life on the wave

It reminds me of my younger days, when I was a shark fisherman/pirate, off

the coast of Durban, South Africa.  Now Whenever I am tempted to go out just

to get shitfaced,an Afrikaans wise saying springs to mind; bear with me and

I will explain why.


Back in those days when I thought the height of machoness could be attained

by drinking heavily all night without eating or respite until one fell

unconscious, I remember many mornings waking up on the floor of my cabin,

and having to rush up on deck, where the aroma of chum and diesel, and the

gentle motion of the sea, would help bring on my traditional projectile

vomiting episode.


The unpleasantness of this was sometimes relieved by my glancing around to

catch an extended glimpse of the two black slave girls busily gutting the

previous day's catch.  Sometimes I could hold single vision long enough to

admire their firm, large shapely breasts; focusing hard I could see the small

beads of sweat glistening in the early morning sun.  They would remind me of

forbidden, shiny, ethereal diamonds. Sometimes, as if drawn by a strange

magnetic force, they would occasionally cluster together to attain a critical

mass that would inevitably lead them to scurry down a firm  yet smoothly

curved beautiful breast , until finally pendulously hanging for a moment

from a large exquisitely shaped nipple, they would then drop to the deck.

Casting my eyes lower I feasted on the sight of their tight very short

impala-skin  skirts, that seemed to grip and caress every curve of their

voluptuous slightly over-sized bottoms. My eyes could not help but to wander

to their muscular, shapely, bronzed thighs.  I could not help but wonder how

they attained such exquisite thighs, but then the realisation came to me:  it

must have been due to them having to carry large water vessels balanced on

their heads from a surprisingly young age.  A very important part of their

village life.  This train of thought lead me to wonder why on earth they didn`t

build their rondels close to the water. Of course with a little

reflection it was obvious.  I knew the village they had been kidnapped from ,

and it was plush with hippo and some very unpleasant predators, that would

not think twice of making  a meal of one if the opportunity arose. It would be

far too dangerous to build one's village too close to a watering hole.



Suddenly my mind would be brought back into sharp unpleasant focus and a re

-realisation of my unfortunate predicament, as another even stronger aroma

assaulted my nostrils, It was the ships captain!

Fortunately due to her lack of personal hygiene,

adequate warning of her approach was not impeded by the

noise of the gently breaking swell, one could rely on the sudden appearance

of the overwhelming smell of stale rotting fish and cigar smoke.

She was a lady of fifty something years, but tended to look a lot older due

to her many years at sea, the hot sun had baked her skin to a dark bronze and

the wrinkles on her face reminded me of the patterns that some delta

rivulets can make. The combination of baking and wrinkling gave her skin a

charming crispy appearance.I would be lying if I said she was in any way

attractive. She was very large and continually wore a tabard to protect her

clothes from being sullied by fish guts and the occasional chum splashback.

It was rumoured that she even slept in the tabard, and never washed it.

The rumour goes, that many years back she was the victim of a ship wreck and

was the sole survivor from a crew of nine.What occurred that night was one of

 the most bizarre accidents I have ever heard of, the like of which

will never be seen again. Eight of the crew managed to board the life raft

but, in a sudden swell, the upturned boat`s still spinning propeller cut right

through the raft chopping the raft and it`s contents.I have always thought

this rare form of accident brings new meaning to the words of that old

pirates parrot`s fanatical chant .

"pieces of eight, pieces of eight"

As fortune would have it ,she had failed to board the life raft and remained

afloat nearby, supported in the water by the trapped air beneath her

tabard.  Since this terrible event she has believed that the tabard had

miraculous qualities and was responsible for saving her life.

Yes!,It was the very same tabard she wore on this bilious day that is so

clear in my memory.

 Anyway by grace of  her belief, and her addiction to cigars, it was always

possible to be forewarned by the smell of her approach and thereby look busy.

She walked slowly by me as I pretended to be cleaning the guard rail,I was

hoping she wouldn`t notice my lack of cloth or other cleaning equipment. As

she passed by, she mumbled in a gruff Afrikaans accent,

"Neem meer water met dit, jy tit."

On her passing I immediately looked back at the slave girls in an effort to

avoid a continuation of the projectile vomiting that the sight and smell of

her threatened to re-produce.

On several occasions she would again be heard to mutter this ditty. I came

to believe it was some invaluable seaman's wise saying.  My embarrassment

due to my lack of the Afrikaans language, inhibited me in asking the other

crew what it meant, but I was sure it was very wise and pertinent to a life

on the sea.

Then eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I asked Jonny `the

hook` the ship's cook what "Neem meer water met dit, jy tit" meant!!.


His unfortunate nickname was due to his lack of experience and understanding

of a newly fitted garbage disposal machine in the sink of the ship's galley,

and not a more romantic sounding "pirates' dispute".  Anyway ,He sat

pensively for a minute or so gently gnawing on his pipe as if contemplating

the profundity of the statement and wondering if I was an old enough sea

dog to divulge this secret of all secrets to, then he sighed deeply , I

felt this was THE moment, for which I had been waiting for months,

I was to find out, whether he felt I had earned the right through toil, oil and

bravery, for him to bring me into the sacred society of hardened sea

doggery.

The moment seemed eternal , but then Finally ,Finally! he imparted

the meaning in his almost classic pirate voice.

"Take more water with it, you TIT."

At first I was very disappointed to learn what it meant, but later on in

life I have found it to be very useful, as whenever it crosses my mind to

just drop everything and go and get "shitfaced" these words:

 "Neem meer water met dit, jy tit"

run round and round in my head bringing back the

 pungent memories of days gone by.