The agricultural productivity of the Ufipa Plateau in southwestern Tanzania may have helped prompt the Fipa in the region into forming a peaceful society. That was one of the conclusions reached by Roy Willis in his 1989 article “The ‘Peace Puzzle’ in Ufipa.” Because of its intriguing analysis of that society, the article is included in the Archive of this website.

Ms. Elizabeth Azaria, a farmer in the Iramba District of Tanzania, in a finger millet field on her farm
Ms. Elizabeth Azaria, a farmer in the Iramba District of Tanzania, in a finger millet field on her farm (Photo by ICRISAT HOPE on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Willis carefully described the agriculture he saw when he did his fieldwork among the Fipa from 1962 to 1964 and again in 1966. He noted that a staple crop in the Rukwa Region of that country, where the Ufipa Plateau is located, was finger millet. The people also kept cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, and pigeons, and the farmers displayed their social status by the numbers of cattle they owned.

Prof. Willis argued that since the region is virtually un-forested, slash and burn swidden agriculture could not be used. Instead, the Fipa developed a raised bed compost technique for the production of their food. Their agriculture was perhaps six times as productive as that of the other Bantu-speaking farmers in surrounding regions, but the Fipa had to live in stable villages in order to practice their farming properly. Their peaceful “culture of intense sociability,” as Willis described it (p.134), may have developed as a result of that stable, effective, and productive farming practice.

A couple generations of a Tanzanian farm family, Elizabeth Azaria, her husband, and their three children in front of her home in the Iramba District
A couple generations of a Tanzanian farm family, Elizabeth Azaria, her husband, and their three children in front of her home in the Iramba District (Photo by ICRISAT HOPE on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

In late April of 2011, an article in AllAfrica.com, which was described in a news report on this website in early May that year, analyzed the farming practices of the Rukwa Region of Tanzania, an update from the piece by Willis. That article quoted the then Regional Commissioner, Mr. Daniel Ole Njoolay, as saying that the people of the Rukwa Region “are born seeing parents and other members of the family work hard in the farms and they grow up that way. So this is passed on from one generation to another.”

Last week, the same source published an update—a news analysis of the incredible fertility and growing farm potential in the area. The author of the current report, Sosthenes Mwita, does not mention the raised bed farming of the 1960s, but he does declare that the Rukwa Region could become the breadbasket of all Tanzania. It has plenty of rainfall—between 800 and 1,200 mm. per year—but it needs help in developing its farming infrastructure in order to realize its rich potential for more agricultural production. He writes that 90 percent of the economy is based on agriculture; 34 percent of the region is arable, but only about one-quarter of that is under cultivation.

Ms. Sarah Amon, holding her daughter, examines some sorghum in a field on her farm in the Iramba District of Tanzania
Ms. Sarah Amon, holding her daughter, examines some sorghum in a field on her farm in the Iramba District of Tanzania (Photo by ICRISAT HOPE on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The writer lists the food crops being grown by farmers in the region, which include finger millet, wheat, sorghum, sweet potatoes, cassava, maize, and beans. Farmers also grow groundnuts, tobacco, sunflowers, cotton, coffee, and soya for cash. During the recent farming season, farmers harvested over one million tons of food crops on 529,545 hectares of cultivated land. Farmers earned close to two billion Tanzanian shillings (over US $900,000) in the past couple years from growing tobacco alone.

Mr. Mwita writes that the Rukwa Region has considerable potential for increasing its agricultural production if more land were to be irrigated. About 68,000 hectares in the region are considered to be very well suited for irrigation, according to one report.

A donkey being used as a beast of burden in Tanzania
A donkey being used as a beast of burden in Tanzania (Photo by Nevit Dilmen in Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license)

One difficulty in further developing agriculture in the Rukwa Region is that very little of the additional arable land is located within reasonable walking distance of the villages. The region is dominated by small-scale subsistence farming, much as it was when Willis was there. Most of the tilling work, about 75 percent, is done with plows pulled by oxen or donkeys. Weeding is mostly still done by hand with hoes. The farmers in the region have very few tractors.

Numerous other factors also hamper the development of agriculture, such as inadequate banking facilities offering few agricultural loans. Also, there are not enough good storage and processing facilities in the region, which sometimes results in the degradation and loss of harvested crops. The author speculates that if companies were to invest in agricultural processing, crops such as finger millet, sunflowers, groundnuts, and others could become much more profitable.

An unpaved road in Tanzania
An unpaved road in Tanzania (Photo by Chris 73 in Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license)

Another factor that limits the growth of the agricultural sector in the Rukwa Region is the absence of good roads. Most of the highways are unsurfaced, which severely limits transportation. Furthermore, farmers lack the capital to improve their means of production. They do not have the resources to purchase farming equipment, so they continue to rely on their animal power, Mr. Mwita indicates.

Despite the detailed descriptions of the benefits to be derived from improving the farming infrastructure in the Rukwa Region, it is not clear whether such improvements would help preserve the traditional peaceful social structure of the villages in Ufipa.

 

The bow and arrow have been crucial tools for hunting throughout the latter part of human history. After the advent of these instruments, early hunters would have quickly realized that adding poisons to their tool kit would vastly improve hunting success. For many people, the use of poisons in hunting quickly conjures images of poison dart frogs from the rain forests of Central and South America. But a continent away, in the Kalahari Desert of southern Africa, a recent study looked at how the San use poisons from beetles and plants for their arrows. In fact, the San are one of the last remaining cultures still using such traditional methods.

