A Champion Fisherman
With thanks to Norbert Tapi, who collected traditional stories for
Dr John Tyman, with the agreement of Torembi’s village elders
Long ago near Torembi there lived a man called Gawi who was a great fisherman.
His success was spectacular, and his skill was incredible, or so it seemed.
He returned home always with baskets stuffed with the finest fish imaginable.
None of the other men in the village was anywhere near as successful: all they could catch were a few small fish after several hours effort.
They were jealous of Gawi, and longed to discover his secret: but like most men he always fished on his own.
No one knew his favourite fishing holes nor did they know how he managed to catch so many fish.
However, one man in the village was determined to find out what was going on.
He was a cousin of Gawi’s and he was tired of his wife complaining about how few fish he caught when Gawi’s wife had plenty to cook.
One day, therefore, he kept a close watch on his cousin, and when Gawi left the village and headed for the river bank on his own (carrying very little equipment, I might add) his cousin followed him — keeping to the shadows.
When Gawi got to the river he took the path which followed the bank of the stream till he reached a point some distance from the village, beyond a bend in the river, where he could not be seen — or so he thought.
His cousin was actually hiding in the bush, a short distance away, and he could see everything.
Gawi then looked all around him, as he always did, to make sure no one was watching — the way people do when they have something to hide.
Confident that he was alone he then took off his head and walked out into the deep water, where he stood for a short time in the middle of the river.
His cousin was amazed, of course: but then something even stranger happened.
Crowds of fish jumped down the man’s throat — or what passed for a throat now that his head had been removed to make more room.
Large fish and small fish, and prawns too, soon filled up his stomach, right up to his neck.
It was really weird.
They seemed drawn by magic to Gawi’s headless body.
Gawi then walked back to the river bank — slowly this time, because he was carrying a heavy load inside his stomach.
Headless still, he then leant over and poured the fish into his basket — lots and lots of them.
Next he put his head on again and set off home, confident as usual that no one had seen him.
As you now know, though, he was wrong: for his cousin had seen everything, and he ran home (having no fish to carry).
He got there ahead of Gawi and told everyone what he had seen.
He explained to his wife that she had been unfair in comparing him with Gawi, for the latter was some sort of witch, and did not fish in the usual way.
He told his neighbours too: and he told the chief.
Everyone was angry with Gawi for the way he had tricked them and made them feel stupid in comparison.
And when he too returned to the village, laden with fish, some men wanted to kill him.
They were angry with him, and they were afraid of him, for he clearly had special powers.
But the chief intervened to save Gawi.
He said that it made no sense to kill a champion fisherman.
It made more sense to learn from him, and fish in the same way.
Remember what you were told when you were growing up — use your head!
Well, now is your chance!
Thereafter all the men fished in the same way as Gawi, with similar success.
And everyone was happy, especially their wives.
This explains why to this day fishermen are coy about success.
You can if you wish search the river bank for headless men filling their stomachs with fish: but you are unlikely to see any because fishermen like to work in secret.
They never tell you where the best fishing holes are, nor will they tell you what bait they use.
These are trade secrets.
If everyone knew how it was done there would be no fish left!