Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea (actually to the lake, but whatever) - PART II

...And the kapenta did come.

After around an hour or two of waiting, during which the fishermen chatted above the roar of the generator and played a checkers-like game called “drafts” with bottle caps on the deck, the guys hopped into action. Silof, the “Namumu” boat captain, turned off the lights. All four crew members gathered at the side of the boat and, together, turned the crank handles that brought up the net. After heave-ho-ing for a few minutes, the iron rim holding the net rose slowly out of the water.

To envision the rim and net, picture a basketball hoop. The net is attached to the large (5 feet in diameter), circular metal rim in just the same way. The net extends down for around 10 meters, where it is tied off at the bottom and weighted with a rock. When the rim is low in the water, the fish, like a bunch of stupid morons, swim down through the top of the rim towards the water light, which is lowered down the center of the net to the bottom by a long cable.

The guys pulled up the bottom of the net, untied the rope, and emptied the fish out into plastic crates that are kept on the boat. Each of the five pulls a night, during a good month like July, will bring in around 30 kgs of kapenta. After the pull, they tied and weighted the bottom of the net, lowered the rim and net back into the water, turned the lights back on and cleaned off the deck. Three of the crew members promptly and with little chit chat went to the corner, curled up and fell asleep, while one curled up and kept watch. Because the generator is thumping throughout the night, if all crew members slept it would be easy for someone to sneak on board and swipe some of the kapenta. Or something could go wrong with the boat, or the lights, etc. This is why one man keeps watch.

This cycle carries on throughout the night. The fishermen get up, pull up the net, bring in the fish, and go back to sleep. Again. And again. And again. I wanted to tell ghost stories or play truth or dare, but given the loud pounding of the generator and the fact that not one of the guys on the “Namumu” boat spoke much English at all, I decided it would be best if they just follow the usual routine and go to sleep.

Around 7 am they made their last pull, turned off the generator and we headed for home.

Now, most people had led me to believe that all fishermen are, more or less, drunken buffoons who cannot be trusted and must be watched carefully. I had always imagined that, during the daytime, most fishermen sat around drinking, smoking and stirring up trouble. That picture couldn’t have been further from the truth.

First, our guys finished their work, spreading out the night’s catches on the drying racks. A few of them mended the nets, using string to tie up the holes. A few helped with the weighing of the catches. After that, they sat around, cooking and eating nsima and kapenta. After that they sat around and talked or slept. Some of them went to play soccer at a nearby field with some of the guys from other fishing camps. As you can see, it wasn’t exactly the raging party I had been led to expect.

And I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking that they were only behaving themselves because Uncle Chuck Norris, the Supervisor, was around. However, Mubita, a man who has my trust completely, informed me that what I saw was the usual routine.

Other than that, not a whole lot happened. I went out with the “Lucy” boat the next night, switching boats with Mubita. It was the exact same routine. Pierson, the captain for the Lucy boat and the outspoken ringleader of the entire group, was fun to watch. Always smiling, always laughing and always speaking very very quickly in Tonga, Pierson’s energy is contagious. His crew worked happily the entire night. He made me proud.

The second day in the camp was just as low-key as the first.

I did experience one of my favorite moments in Africa so far when, after putting off bathing for a few days (something that is becoming all too common for me as of late) I was able to find a secluded area along the lake and bath in the cool, crisp, clean (well, probably not that clean) water of Lake Kariba with the warm midday sun shining down upon my face. It was magical.

Shortly thereafter I hopped on a small boat we had hired and rode back to Siavonga, more than a little bit wiser about Namumu’s kapenta operation.