Stomp, Stomp, Clap

It’s estimated that ‘humans’ didn’t gain the ability to speak or form any type of language until about seventy thousand years ago, and it’s also estimated that ‘humans’ have existed for more than two million years and the ‘human’ ancestor dates back another five million years. It’s enough to attempt to comprehend what that all means let alone comprehend how ‘humans’ must’ve communicated, during anytime leading up to seventy thousand years ago.

Some theories indicate that the migration of ‘humans’ across the continents occurred over tens of thousands of years. As such, it’s extraordinarily difficult to predict or conclude with any degree of certainty when or where ‘humans’ developed speech.

Our story begins with a select community of ‘humans’ that pre-exist the ability to speak and dwell somewhere in the northwest quadrant of what is now present-day Africa. It’s hard to imagine the environmental conditions at the time, but one thing was certain, the primal need for food and water was essential to sustaining and continuing life. One particular group of ‘humans’ was on the move to the west and their destination was unknown, but the fifty-some group pressed forward—young and old alike.

It's also difficult to understand or determine if the male and female ‘humans’ were monogamous at that time in history, but let’s assume they were.

For the sake of identification, we’ll use M1 and F1 as the main characters in the story. M1 was a male ‘human’ and F1 was a female ‘human.’ They were direct descendants of two of the elder ‘humans’ on the leadership council. To be clear, leadership was earned through a series of tasks that included, fighting to the death, toolmaking, hunting skills, and loudest howler. Yes, howler. Howling was used as a weapon of fear. The louder one could howl the more fearful the others became. Quite simple really.

Given the stature of their elders, a lot was expected of M1 and F1. For example, M1’s father was the best hunter in all the group. On the one hand, M1 learned from the best, but on the other hand, if he wasn’t at least as good as his father, he’d be run out of town, if you will. F1 was widely known for her ability to find water and detect a poisonous berry ‘from a mile away’ in today’s standard.

On the night of the harvest moon, preparations were being made for the next day’s feast, which was the day of the annual hunt to decide who was deserving to be on the council. F1 was busy leading the other females in the preparations for organizing the vegetation and making sure enough water had been collected. M1 was busy ‘sharpening’ his tool, as he was the heavy favorite to make council.

Following a good night’s rest, the hunters awoke at dawn and were greeted by the elders in the designated ‘center of town.’ Shortly thereafter everyone had gathered, and the ceremony began with the elders grunting in unison while the rest of the community began stomping their feet and clapping. Stomp, stomp, clap—stomp, stomp, clap—stomp, stomp, clap. This went on until enough dust was kicked up to choke a beast and ended with howling and screeching sounds, that are nearly impossible to describe unless you were in attendance.

The elders all raised their hands and stood side by side in a row as if they were the starting line for the official start of the hunt. All the hunters grabbed their tools and faced the elders. All the elders grunted, and the hunters took a knee and lowered their head. On the second grunt, all the hunters rose to their feet. After a short pause, the elders bellowed the third and final grunt. The hunters raced off.

M1, who was arguably the best hunter and fastest runner in the group, quickly surged ahead and was gone in a flash. F1, who was watching intently, threw her fist in the air and howled.

There was no time limit to the hunt because no one could tell time, but all the hunters always returned within a few hours. There had been a couple of instances when a hunter never returned because, well, they had been killed, but that was rare. There was no mourning in those days, so life went on.

As the hunters began returning one by one, the elders began to gather at the alter or, as they referred to it, the grunt-grunt-screech (i.e., banquet table).

Within a short time, all the hunters had returned except for M1. All the other hunters had made their kill and they were all lined up for the judging. F1 was observed placing her hands over her mouth as act of concern, but the judging had begun. One by one the elders judged each hunter and their kill by a series of grunts and positioning themselves behind their choice. Naturally, the hunter with the most elders by their kill was determined the winner and guaranteed a spot on the council.

 F1 walked to what was the starting line and sat cross-legged staring into the distance. Everyone else was already celebrating with stomping of feet, raising of fists, howling, and dumping water over their heads. It was setting up for a long day of partying.

Preparation of the food for the feast was in full swing and the cooking fire had been started. F1 eventually joined everyone in the preparations and celebration. M1 was gone. There was no search party, no concern, no farewell. Although, some of the hunters wouldn’t have minded having M1’s tool, but they weren’t too concerned about it at the time.

F1 volunteered to tend the fire by pointing to herself and the wood pile and pushing the other ‘humans’ away. Not long into tending the fire, she noticed a figure walking toward her. It was M1 and he was carrying his broken tool.

F1 stood still as M1 approached. As he got closer, he threw down his tool and threw up his arms in disgust. F1 rested her head on his chest for a moment until he abruptly walked away. At that point, she knew he was okay, at least physically.

F1 pushed the back of his shoulder and grunted.

M1 turned and grunted back.

F1 grunted in succession three times and pushed him.

M1 screeched and pointed to the grunt-grunt-screech.

F1 threw up her arms and also pointed to the grunt-grunt-screech.

M1, lowered his head, walked over, and picked up his broken tool and threw it as far as he could. It landed on a big rock and broke into several more pieces.

Later that evening, after they had indulged in the feast, they were all sitting around the fire telling their stories from the day. They were mostly hunting stories—each hunter embellishing more than the last. It was quite obvious.

It wasn’t bad enough that M1 didn’t get a kill and had ruined his chances at council, but he embellished so badly that F1 covered her face with her hands, lowered her head, and eventually rolled backward sprawling flat on her back and raised her hands to the sky, as if to say, “You’re impossible—and exhausting. It’s not enough you almost died and disgraced your family and mine, but now you disgrace yourself. There’s always next year. Accept defeat and move on—our future depends on it.”

As F1 remained sprawled on the ground, the rest of the ‘humans’ jumped up and began another round of stomp, stomp, clap—stomp, stomp, clap—stomp, stomp, clap.