Fish and Herbs

Fish and Herbs

Noel Laflin

10-20-14

We spotted the lone fisherman as we rounded a gentle curve in the Zambezi.  He was squatting by the riverbank, looking as if he might be napping.  The man was dark and leathery and indeterminate of age.  There were several long spears thrust into the sand leaning out over the lapping waves displaying his catch – dried fish.  Our oarsman rowed for shore. 

After very little bartering, I secured a fish for myself.  It had cost me a small packet of magic markers.  The man of indeterminate age seemed content with the trade.  I was more than happy with the deal as well, as I began to tear off strips of the succulent bass-like fish and devour them right there on the sand - squatting, in similar fashion, next to my host . His toothless grin and my yummy sounds were all you needed to know that both parties were more than satisfied with the transaction.

Meanwhile, just a short stretch down the beach, Betty Lou of Texas was conducting a different trade of her own.  It would seem that the fisherman’s wife had herbs for sale – marijuana, to be precise.

By the end of Betty Lou’s barter, she walked away with a large brown shopping bag half filled with the pungent weed.  It had cost her a packet of magic markers, a box of crayons and a small pocket mirror.  Both she and the wife also seemed quite satisfied with the negotiations.  In fact, Betty Lou seemed absolutely radiant.  She was also giggling like hell and soon zeroing in on my fish as the fisherman’s wife had obligingly allowed the big Texan a sampling of her product before the deal was done.

 

Our small group was soon underway once more, keeping a lackadaisical eye out for a camping site for the night.  Others on board, who like myself had gone for the fish deal, were still happily munching away.  Betty Lou, on the other hand, just had the munchies.