Rio de Janeiro is one of the most documented cities in the Americas, and arguably, one of the beating hearts of Brazilian history.

In 1502, two years after having berthed on the coast of Bahia, another Portuguese expedition led by Gaspar de Lemos ventured into Guanabara Bay. The expeditionary force believed that the bay was the mouth of a massive river, offering it the legendary name of Rio de Janeiro.

Before European contact, the area of what represents today’s Rio de Janeiro Federal State was already inhabited and divided between indigenous groups who disputed the territory. The great example being that of Tupi-speaking peoples of course.

Archaeology has unveiled millennia of human occupation and the exploits of linguistic studies established wider connections between indigenous groups.

“Indigenous Rio” became an immediate focal point of European documentation, and the 16th century works of Hans Staden, André Thevet, or Jean de Léry delivered detailed, even if biased, accounts of the Tupinambá people and the Rio de Janeiro region.

As it has often been the case in what is now called Latin America, the work of religious missionaries offered complementary insights into those native cultures. José de Anchieta, in particular, a jesuit priest from the island of Tenerife, is widely considered as the "Father of Brazilian Literature”. He played a crucial role in documenting early Brazil.

Finally, this monumental work of pioneer must be paired with our critical contemporary works like the one of Rafael Freitas da Silva (O Rio antes do Rio), or Manuela Carneiro da Cunha’s Índios no Brasil.

Those sources, diverse in content and intentions, somehow all contributed to our understanding of that mosaic of Indigenous societies.

PART I — GEOGRAPHY OF GUANABARA

Geology and Rivers

The magnificent appearance of the Pão de Açúcar at the opening of Guanabara bay announces the great geology of Rio de Janeiro. The ancient granite and gneiss massifs of the region produce a neat variation in relief over short distances, scattering small perimeters into valleys.

It would hardly be clever not to mention Rio’s topography. For Europeans, this configuration was perceived as suffocating labyrinth. One that visits Rio de Janeiro today might grasp the why behind it.

Geology defines territories and in that case forced movement to be channelled through rivers, specific valleys and lower corridors. Macacu and Guapimirim rivers opened routes between the bay and the lowlands, while the Carioca River, whose name embrace today’s inhabitants of Rio de Janeiro, crossed the coastal plain beneath the Tijuca massif before reaching the bay.

This is one of the great feats of Tupi-Guarani peoples, to be masters of rivers. In every regard, the geography of Rio de Janeiro forced it to be that way.

The Bay and its Islands

The name Guanabara originates from the Tupi-Guarani word goanãpará, which means “bosom of the sea”.

The bay was a polarized geography, especially between the Tupinambá and Temiminó chiefdoms. They transformed the estuary, made it into a trading hub for pottery, feathers, fishes, ceremonial artifacts, and even a contact point with inland Indigenous groups such as the Goitacá.

The example of the current Ilha do Governador (Paranapuã), sheltering today Rio de Janeiro’s Galeão International Airport, is a wonderful example of territorial contestation along the bay. Originally it was a lush pocket of Mata, populated by the Temiminó under their leader Maracajá-guaçu, the island was disputed during the 16th-century War of the Tamoios with the curious intervention of French colonizers.

Forest

Before the ocean, there is the Forest, the Atlantic Forest that we could re-label as an anthropogenic landscape.

“Anthropogenic forest” might appear self-contradictory in its term, yet referring to the Amazon or the Atlantic Forest as virgin forests is an academic myth that completely erases thousands of years of indigenous legacy. Native populations, formidable botanists, actively engineered these dense ecosystems through controlled clearing, plant domestication, and deliberate soil enrichment.

The Atlantic Forest was primarily managed through swidden agriculture (coivara) and both of the Tupinambá and Temiminó populations cleared patches of canopy to cultivate mandioca (cassava), a task that fundamentally was exerted by the men of the village.

The Atlantic Forest served as well for hunting big game such as Tapir (anta, a sacred animal) and Peccary, gathering medicinal flora, and harvesting timber for the longhouses of the taba. Of course, it was later turned into a place of guerrilla against European forces whose naval artillery enabled coastal domination but faced major difficulty in steep and lush terrain.

PART II — BEFORE THE TUPI

The First Inhabitants

The human colonization of the territory surrounding Guanabara begins long before the peoples that were represented in sixteenth-century European accounts and documentations.

The evidence is however fragmentary, and the ancient coastline was not the same as the one we observe today. During periods of lower sea level, parts of the continental shelf now submerged beneath the Atlantic were actually dry land.

The earliest coastal sites actually may therefore no longer be accessible to archaeology and scientists but a certainty exists in claiming that human occupation of the central-southern Brazilian coast is an ancient phenomenon, around 8,000 years before present times, and perhaps beyond.

The Sambaquis

On the northern and eastern shores of the bay, archaeologists have identified numerous sambaqui sites.

These archaeological mounds revealed a subsistence that relied on fishing, shellfish gathering and coastal resources. The evidences were gathered along the Brazilian coast and areas such as Rio de Janeiro, Niterói, Duque de Caxias, São Gonçalo and Magé.

One of the clearest examples lies across the bay, in the Itaipu-Camboinhas archaeological complex in Niterói. Research has shown evidence suggesting repeated and long-term presence of human groups around the lagoon.

Excavations have also recovered remains of fish, crustaceans and molluscs, but also sharks, rays, as well as cetacean remains. Tools, ornaments, animal remains and human burials accessories were also recovered.

The temptation to connect those ancient archaeological datas to a people named in later historical sources is hazardous to say the least, and methodologically unsafe. The wider south-eastern Brazilian coast saw successive traditions and transformations. The depth in time of human occupation is nonetheless the most certain result here.

New Peoples and New Technologies

The late prehistoric period saw the advent of a new era. As the sea levels stabilized and marine resources evolved, the gradual decline of Sambaquis was inevitable.

The late sambaqueiros, as they are called, moved toward estuarine and lagoon and performed what is interpreted as early evidence of horticultural practices (sweet potatoes - Ipomoea batatas is commonly mentioned). Lithic tools were replaced by the specialized use of bone and dentals, which ultimately served for producing fishhooks or projectile points for example.

By the first millennium BCE, populations from the Macro-Jê linguistic family migrated from the hinterland central plateaus down into the valleys of the Mata Atlântica.

These groups were semi-nomadic and introduced tools such as polished stones that helped manufacturing axes for the exploitation of timber in the tropical canopy. They revolutionized hunting with the longbow and the introduction aerodynamic arrows, and even mastered vegetable fiber for weaving fishing traps (cacuri) or hammocks.

Another demographic shift reshuffled the deck, one of truly unique importance : the expansion of Amazonian agriculturalists. These Tupi-Guarani groups came with swidden slash-and-burn agriculture, a system that allowed mass cultivation of toxic mandioca, which required specific processing to extract the prussic acid that, raw, would have made it inedible.

In the image of the Three Sisters system (maize, beans, squash), that flourished in Indigenous practices of Northern and Mesoamerica, those agricultural innovations, if not revolutions, allowed domestication of wild plants and sustained generational subsistence.

The Tupi-Guarani clustered into large, permanent, villages. More importantly, as the great navigators they were, they developed maritime navigation with canoes made out of tree trunks and capable of carrying dozens of individuals. This advent of a more sophisticated naval dynamic converted the Guanabara Bay into what was previously described.

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PART III — THE PEOPLES OF GUANABARA

The Tupi Myth

The idea of a single Tupi tribe has sometimes been evoked in early colonial accounts. This idea has to be dismantled because, as a matter of fact, the Tupi does not designate a single centralized nation, nor a homogenous ethnic group, but precisely a linguistic nebula that fragmented and evolved over years of migrations.

The Tupi obeyed to network rather than formal governance. Often sharing common linguistic, Tupi groups revealed themselves independent and often hostile to one another. Cultural branches often shared mutually intelligible dialects with similar cultural traits. We will mention here the Tupinambá, the Guarani, or the Tupiniquim, as these groups later organized into regional coalitions.

The true center of polity in their world was the village, known as the taba or maloca. Indeed, most village functioned as autonomous units structured around a council of elders and war leaders and presented the astonishing trait of utter independence. Two villages of the exact same ethnic branch could, and frequently did so, unleash total war and chaos against each other.

Indigenous Geopolitics

On the eve of European introduction, one that would change the region forever, the Guanabara Bay, given the forces of its geography, was the theater of territorial conflicts between Tupi-Guarani factions, in particular, the Tupinambá and the Temiminó.

The Tupinambá outreach stretched along the western shores, precisely where the modern city of Rio de Janeiro is at today, extending toward Mangaratiba and Paraty, and northeast in the direction of Cabo Frio, while having leadership over some of the islands within the bay as well.

The Temiminó, on the other hand, were a smaller group occupying an enclave on the eastern shore of the bay. This isolation and surrounding hostility made them significantly defensive. Their territory was centered around the region of modern-day Niterói and stretched in the direction of São Gonçalo.

A Network of War

The peoples of Guanabara practiced warfare, this was one of the main features of inter-tribal relations.

Certainly, territorial conquest and material wealth through plunder and alienation could partly be considered as answers, but these wars were also highly motivated by cosmological mandates, a sort of cyclical revenge and ritual of anthropophagy that had captivated the observation of European colonizers and nourished decades of fantasy.

Capturing and consuming the flesh of an enemy warrior following a dedicated ritual was a sign of spiritual power and even social prestige. The Tupinambá and Temiminó appeared indeed to have been trapped in an existential blood feud of significant cyclism and violence. The Tupinambá eventually forced the Temiminó leader, Maracajá-guaçu, to vacate the territory and move southward.

As often, those intrinsic rivalries between indigenous was a practical tool for European powers whose pragmatism surpassed ideology. The French were quick in building alliances with the Tupinambá and even secured at some point the backing of the Confederação dos Tamoios, which united Tupinambá villages from Santos to Cabo Frio. The Temiminó formed a military partnership with the Portuguese. The French-Tupinambá coalition was eventually defeated in the bloody campaigns of the late 1560s.

PART IV — LIFE IN A TABA

Brief introduction of the Tabas

Various areas of studies have converged in identifying several high-density population centers around the bay.

These villages were composed of different communal longhouses set around a central square, where ritual were often performed. The wooden palisades surrounding the village were erected for defensive reasons.

The taba of Uruçumirim, a Tupinambá village located around today’s iconic Morro do Flamengo, is one of particular magnitude as in 1567, the Battle of Uruçumirim marked the definitive expulsion of French forces and the premises of a Portuguese domination.

Engineering and Agro-Ecology

It should be emphasized that a Taba was highly structured but semi-permanent as it often was designed to last a few years up to a decade, considering the soil fertility cycles.

As previously mentioned, the village configuration was circular or oval and organized around a communal place, the Ocara, the spiritual heart of the community. The perimeter was fortified by a caiçara, a palisade system made of split.

The longhouses were known to be monumental, measuring up to 100 meters in length and 15 meters in width, endowed with a termite-resilient hardwood. The walls and roofs were thatched with braided palm leaves that revealed to be also waterproof. Without windows, the longhouses were dark inside, the temperature was therefore lower and inclined to trap the smoke, which ultimately acted as an insect repellent.

The economic survival of the taba was based on the shifting cultivation system and the exploitation of coastal ecosystems. The staple crop was bitter cassava, which, as evoked earlier, required a processing skill in order to extract the lethal prussic acid. Sweet potatoes, maize, squash, beans, and tobacco (petum - codified for ritualistic use) were also parts of that ecology.

Division of Labour

Labor within the taba was divided by gender. Men were responsible for clearing fields (slash and burn system), manufacturing weaponry, hunting mammals, and navigating the sea in dugout canoes for fishing sessions.

Women, on the hand, managed planting, harvesting, and foraging alongside domestic duties. They were also the exceptional craftswoman who produced detailed ceramics that are remarkably delicate with those fine and polychrome vessels painted on it, geometric motifs, and often used for storing food and fermenting ritual beverages. One of those beverages, that captured the attention of André Thevet, was Cauim, made by fermenting chewed cassava or fruits. The starches of the cassava were broken down into sugars for fermentation by the human saliva itself.

A Universal Logic

The word Taba belongs to the Tupi-Guarani world without a single doubt. That being said, this spatial design, circular or oval ring of collective houses surrounding a large central plaza, is a very common architectural pattern and cultural trait that we can find in the Amazon basin, the Xingu in Mato Grosso, or in Maranhão in northern Brazil.

This structural commonality is purely the expression of rational and practical factors.

• Egalitarianism: The circular layout prevents spatial hierarchy. Every longhouse is equidistant from the central ocara. Horizontal consensus, collective decision-making, and public debate were consistently represented.

• Defense: A circle offers an interesting option for defense. It barely contains blind spots. In areas with systemic intertribal warfare, a circular ring made it simple to erect the palisade mentioned, or digging defensive ditches around.

• Cosmological reasons: The village is a map of the universe itself. The central plaza was a spiritual realm (sacred) and the outer rings the earthly world (profane).

PART V - POWER AND BELIEF

Social Organisation

Political life seemed to have functioned without monopoly on violence. Elders, often the guardians of oral traditions, genealogies, and historical conflicts gave the community a compass while leadership was often situational, and, in other words, did not appear as a permanent administrative function. The figure of the leader was referred to as the Morubixaba, whose prestige in military prowess or eloquence earned him the right to pretend for leadership.

With great differences sometimes, of course, these societies were decentralized, structured around kinship, lineage and loyalties. Polygyny was therefore highly anchored. By marrying the daughters of influential men in neighboring villages, indigenous built vast networks of common obligation and military solidarity. The same logic, briefly explained in the ultimate part, also applied to the European settlers.

Spirits and Ancestors

The studies of cosmologies has occupied a central role in the anthropology of the native peoples of the Americas. The indigenous relationship with the environment in Rio was based on adoration of natural forces, but, without any shadow of doubt, a system of relational animism and perspectivism.

Animals, plants, and natural phenomena were interpreted, endowed with intentionality, social structures, and their own cultural views. In this map of a cosmos, shamanism was both the diplomat and the mediator.

The shamans of the Guanabara were known as the famous Pajés, they famously used the Manto Tupinambá, woven using vibrant feathers and allowing them to embody ancestral entities tocross the decisive threshold between worlds.

PART VI —NETWORKS AND CIRCULATION

Fluvial Highways and Cabotage

The Guanabara Bay was quite the opposite of an isolated enclave. In the 16th-century, it was an active node within a vast network of mobility in South America, which, of course, was helped by the fact that the Tupi-Guarani were great navigators of both freshwater systems and open maritime waters.

Maritime routes were bridging the Bay and the coast of Bahia, and southward to the island of Ilha Grande, São Vicente or Santa Catarina. As mentioned in the early parts, through the Paraíba do Sul river basin and its tributaries, such as the Macacu and Guapimirim rivers, coastal populations managed contact with the high plateaus of the Brazilian interior.

Moving up into the Paraíba Valley and into the mountainous interior of what is now Minas Gerais, the population were non-Tupi groups (generically called “Tapuia” by the Tupi themselves), such as the Puris and Coroados (Macro-Jê groups).

Trade occurred (salt for inland feathers or game for example) along those ancient footpaths following the river, but were often restricted to certain areas as the rapids made navigation difficult.

Trans-regional Trails

Dried fish, sea salt, shell beads, and plumage from Atlantic Forest birds (carlet ibis, toucan, and macaw) were exchanged for inland goods at Guanabara Bay.

Two other astonishing examples could hold our attention here:

• Greenstone amulets : Amazonite and nephrite pendants (frogs or mammals shape), from the Amazonian river basin, had circulated through chains down to the Atlantic coast.

• The Peabiru network (Caminho do Peabiru): Guanabara Bay was indirectly connected via coastal trails to the main trunk of the Peabiru, an ancient transcontinental trail that spread from the Atlantic shore through the Gran Chaco to the Andean foothills. The main Peabiru path was for Guarani the earthly reflection of the Milky Way (Yvy Marãey - the Land Without Evil). The main parts of this massive Peabiru highway was predominantly a Guarani-managed network, but the Tupi of Rio were connected to it only via secondary trail ramifications.

Tupi Expansion

The Tupi peoples were inherently migrants and travelers.

Originating from the Amazon, they dared more than 3,000 years ago the great migration towards the south and the littoral. They enlivened the circulation of goods across major distances and sustained it by a shared linguistic and cultural cradle. The demographic expansion of Tupi-speaking peoples along the Brazilian coast created a formidable regional lingua franca, an ancestor of the Língua Geral or Nheengatu.

A common pillar that allowed Tupinambá to be diplomats and references, sending shamans and war leaders to negotiate alliances and ceremonial gatherings.

PART VII — FIRST ENCOUNTERS

On the Brink of a New world

On the eve of European arrival, Guanabara Bay was in a situation of demographic density and political instability.

The structural rivalry between the Tupinambá and the Temiminó enclaves on the eastern side seemed to have reached its pinacle. Pressure over agricultural land, access to fishing spots, and the centrality of ritual warfare had pushed the bay into a state of permanent military tension that struck Europeans observers.

When Gaspar de Lemos’s expedition entered Guanabara Bay, followed by French and Portuguese traders, the native populations did not perceive this surprising arrival through the lens of mythological awe but with utter curiosity and pragmatism.

Barter rapidly became operational. Indigenous men agreed to process and transport logs of brazil-wood (paubrasil - a national symbol) to Europeans in exchange for manufactured iron goods such as axes or knives. This introduction of iron axes revolutionized the taba and in particular the time required for men to clear the canopy for cassava planting.

Cunhadismo and Integration

Cunhã in Portuguese refers to the idea of parceria (partnership, alliance).

This concept formulated by D.Ribeiros designates the habit of indigenous communities to incorporate and integrate foreigners within their society for trade or via marriage.

A European who married a chief’s daughter ceased to be an outsider, he became a cunhado (a brother-in-law), therefore obligated to fight alongside his wife’s lineage.

The idea that indigenous were passive victims in the initial decades of contact is a misconception often dictated by ideologists. The Tupi actively integrated European ships and firearms into their indigenous conflicts. The Tupinambá built a strategic alliance with French traders from Normandy to expel the Temiminó and built as well the anti-Portuguese coalition known as the Confederação dos Tamoios.

The Breaking Point

The initial decades of mutual exploitation and barter ultimately gave way to a dramatic transformations. By the mid sixteenth century, Europeans imposed territorial conquest, resource extraction, and forced labor.

The introduction of “Old World” pathogens, in the image of smallpox, measles, and influenza, had ravaged and annihilated entire villages around the Guanabara Bay. The shamanic authority found itself deeply altered in the face of this adversity.

The military campaign of 1565–1567 culminated in the destruction of the Tupinambá taba of Uruçumirim (located in today’s iconic Flamengo shore).

The Portuguese city of São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro was born.

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The word Swahili inevitably evokes the image of a language, an ethnic group, a coastal culture, or the historic cities of East Africa.

All of these meanings are somehow legitimate even if they are not interchangeable.

The Swahili are not the descendants of a single ethnic entity, nor did they form a single kingdom or empire.

Their historical and cultural world developed along the East African coast through interactions of local African communities, maritime trade, Islam, and centuries of networks across the Indian Ocean.

This is a fascinating subject of study I enjoyed discovering, precisely because it gathers archaeology, linguistics, written sources, oral traditions, and, more recently, ancient DNA ; all playing their respective part in reconstructing this history.

The first lesson in understanding the Swahili has consisted primarily to look before the advent of great medieval ports, before the arrival of Portuguese fleets, and even before Islam began its expansion on the coast.

It begins with the landscape itself, geographical attributes and human settlements. In other words, the classic bedrock for great human journeys.

I. “Swahili” - History of a Word

The word Swahili ultimately derives from the Arabic sawāḥil, the plural of sāḥil, meaning “coast.”

In Swahili itself, different forms distinguish the language, the people, and the cultural sphere: Kiswahili refers to the language, while Waswahili refers to Swahili people.

A crucial distinction because the word Swahili can therefore refer to several realities of human construct :

• a language;

• a cultural setting;

• historical coastal populations;

• an ethnic backbone.

These categories overlap without fully mingling with one another.

The Swahili coast is generally understood as the East African littoral extending from southern Somalia to northern Mozambique, including offshore islands and archipelagos.

