Customer Reviews

The Language of the Land: Living Among a Stone-Age People in Africa

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James Stephenson combines an extarodinary adventure with a poetic sensibility in this work that is rare indeed. Interested readers will find _The Language of the Land_ a window to a world as old and as sacred as human memory itself, simultaneously intimate and expansive. I found myself laughing at the exploits of James and the hunters Mustaffa and Sabina and others in their wild celebrations after the hunts, short of breath on the safaris where they passed within feet of lions and warned them off with medicine, and completely caught up in the intricate, tattered tapestry of Africa Mr. Stephenson reveals here.

This book is beautifully produced, and Mr. Stephenson's narrative is combined with photographs of the African bush outsiders will never, one hopes, actually ever see. It also combines what surely must be the first ever collaborative art between a Westerner and the Hadzabe, several works of which are included in a stunning portfolio of color plates at the end of the book.

If you have an interest in human history, Africa and its peoples, strong poetic prose, or a story which is piercingly important at this point in our world, then you need to get this book, read and experience it, and then pass it on to your children.

I owe James Stephenson a mighty big thank you. He gave me an all-expenses paid trip to Africa, and he's willing to give you one, too. No, he's not chartering planes for random winners of some unknown sweepstake. In this sometimes landscape artist, sometimes explorer's wonderful book, The Language of the Land: Living Among the Hadzabe in Africa, he shares the experiences of his life for nearly a year when he plunged into the jungle of East Africa and lived among the Hadzabe. Often mystical, Stephenson's adventure stems from joining with these hunters as they live, sharing in their ceremonies, following their rules.

The Language of the Land burgeons with fascinating photos. I finished the book feeling like I knew the people and the land, not only because of the tale that kept me from putting the book down until I finished it, but also because of the pictures that I studied, mesmerized. As an unexpected bonus, a portfolio of paintings by Stephenson and the Hadzabe awaits the reader in the back of the book.

I received The Language of the Land as a gift from a thoughtful friend who knows that I am anxious for the day when I can visit Africa to smell the air there and learn about the world that I imagine to be so different from my own. This book both teased me, increasing my desire to see Africa, and appeased me, satisfying, if only temporarily, my longing for adventure.

James Stephenson's (known as Jemsi to the Hadzabe) book cannot be called unique, but certainly deserves the title of unusual. In the tradition of Kabloona, a white man blends moves in with a tribe, eats what they eat, dances what they dance, sings what they sing. Unless it is raining and uncomfortable, then he goes to Zanzibar for a sex and drug odyssey until the weather where the Hadzabe live improves a bit.

Without a doubt Jemsi has achieved a deeper knowledge of the Hadzabe than any other American. While Jemsi absorbed first hand knowledge of their songs, rituals, and sacred places, he exchanged with them confabulatory tales of America, a place inhabited with bears that fly and have sex with humans. Explaining that he felt that he should imitate the "tall tale" method of story telling used by the Hadzabe, his gift for the knowledge that was given freely to him by the tribe was a few goats, some cornmeal, a few good drinking bouts on the house, and what some might call outright lies about Jemsi's own American culture.

Noting the devastating effect that alcohol was having on the Hadzabe, Jemsi's response was to freely participate in the drinking binges, even supplying the cash that made the binges possible on some occasions. Put into an American context, it would be interesting to see how the enthusiastic reviewers of this book would feel about a European that came to America to have an "experience", moved in with an Indian tribe, slept with their women without regard to possible offspring, and actively abetted the alcoholism that so devastates some Native American tribes.

Bottom line? A fabulous tale is marred by the narcissism of the author. Stephenson's behavior while staying with the Hadzabe is indistiguishable to me from the behavior of Western explorers for centuries: enjoy what the native culture has to offer to the fullest, but offer little (alcohol, crayons, and paints in this case) in return. Written passably, but not strikingly, well, excellently illustrated with photos and drawings, the book still satisfies anyone that wishes to glimpse a usually hidden corner of the African continent.

I totally enjoyed The Language of the Land by James Stephenson. His truthful and sometimes crazy account of his experiences with the Hadzabe people is clearly about a young man's search for self, spiritual truth and authenticity. James's search has led him to a remote part of the world and an encounter with an ancient hunter/gatherer culture that is about as far away from 21st century USA as you can get. Few would have the courage to do what he did - which was NOT a patriarchal attempt to convert, educate, change, examine, document, judge, or exploit the Hadzabe. Rather, it is clear to me that he was taken with their joy of living even in the harshest of conditions, their steadfast belief in their own way "the old way" of life, their strong sense of community, and their love of and direct dependence on the land and the natural environment. It is also clear that James Stephenson cares about the Hadzabe, that he was willing to just "hang" with them (for better or worse), become a friend and participate in their life. Perhaps his book is more like a journal - an honest personal accout of what he encountered and learned from this culture with its very real people and ancient way of life. It is a book that speaks to shared humanity that goes beyond race, time and culture. I am looking forward to seeing James and the Hadzabe on the upcoming Discovery Travel Channel's "Poison Arrows", May 31st, 8:00 p.m.