San_tribesman
San tribesman of Namibia. (Photo by Ian Beatty in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The study was led by entomologist and beetle expert, Caroline Chaboo. Chaboo and her colleagues collected historical, anthropological, botanical, and entomological literature on this San practice. Their comprehensive study would finally synthesize a body of information that was incomplete as the result of vague documentation on the San and a lack of identifiable species used for poisons.

“The more slender threads of information I wove together from reports dating to the 1700’s, the more obvious it became there were few sure facts and many hard-to-believe assertions,” Chaboo explained to the Heritage Daily  in a report earlier this year. “The San are traditional hunter-gatherers and thus have a special place in the history of man. As I learned more about the modern San, their history, weak political status and endangered languages and cultures, it became urgent to me to document this aspect of their culture.”

San tribes used, and some still use, arrows laced with the poisons of local beetles and plants allowing researchers to interview former hunters, and also see first-hand what species are collected and how the poisons are extracted. While the use of beetle poison was examined for a number of different San groups, the two largest were the focus of this study, the Ju|’hoan in northeast Namibia and the Hai||om at Etosha National Park, Namibia.

The San are a diverse group of people estimated around at 113,000 individuals, and ranging over six African countries: Angola, Botswana, Namibia, South Africa, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. They are widely known for their almost mythical hunting and tracking skills, the latter of which are important when following game shot with poison arrows. In fact, larger game such as antelope, buffalo, elephant, giraffe, lion, wildebeest, and zebra are often hunted with poison arrows while smaller game is trapped or snared.

beetle 800px-Diamphidia_fg04
San arrow-poison beetle (Diamphidia nigroornata). (Photo by Werner Hammer in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

“The poison is a slow-acting paralyzing poison,”Chaboo told the Heritage Daily. “The animal continues to run after being hit, but over the next few hours, the animal becomes increasingly unable to move well, and finally falls over. Then the hunter can finish off the animal. Cell breakdown and interference with cell membrane channels are implicated.”

The primary poison, identified as a protein called diamphotoxin, may be sequestered from the host plant or made outright by the insect. This toxin is derived from Diamphidia beetles, and apparently the ‘pupa’ stage has the highest concentration of poison. However, the study does point out that both Diamphidia and Polyclada beetles are used by different San groups.

san making arrow San_wh03
San poison arrow preparation. (Photo by Werner Hammer in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

A number of hunters demonstrated to the researchers how they extracted poison beetle larvae from around host plants using sticks. In some cases they dug a moat around the entire plant. Unlike the Hai||om, Ju|’hoan hunters were able to demonstrate preparation of the poison arrows since they still have the right to hunt on their lands.

To prepare the poison, a hunter first arranges his tools in the sand, which may include an old giraffe or kudu knuckle bone. Then, the hunter breaks open around ten cocoons and rolls the larvae between his fingers to break up the internal tissues. He extracts the tissue, placing it in a mortar made of bone. Next, he proceeds to chew the bark of Acacia mellifera to produce saliva which is mixed with the larval tissues. A bean of the Bobgunnia madagascariensis is then heated, cooled, and added to the tissue and saliva mixture. The addition of these plants provides increased toxicity to the beetle-derived poison. Hunters are careful when handling the poisons since they are also lethal for humans.

Once applied to the arrows, the poisons have a shelf life from several months to over a year, depending on the beetle species. Because of the limited availability of larvae and the shelf life of the poisons, use of poison arrows is seasonal.

For the research team it was important to be systematic in gathering both ethnographic data as well as a healthy number of specimens to create a clear picture of past and present use. In addition to interviewing hunters and following some to collect specimens, the research team caught live beetles at night and collected over 500 cocoons to determine beetle species and their life stages.

Bobgunnia_madagascariensis,_sade_en_peul-fragment,_Shamvura,_a
Seeds and pod fragment of a Snake Bean plant (Bobgunnia madagascariensis). (Photo by JMK in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The evolutionary, cultural, and ecological significance of arrow poisons are important, but there are also potential medical uses. Like ethnobotanicals, newly discovered entomological chemicals could potentially be used to create drugs for human use.

Chaboo points out another reason this type of study is needed. “It’s remarkable that there is so much we still don’t know about life on Earth and even about the intricate relationships humans have with the environment,” she told the Heritage Daily. “Indigenous knowledge – accumulated over long periods of observations and experiences – holds deep insight about nature. Such knowledge can improve the quality of science and other fields and may offer resolutions to some pressing problems.”

Chaboo CS, Biesele M, Hitchcock RK, & Weeks A. 2016. Beetle and plant arrow poisons of the Ju|’hoan and Hai||om San peoples of Namibia (Insecta, Coleoptera, Chrysomelidae; Plantae, Anacardiaceae, Apocynaceae, Burseraceae). ZooKeys 558: 9-54.

By Sherrie Alexander, University of Alabama at Birmingham

Many of the world’s foremost authorities on Anabaptist studies will gather at Elizabethtown College in Pennsylvania next month for this year’s conference on the Amish.

