River Monsters (2009) s02e04 Episode Script

There are so many rivers around the world, so many far-flung locations, that I rarely return to the same place twice.
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 a hundred years, violence and blood-letting have been a way of life.
I travelled 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.
Far-fetched? 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've 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 travelling 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 travelling on their own, as I was.
I was here for two and a half months and I didn't catch a single fish because the country being so vast and the travelling 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 dug-out canoes, drowning them in the water.
And then, I was on my way out, I was travelling 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.
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 bash this fish on the head, put it out of its misery.
But if you do that, it will go bad very quickly, the meat will go rotten and people aren't going to eat it.
So if you live somewhere like this, sentiment goes out the window and you want to keep this thing alive for as long as possible so that it tastes good when you eat it.
Simple as that.
- Kamba.
It's a kamba.
- Kamba.
This one here, this is the kamba.
This is one of the ones that grows very big.
It's a very thick-bodied catfish it's got big eyes the eyes of a predator.
Those aren't the eyes of a fish that snuffles around on the bottom.
It's got the er, the feelers, like all catfish, but this mouth this is an active, predatory catfish.
And that's a small version of the animal that I'm after.
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 have 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 the electric catfish? Ah but here (Mimics electric buzzing) OK, OK! (Laughs) It's got very sharp spines here Agh! I'm here to catch a catfish that's rumoured to reach eight feet in length and weigh over 300 pounds - a leviathan among the world's river monsters.
The local name for the Congo River is "Nzadi".
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 up-river to the village of Bonga.
This part of the Congo was isolated from the outside world until the arrival of colonisers 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.
Ten 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.
(Distant chanting) The Congo River is the lifeblood of this region.
Villages clink 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 boatman suggests a local favourite.
Soap.
Any old soap will do, it's not just er your your traditional, sort of, animal fat-based soap but any antiseptic soap, you name it, erm, 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 a current.
A river's a bit like a conveyor belt.
If you position yourself in the right place, it will bring food.
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.
(Clicking) (Line clicks out quickly) I'm 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 I don't know.
It's quite a surprise (Line clicks out rapidly) Fish on! That's a fish.
Lay this down.
I recognise 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 have a huge commercial fishing fleet that extracts literally tonnes 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.
(Brief conversation in local language) They call them eels.
I'm used to eels that are like that round and maybe 18 inches, two foot long.
These things they're the thickness of your leg and maybe, four, getting onto five 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 going to put my hands in the mouth.
There's some pretty nasty-looking fangs in there.
They look sharp and they also look quite dirty and er unhygienic.
I think I've got an ID on these.
I think these are lungfish.
- (Hisses) - Oh.
That is because this fish actually has an air bladder which is used as a lung so it can breathe out of water.
And this is a fish which can bury itself underground and survive droughts.
It sort of, I think, belched out a little bit of air and then that was a (Inhales deeply) took some air in and then belched out of the gills.
Small eyes generally, on a fish, means 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 with on a palm nut so it suggests, you know, an omnivorous feeder.
That mouth, to me, looks like it's going to take fish.
I guess, like a lot of fish round here, it's opportunistic, it'll actually chomp anything that comes its way.
But anyway, they call this an eel and, you know, I have to say it's the most impressive eel that I've ever seen.
Lungfish are ancient creatures pre-dating 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.
Out here, stories and news are passed on by word of mouth.
But stories can get exaggerated.
Each village we pass thinks there are bigger, faster boats in the villages further up-river.
I'm beginning to doubt it, but the next stopover proves to be much more fruitful and finally I get myself a faster boat.
So, who would have thought it? Some rumours are true! They said there were bigger boats, faster boats, better engines I doubted it, but here I go.
This is going to take me very nearly to where I want to go.
It's becoming more and more like a watery maze than a river, I have no idea where the far bank is.
The chances are it's five or ten miles away now, so even without all these islands I wouldn't see it.
And I'm starting to think about the fishing.
I'm used to fishing in rivers and this is more like an inland sea and the big problem I'm going to encounter is just one of location, cos where am I going to find these fish in all this water? I'm just arriving at a riverside town where this boat has to stop and I'm going to have to get my things off but it looks like there's quite a bit of activity here.