In "The Language of the Land" James Stephenson tells a compelling story of his life among the Hadzabe. He celebrates the nobility of this people at the same time exposing the specter of modern civilization and its potential impact on them. Mr. Stephenson's immersion into the very soul of the Hadzabe makes for excellent reading. His descriptions are vivid and his perceptions poetic. His friends and guides became my friends, his fear mine. I could smell the blood of freshly slaughtered game; feel the second wind of survival. His experience not only took him into the day-to-day existence of the Hadzabe but also their spirit world and ultimatley a journey into his own Mythology. The accounts of his adventure made me acutely aware of the thin edge we all live on. I admire his courage and appreciate his gift of this story.

Eat your heart out, D. H. Lawrence. Here is a young man who has lived the primitive life you extolled-- and writes about it like a dream. We Westerners are guilty of dismissing and destroying cultures we consider uncivilized, but the so-called primitive life also fascinates us. We see in it an unforced spirituality, and a deeper sense of communion with both nature and tribe--all the values we left behind in our race for more and bigger agriculture.

Our ambivalence toward these emotions--what Marianna Torgovnick, professor and chair of the English department at Duke University, and author of "Primitive Passions" has called the "the sensation of merging with the universe"--is at the root of our fascination with the primitive. As D. H. Lawrence expressed it: "the human race is . . . like a great uprooted tree, with its roots in the air. We must plant ourselves again in the universe."

This is what James Stephenson does. At age twenty-seven, this artist and landscape-builder wandered off into the African bush with little more than his paints and a pocketful of plastic snakes and spiders that his mother gave him (for practical jokes and to fend off beggars). He had visited the Hadzabe several times before, and intended to spend a year eating, drinking, hunting, and dreaming with them.

He writes about the Hadzabe as though he had lived in a state of total realization with them. Somehow he managed to short-circuit all of the fears that would have kept me from abandoning the safety and comfort of civilization. But he also admits to the danger of becoming a free, primal man: "The mental discipline that makes one restrain his/her action in the present...was no longer functioning properly..." 'Future' was only a concept. He was no longer concerned about AIDS and sought multiple women for sexual pleasure. He went on drinking binges with his companions. He slept on the ground, endured mudslides, stinging insects, parasites, bad water and baby starlings for breakfast. Creatively, he was on fire.

There is a hallucinatory quality in the images that this author employs, especially on his hunting trips with the Hadzabe men. He was also taken on two, longer journeys of the spirit to search for the mountain of Nudulungu (the Hadzabe Christ figure) and to pay homage to the rock paintings of the Hadzabe ancestors. These two journeys are the heart of this book, and also the heart of the Hadzabe, one of Africa's vanishing tribes who still live off of the land and the forest without the benefit (and curse) of agriculture.

There are probably more elephants in Africa today than there are hunter-gatherers.

One of the ironies of this book is that it is the Hadzabe who feed their farmer-neighbors in times of drought and famine and not the other way around.

The author rarely resorts to anger or irony, but "The Language of the Land" is an elegy. His Hadzabe companions are brought to vivid life within the pages of this book, but even they know that they're probably the last of the men who will live in balance with the other life of the great African forests and savannahs.

Stephenson, a 27 year old landscaper from New York, spends 9 months with the Hadzabe tribe south of the Serengeti.. He describes this experience in a very honest way, and so we learn about these hunters in the bush: their dreams, their spirits, their hunting, their daily life and their families. It is a well rounded picture. He loves these gentle people and finds peace and quiet with them. But he admits that he never learned their language and, of course, he always has his return ticket to New York.

To call this adventure a retrogression in time towards stone age people would be quite wrong. The Hadzabe are well connected to civilization. They drive by car to the local hospital. They steal radios. They sell their hunting trophies for money, go to the village bar and get stoned on pombe. They wear western clothes and hunt at night with a flashlight. But they prefer their life in the bush, and that is the difference.

The book has many pictures and drawings. It is a nice adventure story.

Surely one of the greatest pleasures of reading is that a book can take us to places where we will never go. James Stephenson has done that, bringing to life in these pages the feel, the taste even the emotions of the Hadzebe. This is not anthropology, it is life as he experienced it. We can be grateful that he has shared the experience.

Absolutely riveting description! Flows very well, all the while painting a fantastic portrait for the mind's eye. I hope this book opens many eyes and minds.....Great Job!

Excellent book...highly recommend it. Keep the James Stephenson books coming!!