The conference brochure
The conference brochure

According to a news report in LancasterOnline, over 60 speakers will attend the conference, titled “Continuity and Change: 50 Years of Amish Society.” Prominent speakers will include Steven Nolt, a professor of history at Goshen College who is taking up his new position as Senior Scholar at the Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies at Elizabethtown. Donald Kraybill, who recently retired from that position, will also give a paper in his new position as emeritus scholar.

A special event at the conference will be the appearance of Ann Hostetler, daughter of the late scholar John Hostetler. His book Amish Society was the seminal work in establishing the field of Amish studies, according to the news report. It was first published in 1963, the beginning of the half-century of continuity and change envisioned by the conference.

Other special events mentioned in the news article will include optional bus tours around Lancaster County. The conference website gives a lot more details. One tour will be to Amish farms, where participants will speak with the farmers to learn how they are involved in the larger business community around them. Participants in the second tour will visit other types of Amish business ventures and learn from the proprietors how they are involved in the enterprises of the county and beyond. The third tour, to health and medical care facilities that provide services to the Amish, is already filled.

Donald Kraybill
Donald Kraybill (Photo by Dave Bonta)

Prof. Kraybill will be delivering one of the four Plenary Addresses at the conference, details of all of which are given on the website. Kraybill’s talk, “Worms in the Amish Software: Coping with Risk in a Cyber World” will cover the ways their society is vulnerable in an increasingly digital environment.

Prof. Nolt, according to the conference website, will deliver the keynote address, “Amish Society: Continuity and Dynamism in a Hyper-Modern World.” He will examine the fact that the Amish have not only survived but have thrived from the challenges of modernity, in large part due to their ability to adapt to changes. He will consider the ways the dynamism and diversity of the U.S. are affecting Amish society in the 21st century.

The Young Center at Elizabethtown College
The Young Center at Elizabethtown College (Photo by Bruce Bonta)

The conference will be held on the campus of Elizabethtown College, in the town of Elizabethtown, northwestern Lancaster County, from Thursday June 9 through Saturday June 11. The conference website provides details about registration, costs, and facilities. The Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies is a prominent destination for visitors to the campus.

 

While some Nubian women are leaving their families and villages for education and jobs, many remain and continue to follow the old customs—and to marry Nubian men. A feature in the Middle Eastern news and analysis website Al-Monitor last week explored with some Nubian women the options for marriages today.

Nubian women
Nubian women (Photo by Katie Hunt on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The journalist pointed out that while Nubian men are usually free to marry whomever they wish, the women tend to not marry outside their society. They are convinced that Nubian men are the only ones who will protect them; they view the prospect of marrying an outsider as daunting.

Asma Mahmoud, who has organized the Alternatives Forum, a group in Cairo, told Al-Monitor that she used to find it very difficult to deal with non-Nubians. She hung out only with her own people and feared getting involved with others. But she eventually learned to make friends with other Egyptians and became more comfortable with them. However, she rejected marriage proposals she received. She said she simply would not feel right about marrying a man who was not a Nubian. Nubians are a unique people, with their own customs and songs, she said. “We believe that our society is complete by itself. It doesn’t want for anything.”

Ms. Mahmoud said that most Nubian women accept the idea that they should remain within their traditional environment, though many of course live outside Nubia with their families. She emphasized that it is important for the women to accept and support the needs of their fathers, brothers, and husbands, even though, in Cairo, they may work in many different situations. In Nubia itself, they do not have many opportunities for employment outside of being wives and mothers, especially since they marry while still young.

Nubian wedding near Aswan
Nubian wedding near Aswan (Photo by Sms in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

She expressed her opinions on other subjects. She feels that Nubians react to the racism that is prevalent against them in Egyptian society with a reverse racism of their own. She added that many young people are rejecting some traditions such as the custom of having extravagant weddings, which can cost 100,000 Egyptian pounds, or US $11,300.

Another Nubian woman, Wahibah Saleh, discussed with Al-Monitor her marriage to a non-Nubian man. She met him in the Cultural Center of Cairo and found him to be compatible. She liked the fact that he had an open mind. She spent a year trying to convince her family that marrying the man was right for her. She first confronted her father, who was adamantly opposed to the marriage. She was under so much stress over the situation that she consulted a psychologist, but in the end she secured her family’s support and married her friend.

Ms. Saleh expressed her general support for the emphasis that Nubians are placing on their women marrying within the group. “Part of the Nubian heritage is collapsing, with the demise of the language, and so the society is attempting to preserve its existence through its customs and traditions,” she said.

She argued that the Internet is changing the attitudes of Nubians about the desirability of women getting an education or even of studying abroad. She told Al-Monitor that there is a lot of integration among men and women within Nubian society. Nubian women are not forced into marriage, and they have the right to remain unmarried, just so they do not marry non-Nubians. She believes that female genital mutilation (FGM) is a crime, unlike marriage within the society, which she accepts.

Nubian girls in Aswan
Nubian girls in Aswan (Photo by babeltravel on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Speaking of the difficulties of Nubian girls making decisions about the different paths that may be open to them in the future, Ms. Saleh said that “lineage trumps culture, especially for society’s youth.” Basically, Nubian women have to follow what seems best for them and to make their own decisions. They may have to fight their own families if they choose to marry a non-Nubian, but it is important for them to choose the right person.

