As a kid, one thing I always loved and fantasized about but never got a chance to do was fish. I had always imagined myself swinging a fish net with a hook into a small body of water and then dragging out at least five fruits of my labor (tilapia fish). Not only did I only fantasize, but I seldom also had dreams of myself either fishing, close to a riverside, with a fish net, or having a chat with expert fishermen—dreams that my over-religious mom wanted to destroy with religious superstition.





One of the days, I told her about a dream where I was going fishing with two of my childhood friends, Kingsley and Raphael. This woman took my case to her Wednesday prayer band group, where my mere passion-driven dream was interpreted to mean an initiation into the marine world. Omoor. The prayer bombardment that was discharged on a seven-year-old innocent me that afternoon was definitely more prayetic than the entire prayers of Pastor Jerry Eze, the Nigerian pastor that earns 3 million Naira monthly from Youtube for praying.

The kabashing and tongues speaking, the warfare songs, and the burning of the bedsheet on which I slept while dreaming of the so-called "marine kingdom initiation" as a symbol of binding and casting—all because of a hilarious dream I had! Ah!

At some point, during the prayer session, one of the deaconesses even suggested that a 12-inch plank be used to knock out the foul spirit attempting to draw me into its territory. Well, thank God her idea was countered by the prayer group leader, Bro. Chibuzor reminded her that the weapons of believers' warfare were not supposed to be carnal. But left for my mom, she was already on the go. Like ready to allow her prayer group to use even a Fulani cow stick on a child she waited and prayed for nine years become his arrival. Unfortunately, even after their dramatic spiritual exercise, I had several other fishing dreams, which I hid.

But the one ironic thing about my whole obsession with fishing was that I never once fished. Why? The mom factor again. The woman was thoroughly strict and never gave her kids a breathing space. With the dream saga and how much interest she has seen me develop in fishing, my own case was that of a total lockdown. I wasn’t allowed to move and play around like other kids so that my so-called "marine spirit" could be monitored. Human CCTV cameras and police were installed by my mom at all strategic places, especially my school. About four of my school teachers, who were her secret security agents, monitored my activities and reported any mischievous or suspicious ones to her. There was no chance to misbehave at all!

Soon, as I grew older, my fishing interest and zeal watered down, and as time went on, I despised everything "fishing" and joined the bandwagon of kids shouting "Engineer, doctor, Lawyer, Banker". Suddenly, I began to develop that African mindset of viewing fishing as a profession for the primitive, uneducated, unskilled, or other Efulefu type of persons living in riverine, sloppy, and remote areas of Ungwan Rogo and Rukuba. Sadly, that caused an about ten-year pause in the whole fishing enthusiasm and passion.



Until just recently, about two months ago, while I was scrolling through my YouTube feed in search of the usual Sabinus, Brainjotter, and Lasisi Elenu comedies, I came across this very awesome documentary. Guess?
Continue reading-------------https://www.arealproblemkid.com/2023/08/my-first-fishing-fisaco-shattered.html