text: I was always told that a degree in anthropology was silly. “How will you make money with that? So you’re going to be a professor? You think you’re better than us, don’t you?” Each question was always more ridiculous than the next. I let it all slip off my back like silk. This had been my passion since before I could even remember. While all the other children were skipping stones across lakes or playing hopscotch, I was pondering over why they did those things. I wanted to know what caused the girls and the boys to think the other was “gross.” A sketchbook was my constant friend, filled with drawings and notations on anything and everything that I saw on a daily basis. With all that in mind, you can imagine my excitement to be invited to a Namur village. I was beyond elated at the prospect of being able to talk to people from within this sparsely studied culture. We knew what their societal structure was, where they were located, the general age of the population, all the boring statistics like that. But no one had really sat down with them and listened to their stories. It still blew me away that somehow they had trusted me enough to let me in. Makes my chest puff with pride a little to know that my reputation precedes me even in highly isolated villages. I had been here for a few days but was finally offered a special meeting with a person called Nah’ma. Generally, no one from outside the Namur people was allowed to see her. I was told that Nah’ma was something of a mystic... I’d seen plenty of other cultures that had claimed connection to the spirit world, so I wasn't all too surprised. And yet, nothing could have prepared me for what came next. At the very least, I certainly hadn’t expected to find a woman who looked near to burst at the end of a pregnancy. She smiled graciously as I entered her wood, grass, and leaf sheltered home. A calm hand moved softly over her stomach absentmindedly and she gestured that I should sit. The small square cushion was admittedly not much separation from the hard ground beneath it, but I took it with thanks nonetheless. My translator had been my shadow throughout my entire visit thus far. She was one of the few Namur people to ever leave the village and study abroad. Her reasoning had always been that the villagers were ready for the outside world to know about them. And they knew overcoming the language barrier was going to be the first big hurdle. Much to my chagrin, she threw a coy little smile my way and backed out of the hut, closing the gap between the cloth doorway behind her. My mind screamed for her not to leave me. How was I ever going to learn anything through broken speech? It was at that exact moment that the entire hovel burst into brilliant light. Blues, and greens, and purples, and maybe even some colors I didn’t have names for, glittered across the walls, ceiling, and floor. I could hardly believe it, but the source of the light was Nah’ma herself. It was emanating from her forehead, and while it was visible all throughout the room, it wasn’t painfully bright to look at. Quite the opposite actually, the source was soothingly dim. Just when my brain had registered a specific color it would flit away to another, and it continued on like this through the next one, and the next. “We are happy to welcome you to our humble village.” Nah’ma’s sudden entreaty snapped me away from the brilliant colors and I realized she was looking straight into my eyes. At first, I thought the “we” was used as a majestic plural, but Nah’ma had folded both hands across her midsection, indicating that she meant her and her future child. *Wait.* *Was that English?* “Um...Thank you! I’m so very glad to be here!” I responded a little louder than I maybe should have. The resounding laughter from Nah’ma was so pure and golden that I couldn’t help but smile. Clearly, she’d understood me. “I believe you’ve come here for a story, so allow me to share one.” Nah’ma’s smile was enduring, but never seemed forced. I wouldn’t remember until later, but her eyes never left mine. “In our culture, we have a tale we like to tell the little ones. It is about the tiger, the great source of magic in this world. Without it, we would have no imagination, no creativity. We need these things in order to weave words and images into something new and wonderful. Each of us is born with one of these tigers in our bellies, and we carry it with us always lest we forget about our magical roots.” Nah’ma’s hands that had previously rested on her stomach glided across it and rested at the bottom as if supporting the weight. As she did so, a warm glow spread across her tan skin. I watched in awe as the muted orange light gave way to darkness. There, where Nah’ma’s belly button had been just moments ago, was the interior of her womb. I could see her child, eyes closed peacefully, tiny fingers and toes curled in comfort. My shock was only multiplied when I saw the tiger. Its head rested on the child’s and looked very stoic and regal, just like any tiger you might see in a zoo or in photo books. But from underneath its lower jaw, where its neck should have been, protruded at least a dozen long and slender tentacles. These wrapped all around the tiny infant, curling around its legs, torso, and arms. One even cradled the head against the tiger. My wide eyes, open mouth, and gasp caused another ring of Nah’ma’s laughter to ripple through the air. “You see? The tiger is with us from the very beginning. When we are simply a hope in our mother’s womb.” I hadn’t realized how far I was leaning forward until I just about damn near fell on my chin. I’d managed to get my hands out underneath me to stop myself, and Nah’ma’s beaming smile made me feel like everything was okay. I settled my elbows onto the floor and let the lights from the room dazzle me. The tiger’s tentacles never ceased to move, but it was clear that there was no malice or ill will, it was protecting the child.