“What a funny life this is son,” said the old man, sighing as their wooden fishing boat floated on the calm waters of the Indian Ocean. The lapping of the waves against the boat was the only sound breaking the serene silence.

“Why do we have to toil so hard? When you look up at the birds, they don’t need a boat or fishing line to catch fish,” said the old man, as he looked at their catch and the birds flying above them. He leaned over a basket and took out an apple, turning it around to examine it. “See this, from some poor farmer,” he growled, then took a big bite.

The son, who was slightly bow-legged, short but broad, shook his head. He was engrossed in his thoughts. Hardly an hour earlier, they had dragged the heavy net into the boat. He had been certain they had only dragged in seaweed but as it turned out, it was a whole school of fish.

Now, with no likelihood of their making another catch, he was anxious to get back to Old Town before sunset, to walk up and down Tononoka Street to admire Maimouna through her window. He would even try and sneak her a few fish without the old man noticing.

His brow creased at the thought. Although he was certain that Maimouna loved him, he still needed to prove his worth and show that he could feed his wife, just in case he was not the only one admiring her.

“We will put the fish in ice water,” said the old man, while scanning the water intently, “we’ll sell them at the market first thing tomorrow morning. Do you think the fish will go for one of these?”

“What, dad?” The son asked, his thoughts still on Maimouna.

“This,” said the old man examining the seeded core of the apple with keen interest then tossing it overboard.

“Ah..!” He sighed, sitting back contentedly, staring at the faultless blue sky, “You don’t know how lucky you are, son. You have the world at your feet. You’ve got me and your mother. We’re still strong and active, so we can still help you as you prepare to set up your own home. And then, you don’t have the usual problems that siblings have. Being the only son, you have no one to compete with for my two acres of cassava and coconuts in Tiwi.”

The son nodded, his attention shifting to his father. “Just promise me one thing, son.”

“Yes dad, what do you want me to promise?”

“That when we are old and no longer able to move up and about, that you’ll provide me and your mama with a basket or two of cassava every once in a while. As far as I can tell, Medina is a good girl. She won’t begrudge us that little.”

The son looked at his father with a confused look. “Medina?” He said. “What do you mean Medina?”

“Yes Medina, the daughter of the wealthy Hassan of Kisauni,” said the old man, starting to sound impatient. “I’ve been having a quiet word with the old man and you know, I don’t think he will refuse our offer for her hand in marriage.”

“But, but...” the son stammered, unable to process what his father was saying. Finally the shock passed and he called out to his father. “Dad!”

The old man sprang up, his sudden motion rocking the boat dangerously. He scanned the waters for signs of trouble but there were none. He turned to the son frowning.

“I can’t see anything.”

“I can’t!”

“You can’t what, son?”

“I can’t marry her!”

The father eyed his son suspiciously, “And why not?” He demanded.

“I love Maimouna! Maimouna of Bibi Maka,” the son said, his fists clenching defensively.

For a long time, the world was quiet. A kingfisher circled above them in a wide arc screeching shrilly, its eyes gawking hungrily at the fish at the bottom of the boat. The old man watched it suspiciously. The son did not even notice it.

“Well,” the old man began with an air of finality, “You can’t.”

“What do you mean I can’t?” Asked the son.

“You can’t,” he growled, trying to seem angry in order to hide his true feelings. “There are two reasons why you two can’t be together. One, you don’t go around just choosing any girl as your wife. Two,” he coughed before continuing, “she’s your first cousin.” The son shuddered.

“What do you mean she’s my cousin?”

“It’s a long story,” the old man said, trying to put off further questions.

How do you go about telling your son that he can’t marry the girl he loves because she is his half-sister from a fling that no one knew about?

“I think we have netted another great catch,” said the old man a few hours later as they slowly drifted towards the distant shore. The son was rowing lethargically.

He shook himself out of the stupor and helped his father bring in the heavy net. It was another school of fish.

“Careful!” Growled the old man, lying starboard to balance the rocking boat. The son hauled in the net absent-mindedly. He could see Maimouna drifting away from him, her beautiful form growing smaller and smaller.