Traveller Manifesto
18. Mississippi - 11th Century

Mississippi – 11th Century.

Mississippi Traveller Report: Sergeant Sean Leishman

They treated us like long lost friends or, though I dislike the word, deity. Judging by their behaviour, it was if they had been waiting for us for generations. This was not entirely surprising, especially when we look at the response of the Inca and Aztec peoples when they first encountered the Spanish Conquistadores who will arrive about 500 years in the future from where we stand.

We all know how well that ended for the native peoples, don’t we?

The villagers were gentle, generous, and awed. Thankfully Motega was able to make some progress through sign language. Their spoken tongue was just too different. He suggested there were some common words in his mother’s Cherokee, but these are a vastly different people.

As the rest of the team stood guard, the four of us, as first contact delegation, were seated and the villagers ran around and made a lot of fuss. Most were dressed simply, with leggings and breechcloth, with moccasins that often reached to over the knees. It soon became obvious that their best clothes were being worn for our visit. Some looked to wear cloth made from pounded bark used to construct kilts painted with bright colours. Because it was warm many, including the women, were shirtless. There was, however, liberal application of black or rust-coloured body paint. The chief, or leader, was named Tuketu. At least that’s the best pronunciation we could make of it. He wore a resplendent cloak of bright feathers and a necklace of alligator teeth spaced with beads of copper. Most had piercings in the face and ears and the men had their heads partially shaved.

There wasn’t a clichéd leather buckskin to be seen.

The villagers were a small group of only around one hundred who lived in thatched, timber huts that faced a central common area where we sat. Outside of the immediate confines of the village were some sizable, healthy fields of maize. A couple of domelike sweat lodges steamed. In the end, the rest of the team were also obliged to sit onto woven mats, though all were alert should there be any show of hostility. Our eyes in the sky assured us all was peaceful.

Assisted by the hunters we saw at base, who seemed to have taken on an honorary role, the chief gave a speech of welcome and then we were served food as the women gathered and then danced and sang. They wore beads of baked clay, bone, or porcupine quills, while similar beads and soft, downy feathers were woven into their hair. Some of the women also wore cloaks of cloth worked with beads. It felt like something out of National Geographic.

The food was mainly roasted squash, maize cakes and a dish Professor Hughes called sagamite; little more than hulled maize boiled with some kind of greasy meat. He insisted that it was vital that we eat, so I gave the order and we all tucked in as if we’d never eaten before. There were some gags, but I’m proud to relate that there was not one regurgitation. It was, I’m sure, an acquired taste. Professor Hughes and Motega seemed to be fine with it.

They then offered a drink, which tasted like a weak beer. Motega suggested that one of the ingredients was boiled maple syrup, though there were other ingredients that I, for one, don’t want to know about.

After we ate there was more singing and dancing and all were friendly and happy to have us as their guests.

After about two hours I made the call that we leave. Professor Hughes seemed eager to stay, but Professor Cowen looked relieved. I suspect that the sagamite was making its way out. We gave gifts of ribbon and a few iron knife-blades. The locals use only flint, both in their knives and arrow heads, with the only obvious metal being copper, so the iron blades were treated as of enormous value and were most appreciated.

We left, with repeated promises to return the next day.

Our journey home was tracked by the UAV pilots who advised that we were followed by some of the village hunters, though there was no apparent hostile intent.

***

What Leishman didn’t mention in his official report were the quiet comments from his troops.

“Yo, what was that shit?”

“Dunno, tasted like corn and grease.”

“Oh man. That was some repugnant shit!”

“More like your momma.”

“Be right. My momma been dead for five years, so you’d have that right, though why you would do that means you is a sick fucker.”

“Amen on that! Talk about sick. Did you see what Sanchez was with Saturday night? Damn! That was ugly!”

“Yeah maybe so, but that shit we ate tasted worse!”

There was gentle laughter. None was any the less vigilant for their banter.

Back at base the toilets were given a thorough use. Some opted to use the bushes rather than wait.