Fatima Imam, a human rights activist and researcher, told Al-Monitor that the status of women has declined in Nubian society. They used to have a very secure status since they managed the economy. She expressed sadness that the society has become more male-dominated, a result of the anti-women sentiments and discrimination that has developed in Egypt.

She was pressured by her own family about her desire to study abroad. She rejects the notion that Nubian women must marry Nubian men. She blamed the increasing repression of Nubian women on influences from the Wahabi culture of the Gulf, where many people travel to work. She decries FGM, the lack of a feminist Nubian movement, and the requirement that women must wear abayas. The men have brought back repressive ideas that have led, she argued, “to the Islamization of society.”

 

Rural Thai society depends so much on abundant rainfall and numerous rivers to grow rice and fish that water is often featured in their national holidays and family events. Last week, Pattaya Today, a newspaper from the tourist city of Pattaya, published an interesting PR piece generated by the Tourism Authority of Thailand that described the various ways the Thai—both rural and urban—include water in their celebrations.

Songkran celebrations on the streets of Ayutthaya, a small city north of Bangkok
Songkran celebrations on the streets of Ayutthaya, a small city north of Bangkok (Photo by J.J. Harrison in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Perhaps the best known is Songkran, their annual New Year’s festival, which was most recently held from April 13 – 15. People in villages, towns and cities throughout Thailand celebrate by throwing water at one another, events that are popular with both young and old, natives and tourists alike. It is like a frantic, nation-wide, three-day water fight.

Songkram is also a time to pay respects to the elders. The old people in a family will apply a white powder called dinso pong to the necks and faces of younger people as a way of keeping away evil spirits. They also believe that dinso pong, a folk medicine, helps protect the skin from sunshine and assists in preventing skin spots.

Visiting a temple during Songkran and pouring water on the statue of the Buddha
Visiting a temple during Songkran and pouring water on a statue of the Buddha (Photo by butforthesky.com on Flickr, Creative Commons license)
People floating krathong rafts during the Loi Krathong festival in Chiang Mai
People floating krathong rafts during the Loi Krathong festival in Chiang Mai (Photo by John Shedrick in the Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

But the Thai do take the Songkran celebrations seriously. They will gather in their temples and sprinkle sacred water on statues of the Buddha, a type of ritual bathing. According to the article, the practice represents, for the Rural Thai, a way of praying for sufficient rainfall for the upcoming growing season.

On November 15, 2016, Thailand will celebrate another national holiday called Loi Krathong in various ways. In the province of Tak, the festival, called the Krathong Sai, is celebrated by participants filling coconut shells with wax and floating them out on a river.

In other parts of the country, Loi Krathong is celebrated by using banana stalk floats crammed with incense and flowers. They are lit and floated out onto rivers, where they move with the currents, carrying along prayers for success, fortune, and love. In effect, for the Thai, it is a way of giving back to the water spirits; the festival represents an attempt to thank them for the bounties they have provided over the previous year.

Water also plays a role in important family celebrations, such as weddings. In some parts of Thailand, tourists can get married while floating on bodies of water, and at one resort, off the coast of Trang in southern Thailand, couples can marry underwater.

An elder relative pours water from a conch shell over the hands of the bride and groom during a wedding ceremony
An elder relative pours water from a conch shell over the hands of the bride and groom during a wedding ceremony (Photo by Ben Stephenson in the Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

Traditional weddings normally involve water. An important part of the wedding ceremony is for water to be sprinkled over the wrists of the bride and groom.

The article in Pattaya Today also discussed the Chao Phraya River, the waterway that is at the heart of Bangkok. For centuries, the capital of Thailand has been located in communities along the river, most recently, since 1782, in Bangkok. Embassies, hotels, homes and businesses have been built on the banks of the river, or even on houseboats in it. The city grew as a network of canals, and in the 1840s, 90 percent of the residents lived on them.

The Royal Barge Suphannahong prepared for a ceremony
The Royal Barge Suphannahong prepared for a ceremony (Photo by Lerdsuwa on Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The Royal Barge Ceremony—“one of the most spectacular displays in Thai culture,” according to the news report—is sometimes performed on the Chao Phraya. The delicate royal barges are not brought out of safe keeping in the Royal Barge Museum very often, since they are carved with figureheads from Thai mythology and date back to the reign of King Rama I, the Great, who ruled Siam from 1782 to 1809. The barges transport the royal family along the river when they need to attend special events.

The floating market in Amphawa
The floating market in Amphawa (Photo by Uwe Schwarzback on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Many communities in Thailand depend heavily on markets located directly on the waterways. Amphawa, a district in Samut Songkhram province, has a well-known floating water market where local artisans and artists show off their works. Last week’s article concludes that the waterways of Thailand have been influential throughout history. They have inspired numerous Thai cultural traditions.

 

Yanadi living along the coast of Andhra Pradesh in southeastern India benefit from the forests on one side and the sea on the other. An article in The Hindu last week briefly described the lives of those fishing people.

The lower Krishna River near Vijayawada and the Bay of Bengal
The lower Krishna River near Vijayawada and the Bay of Bengal (Photo by Bhanutpt in the Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The reporter for The Hindu, T. Appala Naidu, visited some Yanadi families living in the Nagayalanka Mandal, in coastal Krishna District of Andhra Pradesh, near the point where the Krishna River, the fourth longest in India, empties into the Bay of Bengal.

