The Fishermen of Nguwo Village
Senga Bay, Malawi … The wind was blowing in from the lake with an intensity that caused white caps to lunge on the shore as though they were locked in some sort of grudge fight. The morning sun reflected its blazing rays against the grey-blue water in order to re-create the cold of the African night into the heat of the sub-Sahara noontime. I looked north and had to shade my eyes against the sun’s reflection off of the water, before I could clearly see the oarsman in the tiny hand carved, dugout log/canoe dig another plow hole into the pounding surf. Behind it were the cheering villagers, and a larger motorized boat with 8 fisherman on board preparing to meet the next wave and advance eastward into the surf. Ahead of them were three more canoes and an equal number of bigger boats making their way into deeper waters near the round top island, and out into the higher surfs.
My concentration was broken by two carvers who approached me near the back on the dug out canoe that lay lonely and helpless above the water line.
I Can Make Another of Them Tonight
"I have the mask for you bamboo," one said as though he knew me. "What mask I asked in response? "The one Mama Suzi asked me to bring to you," he replied. I looked at the mask. It looked like it had been carved from an old piece of driftwood that floated down the Zambezi on a 50 years journey. "It is an antique," he said. Sure enough he indicated it was over 50 years old. I was impressed with the catch Suzi had made. "You like," he asked? "Yes, somewhat." I responded as I tried to create a yawn on my face so as not to look too interested in buying another one, for I knew just the right smile was worth a pot of gold to him, and when he saw it he would double or triple the price. "What do you want for another carving just like this one," I asked? "Oh I think for you it will only be 4,000 Kwacha." Pretty good price for a 50-year-old mask. That would be something less than $ 30.00 in American currency. Then he put in the zinger. "If you like I can carve you another one just today." A 50-year-old mask carved while you wait near the shore of Lake Malawi. Now what is wrong with this picture?
The Hot Sun, and The Pounding Surf
I shooed them away and turned my attention back to the fishermen who go out to the fishing fields every morning, sit in the hot sun throughout the day, and bring in the nets of some fish every evening as the sun nears the western horizon. There were still boats moving out into the surf from the fishing village and it would continue for another hour. Probably 50 to 60 boats in all it appeared from my vantage point south of the village. I did not want to take too many pictures as some of the fishermen were from across the lake in Mozambique and were not here legally. A picture could be a point of contention here, unlike the freedom we feel to snap photos nearly everywhere else in the country. It is different when you get near the border. The civil war that crushed so much of the life out of Mozambique must have made it a different place. I haven’t gone there yet. Why should I? For now I will just spend a little more time in Senga Bay down near Nguwo Village and try to capture the intensity of watching men in carved out logs challenge wind, surf and waves every day in order to carve out of living deep in the sub-Sahara.
The Struggle of This Land
In so many ways the struggle of these fishermen is the struggle of this land. Not enough resources. Waves too high. Storms that seem to never end. Yet, they continue, and they continue to succeed against all of the odds. Their perseverance is inspiring. But for how long can they continue? When will the world see their plight and come to save them? How long can they struggle against the waves? How long?