Depending on context, the wider Swahili cultural universe incorporates places such as the Comoros and, more surprisingly, even parts of northwestern Madagascar.

Most importantly, Swahili does not designate a single historical state, as clearly specified earlier on.

In medieval times, coastlines contained numerous settlements and political communities, often relatively autonomous. Sharing language patterns, religious practices, architectural traditions, commercial connections and forms of social organization, they did not however constitute a unified « Swahili » entity, a term itself anachronistic in this circumstance.

II. Before the Swahili: The East African Coast

Research has shown that populations progressively established themselves along the coast during the late first millennium BCE and the first centuries CE.

Many of these populations spoke Bantu languages or belonged to communities connected to the wider expansion of Bantu-speaking peoples across eastern and southern Africa.

The term “Bantu” should itself be used with great caution here. Bantu primarily indicates a large linguistic family with related historical populations. The Bantu-speaking communities of East Africa were diverse and developed different social structures and traditions.

On the coast, fishing, shellfish collection and exploitation of marine and forest resources were prominent forms of subsistence. The introduction of Iron technology also became increasingly helpful as farming communities started using iron tools, which, ultimately, led to develop technologies suited to fishing, wood-work and eventually maritime transport.

This period clearly laid the foundations of later Swahili society. In many regards, a fertile cradle. Swahili culture was a long process rather than a sudden event obviously. Coastal villages developed from earlier Iron Age communities, while their inhabitants gradually became involved in exchange networks linking the coast with the African interior and the wider Indian Ocean.

This is partly why the word Swahili should not simply be projected backwards onto every human data that lived and prospered on the coast during this period.

III. The Geography of the Swahili Coast

Geography played a fundamental role in this history.

The East African coast has coral reefs, mangrove forests, estuaries, lagoons, islands and sheltered harbors. These environments offered access to marine resources while also creating natural points of networks between inland and maritime economies.

Inland settlements could reach the coast through river systems, paths and regional exchange networks. Coastal communities, on the other hand, had access to the sea and to the maritime routes of the Indian Ocean.

Then the monsoons played their part.

The winds of the Indian Ocean reverse seasonally. This made it possible for sailors to travel between the East African coast, Arabia Peninsula, the Persian Gulf and South Asia at relatively predictable times of year.

This does not mean that the Swahili were exclusively a “people of the sea.” Most coastal communities depended on a symbiosis of both land and marine resources. Agriculture, fishing, livestock, craft production and regional trade remained essential.

On Pemba Island, for example, archaeological research shows that communities were combining fishing with agricultural production, including millet, rice and coconut at different periods.

IV. The Formation of Swahili Towns

As coastal settlements became increasingly important and complex, some managed to develop into substantial towns, and eventually into urban centres that would shelter mosques, stone houses, elite residences, markets, cemeteries and specialized craft establishments.

The best-known examples include:

• Kilwa Kisiwani, present-day Tanzania;

• Mombasa, present-day Kenya;

• Lamu, present-day Kenya;

• Pate, in the Lamu Archipelago;

• Zanzibar, of course, especially the later Stone Town.

Each had a distinct political history, with ruling families, various commercial interests and specific diplomacy with neighbouring communities.

Kilwa Kisiwani

Kilwa might be the clearest example of the transformation of a coastal settlement into a major Indian Ocean city.

Kilwa reached the height of its prosperity in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Its position was advantageous as it connected maritime commerce routes with the African interior.

Gold and ivory from inland regions could reach Kilwa and then enter Indian Ocean networks. Kilwa even minted its own coinage, an all-time sign of economic sophistication and « sovereignty ».

Its Great Mosque, remnants and monumental coral-stone architecture are among the most important surviving remains of medieval Swahili urbanism.

Mombasa

Mombasa was one of the major ports of the northern Swahili coast.

Its location, on an island and peninsula complex, provided a sheltered access for trade Mombasa competed and cooperated with other coastal cities, particularly Malindi.

Its history illustrates one of the central characteristics of Swahili politics, that is to say that no single coastal capital permanently controlled the entire region.

Lamu and Pate

The Lamu Archipelago contained several important settlements, including Lamu and Pate.

Lamu’s historic town became particularly important as a center of commerce and even Islamic scholarship.

Lamu Old Town has even been declared (UNESCO) the oldest and best-preserved Swahili settlement in East Africa. It has also achieved the great feature of being continuously inhabited for more than 700 years.

Zanzibar

Zanzibar had been part of the wider Swahili trading world for centuries before becoming a centre of Omani power.

In 1698, Omani forces expelled the Portuguese from Zanzibar and the island entered the Omani sphere. Its wingspan increased sharply in the nineteenth century, notably under Sultan Sayyid Saʿid, who actually moved his court from Muscat to Zanzibar in 1840.

This is a fascinating event : Stone Town became the political and commercial centre of the Omani presence in East Africa, acting as a bridge between maritime trade and caravan routes venturing into the African interior.

The expansion of clove plantations on Unguja and Pemba, largely harvested by enslaved labour, further transformed the islands’ economy and society.

V. Trade Across the Indian Ocean

The following section logically regards the story arc of the Swahili world : Trade.

From inland regions came commodities such as gold, ivory, timber and animal products. Enslaved individuals were also traded in different periods and through different routes.

Coastal merchants and intermediaries were in charge of taking these goods to overseas markets. In return came ceramics, textiles, beads, glassware, metal objects and other manufactured goods.

Trade was particularly intense with the Arabian Peninsula and the Persian Gulf, while connections with India were also well-established. Swahili ports were additionally connected to China, especially through the circulation of luxury items such as ceramics. Coastal ports received therefore Persian and Gulf ceramics, Indian textiles and beads, Chinese porcelain, glassware, metal objects and other manufactured goods to name a few.

The study of coastal settlements shows Indian Ocean contacts from at least the 7th century CE, while early Muslim communities and imported goods became increasingly visible during the following centuries. As it occurred in Sri Lanka during the later phases of Sinhalese history, Muslim merchants played a major part in structuring maritime trade while building local communities and introducing Islam.

African coastal societies became therefore parts and active participants in an expanding Indian Ocean system that was not solely defined by trade, but also ideas.

VI. Islam and the Swahili Cities

Islam became a defining aspect of Swahili urban society, but Islamization was neither uniform nor immediate.

From the early centuries of Islam, Muslim merchants and communities established themselves in coastal settlements. Some towns already had mosques by the 8th or 9th century, and by the medieval period, Islam was embedded in the political, commercial and social life of many Swahili cities.

This « urban Islam » did not concern most of the rural hinterland that remained much less influenced by Islam than the coastal towns. Before the 19th century, Islamic auctoritas often extended only a limited distance beyond the urban settlements.

This distinction deserves to be mentioned because the Swahili was not simply a uniformly Muslim population, but rather a network of predominantly Muslim coastal towns.

Over time, Islam became increasingly important through mosques, muslim burial practices, Quranic education, marriage networks and commercial connections.

The language provides another explanation of this layered history. Kiswahili is a Bantu language. Its structure and core linguistic ancestry place it within the Bantu branch of the Niger-Congo language family, but, centuries of contact introduced substantial vocabulary from Arabic and smaller numbers of borrowings from other languages.

Swahili culture is simultaneously African in its linguistic and historical foundations, Islamic in much of its urban religious tradition, and more broadly, deeply inserted into the wider Indian Ocean world.

VII. Swahili Material Culture

The material environments people created and inhabited is a major feature of the Swahili world.

Architecture

Swahili architecture relied heavily on coral stone, lime mortar and mangrove timber. Houses could contain interior courtyards, verandas, narrow passages, carved wooden doors and recessed wall niches.

Lamu Old Town is a magnificent example. Still vibrant after 700 years, it preserves a traditional landscape of coral-stone buildings, narrow streets, courtyards and elegant carved doors. A prime example of interaction with Arabia and India while retaining distinctive Swahili building techniques.

Navigation

Swahili sailors used sailing vessels commonly described as dhows, relying on knowledge of seasonal winds, currents, coastlines and maritime routes for fishing, transport and commerce.

Dhows served as the engine of Swahili trade and the primary vector of Islam. Local variants were uniquely built using regional materials like stitched coconut fibers.

Food and Environment

Swahili cuisine is nothing but a mirror of its openness onto the world. It uniquely blends African traditions with Arabic and Indian culinary influences. Dishes rely heavily on fresh seafood, coconut milk, and fragrant spices like cardamom or cloves.

Pilau rice and chapati flatbread are still daily staples that accompany local stews for example.

VIII. Swahili Society

As previously mentioned, towns contained ruling families, merchants, religious scholars, artisans, sailors, farmers, fishermen, laborers and enslaved people, with considerable differences between communities and periods.

Urban status could be acquired based on wealth, lineage, political influence, religious learning and claims of prestigious ancestry.

But Swahili towns depended heavily on their hinterlands. Agricultural producers, fishermen, craft specialists and inland trading communities supplied food, raw materials and commodities.

Recent studies have even identified early evidence consistent with the presence of enslaved and non-elite migrants in settlements.

The monumental Swahili city therefore represents only one part of society.

IX. Slavery and Slave Trading

Slavery and slave trading formed part of Swahili history, but their scale and organization changed substantially over time.

It is commonly recognized that Swahili towns acted as intermediaries between Indian Ocean markets and mainland trading networks, obtaining enslaved people through relationships with different trading systems across different geographies.

From the 18th century, and especially during the 19th century, slavery expanded dramatically alongside the growth of commercial agriculture and long-distance trade.

Zanzibar became a major actor in that regard. Under the Omani sultans, the expansion of clove plantations on Unguja and Pemba created a large demand.

Enslaved people worked plantations of course, but also in domestic service, agriculture, transport and different commercial activities, while some were hired out or eventually emancipated.

The abolition was gradual. The 1873 Anglo-Zanzibar Treaty closed Zanzibar’s principal slave market, and slavery itself was abolished on the islands around 1897.

The history of slavery on the Swahili isn’t a classic “slave trade” system as we could usually understand it or as it occurred within the Atlantic network. It was a changing system of dependency whose importance varied between periods and places.

X. Time of the Portuguese

By the time the Portuguese entered the western Indian Ocean, the East African coast already possessed an established network of ports, political authorities and commercial routes that had given it a reputation.

Vasco da Gama reached the East African coast in 1498 on his voyage to India. Portuguese interest actually never responded to a sole logic of conquest, but rather to an initial assessment followed by the control of maritime commerce through military force, tribute and strategic fortifications.

In 1505, the fleet of Francisco de Almeida attacked and sacked Kilwa and Mombasa. Portuguese forces established a fort at Kilwa and Mombasa became an important center of Portuguese military coordination.

Portuguese control was neither uniform nor permanent. Coastal cities resisted, negotiated or allied with the Portuguese according to own political interests.

That being said, their arrival changed the balance of power, by using superior naval weaponry and forcefully seizing prosperous Swahili city-states to divert wealth, and demanding heavy tribute from local rulers. This aggressive strategy broke the thriving decentralized trade networks that had historically enriched local African and Muslim merchant elites in the region.

Nota Bene: The historiographical concept of “Swahili city-states” refers to the network of coastal and island urban centers (such as Kilwa, Lamu, Mombasa, or Zanzibar). Although independent, and often rivals, these spaces formed coherent entities united by the use of the Swahili language, a common economic orientation, and the adoption of Islam, without ever being integrated into a centralized empire.

XI. Who Are the Swahili Today?

Swahili still refers to several related but distinct things: a language, a cultural tradition, a historical coastal society, and, in some ways we could presume a contemporary identity.

Kiswahili for example, a Bantu language spoken across much of East Africa and far beyond the historic coast, does not, by itself, make someone Swahili in an ethnic or cultural sense.

Some people living along the East African coast identify themselves as Waswahili. But this identity doesn’t translate a single, uniform ethnic monolith comparable as we encounter in the African interior.

Swahili identities have historically been shaped by a family history, religion, a town, occupation and these forms of identification have varied considerably from one place to another.

In other words this complexity is not new. Historical coastal communities could identify strongly with Mombasa, Lamu or Pate, while others, on a completely different scale, could emphasize their Arab, Shirazi or other genealogical affiliations. The idea of « sub-group » belonging to the great myriad of a « Swahili People » is already a more cautious approach.

Ultimately, Swahili modern history is one of both continuity and transformation.

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I came to Ilha Grande for a few reasons.

Above all, because it was unanimous. A local stationer on a run-down street in the Glória neighborhood even told me he believes paradise dwells there.

I arrived with the firm intention of hiking hard, rising early, and sleeping little, driven by a single goal to witness a truly exceptional biodiversity. Well, I didn’t have to look very hard to find this natural paradise.

It is one of the largest remaining strongholds of the Atlantic Forest, a vibrant ecosystem that struck me on the first days with the early morning raucous calls of howler monkeys in the canopy, or the flashing parades of the endangered red-browed parrots.

But I knew very little about its human history.

I encountered one truly singular, marked by decades of profound isolation and hard labor incarceration that, inadvertently, paved the way for today's conservation renaissance.

Biodiversity and Geology

Ilha Grande is not simply a tropical island cherished by Cariocas and Gringos for its emerald waters.

It is a mountainous Atlantic island shaped by an extraordinary combination of geology, climate, altitude and oceanography. In every regard a place that has acquired a major importance for conservation in Brazil.

Located off the coast of the state of Rio de Janeiro, the island covers approximately 193 km² and reaches a maximum altitude of 1,031 meters at Pedra d’Àgua, followed by Pico Papagaio at 982 meters.

Hike to Pico Papagaio

The hike to the second highest point of the island is labelled as “extreme”. In all honesty, it was considerably easier than expected. That being said, the way up is still technical, winding and physical, but offers a well-deserved immersion into the island’s abundant nature.

Situated on the T13 Trail of the Island, it took me about 4 hours and 20 minutes back and forth. A reasonable distance that still feels dizzying as the marking, especially in the final steps, is rather hazardous.

Granite and Forest

A large rocky outcrop emerges from the Atlantic Forest along the trail to Pico do Papagaio. The island’s mountainous relief is formed largely by those granitic and gneissic rocks, which are progressively exposed and shaped by weathering, erosion and intense rainfall.

The forest interior

The dense Atlantic Forest along the trail to Pico do Papagaio. The closed vegetation, limited visibility and subdued light are characteristic of a humid forest environment where much of the biological activity takes place beyond the immediate field of view in reality.

At the base of the summit

Near the base of the summit, the rocky terrain became more exposed. Small sandy patches accumulate between the rock and the surrounding vegetation. The structures visible on the rock face appeared to be nests of social wasps rather than bees.

The view from Pico do Papagaio

At approximately 982 metres, Pico do Papagaio is the second-highest summit on Ilha Grande. From the summit, the view opens across the island, the surrounding mountains and the waters of the Angra dos Reis region.

The canopy

Near the summit, the forest canopy becomes visible as a continuous layer below the exposed rock. The change in vegetation is abrupt as we switch from the dense interior of the forest, experienced at ground level, to a textured surface when observed from above.

The forest itself is not a single uniform environment of jungle and rocky formations actually.

It contains dense ombrophilous forest, coastal restinga, mangroves, swampy environments, different rocky outcrops and stunning marine ecosystems. An environmental diversity existing within a relatively small area.

The wider Paraty–Ilha Grande region is exceptionally rich in species. UNESCO records mention approximately 450 bird species, about a hundred species of amphibians, various species of reptiles and approximately 150 species of mammals across the World Heritage property.

This immense biodiversity is often invisible to hikers. As a matter of fact, based on my experience, wildlife observation is a combination of choosing the right place at the right time, overall knowledge, silence and persistence, good materials sometime, but at the end of the day it often comes down to being lucky.

Inevitably, the dense vegetation, nocturnal or arboreal wildlife habits, and a natural wariness of humans limit direct trail observations.

The region also contains a very high level of plant endemism, with numerous species restricted to specific habitats. The domination of Native Canopy trees, or large wild fig trees (Ficus), and even the endangered Juçara palm (Euterpe edulis), is a beautiful sight and contrast of colors, scents, and volume.

At Ilha Grande, this extraordinary concentration of biodiversity has opened the way for scientific work.

The Centro de Estudos Ambientais e Desenvolvimento Sustentável (CEADS) of the State University of Rio de Janeiro, located at Vila Dois Rios, conducts research in areas including anthropology, botany, ecology, geology, oceanography and zoology.

The site is part of the Parque Estadual da Ilha Grande and functions as a research and training centre focused on the island’s ecosystems and biodiversity.

The result is an interesting contrast, and rather a disconcerting one. Ilha Grande is visited by thousands of people, yet much of its biological life remains outside ordinary human perception.

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Before the tourism : another human landscape

Ilha Grande has a history that began long before tourism, environmental protection or the modern state.

Indigenous peoples belonging to the Tamoio Confederation, composed of several Tupinambá-speaking groups, habited Ilha Grande.

The island itself was known as Ipaum Guaçu, a Tupi expression meaning approximately “Great Island”.

The name was later recorded by European observers, including Hans Staden in the sixteenth century.

The Tamoio presence was not limited to occasional visits. Indigenous communities used the island and the surrounding coastal environment as a living territory. Fishing, marine resources, coastal forests and inland environments were part of a broader system of movement and subsistence.

The landscape encountered by the first Europeans was therefore not an untouched wilderness. It was a forested environment that had already been inhabited, travelled through and used by human communities.

The European arrival transformed this island profoundly. Colonial expansion brought disease, enslavement and the destruction of Indigenous settlements along the coast.

Later, Ilha Grande became associated with confinement and incarceration, particularly through the Colônia Penal Cândido Mendes, located at Dois Rios, one of the most remarkable place I have ever visited.

A Day in Dois Rios

After a long walk I reached Dois Rios early in the morning. The village immediately struck me for its surprisingly regular layout: straight roads, street lamps and organized buildings appearing abruptly after kilometres of dense forest, creating the strange impression of an isolated scientific settlement.

This unusual structure reflects the history of the place in reality. Dois Rios developed around the Cândido Mendes penal colony, where prisoners were also involved in agricultural and infrastructure work. Political prisoners, including the writer Graciliano Ramos, were detained on Ilha Grande.

Today, some local families remain connected to the former prison community, while the former penal landscape has been partly transformed into a site of scientific research, environmental study and tourism.

Arrival at Dois Rios

After a long walk from Abraão, I reached Dois Rios early in the morning. The final section of the trail descends towards the church.

A planned settlement in the forest

The layout of Dois Rios is immediately striking. Straight roads, regular street lamps and a compact arrangement of buildings create a distinctly planned urban environment, an unexpected sight after several kilometres of forest trails.

The beach and the forest

Dois Rios is bordered by a long beach, with the Atlantic Forest rising immediately behind the settlement. The combination of open coastline, dense vegetation and the absence of major urban development gives the area a charm that is hardly possible to describe.

From prison colony to research centre

Today, Dois Rios is also associated with scientific research. The State University of Rio de Janeiro operates CEADS at Ilha Grande, with research and educational activities connected to the island’s ecosystems, biodiversity and environment.

The former prison

The former Cândido Mendes prison complex remains one of the defining elements of Dois Rios. The penal institution operated there for much of the twentieth century and was closed in 1994. Today, the site is part of a landscape increasingly associated with historical memory, environmental research and heritage preservation.

My trek across Ilha Grande came to an end along the harbor in Abraão, following two final days spent trailing the coast and its fishing villages.

These five days of demanding hiking proved remarkable for observing the local flora and fauna. Though I had hoped for better luck with snake sightings, especially boas. The terrain remained genuinely fascinating to navigate.

Above all, the journey provided insight into a human history shaped by modesty and harshness rather than affluence and flash. A reminder to future travelers that Ilha Grande holds far greater depth than its beaches alone.

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This is episode number four of Fragments of Humanity, a short series dedicated to portraying the peoples of the Americas in their most remarkable diversity.

This article is dedicated to the Haida.

You can find all previous episodes at the end of the article.

The Haida people have inhabited Haida Gwaii, an isolated and rugged archipelago off the Pacific coast of Canada for at least 13,000 years, according to archaeological evidence.

Enveloped in a persistent ocean mist and carpeted by dense temperate rainforests, this geographic isolation allowed Haida history to develop a distinct seafaring legacy.