I'm hoping I find something, maybe a canoe, that will take me on to the village where I'm trying to go.
This large dug-out will take me the final leg 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, Nguema.
Luckily for me, he speaks fluent French the language left behind by the European colonisers.
He explains that he has been chosen from a population of several hundred to lead this community, which survives entirely from fishing these waters.
Nguema brings out a covered basin, with something moving around in the bottom.
On closer inspection, I glimpse snake-like markings.
Whether I'll be successful or not, I don't know.
(They speak French) - Voilà - Voilà.
That's Gosh, that's a fish and a half, that is.
That's a mongusu 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, in a very small amount of water so they're very well-adapted to, sort of, low oxygen conditions.
I'd better put it back, I think.
Don't want him out too long.
There's just so many variations on the fish theme, here and just a brilliant example of what they call "conversion evolution".
You get fish in a completely different part of the world which have the same strategy for survival and actually look very similar.
(Speaks French) This does sound like the place for big catfish.
The biggest he's seen was about nine foot in length but that was a while ago.
Nowadays, maybe five or six foot.
I mean, that's still a very big fish.
Nguema 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 hundred 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 harbour 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.
We visit a tiny fishing village to meet Nkoi, a specialist in big catfish.
(Conversation in French) What we've got here is a three-stage process.
You start off with one of those, a worm on a little hook and then that's attached to a weight that goes down near the bottom.
We've got a bit of an old erm bit of an old sandal, bit of a flip-flop here.
You throw those in the river and that gets a little fish called an mbesi.
It's a fish about that big, and they are the preferred bait.
When you've got some of those, you then put that, alive Oh, there we go.
Ah, OK.
The line just attached to the mouth there, just threaded through and then a big single hook just nicked through the skin there and then the point standing nice and clear.
So that's actually a very clean but very effective er way of mounting the bait.
There's another way of fishing which we would call a long line.
You've got er one main rope and then at intervals you've got hooks coming off and you've got baits on those hooks.
(Speaks French) What can happen there, is that you're bringing that in and you've got some hooks in the boat and if you've got another fish on the line, or maybe even a couple of other fish on the line, and they start pulling, one of the hooks that's in the boat can actually stick in you.
So potentially this multi-hook method of fishing is is very, very dangerous.
There was one man called Mangunda he actually had a hook go through his hand.
Now, he luckily survived.
He cut through the line - forget the fish - cut through the line to avoid getting dragged into the water and to avoid serious injury.
And they then had to cut the hook to get it out of him.
But for others the consequences are much more serious.
At the next fishing village, I meet Ngomba, 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 fishermen, fairly local to here, went out one morning, as usual, to check his lines and he didn't come back.
(Speaks French) 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 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, he indicated that.
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.
Nguema 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 er well, some with soap, some with bits of snail, and this is very precarious.
Erm I'm fairly heavy compared to the people here, but we've got er quite a wobbly boat and erm the idea of pulling in a big fish from a boat like this is er is a bit interesting, to say the least.
(Speaks French) The first weight has gone in.
It's about six feet deep.
Something like that it looked like.
What we're gonna do now is put the line out to 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.
Trying this fishing for myself 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 all it needs is just a slight slip, a slight lapse of concentration, and you're over the side and the consequences can be fatal, just like that.
The chief is anxious to head back to the village to see if there is any news about his brother.
Then I get the news I've been waiting for.
A fisherman from the village has caught a decent-sized kamba catfish.
Argh! There we go.
You can hear the fish actually grunting a little bit.
This is a heavy fish.
I'm just, I don't know I'm struggling to hold this up.
It's probably a good 20 pounds, I think, but it's very, very stocky.
I'm just thinking that head is something like a third of the length of the whole body.
That's a very big head.
Very big, very bony and the mouth is almost you know the entire width of the head there.
I'm just imagining, you've got one of these on the line and suppose it was to give a sudden surge pull the line out of your hand and then maybe one of the the loose hooks that's in the boat gets caught in you you lose your balance, you're over the side.
Once you're in the water and this thing is pulling you, actually, you know, it doesn't need to be a big fish to keep you under the water.
