[Paleopsych] NYT: Remote and Poked, Anthropology's Dream Tribe

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Remote and Poked, Anthropology's Dream Tribe
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/18/international/africa/18tribe.html
[This recalls the Pilgrims of Massachusetts in 1620 being greeted by an Indian 
who spoke English, evidently learned from the earlier settlers at Jamestown.]

    By MARC LACEY

    LEWOGOSO LUKUMAI, Kenya - The rugged souls living in this remote desert 
enclave
    have been poked, pinched and plucked, all in the name of science. It is not
    always easy, they say, to be the subject of a human experiment.

    "I thought I was being bewitched," Koitaton Garawale, a weathered cattleman, 
said
    of the time a researcher plucked a few hairs from atop his head. "I was 
afraid.
    I'd never seen such a thing before."

    Another member of the tiny and reclusive Ariaal tribe, Leketon Lenarendile,
    scanned a handful of pictures laid before him by a researcher whose unstated 
goal
    was to gauge whether his body image had been influenced by outside media. 
"The
    girls like the ones like this," he said, repeating the exercise later and
    pointing to a rather slender man much like himself. "I don't know why they 
were
    asking me that," he said.

    Anthropologists and other researchers have long searched the globe for 
people
    isolated from the modern world. The Ariaal, a nomadic community of about 
10,000
    people in northern Kenya, have been seized on by researchers since the 
1970's,
    after one - an anthropologist, Elliot Fratkin - stumbled upon them and began
    publishing his accounts of their lives in academic journals.

    Other researchers have done studies on everything from their cultural 
practices
    to their testosterone levels. National Geographic focused on the Ariaal in 
1999,
    in an article on vanishing cultures.

    But over the years, more and more Ariaal - like the Masai and the Turkana in
    Kenya and the Tuaregs and Bedouins elsewhere in Africa - are settling down. 
Many
    have migrated closer to Marsabit, the nearest town, which has cellphone 
reception
    and even sporadic Internet access.

    The scientists continue to arrive in Ariaal country, with their notebooks, 
tents
    and bizarre queries, but now they document a semi-isolated people straddling
    modern life and more traditional ways.

    "The era of finding isolated tribal groups is probably over," said Dr. 
Fratkin, a
    professor at Smith College who has lived with the Ariaal for long stretches 
and
    is regarded by some of them as a member of the tribe.

    For Benjamin C. Campbell, a biological anthropologist at Boston University 
who
    was introduced to the Ariaal by Dr. Fratkin, their way of life, diet and 
cultural
    practices make them worthy of study.

    Other academics agree. Local residents say they have been asked over the 
years
    how many livestock they own (many), how many times they have had diarrhea in 
the
    last month (often) and what they ate the day before yesterday (usually meat, 
milk
    or blood).

    Ariaal women have been asked about the work they do, which seems to exceed 
that
    of the men, and about local marriage customs, which compel their prospective
    husbands to hand over livestock to their parents before the ceremony can 
take
    place.

    The wedding day is one of pain as well as joy since Ariaal women - girls, 
really
    - have their genitals cut just before they marry and delay sex until they
    recuperate. They consider their breasts important body parts, but nothing to 
be
    covered up.

    The researchers may not know this, but the Ariaal have been studying them 
all
    these years as well.

    The Ariaal note that foreigners slather white liquid on their very white 
skin to
    protect them from the sun, and that many favor short pants that show off 
their
    legs and the clunky boots on their feet. Foreigners often partake of the 
local
    food but drink water out of bottles and munch on strange food in wrappers 
between
    meals, the Ariaal observe.

    The scientists leave tracks as well as memories behind. For instance, it is 
not
    uncommon to see nomads in T-shirts bearing university logos, gifts from 
departing
    academics.

    In Lewogoso Lukumai, a circle of makeshift huts near the Ndoto Mountains, 
nomads
    rushed up to a visitor and asked excitedly in the Samburu language, "Where's
    Elliot?"

    They meant Dr. Fratkin, who describes in his book "Ariaal Pastoralists of 
Kenya"
    how in 1974 he stumbled upon the Ariaal, who had been little known until 
then.
    With money from the University of London and the Smithsonian Institution, he 
was
    traveling north from Nairobi in search of isolated agro-pastoralist groups 
in
    Ethiopia. But a coup toppled Haile Selassie, then the emperor, and the 
border
    between the countries was closed.