Their worldview is anchored in the core philosophical concept of Yahguudang.

This fundamental principle of customary law is the backbone of the Haida society. It embodies absolute respect and interdependence of all living beings, the land, water, air, ancestors, and the supernatural world.

Every aspect of their existence, from the laws that govern their mutual interactions, to the monumental art the Haidas have been known for, sprang directly from this intimate dialogue with the wilderness.

Haida Gwaii Geography

The cradle of these indigenous peoples is Haida Gwaii, also known as Queen Charlotte Islands, a rugged, isolated archipelago separated from the mainland of British Columbia by the treacherous waters of Hecate Strait.

Historically, Haida territories also extended to Prince of Wales Island in present-day Alaska.

These islands host a unique, dense temperate rainforest ecosystem dominated by monumental Sitka Spruce and the majestic Pacific Red Cedar.

The local fauna is equally distinct, featuring a unique subspecies of black bear whose morphology differs from its continental cousin (Ursus americanus carlottae), bald eagles, and coastal waters teeming with killer whales and five species of wild Pacific salmon.

This geographical isolation turned the archipelago into an undeniable ecological sanctuary, forcing the Haida to develop a uniquely localized knowledge of their environment.

This environment dictated their entire material and spiritual life, starting with the Red Cedar, perceived as a tree of life. Haida forestry was historically non-destructive; craftsmen harvested large strips of inner bark for weaving clothing, mats, and baskets without killing the tree, leaving living monuments known today as Culturally Modified Trees.

The massive trunks of these ancient cedars were transformed into immense ocean-going war canoes and towering totem poles (Gyáa’aang).

Mirroring this reliance on Fauna was also their relationship with the salmon.

In Haida cosmology, salmon were viewed as an immortal, supernatural tribe ; the Salmon People, who live in human form in underwater villages.

Each spring, these beings willingly put on their fish skins to offer their bodies to humankind. Among the Haida, as among several Northwest Coast peoples the “First Salmon Ceremony” is popular. The bones of the first catch must be returned to the sea with its head pointing upstream, ritualistically allowing the spirit of the salmon to reincarnate and guarantee the resource’s return the following year.

Moieties, Rank and Crests

Isolated, remote, rich in highly predictable and seasonal marine resources, the geography freed the Haida from a daily struggle for nomadic survival and served as a pillar for the development of a highly stratified and sedentary social order.

Traditional Haida society is rigidly organized around a strict matrilineal kinship system divided into two grand, exogamous social units, or also called moieties:

• the Eagle ;

• the Raven (Yáahl).

An individual belongs inherently to the moiety of their mother, and marriage within the same moiety is strictly forbidden. This clever but quite natural law allows a perpetual interdependence between the two halves of the nation.

Beneath this dual division, Haida society was historically divided into distinct social classes split between nobles, commoners, and suprisingly a significant population of enslaved people, usually captured during maritime raids on neighboring coastal tribes.

The noble lineages held exclusive ancestral rights to specific resource-gathering territories within the archipelago, such as salmon streams, berry patches, or cedar stands.

These lineages asserted their political power and spiritual privileges through hereditary crests (coppers and totemic figures), such as the Grizzly Bear, the Killer Whale, or the Frog.

These crests were sacred property representing supernatural encounters between ancestors and animal spirits, and were masterfully carved into their monumental cedar longhouses and totems.

A note on the terms. While crests are the specific, legally-owned lineage emblems representing ancestral encounters, the totem pole is simply the monumental cedar structure used to display them.

The pole is a visual registry for these sacred properties.

So, therefore, Haida used totemic crests, such as the Grizzly Bear, primarily to signify that lineage ownership and social status rather than to express a mystical or religious bond with nature.

This is a truly importent distinction as it distinguishes their practice from the classical anthropological concept of totemism, which theorists like James George Frazer or Émile Durkheim often defined as a foundational religious system based on sacred clan-animal relationships.

In modern debates on ontology, scholars (like Philippe Descola) reframe these traditions not just as social classification, but as a specific way of being where humans and non-humans share an interior essence but differ in physical form - a sort of ontology.

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Cosmology and the Shamanic Realm

The Haida universe is a multi-layered cosmos where the boundaries between the human, animal, and spirit worlds remain permeable.

Once again, the geography of Haida Gwaii, a dense temperate rainforests with heavy mists and treacherous marine waters, has profoundly shaped this worldview.

At the center of this spiritual ecology stands the Sgaaga, or shaman. The Sgaaga served as a institutional mediator between the community and the supernatural entities inhabiting the sea, the forest, and the sky.

Illness was rarely viewed as a purely physical symptom. It was understood as an existential crisis caused by the displacement or theft of the soul by malevolent spirits, or as a consequence of breaking cosmic taboos.

Rhythmic drumming, Ritual chants, and the use of sacred objects such as carved bone amulets, ivory charms, and raven-shaped rattles were part of the ritual through which the shaman entered states of trance to travel into parallel realms and retrieve these lost souls.

Ethnobotanical practices were deeply intertwined with this spiritual labor. Prior to engaging with the spirit world, the Sgaaga could practice rigorous purification rituals involving fasting, isolation, and the administration of specific local plants.

Among these, the inner bark of Devil's Club (Oplopanax horridus) was fundamentally employed to ward off malevolent spiritual entities and cleanse the body. Additionally, the shaman traditionally ingested large quantities of Haida tobacco (Nicotiana quadrivalvis).

The Potlatch

Haida social structure, wealth distribution, and legal validation is displayed by the Potlatch.

In classic anthropological theory, notably analyzed by Marcel Mauss and Franz Boas, the Potlatch represents the ultimate manifestation of a “total social fact,” an institution where economic, legal, political, and religious systems merge into a single cohesive practice.

Within Haida society, prestige derives from a structured redistribution or deliberate destruction of wealth.

Held to mark monumental life events, such as the investment of a new hereditary chief, a marriage alliances between clans, a funeral, the naming of a high-ranking child, or the raising of a monumental totem pole, a Potlatch could require the host lineage to spend years accumulating vast quantities of goods. These included hand-woven cedar blankets, preserved foods like smoked salmon and eulachon oil, utilitarian canoes, or copper shields, which acted as reputation currency.

This system operated as a sophisticated mechanism of competitive reciprocity. By accepting these gifts, guest lineages publicly witnessed and validated the host’s social claims, ancestral titles, and territorial rights over specific fishing grounds or berry-picking tracts.

Cultural Suppression

The arrival of European maritime fur traders in the late eighteenth century and the subsequent imposition of British colonial administration abruptly disrupted the equilibrium of Haida Gwaii.

The most devastating and immediate consequence of this contact was biological. The introduction of foreign pathogens to which the indigenous population had no acquired immunity, particularly the catastrophic smallpox epidemic of 1862, that spread through the villages with a terrifying speed.

This biological disaster decimated the Haida population, reducing it from an estimated several thousand individuals down to less than six hundred by the turn of the twentieth century.

A demographic collapse causes ultimately an unprecedented loss of traditional knowledge : hereditary leaders, master craftsmen, shamans, and oral historians.

The Canadian state enacted aggressive, systematic assimilation policies designed to permanently dismantle indigenous social structure.

In 1884, an amendment to the federal Indian Act officially even banned the Potlatch, criminalizing therefore the core institution of Haida governance, law, and economic exchange.

Concurrently, generations of Haida children were forcibly removed from their families and placed into state-sponsored residential schools system.

Cultural Renaissance

In 2010, following decades of legal and political struggle, the historic Haida Gwaii Reconciliation Act formally restored the traditional indigenous name to the archipelago, officially replacing the colonial designation of the Queen Charlotte Islands.

Today, the Council of the Haida Nation exercises a high degree of political autonomy and legal sovereignty, co-managing the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, Marine Conservation Area, and Haida Heritage Site alongside the Canadian government under a unique agreement where both parties agree to disagree on ultimate land title while cooperating on total ecosystem protection.

This management model integrates contemporary ecological science with traditional ecological knowledge. Commercial activities like logging and fishing are strictly regulated to respect ancestral conservation principles and protect old-growth forests.

The resurgence is also artistic : new totem poles are raised and new potlatches are hosted regularly. A living continuation of ancient legal traditions.

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The previous episodes are available below:

What is participant observation if one refuses to acknowledge its limits?

Certainly not objectivity.

Every observer carries assumptions shaped by education, culture, personal experiences, and countless encounters.

Anthropology has long understood that observation is never entirely neutral, but, actually becomes a valuable element of analysis.

Few subjects emphasize this tension more clearly than religion.

Questions of faith, meaning, transcendence, and mortality touch dimensions of the human condition that are rarely indifferent. Whether believer, agnostic, or atheist, each of us approaches them carrying utter convictions, doubts, intuitions, and even inherited frameworks.

As a Catholic, my encounters with Islam, Orthodoxy, Hinduism, Buddhism, or other religions, cannot be indifferent.

Yet it is precisely within that impossibility of neutrality that something remarkable emerges: the recognition of otherness.

Perhaps one of our greatest capacity is to encounter people whose answers differ radically from our own, while continuing to embrace their dignity and humanity.

Entering Other People’s Sacred Worlds

One of the privileges of travel is that it occasionally allows you to step into worlds that are not your own.

Not simply different countries, languages, or landscapes, but different conceptions of reality itself.

Throughout history, human beings have distinguished certain places from ordinary space.

The historian of religions, Mircea Eliade, famously described this distinction as the separation between the sacred and the profane ; moments and places where communities perceive an opening toward something greater than themselves.

Crossing these thresholds of life, even as an observer, is deeply enriching.

Orthodox churches in the Caucasus. Mosques in Morocco. Evangelical congregations in Brazil. Buddhist temples in Asia. Synagogues in Eastern Europe.

Sacred Encounters: Recent Travel Photos

Each expressed a different coded language of faith.

This is an exercise in understanding as it is an inner encounter with alterity.

As a Catholic, I never entered these spaces as a blank slate. My own convictions inevitably accompanied me.

Understanding another sacred world does not begin with agreement, but with attention, perhaps one of the purest forms of respect.

Learning Through Encounter

The tension between conviction and understanding is hardly new.

Long before anthropology became an academic discipline, travellers, missionaries, philosophers, and scholars wrestled with the same challenge:

how does one approach a radically different worldview without immediately reducing it to error, curiosity, or threat?

In the sixteenth century, Bartolomé de las Casas arrived in the Americas as a Dominican friar. His encounters with Indigenous peoples profoundly transformed his understanding of human dignity. He never abandoned or rejected Catholicism, but he increasingly criticized the idea that cultural difference justified annihilation.

Centuries later, Charles de Foucauld would spend years among the Tuareg of the Sahara. Before even attempting to speak about them, he learned their language, documented their poetry, and immersed himself in their world.

Perhaps no modern thinker pushed this lesson further than the great Claude Lévi-Strauss.

Travelling through Brazil in the twentieth century, he repeatedly observed that encounters with other cultures often reveal as much about the observer as about the observed.

The foreign becomes a mirror through which our own assumptions suddenly become visible, a magnificent manifesto of humanity detailed in Tristes Tropiques.

French scholar Louis Massignon reached a similar conclusion through his lifelong study of Islam. Deeply Catholic himself, he regarded the thorough study of another faith as an act of intellectual hospitality.

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Respect Without Relativism

Modern discussions about religion are often trapped between unsatisfying extremes.

Hostility, or the assumption that every disagreement is a confrontation. On the other lies a vague relativism in which all beliefs become interchangeable, distinctions no longer matter, and convictions dissolve into a form of cultural politeness or even cowardice.

Are these beliefs enlightened or mistaken ? Rational or irrational ? Progressive or archaic ?

Anthropology, as for most of the social sciences, begins elsewhere. With the effort to understand how a belief emerges from a particular history, landscape, community, and conception of the world.

Travel repeatedly offered me this challenge.

A devout Muslim kneeling in prayer, an Orthodox Christian praying before an icon, a Hindu pilgrim offering flowers at a temple, a Breton family attending a local pardon.

Reducing these acts either to exotic folklore or to abstract theological debates is inherently tempting, forgetting that these gestures are not performed for outsiders, nor by outsiders.

They are lived expressions of meaning.

Kant famously argued that human beings should never be treated merely as means, but always as ends in themselves.

Applied to travel, this principle acquires a remarkable relevance.

Other cultures are not collections of curiosities assembled for our observation. They are communities of human beings engaged in the same fundamental search for meaning, dignity, belonging, and transcendence.

Simply recognizing that conviction itself is a universal human experience.

Rediscovering My Own Tradition

One of the great paradoxes of travel is that it often teaches more about distant lands than home.

Henceforth, moving beyond the superficial character that often colors travel writing, I must reckon that journeying operates, as Claude Lévi-Strauss and many before and after him postured, as a mirror to the self.

A transformative lens through which everyday life and personal history became newly visible.

This is equally true regarding faith.

Growing up between Northern France and Brittany, Catholicism rarely appeared extraordinary.

It belonged to the background of everyday life more than to the foreground of conscious reflection.

Breton faith stands out through a Celtic-christian syncretism and an intimate relationship with death (the Ankou) and gravity.

Unlike other French regions, more secular, this expression of faith is distinctive for its sensory austerity and powerful territorial grounding.

These elements seemed less like cultural peculiarities than simple features of the landscape itself.

Only later did I realise how distinctive they actually were.

Historian Pierre Nora described certain places as lieux de mémoire ; sites where collective memory crystallizes and endures.

Travel made this increasingly clear.

In Brazil, I encountered forms of Christianity that were often more expressive, more visible, and more deeply integrated into daily public life than those I had known in France.

How often has a taxi driver bid me farewell with a warm “Com Deus”; a gesture unthinkable in France, where strict secularism has turned public faith into a permanent state of persistent tension.

Conversations with Evangelicals introduced me to theological perspectives and spiritual sensibilities that felt simultaneously foreign and familiar. Street preaching, apocalyptic warnings, a profound attachment to the Bible, literal interpretation of Genesis (creationism), and of course, a high-energy spiritual warfare (shouting, casting out evil energies, speaking in tongues).

In Georgia, Orthodoxy revealed another dimension of Christianity altogether. One that left me with an everlasting mark of admiration.

The centrality of icons, the role of monasteries, and the profound historical relationship between faith and national identity reflected a Christian tradition shaped by very different historical experiences.

Discovering diversity is a privilege but barely anything new. The discovery of that diversity in the light of its own belief is a profoundly personal encounter.

Travel therefore transformed my understanding of Catholicism. It did not distance me from my tradition but actually allowed me to see it for the first time as something extending beyond theology.

Culture Beyond Theology

Religion rarely exists only as a set of doctrines.

Religion lives in sacred texts but also in landscapes, architecture, music, gestures, food, festivals, and collective memory. It is as empirical as it is conceptual.

Clifford Geertz rightfully referred to religion as a cultural system, a complex web of symbols, such as rituals, interactions, music, or food, that allows communities to interpret reality and regulate emotional life.

More recently, anthropologist Talal Asad has argued that religions cannot be understood as timeless, universal phenomena, but must always be situated within the historical and social traditions that give them meaning.

Anthropological field observations demonstrate how belief systems are lived and enacted rather than just believed.

Iberian Holy Week (in Spain and Portugal) processions are fabulous examples of it. This is a marvelous case of abstract theology turned into a sensory, communal experience through the physical effort of the costaleros and public reenactments of faith.

Though theoretically united by a same doctrine in Catholicism, cultural differences are explicitly clear when contrasting Italian, Spanish and French catholics patterns.

While sharing an identical theological core, their lived expressions reveal two distinct cultural systems at work. Spanish Catholicism, for example, is intensely visceral, public, and communal, deeply rooted in the bodily immersion of Baroque traditions and the spatial reclamation of the street by neighborhood.

In contrast, French Catholicism is profoundly shaped by the historical forces of Jansenist rigor, intellectualism, and Republican laïcité (secularism). It has largely retreated into an interiorized, text-driven, and private sphere of devotion. A single doctrine does not produce a uniform reality, religion is continuously refashioned by the historical, political, and sensory matrices of the specific landscape it inhabits.

Eastwards, Polish Catholicism uniquely fuses intense faith with national identity, historically serving as the ultimate shield of Polish sovereignty during foreign partitions and communist rule. It is characterized by an emotional, baroque spirituality centered on powerful Marian devotion.

Among the most striking figures encountered in India are the sadhus, Hindu ascetics who renounce ordinary social life in pursuit of spiritual liberation (moksha).

Many abandon possessions, family ties, and material ambitions to dedicate themselves entirely to meditation, pilgrimage, and devotion.

This may appear extraordinary, even marginal.

Yet, within Hindu traditions, they embody one of humanity’s oldest religious ideals: the belief that truth may sometimes be sought through renunciation.

Same Questions, Different Answers

Every civilization leaves behind its sacred geography. Every known civilization has developed concepts that distinguish certain values, places, beings, or practices as sacred.

Many scholars have argued that even highly secularized societies inevitably replace traditional religions with new absolute values like the Nation, Reason, or political ideology.

The traveller who moves from one world to another soon discovers that religions are not interesting because they are exotic, but because they are human, as simple as it may seem.

Every gesture of devotion, every offering, every procession, every call to prayer, every candle lit in a chapel reveals the refusal of human societies to inhabit a purely material and profane world.

Anthropology itself emerged from this astonishment. The encounter with other beliefs does not simply reveal the diversity of cultures and mindsets ; it reveals a shared condition within this nebula.

A common effort to give meaning to existence, to domesticate uncertainty, and to situate human life within a larger horizon.

More than four centuries ago, Montaigne observed that :

“everyone calls barbarism whatever is not his own practice.”

The traveller’s task may simply be to resist that.

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When people think of Brazilian biodiversity they usually think of the Amazon.

The Atlantic Forest is equally worth mentioning.

The Mata Atlântica is a biome of tropical type that once stretched over approximately 1.3 million square kilometers along the Atlantic coast, from Rio Grande do Norte to Rio Grande do Sul, with extensions into Paraguay and Argentina.

It is a mosaic of coastal forests, mangroves, cloud forests, mountain forests, and river valleys shaped by a unique geographical partnership between the Atlantic Ocean and the topography of eastern Brazil.

UNESCO designated portions of the Atlantic Forest as a Biosphere Reserve beginning in 1991, a protected area that has since been expanded to cover nearly 90 million hectares.

Between Ocean and Mountains

As previously mentioned, the Atlantic Forest originally covered approximately 1.3 million square kilometers, extending from Rio Grande do Norte in northeastern Brazil to Rio Grande do Sul in the south.

Smaller pockets also reached eastern Paraguay and northeastern Argentina.

Its geography was largely shaped by mountain chains running parallel to the coast, notably the Serra do Mar, Serra da Mantiqueira, and Serra dos Órgãos.The

Humid air masses arriving from the Atlantic Ocean are forced upward by the relief.

As the air rises, it cools and condenses, producing intense rainfall through a process known as orographic precipitation. In some sectors of the Serra do Mar, annual rainfall even exceeds 2,500 millimeters.

In many respects, the Atlantic Forest is the product of mountains intercepting that moisture from the ocean.

Before Brazil

Long before the Portuguese Colonial grip, the Atlantic Forest was obviously home to numerous Indigenous societies.

Along the coast lived many Tupi-speaking peoples, including the Tupinambá, Tupiniquim, and Temiminó.

Further south, Guarani groups occupied portions of the forest and adjoining regions.

The Atlantic Forest was a lived landscape.

Hunting, fishing, and cassava cultivation (using the forest clearings) formed the basis of subsistence in many regions, but ecological knowledge extended far beyond agriculture.

Plants were used for medicine, dyes, construction, poisons, ritual practices, and navigation.

Guarani-affiliated groups relied extensively on river systems as transportation corridors. Rivers served as routes of communication, while the forest itself provided materials for houses, bows, canoes, baskets, and ceremonial objects.

European chroniclers often described an immense forest, but what they encountered was also a human geography shaped by centuries of occupation, exchange, and ecological knowledge.

Among Tupi-speaking groups, warfare, kinship alliances, and ritual life often occupied a central place in social organization. Early European observers were particularly struck by elaborate body painting, feather ornaments, communal houses, and ceremonial gatherings that could bring together large numbers of people.

