The Old Man and the Sea

You cannot deny that some genetic predispositions take place when there has been a transfer of genes from parents to their children at birth. This is not a profound statement of fact. It can be evidenced by some children looking remarkably like their parents, or assuming some unremarkable qualities which appear to be there to stay. This, however, is merely a physical exhibition of the genetic transfer.  Some children inherit psychological qualities from their parents too.   The Pereira boys in Zanzibar inherited the urge to go fishing from their father (a fishing fiend) and legend has it that the old man spent half his life in a boat with occasional visits home to make sure that the Pereira line was steadily expanding.

My brothers were all avid fishermen.  Half our lives were spent on the beach with makeshift “girt lines” as they used to be known, (nylon lines and penicillin were not as yet discovered) trying to catch fish using worms or cuttlefish as bait.  However, fishing from the beach soon became a drag since one dealt with small fish only.  The big ones were the ‘cungas’ (eels) that more often than not absconded with bait and hook.  If, on the other hand, one was caught, it wound itself like a contortionist and messed up the line.  Any effort to dislodge it from the line was perilous to one’s life. We were warned that even Gilette could not make their blades as sharp as the teeth that the eels mysteriously developed.

The Pereira boys had their eyes on the open seas where large fish out in the Indian Ocean were known to abound.  The only way to get to them, however, was to rent a boat to get out there.  This cost money, and money was always in short supply.  But this was not to outdo the Pereira boys.  My brother Eustace soon discovered a local fisherman who was prepared to take us out for the entire day in his “ngalava” (dugout with outriggers) for a few shillings which we thought we could scrape up.

In order to come up with the cash, however, it became necessary for three people to pool their resources together.  We soon had Richard throw in his lot much to our satisfaction.  Sunday would be the day when we would start out in search of the monster fish.

The week preceding the fishing trip, there was feverish activity in the Pereira household.  For one, we had to get our fishing lines in proper shape for big fish and since it was going to be an all day trip, we had to make provision for some sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Mother was not to know a thing about our projected trip.  She was always apprehensive about the ocean, made even more so by the legend that the ocean claimed at least one life every year.  At our age, of course, we were invincible.

On the day of the trip, we slyly disappeared from the house, and made for the beach where our guide and owner of the boat would be waiting for us.  Once there, Richard and I were in for a big surprise.  The guide was a bent over old man with a long white beard who would have looked more in place in some Egyptian tomb rather than in a boat.  But then, you get what you pay for.  Furthermore, we grew up in a culture where old people were to be respected for their experience and sometimes misplaced wisdon.   Mohamed, the boatman, did not seem large enough to accommodate a whole lot of experience or wisdom but a contract was a contract and there was no getting out of it.

We pulled out to sea and Mohamed took charge. He yanked on a rope and lifted the sail.  We were on our way.  The sea was calm and there was just a gentle enough wind to propel the boat forward.  The sun was shining brightly and from all indications, it looked as though it was going to be a fine day.

After half an hour we reached a spot that Mohamed thought we might want to do some fishing.  We caught some fish weighing only a few ounces each, so we instructed Mohamed to take us to another spot.  What we had not noticed, however, was that the tide and the wind began to change.  As soon as Mohamed pulled up the sail, the boat suddenly tipped over and took in a whole lot of water.  Before we knew it, we were in the water ourselves and all the stuff that we had on board rapidly drifted away in the direction of the tide.  Our first concern was whether there were sharks in these waters.  Mohamed who was light enough to climb on to the boat and cling on to the mast assured us that there were no sharks in our part of the ocean.  But then it begged the question, Why wasn’t Mohammed in the water with us?  After a short pow-wow, we thought that it might be a good idea to undo the sail from the beam that held it, and drag it under our feet.  In that way, sharks would not be attracted by the soles of our feet and would hopefully not come in too close.

I did not know what Eustace or Richard were thinking, but I was scared for my life. I prayed very hard that we would be rescued but there was nobody in sight for as far as the eye could see in all directions.  It also became increasingly evident that we were drifting further and further into the open sea until the coast of Zanzibar seemed to appear like a little fairy tale model in the distance.  Fortunately the ocean was warm and this helped a little.  Afternoon turned to evening.  The sun began to set in the distance and before we knew it we were thrown into complete darkness. The stars were exceptionally bright.  Our hope of a rescue seemed more and more remote.  There was complete silence.  It would seem that we had accepted the fact that it was only a matter of time now.  After spending six hours in the ocean, Eustace suddenly noticed a light, like a speck, in the distance.  Was this a mirage?  Fortunately, all of us saw the same thing so we decided that we were going to shout for help at the top of our voices.  Fortunately, sound carries for great distances on water.  The light appeared to be growing brighter as it appeared to come towards us.  We continued to scream for help.  In what seemed to be an eternity, a huge big dhow from Arabia came towards us, and pulled along- side the doomed boat.  They yanked us out of the water.  As I recall, even after we were safely on board the dhow, we were still screaming for help. We were obviously delirious with fear.   The Arab captain brought us some hot coffee and that seemed to calm our nerves. He also placed some burlap sacks on us to keep us warm just in case we were suffering from exposure or hypthermia. 

He assured us that this was not his normal route to Zanzibar, but that he was late and decided to take the short route, taking advantage of the tide which had now changed in his favour.  We had to consider ourselves to be very lucky because he assured us that we were in shark infested waters and lucky to be alive... Our glances turned to Mohamed.

Mohamed had a knowing grin on his face, but he deliberately avoided our angry glances.