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I Can't Stay Long

I Can't Stay Long

Author: Jo Rushby
Date: 2022-06-28

In this age of drive-thru's and fast food, veg clinging to its wrap, generations are growing up without tasting a tomato that smells of sunshine, unearthing a potato, or combing for honey. But then, good news arrives of an ocean feast. Every year around this time, we wait. Will they come? Tiny silvery speedboats are moving up our coast. Like Drake's Armada, accompanied by whales, dolphins, fish, birds. What else do we do but rush to the sea in a mad frenzy? We were all there in Margate. Sardine Fr(y)day. Road closures could not stop me. Nets were flying. Kids were going wild with joy. The smell and flash f salty silver uniting us.

Amidst the mayhem, I spotted an old man and a young boy at the water's edge. The boy was helping him to move further towards the sardines. I edged closer. The young boy's name was Kamil. His grandfather Gopie, 'a top fisherman in his day', Karnil proudly told me. I asked Gopie what the trick to fishing was? He smiled, a toothless, beautiful smile and said: 'It's the same skill that you need at Wild Coast Casino ma... Luck.'

I thought of Hemingway's classic, The Old Man and the Sea: The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck ... his hands had deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert. Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same colour as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

In the car park, I saw Kamil helping Gopie to put sardines into a bag. Even the undefeated need a bit of help every now and again. Hemingway gets to the heart of the human, capturing the bonds that bridge generations and make us wonder at nature's creations. Back home, I unfolded a piece of paper Gopie had given me. It was a recipe for fried masala. The coals burnt as quickly as a credit card at the Durban July, Gorima's masala as thick as a member of Parliament. The bones collapsing as quickly as a house in Umdloti. The fire, the masala, the crunch. As the sun burnt into orange, the sardine tickled a little, washed down with a rum and dash. In the words of Laurie Lee: "The springs are still there to be enjoyed- all one needs is the original thirst".