A fishing boat was turning to rust,
beached on the northeastern coast of Brazil; six lost men were being deported
back to Africa, and there I was on Broadway, thrilling to the mesmerizing
musical production of “Fela!”. Fela who? A Nigerian icon and hero to the
poor, Fela Kuti was a musician who brought to the “African Beat” his synthesis
of jazz picked up in the US and UK, anti-government songs he wrote in Nigerian
patois, and traditional African rhythms. He was a fearless political activist who
wrote music against one corrupt regime after
another, each in turn jailing and beating him repeatedly. Government thugs
threw his mother out a window to her death. Fela Kuti was legendary for his inexhaustible
courage, his Lagos music club where his 27 wives performed as singers and
dancers, and his gigantic, ubiquitous
joint of marijuana. Supposedly, he died of AIDS in the mid-nineties. Our Nigerian fishermen suspect not.
My husband, Newton, and I were
visiting Salvador, Bahia – five states south of our home on the northeastern
Brazilian coast – when we heard the news report: a fishing boat had lost its
power and drifted from Africa to our state of Rio Grande do Norte. It was early
October 2009.
Our caretaker told us upon our
return home to the city of Natal that a Nigerian fishing boat was stranded on Buzios
Beach – two beaches south of us.
A few days later we drove to Buzios
to check out this story. There it was: a large, rusting metal fishing boat
stuck in the sand. Only curious local onlookers were around. We decided to
visit our American friend, Mary, on Pirangi Beach en route home. She told us an
amazing story about her friend Glades (Gladys), a local English-speaking travel
agent from the South of Brazil. Glades, in her 40’s, had visited the fishing
boat three days after it beached and was the first English-speaking person the
six stranded Nigerian fishermen met. Glades had recently told-off her
insufferable boss and was newly unemployed. After translating a local newspaper
article detailing their plight and becoming the fishermen’s fast friend, Glades
became their official interpreter regarding status with the Navy, the bank, the
Brazilian government at its various levels, and the local community. This petite,
spritely redhead caught plenty of self-important officials off-guard with her quick-witted
brain and low tolerance for bureaucratic run-around. There were only three
actual Nigerian fishermen; two were from Ghana and one from Benin – all working
for a Nigerian fishing company. Glades became their hero and they called her
“Mama.”
Mary and her husband had organized
an elaborate breakfast for the fishermen. The story she told us was what the
six had recounted to them. Though the men were still feeling baffled and unanchored,
that breakfast brought the first smiles to their faces in a long while!
The month adrift from the waters of
Nigeria to our shore was harrowing and hypnotic. After the engine blew and the
generator stopped working, the GPS went kaput, as well. There were plenty of
fish to eat, but scarcely any water. Ocean storms tossed the boat to the crests
of waves where the men hung on with all their strength before the crashing plunge
to the trough. Two whales, larger than the boat, traveled protectively
alongside the fishermen for a spell. Finally, the men spotted land one night around
midnight. They could not determine if the boat would run into rocks and capsize,
so when it was nearing the beach they jumped in the rough ocean and swam. The
impact injured one of the fishermen, who was put into a rubber lifeboat after spitting
up blood.
A local beach house caretaker
happened to be on Buzios Beach at midnight and could see what was taking place,
dark as it was. The dehydrated and disoriented fishermen did not actually know
where they were. Was this man speaking Portuguese because they had drifted to a
Portuguese-speaking African island? They understood “Brasil.” With sign
language and gestures the kind caretaker got them to the currently unoccupied
beach house he was tending.
By the time of Mary’s story, the absentee
owner of the Buzios beach house had turned the six fishermen out. They were all
staying at Glades’ apartment, using the bunk beds and extra room! Everything
they had left unguarded on the boat, except the broken generator and motor, was
lost to thieves: compass, GPS, clothes, pots and pans, DVD player. They were
wearing local clothing donations. At Glades’ savvy insistence, higher
authorities had commanded a bank on strike to open so the fishermen could
receive the funds their company wired to help them until solutions could be
arranged. Would the boat get towed out of the sand and to the port of Natal for
repairs? Would the company decide to sell it and fly the fishermen home?
IBAMA, Brazil’s EPA, had already
ordered the draining of oil and dirty water from the boat’s hull.
