Stories by Vidhisha Mannah

Photos by Alva Viarruel

Sunday Express

November 9, 1997

Pages 16, 17 and 18

The fishing industry in villages along the southwestern coast of Trinidad is dying, and unless the Government takes affirmative action to revive the mainstay of the economy of these villages, they too will die.

This was the fear expressed by villagers and fishermen from Bonasse, Fullarton and Icacos last week.

Those involved in the industry gave differing reasons for its demise, citing as the key reasons trawling, overfishing, lack of fishing permits, and intensified patrols by the Venezuelan Guardia Nacional.

Everyone, however, is convinced that something needs to be done now to prevent the scenic coastline villages from becoming ghost towns.

Pointing to the dozen or more trawlers dotting the horizon as they operate along the coast, the fishermen say they are "raping the seabed" and destroying the breeding grounds of the fish stock they have depended on to earn a living for dozens of years.

However, they've resigned themselves to living with the trawlers, since they believe that "politics" was the main reason why Government wouldn't stop the trawlers from operating.

Villagers blame Government's failure to negotiate new fishing permits with Venezuela as a key reason for the lean season.

At this time of year, there are very few fish to catch in Trinidad coastal waters and most fishermen would venture to the Venezuelan coast for a good catch. The permits would also have allowed them access to the rich breeding grounds of the migrating shrimp off the Venezuelan coast.

While the permits do not guarantee immunity from the clutches of the ever-present Guardia Nacional, they help in providing a sense of security, the fishermen say.

But "Permit or not, when yuh see dem wahlia (as they call the Guardia) is to pull up line and run," one seasoned fisherman said. They admit that since the Guardia Nacional are patrolling their territorial waters more vigilantly then before, it has become "very risky" to take chances.

The fishermen have identified a Guardia Nacional captain as their Achilles' heel. He patrols the 12-and-a-half-mile stretch of water between Icacos and the Venezuelan main with impunity and brings no end of terror into the hearts of the seamen.

"Up to Tuesday last he come right up to the breakwater to run we. Somehow he does know when our Coast Guard patrol not around, because they never clash," one fisherman said.

A vendor who buys the catch from the fishermen is convinced that the primary reason for the dwindling fish stocks is overfishing.

"It have too much boats. It not like longtime any more, is everybody fishing and it just doesn't have enough fish for everybody," he said, noting, however, that the fishermen contracted to him have been bringing in what he expects on a daily basis.

"This thing does be determined by the moon too, yuh know. We all know that not every day is Sunday."

Lal Soomai, a retired Van Leer employee, is new to the sea and had no complaints. He has already paid off his investment in the boat, engine and other equipment and knows too, that it's not every day that the catch is good.

"Last week was better. Some days it good and some days it bad. That's how it is," he said, smiling at the seven carite he caught after spending eight hours at sea.

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On Monday, the sea at Icacos was quiet. Worry was etched on the faces of the few vendors who kept watch at the bay.

"Today the catch was disappointing," said a fisherman who spent a long day at sea and returned with just three medium-sized carite. "Even if I sell the fish the money won't cover my expenses."

The fishermen who work the sea along the southwestern coasts were restricted to operating close to Trinidad's shores for fear of being arrested by the Venezuelan Guardia Nacional.

One fisherman, who didn't want to be named, had made an investment of $22,000 on a new boat and $37,000 for two outboard engines. Like most of his colleagues, he will be spending at least $100 a day on fuel.

While most fishermen make a similar investment in order to earn a living, it is the vendors who determine the price of fish on a daily basis, putting a ceiling on the profit the fishermen make.

"When the vendors call their price we can't argue with them," the fisherman said. Most of them work on an informal contract basis, with vendors buying from specific fishermen with whom they've been associated for a number of years.

Most times, however, that amounts to the vendors giving the fishermen a reasonable price so that they can cover their expenses.

The depression faced by the more than 400 fishermen who work the Cedros coasts has affected their ability to support their families and threatens their way of life.

The regular evening limes at the roadside snackettes are gradually becoming a thing of the past.

The owner of Sanctity Restaurant and Bar confirmed that business was "very slow" because fishermen do not have enough money to spend.

"That is affecting business. Things are really tight because I have to pay installments in the bank," he said.

The proprietor, once a fisherman himself, said he had sold his boat because of fear of the Venezuelans, and invested his savings in the snackette.

