January 07, 2005
By Catherine Philp, Times of London

The rumour that fish have been infected by rotting bodies is ruining an industry vital to Sri Lanka's recovery

THE fishermen trooped into the Cabinet room at the presidential palace in Colombo and stopped in front of the long table where the ministers were sitting. They lifted the heavy box on to the table and plonked it in front of the President. "We are asking you," the leader of the little delegation told her, "to please eat our fish." Their industry and their homes already devastated by the tsunami which damaged and destroyed thousands of their boats, Sri Lanka's fishermen are having to contend with another hurdle as they struggle to get back to sea: the widespread perception that fish is unfit for consumption following the disaster.

Rumours that the fish have become infected with viruses from feeding on rotting corpses floating out to sea have spread like wildfire.

Text messages have raced around naming the fictitious virus and warning people not to eat fish, a staple on this small island. The Hong Kong Government, too, weighed in, warning its people not to eat seafood from tsunami-hit areas, saying it could be contaminated with heavy metals churned up by the turbulent waters.

Health experts have dismissed the fears as unfounded but as the rumours continue untrammelled, the price of fish has plummeted here, undermining the struggle of fishermen to start earning again and rebuild their lives. The fishermen came to Colombo from Mirissa, a sleepy fishing village with a small but bustling harbour on the island's southern coast. Many of the trawlers were damaged or destroyed but fishermen, many made homeless in the disaster, are desperate to get back to sea.

Three boats, not badly damaged in the disaster, limped back to sea two nights ago, bringing heavy catches of tuna and mullet to send to market. Samir Prabot, a trawler owner whose boat escaped damage, had waited days before going back to the ocean because of his fears of another tsunami.

But he could wait no longer to earn money to provide for his family. When he returned safely in the morning, however, his hold full of glistening tuna, there were no traders to meet him.

"No one comes from Colombo to buy the fish now," he said sadly as his crew shovelled more ice down the hatch of the hold to stop the unbought tuna from going bad. "I have a boat full of fish I cannot sell. I cannot go back to sea if no one will buy it."

After an hour, a solitary wholesaler's truck drew up to buy up another catch, offering just 75 rupees (40p) per kilo. Two weeks ago, the prime tuna would have fetched 300.

Along the harbour, other fishermen lay the mackerel out to dry, to keep it from spoiling before it can be sold. "We beg our Government to tell everyone the fish is safe," Gamani Bodhanaga, a fisherman said. "We eat it here ourselves and we know it is good but no one from outside wants it anymore. They are afraid."

In the Hilton hotel in Colombo, a waitress hands over a menu and apologetically points out the dishes of crispy mullet and grilled jumbo prawns that are not on offer. They are available at market, she says, but the hotel is not buying them. "You have to be careful," she explains. Geoffrey Dobbs, a British hotelier who lives part-time on the idyllic Taprobane Island just off the coast at Weligama, feared the region's recovery could be devastated if the rumours were allowed to persist. "It is fishing and tourism here, that's basically it," he said. "If they can't fish, they can't live." He contacted the World Health Organisation to seek assurance that the rumours were false and then mobilised the fishermen's delegation to the capital.

At the same time, he realised that hundreds of other fishermen were not even able to return to sea because their trawlers and catamarans had been so badly damaged by the wall of water. He and Pierre Pringiers, a Belgian businessman also living locally, used their own money to provide fishermen along the coast with tools and spare parts to patch up their boats and outboard engines.

At Mirissa harbour yesterday, fishermen lined up with their damaged outboard motors for their turn at mending them, supervised by technical helpers. Under the thatch of the makeshift workshop, Rashika Jayanthi toiled over his engine. "In three days I hope I'll be back at sea," he said.

"Our families are lost, our houses are destroyed, we just want to get back to work and earn a living."