I was lying in bed one morning in a
half-sleep soon after hearing Mary’s account. What could we do for the
fishermen? It occurred to me that the Skype phone on Newton’s computer in his home
office might be valuable to them. I got Glades’ number from Mary and called.
The first arrivals at our house
were Glades and the Nigerian, Williams (his first name). He was the assistant
engineer on the boat and limped from a gunshot wound in the leg delivered a year prior by pirates in Nigerian
waters. That did not prevent this handsome young man in his 30’s from managing
a swagger! He had become Glades’ boyfriend and was sporting the ‘cool’ shirt, shorts
and baseball cap she had bought him; not donations. Williams reached his
brother via Skype, who surely must have thought he was dead by then. Next, he called
the boss of the fishing company, pleading for more money. The company had
basically abandoned the fishermen after that initial money wire, and the
fishermen were desperately wondering what would become of them. Williams
emailed Newton’s photo of the grounded boat to the boss. Then I put on African
musician Richard Bona out on the veranda. Williams taught me the ‘high life’ style of dance that is popular in West Africa. I loved the economy of his moves.
No one could budge the boat. The
Brazilian government was typically slow to provide solutions. Five out of the
six fishermen lost their passports during the rough swim ashore, so were
officially in Brazil illegally.
Glades was able to
negotiate a good deal on a rental beach house for the fishermen near their boat
in Buzios. It was necessary for them to guard the boat from
thieves who could steal the motor. Glades said that while the six of them were
staying at her apartment, they had kept the place spotless and “ship-shape,”
cooking most meals themselves. Williams stayed on with Glades.
The next to show up to
use our Skype phone were Glades, Williams and the other two Nigerians,
“Captain” – the boat’s captain – and “Indian,” – the boat’s engineer. Indian
was the son of a tribal chief with three wives and the one injured from the impact
of the midnight swim ashore. Fortunately, the free local hospital had treated
him and he was greatly improved. Indian seemed vulnerable, but very sweet and
appreciative.
Captain, the oldest of the six in his
40’s, had a gently dignified bearing. He had not been able to reach his wife
because her cell number had changed, but he did reach her brother that day and
left a number for his wife. His face reflected incredible relief and joy when
he hung up; his wife knew he was alive and she would be calling soon. Captain
had two older sons studying banking in Ghana and a small boy and baby girl by
his second wife. Indian, in his mid-30’s, had a wife (“just one wife in my generation!”) and four daughters.
He also had not reached anyone to report his fate. Knowing his family had no
income, he was particularly forlorn and homesick. After reaching his wife’s
brother and reporting his surprising whereabouts and a contact number, Indian’s
face was also transformed from tension to relief. Newton was showing the
fishermen how Google Earth worked on the computer, but they seemed reticent
about our seeing their neighborhood in the city of Lagos.
Captain said that all
the beach cafés on Buzios Beach closed at 6:00pm when it got dark, so the
fishermen were just stuck in their house all evening with no place to go. We
sent some playing cards, a twelve-pack of beer and a stack of DVD’s home with
them.
Newton and I soon invited
the fishermen for an evening out at our favorite local bar. The owner always
played a great range of world music in the sylvan setting of the courtyard. We requested African music.
When only Glades, Williams and Indian showed up, we began to suspect that the
six were not getting along well. Apparently, there was tension over leadership
and the strains of the fishermen’s circumstances. Indian was coughing up blood
again and worried sick about his family back home, so he was also staying with
Glades. After some tunes played, which Williams and Indian identified as music
from their neighboring Cameroon, they asked the bar owner if he had any Fela
Kuti music. Of course, he did! They just lit up hearing their Nigerian idol. This
was the first we had ever heard of him. The two of them described for us the
political turmoil, the complete adoration of the populace, and the
eccentricities that defined Fela Kuti’s outsized life.
I later asked Newton at home how
to spell the name of that famous Nigerian musician we heard at the bar. He
spelled out “F-E-L-A…K-U-T-I.” It’s the truth: two hours later I saw a photo of
jubilant African dancers with a caption of “Fela!” on the front page of the
online New York Times. A Broadway show about Fela Kuti had just opened!