The journalist interviewed a Yanadi woman named Tammi Nancharamma. She explained that they use the wood and leaves from trees in the mangrove forest to build huts along the beaches. They make fires for their cooking with wood and they make beds out of the leaves.

A Yanadi fisherman paddling a log boat
A Yanadi fisherman paddling a log boat (Photo by Only the Best on NationMaster.com and copyrighted, but released for all uses without reservation)

Ms. Nancharamma and her husband spend most of their time fishing and she makes it clear they enjoy their lives. “We never feel scared to spend our nights alone by the forest, and we enjoy the gentle breeze from the sea,” she tells the newspaper.

They use their traditional boat as a temporary home on the beach. It has a stove and a place to store their clothing, much like the boat where Daniel Peggotty and his family live in Dickens’ classic novel, David Copperfield.

An olive ridley turtle on a beach
An olive ridley turtle on a beach (Photo by Bernard Gagnon in the Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The article indicates that the Yanadi have been actively working to conserve the olive ridley turtles. The Hindu reported in early March this year that they have been collecting the eggs and releasing the hatchlings in an attempt to help build up turtle numbers. The IUCN has labeled the olive ridley as a threatened species.

The Yanadi actively fish year round. Evidently, regulations governing the fishing of marine species don’t apply to them since they use traditional boats without engines. When the Yanadi move, concluded last week’s news report, they will leave the huts they have built on the beaches for others to live in after they are gone.

Wind development firms have erected many large turbines in Mexico’s Oaxaca state, arousing a lot of opposition among Zapotec communities impacted by them. The news website AlterNet.org last week published a report critiquing the growing development of wind energy in southern Mexico and updating news stories from 2012 about Zapotec protests against them.

A man riding a cart along a road of San Mateo del Mar, in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, contending with the wind
A man riding a cart along a road of San Mateo del Mar, in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, contending with the wind (Photo by Lon&Queta on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The journalist writing for AlterNet, Meg Wilcox, pointed out that the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, where the wind parks have been built, has a unique wind tunnel effect. The mountain ranges on the isthmus funnel the winds across the country from coast to coast, 120 miles (193 km.), at speeds of 37 miles per hour (60 km/hour).

These conditions have prompted the development of several dozen wind parks in the area already, and many more are being considered. One cluster of wind projects north of the Zapotec city of Juchitán, Wilcox writes, includes literally hundreds of turbines, which have been built along a highway, towering above farm fields, homes, schools and the road itself.

Wind turbines tower above the highway a few miles northeast of the Zapotec city of Juchitán de Zaragoza
Wind turbines tower above the highway a few miles northeast of the Zapotec city of Juchitán de Zaragoza (photo by Thelmadatter in the Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The Zapotec and the other indigenous peoples of the isthmus do not appreciate the fact that they get very little benefit from the wind plants. They may be employed when the turbines are under construction, but once they are operating, the people have only a few jobs, such as cleaning offices or removing dead birds killed by the spinning blades.

The indigenous communities express concerns about the killing of birds, but they also are worried about the loss of productive farmlands to the developments. In addition, people worry about harm to their groundwater flows. They feel that the contracts are often negotiated in bad faith, and the fact that a lot of the land is owned communally poses difficulties.

Huge transmission towers carry electricity generated near Juchitán de Zaragoza out of the area
Huge transmission towers carry electricity generated near Juchitán de Zaragoza out of the area (Photo by Laloixx in the Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

An indigenous rights group that opposes the exploitation, la Unión de Comunidades Indígenas de la Zona Norte del Istmo de Tehuantepec (UCIZONI), is disturbed that the electricity generated in their communities does not benefit the people living there. Huge transmission towers carry the energy out of the Isthmus, to markets farther north.

One of the major issues for the Zapotec is thus the perceived lack of equity—that the industry benefits, that huge corporations benefit, that the U.S. benefits, but that the local people are ignored. Wilcox writes that local landowners are paid from 0.25 to 1.53 percent of the gross income produced by turbines on their lands. In contrast, landowners in Europe and the U.S. are typically paid 1 to 5 percent of the gross income.

Walmart writes about its commitment to renewable energy, “Walmart de Mexico y Centroamerica will purchase all of the energy created by the Oaxaca I Lamatalaventosa Wind Farm for the next 15 years”
Walmart writes about its commitment to renewable energy, “Walmart de Mexico y Centroamerica will purchase all of the energy created by the Oaxaca I Lamatalaventosa Wind Farm for the next 15 years” (Photo by Walmart on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

The writer indicates that companies like Cemex, Heineken, and Walmart have signed power purchase agreements with the Mexican Federal Electricity Commission (CFE) and the wind developers. Walmart and the others can then trumpet their commitments to using green, renewable energy. CFE and the U.S. Agency for International Development are formulating plans to build infrastructure that will permit the energy to be exported to Texas.

The concerns of the Zapotec in all of this appear to be ignored. Wilcox goes on in her article to suggest sweeping ways of reforming the system, so that the development of cleaner energy sources does not ignore the needs of poor, indigenous communities.

 

Helena Norberg-Hodge, who has criticized modernization in Ladakh for many years, has termed the changes taking place there as a “development hoax.” Author of the influential book Ancient Futures, Norberg-Hodge argues that, although traditionally Ladakh has had a healthy social and cultural environment lacking in crime and poverty, the Ladakhi people are turning their backs on their rich past as they rush into modernization.

