground water so as not to die of thirst
It must have been eight in the afternoon when it started to rain heavily in the square of the old Valencian university. In a "flick of eyelids" everyone disappeared: chiquillería, caregivers and families. The esplanade lightly shook the heat from above, when the little ones had already found shelter at home where a powerful air conditioning was possibly waiting for them, sophisticated computer games, latest definition mobiles and a "green" cola or a juice made with "organic products".
Meanwhile, I guess since Namibia's time signal is close to ours, the himba kid would already be lying at the door of the house, most likely dying of thirst. Now, I'm sure that, for not having rained at all and having almost zero contamination, they must have been enjoying all the stars in the sky illuminating their faces and bodies without the need for makeup and with a moon as big as a watermelon brushing their dreams with sand.
Comments (2)
Rosa
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Traveling with Pepa Úbeda through her articles is always exciting. This time enjoy with Namibia, the distant country that I may never be able to visit.
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Mercedes
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I am sure that I will never visit Namibia. I don't need it, I've already seen it through Pepa's eyes, like many other places.
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