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February 1958
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It was at Dutlwe Pan in the middle of the Kalahari Desert of Botswana in southern Africa where I first heard about the rainmakers of the Okavango. A recruiter for native laborers for the mines in South Africa had provided transportation in his truck for my visit to the pan.
Here, south of the equator in April, the desert had hot days and cold nights. It was the autumn of southern Africa. For three years the land here had suffered drought, causing great hardship to the Bushmen and the wild animals they depended upon for food.
I was sitting by my campfire one late afternoon. Close by was a deeply gouged- out water hole where there was still a little water. Bushmen in single file were gathering at the water hole. Eagerly they filled their ostrich-eggshell containers, then drank. Young mothers lifted their infants from their skin carrying bags and began to nurse them. The men, wiry little hunters, laid their biltong (dried meat) and their bows and arrows on the ground.
To each adult I gave a piece of juicy black stick tobacco. Their suspicion of my presence gave way to smiles. Clapping their hands with delight, there was a murmur of approval. It was now that I asked my interpreter, Loose Boy, a Kgalagadi, to speak to the Bushmen for me.
Across from my campfire crouched the leader of the band. He was the greatest hunter of them all. He waited for my greetings and my questions.
“Loose Boy, please ask the Bushman if there is anyone among them who can make rain?”
Speaking in the click language of the Bushmen, Loose Boy asked my question.
In reply, Gamucho, the Bushman leader replied, “We do not have anyone among us who can make rain. Please go to the land of the great river far to the north. There lives a great chief who can make the rain. Please beg of him to make rain for us who suffer without rain.” ...
Read the rest of this article in the April 2002 issue of FATE
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