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In November 2008 I spent two weeks in Senegal, living in M’bour, a dusty transit stop and fishing port halfway between Dakar and the Gambia. I spent this time getting to know the fishermen, going to sea with them, learning how they worked, the risks they took travelling up to 20 miles offshore in leaky open canoes without so much as a compass to guide them. I learned how they spent days at sea in tiny canoes, sleeping in the bottom of them, risking storms or being swept out to sea. As there canoes have no lights they also run the risk of being mown down by trawlers at night. Many do lose their lives each year, but economic pressures are causing a growing number of young men to turn to fishing. This brings its own problems; the fishery is poorly documented, but anecdotal reports suggest this is having a significant impact on stocks of some species.  Robust data is hard to come by, given the unregulated nature of this fishery, but the Senegalese Directorate of Marine Fisheries estimated that in 2004 a little over 6000 such canoes were operating along the coast of Senegal.  The main species caught are small sardinella (Sardinella aurita and S. maderenis) and horse mackerel (Trachurus trachurus). In 2008 the fishery off M’bour and nearby Joal Fadiouth was considered over-exploited (source FAO,Fisheries Circular No. 1033, 2008).

 Now fully laden, our ancient outboard is securely fastened with bailing twine. Note the well balanced ice box perched toward the stern of the canoe.

I spent a day at sea on one of these tiny boats. Simply making it through the surf was quite an acheivement; the boat had no ballast and was so top heavy, due to ourselves and the large box of ice we were carrying, that we appeared in imminent danger of capsizing. Fortunately we shipped quite a lot of water quite quickly during a rather sketchy launching. This few inches of seawater inside our boat at least gave us some stability by providing a little ballast, albeit not a recommended way of doing so. Powered by an ancient 15hp, 2-stroke Yamaha outboard engine secured by bailing twine to the transom, we headed out to sea for about three hours, by which time I estimated we were about fifteen miles offshore. For the first 30 minutes or so we saw a few other boats, but they quickly dispersed in different directions; soon we were alone. We had set off in a grey haze that quickly enveloped the land. The sun became a slightly brighter glow penetrating the haze. Both sea and sky were otherwise quite featureless.  As we motored steadily along, I watched with growing alarm as the sky changed, growing dark and heavy, with a stiffening breeze springing up.  Maybe two hours out we came upon another canoe, similar to ours. This one was drifting aimlessly as their equally ancient outboard engine had died.  The delight at our arrival shown by the three fishermen onboard quickly turned to consternation when, Pape, our boats owner and skipper, offered not to towed them to back to shore but to a point at sea where they ‘had a better chance of being spotted’ by a home-bound canoe.  So for half and hour or so we towed them further out to sea (or at least it seemed that direction to me) before leaving them to anchor on what appeared an equally deserted and featureless location.as was the spot we had towed them from.  We never saw them again. I rather hope this meant that they had indeed been towed ashore.

At one point Pape asked me which direction I thought M’bour lay.  With no visual clues to guide me I based my guess on the heading I thought we had set off on, and pointed on the reciprocal bearing.  Apparently I was almost 180 degrees out.  I asked Pape how he could tell, with such confidence, with no compass or electronic aids. The wind direction he informed me.  So, I enquired cautiously, does it always blow from the same direction this time of year?  No, he cheerfully informed me, sometimes we get lost.  I rather wished I hadn’t asked.

Eventually we arrived at the fishing grounds.  What exactly identified them as ‘the fishing grounds’ I have no idea.  There were no surface features; nothing on the horizon. Hooks were baited with little, frozen prawns from our icebox and handlines set.  A small stove was fired up in the middle of the canoe and sugary tea the colour and consistency of stockholm tar brewed.  A cup was passed around from which we all took small sips; more than this would most likely have resulted in irreversible damage to my intestines.  Tea was supplemented by joints also passed around.  Tea, reefers and small amounts of rice and peanut porridge (gosi) were pretty much all the crew had to survive on apart from whatever they caught.   Around two hours passed, in which time we had caught maybe a dozen fish, mostly sardinella, horse mackerel and a few bigeye grunt (Brachydeuterus auritus).  Barely enough to feed us at sea, let alone provide a wage for all three fishermen.  Around four in the afternoon, by which time the chop on the sea had risen significantly and little whitecaps had started to appear, we finally decided to head back inshore.  Much to my relief, Pape’s sense of direction proved accurate.

The sun was setting when we finally reached M’bour, and there have been few occasions when I’ve been quite so pleased to step on to dry land.  Pape and his crew would probably go to sea again tomorrow, maybe staying out for one or two nights this time.  I thought that night of the meagre catch we returned with after a day at sea, of the broken down canoe we had come across and of the stories Pape had told me of getting caught in a storm and drifting helplessly for three days before sighting land.  Overfishing is a massive problem on the West coast of Africa.  Much of this problem is actually due to poorly regulated fishing by large trawlers from outside Senegal: Russian, Korean, Japanese, Chinese and European boats.  It has been estimated that a large trawler will, on one good day, catch as much as fifty pirogues will in a year.  Vessels are licensed by the Senegalese Government who argue that if they don’t sell licenses then neighbouring countries will; stocks may still suffer and Senegal will lose valuable revenue (Grégoire Allix, le Monde/Worldcrunch, 2011). What is a matter of concern about the long term effects of overfishing for us in the West can be a question of survival for some on the coast of Senegal.

View more of my images of  Senegal and from other regions of the  World here at my main Colin Munro Photography website.