    So as he sat in a bar in Marsabit, a boy approached and, mistaking him for a
    tourist, asked if he wanted to see the elephants in a nearby forest. When 
the
    aspiring anthropologist declined, the boy asked if he wanted to see a 
traditional
    ceremony at a local village instead. That was Dr. Fratkin's introduction to 
the
    Ariaal, who share cultural traits with the Samburu and Rendille tribes of 
Kenya.

    Soon after, he was living with the Ariaal, learning their language and 
customs
    while fighting off mosquitoes and fleas in his hut of sticks covered with 
grass.

    The Ariaal wear sandals made from old tires and many still rely on their 
cows,
    camels and goats to survive. Drought is a regular feature of their world, 
coming
    in regular intervals and testing their durability.

    "I was young when Elliot first arrived," recalled an Ariaal elder known as
    Lenampere in Lewogoso Lukumai, a settlement that moves from time to time to 
a new
    patch of sand. "He came here and lived with us. He drank milk and blood with 
us.
    After him, so many others came."

    Over the years, the Ariaal have had hairs pulled not just from their heads, 
but
    also chins and chests. They have spat into vials to provide saliva samples. 
They
    have been quizzed about how often they urinate. Sometimes the questioning 
has
    become even more intimate.

    Mr. Garawale recalls a visiting anthropologist measuring his arms, back and
    stomach with an odd contraption and then asking him how often he got 
erections
    and whether his sex life was satisfactory. "It was so embarrassing," 
recalled the
    father of three, breaking out in giggles even years later.

    Not all African tribes are as welcoming to researchers, even those with the
    necessary permits from government bureaucrats. But the Ariaal have a 
reputation
    for cooperating - in exchange, that is, for pocket money.

    "They think I'm stupid for asking dumb questions," said Daniel Lemoille,
    headmaster of the school in Songa, a village outside of Marsabit for Ariaal
    nomads who have settled down, and a frequent research assistant for visiting
    professors. "You have to try to explain that these same questions are asked 
to
    people all over the world and that their answers will help advance science."

    The researchers arriving in Africa by the droves, probing every imaginable 
issue,
    every now and then leave controversy in their wake. In 2004, for instance, a
    Kenyan virologist sued researchers from Britain for taking blood samples out 
of
    the country that he said had been obtained from a Nairobi orphanage for
    H.I.V.-positive children without government permission.

    The Ariaal have no major gripes about the studies, although the local chief 
in
    Songa, Stephen Lesseren, who wore a Boston University T-shirt the other day, 
said
    he wished their work would lead to more tangible benefits for his people.

    "We don't mind helping people get their Ph.D.'s," he said. "But once they 
get
    their Ph.D.'s, many of them go away. They don't send us their reports. What 
have
    we achieved from the plucking of our hair? We want feedback. We want
    development."

    Even when conflicts break out in the area, as happened this year as members 
of
    rival tribes slaughtered each other, victimizing the Ariaal, the research 
does
    not cease. With tensions still high, John G. Galaty, an anthropologist at 
McGill
    University in Toronto who studies ethnic conflicts, arrived in northern 
Kenya to
    question them.

    In a study in The International Journal of Impotence Research, Dr. Campbell 
also
    found that Ariaal men with many wives showed less erectile dysfunction than 
did
    men of the same age with fewer spouses.

    Dr. Campbell's body image study, published in The Journal of Cross-Cultural
    Psychology this year, also found that Ariaal men are much more consistent 
than
    men in other parts of the world in their views of the average man's body and 
what
    they think women want.

    Dr. Campbell came across no billboards or international magazines in Ariaal
    country and only one television in a local restaurant that played CNN, 
leading
    him to contend that Ariaal men's views of their bodies were less affected by
    media images of burly male models with six-pack stomachs and rippling 
chests.

    To test his theories, a nonresearcher without a Ph.D. showed a group of 
Ariaal
    men a copy of Men's Health magazine full of pictures of impossibly 
well-sculpted
    men and women. The men looked on with rapt attention and admired the 
chiseled
    forms.

    "That one, I like," said one nomad who was up in his years, pointing at a 
photo
    of a curvy woman who was clearly a regular at the gym.

    Another old-timer gazed at the bulging pectoral muscles of a male 
bodybuilder in
    the magazine and posed a question that got everybody talking. Was it a man, 
he
    asked, or a very, very strong woman?