River Monsters (2009–2017): Season 2, Episode 4 - Congo Killer - full transcript
Jeremy Wade travels to the Congo River in Africa to fish for the Kamba Catfish. Also featured are the Vundu Catfish and the African Lungfish.
There are so many rivers
around the world,
so many far-flung locations,
that I rarely return
to the same place twice.
Hey!
That is, unless I've
been defeated the first time.
But there's one place
where I've longed to return,
a land that beat me before,
a region
of unparalleled brutality
where, for over 100 years,
violence and bloodletting
have been a way of life.
I traveled here 25 years ago,
but had to pick my time
carefully.
Since then,
continuing violence and unrest
have prevented me
from going back.
This is the Congo,
a region lost
in the dark heart of Africa,
a land of fables, legends,
and spirits.
And there is one spirit
in particular called Mami Wata
who is said to lure fishermen
to the bottom of the river,
where they're imprisoned
for eternity.
Farfetched?
Maybe not.
Recently,
new stories have reached me
of fishermen dragged overboard
to their deaths,
so I'm heading back out there
to discover if these tales
are just fables and legends
or if something really is
lurking in the depths.
My name is Jeremy Wade.
What keeps me alive
is catching fish.
But some of the moments
when I've felt most alive
have been those
when I was closest to death.
Only by really testing myself
do I feel
I have achieved anything.
And to do this,
I travel far and wide,
putting my own safety at risk
to uncover the truth about what
lurks in the world's rivers.
I'm heading to the Congo,
one of the few places on earth
that will still really test
a fisherman.
The Congo is situated in
the tropical heart of Africa.
It is regarded as one of the
most violent places on earth.
My plan is to travel
up the Congo River
into the interior
of this vast continent
and catch myself a monster.
This region has
enormous mineral wealth,
but centuries
of colonial exploitation
and ethnic conflict
have been its ruination.
It now ranks among the poorest
and most dangerous places
on the planet.
I first came here
to the Congo River
with my fishing rods
25 years ago.
I was traveling through
a country known then as Zaire.
And this was a country
the size of Western Europe,
but with almost
no infrastructure...
A really difficult place
to travel.
On top of that, the country
was under a dictatorship,
and there was a real climate
of fear at the time.
And it was not really a place
that outsiders ever came to,
certainly nobody traveling
on their own, as I was.
And I was here for 2 1/2 months,
and I didn't catch
a single fish,
because the country
being so vast
and the traveling so difficult,
it just took me all my time
to get to the river
and then get out again.
But I did talk to people.
I spoke to fishermen,
and I heard some stories...
Stories of fish so huge
that they are said sometimes
to drag the fishermen
out of their dugout canoes,
drowning them in the water.
And then I was on my way out.
I was traveling
on a big riverboat,
maybe 2,000 other passengers
on that boat,
and I actually glimpsed
one of these monsters.
Somebody dragged it on board.
And I took a photograph.
And the memory of that fish has
just stayed with me ever since.
But recently, fresh stories have
reached my ears of this place,
and they have rekindled
the memories of that fish
that I saw on the boat,
and they've reminded me
that me and this river
have got
some unfinished business.
The people of the Congo
are very superstitious.
They believe
that this great river
is inhabited by the spirit
Mami Wata.
But could this water spirit
actually be a rare
and massive fish,
like the one I glimpsed
all those years ago?
I have to find out.
I get my first real sight
of the harshness of life
in this place
when we stop in a village
to refuel.
Life here is cruel
and unforgiving.
Just to survive takes
incredible strength,
spirit, and resilience.
Ah.
Oh, merci.
What's slightly disturbing
about this fish
is that it's still alive.
Catfish tend to stay alive
for a long time out of water.
And if you let yourself
be ruled by sentiment,
you'd say, really, you should
bash this fish on the head,
put it out of its misery.
But if you do that,
it's gonna go bad very quickly,
the meat's gonna go rotten, and
people aren't going to eat it.
So basically,
if you live somewhere like this,
sentiment goes out the window,
and, you know, you want to
keep this thing alive
for as long as possible so that
it tastes good when you eat it.
Simple as that.
With their scaleless bodies
and whisker-like tentacles,
catfish are incredibly diverse.
There are an estimated
3,000 different species
inhabiting every continent
except Antarctica.
I've caught them
in the New World and the Old.
But here, the Congo is home
to over 200 different types.
That's nearly three times
as many
as in all the rivers
in North America.
This is an electric catfish.
Ah.
But here... zzt!
Okay. Okay.
It's got very sharp spines here.
Ay!
I'm here to catch a catfish
that's rumored to reach 8 feet
in length
and weigh over 300 pounds...
A leviathan among
the world's river monsters.
The local name
for the Congo River is Mzadi.
It means "the river
that swallows all rivers."
Together with
its countless tributaries,
it is the second largest
river system in the world.
From the Atlantic coast,
it coils its way
nearly 3,000 miles
into Africa's interior,
draining a basin second only
in area to the Amazon.
My plan is to travel
500 miles upriver
to the village of Bonga.
This part of the Congo was
isolated from the outside world
until the arrival of colonizers
in the latter part
of the 19th century.
Then everything changed
under the voracious rule
of King Leopold of Belgium.
A reign of terror
turned the Congo region
into a prison state.
Men were enslaved
to gather wild rubber,
and their women and children
routinely had their hands
chopped off
if the men failed
to work hard enough.
10 million Congolese
were brutally killed.
To this day, much of this
region remains undiscovered.
This dark heart of Africa is
still as unknown to outsiders
as it ever was.
I know little of what lies ahead
as I venture into one
of the darkest places on earth.
The Congo River is
the lifeblood of this region.
Villagers cling to its banks.
It provides
a vital transport link
and is an essential source
of food.
As I venture further north,
I notice that little has changed
over the last 25 years.
I'm using up valuable time,
and I still have
200 miles ahead of me
before I reach the place
where I saw that giant fish.
As yet another day
draws to a close,
I'm getting desperate to see
what fish are in the river,
but I have no bait.
That is, until the boatmen
suggest a local favorite...
Soap.
Any old soap will do.
It's, you know,
not just your traditional
sort of animal-fat-based soap,
but any... antiseptic soap.
You name it,
the fish will go for it.
And one good thing about it
is it will really give off a
good scent trail down the river.
The catfish here are said to be
among the biggest
anywhere in the world.
I've set myself up
in a quiet slack
on the edge of the current.
River's a bit like
a conveyor belt.
