EBRIMA:

Oh! I never knew that you are such a brilliant Satirist. I enjoyed reading
your part I. The title of your Satire: Fishing, fits the struggle perfectly,
for Fishing is really a gamble which requires extreme patience and devotion.
Please, my brother, continue to bring more of this. It would give us impetus
to strive harder. To that end brother, that was intuitive and a good
beginning.

Ansumana.


>From: Ebrima Ceesay <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Gambia and related-issues mailing list
><[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: A Man Born To Fish! (Part One)
>Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2001 17:48:41 -0000
>
>The Old Adage says: "Once a fisherman always a fisherman; the other man’s
>line is always greener/heavier"
>
>***************************************************************
>
>
>
>A Man Born to Fish (Part One)
>
>
>In the quiet calm of the distant backwater, the young man waited, eagerly
>anticipating his day’s catch.  He imagined his small basket with its
>regular
>catch of small fish, and in the manner of young men the world over, he
>dreamed of the day he would land THE BIG ONE.
>
>His family, fishermen one and all, laughed at his dreams, and advised the
>young man to be content with the catch he knew he could rely on: "Better
>the
>fish in the basket than the ones still swimming in the river," they would
>say.  And the young man dreamed on.
>
>Day followed by week followed by month followed by year, and the dreams
>grew
>bigger and better and brighter.  THE BIG ONE was there, somewhere, waiting
>in the silent depths of the mighty river; waiting to be landed and admired
>and enjoyed. And the young man dreamed on as he fished, imagining his
>moment
>of triumph.
>
>Year followed by year, and word came downstream of The Island.  The reports
>spoke of fish the like of which he had never dreamt:  fish of gleaming
>colour, of magnificent size, of inestimable value in the market place.
>Patience, the young man’s family advocated, would bring its own rewards,
>but
>patience was a quality in short supply for the young man. His eyes were
>drawn up-river and away from the familiar landscape of home, and his dreams
>told him of the fish that were, even as he sat by his peaceful backwater,
>getting away.
>
>His decision made, the young man packed up his hooks and lines and baskets,
>and quite ignoring the laments of his family, travelled in search of The
>Island.  The way was hard, and the going was heavy and the journey was
>long,
>but the young man’s dreams were as long and as heavy as THE BIG ONE that
>awaited him in the swirl of the waters around The Island.
>
>The old and wise men made space on the banks of The Island, and the young
>man took his place there.  The talk was of fish of colour and size and
>value:  of giants that had been caught in years gone by; of the ones that
>had gotten away;  of the monsters still waiting their turn to be hooked.
>The young man boasted that his would be the hook to bring in the biggest
>and
>best catch The Island had ever seen.
>
>Day followed by week followed by month followed by year, and in his mind’s
>eye the young man weighed and measured his record catch, and basked in the
>envious praises of his fellow fisher men.
>
>His hook and line remained empty.
>
>Patience, the old and wise men admonished, would bring its own rewards, but
>patience was an elusive thing, and the young man’s eyes were drawn away
>from
>The Island to that place, far far away, where salt waves roared and ocean
>winds blew.
>
>A passing traveller told of the west where no land was, told of marine
>wonders which would fill three canoes, told of wealth that could not be
>told.  The traveller’s tales swamped the young man’s heart and head and no
>longer was The Island sufficient for his needs.  Only the west would
>suffice
>for this dreamer of dreams and catcher of fish.
>
>His decision made again, the young man packed up his hooks and lines and
>baskets once again, and quite ignoring the advice of the old and wise men
>of
>The Island to stay a while longer, he began the long journey towards the
>setting sun.
>
>The way was hard and the going was heavy and the journey was indeed long,
>but the  young man’s dreams grew with each footstep he took, and the
>ocean’s
>swell seemed to reach out to him to bring him ever closer.  To the west he
>travelled until he could go no further, and the south beckoned him further
>still, deep into the land of the high and mighty lion.
>
>Guardian of the ocean’s mysteries, the high and  mighty lion allowed the
>passage of the fisherman into the heart of its territory.   It watched as
>the young man baited his hooks and cast his lines deep into the endless
>depths of the ocean.  It watched as the young man waited for THE BIG ONE to
>bite.  It watched as the young fisherman grew accustomed to the changing
>tides, to the summer storms, to the winter winds.  It watched and saw the
>young man’s imaginings grow ever richer and ever larger, anticipating his
>catch.
>
>His hook and line remained empty still.
>
>By the oceanside, the young man practised the art and science of fishing:
>he practised day followed by week followed by month followed by year.  He
>practised until really there was nothing much more to learn.  And the high
