the enigma of the legless boatman

There is a boatyard in Zanzibar where the boats lie propped up on the sand like the ribcages of whales and upturned turtles.

There are no plans
or blueprints
or powertools.

The boats are
crafted
by hand
(and
sometimes
foot).

"This must be the most beautiful boatyard in the world," I said.




Among
the
half
finished
vessels
there
was
a man
directing
all the
activity
around him









He must be the foreman,
I decided.



You could probably afford to buy one of these wooden boats, if you could spare the time to watch it slowly taking shape under the shade of the palms.

When it was finally ready you could sail it away.

The boatbuilders would watch with amusement your clumsy attempts to get it out to sea and past the island.

The man who was up to his waist in sand would shed a tear.






















He must have lost them in an accident,
falling from one of the timber gantries
spanning the cavity of an empty hull.
Or perhaps they were eaten by a shark
basking in the shallows.

To lose one would be a misfortune; to lose both would save outlay on trousers and shoes.



So how did I know his legs were missing?












Fit?
Where?

In
the
hole!

If he had legs it would take a long time to dig down deep enough to accomodate them, but without lower limbs he could be propped regally in his private sandcastle.

How he got to work in the morning was another mystery, though.

He could not stay there all night - the tide would come in and so might the shark.


Which brings one to the inescapable sadness of the boatyard.
Boats, by their nature, take you away.
But where on Earth would you rather be than on a beach in Zanzibar?

It was time to get back on the tour bus.

How could I stay longer and watch them working?
(short of sawing my legs off?)
As I wondered about his strange predicament the limbless shipbuilder saw me watching him, and responded with an angry gesture.
I didn't mean any harm by staring there was no malice or mockery in it - possibly some envy.

The nautical amputee frowned at me and the other tourists.
I went on staring anyway - after all what was he going to do about it?




I
have
a
boat
yard
where
I
stand
-
or
sit
-
like
he
does.




The difference is that none of my ships have been launched successfully. Some are found to be not sea worthy, others so large thay cannot be dragged from their dry-dock, many more lie unfinished in the sand.

We are both beached escapologists.

That is why I am constructing a new ship, of which this is the first plank. This one will incorporate all that was best about the earlier designs, and none of their holes, leaks and other fatal flaws.

And that is why this gathering is called



come back later to see how the construction is going.