“I’ll Have the Wordfish” – Lost in Translation in Cape Verde.

Today’s guest post is brought to you by Scarlett Redman. Scarlett not only recounts a funny tale of her time in Cape Verde but she also happens to have what I think is one of the coolest names I have ever heard of. Thanks for the cool story Scarlett!

Photo by Andreas Urban

My mother warned me to never accept lifts from strange men.  She also told me that all men are strange.  Add on Santa, the tooth fairy and the tall tale about finding me under the back garden shrubbery and suddenly, my mother’s words hold little weight (sorry mum).  Despite this, as I ungracefully lurched onto the knackered old fishing vessel  of Frederico, my new Cape Verdean friend, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was hankering for a re-enactment of the ‘Shirley Valentine’ boat scene.

Frederico and I met two days earlier; both caught in a short lived (but thoroughly drenching) downpour as he did his daily rounds of selling fish to local Cape Verde restaurants and markets. Clocking my pasty white skin and bedraggled surprise at the rain, he hollered ‘Engleeeeesh! Hello! You are Engleeeeesh, yes?’ And so it came to pass that my destination, Cape Verde, was not going to be the stereotypical holiday.

Photo by Andreas Urban.

Starkness of Sal

In the interim two days, photos of the salt flats of Sal seduced me whilst God of information, Google, enticed me to Pedra de Lume, a place to have a mud bath and float about in saline waters.  The island of Sal has an eerily desolate landscape of tree-less horizons and parched, naked earth. Lonely wooden structures can be seen wallowing in the past, the bygone days of enthusiastic salt mining quietly creaking in the salt coated, splintered joints reminiscent of ancient torture equipment.  The star attraction of Pedra de Lume sparkles and glistens in its volcanic crater salt lake. Scrambling up the volcanic exterior, a narrow tunnel invites your camera to capture the dancing water against the backdrop of shadowed rock.  Mercifully, the ridiculously early morning start meant the lake was almost all mine.  Almost.  Before me, the hairy feet of a mud encased man, horizontal on the water, could be seen as he read a newspaper whilst grinning for photos.

Photo by Andreas Urban.

The salt content of the water is such that floating is the only option, so that’s what I did.  For a decadent hour or so, my toes waded over the hot lake bed whilst I created a second skin of mud, patting down the slightly whiffy gloop before stretching out lazily under the azure sky. Lost in random, fleeting thoughts, I pondered marketing the idea for swimming pools of similar make up – swimming lessons without fear of drowning the kids…

Back to the boat …

Anyway, I digress. Here I was, on board Frederico’s fishing boat, the seashore creeping away from us. ‘So!’ he exclaims, his eyes excited, his smile rivaling the Cheshire Cat. Was this the Shirley Valentine moment I was worried about earlier? ‘You teach me Engleeeesh, yes? I learn for years, but no Engleeesh people to help me!’ We settled into an impromptu language lesson, from which came the most memorable conversation I’ve ever had whilst traveling.

F: You Engleesh, you must waste lots of ink!

Me: What do you mean?

F: You waste letters, you do not say lots of letters!

Me: In what way?

F: For examples, ‘fish’…the word…

Me: We say all the letters in ‘fish’.

F: No! You do not say them.. .the word… ( puts hand in front of his nose and wiggles it around)

Me: I don’t understand… elephant?

F: (still wiggling hand in front of nose) No elephant! Fish! You do not say it, the word, you know it, you have eaten it, the fish…

Several minutes of confusion pass.

F: (Still wiggling hand in front of nose like a demented elephant) “You eat it, the fish, the word, the fish. The word fish…”

Me: Aaah, you mean ‘swordfish’!

F: Yes, yes, the swordfish! Ah, I thought you not say the ‘s’, I thought it was wordfish! You not say the ‘w’. Ah! I am silly, yes!

The next two hours rushed by in delightful banter, corrections and numerous misunderstandings. Frederico lamented about the arduous life of a fisherman, a trade inherited from his father whilst I taught him about infinitives and the past tense. Depositing me onto the squeaking sand in the late afternoon glow, he giggled, insisting on my next restaurant visit back home, I must order the ‘wordfish’.

Photo by Andreas Urban.

Author Bio: Scarlett Redman

Scarlett Redman is a postgraduate social researcher with a heavily stamped passport, an empty bank account and a desire to eternally dodge the ratrace…

*Please remember all photos on this website, unless otherwise noted, are copyrighted and property of BeersandBeans.com, NarikosNest.com & Bethany Salvon. Please do not use them without my permission. If you want to use one of them please contact me first because I do love to share and I would be flattered. Thanks!

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