We will never know what language she spoke, but Nana’s smiling mouth and eyes say more than words ever could. The small boy at her side has flung his arms around her waist, his hair standing up like a cartoon Einstein’s, emphasising the mix of shyness and intelligence in his bright, dark eyes. It’s only later that you notice what’s different: the heavy brows, flat cheekbones and receding chins, the stocky bodies.
Despite their lifelike appearance, Nana and Flint are sculptures housed in the Gibraltar Museum. They are the work of Dutch “paleo-artists” Adrie and Alfons Kennis, who run the go-to studio for Neanderthal reconstructions. Their work has revolutionised our sense of how close we are to our departed cousins. Neanderthals vanished 40,000 years ago, having appeared about 700,000 years ago. For perhaps 5,000 years they lived alongside us Homo sapiens—an evolutionary blink, but an overlap equivalent to all written history from the age of the pyramids until today. And they remain our closest relatives. Nana’s pride at Flint’s embrace is something you’d see in any grandmother. The Kennis brothers’ aim is to present Neanderthals as individuals, but they also inspire a sense of connection: in her smiling contentment and his curiosity we see a kind of welcome. They seem to recognise us.