"These days you don't want to leave your house. You don't have money to buy not even a pack of cigarettes. You just don't have the money to buy luxuries any more," one villager said.

The fishermen are caught between a rock and a hard place. They must fish to support their families. But in doing so they run the risk of being jailed by the Venezuelan Guardia Nacional.

When they are caught they have to pay US $1,000 - $4,000 for their release.

Besides the dwindling fishing industry, the only alternative for the villagers is the coconut industry, which has also been going downhill over the past ten years.

Alfred John Williams was one of those who preferred to battle for survival in the coconut estates rather than gamble with his life out at sea.

He is trying to eke out a living for his wife and three children by gathering dried coconuts, husking them and selling them at 40 cents each. The same nuts are sold for $1 and $1.50 in the market by the vendors who buy the nuts.

"These days things real tough because nobody wants to buy our nuts any more. The vendors prefer to buy the nuts coming from St Vincent because they look bigger."

He said that the Vincentian coconuts, though larger, are of inferior quality to the local nuts "because the flesh is thinner inside".

Williams wants Government to stop the importation of coconuts from St Vincent, which started about a month ago.

He is also appealing to the Coconut Growers Association (CGA) to pay more than the 60 cents a pound for copra, which they offer at present.

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In the tiny village of Icacos, just over 1,000 people live in about 300 homes. A wooden school building which houses 150 pupils up to the Common Entrance class is in dire need of repair.

The village has two Hindu temples and four denominational churches. Most of the residents are Hindus. There is a health centre with a doctor one day a week and a coin-operated public telephone at the roadside.

There is no dry goods store, drugstore, supermarket or police station in Icacos. The village gets pipeborne water one day a week and the supply of electricity is punctuated by regular power cuts.

The people at Icacos lead a quiet life. When they walk, their pace is unhurried. In the village "We don't have any crime here. People sleep with their windows open and leave their doors open when not at home."

At one time, the village was known as a key point where drugs and other contraband goods were smuggled into the country. Now, with the crackdown by local Coast guard and the Guardia Nacional, the boats are not venturing across the gulf.

As the sun sets and the villagers retire for their night's rest, they pray as they do every day for some miracle that will revive the fishing and coconut industries, which are the only sustenance they know.

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"If God drop asleep, all a we dead." The expression from the youth sitting beneath the almond tree with a group of friends in Fullarton was indicative of the mood of many in the villages as they struggle to survive "by the grace of God".

For as far back as they can remember, the villagers of Icacos, Bonasse and Fullarton have lived off the benevolence of the sea.

Fishing is the only form of employment they have. It is their life and their livelihood, their past and their future. Without its sustenance they feel useless.

"Fishing is the only thing I know. I have been fishing since I was a little boy and to look for something else to do at this point is impossible," was the way one fisherman put it.

He had just returned from a fishing expedition in the Gulf of Paria, spending eight hours bracing the elements to catch only ten pounds of fish. Just enough to feed his family.

In Bonasse, Dale Mathura and his friends wheeled a cart loaded with their fishing net, which they use to "throw seine" to make a living.

Mathura, 18, has been looking for a job for the past year without success.

"I am holding on to this for now until I can better myself. I hope to go to a trade school because I want to be a mechanic," he said.

The catch, several small "fry dry" and a few shrimp, is just enough to distribute among themselves. They will take it home for their mothers to cook.

"We used to catch a lot more when we could have gone out past the rigs," he said, pointing towards Trinmar's rigs on the horizon. "But now we can't cross that point because the "wahlia" (the word used by villagers for the Venezuelan Guardia Nacional) is always on the lookout."

"We have to go out there in the sea and take chances. We have payments to make to the banks and our families to support. We just can't sit down and do nothing," said one fisherman who wanted to remain anonymous for fear of recrimination.

Distraught over their financial situation, many of them, like 24-year-old Farouk Mohammed, have tried unsuccessfully to find employment at the LNG Plant in Point Fortin.

"Things real rough. I have three children and a wife to feed," said Mohammed.

He gets little odd jobs "hustling" boats but he complained that the money is never enough to feed his family.

"We eat less so we can send the children to school. It is important that they get an education," said Mohammed.

But some families cannot afford to send their children to school any more.

The group of young unemployed men liming under the almond tree sipping cask wine to celebrate a birthday said the only alternative villagers have to fishing is to work on the coconut estates.

They said the Unemployment Relief Programme (URP) is not an alternative, since the few jobs there are exclusive to supporters of the ruling UNC party.

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