Some of the most famous descriptions come from sixteenth-century travelers such as Hans Staden and Jean de Léry. Their accounts describe villages surrounded by cultivated clearings, extensive use of canoes, and societies deeply familiar with the rhythms of the forest and the coast.

These narratives must be approached critically, as they were filtered through European perceptions and often emphasized the exotic. Yet they also provide valuable glimpses into Indigenous worlds that

Many geographical names still used in Brazil preserve this Indigenous heritage. Words such as Iguaçu, Itaipu, Paraíba, and Carioca derive from Indigenous languages once widely spoken within the Atlantic Forest.

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One of the World’s Great Biodiversity Hotspots

The Atlantic Forest is frequently described as one of the most important biodiversity hotspots on Earth.

The term “hotspot” refers not only to biological richness but also to exceptional levels of endemism, combined in that case with severe habitat loss.

Although the forest occupies only a fraction of its former extent, it still contains thousands of plant species and a remarkable concentration of endemic wildlife.

Among its best-known mammals are the majestic jaguar (Panthera onca), the puma (Puma concolor), the golden lion tamarin (Leontopithecus rosalia), and the southern muriqui (Brachyteles arachnoides), the largest primate in the Americas.

Birdlife is equally impressive. Toucans, tanagers, trogons, and dozens of endemic species occupy habitats ranging from coastal lowlands to mist-covered mountain forests.

The flora is remarkable as well.

Towering jequitibá trees (Cariniana legalis) can exceed 50 meters in height. Bromeliads collect water within their leaves, creating miniature aquatic ecosystems.

Hundreds of orchid species thrive throughout the humid forest canopy.

Beyond their ecological importance, many plants have long been used by Indigenous communities for food, construction, dyes, medicine, and ritual practices. The forest was not merely observed: it was inhabited, understood, and utilized.

This diversity perfectly reflects the forest’s geography. Mountain barriers, isolated valleys, and varying climatic conditions have encouraged speciation over millions of years, creating a mosaic of unique ecological settings.

A Forest That Built Brazil

The history of colonial Brazil unfolded largely within the Atlantic Forest.

One of the earliest economic activities was the extraction of pau-brasil (Paubrasilia echinata), a tree valued for the red dye obtained from its wood and that became a national symbol.

The trade became so important that it ultimately gave Brazil its name.

Sugar plantations followed, particularly in northeastern Brazil, transforming vast portions of the forest while driving the expansion of the transatlantic slave trade.

The next major transformation came from the interior.

In the late seventeenth century, significant gold deposits were discovered in present-day Minas Gerais.

Mining settlements such as Ouro Preto, Mariana, Sabará, and later Diamantina expanded rapidly, attracting colonists, merchants, enslaved Africans, missionaries, and administrators.

The roads connecting these mining districts to the ports of Rio de Janeiro crossed the mountains and forests of southeastern Brazil.

In the nineteenth century, coffee cultivation accelerated deforestation even further, particularly in the Paraíba Valley between Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo.

Successive economic cycles, brazilwood, sugar, gold, and coffee, defenitely left their mark upon the Atlantic Forest.

A Geography of Power

One striking fact often escapes notice: many of Brazil’s major cities emerged within the former domain of the Atlantic Forest.

Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, Salvador, Santos, Curitiba, and countless other urban centers developed in regions once covered by the biome.

Several factors explain this concentration.

First, the Atlantic coast facilitated maritime trade. Rivers provided freshwater. Mountain watersheds supplied reliable water sources. Fertile soils and favorable climates supported agriculture.

São Paulo emerged on the inland plateau beyond the Serra do Mar, while Rio de Janeiro developed around one of the finest natural harbors in the South Atlantic and later became the principal outlet for gold extracted from Minas Gerais during the eighteenth century.

Further inland, cities such as Petrópolis emerged within the mountain landscapes of the Serra dos Órgãos. Founded in the nineteenth century as an imperial retreat for Emperor Pedro II, Petrópolis illustrates another facet of the Atlantic Forest: cooler elevations, abundant water resources, and dense mountain vegetation that offered refuge from the tropical heat of Rio de Janeiro.

The geography of the Atlantic Forest helped determine the geography of Brazil itself.

Even today, the country’s demographic and economic heartland remains concentrated within areas historically occupied by the forest.

A Forest of Coexistence

Today, only about 12–24% of the original Atlantic Forest remains, depending on the criteria used to measure forest cover and fragmentation.

Although much of the original forest has disappeared, the Mata Atlântica continues to influence daily life for millions of people.

Its remaining fragments protect watersheds, reduce erosion, stabilize slopes, and regulate the local climates.

This role becomes particularly visible in the mountainous landscapes surrounding Rio de Janeiro and Petrópolis, where deforestation can increase the risk of landslides and flooding during periods of intense rainfall.

The Atlantic Forest is therefore more than a conservation issue.

It remains part of the environmental infrastructure upon which modern Brazil depends.

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This is the second episode of Fragments of Humanity, a short series dedicated to portraying the peoples of the Americas in their most remarkable alterity.

This article is dedicated to the Quechua.

Previous episodes are at the end of the article.

Across the mountains of present-day Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and parts of northern Argentina and southern Colombia, millions of people still speak Quechua, the most widely spoken Indigenous language family in the Americas.

The Quechua world is not a single nation or ethnic bloc.

It is a complex cultural and linguistic continuum shaped over centuries by altitude, inclusion and isolation, trade, migration, and mountain ecology.

Quechua-speaking societies participated in broader Andean systems capable of organizing life across some of the most vertically fragmented landscapes on Earth.

The Andes structured the Quechua universe.

Origins and Expansion

Quechua itself predates the imperial expansion of the Incas.

A majority of specialists believe early forms of the language emerged in the central Andes centuries before the rise of Cusco as an imperial capital.

Over time, trade networks, migrations, alliances, and state expansion progressively spread Quechua across large parts of western South America.

When the Inca state expanded during the 15th century, Quechua de facto became a language of administration across the Inca empire.

This political structure, known as Tawantinsuyu, eventually stretched from southern Colombia to northern Chile and Argentina, one of the largest state systems ever formed in the Pre-Columbian Americas.

Even after the Spanish conquest in the 16th century, Quechua survived.

In some regions, colonial authorities themselves continued using it for administration and evangelization because of its geographic reach.

Among the most brilliant example is Nueva Corónica y Buen Gobierno (1615), written by the indigenous chronicler Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala.

This is an immense manuscript addressed to King Philip III of Spain.

Written primarily in Spanish, the author frequently incorporates phrases, prayers, and philosophical concepts in Quechua.

Diversity and Distinction

The Quechua world has never been culturally uniform.

Behind this shared linguistic pillar exists a wide diversity of regional societies and identities, including groups such as the Chanka, Cañari, Colla, and Chincha.

It is also important not to confuse Quechua-speaking populations with the Aymara peoples of the southern Andes, despite sharing cultural patterns.

Although Quechua and Aymara societies interacted for centuries, especially around the Altiplano region of present-day Peru and Bolivia, they represent distinct linguistic and cultural traditions within the Andean world.

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Organized by Altitude

Few societies were shaped as directly by elevation as the peoples of the Andes.

In this geography, moving only a few hundred meters upward can radically transform climate, vegetation, agriculture, and water availability.

Quechua-speaking populations therefore developed systems adapted not to a single environment, but to multiple ecological layers existing simultaneously.

This vertical engineering became a defining characteristic of Andean civilizations.

The geography of the Andes shaped nearly every aspect of Quechua life.

Unlike societies organized around large plains or navigable rivers, Andean populations developed systems adapted to vertical ecological variation.

This produced a distinctive agricultural system in lower altitude regions and a high-altitude pastoralism in the Puna (grassland).

Potatoes, quinoa, maize, coca, beans, and llamas were distributed across those different ecological levels.

Anthropologist John Murra later described this system as a “vertical archipelago.”

Terraced agriculture became one of the defining features of Quechua mountain landscapes.

Stone terraces reduced erosion, retained water, stabilized steep slopes, and created cultivable surfaces in steep terrain.

Roads, Llamas, and Mountain Logistics

The Inca road system, the Qhapaq Ñan, eventually connected deserts, mountain valleys, cloud forests, and high plateaus across thousands of kilometers.

Stone-paved roads, stairways, suspension bridges, tambos (sort of roadside relay stations) structured and allowed movement across environments where wheeled transport remained largely impractical.

The Andes required extraordinary adaptation.

Because wheeled transport remained limited in the Andes, caravan movement depended heavily on llamas.

Llamas therefore transported textiles, food, coca leaves, tools, ceramics, and other goods across those high-altitude routes.

This geography reinforced strong regional fragmentation and local autonomy.

In many Quechua-speaking regions, social organization historically relied on the ayllu: a community-based system composed of extended families sharing labor, land, and collective obligations.

It was the basic unit of socio-political organization in Andean America during the pre-Columbian era, and one which the Inca administration incorporated into its structure.

Spiritual Geography

For many Quechua-speaking communities, mountains are not inert landscapes.

Certain peaks are known as apus, protective mountain spirits associated with specific territories, water sources, and local communities.

Agricultural cycles, rituals, and seasonal ceremonies were often linked to the surrounding mountain environment.

Catholicism introduced during the colonial period actually often merged with older Andean beliefs rather than fully replacing them.

In many rural areas today, religious festivals gave birth to a fascinating combination of christian processions with older forms of mountain reverence and agricultural symbolism.

Textiles and Material Culture

Textiles occupied a central place in Quechua societies.

In the Andes, weaving was never solely decorative. Cloth is a protection against high-altitude conditions, a marker of identity, a good that can be exchanged, and a deep social anchor in that case.

Alpaca and llama wool provided fibers perfectly adapted to high-altitude climates with cold temperatures, strong winds, and major thermal variations between day and night.

Women traditionally carried much of the spinning and weaving knowledge.

Male clothing historically often included ponchos, woven tunics, belts, and wool garments adapted to mobility and cold conditions, while women frequently wore layered skirts, shawls, and finely woven carrying cloths used for food, textiles, or children.

Patterns, colors, and weaving structures could indicate a regional origin, community affiliation, marital status, or local identity.

Certain dyes came from mineral pigments, plants, or cochineal insects - which I experimented first hand - whose deep red pigments became highly valued throughout the colonial period.

Colonial Period and Survival

The Spanish conquest transformed the Andes profoundly.

Forced labor systems, mining economies, epidemics, and land redistribution disrupted indigenous systems and demographic structures.

Silver extraction in places such as Potosí in present-day Bolivia became central to the colonial economy.

Yet Quechua societies carried on.

Languages persisted. Agricultural systems endured. Highland communities maintained forms of collective labor and local organization that still can be observed today.

In modern Peru and Bolivia, Quechua-speaking populations remain deeply present in rural highland regions, but also increasingly in urban centers through migration.

At the same time, many Quechua communities continue facing social inequality, economic marginalization, and pressure on traditional land.

Climate has lately added new challenges. Glacial retreat, changing rainfall patterns, and water insecurity increasingly affect high-altitude agriculture throughout the Andes.

This is only a brief portrayal of their Quechua world. While preserving its tradition, it was never frozen in the past, it continues to evolve.

Satellite dishes now appear above villages. Quechua is spoken on radio stations, social media, and political platforms. Young Andean migrants move between mountain towns and major cities while maintaining ties to family communities.

That geography still matters. Altitude continues shaping agriculture, architecture, transport, and daily life across much of the Andes.

The mountains remain one of the great organizing forces of the region.

“Yo no soy un aculturado; yo soy un peruano que orgullosamente, como un demonio feliz habla en cristiano y en indio, en español y en quechua.”

José María Argueda

I am not an acculturated person; I am a Peruvian who proudly, like a happy demon, speaks in Christian and Indian, in Spanish and in Quechua.

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The previous episodes are available below:

For millions of people, the arrival of rain is when herds begin to move, rivers become navigable, and cultivation resumes.

It is a recurring force that structures settlement, mobility, work, and resource use.

Long before modern forecasting, societies learned to live with the seasonal pulses of water.

Here’s a brief overview of its importance worldwide.

South Asia and the Monsoon system

In India, most regions receive 70–90% of annual rainfall during the southwest monsoon (June–September).

Moist air from the Indian Ocean moves inland. Orographic uplift over Western Ghats and Himalayas increases precipitation and condensation.

This period is crucial. Rice cultivation, one of the principle staples of human diets, depends on monsoon timing in India and Southeast Asia.

Sowing, also, occurs after the first sustained rainfall. Reservoir recharge and groundwater replenishment occur primarily

Actually, delayed monsoon reduces planted area and yields in the main rain-fed agriculture zones.

Northeast Africa and the case of the Blue Nile

The Nile flow in Sudan, and historically in Egypt, is strongly influenced by the rainfall over the Ethiopian Highlands.

In Ethiopia, roughly 60% of annual rainfall occurs between June and September.

This rainfall feeds the Blue Nile.

Rainfall provokes a runoff in the highlands, ensuring the Blue Nile discharge and the increase of the Nile flow downstream.

The effects downstream in Sudan are significant. As the seasonal river level rises, sediment deposition increases soil fertility in floodplains. This, has historically enabled recession agriculture along riverbanks.

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West Africa and Sahel rainfall belt

Across the Sahel rainfall occurs mainly in June-September, linked to the seasonal northward shift of the Intertropical convergence zone.

The annual rainfall gradient is about ~200 mm (north) to ~800 mm (south Sahel).

The pastoral systems rely on the northward pasture availability during wet season. Transhumance routes, including those used by Tuareg pastoral communities, follow vegetation and surface water availability.

This rainfall cycle also impacts millet and sorghum agriculture, two regional staples.

Northern Australia : A Monsoonal wet season

In northern Australia, wet season generally extends from November to April, driven by monsoonal circulation over the tropical north.

River discharge increases sharply, causing floodplain expansion across lowland areas. `

Therefore and often, the road networks frequently become non-operational in remote zones.

The transport is directly impacted, it often shifts from road to air/river access in some regions. Fishing productivity however increases in that time.

Latin America : Upper Rio Negro

In the upper Rio Negro basin, in northwestern Brazil, seasonal rainfall is closely linked to the river-level variation.

Among the Tukano and related Indigenous groups, the annual cycle has long been observed through the lens of constellations, rainfall periods, and changes in river height.

These seasonal shifts directly structure fishing calendars, following flood and low-water periods, navigation conditions, river beaches, or even forest margins

The Indigenous calendar of the upper Rio Negro therefore linked atmospheric cycles to practical decisions about subsistence.

Europe : Mediterranean winter rainfall regime

Southern Mediterranean Basin also follows a marked seasonal rainfall pattern, although not a monsoon.

Most rainfall occurs between autumn and early spring. Winter Atlantic depressions and Mediterranean cyclones bring this precipitation after typically dry summers.

Olive, grape, and cereal cultivation historically have adapted to this winter rainfall.

The olive tree is particularly well adapted to this regime.

To clarify, the olive tree doesn’t exist because it “needs seasonal rains” in the tropical sense. It is primarily adapted to the Mediterranean climate, but still, the seasonality of rainfall is important.

Its deep root system allows it to withstand prolonged summer dryness, while winter and spring rainfall replenish soil moisture before the main growing period.

Historically, olive cultivation developed in landscapes where annual precipitation was concentrated outside the summer months.

The winter rainfall replenishes soil water reserves while summer drought limits competition from other vegetation

Olive oil production therefore depends not only on total annual rainfall, but also on the timing of precipitation during the year.

Across regions, the principle remains constant.

Seasonal rainfall governs water availability, and water availability structures agriculture, mobility, and settlement.

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This is the second episode of Fragments of Humanity, a short series dedicated to portraying the peoples of the Americas in their most remarkable alterity.

This article pays tribute to the Gaucho.

The most cinephile readers might also think of the film The Gaucho, starring the talented Douglas Fairbanks.

This movie led many to think that the Gaucho was an acrobat leaping through Andean peaks.

But the true Gaucho was a centaur of the flats, traditional horsemen and herdsmen emblematic of the plains (pampas) of Argentina, Uruguay, southern Brazil, Paraguay and Chile.

Etymology

The word Gaucho doesn’t have a stable linguistic root.

While the Quechua word huachu (orphan, solitary) is a plausible explanation, linguists also see the influence of the Portuguese Gauderio (vagabond).

Several hypotheses have been proposed, though none are universally accepted.

Uruguayan sociolinguist José Pedro Rona places the origin of the word in the buffer zone between Uruguay and Brazil, and in the wider River Plate region.

According to his theory, the word Gaucho derives from the indigenous Charrua word “Garrucho”, that refers to an old Indian or even a despicable person. This was then transformed into gahucho by Portuguese phonetics before losing its aspirated “h” through contact with Spanish.

In 18th-century colonial records, Gauchos were not described as pastoral workers but as itinerant horsemen often operating outside formal labor structures. The term was, as José Pedro Rona’s theory suggests, even an insult.

Ultimately, the term designates a condition before it describes a culture.

The Art of Mastering the Pampas

The Pampa is a vast region of fertile grasslands and temperate steppes in Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay.

Gaucho cultures emerged there.

This territory is defined by its extreme horizontality, its climatic exposure and low vegetation (a dominance of grasses as well as limiting resources of wood and shelter).

This environment requires mobility and logistics.

The gaucho is, above all, a way of exploiting and navigating an open territory.

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Genesis and Fundamental Traits

The emergence of the Gaucho is inseparable from the transformation of the Río de la Plata basin between the 17th and 18th centuries.

Four structural mutations are related to the emergence of the Gaucho.

Feralization of livestock

Following the introduction by Iberian colonists in the 16th century, cattle and horses rapidly multiplied in the open grasslands due to the relative absence of predation pressure, the low population density, and the minimal regulation of land use.

This process led to the formation of vast populations of semi-wild cattle (ganado cimarrón), which became a primary economic resource for hides export to Europe, as well as tallow (used in candles and industrial processes).

A brittle colonial structure

The Río de la Plata was a territory with a low density of permanent settlements, limited administrative enforcement, and blurry territorial boundaries between Spanish and Portuguese domains.

This structural weakness allowed the advent of non-regulated actors capable of exploiting dispersed resources.

A mobile workforce

The early Gauchos managed a brilliant functional adaptation to those frontier conditions.

An important nuance has to be made there:

Gauchos were not a unified ethnic group, but a heterogeneous population including mestizos (Spanish-Indigenous), displaced Europeans as well as escaped laborers or army deserters.

The anthropological and defining features of the Gaucho has little to do with origin, but more with high mobility across open terrain and advanced horsemanship skills.

Pastoralism

The progressive consolidation of land ownership, particularly through the expansion of large estates (estancias) initiated a major transformation.

This partly forced the integration of Gauchos into the rural labor system as herders without eradicating the freedom of the Gauchos model.

Social Forms and Gaucho Culture.

First of all, Gaucho culture is not an isolated and diluted product within a nation-state, but actually a source of national pride.

The Martín Fierro Poem by José Hernández turns the gaucho as a resilient figure against corruption and the epitome of a free man.

Contrary to this solitary image, Gaucho culture is also based on a codified collectiveness.

Gaucho traditionalism includes annual cattle-branding “rites”, folk-music, payada (an impromptu duel of sung poetry), mate consumption (which itself has a codified, circular ritual structuring social interactions), asado (slow-cooking meat), or esgrima criolla (a knife duel, where the poncho serves as protection).

Gaucho culture is a culture of performance, it is profoundly physical, verbal, and social.

The Gaucho’s Tools

Gaucho material culture is equally destined to performance.

Everything is built for riding, exposure, and livestock control in an open environment.

The facón, a long knife worn at the belt, concentrates most functions: butchering, cutting, eating, and historically fighting.

The boleadoras, allowing a rider to immobilize cattle or horses in open terrain where pursuit alone is inefficient.

The lazo, a rawhide rope, serves for capture and restraint, while the rebenque provides short-range control of the horse. None of these tools are interchangeable; each corresponds to a specific operational need.

Clothing is also performative.

The Poncho is a thermal layer, a rain barrier, a ground cover, and, in certain contexts, a defensive surface.

At the center of this system is the Criollo horse.

Selected over generations, it is not optimized for speed but for endurance, resistance, and recovery.

It allows continuous movement across unfenced land, precise positioning within herds, and rapid mobility when animals disperse.

The horse is not a complement to the Gaucho. It is the condition sine qua non of success of the entire system.

