The Maunetjer

Among Mother Combs’ artifacts are some pages torn from Dr. Gottfried Munsfed’s lost journal. The learned anthropologist went missing in the late 1930s near the Sahara desert while looking for a mythological tribe he’d heard several rumors about. Mother Combs came across these pages in a Saharan market, hidden inside a beautifully shaped urn the desert merchant had guaranteed to her was handcrafted by a local mountain tribe.

Framed and enclosed in glass for protection, the fragile papers are displayed with other treasures believed to belong to the Maunetjer. Mother Combs is hugely interested in the hidden tribe and their legendary customs and beliefs, collecting what she can find. For anyone who wishes to read the journal pages, she has copied them to a special file folder.

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July 9, 1938

Saturday

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I’ve been roaming in the arid Sahara desert, with no sign of the elusive Maunetjer tribe yet. Running low on food and water, I’ve made my nightly camp in a small oasis I’ve stumbled upon. The spring is muddy, but I have filled my canteen with as much water as possible. To stretch my dwindling reserves, I’ve made a meal from what appears to be a subspecies of agama lizards I caught before making camp.

I will head out in the morning to continue my search for the fabled tribe.

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July 12, 1938

Tuesday

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I’ve come across some nomads who speak no known dialect that I have studied. Their language consists of rapid clicks, guttural growls, and purring sounds. As they all wear burkas, I am unsure if this is a group of male or female travelers, or if they are mixed.

Appearing to be fascinated by my pack camel and me, they expressed interest in me joining them, making room for me within their caravan. The one who acts as their leader has offered me one of his (?) tents for the night.

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July 14, 1938

Thursday

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The group of nomads have brought me to what appears to be the base of the Ahaggar mountain range and are preparing for a journey into the foothills. The leader has again signed for me to accompany them further.

They briefly stopped at what I can only assume is a temple and sacrificed three of the many goats that they had with them.

They served me some seasoned goat, with some type of tuber and a flatbread that I saw them cooking around the fire. As I ate the meal served to me, I stared at their fierce cat-like gods, and I could only wonder if I had made contact with the mythological race I had been searching for.

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July 18, 1938

Monday

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After four days of intense climbing with the pack animals, we finally make it to the caravan’s village. At times I thought I would not be able to keep going for the way was hard, but my travel companions did not seem to have any difficulties with the climb, moving with the grace and speed of those familiar with the land. The leader, whom I have come to call Azbah, has pushed us over the last few days, barely giving us any time to rest or have a repast.

This morning, Azbah sent one of his people ahead, for what purpose I could only guess. My main assumption was to allow the tribe at home to know that they were nearer home, for it was not an hour later by my pocketwatch, that we arrived at the village.

I was surprised to see well-made stone huts throughout the village. Each house was carefully formed and built by the finest craftsmen I’ve ever seen outside of Civilization. By the exterior of each home was a well-cared-for flower and herb garden with a huge food crop off to the side of the village. Off to the back of the community were the animal pens, which seemed to have less care given to their construction than anything else. Everything was built around a square area, which was reserved for their gods and the worship of them.

The statues of their gods were fantastic. Some stood as tall as my first finger while others stood well over 8 feet tall. Their cat-like features were captured in all moods and actions. I can’t wait to look at these more fully tomorrow.

The entire village was wearing burkas. I do not know if they wear one just because I am in their midst or if it is their custom to wear one constantly. Yet again, I am stuck not knowing who is male or female around me. I strive to offend no one, for I do not know what the repercussions would be.

Everyone seems extremely interested in me. A few have gone past me and poked me in the belly, while others have only stood back and laughed while making the purring noise I have found to be a common vocalization with them.

It is late. Azbah has given me a stone hut to sleep in. It appears that this one is just for guests, for it seems to have been a while since it was last used– if it was ever used. The furniture has that new feel, and there are not many scratches on the smooth finish of the table. I write this as I prepare for bed. I am tired, but I may just be too excited to sleep. Even if I haven’t found the fabled Maunetjer tribe, I’ve still found a people little known to Civilization.

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July 23, 1938

Saturday

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Azbah had me busy, introducing me to one burka-clad tribal member after another. Each one has a unique sounding name in their language, but I still haven’t been able to decipher it. Everyone he introduces me to has the notion of poking me while making the odd giggling purring sound. I seem to be the man of the hour with them, though, and they all enjoy listening to me trying to translate their language.