If you position yourself
in the right place,
it will bring food, and
this is just the kind of place
where everything settles out
and where the fish congregate.
But as the hours pass,
the only thing that's biting
are the mosquitoes.
Pretty sure
that was just the current.
But every now and again,
you get a real surge.
But things are very quiet,
and that's...
Don't know.
It's quite a surprise.
Fish on!
That's a fish.
I'm in the Congo, deep
in the dark heart of Africa,
searching for a monster catfish.
Lay this down.
I recognize this as one
of the giant-catfish species,
but this is just a baby.
Even so, he gave me
quite an impressive run-around,
which is a bit scary,
because it's said they can grow
to over 100 times this size
and drag fishermen
from their boats.
I know of catfish in the Amazon
big enough
to swallow people whole.
So there's no reason
why this river
couldn't be home to fish
of a similar size.
Crucially for me,
there is virtually
no commercial fishing here.
Unlike, say, the Amazon,
where you've got
a huge commercial fishing fleet
that extracts literally
tons of fish every day.
So if there's one river
in the world
where you might hope
to find a real monster
lurking undisturbed
in the depths, this is it.
This is the end of the line
for this boat.
And as we pull into
a remote fishing village,
I get my first sight
of a Congo River monster.
Anguille. Anguille.
- Yeah.
- They call them eels.
I'm used to eels
that are about like that round
and maybe 18 inches,
2 foot long.
These things, they're
the thickness of your leg
and maybe 4,
getting on for 5 foot.
I'll see if we can maybe
get one out
and have a proper look at one.
They're just such
weird-looking creatures.
I'm not gonna put my hands
in the mouth there.
There's some pretty
nasty-looking fangs in there.
They look sharp, and they also
look quite dirty and unhygienic.
I think I've got an idea
on these.
I think these are lungfish.
Oh!
That is because this fish
actually has an air bladder
which is used as a lung,
so it can actually breathe
out of water.
And this is a fish
that can bury itself underground
and survive droughts.
It sort of, I think, belched out
a little bit of air,
and then there was a...
took some air in and
then belched out of the gills.
Small eyes generally on a fish
means that they don't use them
much for feeding.
They're probably using vibration
or scent in the water
more than vision
to find their food.
This was caught on a palm nut,
so it suggests, you know,
an omnivorous feeder.
That mouth, to me,
looks like it's gonna take fish.
I'd guess,
like a lot of fish 'round here,
it's sort of opportunistic.
It will actually chomp anything
that comes its way.
But anyway,
they call this an eel,
and I have to say
it's the most impressive eel
I have ever seen.
Lungfish are ancient creatures
predating all animals
that walk on land.
When I look at a beast
like this,
Mami Wata no longer seems such
a stretch of the imagination.
I find myself
a large motorized dugout
to take me the remaining
stretch of my journey
to the village of Bonga.
This village
is ideally situated,
being at the confluence
of two rivers,
the Congo and the Sangha.
From past experience,
I know that this
is just the kind of place
where big fish gather
to feed on small fish.
After a journey
of nearly 300 miles,
I'm back in the region where
I saw that massive catfish
all those years ago.
It was also near here
that I caught malaria,
the insect-borne disease
that kills millions of Africans
every year.
The memories of that time
come flooding back.
As the malarial parasites
swarmed through my blood,
it felt as if a war was raging
inside my body.
I went through two weeks
of hell...
Sweating, hallucinations,
and fever.
The slightest sound
had my head pounding.
I thought I was going to die.
Now I'll have to relive
that nightmare
as I sit out fishing
night after night
on the same stretch of river.
As I arrive
at the village of Bonga,
the air is warm, thick,
heavy, sluggish.
This is to be my home
for the next few weeks,
and it's where my journey
really begins.
I'm met by the chief, Ngwema.
Luckily for me,
he speaks fluent French,
the language left behind
by the European colonizers.
He explains
that he has been chosen
from a population
of several hundred
to lead this community,
which survives entirely
from fishing these waters.
Ngwema brings out
a covered basin
with something moving around
in the bottom.
On closer inspection,
I glimpse snakelike markings.
I wonder if he is testing me.
Out here,
first impressions matter.
I cannot be seen to lose face.
No, no.
Aah!
Bon.
Voilà.
Voilà.
That's... Gosh, that's a fish
and a half, that is.
That's a mungusu.
And that looks
just like a snakehead.
But it's in Africa.
But it's so similar.
So similar.
The bony head
and a very muscular body.
And the other thing is
they're capable of living in...
Lots of them all
in a very small amount of water.
So they're very well adapted to
sort of low-oxygen conditions.
I better put it back, I think.
Don't want him out too long.
Oi!
There's just so many variations
on the fish theme here
and just a brilliant example
of what they call
convergent evolution.
You get, you know, fish
in a completely different
part of the world
which have the same strategy
for survival
and actually look very similar.
This does sound like the place
for big catfish.
The biggest he's seen
was about 9 foot in length,
but that was a while ago.
Nowadays, maybe 5 or 6 foot.
I mean, that's still
a very big fish.
Ngwema has said he will
help me in any way he can,
starting tomorrow with a trip
to meet other fishermen
so I can get
the lie of the river.
The chief has let me set up camp
in an old,
deserted logging depot.
The previous inhabitants
vanished
during the last civil war.
During the past 100 years or so,
while much of the world
was marching forward,
the Congo has been retreating
back into the darkness
of a bygone era.
After such a brutal history,
it is to be expected
that violence breeds violence,
and I can't help but feel
that the people here
must harbor feelings
of antipathy towards outsiders.
My sudden appearance last night
has surprised
many of the villagers.
But their main concern this
morning is the chief's brother,
who failed to return
from a fishing trip last night.
There are two main methods
of fishing here...
Drift nets and long lines
equipped with multiple hooks.
Both techniques
are fraught with danger,
and the chief takes me to meet
fishermen to find out more.
In my experience,
this is not only the best way
to learn about the fish,
but you also get to hear stories
that normally never make it
to the outside world.
At the first fishing settlement
we stop at,
I meet Ngamba,
who tells me about his friend,
who was dragged from his boat
to his death.
The details of the story
appear to be that a fisherman,
fairly local to here...
went out one morning,
as usual, to check his lines,
and he didn't come back.
What happened
was that two days later,
somebody found his body,
and he had one of his hooks
through his shirt
and actually into the flesh
of his arm.
