Went fishing anything that fell into their networks: fry small river, crabs, Hippos… Uncertainty is part of breakfast in this region of Zambia and that morning we were invited to the feast.
We had several days looking for the populations in the wild rivers of Africa. We wanted to portray these people, search history beyond nature reserves. The Luangwa Park is one of the busiest in the country and a river delimits its territory, but no elephants or hippos and buffaloes border know.
So we headed to the other side, to that which no longer belongs to the park, the shore where no tourists pointing crocodiles, but children must face them. There's a reality without postal, without sunscreen, no brand boots. That actually called Mukasanga.
We had received the Prince of nawa, the leader of an ethnic accustomed to dodge the onslaught of animals. We were comfortable among these men smiling, among those women who swept the doors of their huts poverty dignifying clean sheet, among children running alongside our cameras with the same unconsciousness with which rowed hours toward a herd of hippos. The village was so natural Mukasanga river ambush, so extreme routine of nawa, you do not know how to interpret that joke sinister mix children and hippos.
It was so natural river ambush, so extreme routine of nawa, you do not know how to interpret that joke sinister mix children and hippos.
A hollow log canoe was, rowing a stick and a thousand times patched network of ephemeral future: feed yours another day. Everything is made easy on the Luangwa River, no hurry, Nobody thinks to speak there. The strategy is simple: have to overcome the stubborn of hippos to reach the network and sensing the presence of the specimens immersed you do not see.
The hippopotamus is one of the world's most dangerous animals. His condition does not herbivore friendlier. It is territorial and suspicious, with fangs capable of crossing the scales of an alligator, powerful jaw and a great skill in the water. But outside, onshore, this animal chubby and affable face, can reach 40 miles per hour if it intends to end the intruder.
By monitoring the gaze of hippos, nawa forget many crocodiles that inhabit the same waters, down there, somewhere. In the village a human dies almost every year for the attack of the beasts. Here man encounters with nature without explanation: mad elephants, Old Lions tired of being mocked by the gazelles, buffaloes in fear, real nightmares, savage violence, claws, fangs, bites… death.
In Mukasanga met Chibulu, a teenager who every day drags his leg brace to school. One day a month of rain, had to cross a flooded road, with books on the head, his feet tempting fate and his heart shrunk by water and by fear. A row of teeth tore the leg as who starts a childhood dream. The crocodile left him diminished future already complicated in this region of Zambia. But here Chibulu lived and nobody seems to notice, because as usual.
Widows are still mourning their fishermen saw a mouth just rushing to the canoe, mourn the children who played in a forest full of roars. But every evening Mukasanga dwellers take their drums and laugh out loud for a new Dodge to target fish and fill the pan and dancing while the sun sets because they are alive. Tomorrow again fishing in a river infested with hippos.
On the other side, smiling tourists taking pictures of the beasts.