And when you think about it, you've only got, what, 30 seconds of air in your lungs? Its power, its strength, it's not inconceivable that a fish even this size could possibly drag somebody to their death.
(Conversation in French) Getting a big fish in a small, unstable canoe, he says, "Yes, that is dangerous.
" He's never been pulled out into the water but he knows other fishermen that has happened to.
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 set-up 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 er go back home, go to sleep, come out in the morning to check their lines, I'm gonna sit here on the rods.
Er the mosquitoes will be in soon, so I shall be buttoning up my shirt, putting on some repellent, but er, once I've done that, it's just er, sit and wait.
(Buzzing) Eventually, having sat through wave after wave of mosquitoes, I'm forced to quit and head back to camp.
The chief's 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 going to happen is some people are going to go out and have a look, try and find him.
If that wasn't worrying enough, I've just heard from the house next door that, you know, the way things work here is that there's no such thing as an accident, everything has a cause, and that because this disappearance comes at the same time as my being here, 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.
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.
(Chanting and singing) 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 found him, which is just an almighty relief.
Er one thing it does It just shows how this kind of thing happening is not that uncommon.
But thank goodness this time it's had a happy ending.
The following morning, it's 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.
(Speaks French) Without a second thought, Nguema 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.
- (Speaks French) - 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.
He actually got caught on one of the other hooks.
You know, it doesn't bear thinking about if that hook had gone in fully past the barb.
You know, you're just not going to 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.
Ten.
Ten 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.
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 going to fish with one hook.
" This is equivalent to me sitting by the river for 75 nights, that's two and a half months, and catching nothing.
It's quite a surprise.
Erm, I've seen fish in the markets and you think, "Ah, there's loads of fish around," but of course those markets they're 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 er, 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 day 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 meagre 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 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 of a 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 that didn't make any difference last time I was here.
Er, I was just bitten so much that, you know, the parasites just overwhelmed my defences and I'm thinking now that possibly just going out every night is actually possibly a little bit reckless.
As I head out again, it's beginning to dawn on me that the spirit, Mami Wata, might not be a fish but a consequence of the local fishing methods.
But it is said here that the arrival of the rains brings with it the catfish.
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 set-up is perfect and I'm not moving.
This trip is beginning to feel like the most difficult challenge I've ever faced.
This is another reason for doing things the local way.
The weather's just so unpredictable, this storm came from nowhere, and er you know, sitting here like this does make you appreciate the sense there is in the way everybody else does their fishing here.
You know, you stay out on the lines like this and either get soaked to the skin or you 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.
(Thunder rumbles) It really does rather seem that everything is just conspiring against me.
I had such a good set-up there.
I had a couple of good baits out, the boat was positioned nicely, and if anything had been in the mood to feed, you know, 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 - (Thunder) You know, this hit.
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 like 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.
(Jeremy groans) (Conversation in French) The line, when it's tight, it's really hard to undo the knot here.
Which can mean it's a fish.
So I need to make sure that once I've untied it I've got a good grip on it.
- OK - (Thunder) I'm clambering over the hooks here.
My hand's on the hooks.
I don't like that, but OK.
I'm getting absolutely soaked but I don't mind that, if that's fish.
Hey it's a fish.
There's a fish.
There's a fish! (Thunder) (Speaks French) 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's moving down there.
Two fish can mean double the power.
That's kicking, that's kicking.
Got to be Got to be careful it doesn't pull this line out and send those other hooks flying.
Fortunately, it looks like they've already lost a lot of their power struggling to get off the lines.
Luckily, these fish have probably been on the line for a little while.
Let's get all this line well clear 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.
I'll just get this hook sorted.
(Speaks French) There we go.
Wow! How about this? How about this? Nothing, nothing, nothing and I think it could have been the rain It's quite possible it was the rain that got them going.
Three nice-sized tsuni there.
The weather's kicking off, though! - I mean, it's coming - (Thunder) It's getting worse.
Lightning.
I want to have a look at these fish but the priority should be to get back to the village, have a good look at them there.
My priorities, I realise, 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 meagre 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.
Inside 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 lose your concentration for a moment or happen to slip at the moment that fish makes a lunge.
You've got a loose hook, it 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'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.