We met the three
remaining fishermen after seeing Glades, Williams and Indian at a bus stop and
giving them a ride to the Buzios beach house. Charlie, a Ghanaian, was a charming, funny, ladies’ man in his late 30’s with a
boy, 10, and a girl, 8, back home. It was his passport that survived the swim
ashore. He wore a knit winter hat and an orange one-piece suit reminiscent of a
racecar driver. His countryman, Francisco, was the youngest at 23 and the most
beautiful. He was shy and spoke the least English, but his classic features
broke from seriousness into a stunning smile. Francisco was separated with a
5-year-old boy. Leandre from Benin, amazingly pitch-black, tall, lean and
gracious, was a former farmer and French teacher in his 40’s with two sets of
boy/girl twins, ages 10 and 7. He was very straight arrow and the most
religious, attending Catholic masses in Portuguese regularly. He longed to be back with his family.
Eventually,
the men managed to lug the boat’s broken motor all the way to their living
room. They wanted to repair it and sell it since they were getting no help from
their company.
It was hard to
ascertain if the government of Brazil, of Nigeria, of Ghana or of Benin was the
slowest to resolve the issues of temporary passports. Then there was the
rusting boat. The men were just biding their time, some falling in love with
Brazil or with Brazilian women, some pining away for their home and families.
The Natal police chief became the
most helpful in the end, and efforts were finally successful to replace the lost passports with
temporary ones from the respective governments in Africa. There was talk of sending Charley home early with his
original passport to try to coordinate efforts with the company to salvage the
boat, but Glades thought the police wanted to wait till all of them could fly
back together. Police escorts to São Paulo (from where the flight to South
Africa and then their West African countries would originate) would be required because their
unusual/illegal status actually meant “deportation.”
Finally, we were able to give all
the fishermen and Glades a night out! They joined us in our beach town at a bar
with acarajé – a spicy African-Brazilian dish from Bahia, where African slaves had
disembarked. Mary also joined us. Williams led a prayer before we ate, as they were
all Christians and had taken to praying together throughout their ordeal. What
they liked best about Brazil were the people they had met. When the subject of
thieves came up, they mentioned that thievery was also prevalent in their
countries, even the theft of items – including Bibles – at church! A discussion
ensued about when God forgives the theft of a Bible and when he does not! The
fishermen found the extra spicy acarajé too mild by their standards. They loved
my story about the Fela Kuti Broadway show, for which I had nabbed two tickets
for January when we would be in NY. The bar played some good recorded samba, so
I coaxed the Africans to try out the dance of Brazil. Glades and Mary helped me
pull them to their samba fate!
There was still no resolution for
the stranded boat or a date for the fishermen’s passage home. The initiative to
tow the boat seemed to have evaporated after the lowest tide of the season did
not prove low enough to dislodge it. An industrious guy materialized to repair
the boat’s engine, but with no money forthcoming, his creditors providing the
supplies were beginning to threaten.
Newton arranged to meet the guys
on the beach by the boat where they played a lot of soccer. They were tired
from the pick-up game they played for hours the day before with a revolving
cast of players that showed up, but Captain, Indian, Francisco and Charlie came
over from the house bearing cans of cold beer. They took great pleasure in
presenting these to us. Leandre was at church in nearby Tabatinga. The
fishermen told us that since the Brazilian government was paying for their
plane tickets back to Africa as a deportation, they would be unable to return
to Brazil unless they reimbursed the government, including the fares of their
police escorts. By now Francisco wanted to stay in Brazil, too! Charlie had
previously told me that he would like to return to Brazil to study at a maritime college and had asked if I could
get any information from the Internet. He was thrilled to get the print-outs
about the two branches in Rio and Belem, complete with courses and application. There was a
program for foreigners with free room and board. Charlie said his brother in
Dubai could sponsor his tuition!
Later, the fishermen invited us
to their beach house for an African meal. We arrived at the beach for another
proposed soccer game, but the tide was too high, so the guys were waiting for
us at the house. Only the lovely Francisco, no longer shy with us, was waiting
at the beach. The memory of joining hands to run down the dune together for a
photo beside the boat is the sweetest! We went to the house with a cooler of
beer. Captain was cooking in the kitchen. Williams wanted a ride to a lake in
Tabatinga, so we drove him and met Eugenio, the Brazilian caretaker who had
rescued them on that midnight beach. He ran a little bar at the lake, and
Williams was proud to buy us beers. Leandre was in the yard beside the bar
shelling shrimp for Eugenio after church. Williams had just heard from the boss
in Nigeria, who finally realized how expensive it would be to replace the boat.
