Continuing to read the article in National Geographic I'm curious about another interesting episode occurred in the village of hasabe guest reporter. This reluctance of Africans to overcome, understandable given the difficulties of language and cultural differences in play, he showed them his photo album with shots on his private life. It was a way to break the ice and try to find common topics on which to start a dialogue. The hasabe had watched with interest his personal photos and turn the page when they saw the photo of his cat, what was the old the village, he quite naturally asked: "What does it taste like?"
What made me smile because I came back to mind, with clarity of detail, the hunt that morning of two summers ago, right in the bush of Tanzania, we did well as a hunter hasabe. We started at dawn, it was bitterly cold. We were dressed in fleece jackets and long sleeves; him, hasabe was practically bare except for a pair of old shorts and a torn pair of sandals made from old tires. He was armed with only a rudimentary arch and a pair of crooked arrows. What I remember above all the hard work we did to be able to keep up. He moved briskly, almost running, following animal tracks on the ground dry and dusty that she saw only him. The first victim to fall prey to its ability to archer was a kind of black pheasant that had followed continuously for a good half hour and had the unfortunate idea to rest on the low branch of a barren tree. The arrow was shot by a close range but the shot was precise and lethal.
The hasabe not pay the small prey, immediately went back on the trail of another prey. This time the chase lasted no less than an hour. The hunter ran scanning the ground looking for tracks, then when found them stopped to study them and as soon as we arrived we too exhausted and panting again immediately merciless. Who knows what we were pursuing? Definitely a big catch and perhaps potentially dangerous ... understand the disappointment when we saw fall pierced by two arrows shot in rapid succession a wild cat and not so big!
hasabe We were disappointed but on the contrary, seemed proud of his prey, and proud of his hunting skills. Points of view! We like good tourists we would have expected something more evocative and colorful, he, the hasabe had brought enough food for him and his village and so was enough. Returning to the village, looking at the lifeless with poor cat's neck attached to the waist of the hunter is combined with another feeling that sense of disappointment that the terror hasabe invites us for lunch!
The cat is a pet for our pet, for hasabe is just food, nothing more. That is the question "What does it taste like?" Dall'hasabe mail to reporters at the National Geographic is more than legitimate. Maybe the journalist was a Siamese cat is so different from a wild cat to justify the assumption of similar tastes but different.
Thinking back to those days between hasabe, I must say that it was hunting the thing that most impressed me about that experience in the bush. And now I know for sure that it is not worth just for me. A few days ago Elena, a girl from Milan who was with me in Tanzania along with "Faina" his companion (so nicknamed by me for a sordid history of chickens in Arusha that) I wrote on Facebook about their little son of one year: "Now we are teaching him to procure the food alone ... the neighbor's cat is at risk."
Happy birthday to the little hasabe Milan!
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