Fishermen--Part 1

You can't minister to people you know nothing about, so we are getting involved with Indian life at the grassroots level; today, more at the tidal level.  Come and explore with us:

The names are intriguing:  Vodarevu, Yanam Ferry, Kakinada, and Visakhapatnam.  From a distance, fishing villages look colorful and quaint.  Antique boats, simple homes, beaches and waterfront—what more could you want?

But close-up, the rank odor of dead fish is overpowering.  Fish in baskets, fish split and spread on the ground, fish hanging in rows to dry.  Fish bones and scales permeate the sand: Fish being sorted, salted, and sold. 

And being caught.  We’ve seen three or four kinds of fishing boats, from the local handmade wooden craft to old-style/new technology fiberglass hulls. These have the traditional high-prow profile, but an outboard motor pushing it to sea—unless they run out of gas and need to row it back in... 

Fishing Boats and Drying Fish--Vizag Harbor

The next level is more what we saw in the Chesapeake Bay—squarish, with a cabin and inboard motor and winch poles for the nets.  Third, the biggest commercial boats are all steel, all business, and sometimes hail from distant ports.

We watched open boats being launched after sunset at Vodarevu near Chirala, and see them every day off Andhra's coast.  But this week began a moratorium on fishing for 45 days, to let the levels of sea life rejuvenate.  (45 days???  Maybe a few years would accomplish something. Plus, many ignore the ban--there are still some boats out there.  But this is India, and very little is enforced.) 

Poverty and Sand

Down at the docks in Kakinada, we saw long piers where hundreds of people processed fish in open-windowed plants.  Much of the fish, however, is just spread on the ground where it bakes in the sun.  There and in Vodarevu, the decrepit thatched huts spoke of poverty and hopelessness. One hit me hard—with a hairless, mangy dog poking around in the barren sand for food, and a scrawny rooster in the shadows.  Faded, worn saris hung to dry.  Washed in what?  There were certainly no wells or pumps visible…

At Yanam, the most ancient of boats were still in use, with stern grooves for sculling oars, and lateen sails—the staple design of Asia and Africa—furled alongside.  I delighted in the patina of aged wood and hand craftsmanship.  Yet many lay abandoned, presumably casualties to the modernization of commercial fishing.

 

Monkey God

Fishermen's deities abounded everywhere, mute clusters of them facing the sea, a testimony to the risks of life on the waves in this storm-prone Bay of Bengal.  Some were crude, such as the monkey god (Hannuman) figurehead sidelined by a wall; others were ornate and glorious idols.  One corporation in Yanam had set up both idols and a statue of Christ along the waterfront promenade—equal opportunity in this land of many gods.  But we did see a small boat with “Jesus” scrawled on its side...

This afternoon we ventured to the beaches and docks of Vizag (Visakhapatnam) for a look.  This is the fishing hub of the area, and we began at a beach cove where fish were being sorted in a makeshift shelter.  When I approached, they demanded money for photos, so I left.

I'd already taken a distant shot anyway.  The sand was littered with fish scales and trash, the waterline with human waste.  A squatting boy was adding to the debris.  It seemed that this was just a normal part of their pitiful existence.

Across the busy shore road, we saw the

shanties where these fisher folk live out their lives.  Crowded together, barely habitable, made of reclaimed trash, row upon row of tiny hovels lined the street.  Families and their cooking and laundry—even their sleeping cots—spilled out along the curb.  India is sometimes overwhelming.

Further down, we turned onto the docks where the fishing industry was taken seriously.  The slips and pier teemed with activity.  A seafood auction was in full swing in a walled compound; crowds spilled over onto the gritty
sand; endless groups of men and women sorted fish into baskets and/or salted them down; some unloaded fish from tanks of brine.  An elderly man was wearily scraping up leftovers from the ground.  One woman threatened to throw a fish at me if I took a photo of her--most just kept about their business—and the usual retinue of boys began to follow me about, “Just one photo, Just one photo!”

During the fishing ban, the harbor was tightly packed with hundreds of boats, some with old tires as bumpers, wedged up against the next one.  Men were busily repairing and refurbishing the vessels.  Some struggled with crude hand tools; others had entire decks ripped out, exposing the engine works underneath (and delighted that I stopped to photograph their labors); the larger boats had welders and work crews refitting them for the task ahead.  Lumber and nails littered the dock. 

The busy men were polite and curious about this strange old lady dashing in and out among the fishwives and workmen, taking photos.  Even our taxi driver questioned my sanity…”Madam, Madam?”  Russ had to assure him that I was probably OK, just keep moving slowly down the docks, she’ll catch up eventually.

So what did we discover about these people?  We certainly don’t understand all the nuances of Indian society, nor the struggling castes that make up the fishing villages.  What did we NOT see?  First, we didn’t see any young girls among all the busy crowds at the Vizag pier.  Second, no water wells—Vizag had a tank truck for drinking water parked back among the fish stalls.  No wonder everything seems dry, hot and dirty. 

Worse, we saw no churches in any of these villages.  What we saw was an ornate temple of the goddess Kali, whose necklace is made of human skulls.  We saw other crude shrines and idols along the beaches.   But who is bringing the gospel of Christ to the souls who live in the sun and sea and sand? 

Stay with us for the next exciting episode of Russ and Alice in India…

--Alice Sharrock