The Call of the Stream

Our favourite stream: Abelikpien

It is an early morning, windy and bright
As I take a turn about this sandy stretch
Watching fishers draw their long nets
With straining muscles and clenched jaws
From restless waters breaking at their feet
My heart stole back over the years
To our very own angling adventures
In the beloved intermittent brook at home
Wherein we bathed and played and fished
And in my mind's bright eye, I see a trout
Fluttering and dancing on a line.

Have you read: The Mighty Abelikpien?

Oft it comes about many a blazing noon
That we hear the call of the stream
And stealthily hasten to respond in glee
Each one bearing a straight rod
At whose end is tied the elastic nylon line
That carries the latex or wooden float
Which we rightly named ‘the gossip’
And the barbed hook right at the end
Intended to impale hapless rapacious fish.

In groups numbering one to many
We sneak out for a nook at the brook
Once snuggled up, the hook is dressed
With a wriggly protesting worm
Nipped off and returned to the tin can
As to tell of their inevitable grim fate.
The baited hook is hurled into the creek
And we settle down to watch events unfold.

Two boys fishing in a stream

First a wink, then another, and yet another
The bobbing dance of the sinker duly reports
The nibbling at the impotent worm.
Finally, an audacious fish goes for the kill
And the dancing sinker disappears altogether
Then up we swing with hope and intent
And out flies an ill fated trout
Panting and wrangling at the end of the line.
These futile protestations are felt
In the arm with a fascinating thrill, and
Followed by a delightful cry of triumph!

Also Read: Village Boy Impressions - Gleaning Groundnuts

But when the daylight turns westward and faint

It is the turn of girls to trap biila* with cooking pots!

Whilst anxious mothers wait to cook the evening meal,

Their budding daughters are not so eager to scour the pots.

Amid the attention of boys eager to tease and play.

Hatchlings are baited in the shallow waters

With scraps of tasty soup or saab* at the bottoms,

Pots are turned on their side in the softly flowing water

Hankering fry rush in to nibble the leftovers.

And by stealth, she goes in to carry them away

Pouring water, fish and all on the sand.

What a sight to see biila dancing after a pour.

Sometimes a good trout is so tricked too

Ending up on a good fire or in a pot of soup

Whose scraps serve as bait the next pot scouring day

Also Read here: Village Boy Impressions - Hunting Termites

When the girls have been called home by irate mothers

(Shouting: "don’t let me catch you at the stream!")

We turn to another angling expedition.
Driving rods with baited hooks on short lines

Into the muddy ground close to the banks

Where the aquatic weeds and fish feed bloom.

Gossips and sinkers are quite useless then.

When the bigger fishes come out to play,

Some are tempted to swallow the floating worms
Only to discover the fatal mistake afterward

Mayhaps one or two bully their way through

With both hook and line

Yet the most are unable to budge

Becoming the booty of grinning boys in the morning.

Thus were the elusive mudfish and catfish caught.

And so we spent many childhood days in bliss
Oblivious of the anxiety of our parents

Only eager to heed the call of the stream

Whilst blazing suns rise and fall in their eternal race.

Though we could not slow down the sands of time

At least we sure made them run!

[1] biila - Fingerlings

[2] saab - A dish of thick porridge prepared from millet or maize flour and eaten with different sauces in Northern Ghana and elsewhere. Also called Tuo Zaafi (T. Z.).

Other Poems Celebrating the North of Ghana

The Seasons at Home

The Baobab Tree

On Behalf of the Trees

To the Lizard, an Ode

Harmattan

A Tale of Buluk

The Song of Atuga

Halting Words for Nab Ayieta Azantilow I

Collecting Termites

Bird Scaring

Tethering Goats