By Dann Okoth

James Mango is the descendant of a family that has inexorably fished its way to poverty in Lake Victoria since the 1930s.

"I was born into fishing," he says at his home near Got Kachola beach in West Kadem, Migori District.

"My forefathers did it and it is the only trade I am good at. I am not about to quit and I am not interested in learning any other at this stage in life."

James Mango and his children whom he hopes to take through school.

Yet his story and that of his extended family reads like a chapter from a book entitled, "Wasted Generations".

They constitute a phenomenon among the fishing community in Nyanza where generation after generation seems stuck in the fishing industry without progress.

Talk about being enchained by destiny. The new slavery in the region is so confounding it borders on the absurd.

Enticed by the easy pickings from fishing, subsequent generations of the Mango family have been chained to the industry with little to show for it other than being able to afford three meals a day.

At 27 years, James is saddled with three wives and seven children — never mind that his eldest wife had just turned 23 when we arrived at the village a couple of days ago.

He lives in a small tin-roofed semi-permanent house with his wives and children, which is an achievement by local standards. Most homes in the area are grass thatched, mud-walled, derelict domiciles.

But he is quite happy that he is able to put food on the table for his family and have a roof over their heads.

"I’m happy the trade has enabled me to feed my family all these years. I have started small businesses for all my wives and I’m not complaining," he says.

His grandfather, James Mango Mark, father Nick Mango and all five brothers are also fishermen.

But the grandfather, who says he is 91 but cannot quite tell when he was born, has somewhat retired but still ekes out a living from the industry by mending fishing nets.

James was virtually born with a fishing rod in his hands. He says he was told that his mother developed labour pains at the beach when she had gone to land the fish before she was rushed to a nearby mid-wife.

"I guess, then, my destiny on the lake was pre-ordained," he adds sarcastically.

After two attempts to acquire formal education failed, James threw in the towel and headed for the lake.

"I dropped out of school in 1994 in class seven after one previous attempt. I never saw the need to struggle with school because I was earning some money from fishing already," he says.

Interestingly, though, James hopes to put his seven children through school.

"I want them to acquire a good education because I believe the fishing industry is not sustainable for long," he says,

Indeed, even ardent defenders of the fishing industry like James say you can no longer depend on fishing to feed such a large family.

"The fish stocks in the lake are diminishing by the day and we often return empty handed after a night’s fishing expedition," he says.

Women wash nets in readiness for a fishing trip.

On such occasions, James is unable to put food on the table for the family and the wives are forced to chip in with their earnings from small enterprises like selling sugar cane by the roadside.

On a good day he can make Sh500 from one fishing trip. Sometimes he makes as little as Sh150.

On average he makes between Sh2,500 and Sh4,000 but after deducting expenses, he usually ends up with Sh1,500. He has no bank account so he cannot save.

"Lately we have only been working for our stomachs because the catch has become progressively small. It is becoming difficult to afford one’s own clothes but what choice do we have?" he poses.

Across James’ frayed euphorbia fence is Nick Mango’s home. He is James’ father and the fifth son of Mzee Mango.

Nick has fished since he was 11 and can thank the industry for helping him maintain his two wives and bring up four children.

Born in 1959, Nick had no opportunity to get a formal education.

"Back then there weren’t many schools and food was abundant in the form of fish. Nobody really saw the need to go to school," he says. Today he shares the same lake with his father, son and grandchildren for the scarce fish resources.

Strangely, Nick does not have a shred of guilt for not sending his children to school although he could afford it.

"For us the lake was everything. Nobody saw the value of school and the children chose to do what seemed to run in the family. It was difficult to stop them knowing it was passed down to us by our great grandfathers," he explains.

But the man now realises that there is no easy money to be made from fishing anymore and the trade has become a daily struggle pitting one generation against the next.

"The work is hard and the nights are long and dangerous. Often we come back empty handed, sometimes for a whole week," he says.

"Sometimes it occurs to me we could all be dead if a tragedy struck. We all go to the lake at night at the same time and you never know what might happen."

The Mango clan, Mzee Mango explains, arrived in the area around 1939 from Alego Usonga and settled on the shores of Lake Victoria in southern Nyanza.

The clan grew with time and now occupies Kabuto central and Kakelo locations in West Kadem.

At first, he explains, members of the clan worked as hirelings helping the locals with their fishing.

"We did odd jobs like pulling the nets after the fishermen landed and sorting fish and mending nets," he says.

Eventually, the clan learned the ropes and were soon heading off to sea in large numbers. Recently they have edged out the locals from the industry.

All his adult life Mzee Mango has spent his days dealing with fish in one way or another and that, he says, goes for the rest of his agemates from that clan.

"I have never known anyone from the family who went beyond primary school," he says.

Lack of academic progress marks the underlying poverty and underdevelopment in the area. Although there are a few primary schools in the area, few children attend school as runaway poverty and backwardness sends them away from classrooms to join the fishing industry.

Omondi Mango Mariko, Mzee Mango’s fourth son and a veteran fisherman seems to be the only one who realises the days of depending on fish are numbered.

"I have done this job since I was young but all indications are that the industry is on its last legs in the area," he says.

He remembers with nostalgia the days just after independence when the lake was bursting at the seams with fish following floods commonly known in the area as "kodh ouru".

But with a steadily receding lake and dwindling fish stocks Mariko and his ilk have to venture farther to land even a moderate catch — but there they meet the enemy in the name of Ugandan and Tanzanian security forces, who torment and rob them.

"Nam dar Koro chunowa ni nyaka walawe to wasigu be ni e yo (The lake is drying up forcing us to venture farther into the lake where the enemy is waiting to devour us)," he says.

Today, as Mzee Mango watches the sun set over the disputed Migingo Island to the west of Got Kachola village, the beautiful scenery can only evoke memories of a glorious past.

But in reality, and as he nears his own sunset, Mzee Mango knows he is presiding over a generation that might soon find itself concerned by its own refusal to embrace change.