>and mighty lion sharpened its claws, anticipating a fight with other lions,
>and watching the fisherman do his very best.
>
>Expert in his craft, the now not so young man vowed that THE BIG ONE would
>not continue to elude him.  If he were to take his hard-won skills back to
>his homeland, he knew that the prize would surely be his:  in familiar
>homewaters, under a familiar sky, reward would come his way without doubt.
>
>The high and mighty lion roared as our fisherman took his leave of its
>territories, and as other lions moved in for the coming fight.
>
>Retracing his steps northward, and keeping the ocean always in sight, the
>fisherman made his way home, to where THE BIG ONE surely awaited him.
>
>Younger fishermen watched as he baited his hooks and cast his lines:  they
>admired his expertise and his style.  They begged him to share his
>knowledge, to watch their own efforts, to criticise their techniques.
>Taking him to their leader, they asked that he too should be a teacher and
>a
>judge of their skills.  And so it was.
>
>The man born to fish knew his talents were great and without question, and
>his heart grew heavy with pride.  Now, instead of casting his lines with
>the
>first light of dawn, the fisherman slept on in the comfort of his bed,
>dreaming his dreams and feasting on his experiences.  THE BIG ONE was
>surely
>his.
>
>The young fishermen grew angry with the expert.  They criticised his habit
>of sleeping while they fished, and they wondered how he would ever judge
>their developing skills from his bed.  They planned to return to their
>leader and ask him to dismiss the stranger.  They went to report that he
>was
>not a suitable judge, no matter what his fishing skills were.
>
>The man born to fish heard whispers on the wind of the young fishermen’s
>plans, and he announced to any who would listen that he would leave
>straight
>away and take his talents elsewhere.  Not waiting to be dismissed, the man
>packed his hooks and lines and baskets and left the Oceanside.  He would
>return to the riverbank of his birth, where his family would welcome his
>return with feasting and dancing, but first he would pass on his knowledge
>and expertise to a wider audience.  He owed the world that much.
>
>Searching for the best position available, the man came to the tallest
>building he could find, and there told of his potential power to hook THE
>BIG ONE which was waiting just for him.  He spoke eloquently, and who could
>resist him ?  He was urged to take his place in the tallest building and to
>use his power and skill to serve the other wise ones speaking to the wider
>audience.
>
>Time was taking its toll on the man born to fish, and his heart was
>hardening with arrogance as well as age.  He considered  his knowledge and
>experience to be above that of all others, even of those who had served
>longer than he in the tallest building.  Envious resentment grew in every
>sinew of his body, and he looked for ways in which to take the lead.
>
>The wise ones knew his game.  They asked him why he no longer cast his
>lines
>into the water, but sought instead to land a different catch.  They asked
>why their lines seemed so much more preferable to a fisherman.  Was it that
>he thought the other men’s catches were always bigger and better than his
>own ? Could it be that he wanted to hold all the lines for himself ? There
>could be no answer to their questions, only a jealous silence.
>
>Then came the day that A BIG ONE made his presence known throughout the
>land.  Times were changing, and the once gentle landscape of home was
>becoming weary with harsh change.
>
>The wise ones in the tallest building in turn bid farewell to their wider
>audience, and travelled  safe and honest pathways across the four corners
>of
>the earth. They promised to return when the BIG ONE’s day was done and the
>wider audience applauded them.
>
>Our fisherman remained in the tallest building, and his pride grew with
>each
>passing day. THE BIG ONE would be his for the catching, and the catch would
>be his alone.
>
>As had happened so often in his life, the fishermen’s schemes met with
>failure.  His hooks and lines remained empty, and when the waters of home
>grew too turbulent for his talents, he knew he would have to find fresh
>waters to fish.
>
>By cover of night, the now old fisherman made his escape from the tallest
>building and flew to a safer shore.  There he tells all who will listen of
>his talents as a fisherman, and once in a while he casts his hooks and
>lines
>in hope that THE BIG ONE will bite.
>
>Those who do listen to him, know that it probably never will.
>
>Those who do not listen to him, know that he has been using the wrong bait
>all his life.
>
>(To be Continued)
>
>Ebrima Ceesay,
>Birmingham, UK.
>
>
>
>"Kebba Jobe": I am glad that you have accepted my invitation to debate me,
>so do expect my fisrt posting very, very soon. I had to spend some time
>this
>afternoon, writing this satire as promised yesterday.  Anyway, I have now
>got free time in my hands.
>
>Kebba Dampha: What can I say about you, other than the fact that you are
>indeed an asset for the Gambia. Anyway, I'll get back to you after sending
>my first posting to the L, vis-a-vis my debate with "Kebba Jobe."
>
>
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