From the situation
of the man's body and the line,
they were just able to deduce
that he must have been
pulling in the line
and then just somehow
got the hook caught in him...
and he was pulled over the side.
On the same line, on another
hook, was a large catfish.
The size of the catfish...
Well, you know,
he indicated that.
Now, around here, that isn't
the length of the fish.
That is actually
the width of the head.
So we're talking a fish
well over 100 pounds.
I wonder what the chief thinks
about my mission
to catch a monster catfish,
especially in the light
of this incident
and the disappearance
of his brother.
We head back to the village and
join the rest of the fishermen,
who are heading out
to set their hooks
for the night ahead.
Ngwema takes me along.
Over the coming weeks, his help
could make the difference
between success and failure.
We've got close to 100 hooks
there, all baited with...
Well, some with soap,
some with bits of snail.
And this is very precarious.
I'm fairly heavy compared to the
people here, but we've got a...
quite a wobbly boat.
And the idea of pulling in
a big fish
from a boat like this is...
is a bit interesting,
to say the least.
The first weight has gone in.
That's about 6 feet deep,
something like that,
it looked like.
And what we're gonna do now
is put the line out
towards the middle of the river
with the hooks at intervals,
and then there's a final weight
just to hold everything
in place.
You get tension building up
in the line.
You get these hooks
just whipping past you
as you're paddling out
into the middle.
Actually trying this fishing
for myself,
it really brings home
the reality of that story
of the fisherman who had
the hook stuck in his leg
when he was pulling in
some fish.
The canoe is very unstable.
Your feet are very close
to coils of line.
You've got dozens of hooks
in the boat.
And, you know, all it needs
is just a slight slip,
a slight lapse of concentration,
and you're over the side.
The consequences can be fatal
just like that.
Mm-hmm.
The chief is anxious
to head back to the village
to see if there is any news
about his brother.
And I make my way
to an area of the river
that, according to the locals,
holds some of the biggest
catfish in this region.
What I'll do,
I'll have the boat here,
and then I'll put two,
maybe three rods across.
So I should have
quite a good setup there
for intercepting anything
that might be on the prowl.
The catfish I'm after
is most active at night,
when it comes into the shallows,
using its whiskers
to detect prey.
It is one of the Congo's
top predators.
I'm in position nicely
before dark, which is good.
And unlike the local fishermen,
who go back home, go to sleep,
come out in the morning
to check their lines,
I'm gonna sit here on the rods.
Mosquitoes will be in soon,
so I should be buttoning up
my shirt,
putting on some repellant.
But once I've done that,
it's just sit and wait.
Eventually, having sat through
wave after wave of mosquitoes,
I'm forced to quit
and head back to camp.
The chief's actually
just come 'round,
asking if he can borrow
some fuel.
His brother still isn't back
from fishing.
He's now well overdue.
So what's gonna happen
is some people are gonna go out
and have a look,
try and find him.
If that wasn't actually
worrying enough,
I've just heard
from the house next door
that the way things work here
is that there's no such thing
as an accident.
Everything has a cause.
And because this disappearance
comes at the same time
as my being here,
you know, there are people
starting to say
that I am responsible for this.
The atmosphere here has changed.
Many of the villagers
seem stony-faced.
I don't know what's going on,
which worries me.
Superstition
is incredibly powerful here,
and I have no idea
what might happen to me
if any harm comes
to the chief's brother.
500 miles up the River Congo,
and the fragile peace in
the village where I'm staying
has been shattered
by the disappearance
of the chief's brother.
And I've heard
that some of the villagers
suspect my being here is the
cause for his disappearance.
As I lie waiting to hear news,
I feel isolated, anxious,
and vulnerable.
I knew I was heading
into the unknown
when I set out on this trip.
But I didn't foresee anything
like this happening.
I've just actually
heard commotion
down by the side of the water,
and even without hearing the
words, I think it's good news.
I think they've found him,
which is just
an almighty relief.
One thing, it just shows how
this kind of thing happening,
you know, is not that uncommon.
But thank goodness this time,
you know,
it's had a happy ending.
The following morning,
it is only when I talk
to one of the fishermen
that I become aware
of the extent of the danger
I was in last night.
If the chief's brother
had not come back,
some of the villagers were
going to stone me to death.
The rules out here
are very different,
and as we head out
to check the lines,
I try to put the events
of last night behind me.
It is now apparent
how fundamental the chief is
to my success here,
not just in helping
with the fishing
but, maybe more importantly,
in ensuring my safety.
If anything were to happen
to him while he's out with me,
I dare not consider
the consequences.
And it's then we catch a snag.
It's a fish...
A fish which pulled the line.
Without a second thought,
Ngwema disappears
into the murky water.
And I understand now
how different our attitudes
to fishing are.
This is real,
about feeding his family.
I've gone into some of the
scariest waters in the world,
but in this situation,
I'd be very afraid
to leave the safety
of this wobbly canoe.
It's very snagged down there,
very snagged.
I try to act normal
and remain calm.
But this is exactly
the scenario I was dreading.
It actually got caught
on one of the other hooks.
Now, you know,
it doesn't bear thinking about
if that hook had gone in
fully past the barb...
You're just not gonna come up.
It's becoming clear to me
that the real danger
might not be the monster fish
but the process
of trying to catch them
and the desperation
of the fishermen
to feed their families.
And Mami Wata may not be
a supernatural being.
Perhaps she's just
a cultural invention
to soften the reality
of a premature watery grave.
Carefully,
we release the tangled line
in case there's a fish
still attached.
It's a slow process
to get all the hooks in.
Four hooks up, no fish so far.
Five hooks, no fish.
All the bait's gone.
Six, seven.
Another one no fish.
Eight. You can see the bits
of snail coming up.
Still no fish.
Nine.
Empty hook.
10.
10 hooks on that line, no fish.
We continue on
the opposite side of the river
retrieving the other lines.
But the end result is the same
every time...
Nothing to take home
after all that work.
66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71,
72, 73, 74, 75, 76.
76 hooks.
There might be one or two
in the boat as well.
But 76 hooks
have been out there for...
Don't know.
15 hours, something like that,
overnight.
And not a single fish.
And I'm starting to do the maths
and think, "Here I am.
I'm gonna fish with one hook."
This is equivalent to me sitting
by the river for 75 nights...
That's 2 1/2 months...
And catching nothing.
It's quite a surprise.
I've seen fish in the markets,
and you sort of think,
"There's loads of fish around."
But, of course, those markets,
they are very much
collection points
for fishermen operating
in a wide area.
