“We are facing a lot of changes,” says Sakoroma han’nta, an elder of the Hadzabe, a hunter-gather people who live in relative isolation in northern Tanzania.
“When I was young, animals were plentiful, and we didn’t have to travel far to hunt. Now, we must go far to find them,” he says, referring to the rugged terrain near Lake Eyasi where his people live. “The land is no longer as it once was. Farming and settlements have taken over many areas we used to roam.”
The Hadzabe have for thousands of years foraged for tubers, berries and honey, and hunted game. Between the 1960s and 2010s, the extent of their ancestral lands was greatly reduced. In 2011, they gained legal recognition over much of their remaining land. But they continue to face numerous challenges that threaten their way of life, particularly encroachment of farmland and cattle managed by other Tanzanian peoples. Climate change is also a problem, making the dry seasons longer and forcing the Hadzabe to travel further to hunt and gather.
Editor’s note
This article is part of Dialogue Earth’s Indigenous Voices fellowship. The eight fellows are Indigenous journalists and storytellers from across the Global South. The fellowship aims to foreground not just Indigenous issues, but also the storytelling, reporting and insights of Indigenous journalists themselves.
Dialogue Earth visited the Hadzabe to learn more about how they live, conserve their culture and the habitats it relies on, and to hear their thoughts about the future.
Pressure to change
We set off from Arusha city to meet the Hadzabe of Lake Eyasi, seeking a connection with a people who try to live in harmony with the land, whose way of being stems from a time so ancient it reverberates from the bones of the earth. The landscapes revealed themselves like a living painting, rolling hills, acacia trees reflected by fading light, the occasional herder guiding cattle and donkeys along the dusty roadside.
Soon after arriving we met Sakoroma han’nta, who was guiding a group of young men into the bush in search of game. They kept their eyes on the ground, searching for the smallest indications of life, an impression in the mud, a flutter of wings. The Hadzabe’s survival relies on their sensitivity to such modest hints.
This is a community that has, for so long, been entirely dependent on the land they inhabit. One that speaks a language distinct from any other. Now, as modernity continues its push into their territory, their way of life is under siege.
Trees that once provided berries, honey and shelter have been felled to make space for crops and livestock. The result is a dwindling food supply, which forces the Hadzabe to relocate more frequently to find what they need. For many in the community, this shift in the environment represents a direct threat to their survival. In fact, only about one-third of the 1,000 people who speak Hadzane and identify as Hadza still get the majority of their calories from foraged food, according to a book cited in a 2022 study.
Musa Herry Kisanga, a local guide and conservationist who has lived among the Hadzabe for years, explains their traditional way of life is rooted in a deep respect for nature. “The Hadzabe do not destroy the environment. They don’t cut trees for charcoal or burn the land. They rely on the land to provide for them,” he says. “But with the increasing presence of other tribes and development, their land is shrinking, and the animals are becoming harder to find.”
Nt’unt’umbia, an experienced Hadzabe hunter, says they make different arrows to hunt different game, from birds to large mammals.
“For smaller animals like birds, we use soft arrows,” he explains. “For bigger ones, we use more powerful ones, and for monkeys or baboons, we use ones with barbs that make it hard for them to pull out. It’s all about knowing the animal and the land.”
The Hadzabe’s weapons are meticulously crafted from natural materials. The bow strings are made from animal tendons, and the arrowheads, which they receive from the Datoga tribe in exchange for meat and honey, are sharpened to perfection.
This knowledge of materials and the environment sustains the Hadzabe. But the scarcity of animals and disruption caused by neighbouring tribes make it more difficult to obtain food. “We have to walk long distances now,” says Sakoroma han’nta. “In the past, animals were everywhere. Now, we are lucky if we find one. The land is changing.”
Land encroachment and modern technologies threaten the very foundation of their culture. Some Hadzabe, particularly the younger generation, have started to adopt aspects of modern life such as using nylon for bowstrings. The community still tries to hold on to its roots but this is increasingly difficult in a rapidly changing world.
“The younger generation is facing new pressures,” says Kisanga. “They are torn between the old ways and new opportunities. Some of them are tempted by the modern world’s cars, technology [and] education but they are still connected to their heritage.”
Traditions for the future
Despite the many challenges they face, the Hadzabe are not passive victims of change. They are actively seeking ways to adapt and preserve their way of life. Some community members have become involved in conservation efforts, working for example with organisations such as Tanzanian non-profit the Ujamaa Community Resource Team (UCRT) to protect land from farming and poaching.
Others are focusing on strengthening and passing on their cultural identity. The teaching of traditional ecological knowledge starts from a young age, explains Sakoroma han’nta. “They learn how to hunt, track animals and understand the land. As they grow, they acquire the skills that help them survive.”
In 2011, the Hadzabe became the first Indigenous group in Tanzania to secure legal recognition of their ancestral lands under the Certificate of Customary Right of Occupancy (CCRO) – a form of land tenure that grants legal title to communal lands. It empowered the Hadzabe to protect over 57,000 acres (23,067 hectares) of their homeland, a result achieved via the advocacy of UCRT, supported by The Nature Conservancy and the Dorobo Fund.
The recognition strengthened the Hadzabe’s ability to steward their lands, legally supporting their traditional management practices while also preserving carbon sinks and biodiversity. The CCRO approach has since expanded, securing over 1.2 million acres (nearly 500,000 hectares) for Indigenous pastoralist communities in northern Tanzania. This was done through the Northern Tanzania Rangelands Initiative, which involved many NGOs working to harmonise conservation, livestock grazing and traditional livelihoods.
This melding of customary rights and formal legal frameworks offers a powerful model for climate resilience, illustrating how Indigenous knowledge and tenure can anchor efforts to curb deforestation, maintain ecosystem services and sustain cultural heritage.
Nonetheless, the future of the Hadzabe is uncertain. The pressures of modern life and environmental degradation are forcing them to make difficult choices. Will they be able to hold on to their traditions in the face of encroaching development? Or will their way of life become a relic of the past, lost to history?
As we sit under the shade of a tree, Sakoroma han’nta reflects on the journey ahead. “We are strong,” he says, his voice steady. “We will survive, but we need the land to survive. We need the animals, the trees, the water. If we lose them, we lose everything.”
