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Nikko Norte

Even while still a child, I mistrusted the food that was supposed to help me grow into a healthy man. But maybe it was not the food as such that roused my mistrust; my parents, like most parents in the latest seventies, were no culinary artists. In retrospect, however, I have to admit that those predominantly salty, yesteryear meals saved my live, or at least its quality.


School and meals at home. I coped with both until I found ways to avoid school and to skip as many meals at home as possible. With a friend, who lived under culinary circumstances similar to mine, I devised a scheme to replenish our pocket money, and with that extra money, we mainly bought food, real food. Fruit, vegetables, meat, and sometimes fish or poultry. We prepared our unfairly acquired food on equally unfairly acquired camping tools in our underground hut in the woods, where we discovered the culinary truth that food does not need much preparation to taste well. Another truth we discovered was that adding spices and herbs to what we prepared made for tastier meals than adding salt did.


Growing older, gaining more say in my diet, I intuitively shunned certain dietary products and stuck to food I could and should have hunted or gathered, had I been born in an age in which such was still common. Sliding into adulthood, I noticed that my eating habits were judged as being odd. But those eating habits kept me healthy, kept me in the size jeans I wore when I was eighteen, and prompted friends, acquaintances, and even total strangers into soliciting my assistance in matters related to health. I gladly assisted people with regards to their health, although I realized that assisting people based on what my intuition suggested was right or wrong was ridiculous.


At the turn of the millennial, I visited the pre-historic sites in the Dordogne, in France, where it struck me how strong and healthy, compared to us, our recent ancestors must have been. Circumstances granted me some time off from the adventurous life I lived. I invested that time in study, my main purpose to prove the hypothesis right – or wrong – that today’s people would be healthier should they align their dietary habits and physical exercise with their genetic coding.


Thrilling studies! Their results helped me develop a lifestyle based on how our ancestors lived. A lifestyle that restores our health, that once and for all deals with obesity, sarcopenia, and osteoporosis, and that forces us out of the role of our evolution’s guinea pig, a role we have been involuntarily pushed into as a result of the agricultural- the industrial-, and the digital revolution, three disasters that struck mankind over the last ten thousand years.


The manuscript The Caveman Code I wrote to wrap up my studies, I published not, not even when a publisher encouraged me to do so, judging myself too young to publish on health. The years that followed, I introduced dozens of people to the principles of the caveman code, but my manuscript gathered dust.


Twenty years later – I wore the same size jeans still – corona struck. The world panicked, and scientists racked their brains to develop an antivirus that already existed: a good general health, combined with a low BMI. I was 56 by then. I still ran wild like the child I once was – looking forward to each meal of the day – but realized that my running wild would have to come to a temporarily halt. I would blow the dust off The Caveman Code and rewrite and publish it, for each and every one of us to be as healthy as our ancestors once were, able to face the real pandemic that sweeps the world: the gross neglect of our health.