And who knows how long ago
they were caught?
Catfish can be tethered
and kept alive after capture
for several weeks.
It's looking like a much, much
tougher challenge than I thought
just catching anything here.
I recruit other fishermen
to help
and put out more lines
in the water.
So we've got baits out
in different types of places.
Nothing so far.
I haven't caught
my trophy fish yet.
But, then, many of the villagers
haven't caught anything at all.
As well as the big ones, they
need to catch the small ones.
And, you know, too many days
not catching anything,
that's seriously bad news.
Much worse news
than it is for me.
As one day merges into another,
I spend the days
setting long lines
and the nights fishing alone
in areas where local methods
are not suited.
But day after day,
the results are the same.
And that presents me
with a dilemma,
because if I were to catch
a giant catfish,
I would normally want to
return it unharmed.
But that would horrify
the people who have helped me,
who scratch a meager existence
from this river.
After recent events,
I'm beginning to understand
how intricately intertwined
superstition is here
with everyday life.
This has gone from being a
quest to catch a killer catfish
to a matter of survival,
not just for the villagers,
but for me, too, thanks
to the power of superstition.
It's been 25 years now.
Such a long journey to get back
here, but so far for nothing.
And I'm almost starting
to wonder
if the last quarter-century
has maybe even seen an end
of the giant catfish
of the Congo.
And now the weather
seems to be closing in.
If the rainy season comes early,
the river could become lethal
to fish
and the malarial mosquitoes
unbearable to be out in.
Unlike the local fishermen,
I'm taking anti-malarials.
But actually,
that didn't make any difference
last time I was here.
I was just bitten so much that,
you know,
the parasites just overwhelmed
my defenses.
And I'm thinking now
that possibly
just going out every night
is actually possibly
a little bit reckless.
But it's said here
that the arrival of the rains
brings with it the catfish.
This could be the turning point
I'm desperate for.
I feel the line,
waiting to detect the slightest
sign of interest from a fish.
The mosquitoes begin
their nightly assault,
and the river is throwing
everything at me.
I don't know what
I'm going to catch first...
A fish or malaria.
But my setup is perfect,
and I'm not moving.
This trip is beginning to feel
like the most difficult
challenge I have ever faced.
This is another reason
for doing things the local way.
The weather
is just so unpredictable.
This storm
just came from nowhere.
And, you know,
sitting here like this,
it does make you appreciate
the sense there is
in the way everybody else does
their fishing here.
You stay out on the lines
like this,
and either you get soaked
to the skin
or you just get destroyed
by the mosquitoes.
As the hours pass,
I have little to do
but bail out the boat.
And eventually,
it's me that has to bail out.
It really does rather seem
that everything
is just conspiring against me.
I had such a good setup there.
I had a couple of good baits
out.
The boat was positioned nicely.
And if anything
had been in the mood to feed,
I had the perfect ambush set.
And nicely before dark as well.
You know, the sun went down,
the darkness closed in,
and then a few spots of rain.
And then, you know, this hits.
The morning is cloaked
in blackness...
An overcast sky from the heart
of an immense darkness.
It's not wise to head out alone
in these conditions,
so with no sign
of the storm abating,
the chief comes to get me
to help him gather the lines.
As we head out,
I think about the fisherman
who was dragged to his death
by a monster catfish
on his line.
Weather likes this makes
everything more hazardous.
The rough river
releases rafts of debris.
Soap and heavy rain make
the boat incredibly slippery
washing the hooks
and lines around my feet.
This will put to the test
everything I have learned
in my short time here.
Again I wonder
if the chief is testing me,
and again
I cannot afford to lose face.
The line is tight.
It's really hard
to undo the knot here...
which can mean it's a fish.
So I just need to make sure
that once I've untied it,
I've got a good grip on it.
Okay.
Clambering over the hooks here.
Hands on the hooks.
Don't like that.
Bon. Okay.
I'm getting absolutely soaked,
but I don't mind that
if that's fish.
Then the break
I've been waiting for.
It's a fish!
It's a fish!
The chief and I have come out
in a raging storm
to check the lines,
but it's worth it
because we have a fish.
But I've got to be especially
careful in this weather.
The stories I've heard
are racing through my head,
and I'm thankful to have
the chief controlling the boat.
Most fishermen here
normally go out alone.
I thought I felt something else
possibly.
Something moving.
Something moving down there.
Two fish can mean
double the power.
Hey. That's kicking.
That's kicking.
Got to be careful
it doesn't pull this line out
and send those other hooks
flying.
But fortunately, it looks like
they've already lost
a lot of their power struggling
to get off the lines.
I mean, luckily,
these fish have probably been
on the line for a little while.
Let's get all this line
well cleared from me.
I can feel something else
pulling.
I think there's something
pulling on the end of this one.
There is.
There's a kick definitely.
Let's get this hook sorted.
There we go.
Ooh!
Wow!
How about this?
How about this?
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
And I think it could have been
the rain that...
Well, it's quite possible
it was the rain
that got them going.
Three nice-sized swimming there.
Three very nice-sized.
The weather's kicking off there.
It's coming.
It's getting worse.
There's lightning.
I want to have a look
at these fish,
but I think priority should be
get back to the village,
have a good look at them there.
My priorities, I realize,
have changed.
25 years ago, I left the Congo
feeling cheated
for not having caught
the big fish.
I returned determined
to settle the score,
but I'm leaving feeling humbled
by this great river
and the people that eke out
a meager existence
in this crucible of violence.
Again, I didn't catch
the big one.
Maybe they're no longer here.
But I did discover
that the three I caught
could be more than capable of
pulling a fisherman overboard
if you're using
the hazardous local methods.
Instead of just being abstract
jottings in my notebook,
you know, I came
to really understand
how those accidents
could have happened.
You're in a narrow,
wobbly canoe.
Maybe there's waves and wind
complicating the situation.
There's a fish on the end.
It's pulling.
And you just lose
your concentration for a moment
or happen to slip at the moment
when that fish makes a lunge,
you've got a loose hook,
flies through the air.
Very easily it's in your hand,
it's in your leg,
you're over the side.
And actually in that situation,
even a fish this size, you know,
you're not gonna have a chance
against it.
This is gonna pull you under.
You cannot pull against a fish
even this size.
The story of Mami Wata luring
fishermen to their deaths
is a fantastical one
but one that, in the end,
I could not debunk,
because the truth is every bit
as frightening as the myth.
