miriam's travels

My Photo scholarship 2010 entry

Worldwide | Sunday, October 17, 2010 | 5 photos

Karim remembers hundreds of fish thrashing about on his dad’s boat. Their tails flicking his suntanned face. It was always hot. He didn’t mind – he’d take a dip in the cool water any time. A normal childhood for kids in his village.

Moynaq was a fishing town. Everyone had a boat. Karim learnt the art of fishing on his grandfather’s trawler. Skills handed down through generations – so too was the boat. He knew one day that boat might be his.

He took pride in his work. His father knew his son would grow up to be a man of the sea. Karim loved his father’s boat.
Although they were working boats, they were grand and well-oiled. Majestic machines of the sea, painted in glossy colours. Theirs was blue, green and yellow, the colours of Karakalpakstan. Karim thought it the most splendid boat on all the Aral Sea.

Though he had never seen the ocean, his cousin told him it looked the same. The horizon miles away from the shore, ever so slightly curved. Karim remembers the sun reflecting off the boats. Like hundreds of dancing diamonds.

Moynaq was a busy town with bustling markets and stately homes. The canning factory whirred and hummed. If you weren’t a fisherman, there was always work there. Life was good. Children sang and people came from miles around to take their catch.

Karim remembers his father talking to other men about irrigation projects far away. No one understood what was about to happen. But he saw his father’s brow furrow and there was less laughter on subsequent trips out to sea...

Now the town is quiet. There are no fishermen. The Aral Sea lies 150km from its former shore.

Karim watches once proud boats rust amid the dunes.
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