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Sakai

Franco Zecchin

Sakaï. The cave painter's mystery. This is the story of a forgotten people: the Sakaï. Direct descendants of the Paleolithic men, they are the most primitive hunter-gatherers in Thailand. Today, only two hundred of them still wander the southern jungles. This is also the story of an enigma: that of a mural art the Sakaï keep concealed but which traces can be found in some of the caves they live in. A rarity: very few nations on the planet still practice rock painting.Up to now, researchers doubted the existence of such works. We've discovered them. Ethno-archeologist Surin Pookajorn, whom we meet in his shambled office at Silpakorn University (Bangkok), is the first person to tell us about the Sakaï. "In order to understand their origin, we've analyzed blood samples from several individuals and compared them with 24,000 year old skeletons. We discovered that their DNA were indentical. Which can only mean that the Sakaï are the direct descendants of the tribes who wandered the region in the Paleolithic times! By the way, they do still practice rock painting..." The word had slipped out of his mouth : here, in Thailand, people still practiced wall art. This was only the beginning of the enigma... The howl of the gibbons fills the misty night that slowly dissipates into morning at Ban Tap Tung. The place is just a small pioneer village : a few houses with rubber trees planted along a new dirt road. The result of illegal land clearing within Khao Bantad Wildlife Sanctuary. Are the reserve's authorities purposely blind or just downright corrupt? The electrification of the village is even expected in a few weeks. "Get up, they're coming!" A thin and tattooed figure, Uncle Iat enters the house where he has put us up for the night. With a cunning smile, he tells us to come out. Out there on the road, a small group of Sakaï emerges from the bluish, hazy dawn. The Sakaï's camp: three primitive huts and three half-built shacks perched on stilts. A bunch of children and teenagers emerges as we arrive. Koy, the leader, seems to be the only adult. Fortunately, he remembers the drawings he told me about during my first trip. "I've drawn in several caves. But it's not a tradition: they don't represent anything..." he mumbles fleetingly. After never ending discussions, he agrees to take us there. All day long, we survey the valley, exploring many cavities hidden by thick bamboos and creepers. Still... no trace of paintings. Puzzled, we observe Koy, Poy and Ed roam around the village. Fresh pineapples harvested from a waste land are devoured on the way... A little further on, a farmer offers them to prune his palm trees : they can take away the branches to roof their new shacks, he says. Those young Sakaï, we understand, are more and more dependent on the villagers. The Sakaï seem to be a people constantly struck by fear. And not only because of the modern world that threatens them. According to one of their myths, the monkey only became human after having been paralyzed with terror. For the Sakaï, the forest is much more than just a place to live : a sanctuary where deadly spirits loom. They are countless and, for any reason, can make you ill or fall down off a tree. Probably the most terrible is the "illusive tiger", a wandering soul whose permission must be obtained before strolling deep into the jungle. The next day, sweeping the depths of a rock shelter with our flashlights, we finally discover the first traces of cave charcoal drawings. Koy takes a burned stick and starts sketching a series of circles on a wall. Apen, his stepson, draws fork-like figures and diagrams, which are just as incomprehensible as Koy's... Nothing ritual or figurative in their work: they look more like children's scribbling on a blank page. Is the "art" of the Sakaï a mere hobby they practice during the rainy season when they take refuge in these caves? Or does this practice have a sacred meaning that the younger generation has lost? Suddenly, Thanat, our guide, gestures to us to be quiet. On the look-out, we listen to the rustling of the jungle, the hypnotic chirring of the crickets in the branches of the grand kapok tree above us. We've already been walking for three hours, carrying all the food and equipment we need for our expedition. "There they are, follow me," Thanat finally mumbles. Yes, here they are, a few steps away: mute and fearful faces peek out of palm roofed shelters built under a high cliff. In the still and muggy air filled with the hum of insects, the life of the Sakaï has come to a halt. It will last the whole day. As if the most common activities like hunting or gathering had to be hidden from the gaze of strangers. Even getting a word out of them is a challenge. We have no choice but to interrogate the very few objects hung inside Kucha's shelters: woven baskets, blowpipes, bamboo containers, battered plates... They tell us about the meager material needs of a nomadic life requiring constant movement. High up in the canopy, rays of light surround the large tree where a beehive was spotted. Barefooted, a basket and a smoking bundle of branches in his hand, Dshaem climbs the tree within seconds. From the bush where we are hiding with Kucha, we see him disappear in the foliage. The seconds turn into minutes, and those minutes seem really long... The buzzing increases as, smoked out from their hive, frantic bees fly from all directions. Honey pours, the burning bundle falls and we see Dshaem slide down the tree. He was not stung but the amount of honey is disappointing: hardly two bottles full. A discovery: Tham Pik Nok ("Bird Wing Cave"). Its walls are covered with dozens of charcoal drawings. Most of them are reminiscent of Koy and Apen's scribbles. "Yes, those are Sakaï drawings" agrees Dshaem. There are a series of circles, at times transformed into primitive faces. There are scratch marks which seem to follow a scheme, starting off as forked sticks then becoming anthropomorphic: rectangular figures with arms and legs sticking out... The Sakaï camp is deserted. Yesterday evening, the whole group probably took off as soon as Kucha returned. We draw lots to decide which path to follow : the one heading south is chosen. We walk for one hour, unable to find any trace of them. Eventually we feel our way towards a rock shelter the jungle hides. And there, on a ledge, we discover footprints, the remains of a still-hot camp fire and a forgotten child's blowpipe. They can't be very far... Masters of silence, invisible, crouching in the jungle... Probably watching us, now, as we walk away and abandon our quest. © Text: Marc Lathuillière



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