Modern Transformations

This system begins to weaken in the 19th century with the enclosure of land and the consolidation of large estates.

The Gaucho did not disappear. He became a rural worker. But mobility persisted, under new constraints. Those skills remain, but their context changes.

Technological shifts has of course accelerated this transition. Modern fencing reorganizes space, motorized transport reduces dependence on the horse in certain tasks, industrial livestock systems impose new rhythms and legal controls.

Yet, in extensive pastoral zones, horse-based work continues to be operationally efficient.

Ultimately the Gaucho is not a cultural ghost. He is the product of a precise geographical and anthropogenic configuration: open grasslands, abundant feral livestock, and initially weak territorial control.

A figure of Freedom and Adaptation.

The first episode is available below.

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Rajasthan does not appear harsh by accident. It is a region where softness has been systematically engineered out of both landscape and life.

This is a land shaped by constraints: those of geography and climate, of deeply rooted social structures. Everything seems structured, held in place by unspoken forces.

I do not intend to explain Rajasthan in its entirety, obviously, but rather to read it through the lens of its constraints and adaptations. A drop in the ocean in every regard.

Constraints

What defines the region is not emptiness, but constraint.

Water for example.

Water is not simply scarce in Rajasthan, it is the variable around which everything else has been historically calculated.

That is why stepwells, locally known as baoris, descending deep into the earth, sometimes over ten levels, have been built.

Their geometry is almost disorienting, those thousands of steps are perfectly symmetrical, designed not for beauty or spiritual reasons alone, but for survival and to regulate and structure access to water as well. It is a spatial solution to a social problem on how to organize access to a resource that cannot be expanded.

The scarcity of water is definitely a structural issue. Entire settlements are organized around access to it.

This logic extends to the majestic city of Udaipur, founded in the 16th Century by Maharana Udai Singh II of the Mewar dynasty.

Its location in the fertile Girwa Valley was a strategic exploitation of geography. Surrounded by the Aravalli hills and placed beside Lake Pichola, the city’s configuration secures both water access and natural protection.

The same extends above ground.

Houses are built with thick walls, small openings, and inward-facing courtyards that trap shade and limit sun exposure. In cities like Jodhpur, those dense constructions modifie airflow and create pockets of relative coolness.

Finally, constraint does not stop at human organization.

In several parts of Rajasthan, it extends into the relationship between people and the surrounding fauna. India is among the regions where human-wildlife interactions are particularly visible. Monkeys occupy urban spaces, and in some regions, predators such as leopards move along the edges of human settlements.

Territory and Power

Rather than escaping constraint, the fortifications of Rajasthan absorb it and convert it into territorial control.

One has to look at how the landscape is occupied, elevated, and defended.

Fortifications dominate the region, not as isolated monuments, but as extensions of geography itself, turning it into an element of sovereignty.

In Jodhpur, the massive presence of Mehrangarh Fort rises abruptly from a rocky outcrop, overlooking the entire urban fabric, offering full visual command over the surrounding territory.

Ultimately, these structures are less symbols of power than instruments of it.

This pattern repeats across the region.

Kumbhalgarh Fort stretches across the Aravalli hills, with walls extending for several kilometers. It is often described as one of the longest continuous walls after the Great Wall of China

The site is not only a fortress but an entire defensive landscape.

Built in the 15th century, it reflects a thorough logic of territorial control. This fort was notoriously difficult to besiege for major armies over centuries, while protecting an important complex of over 360 temples (Hindu and Jain).

In Amber Fort, near Jaipur, the architecture equally follows the slope of the hill, integrating defensive needs with residential and ceremonial functions.

An exception like Junagarh Fort of Bikaner built on flat terrain in the Thar Desert, actually only reinforces the rule.

Its massive walls and sophisticated defensive systems compensate for the absence of elevation. Somehow, where geography did not provide advantage, it had to be constructed.

These structures are inseparable from the political order that produced them, notably the Rajputs, whose identity was deeply tied to land, lineage, and warfare.

In a human configuration marked by fragmentation and shifting alliances, control of territory was not only about defense, but about establishing legitimacy.

This control was not purely military of course. Rajasthan sat along important trade routes linking northern India to Gujarat and beyond. Those fortified centers were nodes of circulation where goods, people, and information passed under supervision.

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Social Organization in Practice

In Rajasthan, social hierarchy is not an abstract system — it is materially inscribed into space.

Social organization tends to be spatially explicit. Urban centers, for example, can be structured into mohallas, clusters of houses associated with particular communities, occupations, or caste groups.

This segmentation still indirectly regulates proximity and interaction. Access to wells, temples, or shared spaces can still follow implicit hierarchies that are locally understood, even when not openly discussed.

Old quarters often retain traces of occupational specialization, areas historically associated with artisans, traders, or specific communities.

Bazaars, in particular, offer a condensed expression of this particular organization, as textile, metalwork, and spice merchants, each occupy distinct sections. This is not only a matter of convenience, but part of a long-standing mercantile logic where specialization, reputation, and inherited roles shape economic space and societal mapping.

Clothing and Feeding

Clothing offers one of the most immediate examples of adaptation in Rajasthan.

Turban is the clearest example. Those long strips of cloth wrapped around the head, function as insulation against heat while being capable of retaining moisture or shielding from dust - here’s a brief note below for the curious ones.

Daily rhythms adjust accordingly. Activity concentrates in the early hours and late afternoon, while midday slows almost to a halt. Shops close, streets empty, and movement becomes selective. I therefore invite you to wake up early to find in those public places the fantastic spectacle of Cricket played in the cool air by enthusiastic youngsters.

Food, too, reflects these constraints.

Culinary practices rely on ingredients and crops that endure heat and storage.

The moong dal (split mung beans) and chana dal (split chickpeas) for example, require relatively little water and can be stored for long periods.

Clarified butter (ghee) is another fundamental staple. It preserves, concentrates energy, and allows cooking without relying on large quantities of water.

Meat consumption follows similar logics. In arid zones, goat and mutton are preferred.

This is a common occurrence in countries plagued by drought. Sheep and goats, while not always friendly, are highly resilient, adapting to small spaces and harsh climates. They offer a quick yield and a profitable market for meat and milk.

One emblematic dish is Laal maas, a traditional Rajasthani dish in which mutton is cooked slowly with dried red chilies and spices.

What is often framed as “tradition” is, in reality, the long-term stabilization of constraint.

Perception and Misinterpretation

The notion of “constraint” itself may be external.

What appears, to a visitor, as limitation (heat, scarcity, rigid or seemingly chaotic spatial organization) is not necessarily experienced as such by those who inhabit it.

This gap reveals a deeper asymmetry: the tendency to interpret highly adapted systems through categories that only make sense in environments of abundance or that are familiar.

Ultimately, the constraint is in the eye of the observer.

A brief visual compilation of Rajasthan

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The idea for this series emerged almost randomly.

Why not offer, gradually, brief insights into the peoples of the Americas?

If there is one continent where indigenous dynamics have coalesced into structures and sparked global attention, it is certainly there.

Allow me, then, to offer you a concise overview of these peoples who give us a dizzying perspective about humanity.

Geography, Environment and Subsistence

The Yanomami live in the tropical forests along the border between Brazil and Venezuela. They dwell in one of the largest protected indigenous territories in the Amazon.

Their population is estimated at around 35,000 individuals, distributed across a vast and relatively isolated region.

Their subsistence relies on a combination of shifting horticulture, which represents most of the Yanomami’s daily calorie intake, as well as hunting, fishing, and gathering.

There is a division of labor between the sexes: men are primarily responsible for hunting, targeting animals such as tapirs, deer, and monkeys, while women are mainly engaged in horticulture.

The utilization of a curare-based poison, a plant-extracted substance, to poison the prey is also largely represented in the hunting practices of the Yanomami.

Agriculture, however, remains the cardinal element of the Yanomami’s subsistence system.

Gardens are cleared from the forest and cultivated for crops such as plantains, cassava, papaya or yams, before being left to regenerate. The land is used, then left to recover, allowing the forest to regenerate and reclaim its place.

Various varieties of wild honey, highly appreciated by the Yanomami, are also collected alongside nuts and insects.

Crops are generally used for food, crafts as well as medicinal reasons. They also make plant-based fabrics, baskets, pottery and use it for maintenance.

Now to conclude this section, a final fascinating information : their microbiome (intestinal, oral, and cutaneous) is considered to exhibit one of the highest levels of microbial diversity ever recorded in a human population, including “altered characteristic bacteria” threatened by the intermingling of these tribes.

- (Science Advances, volume 1, n°3,‎ 2015)

Rites and Beliefs

Omama (demiurge) remains the guardian of the xapiripë (spirits), often represented in the form of zoomorphic or humanoid figures, with whom one can communicate through psychotropic plants.

Shamans actually communicate with the spirit world through the use of psychotropic snuffs made from yãkoana (Virola), which are inhaled during ritual practices.

The Fantastic visions given by blowing a few puff into a hollow reed are interpreted as messages from the xapiripë. For the Yanomami, illnesses result from spells. The shaman, receiving the energies out of the xapiripë, attempts to eradicate the illness through incantations, rituals, and physical processes.

Finally, Yanomami women pierce their noses, lower lips, and the corners of their mouths with thin sticks to imitate Jaguars and their sensory organs. Often, they attach wild lilies to the ends of these ornaments.

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Community and Patterns

Yanomami communities are typically organized in large, circular communal structures known as shabonos.

The Yanomami create a clearing to erect the traditional wooden schabono, and then cover it with palm leaves, thatch, and with several hearths (one per family). This configuration allow them to sleep sheltered from venomous, or dangerous animals.

The central open space is a place of communal work, games, and celebrations and ceremonies. Life.

These open-sided dwellings reflect the social organization of the group: collective, yet shaped by kinship ties. Claude Levi Strauss had already largely alerted us to the importance of spatial planning for understanding peoples.

Relations between Yanomami groups are complex and can include both alliance and conflict. Disputes, sometimes violent, may arise over territory, resources, or social tensions, while exchanges and marriages create networks of interdependence across communities.

This matters.

Too often, indigenous peoples are represented as homogeneous groups, settled into a uniform unit under the undisputed leadership of a chief or shaman.

Jacques Soustelles’ writings on the Lacandon people made a strong impression on me in this regard: these peoples can be subject to immense dispersion (both geographically or socially), tensions, systems of alliances (particularly through marriage), or even divergent mystical interpretations and variations in the ontological attributions that our science assigns to them.

Contemporary Perspectives

Since the late 20th century, Yanomami territory has been increasingly affected by external pressures.

Illegal gold mining has brought deforestation, river contamination—particularly by mercury, and the spread of infectious diseases. These dynamics have made the Yanomami one of the most visible indigenous groups in contemporary debates over Amazonian protection, indigenous rights, and state responsibility.

Yanomami society is not static. It is an adaptive system, shaped by both internal dynamics and increasing external pressures, at the intersection of ecology and state politics.

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Licenses:

• Image 1: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0.

• Image 2: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0.

• Image 3: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0. By Terpsichore.

• Image 4: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0.

• Image 5: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0.

• Image 6: 21.01.2023 - Anúncio de ações emergenciais para a população Yanomami. Palácio do Planalto from Brasilia, Brasil. Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

The idea for this brief foray into the Bedouin world germinated in Mandawa, Rajasthan.

While my host and I were discussing about the Thar Desert, he drew an unexpected but interesting parallel with the Bedouins of Arabia.

These nomads are inextricably linked to the Arab Peninsula, and carry with them a reputation as austere and impenetrable warriors.

Herders, traders, but above all, moral architects of the desert, the Bedouins puzzle us because the image we had of them is both crystal clear and murky.

Beyond the Orientalist Mirage

In ancient Western imagination, the Bedouin was often reduced to a romantic figure, a nomadic relic from a bygone era. Orientalist literature and art contributed to shaping a vision of the “Orient” as sensual, timeless, and picturesque, often detached from social realities and their inherent complexities.

From an anthropological perspective, however, the term Bedouin (from the Arabic badawī, derived from badw, referring to nomadic life in the desert) designates not an ethnicity but a mode of life historically opposed to sedentary populations (ḥaḍar)

Their cultural system is rooted in pastoral nomadism.

Through the herding of goats, sheep, and especially the dromedary, Bedouin groups developed highly efficient adaptive strategies that allowed them to inhabit some of the most arid regions of the Arabian Peninsula (the Empty Quarter for example) and beyond.

Before going further, a brief poetic detour seems appropriate. Few observers captured this world more evocatively than Thomas Edward Lawrence, known as Lawrence of Arabia.

“The desert is a religion of dignity. The Bedouins are men whose entire possessions reside within themselves.”

The Sons of Arabia

From an ethnographic standpoint, Bedouins are best understood as nomadic Arab populations, rather than a distinct ethnic group itself.

Their history is closely linked to that of the Arabian Peninsula, one of the key regions in the development of early Semitic languages and cultures, though not necessarily their sole point of origin.

Classical Arab genealogical tradition distinguishes two major lineages:

• The Qaḥṭānites, associated with southern Arabia (roughly aroundpresent-day Yemen), and often referred to in tradition as al-ʿArab al-ʿāriba (“Arabized” or “original” Arabs, depending on interpretation)

• The ʿAdnānites, associated with northern Arabia, whose lineage is traditionally linked to Ishmael

These distinctions are culturally and historically significant, although they belong more to genealogical tradition than to verifiable historical classification.

Archaeological and environmental evidence suggests that the Arabian Peninsula underwent major climatic shifts during the Holocene (roughly the last 10,000 years), leading to increasing aridity.

Populations that had previously practiced hunting and gathering progressively adopted pastoralism as a flexible and resilient subsistence strategy.

The domestication of the dromedary, generally dated between approximately 1500 and 1000 BCE, marked a turning point. It enabled long-distance mobility across arid zones and facilitated participation in transregional trade networks.

Rather than creating nomadism out of no where, these developments represent adaptive responses to environmental constraints.

Pre-Islamic Arabia and the Jahiliyya

Before the rise of Islam, the Arabian Peninsula was structured around a mosaic of tribal societies.

Islamic tradition refers to this period as al-Jāhiliyya (literally “the age of ignorance,” primarily in a religious and apolegetic sense), though modern scholarship emphasizes that it was also a time of rich cultural production obviously.

Among its most remarkable legacies are the Muʿallaqāt, a corpus of pre-Islamic poetry renowned for its linguistic sophistication and vivid evocation of desert life. They are absolute anthropological and cultural treasures.

During that time Bedouin societies were not devoid of conflict. Intertribal warfare, such as the famous Basūs War, often arose from disputes over resources like pasture (in that particular case a dromedary) and water.

While seemingly minor incidents, these conflicts reflected deeper structural tensions in environments where resources were scarce.

These tribal systems later played a role in the early Islamic expansions, particularly by providing networks of mobility and cohesion.

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The “Asabiyya”

At the core of Bedouin social organization lies a powerful principle of group cohesion.

The historian Ibn Khaldun famously theorized this as ʿaṣabiyya, often translated as “social cohesion” or “group solidarity.”

While the phenomenon itself predates him, his analysis remains foundational to understand the very cornerstone of Bedouin’ social mechanisms.

In this context, solidarity is not merely emotional, it is structural. Even if it appears quite obvious, it must be said again that survival in arid environments have massively depended on collective protection, mutual obligation, and shared identity.

Bedouin social organization is often described as segmentary, structured around nested units: the nuclear family; lineage; clan; tribe (qabīla)

This system is flexible rather than strictly hierarchical, allowing groups to expand or contract depending on circumstances and the dessert opportunities.

Nomadism and Territory

Contrary to common stereotypes, Bedouin nomadism does not consist in aimless wandering but is a highly regulated system of mobility.

Movements are determined by seasonal patterns, pasture availability, and access to water.

Customary concepts of territory exist, often referred to in some regions as dirah, denoting a zone of recognized tribal use. These are not private properties in the sedentary sense, but socially regulated spaces governed by custom and negotiation.

Water sources, particularly wells, play a central role, not only economically but also socially and politically.

Finally, the dromedary remains central to this system. Beyond its economic value, it is a key vector of mobility, enabling long-distance travel and shaping the spatial logic of nomadic life.

If you are interested about the dromedary impact on movement here’s a short article below:

Honor, Custom and Hospitality

Bedouin societies place strong emphasis on honor and customary law.

The term ʿurf refers to customary norms and practices that regulate social behavior, conflict resolution, and collective lifestyle. It is not a metaphysical concept, but a practical legal and social framework that codifies Bedouin daily rituals.

Honor is often expressed through concepts of moral and familial honor, and wajh (literally “face,” in the sense of social standing and reputation).

Hospitality plays a crucial role in this system. Welcoming strangers is not only a moral value but also part of a broader system of reciprocity and survival in harsh environments, and actually an interesting anthropological cas study that is frequent in the Near East and the Middle East.

One of its most visible expressions is the coffee ritual.

Coffee (qahwa) is traditionally prepared and served using specific utensils. The preparation may involve a mortar (mihbash), whose sound canbe interpreted as a signal for hospitality.

Service follows strict conventions: always with the right hand; cups are only partially filled; a,d guests are served first as a sign of respect.

The Lesson of the Sand

Ultimately, the Bedouin is neither a relic of the past nor a mere figure lost in modernity.

Rather, Bedouin societies illustrate a long-standing capacity for adaptation, rooted in mobility, social cohesion, and deeply embedded systems of meaning that any anthropologists crave for observing.

As Thomas Edward Lawrence suggested, the Bedouin embodies a form of autonomy grounded in social and cultural capital, somehow a magnificent ode to freedom, adaptation and boldness.

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Author’s Notes:

Last September, I had the opportunity to pause in the Caucasus, a region that is home to a myriad of peoples whose resilience is as legendary as their landscape.

This journey was a departure for me, a stark contrast to my long-standing focus on Latin America, where I have worked and where I am preparing to return to dedicate my time, investment, and even a part of myself.

Yet, visiting Georgia for three weeks was a distinct privilege.

It is a country that feels both revitalizing and ancient, a showcase of peace and “good nature” navigating the delicate realities of the post-Soviet era.

Ultimately, it was a city that other travelers had “advised against” that left a lasting impression on me. I even stayed for several extra days, captivated by a specific atmosphere that felt like a bridge between worlds and times.

This is a brief overview of the sovereign charm of Kutaisi.

Kutaisi is one of the world’s oldest continuously inhabited urban centers.

A city old enough to serve as the setting for the myth of the Golden Fleece. Ancient Greek authors identified it as the capital of King Aeëtes’ realm, and the destination where Apollonius of Rhodes led his Argonauts.

Beyond the myths, Kutaisi possesses an undeniable phlegm; a stoic, relaxed pace of life dictated by its humid subtropical climate, lush greenery, and its way of life.

The Imeretian Ethos: Gastronomy and Panache

Quietude is the word for Kutaisi.

It has a Mediterranean-like stillness that softens the rugged edges of the Caucasus. You observe it in the shaded courtyards filled with pomegranate trees, or along the banks of the Rioni River that carves through the heart of the city.

But above all, it is observed in its inhabitants and their creation. Food being one of the most eloquent example.

In Kutaisi gastronomy is an exercise in elegance and acidity. Unlike the heavy, fat-rich (but delicious) diets of the high mountains, Imeretian cuisine is light, sophisticated, and fragrant.

The use of walnut paste, fresh pomegranates and vegetables, as well as blue fenugreek has given birth to the Pkhali.

Pkhali is a fresh and delightful traditional Georgian dish made with chopped and sliced ​​vegetables combined with ground walnuts, vinegar, onions, garlic, and herbs. The result is fresh, vibrant and summery.

The Crown Jewel is the Imeruli Khachapuri: a thin, circular bread filled with salted, slightly acidic local cheese. It is a masterpiece of restraint compared to its more famous and heavier counterparts.

It is a city for food enthusiasts.

The Green Bazaar of Kutaisi also follows this pattern.

It is one of the oldest and most iconic markets in Georgia. Open daily, it is a living anthropological relic. It embodies the importance of the short supply chain in the country. It’s all about family vegetable garden, small productions, craftsmanship, mutual aid, and quality of a terroir which still seems to escape the conquering ambitions of industry.

