![]() ![]() ![]() When it stops, a few minutes later, the airįeels cool and fresh, and black and white magpies and other birds can be seen flying out of their nests to wade in the new streams of rainwater. The skies in the Ituri open up, usually within an hour before sunset, releasing a hard and fast rain. In the afternoons, as thunder rumbled in the distance, Colin and Kenge would rush to the river to bathe. Kenge would emerge first to rekindle the campfire logs, with any luck still smoldering from the night before,įor the Mbuti Pygmies do not know how to make fire. Of thin trees and thatched with mongongo leaves, overlapped like tiles. Light enters gently into the small hemispherical huts, made out The camp quickly comes alive with the pungent odor of small campfires and the sounds of children singing to welcome the new day. Even if you are lucky enough to have a blanket, as Colin and Kenge did, the Atįour foot eight, Kenge was more than a foot and a half shorter than Colin, so Colin could hold him easily with his long legs, arms, and wide hands, keeping them both warm in the damp forest nights.īy daybreak in the Ituri forest of central Africa the temperature often falls below sixty-five degrees, but it feels colder because dew drips incessantly from the forest canopy. ![]() On most mornings in 1957, the Scottish anthropologist Colin Macmillan Turnbull would wake up in his hut next to his young Mbuti assistant, Kenge, their legs and arms intertwined in the way that Mbuti men like to sleep with each other to stay warm. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |