Around the Campfire

Around the Campfire

 

The hunters… correction, the three mates who had illusions of grandeur of being hunters, sat around an evening campfire waiting for the eel to cook in the smoke and away from the flames. There wasn’t much smoke though because the firewood was nice and dry; this was a regular flycamp site they came to for companionship and maybe hunt for deer, but in the last few years, they only shot the occasional one for meat preferring to use their cameras to do the shooting. There were three of them, Bert was a pipe smoker who was stiffening up with age; Mick was a fisherman and an ex-cricketer who lived the myth that cricketers were gentlemen; and there was Jack the bushman who had sympathies for the natural world.

Bert reached over and cut a slice off the eel and chewed it to see if it was cooked, he shook his head. ‘Another ten minutes and she’ll be sweet.’ He guessed. 

‘I’ve never seen see the method you used to catch that eel.’ said Mick, addressing Jack, who smiled, ‘We used to do that when we were kids,’ he replied, ‘we called it bobbying. We reckoned the curved teeth of the eel makes it difficult for them to let go quickly, and the fibres of bailing twine tied around the meat makes it even more difficult for them.’

‘You were lucky this one wasn’t too heavy,’ Mick-the-fisherman smiled, ‘long-fins can get pretty big, a well-grown one would’ve broken the stick.’ He was referring to the stick Jack had used as a fishing rod.

‘Yeah, at home when I was a kid, they were all short-finned, silver bellies, but I’ve struck big ones in the Waianakarua which were just too strong for me… this was the first long-finned I’ve actually landed and it happened to be a smaller one.’ Jack replied knowing eels were a bit low-class as fish go for Mick.

Bert poked at the fire and fed it with a couple of bits of wood, then carved a bit more meat, which must have been to his liking, so the others tucked in too. ‘These days eels don’t grow to thʼ real big size they used to.’ Bert said seriously, and the others noticed the twitch on his cheek. ‘There’s a tale about a lake up thʼ mountain above th’ pass.’ He looked at Jack ‘You’d call it a tarn; well, it was back then, but it’s a lake now, because there’s a creek coming out of it. Anyway, a fella I bunked with in thʼ army, said he’d heard of a yarn that th’ tarn had a massive eel in it.’ Mick and Jack looked wide-eyed. ‘How’d it get all the way up there? Mick asked. Bert picked some meat out of his teeth with a stick he had sharpened with his pocket knife, and blew the offending bit out. ‘Interesting question.’ He replied seriously, ‘But I don’t know. Never mind, it was apparently a big bugger anyway, and used to make ducks sitting on th’ water disappear… with a plop! So anyway, these three fellas set out to catch it. They used a shark hook with a leg of lamb as bait and they caught it, quick as you like.’ Bert snapped his finger, ‘It put up a good fight right enough but they managed to pull its head out of th’ water and one of them put a .303 bullet in it. They had ropes and pullies with them and when they pulled it out of the water, it lowered the water level of the tarn by a foot.’ Mick and Jack gasped in mock surprise.

‘What’d they do with the carcass then?’ Mick asked, winking at Jack. You can never rush Bert, he sucked on his pipe, but it was out, so he relit it with a stick from the fire, and blew out blue smoke to make sure it was well-alight. ‘Well, it was all downhill to th’ track, wasn’t it? So, they decided to haul th’ big bugger down to their cart so’s they could cut it up and smoke it. So’s they could sell it in th’ pub… probably.’ Bert said sincerely. ‘Did they have enough ropes?’ Jack asked with an innocent-like. ‘Yeah, they must’ve.’ Bert replied, ‘Th’ ground was soft too, so th’ big brute gouged a furrow in th’ ground and water from th’ tarn trickled into it faster and faster, which helped push the blimmin’ eel down th’ hill.’ Mick again looked at Jack and winked.

‘And that’s how there came to be a creek that flowed out of the tarn.’ They chimed in.

‘And why it’s a lake and not a tarn.’ Bert added. Jack swung the tea billy over the fire and threw in some leaves.

 

 

 

 

Up the Side of the Mountain

 

 

 

Up The Side of Meru

About mid-afternoon Jo came to our house invite us for an evening meal because her husband was away on a field trip. At the same time, she wanted me to have a look at their boundary fence because her night guard, Ishmael had told her there was a hole in the chain-mesh netting. Jo’s Swahili wasn’t the best but she gleaned there was some mystery how it happened. With a few bits of wire and a pair of piers, we arrived while there was daylight to check the fence. I knew that by bending the top and bottom ends of the wire, the netting can easily be split, but I soon found the hole was cut and looked as if a person could indeed climb through.  There were thieves and sometimes bands of bandits… they were called bandits but they were less than might be imagined, nevertheless, they were dangerous. I made a decent job of wiring up the hole, but whoever had wire cutters could easily reopen it. But I didn’t tell Jo that.