You’ll find a multitude of Georgian specialties there: dried fruits, spices, raw honey (as it should be), vegetables, liquors, or the country’s famous acidic cheeses that made Georgian cuisine known abroad.

Further down in the Green Bazaar, another visually striking specialty catches the eye: Churchkhelas. They could be described as “sausages” of dried fruit, often walnuts or hazelnuts, threaded onto string and then repeatedly dipped in a thick, smooth grape juice reduction. The result is an amber-colored confection, matte or glossy depending on the type of grape used, with a texture that is both firm and tender.

They are so energizing and nutritious that they are affectionately nicknamed “Georgian energy bars.”

You only need to observe the school exit to realize the importance of these dried fruit sausages. This is an infinitely reassuring sight to witness children with a wholesome, local, and rich delicacy, far removed from the allure of standardized food production.

Beyond food, the Imeretian people are known for their sharp wit and relaxed pace of life.

For a Frenchman like me, utterly lost and disoriented by the Parisian frenzy in my late studies, Kutaisi, despite being a large city, seemed to retain what reminded me of the villages of the French countryside as they were when I was a small boy. People picking up the priest hitchhiking on a whim, suddenly stopping in the middle of traffic to entrust a friend with a pallet of fresh pickles, or the squares being quintessential intergenerational spaces.

Ultimately, that might be Kutaisi’s strength: being a city on a human scale. From students to the elderly, it’s a city for everyone.

The Urban Atmosphere of Kutaisi: Stasis and Contrasts

Kutaisi does not vibrate with the frantic energy of a modern metropolis; it breathes with a measured elegance.

The city is a landscape of wooden balconies and hidden courtyards that act as liminal zones between the private and public spheres. Across Georgia these places and gardens are the core theater for the ritual of the Supra (the great Georgian feast).

The urban space is a study in permanent contrast:

• The Regal Center: Imposing and neoclassical.

• The traditional Aristocratic Quarters: Shaded, colorful neighborhoods where time seems to have been suspended.

• Gentrified areas: This can refer to gentrified areas in the strict sense of the term, as well as streets evolving toward high-end real estate.

• The Modernist Pulse: Trendier pockets where a younger generation looks toward Western habits.

So in Kutaisi you will observe those different trends, a small sample of our changing world. A contrast between the tradition of bitter Turkish coffee, black tea, chess games outside, and the advent of the ‘brunch and avocado toast’ era

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The Hydrological Artery: The Rioni and the White Stones

An unmissable feature of the city is undoubtedly its river. The topography of Kutaisi is strictly dictated by the Rioni.

In antiquity, this was the Phasis, the important navigable artery linking the Black Sea to the legendary heart of the Caucasus.

The river is the city’s “ontological” spine. The “White Stones” that characterize the riverbed are Cretaceous limestone deposits, smoothed by time. Humans have adapted to this landscape by building hanging houses that overlook the torrent.

The Rioni is, in fact, a wild river. It provides a real coolness during the summer months and offers a striking contrast of colors as autumn arrives.

Although Kutaisi is inland, the Rioni gives the town a leisurely, almost coastal character that suits it so well. My host even confided that houses in Kutaisi, like his own, often have large windows to let in this cool air, and minimalist interiors offering a delightful blend of amber parquet floors, subtle marble accents, and lush summer terraces.

Finally, to conclude on this river, how can we not mention the “White Bridge”?

It is this bridge in particular that connects the different faces of the city, the dynamic administrative center, and in no time at all, the residential and family streets.

People gather there to admire the old houses along the riverbanks, the sunset, or, finally, to enjoy a romantic getaway. Indeed, this is yet another of Kutaisi’s surprises: its invitation to romance.

Bagrati and the Birth of a Nation

If the Rioni is the city’s soul, the Bagrati Cathedral is its pride.

Perched on the Ukimerioni Hill, overlooking the canopy of the city, Bagrati is a testament to Georgian sovereignty.

Commissioned by King Bagrat III, the cathedral was completed in the first years of the 11th century. By building a cathedral of such scale and complexity, a message to the surrounding Byzantine and Persian empires was sent.

Bagrati is a masterclass in the “Cross-Dome” style that defines the Georgian Golden Age. It has massive proportions and intricate stone carvings; featuring griffins, vine scrolls, and solar symbols. It blends Christian iconography with deeper, ancient Caucasian motifs.

The cathedral stood there as a ruin for over 300 years after an explosion during the Ottoman-Persian wars of the 17th century. For centuries, it was a “living ruin,” a symbol of a broken but resilient nation.

Its restoration reflects Kutaisi itself, and even may I say Georgia. Often weakened or even defeated by history, but never surrendered.

Ultimately, Kutaisi is a city that does not perform. Maybe that is why I had been advised against going there. It doesn’t have the scenic landscapes of the Mountains, nor the dynamic of Batumi nor Tbilissi, but on the other hand it will give you the gift of what every traveler aspires to: an uninhibited, sometimes disconcerting authenticity.

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Preliminary remarks

“Monkeys are far too good for humans to have descended from them.”

Perhaps Friedrich Nietzsche was right in that quip, but he certainly wasn’t scientifically correct. Allow me a fundamental clarification: No, humans did not descend from monkeys.

Humans did not descend from modern monkeys. Humans and monkeys share deeper primate ancestry, but humans belong to the lineage of apes (Hominoidea).

In reality, humans and chimpanzees share a common ancestor, a hominoid ape that lived 5 to 10 million years ago. But our divergent lineages evolved separately, each producing different biological results.

This is a fundamental distinction, which, once established, allows us to proceed calmly without falling into dictates and distorted conceptions.

Humans belong to the order of primates, and therefore, the broader study of these species, ultimately, still teaches us about who we are. We have observed for example that primates develop complex social structures based on cooperation and conflicts, that they are capable of creating tools, and that they exhibit cultural behaviors with differentiating patterns.

Isn’t that something that rings a bell?

This article will briefly focus on our coexistence with this ancient fellow being across the continents. It could have focused on dogs or cats, but these creatures, while domesticable and often domesticated (even slightly) lack the “sovereign” status that monkeys cherish.

This article will also be the occasion to explore one key idea. That monkeys force humans to confront the uncomfortable possibility that culture may not belong exclusively to us

Asia: The Sacred and the Profane (The Langur and The Macaque)

The Langur (Semnopithecus entellus): The Brahmin Primate

For those familiar with the Asian subcontinent, the Langur monkey is a common sight. Its dark face, its slender gait, and its apparent calm. It is a monkey that is as solitary as it is social, as trivial as it is also genuinely special.

The Langur is largely a folivore. It has a complex digestive system that allows it to break down the cellulose in the leaves of Neem or Peepal (Ficus religiosa). This self-sufficiency in food makes it less “beggarly” than the macaque who can sometimes boast of the theft of some item.

The Langur is considered sacred in the Hindu religion. It recalls the figure of Hanuman associated with the re-establishment of the Dharma (cosmic order). Hanuman and his army of monkeys help Rama defeat Ravana, the demon king who had abducted Sita. Hanuman is a cunning strategist, full of tricks that were proved to be invaluable in Rama’s journey.

Beyond Hinduism, in India, the langur is also used as a “private police”: the authorities indirectly employ langur handlers to drive macaques away from government buildings.

This particular monkey, whose size is sometimes impressive, is well integrated into daily life and ceremonial practices, and is even kept by some as precious living amulets.

But the conflict between humans and wildlife extends beyond the sacred realm, often plunging back into the profane. These monkeys are also hunted due to their rampant destruction of crops, and they can also be primary victims of road traffic or forest fires.

The Toque Macaque (Macaca sinica) in Sri Lanka

In Polonnaruwa, the macaque lives in Buddhist ruins. Unlike in India, the relationship is more ambiguous. This endemic monkey of Sri Lanka is perceived as a test of the devotee’s patience.

This cohabitation reveals a management of nuisance that Buddhist cultures have managed to develop. It cannot be morally killed (principle of Ahimsa), nor can it be excluded. It becomes a full-fledged inhabitant of the common space, forcing humans to adapt their architecture (fences, complex locks).

One of their primary threats is stray dogs themselves. Very few countries stand out more than Sri Lanka in their coexistence with animals. Buddhist precepts, as previously mentioned, necessitate a coexistence that has itself become sophisticated, since dogs themselves act as catalysts for the energy of macaques or the intrusion of other animals, also carriers of disease, but more unpredictable, such as the mongoose.

Americas: Shared Intelligence (Brazil and Mesoamerica)

The Black-striped Capuchin (Sapajus libidinosus) in the Caatinga

A small clarification.

Caatinga is a type of semi-arid tropical vegetation, and an ecoregion in interior northeastern Brazil. The name Caatinga comes from the Tupi language: ka’atinga, meaning white forest.

It is a surprising ecosystem with Cacti, thick-stemmed plants, thorny brush but also humid forests southward.

While it is one of the six major biomes of Brazil, it is also the only one that is exclusively Brazilian. It features notably the magnificent Chapada Diamantina Valley in Bahia State.

In Northeast Brazil, in the harsh Caatinga landscape, the black-striped capuchin monkey survives thanks to wild cashew nuts. This is a major case study of non-human material culture. These monkeys use quartzite stones as anvils to crack open the shells, and dig into rocks to catch lizards. This is a secular practice that offers one of the very rare case of “Primate Archeology”.

Among Tupi-Guarani peoples the monkey was not an animal, but a “little human”, or a trickster, endowed with the mighty cunning attributes that actually fit this little devil quite well. It is commonly believed that monkeys were once men who violated social taboos. They are somehow a reflection of what a person becomes if they break the social contract.

Nowadays, farmers in the Sertão (a semi-arid zone of the Nordeste, that recalls a subjective perception of the “outback”, the “hinterland”) see the Capuchin monkey as a technological rival, but also a beloved companion.

Where water is a scarce resource, the Capuchins have learnt to unscrew cistern caps and containers. This is the opportunistic engineering that Monkeys thrive at. Their coexistence with the farmer is marked by a kind of forced admiration and resentment. The Capuchin monkey is chased because it ravages cornfields, but it is also respected as a “fellow sufferer” (a companion in misfortune) in the face of drought and geographical harshness.

It’s not uncommon in folklore to associate the capuchin monkey with the Brazilian literary concept of “Malandragem” (”O Macaco malandro”). This actually suits it perfectly, since the principle of Malandragem is a lifestyle characterized by idleness, fast living, and petty crime. It’s traditionally celebrated in samba lyrics. Of course, there’s primarily an emotional dimension to this comparison.

Mesoamerica: The Spider Monkey and the Cosmic Order

Monkeys actually occupy an unexpected place in Mayan beliefs.

Both howler monkeys and spider monkeys were part of their imagination. In Mayan mythology, the monkey is not an ancestor of humankind, but a failed version.

According to the Popol Vuh, the gods created wooden men who were foolish and ungrateful. To get rid of them, the gods caused a flood. Those who survived climbed into the trees and became monkeys. The same monkeys became Patron of the Arts. Jun Batz and Jun Chouen are therefore recognized as patrons of scribes, sculptors, and musicians.

The contemporary vision is necessarily more grounded and pragmatic. In Costa Rica, coexistence has shifted towards infrastructural management.

Faced with the mass electrocution of primates on high-voltage power lines (a major coexistence problem), NGOs and the government have installed networks of ropes above the roads.

The Spider Monkey, or the White-faced Capuchin, are now part of the urban landscape. The anthropological change is major: the monkey has gone from being considered “game” and food, to an “economic partner”, assisting the growing ecotourism industry.

Conservation studies in Costa Rica highlight however that this modern cohabitation creates a “desocialization” of primates. By feeding on human waste, spider monkeys alter their group structures (less movement, more intra-group territorial aggression), and develop social pathologies close to human populations.

Africa: Savannah Technology and Technical Abduction

The Fongoli Chimpanzee (Pan troglodytes verus) of Senegal.

American primatologist Jill Pruetz has done extensive research on these savanna chimpanzees. It has been observed that they were transforming sticks into spears, often using their teeth, as a way to hunt bushbabies (Galagidae), impaling these small primates when they seek refuge in burrows.

They are also the only chimpanzees in the world known to bathe using natural pools. They also exploit caves to rest and enjoy the coolness.

Some local oral tradition in Western-Africa recounts that chimpanzees have escaped capture (enslavement), retreated to the gallery forests, and took a vow of silence and retreat.

Today, this perception is a bulwark (brittle however) against extinction. In southeastern Senegal, gold mining is threatening the habitat. For the locals, the chimpanzee remains a rightful “landowner” of the bush.

Ethiopia: The Hamadryas Baboon and the Case of “Guard Dogs”

This is a completely different case study and a mind-blowing behavior that has been studied in Hamadryas baboons (in Ethiopia and Saudi Arabia): the case of Guard Dogs.

The baboons take stray puppies from garbage dumps or villages and raise them within the troop.

As the dog grows, it integrates into the simian hierarchy. At night, while the baboons sleep and are vulnerable to predators (leopards, hyenas), the dog retains its guarding instinct and barks, effectively protecting the troop. In exchange, it benefits from the group’s protection during the day and from leftover food.

This is called interspecific socialization.

Rare anecdotal observations have documented baboons interacting with stray dogs, but this behaviour remains poorly documented that being said.

In Ethiopia, this type of Baboon is actually perceived as a force of nature, a true warrior that is both admired and feared.

This popular perception makes sense as this ape’s organization functions with hyper-aggressive harems, where a dominant male controls his females by biting. For Ethiopian pastoralists (a major part of the Ethiopian highlands identity) the baboon is a reflection of the wild itself, and is sometimes being frightened to make sure it stays away.

The shadow of the Egyptian god Thoth (represented as a baboon) still looms large also in the region. In some rural areas, it is believed to possess powers of divination and intelligence because it always seems to anticipate the farmers’ traps.

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Oceania: The Silence of the Primates and Wallace’s Line

The Biological Barrier (Wallace’s Line)

How not to talk about the good old Wallace’s line in this precise article?

Alfred Russel Wallace, a contemporary of Darwin, observed an invisible line running between Bali and Lombok, and crossing between Borneo and Sulawesi.

• Westward: Asian fauna (monkeys, tigers, elephants).

• Eastward: Australian fauna (marsupials).

The deep ocean trench has never dried up, even during the ice ages. The species, including monkeys were not able to “walk” to Australia.

There is, however, an exception to the rule in Sulawesi. The Wallace Line passes west of Sulawesi. But Sulawesi is not yet part of Oceania in the strict sense; it belongs to this particular transition zone called Wallacea.

Unlike the islands further east (New Guinea), Sulawesi has managed to capture samples of Asian species, including endemic macaque species that have evolved in complete isolation.

The Black Macaque (Macaca nigra), locally called Yaki, it is the most famous species. It is entirely black, with a punk-like crest and reddish eyes.

This monkey is seen as a bushmeat. In North Sulawesi, the Minahasa people traditionally consume black macaque meat, prepared in a spicy stew that resembles Paniki usually prepared with bats.

Here, the monkey is neither a deity (India), nor a brother (Senegal), nor a beloved rival and companion(Brazil). It is a source of protein. This absence of ahimsa-type prohibitions or totemic taboos radically transforms the animal’s ontological status.

In Oceania (strictly speaking) on the other hand (Australia, Papua New Guinea, Polynesia), humans developed without a primate mirror.

In the “Dreamtime” of the Australian Aboriginal People, ancestry is associated with figures like kangaroos, emus, snakes and various endemic animals. Humans did not apply the rhetoric of “successful and failed apes”.

Europe: Gibraltar, the Pride of the Empire

The Barbary Macaque (Macaca sylvanus)

The presence of Macaques in Gibraltar is documented as early as the 18th century, but they have been there for longer.

In 1944, when the macaque population had dwindled to just a handful of individuals, Winston Churchill himself ordered their immediate repopulation through imports from Morocco and Algeria.

The stakes wasn’t about ecology. It was about symbol and beliefs. Rumor had it that if the monkeys left, Spain would reclaim the Rock. Keeping the monkeys was a way of asserting the survival of the Empire down the Iberia Peninsula.

They are today managed by the Gibraltar Ornithological and Natural History Society (GONHS). They have an official “food and care” budget. The monkey is somehow a state employee (and potentially a less disruptive one).

It is with a certain detachment that we realize the terribly commonplace yet strangely similar nature of the monkey.

Its perception is a matter linked to the dominant ontology of cultural groups, to conditions of access to resources, to foundational narratives, and even sometimes to the cosmic and moral order.

While the dog is a co-evolved being that has modified its genetics to understand us (its gaze, ability to digest starch, his expectation of the man), the monkey is a competitor. It hasn’t modified its nature to please us.

Although the notion of pleasing has very little meaning in itself since no sentimentality exists in a relationship between man and fauna in the traditional (and not domestic) sense.

Wherever humans and monkeys coexist, the monkey forces humans to redefine what “humanity” is. It is the only being that compels us to admit that culture is maybe not our exclusive property.

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Immemorial is a long-term project dedicated to exploring sacred landscapes, and the pursuit of a culture and Human Legacy.

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References:

• Falótico, T., & Ottoni, E. B. Stone tool use by wild capuchin monkeys (Sapajus libidinosus) at Serra das Confusões National Park, Brazil. National Institute of Health. 2018.

• Pruetz, J. D., & Bertolani, P. Savanna Chimpanzees, Pan troglodytes verus, Hunt with Tools. Research Gate. 2007

• AFP. Au Sénégal, de fascinants chimpanzés des savanes et chasseurs à la lance. Science et Avenir. 2026

• International Animal Rescue. 2025

The Bribri are not simply another ethnic group in Central America; they are the guardians of a cultural “fortress” that has maintained a strong relation with their pre-columbian traditions.

I heard about this group by chance. And I must say, after some research, I was surprised I hadn’t discovered them sooner.

Located primarily in the Talamanca mountain range, though also present along the Caribbean coast and in northern Panama, this people’s profound knowledge of the local flora and geography has allowed the protection of their customs and identity. It is important to note that the Bribri also are in the regions of Salitre, Cabagra and Jarras.

They remain geographically and, consequently, socially isolated. That is why, as it is widely spread in Latin America, a vast network of local associations assist them with educational support, food resources, and micro-loans.

Tribute must also be paid to these small associations which, sometimes without it being their primary goal, help to document the practices of these peoples and serve therefore the great odyssey of anthropology.

Geography as a Shield

The survival of the Bribri is the result of a strategic occupation of what anthropologist Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán calls a “refuge region.”

The Talamanca mountain range reaches a peak of 3,820 m (Cerro Chirripó). It has a steep and rugged terrain, shaped by deep valleys and with annual rainfall exceeding 4,000 mm/year.

As in the oriental slopes of the Andes, this is a complex topography that has made resource extraction and road construction unviable for the Spanish colonial administration (though itself fractured and locally unsupervised), and later for 20th-century banana companies.

Unlike state structures, the Bribri practice, within this scattered geography, a deliberate dispersed settlement pattern. According to ethnographic surveys, this absence of centers prevents any political alienation by an external force. Sovereignty and power chain is diffuse here and therefore elusive.

Geographic and Biological Data of the Talamanca area ecosystem.

The Bribri territory is nestled within a series of national parks that are, for some, also known as UNESCO World Heritage Sites considering their outstanding biodiversity.

The Talamanca mountain range is home to a large numbers of the endemic species of the Central American region, while featuring a marvelous transition between climatic zones: ranging from tropical rainforest (0-500 m) to cloud forest (above 1,500 m) and the páramo (high-altitude areas).

The Fauna is therefore remarkable:

The Jaguar (Panthera onca). One of the apex predator of the Americas (with the Ursidae - Spectacled Bear). Actually its presence is a sign of an ecosystem good-health. It is also, as for many native cultures of Central America, a spiritual figure for the Bribri.

The silent and iconic Quetzal (Pharomachrus mocinno). It is Mostly found in high-altitude oak forests.

The Harpy Eagle (Harpia harpyja) ; my personal favorite. One of the largest birds of prey in the world, for which Talamanca is one of the strongholds in Central America. It’s a majestic bird of prey; highly regarded as one of the most ferocious.

Identity and Ethnogenesis

To understand the Bribri, we must extract them from Costa Rican folklore and situate them within their linguistic and historical family: the Istmo-Colombian area.

A major geographical consideration comes into play here.