They were hoping he would now enable them financially to get the boat towed and
repaired to return home or sell.
Back at the house, Captain’s
African Sunday lunch began on the veranda with a shot of scotch to open the
gullet. There were pieces of grilled chicken and a mash of beans, coconut and manioc
(cassava – yucca root) to which was added the blend of tomatoes, peppers and onions
sautéed in dendé (coconut oil). This was eaten with the hand: first worked all
together into a ball, then held and nibbled from red-stained fingers. A bowl of
water sat nearby for finger-dipping. IT WAS DELICIOUS. The beer came after to
inflate the bulk of food in the stomach. Very satisfying.
I commented about the fishermen’s
perfect teeth. Charlie showed us the “chewing stick” that is commonly used in
West Africa, following the toothbrush. It may be a root. No one had stolen
these sticks from the boat! They seemed more effective than flossing, even if
they did not account for how straight the men’s teeth were. Indian mentioned
also that people do not consume much sugar in West Africa. I suggested a
chewing stick export business when they returned!
Captain had an invitation from a “girlfriend” who
owned a bar at the other end of Buzios Beach. Captain, Indian and Williams
piled into our car and we ended up under a thatch umbrella by the water,
drinking beer after beer. Williams, Captain and Indian shared the shrimp and
fish the woman served up. Newton and I were too full! We conversed about Nigeria,
theology, and Pidgin English.
We invited the fishermen to come
to our house for some holiday spicy chicken wings and Fela Kuti music. In
the meantime, I had decided that what was needed were some gifts for the
fishermen to give their wives and children when they returned to Africa. It was
possible they might even make it home by Christmas. I had some great paper
dolls and scissors I had brought from the US, including Obama family paper
dolls. The fishermen had assured us that everybody in Africa,
including children, knew who Obama was! I found some girly hair accessories for
the younger girls. Combining Brazilian beads and African beads, I strung
necklaces for the wives/girlfriends. I found soccer shirts of the Brazilian
national team for boys 23, 19, 10 (two), 8, 7 and 5. It took a grueling long
while and tough negotiating, but the tourist store finally found all the right
sizes and made me a deal. This project put me decidedly in the Christmas
spirit!
The coconut trees in our front
yard were wound with red and green tube lights. The Africans and Glades were
approaching down the road from the bus stop. Newton clicked the button on the
iPod, recently loaded with Fela Kuti songs, just in time for the music to start
as they reached our gate. The next hour-and-a-half was spent with all nine of us dancing on the veranda:
beaming smiles, juice/beers-in-hand, singing along to the Fela Kuti lyrics (enthusiastically
explained/translated for us). The men were transformed. Graceful, funny,
butt-bumping, floating, dancing in earthbound moving mantras…I was trying to mimic
all of it! Francisco made dancing look like rhythmic tai chi; utterly elegant,
evocative of animals and birds. I decided I was adding him to my Fred Astaire/ Baryshnikov
top dancers list! When dancing, Francisco was not shy; Captain’s swollen,
dislocated knee did not impede motion; Williams did not limp; Indian’s joyful
animation was not limited by his lung injury or worry; and even
the staid, teetotaler Leandre, the only one who had sat down since arriving, intermittently
got up and carefully stepped to the beat. No matter how relaxed I tried to be
copying their moves, I could see how much more effort I was making. Captain said
“release”…and there was the story of my Northern Hemisphere’s version of
earnest effort! No pain, no gain, and so on. Their seamless finesse and “release”
were the story of a certain elusive freedom.
At last we collapsed onto sofa
and chairs. Out came the chicken wings, rice and beans, and malageta hot
peppers. We had a wonderful time eating and gabbing. I handed out the bags with
presents for the men to take back. Their beautiful faces fixed in gratitude are
indelible in my mind’s eye. Williams led them in singing for us; their voices
answered his sung phrases in chant-like responses. The sound was exquisite. I
may not be religious, but I definitely know when a sublime blessing is
engulfing me.
