The morning inside the cave was chilly and dimly lit. The only light was from a few coals still burning in fire pits from the night before. All was silent, save for the stifled moaning of a young mother giving birth to her second child while her daughter looked on in awe. The child arrived just as the sun rose, and his cries stirred and woke others in the cave who came to see him. He was much smaller than other newborns and fragile; his right arm was only half the size of his left, with a fingerless stump of a hand. While he snuggled in his mother’s embrace, the rest observed with disapproval, eventually dispersing. The group was famished and parched, too preoccupied to worry about yet another delicate infant who might not survive. But survive he did, nurtured and protected by his mother and compassionate sister. This is the story of Kuya, the cave painter.
Over time, he grew into a fine young man, albeit small in stature and lacking physical strength. Judged as too frail to participate in hunting expeditions, he spent most of his days aiding the women and elders in gathering vegetables and trapping small animals like tortoises, rabbits, lizards and birds. Often teased and ridiculed by the other young men, he found solace in learning the art of mixing minerals with fluids to make red and black pigments, which they used to decorate their bodies and clothing.
One morning, an idea came to him, but having only one useful hand he required aid and approached his sister Kaya for help. He asked her to place her hands on the cave wall, and using pigments, he outlined them – one with red and the other with black. While they sat there, gazing at the images, their mother summoned Kaya, leaving him alone, to ponder what he had created.
Later that afternoon, the men returned home with few spoils to show, citing adverse weather conditions. Disgruntled and hungry, the atmosphere in the cave was tense and aggressive. Kuya seized the opportunity, bravely stood up, and beckoned them to follow him. As usual, most ignored him, but some paid heed, so he grabbed a flaming branch and led them to the hand paintings he had painted on the wall earlier. Upon seeing what he had done, they stood there momentarily mesmerised … but only momentarily. Cold and hunger took priority. Little did they know that the following weeks and years would bring a new dawn, an evolution of the clan and a new path for Kuya.
The weather began to improve, and so did the success of the hunting expeditions. The clan felt at ease, and Kuya took the time to explore his new hobby. He began to experiment painting images of animals caught in the hunts, starting with a lizard and then progressing to birds, small rodents and eventually larger animals. As the weeks passed, his wall paintings began to attract attention and praise, with some even asking him how he did it.
But it wasn’t until he painted an imagined scene of a hunt that they finally took a genuine interest. He pleaded with them to allow him to accompany them on the next outing, promising to stay out of their way and watch from a distance. Initially, they were reluctant but finally agreed, for the first time, that he would be included in the entourage.
The next day brought perfect weather, and the returning scouts had found abundant wild game not far away. They set out just after sunrise and returned by mid-afternoon with an ample supply of game. The clan began preparing the evening’s meal, except for Kuya. Inspired by what he had seen and heard that day, he immediately found a new cave wall and began to paint the scene of the hunt, and this time, he included clan members and their weapons. While the others retired, he continued to paint until finally he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep where he was. He awoke the following day to the sounds of the clan gasping, grunting and howling. At first, he thought they were under attack, but then the chief elder picked him up and held him above his shoulders in front of his wall painting. There were screams and cries of appreciation, and from then on, Kuya was no longer dismissed or ignored. In time, through his creations, he would be regarded as a highly respected elder and teacher – the keeper of stories and dreams.
Words by Amir Yussof
Find out more about Amir here.
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