For me, Mami Wata does exist,
not as a spirit,
but as an entity created
by the realities of life here,
the need to win food
day after day
from this hostile
and mysterious river.
around the world,
so many far-flung locations,
that I rarely return
to the same place twice.
Hey!
That is, unless I've
been defeated the first time.
But there's one place
where I've longed to return,
a land that beat me before,
a region
of unparalleled brutality
where, for over 100 years,
violence and bloodletting
have been a way of life.
I traveled here 25 years ago,
but had to pick my time
carefully.
Since then,
continuing violence and unrest
have prevented me
from going back.
This is the Congo,
a region lost
in the dark heart of Africa,
a land of fables, legends,
and spirits.
And there is one spirit
in particular called Mami Wata
who is said to lure fishermen
to the bottom of the river,
where they're imprisoned
for eternity.
Farfetched?
Maybe not.
Recently,
new stories have reached me
of fishermen dragged overboard
to their deaths,
so I'm heading back out there
to discover if these tales
are just fables and legends
or if something really is
lurking in the depths.
My name is Jeremy Wade.
What keeps me alive
is catching fish.
But some of the moments
when I've felt most alive
have been those
when I was closest to death.
Only by really testing myself
do I feel
I have achieved anything.
And to do this,
I travel far and wide,
putting my own safety at risk
to uncover the truth about what
lurks in the world's rivers.
I'm heading to the Congo,
one of the few places on earth
that will still really test
a fisherman.
The Congo is situated in
the tropical heart of Africa.
It is regarded as one of the
most violent places on earth.
My plan is to travel
up the Congo River
into the interior
of this vast continent
and catch myself a monster.
This region has
enormous mineral wealth,
but centuries
of colonial exploitation
and ethnic conflict
have been its ruination.
It now ranks among the poorest
and most dangerous places
on the planet.
I first came here
to the Congo River
with my fishing rods
25 years ago.
I was traveling through
a country known then as Zaire.
And this was a country
the size of Western Europe,
but with almost
no infrastructure...
A really difficult place
to travel.
On top of that, the country
was under a dictatorship,
and there was a real climate
of fear at the time.
And it was not really a place
that outsiders ever came to,
certainly nobody traveling
on their own, as I was.
And I was here for 2 1/2 months,
and I didn't catch
a single fish,
because the country
being so vast
and the traveling so difficult,
it just took me all my time
to get to the river
and then get out again.
But I did talk to people.
I spoke to fishermen,
and I heard some stories...
Stories of fish so huge
that they are said sometimes
to drag the fishermen
out of their dugout canoes,
drowning them in the water.
And then I was on my way out.
I was traveling
on a big riverboat,
maybe 2,000 other passengers
on that boat,
and I actually glimpsed
one of these monsters.
Somebody dragged it on board.
And I took a photograph.
And the memory of that fish has
just stayed with me ever since.
But recently, fresh stories have
reached my ears of this place,
and they have rekindled
the memories of that fish
that I saw on the boat,
and they've reminded me
that me and this river
have got
some unfinished business.
The people of the Congo
are very superstitious.
They believe
that this great river
is inhabited by the spirit
Mami Wata.
But could this water spirit
actually be a rare
and massive fish,
like the one I glimpsed
all those years ago?
I have to find out.
I get my first real sight
of the harshness of life
in this place
when we stop in a village
to refuel.
Life here is cruel
and unforgiving.
Just to survive takes
incredible strength,
spirit, and resilience.
Ah.
Oh, merci.
What's slightly disturbing
about this fish
is that it's still alive.
Catfish tend to stay alive
for a long time out of water.
And if you let yourself
be ruled by sentiment,
you'd say, really, you should
bash this fish on the head,
put it out of its misery.
But if you do that,
it's gonna go bad very quickly,
the meat's gonna go rotten, and
people aren't going to eat it.
So basically,
if you live somewhere like this,
sentiment goes out the window,
and, you know, you want to
keep this thing alive
for as long as possible so that
it tastes good when you eat it.
Simple as that.
With their scaleless bodies
and whisker-like tentacles,
catfish are incredibly diverse.
There are an estimated
3,000 different species
inhabiting every continent
except Antarctica.
I've caught them
in the New World and the Old.
But here, the Congo is home
to over 200 different types.
That's nearly three times
as many
as in all the rivers
in North America.
This is an electric catfish.
Ah.
But here... zzt!
Okay. Okay.
It's got very sharp spines here.
Ay!
I'm here to catch a catfish
that's rumored to reach 8 feet
in length
and weigh over 300 pounds...
A leviathan among
the world's river monsters.
The local name
for the Congo River is Mzadi.
It means "the river
that swallows all rivers."
Together with
its countless tributaries,
it is the second largest
river system in the world.
From the Atlantic coast,
it coils its way
nearly 3,000 miles
into Africa's interior,
draining a basin second only
in area to the Amazon.
My plan is to travel
500 miles upriver
to the village of Bonga.
This part of the Congo was
isolated from the outside world
until the arrival of colonizers
in the latter part
of the 19th century.
Then everything changed
under the voracious rule
of King Leopold of Belgium.
A reign of terror
turned the Congo region
into a prison state.
Men were enslaved
to gather wild rubber,
and their women and children
routinely had their hands
chopped off
if the men failed
to work hard enough.
10 million Congolese
were brutally killed.
To this day, much of this
region remains undiscovered.
This dark heart of Africa is
still as unknown to outsiders
as it ever was.
I know little of what lies ahead
as I venture into one
of the darkest places on earth.
The Congo River is
the lifeblood of this region.
Villagers cling to its banks.
It provides
a vital transport link
and is an essential source
of food.
As I venture further north,
I notice that little has changed
over the last 25 years.
I'm using up valuable time,
and I still have
200 miles ahead of me
before I reach the place
where I saw that giant fish.
As yet another day
draws to a close,
I'm getting desperate to see
what fish are in the river,
but I have no bait.
That is, until the boatmen
suggest a local favorite...
Soap.
Any old soap will do.
It's, you know,
not just your traditional
sort of animal-fat-based soap,
but any... antiseptic soap.
You name it,
the fish will go for it.
And one good thing about it
is it will really give off a
good scent trail down the river.
The catfish here are said to be
among the biggest
anywhere in the world.
I've set myself up
in a quiet slack
on the edge of the current.
River's a bit like
a conveyor belt.
If you position yourself
in the right place,
it will bring food, and
this is just the kind of place
where everything settles out
and where the fish congregate.