The children among them are also dressed in burkas. The only way to tell the difference between them from the adults is their size and the softer pitch of their voices. They seem to be interested in my clothing which must seem odd to them, considering what they are wearing. The smallest of the children seem to take delight in bringing me food to eat, for with each delicacy they bring me, they titter and giggle in a childish vibrating sound. Some of the older ones just make eating gestures, and rub their stomach areas, like they want me to enjoy the food offered to me.

I’ve learned a lot about the village I am in, but I have not learned any more about the tribe I am with. This group remains as elusive as the Maunetjer that I’ve been searching for. It would not surprise me if I had somehow mysteriously stumbled upon the ancient people.

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July 30, 1938

Saturday

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It’s been a full week since my last journal entry. The atmosphere of the village seems to have changed from excitement over my arrival to quiet expectation. What it is they are expecting of me, I have no clue, and they are not very forthcoming with any hints.

I’ve still not made any headway with the language. The clicks, growls, and purr sounds they make have been very hard to reproduce. It would be easier if they didn’t wear the burkas all the time and I could see their facial expressions more often.

The children still seem to be very interested in me and are bringing me more treats than before. They are my constant companions during the daylight hours, making sure all my needs are fulfilled. I’ll have to continue on my way soon, or else I’ll sit here and get fat as a boar.

Azbah checks in on me multiple times daily. If I’m eating, he checks my food, I’m assuming to make sure it’s up to his standards. Then again, if the children and I are just sitting around or playing games, he’ll walk around me, poke me in the ribs a couple of times, and make a grunting noise of approval. On a couple of occasions, he has invited me to dine with his family. I still haven't seen his face, as he wore his burka during the meal.

As to the burkas, I do not understand why they wear them all the time. I do not even know if they wear them in the privacy of their homes when they have no visitors. I have seen glimpses of secondary clothing underneath the burkas, including a leopard pattern and what looks like the fur from the same cat.

The tribe seems to be preparing for a ceremony of some sort. Everyone is busy with some chore or other. While some are gathering herbs and a species of olive wood, others are building a cooking pit. Once the cooking pit is done, I wonder if the rite will start.

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August 4, 1938

Thursday

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I’ve come to decide that this is the legendary Maunetjer tribe that I’ve been searching for and I now know why no one has ever laid eyes on them.

The pit is near completion, and the ritual they are preparing for will likely take place in the next day or so. I fear I do not have much time left, so when I complete today’s entry, I will tear it out and place it inside one of the urns they take to sell at the market. Maybe my tale will reach someone, and others will be able to take heed where I was not able to.

I have been able to decipher from their actions and tone of voice what some of their words imply. It is my firm belief that they mean harm. The tribe no longer seems as hospitable as before. Even the children’s attitude towards me has changed, with one of the little monsters biting the tip of my finger off. Azbah pulled the child off of me, reprimanding him half-heartedly. I’ve attempted to leave twice, but each time, two burka-clad giants brought me back to the village. I would try to leave again, but they ate my camel two nights ago. Without the camel in the desert, I would be dead, but then again, I’m dead if I stay. I’m torn about what I should do, especially if I’ve overreacted.

There is a small group of large tribal members who are sharpening assorted butchering knives. As they sharpen, they seem to be making jokes, then glancing over at me. This action has made me extremely uncomfortable.

Several of the smaller burka-clad adults have been forcing me to allow them to anoint me with a scented oil. They rub it in deep like they are tenderizing a tough cut of steak. Whatever is in this lubricant smells good enough to eat, and must have made my anointers feel the same way because they made several mmm-mmm sounds. This would normally feel like a day at the spa if they weren’t treating me like a piece of prime meat.

I have seen enough of their bodies hidden under their burkas to now know that they are made in the image of their horrible gods. This is the reason for wearing the long full-covering robes the village has worn the whole time I have been present. I suspect that once the fire in the ceremonial pit is lit, the burkas won’t be worn in my presence for the short time I will have left.

I won’t get another chance to write in my journal, I know. If I do not make it back to Civilization this will be my final goodbye.

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You can read more about the Maunetjer at the link below: