HE stood on the wharf, a sapodilla brown man just over middle age, his black shoulder-length hair with strands of grey tied in a ponytail. On his face was etched the rough years of sea life, and each wrinkle most likely had a story to tell.
“Aye, Ram,” one of the fishermen getting his boat ready called out to him, “All yuh boats goin’ out dis trip?”
“Yeah,” he answered, “All ah dem fit and ready.”
“You going wid any?”
“Nah,” he answered casually.
“Old man retiring?” another fisherman queried.
“Not old, buddy,” Ram assured them, “Ah bin doing dis ah long time and now is time fuh meh sons tuh tek ova dis business.”
He could still remember his first morning on the fisherman’s wharf as a fourteen-year-old. It had been biting cold, sunlight still hours away, as the wind blew in from the Atlantic. His face felt numb, and his body shivered under the thick jersey. But his young heart had pounded excitedly as they got ready to cast off to sea. His father had held him by the shoulders and said, a proud tone in his voice, “Dis is it, son, yuh maiden trip.”
Ramesh, the boy, had taken a deep breath, thrilled in that moment but nervous for he was standing amongst men with coarse voices, the cussing and shouting drifting with the heavy cigarette smoke.
That was forty years ago.
A long way he had come, from a poor family when life had not always been kind. The family had not shifted much from a poor status over the years because the father had made a surprising decision to invest more in Ramesh’s younger brothers’ education.
“Ah don’t want all meh sons to be fisha man,” he had said, “Education gon open doors tuh different opportunity.”
“Not ah bad idea,” Ramesh had thought, though he was the one bearing the brunt of the hard work to supplement his brothers as his father grew older. His mother, a kind soul with a cheery smile, planted a vegetable garden and sold her produce at the weekend market. It was a small income that went a long way with putting food on the table. Their collective selfless sacrifices were rewarded when Ramesh’s second brother, Naresh graduated with a distinction in mechanical engineering. He was offered a high paying job in a private company in the city.

“And dis is how we gon grow from small to big business,” the father explained proudly.
Two years later, the youngest son, Suresh, graduated with top honours and was offered a scholarship to the United Kingdom.
The father had felt a great sense of satisfaction for he had invested wisely and knew he could now retire for his younger sons would continue the family’s legacy but it did not happen the way he had foreseen.
Ramesh continued to go out to sea, for fishing had become his life and livelihood. Naresh soon opened his own company but an unexpected change began as he gained greater success and his wealth grew. He hardly visited his old home and village and was always busy whenever his mother and father visited him. They became worried and the father had asked one day, “We losin’ we son tuh money and status?”
It seemed that way, and when he married a girl from an upper-class influential family without his family’s blessings, it created tension. Words were not needed to help them understand that Naresh had turned his back on his family and had adopted a new lifestyle.
“Is being poor such ah sin?” the father had asked.
He now became fearful that Suresh might do the same, and his fear was realised not long after.
After graduating, Suresh took a job in Europe, travelling to different parts of the world, never visiting his old home, and just sending small monetary assistance from time to time.
The mother lost her cheery smile, and the father asked in bewilderment, “How dis happen? Wah we do wrong?”
For the first time, Ramesh had seen his father cry and he had held him gently by the shoulders to comfort him as the old man expressed with regrets.
“Ah sorry son, fuh wukkin’ yuh so hard to help wid yuh brothers, now ah don’t have much tuh give yuh.”
The father’s pain had brought tears to Ramesh’s eyes, and he had said to him, “Yuh did what any good fadda woulda do fuh dem children.”

Today, on the cold morning, standing on the wharf where the old boat he had inherited from his father had so often docked for repairs, he was now the owner of three modernly equipped fishing vessels.
A ‘Big Ben’ Raleigh bicycle that was his father’s, Ramesh had ridden for several years but now, as the fishing boats set out to sea, he walked over to his Toyota Hilux and drove home.
The remarkable thing about him was that after gaining success and wealth, he did not turn his back on anyone with less. He felt the struggles and cried the tears, so he continued to live a simple lifestyle in the village. The old house he inherited from his father he had replaced with a splendid mansion. A poor man from the crumbs of life, now living in luxury.
His brothers, whom he had worked tirelessly for, which helped them gain the successes they have now, neither visited nor called him. It was as though, after the passing of their parents, he did not exist for them.
It hurt him, but he took it quietly, not talking about it with anyone.
On his quiet moments, sometimes when he reflected on his life, he wondered why fate had dealt him such harsh blows.

“Is hard tuh undastan life,” he had said to Shanti, one day.
Shanti was the neighbourhood young woman who rode around on her bicycle selling food. She smiled a little, nodding as she handed him the roti and curry he had ordered.
“Suh why yuh don’t get marrid?” she had asked him, one morning. He had looked at her and smiled wryly, “Am jus a poor man wid an ole house and ole boat.”
“Well, yuh gotta start somewhere,” she had said to him encouragingly.
“Now ah days, woman want fine things and nice house,” he had told her, “So no one would want me.”
She got astride her bike and said, as she pedaled away slowly, “Yuh neva know, she woulda probably wuk wid yuh tuh build.”
It was definitely something to think of and he had asked her a few mornings later when she delivered his breakfast order of pumpkin and roti, “Do yuh have a dream?”
“Why yuh ask?”
“Well, ah don’t think yuh would be riding yuh bike and selling food all de time.”
She had sighed and said, “Yeah, ah dream of ah better life and ah beautiful house wid fine comforts.”
He had never really looked at her closely nor talked to her much, but now he recognised that she had a nice smile and bright brown eyes.
“It’s priceless,” he said.
“Wah is?”
“Yuh smile.”
She had looked at him surprised and exclaimed quietly, “Wow, de fisherman gat nice words.”
Ramesh reached home and parked his Toyota beside his second son’s CBR bike, a gift he had given him for his eighteenth birthday. He went into the kitchen, made a strong cup of coffee for himself, and went upstairs. It would soon be sunrise and climbing up an inner stairway to a small tower at the top of his mansion, he sat down with a deep sigh of comfort. The tower was his private place where he could see the sunrise on the horizon, filling the sky with its splendid hues of orange and pink. It was a precious gift of nature, and he treasured above all wealth: the sea, the sun, and the moon, which had romanced his mind from a boy.
He went down back to the second floor, slid into bed and laid down quietly next to his wife. She was retired too, not having now to wake at 3 am to prepare food and deliver to customers.
“Such ah hard working woman she had been,” he said in a low tone, twilling gently a few strands of her long hair, “Wid ah dream in her heart.”
To be continued…