But as the hours pass,
the only thing that's biting
are the mosquitoes.
Pretty sure
that was just the current.
But every now and again,
you get a real surge.
But things are very quiet,
and that's...
Don't know.
It's quite a surprise.
Fish on!
That's a fish.
I'm in the Congo, deep
in the dark heart of Africa,
searching for a monster catfish.
Lay this down.
I recognize this as one
of the giant-catfish species,
but this is just a baby.
Even so, he gave me
quite an impressive run-around,
which is a bit scary,
because it's said they can grow
to over 100 times this size
and drag fishermen
from their boats.
I know of catfish in the Amazon
big enough
to swallow people whole.
So there's no reason
why this river
couldn't be home to fish
of a similar size.
Crucially for me,
there is virtually
no commercial fishing here.
Unlike, say, the Amazon,
where you've got
a huge commercial fishing fleet
that extracts literally
tons of fish every day.
So if there's one river
in the world
where you might hope
to find a real monster
lurking undisturbed
in the depths, this is it.
This is the end of the line
for this boat.
And as we pull into
a remote fishing village,
I get my first sight
of a Congo River monster.
Anguille. Anguille.
- Yeah.
- They call them eels.
I'm used to eels
that are about like that round
and maybe 18 inches,
2 foot long.
These things, they're
the thickness of your leg
and maybe 4,
getting on for 5 foot.
I'll see if we can maybe
get one out
and have a proper look at one.
They're just such
weird-looking creatures.
I'm not gonna put my hands
in the mouth there.
There's some pretty
nasty-looking fangs in there.
They look sharp, and they also
look quite dirty and unhygienic.
I think I've got an idea
on these.
I think these are lungfish.
Oh!
That is because this fish
actually has an air bladder
which is used as a lung,
so it can actually breathe
out of water.
And this is a fish
that can bury itself underground
and survive droughts.
It sort of, I think, belched out
a little bit of air,
and then there was a...
took some air in and
then belched out of the gills.
Small eyes generally on a fish
means that they don't use them
much for feeding.
They're probably using vibration
or scent in the water
more than vision
to find their food.
This was caught on a palm nut,
so it suggests, you know,
an omnivorous feeder.
That mouth, to me,
looks like it's gonna take fish.
I'd guess,
like a lot of fish 'round here,
it's sort of opportunistic.
It will actually chomp anything
that comes its way.
But anyway,
they call this an eel,
and I have to say
it's the most impressive eel
I have ever seen.
Lungfish are ancient creatures
predating all animals
that walk on land.
When I look at a beast
like this,
Mami Wata no longer seems such
a stretch of the imagination.
I find myself
a large motorized dugout
to take me the remaining
stretch of my journey
to the village of Bonga.
This village
is ideally situated,
being at the confluence
of two rivers,
the Congo and the Sangha.
From past experience,
I know that this
is just the kind of place
where big fish gather
to feed on small fish.
After a journey
of nearly 300 miles,
I'm back in the region where
I saw that massive catfish
all those years ago.
It was also near here
that I caught malaria,
the insect-borne disease
that kills millions of Africans
every year.
The memories of that time
come flooding back.
As the malarial parasites
swarmed through my blood,
it felt as if a war was raging
inside my body.
I went through two weeks
of hell...
Sweating, hallucinations,
and fever.
The slightest sound
had my head pounding.
I thought I was going to die.
Now I'll have to relive
that nightmare
as I sit out fishing
night after night
on the same stretch of river.
As I arrive
at the village of Bonga,
the air is warm, thick,
heavy, sluggish.
This is to be my home
for the next few weeks,
and it's where my journey
really begins.
I'm met by the chief, Ngwema.
Luckily for me,
he speaks fluent French,
the language left behind
by the European colonizers.
He explains
that he has been chosen
from a population
of several hundred
to lead this community,
which survives entirely
from fishing these waters.
Ngwema brings out
a covered basin
with something moving around
in the bottom.
On closer inspection,
I glimpse snakelike markings.
I wonder if he is testing me.
Out here,
first impressions matter.
I cannot be seen to lose face.
No, no.
Aah!
Bon.
Voilà.
Voilà.
That's... Gosh, that's a fish
and a half, that is.
That's a mungusu.
And that looks
just like a snakehead.
But it's in Africa.
But it's so similar.
So similar.
The bony head
and a very muscular body.
And the other thing is
they're capable of living in...
Lots of them all
in a very small amount of water.
So they're very well adapted to
sort of low-oxygen conditions.
I better put it back, I think.
Don't want him out too long.
Oi!
There's just so many variations
on the fish theme here
and just a brilliant example
of what they call
convergent evolution.
You get, you know, fish
in a completely different
part of the world
which have the same strategy
for survival
and actually look very similar.
This does sound like the place
for big catfish.
The biggest he's seen
was about 9 foot in length,
but that was a while ago.
Nowadays, maybe 5 or 6 foot.
I mean, that's still
a very big fish.
Ngwema has said he will
help me in any way he can,
starting tomorrow with a trip
to meet other fishermen
so I can get
the lie of the river.
The chief has let me set up camp
in an old,
deserted logging depot.
The previous inhabitants
vanished
during the last civil war.
During the past 100 years or so,
while much of the world
was marching forward,
the Congo has been retreating
back into the darkness
of a bygone era.
After such a brutal history,
it is to be expected
that violence breeds violence,
and I can't help but feel
that the people here
must harbor feelings
of antipathy towards outsiders.
My sudden appearance last night
has surprised
many of the villagers.
But their main concern this
morning is the chief's brother,
who failed to return
from a fishing trip last night.
There are two main methods
of fishing here...
Drift nets and long lines
equipped with multiple hooks.
Both techniques
are fraught with danger,
and the chief takes me to meet
fishermen to find out more.
In my experience,
this is not only the best way
to learn about the fish,
but you also get to hear stories
that normally never make it
to the outside world.
At the first fishing settlement
we stop at,
I meet Ngamba,
who tells me about his friend,
who was dragged from his boat
to his death.
The details of the story
appear to be that a fisherman,
fairly local to here...
went out one morning,
as usual, to check his lines,
and he didn't come back.
What happened
was that two days later,
somebody found his body,
and he had one of his hooks
through his shirt
and actually into the flesh
of his arm.
From the situation
of the man's body and the line,
they were just able to deduce
that he must have been
pulling in the line
and then just somehow
got the hook caught in him...
and he was pulled over the side.
On the same line, on another
hook, was a large catfish.