Finally, we said our farewells. We
had no idea whether or not any of them would be in Brazil when we returned in
January.
Glades emailed us during our
holiday travels that the Natal Chief of Police had sent all of the fishermen
back to Africa. Charlie and Francisco – the two Ghanaians – and Leandre from
Benin left on December 22nd. The three Nigerians - Williams, Captain
and Indian – left on December 30th. We felt both a pang of sadness
and some relief, for their sakes.
Once back in Natal, we met Glades at the neighborhood bar to hear the whole story: Four days ahead of departure, Glades
was informed by the Chief of Police that Leandre, Charlie and Francisco would
be flying back. Glades could not get the information about what airline, flight
and time, but arrangements were made to pick up the three, plus Williams and
Glades to see them off, at 11:00pm for a 2am flight to São Paulo. Glades had
reminded the police that they were not dealing with the deportation of
criminals, just fishermen, so there were not the usual two police escorts per
deportee, but four total. Lufthansa would not honor the existing reservation
when they learned it was a deportation, so an Emirates flight was arranged. Leandre,
who always wanted only to get home to his family, was just beaming at the
airport. Glades got a call from Leandre that he made it to his family in time
for Christmas Day!
Captain and Indian, remaining in
the rental house at Buzios Beach, were properly feted over the holidays with
lots of invitations and contributions of beer and food from their Buzios
friends. Captain continued his fling with the owner of the shrimp beach bar.
Indian wanted to get home to his struggling family. Williams was still living
at Glades’ and celebrated Christmas Eve with Mary and family.
Glades got the call that the
Nigerians would fly out on December 30th. She and Williams had been running
around desperately trying to find a legal way for Williams to stay, but it was
necessary for him to go back to Nigeria and get an official passport before
returning to establish legal residency. Glades and Williams cried most of the
time as departure neared. This time four different police officers would be
accompanying Captain, Indian, and Williams. The officers tried to make things
convenient for themselves by announcing at the last minute that they
would pick the fishermen up in Buzios at 6:00pm for the 2:00am flight…saying
that the Nigerians could “relax” at the police station and order dinner (while
the police went home and rested). Glades, always on her toes, said that timing would be impossible, as
she had no way to contact all of them immediately and that there would not be
enough time to close up the rental house properly. The pick-up would need to be
at 11:00pm. Actually, Williams, who had recently been working for a Brazilian
on a tourist fishing boat - though not legal to work - was still not home from that
job!
After very tearful good-byes at
the airport, the three flew off with their escorts to São Paulo and then caught
an Air France connection through Paris. They arrived in Lagos, Nigeria in the
middle of the night on New Year's Eve/Day. Indian did make it to his family at
last; Captain was, once again, a husband and father; and Williams would
possibly make it back to Brazil in a relatively short time! We had a baseball
hat waiting for Williams, who had requested a present from the US.
Since the long-lost Nigerian boss
had decided that he wanted his boat, he was arranging for Williams to accompany
him back to Brazil as the assistant engineer to oversee its repair. The boss
had been working to get Williams’ official passport and was paying for his
flight back. Glades would be the boss’ interpreter in Brazil for all
negotiations with the government and Navy. Williams would still have to come up
with the money to reimburse the Brazilian government for his flights home with
escorts to reverse his status. Then he and Glades planned to marry.
Epilogue
Williams could not raise enough money to allow his return. The
boss arrived alone. Glades realized while sitting around a table with the boss
and Brazilian officials that the officials were all corrupt and demanding
outrageous fees for de-rusting and moving the boat: US$50,000. She knew they
would pocket most of the money. The boss sat at the table and cried.
The desperate calls between Williams and Glades gradually became
more infrequent. Eventually, the two just gave up. Charlie never made it back
to study.
Newton and I monitored the rusted hulk of the boat. It was still
aground six years later. Only on our last venture to the far end of Buzios
Beach in 2016 did no trace of the boat remain. What remained was the memory of that uncomplicated friendship with six enchanting souls who drifted into our lives from afar. And the memory will always feel like...love.
Fela Kuti is still on our playlist.
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| Captain |
 |
| Charlie |
 |
| Francisco |
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| Indian |
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| Leandre |
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| Williams |
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| Eating African |
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| Glades with the boat |
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| The fishermen with Mary & Glades |