Helena Norberg-Hodge
Helena Norberg-Hodge (Photo by Kiran Jonnalagadda on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Norberg-Hodge, according to a recent journal article by Simon Ozer, feels they are losing a sense of belonging, identity, security, and interdependence. Modernization also leads, she argues in Ozer’s reading, to such other social ills as health problems, unemployment, drug addictions, family strife, lower quality of life, diminished self-esteem, greediness, and feelings of inferiority.

Ozer pointed out, however, that there are critics of Norberg-Hodge’s arguments. The critics reason that many Ladakhis take nuanced, culturally-appropriate paths in adapting to modernization. It is too simplistic to argue that Ladakh has had a pure, utopian society, which is now confronting a massively powerful, perverting Western culture. A majority of the Ladakhi people have yearned for help and development for much of the past century.

The author, a scholar at Aarhus University in Denmark, reviewed these contradictory points of view about Ladakh by examining the psychology of acculturation among two different populations of Ladakhi college students, a group in Leh and another in Delhi. He focused on the question of how they relate to both their own heritage and to the culture of the outside world, his definition of the process of acculturation.

Ladakhi people in Leh
Ladakhi people in Leh (Photo without author credit in Wikipedia, Creative Commons license)

The goals of his research were to examine the association between acculturation and mental health in the two different populations of college students. His hypothesis was that if the antidevelopment discourse of Norberg-Hodge is correct, then people orienting toward the modern, Western culture should have more psychological stresses than the ones orienting primarily toward traditional Ladakhi culture.

Ozer used questionnaires and held semi-structured interviews with 292 college students in both Leh and Delhi in the spring and summer of 2012 to gather his data. He asked what aspects of the Ladakhi culture are worth preserving, how the culture of the new community where they are living and studying compares to the place they are from in Ladakh, how well education allows them to adapt to the new culture, and their feelings of distress associated with a new, larger, community.

In addition, he asked his subjects whether they felt distressed by their new community, whether their religious backgrounds helped them adjust, how well they actually liked the newer ways of living, and how they thought they would adjust to moving back to their old home areas in Ladakh—or even, would they want to go back?

The Indian people in Delhi
The Indian people in Delhi (Photo by Rhiannon on Pixabay, Creative Commons license)

Perhaps not surprisingly, the students in Delhi were more focused on the new, modern world, while the ones in Leh were more oriented toward the traditional, ethnic culture of Ladakh. The group in Delhi used the social media as part of their increased orientation to the modern culture more than the group in Leh did, which used social media less often.

Furthermore, students born in the villages in Ladakh measured higher rates of depression in their new communities than did those from the larger towns in Ladakh—Leh and Kargil. More students studying at the college in Leh were from villages, and more students studying in Delhi were from the larger towns in Ladakh.

The students interviewed in both places said their moves to larger communities to pursue their educations were accompanied by excitement and a sense of adventure, at least at first. Then, many said, a sense of disappointment set in, accompanied by feelings of depression, fear, and longing for family. Both groups had positive and negative feelings toward their new experiences, which many students saw as broadening. However, many had negative reactions to the new sense of competition, though some viewed it as a positive experience.

Tourists watching a Hemis Monastery festival near Leh
Tourists watching a Hemis Monastery festival near Leh (Photo by Nate Koechley on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Both groups of students viewed tourism as a potentially positive benefit for Ladakh, particularly since, on the whole, it promotes effective development. The new foods, clothing, and values toward the environment introduced by tourists could be seen as positives, but smoking, drinking, and veneration for the profit motive were not. But tourism itself helped prompt Ladakhis to preserve their traditional identity and culture.

Ozer made some interesting observations about Leh and Delhi, the small town of about 30,000 and the megacity 500 times larger. The students living in Delhi quickly developed feelings of insecurity and frustration. They learned to mistrust people for their lack of honesty, their violence, their penchant for stealing, and the dangers of rapes and homicides. However, the students in Delhi tended to connect strongly with other Ladakhi partners and friends, which provided feelings of rootedness, of home, and of help in fending off feelings of loneliness.

The students noted the differences between Delhi and Leh. The teachers in Delhi lectured, but they offered no further help or support for students, who were left on their own. In contrast, the college teachers in Leh were friendlier, less pretentious, and more solicitous for the well-being of their students. Those teachers supported rather than punished, they said.

Rural students dancing at a village school function in the Puga Valley of the Chang Tang region, southeastern Ladakh
Rural students dancing at a village school function in the Puga Valley of the Chang Tang region, southeastern Ladakh. (Screenshot from the video “Ladakh ‘Six Souls of Puga: The Wind of Change’” Documentary Film Part 2, by Chamba Kaysar on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

Three of the Leh students indicated they intended to move back to their villages after graduation. One man said he was a farmer’s son and he intended to return to his village and be a farmer too. The students viewed the villages positively, as cleaner and more peaceful, but they also saw the villagers themselves as more superstitious and narrow-minded. Most of the students in Leh, in fact, looked forward to continuing to live in the town rather than returning to their villages.