The size of the catfish...
Well, you know,
he indicated that.
Now, around here, that isn't
the length of the fish.
That is actually
the width of the head.
So we're talking a fish
well over 100 pounds.
I wonder what the chief thinks
about my mission
to catch a monster catfish,
especially in the light
of this incident
and the disappearance
of his brother.
We head back to the village and
join the rest of the fishermen,
who are heading out
to set their hooks
for the night ahead.
Ngwema takes me along.
Over the coming weeks, his help
could make the difference
between success and failure.
We've got close to 100 hooks
there, all baited with...
Well, some with soap,
some with bits of snail.
And this is very precarious.
I'm fairly heavy compared to the
people here, but we've got a...
quite a wobbly boat.
And the idea of pulling in
a big fish
from a boat like this is...
is a bit interesting,
to say the least.
The first weight has gone in.
That's about 6 feet deep,
something like that,
it looked like.
And what we're gonna do now
is put the line out
towards the middle of the river
with the hooks at intervals,
and then there's a final weight
just to hold everything
in place.
You get tension building up
in the line.
You get these hooks
just whipping past you
as you're paddling out
into the middle.
Actually trying this fishing
for myself,
it really brings home
the reality of that story
of the fisherman who had
the hook stuck in his leg
when he was pulling in
some fish.
The canoe is very unstable.
Your feet are very close
to coils of line.
You've got dozens of hooks
in the boat.
And, you know, all it needs
is just a slight slip,
a slight lapse of concentration,
and you're over the side.
The consequences can be fatal
just like that.
Mm-hmm.
The chief is anxious
to head back to the village
to see if there is any news
about his brother.
And I make my way
to an area of the river
that, according to the locals,
holds some of the biggest
catfish in this region.
What I'll do,
I'll have the boat here,
and then I'll put two,
maybe three rods across.
So I should have
quite a good setup there
for intercepting anything
that might be on the prowl.
The catfish I'm after
is most active at night,
when it comes into the shallows,
using its whiskers
to detect prey.
It is one of the Congo's
top predators.
I'm in position nicely
before dark, which is good.
And unlike the local fishermen,
who go back home, go to sleep,
come out in the morning
to check their lines,
I'm gonna sit here on the rods.
Mosquitoes will be in soon,
so I should be buttoning up
my shirt,
putting on some repellant.
But once I've done that,
it's just sit and wait.
Eventually, having sat through
wave after wave of mosquitoes,
I'm forced to quit
and head back to camp.
The chief's actually
just come 'round,
asking if he can borrow
some fuel.
His brother still isn't back
from fishing.
He's now well overdue.
So what's gonna happen
is some people are gonna go out
and have a look,
try and find him.
If that wasn't actually
worrying enough,
I've just heard
from the house next door
that the way things work here
is that there's no such thing
as an accident.
Everything has a cause.
And because this disappearance
comes at the same time
as my being here,
you know, there are people
starting to say
that I am responsible for this.
The atmosphere here has changed.
Many of the villagers
seem stony-faced.
I don't know what's going on,
which worries me.
Superstition
is incredibly powerful here,
and I have no idea
what might happen to me
if any harm comes
to the chief's brother.
500 miles up the River Congo,
and the fragile peace in
the village where I'm staying
has been shattered
by the disappearance
of the chief's brother.
And I've heard
that some of the villagers
suspect my being here is the
cause for his disappearance.
As I lie waiting to hear news,
I feel isolated, anxious,
and vulnerable.
I knew I was heading
into the unknown
when I set out on this trip.
But I didn't foresee anything
like this happening.
I've just actually
heard commotion
down by the side of the water,
and even without hearing the
words, I think it's good news.
I think they've found him,
which is just
an almighty relief.
One thing, it just shows how
this kind of thing happening,
you know, is not that uncommon.
But thank goodness this time,
you know,
it's had a happy ending.
The following morning,
it is only when I talk
to one of the fishermen
that I become aware
of the extent of the danger
I was in last night.
If the chief's brother
had not come back,
some of the villagers were
going to stone me to death.
The rules out here
are very different,
and as we head out
to check the lines,
I try to put the events
of last night behind me.
It is now apparent
how fundamental the chief is
to my success here,
not just in helping
with the fishing
but, maybe more importantly,
in ensuring my safety.
If anything were to happen
to him while he's out with me,
I dare not consider
the consequences.
And it's then we catch a snag.
It's a fish...
A fish which pulled the line.
Without a second thought,
Ngwema disappears
into the murky water.
And I understand now
how different our attitudes
to fishing are.
This is real,
about feeding his family.
I've gone into some of the
scariest waters in the world,
but in this situation,
I'd be very afraid
to leave the safety
of this wobbly canoe.
It's very snagged down there,
very snagged.
I try to act normal
and remain calm.
But this is exactly
the scenario I was dreading.
It actually got caught
on one of the other hooks.
Now, you know,
it doesn't bear thinking about
if that hook had gone in
fully past the barb...
You're just not gonna come up.
It's becoming clear to me
that the real danger
might not be the monster fish
but the process
of trying to catch them
and the desperation
of the fishermen
to feed their families.
And Mami Wata may not be
a supernatural being.
Perhaps she's just
a cultural invention
to soften the reality
of a premature watery grave.
Carefully,
we release the tangled line
in case there's a fish
still attached.
It's a slow process
to get all the hooks in.
Four hooks up, no fish so far.
Five hooks, no fish.
All the bait's gone.
Six, seven.
Another one no fish.
Eight. You can see the bits
of snail coming up.
Still no fish.
Nine.
Empty hook.
10.
10 hooks on that line, no fish.
We continue on
the opposite side of the river
retrieving the other lines.
But the end result is the same
every time...
Nothing to take home
after all that work.
66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71,
72, 73, 74, 75, 76.
76 hooks.
There might be one or two
in the boat as well.
But 76 hooks
have been out there for...
Don't know.
15 hours, something like that,
overnight.
And not a single fish.
And I'm starting to do the maths
and think, "Here I am.
I'm gonna fish with one hook."
This is equivalent to me sitting
by the river for 75 nights...
That's 2 1/2 months...
And catching nothing.
It's quite a surprise.
I've seen fish in the markets,
and you sort of think,
"There's loads of fish around."
But, of course, those markets,
they are very much
collection points
for fishermen operating
in a wide area.
And who knows how long ago
they were caught?
Catfish can be tethered
and kept alive after capture
for several weeks.
