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See our privacy policy. But I believe they were telling the truth. I spent eight days with Bailom, and everything else he told me proved factual. I also checked with four other Yafufla men who said they had joined in the killing, dismembering and eating of Bunop, and the details of their accounts mirrored reports of khakhua cannibalism by Dutch missionaries who lived among the Korowai for several years.
Around our campfire, Bailom tells me he feels no remorse. Taylor, the Smithsonian Institution anthropologist, has described khakhua-eating as "part of a system of justice. In cannibal folklore, told in numerous books and articles, human flesh is said to be known as "long pig" because of its similar taste.
When I mention this, Bailom shakes his head. At a khakhua meal, he says, both men and women—children do not attend—eat everything but bones, teeth, hair, fingernails and toenails and the penis. When the khakhua is a member of the same clan, he is bound with rattan and taken up to a day's march away to a stream near the treehouse of a friendly clan.
He says he has personally killed four khakhua. And Kilikili? Bailom laughs. After we eat the khakhua, we beat loudly on our treehouse walls all night with sticks" to warn other khakhua to stay away. As we walk back to our hut, Kembaren confides that "years ago, when I was making friends with the Korowai, a man here at Yafufla told me I'd have to eat human flesh if they were to trust me.
He gave me a chunk," he says. The next morning Kembaren brings to the hut a 6-year-old boy named Wawa, who is naked except for a necklace of beads. Unlike the other village children, boisterous and smiling, Wawa is withdrawn and his eyes seem deeply sad. Kembaren wraps an arm around him. His family was not powerful enough to protect him at the treehouse, and so this January his uncle escaped with Wawa, bringing him here, where the family is stronger. But while he stays at Yafufla, he should be safe.
Soon the porters heft our equipment and head toward the jungle. Bailom and Kilikili, each gripping a bow and arrows, have joined the porters. Bailom shows me his arrows, each a yard-long shaft bound with vine to an arrowhead designed for a specific prey.
Pig arrowheads, he says, are broad-bladed; those for birds, long and narrow. Fish arrowheads are pronged, while the arrowheads for humans are each a hand's span of cassowary bone with six or more barbs carved on each side—to ensure terrible damage when cut away from the victim's flesh.
Dark bloodstains coat these arrowheads. I ask Kembaren if he is comfortable with the idea of two cannibals accompanying us. Kembaren leads me down to the Ndeiram Kabur River, where we board a long, slender pirogue. I settle in the middle, the sides pressing against my body.
Two Korowai paddlers stand at the stern, two more at the bow, and we push off, steering close by the riverbank, where the water flow is slowest. Each time the boatmen maneuver the pirogue around a sandbar, the strong current in the middle of the river threatens to tip us over. Paddling upriver is tough, even for the muscular boatmen, and they frequently break into Korowai song timed to the slap of the paddles against the water, a yodeling chant that echoes along the riverbank.
High green curtains of trees woven with tangled streamers of vine shield the jungle. A siren scream of cicadas pierces the air.
The day passes in a blur, and night descends quickly. And that's when we are accosted by the screaming men on the riverbank. Kembaren refuses to come to their side of the river. Now the two Korowai armed with bows and arrows are paddling a pirogue toward us. I ask Kembaren if he has a gun. He shakes his head no. As their pirogue bumps against ours, one of the men growls that laleo are forbidden to enter their sacred river, and that my presence angers the spirits.
Korowai are animists, believing that powerful beings live in specific trees and parts of rivers. The tribesman demands that we give the clan a pig to absolve the sacrilege. It's a Stone Age shakedown. I count out the money and pass it to the man, who glances at the Indonesian currency and grants us permission to pass.
What use is money to these people? I ask Kembaren as our boatmen paddle to safety upriver. They understand the dangers of incest, and so girls must marry into unrelated clans. About an hour farther up the river, we pull up onto the bank, and I scramble up a muddy slope, dragging myself over the slippery rise by grasping exposed tree roots. Bailom and the porters are waiting for us and wearing worried faces. Bailom says that the tribesmen knew we were coming because they had intercepted the porters as they passed near their treehouses.
Would they really have killed us if we hadn't paid up? I ask Bailom, through Kembaren. Bailom nods: "They'd have let you pass tonight because they knew you'd have to return downriver. Then, they'd ambush you, some firing arrows from the riverbank and others attacking at close range in their pirogues. The porters string all but one of the tarpaulins over our supplies. Our shelter for the night is four poles set in a square about four yards apart and topped by a tarp with open sides.
Soon after midnight a downpour drenches us. The wind sends my teeth chattering, and I sit disconsolately hugging my knees. Seeing me shivering, Boas pulls my body against his for warmth. As I drift off, deeply fatigued, I have the strangest thought: this is the first time I've ever slept with a cannibal. We leave at first light, still soaked. At midday our pirogue reaches our destination, a riverbank close by the treehouse, or khaim , of a Korowai clan that Kembaren says has never before seen a white person.
Our porters arrived before us and have already built a rudimentary hut. I ask why they've given permission for a laleo to enter their sacred land. At midafternoon, Kembaren and I hike 30 minutes through dense jungle and ford a deep stream. He points ahead to a treehouse that looks deserted. It perches on a decapitated banyan tree, its floor a dense latticework of boughs and strips of wood. It's about ten yards off the ground. Korowai are formed into what anthropologists call patriclans, which inhabit ancestral lands and trace ownership and genealogy through the male line.
A young cassowary prances past, perhaps a family pet. A large pig, flushed from its hiding place in the grass, dashes into the jungle. Kembaren points to the treehouse. I can hear voices as I climb an almost vertical pole notched with footholds. The interior of the treehouse is wreathed in a haze of smoke rent by beams of sunlight. Young men are bunched on the floor near the entrance.
Smoke from hearth fires has coated the bark walls and sago-leaf ceiling, giving the hut a sooty odor. A pair of stone axes, several bows and arrows and net bags are tucked into the leafy rafters. The floor creaks as I settle cross-legged onto it.
Four women and two children sit at the rear of the treehouse, the women fashioning bags from vines and studiously ignoring me. Each hearth is made from strips of clay-coated rattan suspended over a hole in the floor so that it can be quickly hacked loose, to fall to the ground, if a fire starts to burn out of control. A middle-aged man with a hard-muscled body and a bulldog face straddles the gender dividing line. Speaking through Boas, Kembaren makes small talk about crops, the weather and past feasts.
What does the cannibal do just after he dumped his girlfriend? Wiped his ass. More jokes about: black humor , disgusting , food , relationship. Two cannibals are enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner and a light conversation about all things family. More jokes about: black humor , death , food , mother in law , Thanksgiving.
Two cannibals were having their dinner. One said to the other "I don't like your friend. How can you help a starving cannibal? Give him a helping hand. They say the surest way to a man's heart is through the stomach. But personally, I find going through the ribcage a lot easier. More jokes about: black humor , food , love , men.
Q: What happened to the entertainer who did a show for the cannibals? A: He went down really well! A man returns to the U.
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