Ozer addressed Norberg-Hodge’s anti-development ideas by referring to the opinions of several students in both Delhi and Leh. They indicated that since sociocultural changes were inevitable, the most important issue was to accept positive elements and reject negative ones. They felt this could be accomplished by preserving and respecting the traditional Ladakhi culture.

The traditional clothing and headdress, called a perak, of a Ladakhi Buddhist woman
The traditional clothing and headdress, called a perak, of a Ladakhi Buddhist woman (Photo by hceebee on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

This could be done, they felt, by sometimes wearing traditional clothing, at times participating in the ancient ceremonies and yet, at the same time, accepting and integrating into Ladakh useful technologies and advanced educational strategies. Of course, navigating these processes of acculturation would depend on the abilities of the individuals, they believed.

The author concluded by noting that the Delhi sample, the students who had been most closely exposed to outside, modernizing cultural influences, had the lowest scores in the measures of psychopathology. This fact directly contradicts assumptions made by Norberg-Hodge that being exposed to outside influences would cause psychological distresses among the people of Ladakh. In essence, her assumptions may be correct in some situations with some Ladakhis, but as a generalization, they do not seem to apply to the Ladakhi youth of today.

Ozer, Simon. 2015. “Acculturation, Adaptation, and Mental Health among Ladakhi College Students: A Mixed Methods Study of an Indigenous Population.” Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology 46(3): 435-453

 

Traditional foods and styles of cooking in the Upper Nile Valley are essential aspects of Nubian cuisine and culture, according to a recent news report.

Traditional Nubian bread
Traditional Nubian bread (All photos, taken in Aswan by Divya Thakur, are on Flickr with Creative Commons licenses)

Writing in The Arab Weekly, Mohamed Abu Shanab asserts that the Nubians expertly blend local food sources into their meals. The verdant fringe of agricultural land along the Nile has traditionally fostered the growth of wheat, sorghum, and barley, so Nubian cooks became adept at baking “a refined and extremely delicious bread,” Shanab writes. It is called kabed.

The baker mixes corn flour, sometimes adding yeast, with water, spreads the dough onto a mud hearth, and bakes it until the edges become crisp. The resulting bread is eaten for desert with honey and milk, or as part of a main course.

Moheieddin Saleh, an authority on Nubian traditional culture, told the author that most Nubians preferred to eat what they have been able to grow on their farms along the Nile. “They have managed to develop their own distinct cui­sine from the things available in the local environment,” he said. But of course few live in riverside village any longer. Their tasty dishes are only prepared in a few Nubian homes.

Nubian boiled potato dish from Aswan
Nubian boiled potato dish from Aswan

Most Nubians no longer cook and eat their traditional dishes. Hamad Gabir, another expert on Nubian culture, said that most of the people have adapted to eating the foods of the Egyptian people that surround them and they no longer prepare their former dishes. He said that, sadly, this practice is destroying the culinary traditions of the Nubian people.

In the few existing original Nubian villages, however, people do try and preserve their traditions. They eat peas, spinach, okra, carrots, beans, and courgettes (also called zucchinis) prepared with their own blends of herbs and spices, grown locally. They thus eat dishes that are completely different from mainstream Egyptian cooking.

The author singles out a particular Nubian delicacy: raw camel’s liver. It is chopped into little pieces, added to bits of onions marinated in vinegar, blended with cumin, coriander, and chili sauce, and eaten raw. He adds that the dish is consumed widely by the Nubians, who believe it has many beneficial and nutritious effects.

Nubian chicken dish from Aswan
Nubian chicken dish from Aswan

Nubians also enjoy traditional dishes of fish, meat, chicken and vegetables, Shanab writes. Many of their kitchens have their original mud hearths, on which they use dishes, bowls, and trays made of clay or glass. Of course, they also have clay water coolers.

Mr. Saleh points out that while the Nubians are dispersed in Egypt, Northern Sudan, Kenya, and Uganda, their culinary tradition is a common factor with all of them. And, he argues, it is essential “to protect this culinary culture from dying.”

Archaeologists have found evidence from 5,000 years ago indicating the importance of foods in Nubian society throughout the ages, though of course ingredients and cooking styles have been adopted from outside cultures to add to the culinary riches.

The formerly nomadic Birhor are struggling to cope with their forced resettlement into permanent communities, which has had a serious impact on their cultural values. A recent journal article by Deborah Nadal examines these changes in Birhor settlement patterns over the past 50 years and their impact on the people.

The forest of Simlipal, in Mayurbhanj District of northern Odisha, India
The forest of Simlipal, in Mayurbhanj District of northern Odisha, India (Photo by Bikash Das on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Nadal did fieldwork in Dingura and Kendumundi, Birhor communities in the Mayurbhanj District of India’s Odisha state, plus Dauna, Chauparan, Sijhwa, Nagri, Dingura and Demotand in the Hazaribagh District of Jharkhand state. Dauna is the only one where the people still live in a tanda, a traditional, temporary settlement. Her research compared the tanda with the resettlement colonies.

She reports that a tanda was normally located at the edge of a forest tract, for easy access to gathering and hunting opportunities, but it was also situated not too far from villages with their markets. The Birhor liked to be reasonably close to markets where they could easily sell their handicrafts. The tandas were typically built under shade trees, near a water supply, and in the midst of bushes. The individual huts, the kumbhas, were scattered about, usually at least three meters apart.

