Anthropologists have what many would consider an interesting job: trotting about the world… Anthropologists have what many would consider an interesting job: trotting about the world observing the unusual customs and ways of life of those in foreign countries. They work quite diligently so that anthropological ignoramuses such as I get to flip through the National Geographic magazine and say, ‘Bones through the NOSE? That’s so WEIRD!’ forgetting, of course, that weirdness is relative.

For all I know, wearing denim is a cultural taboo in Borneo akin to eating a dog in the United States.

For all the feature stories on faraway places, there seldom are similar stories on the United States for local consumption, especially since National Geographic got rid of its ZipUSA feature several years ago.

To redress the balance, I would like to forward an amateur anthropological report on an unusual environment: Tower C. And people in Tower C were wondering what it was with the pith helmet.

The natives of Koniec in Tower C Province [note: I have to name it something other than a specific floor … ], are scattered in a large cylinder, in orderly stacks one above the other.

Upon reaching adulthood, a native of Tower C is separated from his tribe at home and sent to this location as a right of passage. The natives are placed in a trapezoidal hut and told to meditate and mature over the next year.

It is unclear whether the trapezoidal rooms have any grounds in their theology or the decision to pursue engineering.

The larger community is divided into many sub-tribes. These tribes oddly do not interact, except for that ritual of Sunday wherein some of the men gather in a designated location to watch men in colorful jerseys, anywhere from tens to hundreds of miles away, rough one another up.

The sub-tribe where I stayed is governed in a ‘big man’ fashion, where our chief leads by example, influence and impassioned oratory. He also claims authority from a higher power, which, rather like the Old Testament, shows up and smites people who are especially wicked. This power is most reliable and was thoroughly believed in, though I, myself, had not seen anyone get arrested.

Speaking of smitten, the fair womenfolk of the province were kept away from the men. The reason why was unknown, but it was theorized that doing so enabled them to go to the bathroom in groups more efficiently. Occasionally, one would come among us, causing the natives of Koniec to flock to whatever room she was in and behave as if they had not seen a woman in years.

Aside from looking at women, the tribe was very community-oriented, and many activities were communal. It was not unusual to have profound conversations in the bathroom, for one, which was truly a meeting place and watering hole.

The huts all faced this bathroom, forming a sort of kraal. The doors of the huts were mostly left open, rather in the fashion of the Kalahari !Kung tribe prior to about 1960. The similarity to the !Kung was striking and is a source for further research: Both the !Kung tribe and the residents of Koniec are ultimately nomadic.

The traditions of the tribe were quite colorful, though at times quite loud and disruptive of other rituals, such as meditation over calculus. One special tradition took place on a day that’s name means so many things that it is hard to translate properly. For lack of a better term, let’s call it Friday. Various liquids would be imbibed somewhere away from the huts of the natives, and then the huts would be returned to past midnight. In a display of amazing religious devotion and extreme inebriation, natives would whirl about the floor making a great deal of noise.

Though I never did ask if this was part of some religious observance, it appeared to be so. The expression ‘thank God it’s Friday’ was in common use, and the after-effects of the ceremony appeared so unpleasant as to be justified only by immense devotion to something. The following day saw the natives mostly sequestered in their huts, and quite surly when coming out of them in the early afternoon.

My foreignness became even more pronounced at these times, when bouncing about in the mornings to complete silence.

For everyone of the sub-tribe, this was the only life they had ever known. Some wished to escape it to find their own living quarters in the Elysian Fields of South Oakland.

Some wondered if they could return to the tribe in the coming years. Others were actively pursuing ‘big man’ status somewhere, either with the claim of the resident director’s right of Residence Assistants or as sports stars.

The vast majority, however, kept eating pizza and forgetting about tomorrow, while conveniently forgetting last night at the same time.

E-mail Mark at [email protected]