And chase hard and good and with no mistakes and do not overrun them
― Ernest Hemingway, Islands in the Stream

The finale to the weekend?

Another taxi ride. With my trusty companion and friend, David.

This time into a military compound. As ever, our driver switched on the interior lights, and popped the trunk, so that the soldiers could check out the passengers. They seemed to find it amusing that the ‘oyinbo’ wanted to visit the compound and the fish market that lay within.

Trust me, I had good reason. And I will be back.

Our driver dropped us at the main gate, we walked down into the market, dimly lit, as it was closing time. We cut right, into a darkened alley, the light from a smartphone showing us the way. Our destination? A gourmet paradise.

A large circular cooking station, on which the last few fish waited to be grilled and devoured. As we approached, a swarm of excited girls surrounded us, each assuring us that they had the best fish. They, of course, do not cook the fish, the people cooking the fish are too busy (cooking the fish), the girls’ job to entice and cajole, to close the sale. To land the fish, or in this case, the ‘oyinbo’ 😉

Trying to remember the attention was, of course, more about my naira than my good looks and dazzling personality, I followed my host’s lead, we chose our fish, we ordered our beer. And as our catfish sizzled, soldiers strode around the grill blowing whistles, heralding the evening’s curfew.

We drank our beer as the lights went out. The only light the glow of the grill.

Bar bill negotiated, we left with our fish.

It was delicious, and I am already longing to return.

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One thought on “gone (cat)fishin’

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