I walk briskly being late to start for my morning-walk. The sun has just shown up, the sky clear, and there’s a slight chill in the air. As I sharply negotiate an onrushing cycle-rider, then another, a small patch of cold air gushes past, reminding me the winter is not far.
Upon the culvert across the narrow stream I turn right, then stop all of a sudden as if someone pulls me from behind. Just ahead of me, a cycle-rider is about to loose his balance. He tries hard to save the big aluminum container tied onto the cycle in the back from not tilting. But tilt it will, and tilt it does.
There, as the cycle lies flat on the road, the contents of aluminum container pour out rapidly. Small fish – mainly pona (baby carp) and some tilapiya – spread everywhere, dancing and jumping as if surprised at sudden turn of events. A few quickly make their way into the stream (clever they are), while others jump here and there, not knowing what to do next.
The man, the fishmonger that is, is quick to salvage his catch as fast as he can, throwing them into the near-empty container, still tied onto his cycle, now standing on its feet. But however fast he may be, some of the fish continue to dodge him with élan. And then happens what can only be expected.
Boys and men come rushing – two, three, six of them – surfacing from nowhere, despite the morning being so early. Time is precious, so they join the fishmonger in earnest, some even dashing off into the stream. Quickly they successfully catch the fish from here and there, return some but keep a good number for themselves.
The fishmonger vainly argues to have the rest returned, then perhaps remembering he is already late to the market, dashes off. The smallish crowd melt soon, having enjoyed an early-morning spectacle.
I too hurry, having had my share of enjoyment. 15 minutes gone, I’m already late.
[Picture source, ©1999-2006 Cary and Associates.]