I snorkled in the morning off of Sanom Beach. The most interesting thing I saw was this disgusting red-brown slime stuff in the water. At first I thought it was poo, then fish guts, the algae. It broke apart into threads, and was everywhere in some places, unavoidable, coating the surface of the sea. I’d dive under and swim with my hands out to try to block it and get away.
I interviewed John over lunch. In the afternoon I headed back over the Pi Meaw’s place. Everyone was hanging out around the house when i arrived, and i took a seat on the porch platform in front of Mi Meaw’s house. Like many of the hosues in the village, her home is made of bamboo woven into mats for some of the walls, and wood walls on others. It has a corrugate metal roof. The main hang out area is a raised platform (hers covered) in the front of the house. Outside are piled many many colorful baskets, and buckets, ext. Evidence of her love for animals are the many dogs and cats lounging in the yard, the wooden stand with a dead fish on it, for her eagle to come by and eat, and a fishbowl on the front table with a black goldfish in it.
Her husband lounged in a green mesh hammock, and Meaw sat next to him. All around were the dogs and the boys: her son and little brother. The little brother rapidly alternated between playing with a toy AK47 and a toy truck. The otherboy took a shower in a plastic tub, his father taking a break to go scrub him down. I had a wonderful time hanging out with them today. I got the cutest pictures, too. The little boy (I think her brother), picked up some tools like a hex wrench and walked (waddled) over the family motocyle and started play repairing it. Then a slightly older little boy saw and joined in. He would pose as if straining really hard to undo the screw and wait for the sound of my camera to run over and see the picture.
After a while, Meaw’s father came home carrying a meter long fish in his left hand and holding over his right shoulder an old tennis racket with the normal net replaced by a baggy net to make it into a bucket with a handle, which was full of smaller colorful fish. Meaw’s dad sat down (from a long day at sea) to have a smoke on some handrolled cigarettes, and the son in law and daughter washed and sorted the fish. The older boy came over curious, and watched as Meaw’s husband cut the mackerel in half. He picked up on of the halves and examined the bloody section, before he was shooed away. The fish, and the activities around them, were one of the most memorable things I’ve seen. It was visceral, but also beautiful. The mackerel glistened sliver, and was lighted with glittering green flies. The colorful reef fish, some still twitching and alive, came in many colors like yellow, and dull red, and brown with hexagonal spots. When the mackerel was sliced in half it revealed rings of white flesh (like lines on a topographic map) where the corded fleshy muscles ran through the fish’s body, and the bright red blood streaked down it onto the wooden platform. I’d chosen not to eat fish on the island (baring social situations where it would be rude/disruptive not to eat it) so as not to put one more consumptive pressure on the reef. However, this sight made me feel really good. It seemed a very natural and fitting part of the family routine. Everybody was happy for dad to bring home the fish, and prepared for a bar-b-que dinner. Of the catch, some Maew was taking into a friend in the mainland, i believe some was sold, some was eaten for dinner. Meaw’s husband joked about us talking too much and burning the rice…
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