By the late afternoon most had forgotten I was there and, having left their weapons on the ground and taking huge gulps of the homemade beer, were now rather drunk. These men of the village were sitting in a clearing talking, passing around calabashes full to the brim with sorghum beer. A few were building a hut from large branches, a detail machete-ing the limbs and another constructing the roof and walls. The weather was pleasant and the sound of laughter hung in the air. If it had not already been proven to me I would not have believed that these Surma villagers were hardened killers, a product of constant inter-tribal raiding.