Calling Kinniya Back to Life

Mira Saheem has a hot and dusty commute. I can vouch for that because last week, I endeavored to join him on his rounds.

He was hawking fresh fish to the residents of Kinniya, a remote town on the coast of Sri Lanka with about 15,000 families. Mira has lived here his whole life, selling fish for almost half of that time.

He started in his twenties, learning the trade from his father before him. Mira's father taught him two secrets to being a successful fishmonger:

1. A quick morning spent racing the sun and other meat hawkers canvassing the neighborhood
2. Establishing loyal customers by providing quality fish and cleaning services at a rate that beats market price

If the catch is good and the supply of competitive meat scarce, a fishmonger may only have to work two hours of the day before pursuing other interests, like fishing. "Or attending mosque," Mira adds with a guilty smile.

Mira has seven children. All of his family survived, but nearly two months after the tsunami hit Kinniya, Mira was still out of a job and a house. The tsunami's destruction was so fast and so complete that, for most residents of the sea town, life since has been a waking nightmare.

It does not take much imagination to see why recuperation has come slowly; as we biked down one of Kinniya's busiest streets, we passed the ghostly skeleton of the regional hospital. Once a building of pride for the community, it's now a deserted, rusting heap of rubble and hospital equipment that sits there untouched.

Five months ago, when Mira was approached by a local non-governmental organization (NGO) called EFFORD and asked if he would be willing to participate in a livelihoods project directed at fishmongers, he took the bait without hesitation. Mira entered into a contract that provided him all the necessary equipment of his former trade: a bicycle, fish box, gutting knife, scale and weights.

For extra measure, and because EFFORD knows its fish trade well, a wide-brimmed hat and dark-tinged shirt were provided as a suitable uniform for men who sometimes peddle nearly twenty pounds of fish for miles in the hot, tropical sun - often gutting the sale as they go. In return for his equipment, Mira pledged to return to work, and reinvest a portion of his profit into a common fund for other fishmongers to rely on when equipment fails or a family member falls ill.

Although the industry still faces a number of hazards like low catches and a high level of competition, Mira doesn't hesitate to thank Mercy Corps for funding EFFORD's project.

"Now, I can live without debt. I was able to restart my business and provide for my family without taking a loan. I am so grateful to Mercy Corps for the advantage this has given me," he says.

As he leans back over his scaly produce, his latest customer chimes in, "And now my family and I can eat fish 3-4 times a week, delivered to our door for less than market price!"

It wasn't long until I succumbed to the heat and dust and waved Mira on ahead of me, throatily pronouncing his wares. "Ora…Seela…Kiyame," his voice rolling like the tide down main street.

Empowered and convincing, Mira is calling Kinniya back to life.