During the meal, Jo became concerned that Ishmael hadn’t arrived to stand guard; she always gave him a flask of coffee and sandwiches to keep him going through the night and she was surprised he hadn’t called for the. It was well after dark when he arrived and was obviously distressed, but Jo couldn’t make out what he said. I went out to talk to him and he told me that he was worried about his baby son who was very sick with malaria, and because of his job, he couldn’t take him to hospital. Sometime people had difficulty asking for help. I told him that I would take him home and we would take the baby to hospital, so I told Jo and Mags, assuring them they would be ok without Ishmael for an hour or so, but first, I poked a few a few Tanzanian shillings in my pocket, because I was sure of the need.

We took Ishmael’s Thermos of coffee and sandwiches with us, he would be hungry and so, perhaps would his wife… but the journey was too rough for him to drink his coffee. I can’t adequately describe the journey, because it was pitch black and we were going through mainly treed areas; in places it was very steep and a good portion of the time I was in low ratio, low gear. Ishmael told me it is the route he took each evening. The journey took the best part of an hour., and because I hadn’t had a sit-down talk to him, I took the opportunity. I found that he belonged to the Arusha tribe and that he hadn’t told Jo about his marriage nor the birth of his son… because of language. His house was traditional wattle and daub with a thatched roof and some women elders had seen our lights approaching and came out to meet us. It was unusual for them to see a vehicle in their village, especially at night. Ishmael told them to ready his wife and baby for hospital and left them to it… because doing so is women’s work.

I had thought of asking Ishmael’s young wife to drink some coffee before heading off, but when I saw the condition of the baby, I thought it best to hurry. One of the women elders, Bibi the wife’s mother, came with us. The mother and baby sat in the front seat and Bibi and Ishmael in the back. It was Ishmael’s idea to pass through Ilboru; to drop him at Jo’s house so he could do his job… he had never been to the big hospital and anyway it was Bibi’s duty. Firstborns are supposed to birth in large hospitals, but that doesn’t always happen and Ishmael’s wife had never been to the hospital… I’d taken a few people there and roughly knew the ropes, so assured them both it would be ok. But every time I looked at the baby, I became more concerned… I’d seen my share of malaria and its result! Jo and Mags heard our approach and they met us at the gate; I quickly told them what we were doing and I asked Jo for a damp cloth to cool the baby down.

The hospital was less than ten minutes away and there was no other traffic at that time of the night. The guard at the gate must have recognised my vehicle so I didn’t even need to sign in, but I noticed the mother was wide-eyed and the infrastructure of the hospital. I tried to calm her, meanwhile Bibi was just saying, ‘Jamani, jamani.’ An exclamation of surprise, which I guessed was at the size of the building. There was a power cut so I left my lights on. They followed me inside and the senior nurse arrived, guided by a kerosene storm lantern and she acted quickly when she saw the baby. I wasn’t prepared for that, because other times, action had been quite slow. She called another nurse who took the mother and Bibi with her into the body of the hospital. The senior nurse had summed things up well, and I knew it was now my job to make payment. The word was you had to pay to receive ‘tentative’ care, but that wasn’t my experience. The staff were underpaid and there was a shortage of supplies, so I paid her what she asked for and a bit extra for ‘the best medicine’. I told her I would return with a Thermos and sandwiches, and went out to retrieve them from the vehicle and switch off the lights. When I fetched them, I told the nurse that I doubted the mother or Bibi would eat or drink, but someone at the hospital would. Family was responsible for the feeding and cleaning of hospital patients.

With no family to fetch food and water to the baby’s mother and Bibi, I enlisted help to do so, but after their first visit and drop off, I was told that their extended family members had arrived to do the caring, but the good news was the baby was going to survive. I was back at Jo’s house a couple of evenings later and asked Ishmael if his wife and baby needed a ride home. He thanked told me the baby was well and they could manage… I knew his wife and their family members would make their way up the side of the mountain on foot, maybe not according to their wishes, but according to Ishmael’s. He was the proud leader of his household and I wasn’t going to usurp his authority by insisting. That’s just the way it was.