The Isthmo-Colombian Area is a defined and regional cultural area encompassing territories occupied predominantly by speakers of the Misumalpan and Chibchan languages when the arrival of Europeans occurred. It includes parts of the Central American isthmus such as eastern Honduras, the Mosquitia region, Panama, and northern Colombia (including the stunning Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta).

Why emphasize this geographical affiliation?

For three reasons:

• First, because discussing this area allows us to re-establish a diverse and complex cultural reality. Too often, hasty assumptions lump together the countries extending to the Darien Gap as belonging to Mesoamerica, which is itself a distinct cultural and spatial entity.

• Beyond this confusion, discussing cultures of this kind allows us to better understand neighboring cultures and why they have become distinct cultural areas themselves ; in this case, the Andes, the Amazon, the Caribbean, and Mesoamerica.

• Finally, it is only right to decentralize. The European approach, and this is not a criticism, has long constructed the pre-Columbian narrative around great civilizations of Central modern Mexico and Andes plateau.

The Bribri belong therefore to the Chibchan language family, which is not a minor detail as it historically links them to the great civilizations of Colombia. With an estimated population of between 12,000 and 17,000 individuals, the Bribri constitute one of the largest indigenous group in Costa Rica.

The Bribri identity is not national as we understand it the western way. It is clan-based. There are specific clan (Tuadiwak, Kusuwak, for example). This structure fragments their society into autonomous, interdependent units. Being Bribri doesn’t necessarily imply a uniform and monolithic belonging to a group.

The realities are sometimes diverse and scattered. Just as a Lacandon Indian from the Mexican Chiapas, there are several clans with sometimes divergent customs and traditions, and their own unique symbols within the Lacandon or the Bribri world.

The Engineering of the Microcosm

The conical house is a major spiritual anchor of the Bribri.

Conical houses are actually a common architectural attribute in the Amazonian groups of the Macro-chibchan language family.

These houses actually intend to portray the universe with multiple pillars embodying the animals that assisted Sibú in building up the Universe. The different levels represent the layers of the world: where we inhabit, where the spirits dwell (plants and animals and rivers), then where live the spirits who stirred up diseases and suffering, and the final for Sibú along its helpers. We will briefly return to Bribri beliefs. And since this article aims to be concise, I invite the reader to research this fascinating subject of the Bribri house for themselves, a brilliant subject brimming with nuances and complexities.

Still analyzing the Bribri microcosm, one should mention the clan-based dimension previously evoked. The clan system is matrilineal. Concretely, a person’s clan is determined by the mother’s clan. Women’s centrality in Bribri society is highly important since they inherit lands and elaborate the sacred cacao (Theobroma cacao) beverage.

The beverage is toasted over domestic fires and ground manually, it’s an important ritual beverage that preserves the bean’s high theobromine and fat content, providing a high-density fuel and a community beverage for rites of passage.

Men’s roles, for their part, are often exclusive and imply great accountability with funeral rituals.

Cacao and Ritual

Let’s start with what probably caught your attention and made you choose to click on this article: the bitter bean, cacao. A universal delicacy whose history is one of the most fascinating in the agricultural world.

For the Bribri, cacao is not a commodity, but a symbol of both food sovereignty and ritual honor.

In Bribri cosmology (cf: Alí García Segura), cacao is a female figure turned into a plant by the creator Sibú. This endows the humble cacao pod with a sacred status prohibiting its overexploitation and imposing a thorough use of its beans.

The Bribri practice a crop culture, that unlike industrial plantations, rely on cocoa trees growing in the shade of larger trees (cedars, fruit trees and other). This system maintains an “alpha biodiversity” ; almost identical to that of a primary forest, while also relying on a wider food supply chain made of bananas, cassava, taro, and a great variety of medicinal plants, but also iguana farming and bartering. The opposite of a monoculture model.

Shamanism and Natural Sacredness

Shamanism plays a great part in the Bribri world.

The Shaman, known as “awa” is a key figure of the Bribri society. They train for years, starting as youngster. Based on the matrilineal attribute of the Bribri, an awa cannot teach his own sons, but those of a female relative.

The oral tradition allows the transmission to the apprentice. The Shaman is the cornerstone of Bribri’s healing practices (both herbal and spiritual). It is said that the Awa shall fathom the sick person spirit, connecting the plants with the burden of the person while conversing with the spirit to ward away from the sufferer’s soul.

In the Bribri worldview, animals are equally important figures, they are active members of a complex social and spiritual contract.

The King Vulture. Far from a mere scavenger, the King Vulture is a metaphysical agent. It represents transformation and ritual purity. It flies high enough to reach the top of the Universe and rest with Sibú.

The Jaguar. The apex of sacredness. The creator often manifests as a jaguar. It is the absolute symbol of forest mightiness, it embodies raw power and the authority of the law.

The Tapir. The sister of Sibú. The tapir is central to the Bribri origin myth. Its consumption is governed by strict taboos (specific clans and spcific circumstances).

Forest Birds. (Toucan for example). Their feathers are technical tools, they are used to “sweep” away illness and negative energies during healing protocols by the shaman.

This zoomorphic system ensures automated conservation. By bridging together specific clans to animal totems (which is a common pattern of Central America indigenous groups), the Bribri have codified biodiversity.

Conclusion and Challenges

What the Bribri teach us is the vastness of the Americas. A vastness of cultures, peoples, and histories, but also of challenges. This nebulous world is as complex as it is fascinating.

This article has briefly touched upon the Bribri world. However, it omits the Bribri one of the most important aspect: today.

Despite their historical isolation, the Bribri currently face unprecedented external pressure that threatens the integrity of their secluded world.

Although the 1977 Indigenous Law stipulates that Indigenous territories are inalienable, a large proportion of the land is illegally occupied by non-Indigenous settlers. The land reclamation process has led to an escalation of violence, with notably the assassinations of key leaders, such as Sergio Rojas (2019).

It’s an intense, often dark, but fundamental subject, as it allows us to understand abstract facets of local politics in Latin America, as well as the complex relationships between indigenous peoples (particularly here with the Cabécar).

I am passing over this for the sake of brevity but also because I don’t want the articles to be anything but drafts that would presume to cover everything at once.

Covering the world requires time, and humility in the face of what is beyond our understanding.

Join the Journey.

Immemorial is a long-term project dedicated to exploring sacred landscapes, and the pursuit of a culture and Human Legacy.

If you value an anthropological approach to the world, consider becoming a subscriber.

Your support is the engine that will allow this independent project to grow.

References:

• Bozzoli de Wille, (1979). El nacimiento de los Bribris. Universidad de Costa Rica.

• García Segura, A. (2003). Diccionario de Mitología Bribri. Editorial de la Universidad de Costa Rica.

• Constenla Umaña, A. (1991). Las lenguas del Área Intermedia: Introducción a su estudio areal. Editorial de la Universidad de Costa Rica.

• Cultural Survival. (2023). Complicity and Silence: Taking Land from Indigenous Peoples in Costa Rica

Author’s Note:

The island of La Gomera is one of the most isolated places I’ve ever visited, and one of my favorite.

This is obviously due to its island configuration, but also to its tranquil, almost serene charm and its stunning laurel forests. It’s a life-size basalt emerald. An island of anomalies, which, given its latitude, shouldn’t have been so green.

A true hydrological marvel where water is the absolute source of fertility, from the Chorros of Epina to the agricultural terraces and the flora itself. Water is absolutely everywhere and yet barely perceptible as the island doesn’t have any major rivers (but one single stream).

It is quite a surprise, after a 20-minute bus ride, to go from the lushness and abundance of Hermigua to the aridity, cacti and palm groves of Vallehermoso. There’s something about La Gomera that evokes the humid foothills of the Andes, but also the central dry highlands of Mexico. But above all, La Gomera is uniquely its own, with a large and unexpected South American diaspora, singular pastoral traditions, and that famous whistled language, the Silbo Gomero.

The Fortress: Basalt and Time

La Gomera is a sleeping anomaly, a geological exception. While its neighbors (La Palma or Tenerife) are turbulent teenagers dealing with eruptions , La Gomera is an old lady whose volcanic heart stopped erupting 2 million years ago.

Therefore, the island has been shaped by an ancient phenomenon of erosion. The absence of lava to reconfigure the island has indeed given place to a mighty erosion process that reigns. The Roques (Agando, Zarcita) for example are not mountains, but monoliths of viscous lava (trachyte and phonolite) that hardened in the volcano’s gorge.

Another distinctive geological feature, and a perpetual remnant of the erosion, is the Barrancos network. The island is built like a lemon squeezer. Each ravine (the barranco in question) creates an isolated microclimate, and therefore a mind-blowing fragmentation that has allowed the genetic isolation of certain plants and landscape patterns.

I must admit that in this regard, treks across the island have been greatly impacted. A dizzying 300-meter descent can require an hour and a half of concentration and composure for instance. And yet there is, as described in the opening remarks, something sublime about suddenly passing from a wet and abundant forests to dry and arid ravines populated with palm groves and cacti thriving in numbers.

Garajonay: The Tertiary Lung

This may well be the central jewel of La Gomera: its laurel forest. This is also the secret of Macaronesia, namely Madeira, the Azores archipelago, the Canary Islands, and Cape Verde. These islands unique geography has gifted them with an outstanding flora and, for some of them, ancient laurel forests.

The Garajonay forest is indeed not a random collection of trees but a specific plant community called Laurisilva, with four main endemic species that structure this canopy. Their distribution across the island greatly depends on their exposure to humidity (and therefore the Barranco).

Among the pillars of the laurel forests we should mention in particular:

• The Canary Island Laurel (Laurus novocanariensis): This is obviously the main feature of the forest. Its leathery leaves are perfect moisture traps and can reach 20 meters in height.

• The Viñátigo (Persea indica): A distant relative of the avocado tree, recognizable by its leaves turning vivid red before falling, creating blood-colored patches on the mossy carpet.

• The Til (Ocotea foetens): It is a massive tree, with a fetid odor when its wood is cut.

Through a process called horizontal precipitation, the waxy leaves of the laurel and the thick blankets of moss you see on the trunks capture moisture directly from the passing trade winds. This “invisible rain” sustains a unique ecosystem that was wiped out across mainland Europe during the last ice ages, making this forest a rare sanctuary of prehistoric biodiversity.

Step into a “cloud forest,” a biological time capsule where the ancient Laurisilva (laurel forest) survives much as it did 20 million years ago. On the island of La Gomera, these endemic trees—such as the Laurus novocanariensis—do not just grow; they “hunt” water.

Through a process called horizontal precipitation, the waxy leaves of the laurel and the thick blankets of moss you see on the trunks capture moisture directly from the passing trade winds. This “invisible rain” sustains a unique ecosystem that was wiped out across mainland Europe during the last ice ages, making this forest a rare sanctuary of prehistoric biodiversity.

An importance nuance in La Gomera is the terrain, and therefore the exposure to humidity, itself dependent on moisture contraction, as well as exposure to sunlight.

There is indeed a major difference between the ridge forest of the island’s heights, and the El Cedro area in the Hermigua Valley. Here, the forest becomes hygro-megaphorbia. The valley’s narrow shape shelters the trees from the wind and maximizes cloud cover.

This place has a tropical aspect. It’s a more “jungle-like” atmosphere. The trunks are not covered in moss but smothered by filamentous lichens taming down the light and creating this atmosphere of a primeval forest, which given the canyons topography, results in an irrefutable similarity with the oriental mountain slopes jungle of the Andes.

The horizontal rainfall feeds this lushness. Beneath the canopy, there’s what we call a phenomenon of hidden water uptake. The micro-droplets from the trade winds clump together on the plant fringes, providing the ecosystem with up to five times the amount of water brought by regular rainfall. In the El Cedro area, this surplus water feeds the island’s only permanent stream.

The people of La Gomera have actually learnt to extract sustenance from this sanctuary.

Fern (Heath ; Erica arborea) for instance. Locals collect the leafs to fertilize the terraces, preventing soil depletion without cutting down the trees. The works of botanists such as Dr. Arnoldo Santos have documented how the traditional farming customs have allowed biodiversity to strive where intensive agriculture, as mainland Europe have encountered, would have destroyed it.

Palm Honey: the Island Nectar

The greatest example of Human-Flora harmony in La Gomera probably lies in the Palm Honey extraction.

Now don’t be misled, this is not honey (produced by bees), but a sap syrup, whose taste inevitably recalls that of maple syrup, a delicate amber and complex nectar with hints of spices.

The Guarapero (palm tree pruner) doesn’t cut down the tree, but rather climbs it to the top and removes the youngest leaves to reach the tender heart.He then trims this area.

The nocturnal cycle is one of the most fascinating aspect. The sap is harvested at night because, without photosynthesis, allowing root pressure to push the the liquid upwards. Once the harvest season is over, which extends over months, the palm tree is left to rest for several years. This is a strict rotation that allows the tree to heal and continue its rebirth. It’s the antithesis of resource extraction, a true example of conformity with crop’s natural tendency.

The harvested liquid is extremely perishable as it ferments quite easily. It is usually common to boil until it becomes a dark reduction.

Palm Honey is consumed with a wide range of recipes. In Epina, I’ve eaten a Bollo Gomero (photo above) infused with anise seeds, lemon zest, soaked in palm honey and aged goat cheese on top.

It is a surprising blend of mixed favor, both herbal, salty and sweet. The acidity and salt of the cheese act as a necessary counterpoint to the smoke-infused palm syrup.

This trio (Bollo, Cheese, and Sap) is somehow the embodiment of what La Gomera does best. It is the food of a population that historically lived in a vertical world, where pastoralism is tough and physical and where every calorie had to be earned.

On a more down-to-earth note, it’s a particularly rewarding treat with a coffee after a hike between Vallehermoso and Epina.

Sacralization of the landscape and Guanche Beliefs

For the Gomeros, the island was not a horizontal territory, but a hierarchy of peaks, each an interface with the divine and their mythology that was previously briefly exposed in this short and personal article:

The Example of Arure and Epina

Near Epina, high in the mountains, exist fundamental archaeological structures called “Aras de sacrificio” (sacrifice pits). The ritual importance of La Gomera was undeniable for the Guanches, the island possesses 90% of the ritual sites in the Canary Islands.

These are circular platforms made of dry stone, situated on windswept ridges. They were ritual spaces where animal fats (goat, sheep) were burned to interact with the deities.

The Chorros of Epina

The Chorros of Epina is another example that perfectly illustrate the layered history of La Gomera.

A distinction must be made between site and usage: while the seven wooden springs are a direct indigenous legacy and a testimony of water divination, the locally perpetuated traditions attached to it are more recent.

Popular belief gives each jet of water properties: health, love, fortune, and for the last one witchcraft. Wealthy families of Vallehermoso used to send their servants on a one day journey to fetch water from the Chorros to enjoy the virtues of this supposedly extraordinary water. To ensure it was truly the water of Los Chorros, they also had to carry a leaf from the aderno tree, which grew only near this spring.

It’s not just a fountain but truly an ancient sacred site. According to legend (and local ethnographic sources), these seven wooden springs served as a early site for divination. The direction and clarity of the water were observed to predict romantic futures or the quality of harvests. But it also follows a geographical logic. This is where the cloud forest aquifer emerges.

By consecrating this water, the Guanches protected the island’s most precious resource. This is ethno-conservation at its finest.

The Chipude Fortress

The culmination of this sacred status is undoubtedly the Roque de Chipude.

Numerous shell mounds and remains of offerings have been found at the summit. It was a sacred site where the ancients of La Gomera used to climb there for performing rituals.

Gara and Jonay: The Mythological Tragedy

The main star of the island, the Garajonay forest, itself has been an object of Guanche belief. The Garajonay forest should not be seen exclusively as a national park, but as the tomb of a founding myth, somehow the Canarian equivalent of “Romeo and Juliet.”

Gara, princess of La Gomera, and Jonay, prince of Tenerife, though in love, their union was forbidden by a prophecy. Hunted down by their families to the island’s highest point, their tears fed the soil and resulted in the advent of this misty forest. Beyond the tale itself, this myth explains the dual nature of the island and that the cosmology of the Guanches leant heavily on dualities and assigned role between the islands of the archipelago.

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The Human Odyssey of La Gomera

The Dawn of Time: The Adventure of the Guanches

Before the arrival of the Spaniards, La Gomera was inhabited by the Gomeros, a people of Berber (Libyco-Berber) origin who had crossed the Atlantic from North Africa.

Unlike other islands, La Gomera never experienced political unification under a single king, but remained fragmented into cantons. This precise pre-Hispanic era forged the soul of the island. It was here that Silbo Gomero (a whistled language) was born, a natural adaptation to the geography of the barrancos and a clear tool to communicate across impassable ravines.

Christopher Columbus and San Sebastián

You might not expect it, but La Gomera occupies a unique place in world history as it was the last land Christopher Columbus set foot on before his 1492 journey.

So why La Gomera and not another island? Precisely for its waters and its protected natural harbor in San Sebastián. He obtained water and food supplies before setting off to discover America on September 6, 1492, from the bay of San Sebastian de La Gomera.

The capital, San Sebastián, still bears this imprint: the Torre del Conde and the Casa de Colón are witnesses to the moment when La Gomera became the umbilical cord between the Old and New Worlds.

The Figure of the Indiano and the South American Diaspora

Over the centuries, poverty and isolation have driven the people of La Gomera into exile. It is here that the figure of the Indiano emerged. The Gomero did not emigrate to Madrid, but mostly to Cuba, Venezuela and Colombia.

They often went back to La Gomera, establishing an imperishable cycle of migration, bounding the island with the history of Latin America. The result, of this migration has greatly been observed with the food resources that were brought from the Americas to the Canary Islands, but also an aesthetic was implemented with those colorful and vibrant colonial houses.

This was, in fact, one of the defining moments of my trip: the discovery of this history. Two of my taxi drivers told me they were Colombian, another recounted his family’s roots in Venezuela and their work in the tobacco industry. In Hermigua, some restaurants displayed Colombian or Venezuelan flags, other spoke with Cuban accents, whose slang and raspy tone are easily recognizable.

One of the most significant example of this history is illustrated with La Gomera’s agricultures, a marvel system of terraces that managed to benefit from both the migration and the island’s micro-climates.

Here’s some of the emblematic products of the Canaries, some even feeding i considerable numbers the European’s mainland market:

• Bananas: The long and faithful pillar of the economy, the small Canarian banana is an absolute crowd pleaser. Whether in La Gomera or Tenerife, you’ll find acres of Banana plantations, often held by families that built some magnificent domains and houses in the center of those plump and abundant plantations.

• Exotic Fruits: Fleshy mangoes, papayas, and especially avocados benefit from a frost-free climate. These crops represent an essentiel part of both the local economy and culture.

  I met an old man in Arure who confessed to me that whenever there was room for a private garden, there will be a mango tree.

• Coffee: Though it remains a niche product, the introduction of Arabica coffee trees promises to transform La Gomera into an exceptional terroir, following the example of the world’s best volcanic plantations. This is not an isolated phenomenon. The entire archipelago sees coffee as a promise to be locally developed.

It’s actually a global culinary phenomenon. Cuban, Venezuelan, and Colombian influences are strongly established.

The arepa, this small, filled corn cake, has become a staple of the Gomero diet. Often garnished with Carne Mechada (often shredded beef) and avocado for instance. The bread itself can be plain or fried.

Even the embodiment of the Canarian diet, the Gofio (roasted grain flour), a direct legacy of the Guanches, is now mingling with Latin American flavors.

La Gomera and the adventure of Hispanic identity

Today, the inhabitant of La Gomera is no longer simply the heir of the Guanche or the nephew of the Indiano ; he is also, and by the constraints of time and geography, the guardian of a marginalized and special Hispanic identity.

There is a strong insular character and an irrefutable pride. A proud temperament forged by centuries of adaptation against isolation.

Although the island faces the Atlantic, its institutional and cultural framework remains profoundly Spanish. The patron saint festivals, the processions of the Virgen de Guadalupe, and the social life in the shaded plazas of San Sebastián bear witness to an Iberian culture that has adapted to this sweet climate.

It is a “Spain of nuances and singularities”, but this is Spain, with all its beauty and diversity.

Field Notes and Fragments of Terrain - Photo gallery and excerpts from La Gomera.