It's looking like a much, much
tougher challenge than I thought
just catching anything here.
I recruit other fishermen
to help
and put out more lines
in the water.
So we've got baits out
in different types of places.
Nothing so far.
I haven't caught
my trophy fish yet.
But, then, many of the villagers
haven't caught anything at all.
As well as the big ones, they
need to catch the small ones.
And, you know, too many days
not catching anything,
that's seriously bad news.
Much worse news
than it is for me.
As one day merges into another,
I spend the days
setting long lines
and the nights fishing alone
in areas where local methods
are not suited.
But day after day,
the results are the same.
And that presents me
with a dilemma,
because if I were to catch
a giant catfish,
I would normally want to
return it unharmed.
But that would horrify
the people who have helped me,
who scratch a meager existence
from this river.
After recent events,
I'm beginning to understand
how intricately intertwined
superstition is here
with everyday life.
This has gone from being a
quest to catch a killer catfish
to a matter of survival,
not just for the villagers,
but for me, too, thanks
to the power of superstition.
It's been 25 years now.
Such a long journey to get back
here, but so far for nothing.
And I'm almost starting
to wonder
if the last quarter-century
has maybe even seen an end
of the giant catfish
of the Congo.
And now the weather
seems to be closing in.
If the rainy season comes early,
the river could become lethal
to fish
and the malarial mosquitoes
unbearable to be out in.
Unlike the local fishermen,
I'm taking anti-malarials.
But actually,
that didn't make any difference
last time I was here.
I was just bitten so much that,
you know,
the parasites just overwhelmed
my defenses.
And I'm thinking now
that possibly
just going out every night
is actually possibly
a little bit reckless.
But it's said here
that the arrival of the rains
brings with it the catfish.
This could be the turning point
I'm desperate for.
I feel the line,
waiting to detect the slightest
sign of interest from a fish.
The mosquitoes begin
their nightly assault,
and the river is throwing
everything at me.
I don't know what
I'm going to catch first...
A fish or malaria.
But my setup is perfect,
and I'm not moving.
This trip is beginning to feel
like the most difficult
challenge I have ever faced.
This is another reason
for doing things the local way.
The weather
is just so unpredictable.
This storm
just came from nowhere.
And, you know,
sitting here like this,
it does make you appreciate
the sense there is
in the way everybody else does
their fishing here.
You stay out on the lines
like this,
and either you get soaked
to the skin
or you just get destroyed
by the mosquitoes.
As the hours pass,
I have little to do
but bail out the boat.
And eventually,
it's me that has to bail out.
It really does rather seem
that everything
is just conspiring against me.
I had such a good setup there.
I had a couple of good baits
out.
The boat was positioned nicely.
And if anything
had been in the mood to feed,
I had the perfect ambush set.
And nicely before dark as well.
You know, the sun went down,
the darkness closed in,
and then a few spots of rain.
And then, you know, this hits.
The morning is cloaked
in blackness...
An overcast sky from the heart
of an immense darkness.
It's not wise to head out alone
in these conditions,
so with no sign
of the storm abating,
the chief comes to get me
to help him gather the lines.
As we head out,
I think about the fisherman
who was dragged to his death
by a monster catfish
on his line.
Weather likes this makes
everything more hazardous.
The rough river
releases rafts of debris.
Soap and heavy rain make
the boat incredibly slippery
washing the hooks
and lines around my feet.
This will put to the test
everything I have learned
in my short time here.
Again I wonder
if the chief is testing me,
and again
I cannot afford to lose face.
The line is tight.
It's really hard
to undo the knot here...
which can mean it's a fish.
So I just need to make sure
that once I've untied it,
I've got a good grip on it.
Okay.
Clambering over the hooks here.
Hands on the hooks.
Don't like that.
Bon. Okay.
I'm getting absolutely soaked,
but I don't mind that
if that's fish.
Then the break
I've been waiting for.
It's a fish!
It's a fish!
The chief and I have come out
in a raging storm
to check the lines,
but it's worth it
because we have a fish.
But I've got to be especially
careful in this weather.
The stories I've heard
are racing through my head,
and I'm thankful to have
the chief controlling the boat.
Most fishermen here
normally go out alone.
I thought I felt something else
possibly.
Something moving.
Something moving down there.
Two fish can mean
double the power.
Hey. That's kicking.
That's kicking.
Got to be careful
it doesn't pull this line out
and send those other hooks
flying.
But fortunately, it looks like
they've already lost
a lot of their power struggling
to get off the lines.
I mean, luckily,
these fish have probably been
on the line for a little while.
Let's get all this line
well cleared from me.
I can feel something else
pulling.
I think there's something
pulling on the end of this one.
There is.
There's a kick definitely.
Let's get this hook sorted.
There we go.
Ooh!
Wow!
How about this?
How about this?
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
And I think it could have been
the rain that...
Well, it's quite possible
it was the rain
that got them going.
Three nice-sized swimming there.
Three very nice-sized.
The weather's kicking off there.
It's coming.
It's getting worse.
There's lightning.
I want to have a look
at these fish,
but I think priority should be
get back to the village,
have a good look at them there.
My priorities, I realize,
have changed.
25 years ago, I left the Congo
feeling cheated
for not having caught
the big fish.
I returned determined
to settle the score,
but I'm leaving feeling humbled
by this great river
and the people that eke out
a meager existence
in this crucible of violence.
Again, I didn't catch
the big one.
Maybe they're no longer here.
But I did discover
that the three I caught
could be more than capable of
pulling a fisherman overboard
if you're using
the hazardous local methods.
Instead of just being abstract
jottings in my notebook,
you know, I came
to really understand
how those accidents
could have happened.
You're in a narrow,
wobbly canoe.
Maybe there's waves and wind
complicating the situation.
There's a fish on the end.
It's pulling.
And you just lose
your concentration for a moment
or happen to slip at the moment
when that fish makes a lunge,
you've got a loose hook,
flies through the air.
Very easily it's in your hand,
it's in your leg,
you're over the side.
And actually in that situation,
even a fish this size, you know,
you're not gonna have a chance
against it.
This is gonna pull you under.
You cannot pull against a fish
even this size.
The story of Mami Wata luring
fishermen to their deaths
is a fantastical one
but one that, in the end,
I could not debunk,
because the truth is every bit
as frightening as the myth.
For me, Mami Wata does exist,
not as a spirit,
but as an entity created
by the realities of life here,
the need to win food
day after day
from this hostile
and mysterious river.