A Birhor tanda with several kumbhas visible along a pathway
A Birhor tanda with several kumbhas visible along a pathway (Photo copyright by Deborah Nadal and used with permission)

Up to about 50 people lived in each tanda, and each kumbha, a cone-shaped or hemispherical hut about two meters across, held a family. The hut was built with available forest materials—long poles or branches pushed into the ground to form a framework, with smaller branches and leaves woven together and tied to the framework with vines to close the structure.

Other than the huts themselves, the traditional Birhor tanda had no other structures to suggest that it was a settled community—no gates, fences, or central meeting areas defining it as a place. That lack of permanence reflected the fact that the nomadic Birhor thought of themselves as free to move if they wished. The nuclear family was at the heart of their society rather than the group.

The traditional kumbha was often a solid structure when it was built properly. It sheltered the occupants when it rained and it was effectively insulated, retaining warmth in cooler weather yet providing cool relief from the blazing heat of hotter days. The foliage walls let in enough light to see by, yet helped keep the interior cool and dark. In essence, the kumbha was well suited to its environment. It had only one interior room that was normally left empty, but it was divided into a sleeping area, a storage area, and a cooking area.

But the government, in its wisdom, provided very different housing structures for the Birhor in the resettlement colonies. Called pukka houses, each one is normally a single level brick building with one room in the back and an open veranda in front. The structure has a single door between the two sections but no windows. The building, generally 3 meters (10 feet) by 3 meters, is built on a cement foundation with a concrete floor, and it has no wiring, plumbing, or furniture.

The Kendumundi resettlement colony consisting of pukka houses
The Kendumundi resettlement colony consisting of pukka houses (Photo copyright by Deborah Nadal and used with permission)

The colonies have gates, community halls, and fences around their perimeters that suggest permanence. They have central open spaces and roads with houses built close to one another, normally less than two meters apart. In contrast to the traditional tanda, it is impossible in the colonies to form clusters of huts for close relatives. In essence, it is difficult for a son who gets married to have a hut next to that of his parents, as he could in the tanda.

However, many Birhor have adapted their pukka houses to their needs. They have modified their verandas to make them the locus of their daily lives. Verandas that were built as open spaces on the fronts of the brick houses have been closed in on three sides with panels of sticks and leaves, or sometimes panels of brick walls. The verandas have thus become improvised kumbhas.

The Birhor still believe that they suffer misfortunes in the colonies because of the pukka houses. It seems that their ancestor spirits, called hapram bongas, have become disappointed—angered even—by the fact that their descendants have failed to build new kumbhas from time to time as they are supposed to do. The hapram are fundamentally benevolent spirits who are respected by the living Birhor and are worshiped regularly.

In response, the hapram look after and protect the living family members, interceding with the more vengeful gods. But one sign of the occasional anger of a hapram bonga will be leaks in the kumbhas. Such leaks in the traditional dwellings were easy to fix, of course, but they are much harder to repair in the pukka houses—and governmental authorities do not provide any assistance.

A kumbha for the hapram bonga
A kumbha for the hapram bonga (Photo copyright by Deborah Nadal and used with permission)

The hapram bonga requires a lot of care in return for his protection. When they used to live nomadically, the Birhor attended to the needs of their ancestor spirits by building small huts for them in their camps. Those huts, called bonga kumbhas, were normally much smaller and simpler than the huts made for humans. The people would put small stones or earth pots, which identified the spirits, in the huts and honor them with offerings of food and flowers. When they moved to another site, the Birhor had to follow carefully the proper ways of moving the bonga kumbhas as well.

All of this is important for the continuation of their peacefulness. Nadal argues that, just because a hapram bonga is the spirit of a deceased male, men do not necessarily rise to the status of hapram bonga when they die. The Birhor believe he must have behaved properly according to the social norms of his society. He must have had proper relations with his family members, he must have shared game correctly, and he must have behaved in a collaborative fashion. If he has done all those things properly, his funeral ceremony will start the process of him becoming a hapram bonga.

While the Birhor have been able to adapt, at least to some extent, to their altered circumstances in their new colonies, Nadal concludes, their need to constantly please the spirits of their departed ancestors has been severely altered if not destroyed. It is difficult for them to satisfy the desire of a hapram bonga to properly destroy his bonga kumbha and build a new one at a new location. Thus, the people have been forced to not only abandon their contacts with their beloved forests, but also they frequently lack the approval of their ancestors. In all, they have had to modify the cultural framework that defines them as “men of the forest.”

A Birhor man making a rope
A Birhor man making a rope (Screen capture from the video “Birhor—A tribe displaced for nothing,” by VideoVolunteers on YouTube, Creative Commons license)

But the author sees some strength in the Birhor society. Despite their problems, they are still able to collect some minor forest products—roots, fruits, honey, and flowers. They can also collect the siali fibres that they use for making ropes, which they sell in the local markets or use themselves. Nadal believes they have a resilient culture. She is not convinced that ethnocide is necessarily at hand—it is a complex matter and the cultural resilience that the Birhor exhibit in some of their colonies affords some hope.

Nadal, Deborah. 2015. “Housing Ancestors: The Reorganization of Living Spaces among the Birhor of Jharkhand and Odisha.” Internationales Asien Forum. International Quarterly for Asian Studies 46(1/2), Spring: 39-58