The contemplation of the everyday life.

At the foot of this massive and majestic, a rustic house. The contrast between the raw power of the rock and the domestic fragility of the drying laundry perfectly illustrates the Gomera spirit: an existence lived in the shadow of giants, where every habitable square meter is a promise of peace.

- Hermigua.

The aesthetics of the houses.

These white facades, punctuated with exposed volcanic stones like a Dalmatian’s coat, represent the marriage of limestone and basalt. By allowing the stone to breathe through the plaster, the islander created a habitat capable of resisting oceanic humidity while using to the island’s raw material.

- Vallehermoso

The engineering of topography.

In this canyon shrouded in the trade wind mist, the terraces unfold like an ancient amphitheater, green and irresistible. This landscape is shaped by hand, by generations of farmers. Anywhere on the island, water is not a given. Each terrace retains not only arable soil, but also this precious moisture that sustains life.

- El Cercado

The sacred at the bend of the ravine.

This small sanctuary dedicated to the Virgen de Guadalupe, protector of the island and a major Catholic figure in Latin America, is a reminder that La Gomera is a land of faith and passage. Halfway between the village and the heights sheltering the Garajonay forest, it is, for the hiker as for the shepherd, an anchor point and an interface between the rugged terrain and divine protection.

- El Cedro

La Gomera Facing Modernity

The island isn’t frozen in time.

La Gomera, without reaching the summits of tourism that its neighboring islands have encountered, has still bounced on the popularity of its geography.

It is therefore undergoing a critical transformation. Its isolation, once perceived as an insurmountable obstacle to development, has become its main bulwark and the reason why hordes (of reasonable proportions) of curious visitors leave the port of Los Cristianos, a concrete city made for tourists and of little interest, aboard huge ferries that circulate among this myriad of islands, to go to La Gomera, and find a slightly healthier tranquility.

La Gomera is actually, as for Madeira, a bedrock for “slow-tourism”. Some of its neighboring islands have sacrificed parts of their coastlines to concrete while La Gomera has chosen the path of authenticity.

I must say in this regard, and it’s a position I stand by because I’ve promised myself honesty, that La Gomera is one of those places where marginalized nomads gather. Small communities that practice local agriculture and yoga. I can’t help but notice their disdain and appalling indifference for local traditions, as well as their utter disconnection, living in a fairytale that doesn’t inherently include those who primarily built the island.

The island also aspires to become a laboratory for renewable energies, transforming the power of the trade winds and the hydroelectric energy of the mountains into a complete independence energy package. This modernization march doesn’t preclude the rebirth of local traditions. The Silbo Gomero, far from disappearing, is now taught as a compulsory subject in schools.

The agricultural landscape is undergoing a silent revolution too. Local entrepreneurs and newcomers are rehabilitating abandoned terraces to plant rare Coffee beans varieties or organic avocados destined for the most demanding markets.

La Gomera has ultimately a complex relationship with modernity. The revival of island traditions, the resurgence of its appeal, the promise of agriculture; but also the delicate management of water, which faces considerable restrictions during the high season. La Gomera’s greatest strength in embracing this complexity lies in its inhabitants, their historical resilience, and their spirit, reflecting the island itself: rugged yet generous.

La Gomera is not simply a geographical stopover, but truly a lesson in applied adaptation.

Defying the steep slopes, one understands that independence is not the absence of constraints, but their mastery. The Gomero has transformed isolation into a sanctuary of vibrant and hybrid cultures.

It’s an island that embodies the sanctuary: tranquil and almost romanticized by nature. Its rainforest, palm trees, and banana plantations confirm the biological gift that geography has bestowed upon La Gomera.

It’s a haven for birdwatchers and for those who seek to deliberately lose themselves and find themselves again.

It’s also an island of people, despite its small population and terrain. A Guanche island, Spanish and Latin American. I advise anyone tempted by the Canary Islands to make La Gomera one of their considerations.

Join the Journey.

Immemorial is a long-term project dedicated to exploring sacred landscapes, and the pursuit of a culture and Human Legacy.

If you value an anthropological approach to the world, consider becoming a subscriber.

Your support is the engine that will allow this independent project to grow.

Author’s Note:

Traveling, for me, is an exercise in reconciling the immediate sensory experience with the deeper anthropological insight.

It is always about moving beyond to observe how a society manages the tension between its past and its modern constraints. Kandy, in Sri Lanka, was a perfect laboratory for this: it’s an important city of 120,000 people, a spiritual center perched at 500m altitude, where the geography itself has served as a sanctuary for the Sinhalese identity.

Leaving the Coastal Tropics

The journey to Kandy is a literal transition. As I was leaving the humid and scorching heat of the lowlands, the train was winding upward into the misty Central Highlands.

This is more than a geographic change, it is a travel toward the spiritual heart of the island. This is also a very blatant introduction to Sri Lanka’s two economies: a gradual division between the coconut, the palm tree, then the tea world and the eucalyptus.

Reaching Kandy is also like stepping back in time, immersing oneself in the history of the Kingdom of Kandy, understanding the history of Buddhism on the island (and the Theravāda doctrine), the conquest by the Portuguese and the Dutch, the relationship with the British administration, and above all, this imperishable resilience, in harmony with its environment.

Kandy was indeed the last independent kingdom of Sri Lanka, with a complex history of interaction with European powers (Portuguese, Dutch, and British). The dense canopy of the mountains actually served as a natural fortress and the Kandy’s Plateau, endowed with a unique topography (somehow a fortress), helped out the city unique trajectory.

Historical accounts from earlier Portuguese incursions (such as the Campaign of Danture in 1594) demonstrate how the Kandyan warriors used the vertical jungle canopy to battle against European musketry and artillery.

This geographical configuration has partially allowed Kandy to maintain its status as a religious center, a place of retreat, which is now today a major site of Buddhist identity and pilgrimage.

The Fervor of Binara Poya

I arrived in the city on the eve of Binara Poya, the full moon of September. In the Buddhist calendar this day commemorates the establishment of the Bhikkhuni Sasana (Female Buddhist Monastic). At the Dalada Maligawa (The Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic), the atmosphere was profound and marked by an hushed intensity.

Author’s Note:

I might be asked, as a convinced Catholic, how I view such a display of Buddhist fervor.

My faith never compels me to disdain. As an observer, I do not seek to compare religious principles, but to admire the ingenuity and singularity of a civilization, religion or any structural concept that has managed to preserve its vertical axis.

Seeing these thousands of faithful in white was not an exotic curiosity, but a reminder of a universal truth ; that is to say that a society that loses its connection to the sacred ultimately dissolves into material nothingness.

Thousands of pilgrims, often gathered in families, dressed in flawless white, moved in a joyful cadence toward the inner sanctum.

The interior Architecture was astonishing. The inner temple is primarily made of carved sandalwood and teak, with ivory and silver inlays. As this dark wood setting absorbs the outside light, along with the flickering glow of the coconut oil lamps, it creates a feeling of “sacred cavern.” The air was thick, saturated with the heavy scent of crushed lotus blossoms. By the time I reached the upper chamber, where the golden stupas containing the Tooth Relic are kept, a staggering silence settled.

H.L. Seneviratne has defined the rituals, not just as worship, but as the daily “feeding and clothing” of a living king. The Relic is, and this characteristic is very revealing, treated as a Living Sovereign. Therefore, the collective energy of the pilgrims leans toward this focal point of the Relic.

The Palace Complex: Power and Spirit

The Royal Palace of Kandy, where the Dalada Maligawa is sheltered, used to serve as the residence for the monarchs of the Kingdom of Kandy.

Endowed with traditional Kandyan architectural patterns, the complex features subtly crafted stone carvings and woodworks. This complex gathers several important sites:

The Audience Hall

The Queen’s Palace

The King’s Palace

The famous Temple of the Tooth Relic.

The Temple of the Relic is fused with the Royal Palace and the Magul Maduwa (The Audience Hall), which could be regarded as the administrative heart. The proximity of coercive power with the Relic confirms the direct belief that justice was emanating from the Sacred.

This theocratic logic, which isn’t a specificity of the Kandy’s Royal Court, induces that the King’s legitimacy depended on his custody of the Relic. Taken this information into account, it can only be right to affirm that the the loss of Kandy in 1815 was not just a military defeat, but a spiritual rupture for the Sinhalese identity.

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The Peradeniya Botanic Garden

I don’t know about you, but for me, if it’s worthwhile, a visit to a botanical garden is one of the highlights of my travels.

We tend to unfairly ostracize the history of nature in favor of the history of Mankind, of battles, of its arts. Yet no one would deny that nature and humankind are intrinsically complementary. A single plant can, in fact, tell us a great deal about the uniqueness of a place, its climate, its food resources, and, even more so, about the people themselves and their secular journey.

A few kilometers from the center, situated in a bend of the Mahaweli River, the Peradeniya Botanical Garden offers a fascinating counterpoint to the sacred. This former royal garden is an explosion of biodiversity, dense, peaceful and vibrant at the same time.

Although proudly French, I must admit I don’t find French formal gardens, with their geometry and rigidity, particularly appealing. On the other hand, botanical gardens that have followed English precepts advocating a return to a wild and poetic nature particularly attract me.

The Kandy Botanical Gardens follow this natural cycle. It is particularly renowned for its impressive orchid collection, as well as its featuring of a spice, Palm trees alleys and a medicinal plant garden.

The garden’s origins date back to 1371, when King Wickramabahu III ascended the throne and moved his court to Peradeniya. Further preparatory work for the botanical garden was undertaken in 1821 by Alexander Moon, and the botanical garden was formally established in 1843 with the introduction of plants from the Kew Gardens of Colombo, and Kalutara.

Here, you’ll find the magnificent Java fig trees with those inseparable sprawling roots. The Kandy Botanical Garden is undoubtedly a place to grasp the abundance of the Sri Lankan land, things grow with an aggressive vigor, fed by tropical rains and this slight (but impactful) altitude.

This specimen (photo above), belonging to the Ficus benghalensis family, is the majestic Banyan. Now, anthropologically, the Banyan has had an important symbolic across the subcontinent. In Kandy Garden, as in the remote countryside, it tells a story beyond botany.

Another tree that amazed me was the Couroupita guianensis (Cannonball Tree), often situated within temple precincts. I had previously seen this particular tree in South America, where it is native. It was easily adopted by Sri Lankan Buddhism as its flowers evoke the shape of a stupa protected by a cobra (the deity of Naga).

The Kiri Muhuda: the Mirror of Kandy

Kandy Lake (Kiri Muhuda) is undeniably the cornerstone of the city.

This artificial body of water, built in 1807, under Sri Wickrama Rajasinghe, the last king of Kandy, was a project of immense symbolic and great political weight.

The lake was assembled for the sake of Prestige, enhancing the beauty of the Temple of the Tooth. The lake is surrounded by a distinct stone wall with triangular openings, designed to hold lamps during festivities, converting the lake into a mighty ring of fire.

The small artificial island of Diyathilaka Mandapaya on Kandy Lake is also a distinctive marker. Legends and folklore regarding the lake suggests that this tiny and square island was used by the Kings for bathing and was connected by tunnels.

Another striking sight along the lake was the animal watching. The flight of the fruit bats (flying foxes) at sunset or in early morning is a reminder of the thin boundary between the urban and the wild.

I must admit that, despite many trips, I had rarely observed such human-wildlife interaction as in Sri Lanka. Whether it be stray dogs, troops of monkeys (fluffy grey langur, purple-leaf monkey, and toque macaque), or even bats, wildlife management seems to be a subject that is both sensitive and a source of pride in Sri Lanka.

A city of lived experience and style

Beyond its sacred perimeter, Kandy is also a complex urban palimpsest, a friction between architectural worlds.

One of the first striking observation is the British flair, the red-brick facades and the Victorian clock tower. The British attempted to introduce the colonial administrative buildings patterns. They deemed positively the Kandyan aesthetics while simultaneously trying to settle in their colonial architecture.

The result is hybrid: colonial buildings often incorporate local decorative elements (the example of the pitched roofs designed to shed the monsoon rains).

But more importantly, the Empire introduced a science of urban administration: post office, train station, courts. The visual harmony of Kandy thrives today on this duality, it is a chromatic and structural balance that gives an undeniable charm to the city.

The streets, on the other hand, follow the usual organized chaos; with tuk-tuks and street vendors selling cut fruit, nuts, or ritual flowers. Slower than the frantic energy of Colombo, I have been profoundly surprised though by how diverse the atmospheres of the Sri Lankan cities was. The unique architectural and colonial history of cities such as Galle and Kandy has indeed given them an ability to harmonize frenzy streets and slowness (pedestrian districts, grid-patterned streets, abundance of parks and sidewalks).

The city has resolutely absorbed the concrete and the colonial brick, but it has filtered them through its own cultural sieve. Therefore, a mundane or more “sophisticated” street corner (even if I’m reluctant regarding what we refer to as “sophisticated”) still feels “Kandyan” before it feels “Sri Lankan” or “Global.”

Kandy is not just a destination but a repository of identity, a fortress of collective memory.

A place that has managed the great gamble of remaining a citadel of memory. Arriving during Binara Poya was a fortunate event, and a reminder of the Buddhist sacredness that cradles Sri Lanka.

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The South Pacific is often relegated to the periphery of the Modern World, viewed through the reductive lens of turquoise lagoons and development lethargy. Yet, those fragmented lands are currently the bedrock for an important political and ontological reawakening.

Among the great nebula of Islands of the Solomon Archipelago, Bougainville stands out as a Sentinel.

Shrouded in primary forests, volcanic and rugged, this island is on the verge of sovereignty. In 2019, about 98% of its population voted for independence from Papua New Guinea. Beyond being a clear political divorce, the referendum was also a geopolitical (and anthropological) statement.

Bougainville is now poised to become the world’s next sovereign nation by 2027. To understand this event, beyond its legal underpinnings, we must take the time to understand, humbly and incompletely here, what we refer to as Melanesia.

This situation also calls for a dynamic analysis, striving to pierce the uncertain horizon of the future, as this part of the world currently challenges its status quo.

Melanesia: Geography, Ambiguity and Concept.

Melanesians are, by the force of genetics and the history of the great human migrations, the proud representatives of one of the most enduring odysseys.

Melanesia is a subregion of Oceania located in the southwestern Pacific Ocean, spreading from New Guinea to the Fiji Islands in the east. It is also a crossroad between Southeast Asia, Polynesia, Micronesia, and Australia.

The region encompasses four independent countries, plus the Indonesian administration of Western Papua as well as the French oversea collectivity of New Caledonia and the Torres Strait Islands.

The indigenous people who inhabit the islands of Melanesia are called Melanesians. They are an heterogenous and complex set of different genetic groups and ethnicities, endowed with different cultural practices and different unrelated language families. And yet, they do, together, shape a vast area with a long history of exchanges and trades.

Originally from Asia, the Melanesians trace their roots back to the Austronesian peoples who arrived in the islands between 1500 and 2000 BCE, and notably the first Papuans.

Genetic studies have demonstrated a high rate of genetic differentiation and diversity among the groups living in the Melanesian islands, with significant particularities between islands, language or topography. This fascinating diversity developed over tens of thousands of years after the primary settlement and the more recent arrival of Polynesian ancestors on those islands.

Recent DNA analyses have added important information to the Genetic profiles of these islanders. The discovery of the Denisovans (Denisova hominins), an ancient archaic human species discovered in 2010 in the Altai Mountains, has demonstrated that Melanesians exhibit traces of hybridization with the Denisovans.

New Guineans share 4–6% of their genome with Denisovans.

- Carl Zimmer, “Denisovans Were Neanderthals’ Cousins, DNA Analysis Reveals”, NYTimes,‎ 2010.

Beyond these abstract figures, this genetic data of the peoples of Melanesia must be understood as it presents itself: that is to say, as an irrefutable witness (unless there is contradictory scientific evidence) of the genetically differentiating character of these peoples, and de facto of their secularity and isolation.

The Bougainville Island’s Way to Independence

Some background information

The name of Bougainville comes from the hyperactive French explorer Louis-Antoine de Bougainville.

Bougainville Island is (currently) in Papua New Guinea and is one of the largest of the Solomon Islands. With Buka Island and other small surrounding islands, it has formed the Bougainville Autonomous Region since 2002.

The referendum held between November and December 2019 resulted in over 98% of Bougainville voters pronouncing themselves in favor of independence. The process toward sovereignty is expected to be completed by 2027, turning the island into the 198th country in the world.

The path to the 2019 referendum was not paved with diplomacy, it occurred after a decade of turmoil marked by the Bougainvillean Civil War (1988-1998).

As the Treaty of Versailles dismantled Germany’s oversea ambitions, Australia was granted a League of Nations mandate over German New Guinea. Gold and Copper resources were gradually discovered on Bougainville. This paved the way to the local establishment of the Australian company Conzinc Rio Tinto, managing the Panguna Mine.

During fruitful years, the mine had one of the largest reserves in the world, reaching up to 1 billion tons of copper and 12 million ounces of gold.

The Sabotage of the Panguna Mine in 1988 was a turning point.

The mine itself accounted for almost a half of Papua New Guinea’s export earnings (the government of Papua New Guinea was also a 20% shareholder). However, the traditional landowners criticized the environmental devastation (Jaba River contamination), the pittance investment system, the share of profits, but also the flux of migrant workers.

It is important to mention two observations:

- pride in skin color in Melanesia: the Papuans (redskins) migrant workers thus distinguish themselves from the indigenous inhabitants.

- the centrality of territory among the peoples of Melanesia, which associates their land with a pivotal place in their system of meaning.

In 1988, Francis Ona and the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) moved from protest to sabotage. The situation quickly evolved into a full-scale war for secession.

This decade of crisis (1988–1998) had led to Papua New Guinea Defense Forces to engage into counter-insurgency military maneuvers, as well as a maritime blockade of the island.

The Sandline Affair was another turning point. In 1997 the PNG government attempted to hire foreign mercenaries to annihilate the rebellion. This bold initiative backfired, leading to a military mutiny in Port Moresby and the fall of the government.

International pressure brought the parties to the table and resulted in the 2001 Bougainville Peace Agreement, setting the legal bedrock of their sovereignty, leaning on three pillars:

• Autonomy

• Disarmament

• Referendum

In late 2019, the promise was implemented. A striking 98.31% voted for full independence during the referendum.

Bougainville is currently in the late stages of consultation with the PNG Parliament. While Port Moresby is reluctant to ratify the result for fear of encouraging other separatist movements (particularly in New Britain or New Ireland), the 2027 horizon for full statehood remains the official target for the islanders of Bougainville.

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The Anthropological stakes of Independence

Author’s note:

During my studies, which were divided between law and social sciences, the analysis of state formation followed an extremely relevant trajectory (Weber, Carré de Malberg, etc.) but also one that was often conformist. Very little was said about “proto-nation states,” or about the comparative method between different regions of the world. We must also, and always, while engaging into the state constructions processes, return to the study of “the soul of peoples” and their system of meaning.

The birth of a nation often inhibit (or kill) the culture that created it. The “State” is a centralizing force by nature. Even in a federal system, the State is never fully divisible ; therefore, it is necessary to distinguish the executive reality of the State from the way it is administered.

State Bureaucracy and Wantok Systems:

The wantok system in the Melanesian cultures is entangled with the notions of group belonging and reciprocity. The wantok ties people into families, tribes, islands, provinces, or greater Melanesian sub-regional aggregates.

The word origin is however english: wantok originates from the words ‘one talk’.

Gordon Leua Nanau defines the wantok as:

“an identity perception at the macro level and a social capital concept at the micro and family levels, especially in rural communities.”

The question here is not, in light of this persistent anthropological fact, to doubt the success of Bougainville’s administration (that would be the result of an unhealthy projection), but rather to question how the Constitution, and then the law, in its practice rather than in its theory, will manage to reconcile a state-oriented thought and a clan-oriented thought.

The success of Bougainville will depend on its ability to create a specific Melanesian Jurisprudence, a state that obeys the land and value the custodian legacy of its inhabitants. The concept of the Social Contract does not operate within the rigid framework of the Westphalian nation-state that gained power throughout its journey. The social contract is, above all, and fortunately, a flexible concept and, more importantly, a state of mind.

The Pacific Great Game