By day, the Nkhata Bay lakeshore bustles with market vendors and mini-busses, but the stillness of night is for the fishermen. Each night, their lamps stretch along the horizon towards Mozambique; one hundred little lanterns that blend the edge of the stars into the dark waters of Lake Malawi. They are fishing for usipa, a kind of small fish that is drawn to the surface by the lamps. Ever since I first learned of this, I have longed to join these fishermen for a night on the lake, immersed in their trade and the southern constellations.
Last week, my friend Dan Beck and I set out to make it happen. With a couple of borrowed life jackets, we began walking the shoreline looking for twilight lanterns preparing to head out. It didn’t take long to find one and, after a few hasty negotiations, we found ourselves in a boat with nine other Malawians heading towards the horizon to greet the oncoming night. We weren’t sure exactly where we were going, what we would do, or how long we would be gone – we only knew we were committed.
The boat we were in was fairly large; it carried eleven of us plus three wooden dugout canoes stacked across the gunnels, and one larger one in tow behind. Each canoe had a kerosene lantern lashed to its bow. We headed south down the coast for a while before turning for deeper waters and the other lanterns that marked the fishing grounds. How far out exactly would be tough to say, but definitely far enough to not relish the thought of swimming to shore. After staking out a spot on the calm waters, we launched the smaller dugout canoes to search for fish. With a lantern and an able paddler in each of the three canoes, the fisherman began searching the waters for usipa, drawing them to the surface with their lamps. The evening was calm and warm, and Dan and I watched in quiet amazement as our newly found shipmates set to work.
When enough fish have schooled together, the larger canoe pulls alongside the main vessel and the nets begin to be sorted. The large dugout and the boat presumably each take an end of the net and travel around the other dugouts, encircling the fish that have been drawn to the lamps. We never got that far.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a breeze picked up and swiftly stiffened into a strong wind. Lightning lit up the horizon. What had moments before seemed an ideal evening was rapidly changing into something we had to get out of. Our companions agreed. The other dugouts, already beginning to pitch in the building swell, made swift tracks for the main boat where we hastened to get them on board. With everyone reassembled, the captain kicked the motor into gear as whitecaps began form around us.
The rain started with a kind of intensity that only a tropical storm can bring. There was nowhere to shelter in the open boat so we hugged our knees for warmth and waited for the vessel to carry us to shore. To cheer us up, our companions recounted stories of how dangerous the water can be at night and patiently taught us to pronounce the Tongan word for “have you said goodbye to your families?” Despite the whitecaps and the intermittent downpour, the situation seemed to be fairly under control, but that didn’t prevent my mind from contemplating the swim to shore. Although the water was warm, neither Dan nor I were keen on testing the buoyancy of our life jackets and, fortunately, it never came to that. Not even close.
We arrived safely back in the Nkhata Bay harbour, thanked the fisherman, contributed to the fuel cost, and set off to find some dry clothes and a beer. Back on dry land, the whole experience seemed that much more surreal and, in many ways, it was. Our journey was a little more adrenaline-infused than we anticipated, but we had a very special glimpse into the lives and the trade of this coastal town on Malawi’s mighty lake – special enough to make me think of another evening out there. After all, we never did catch any usipa.
