To Raise Children, We Must First Raise Parents

When the team of researchers I work with settles into a new camp, we meet with the community to explain our research, discuss mutual interests, and obtain informed consent. Then, we go hut to hut, documenting who lives where and with whom, gathering genealogies to understand relationships and household structures.

For BaYaka and researchers alike, days start early. Soon after first light, most BaYaka women head into the forest to gather wild yams, leaves, and nuts, or catch fish. Men, who often hunt at night, check their wire traps during the day. Children might stay in camp, play in the forest, follow adults, or even form their own foraging groups.

In the late afternoon, as people return to camp, voices rise into the forest canopy. Families gather to prepare and eat their catch. Smoke from freshly lit fires drifts, blurring the scene like an oil painting.

We researchers hang our damp clothes above slow-burning fire, knowing our garments will never fully dry. At night, we fall asleep to the eerie lullabies of tree hyrax screams—or stay awake, clapping alongside women, waiting for the forest spirits to enter the camp.

CHILDREN CARING FOR CHILDREN

After we’ve collected the core anthropological data, team members pursue various research questions. My colleague and friend, Nikhil “Nik” Chaudhary, studies infant care. In one study, across three months, each day he followed a different 0 to 4-year-old, recording their interactions with caregivers every 30 seconds. In another, our team used wearable proximity sensors to map out which individuals spent the most time near young children.

Among both babies under 1.5 years and children aged 1.5–4, around 40 percent of their close care, including holding and physical contact, was provided by “allomothers”—caregivers other than the biological mother. On average, each child had 14 people within arm’s reach throughout the day.

Any BaYaka child had more practice parenting than I did as a new mother.

Mothers responded to just under half of all crying bouts. Allomothers soothed the rest—over 40 percent on their own, the remainder alongside the mother. Soothing often meant drumming on the child’s back or yodeling to gently calm the child.

And who were these allomothers? Mostly, other children. These young helpers were more involved, collectively, than fathers or grandmothers.

Looking beyond the BaYaka, we found a similar pattern among Agta foragers in the Philippines, as have other studies shown among the Efé of the Congo Basin and Hadza of East Africa. Across many hunter-gather societies, children often receive more care from other kids than from adults.

That pattern differs starkly from what many people experience in cities across Europe and the U.S. All caregiving can rest on the parents. And fathers or other non-birthing parents may return to work just a couple of weeks after their baby’s birth. This leaves the birthing parent as the sole caregiver.

PARENTING PRACTICE

Although my parents live 1,500 miles from London in Turkey, my partner and I were fortunate enough to have them visit for a few months after our son, Eren, was born. Still, I struggled because I had no experience caring for an infant. I grew up as an only child with just one cousin. My childhood friends were mostly my age, and the formal schooling system reinforced this age segregation.

Any BaYaka child had more practice parenting than I did as a new mother.

By contrast, in societies like the BaYaka’s, there’s a set way to raise children. For example, BaYaka babies sleep with their parents until adolescence—no one debates whether co-sleeping is safe. (For those interested, here is research-informed information on co-sleeping.) These cultural norms eliminate the burden of decision-making.

But rigid childrearing traditions can also cause harm. “Incorrect” information can be passed down through generations. Take colostrum—the nutrient- and antibody-rich first milk produced after birth. In many societies, including the BaYaka and Himba herders of Southern Africa, people view colostrum as dirty and withhold it from the newborns it could nourish.

The consequences of traditional childrearing practices can be complex, sometimes offering valuable knowledge—such as the use of medicinal plants—while at other times contributing to maternal and infant health risks. Child and maternal mortality remain high in contemporary hunter-gatherer populations. Last year, I received devastating news: A BaYaka community member, whom I had known since childhood and who had a thriving 1-year-old, died during pregnancy—likely due to an infection—along with her unborn child.

Such tragedies are not rare. Research shows that 14 percent of Agta adult female deaths result from childbirth complications, while among the Aka foragers in Central African Republic, 9 percent of adult women who died between 18 and 45 lost their lives due to childbirth-related issues.

raising parents too

Parenting is never perfect. Cultures raise children differently, shaping adults valued by their own standards. But, based on my experiences, one truth emerges: Learning to care for others should start long before having a baby.

Two years into parenthood, I have more questions than answers. Growing up in Turkey, studying across Europe and Canada, and working in the U.K., I had never held a newborn until I had Eren. I spent my childhood and early adulthood learning subjects like math, physics, and literature—what my societies valued most. My first months of motherhood were emotionally overwhelming because of the steep learning curve I had to scale.

I wish, like the BaYaka, my parenting lessons had followed a gentler slope, stretched across my lifespan. The same could be said about other essential life skills like growing food, caring for our elders, and dealing with death.

For those of us living in individualistic societies, what happened that people stopped caring to learn life’s basics? Take a note from the BaYaka and other community-oriented cultures: Bring these lessons back into learning journeys.