‘Our last hope’ — only judge can save this ‘healing place’ from Shell, says Port St Johns fisher (Part 2)

The last article in this two-part series features Port St Johns and Ntsindiso Nongcavu who was an applicant in the court case The Wild Coast Communities and others vs Shell and others. Read Part 1.

Background

When Shell announced it was about to carry out a 3D seismic survey – in the waters between Haga Haga and Port St Johns – in 2021, Wild Coast communities, Sustaining the Wild Coast, All Rise Attorneys, Natural Justice and Greenpeace Africa took Shell to court. They argued that the exploration right—in possession of Impact Africa and Shell with Shell as the operator—was granted unlawfully, because the coastal communities residing in the Wild Coast had not been consulted during the original application. The high court ruled against Shell and Impact Africa and set aside the exploration right. The SCA allowed Shell to keep the exploration right alive through the renewal process. Sustaining the Wild Coast, Natural Justice, the Wild Coast Communities and Greenpeace Africa appealed the part of the SCA’s ruling—that allowed for the exploration right to be renewed—at the Constitutional Court. The Constitutional Court will hear their appeals on 15 and 17 September.

At sunrise in Sicambeni – a hilly rural village in Port St Johns – children walked to school on the dirt roads while taxis filled up with scholars who needed to travel further. Ntsindiso Nongcavu (47) was on his way to fish at the rocky reef just east of the Mngazi River mouth, and was joined by his nephew and friend. Just before they were about to leave, someone needed to get into a locked hall, and Nongcavu asked his 27-year-old nephew, Ezile – who wore a bucket hat, jeans and flip flops – to run and fetch the key. “He’s young,” Nongcavu laughed fondly.

At the mouth, the tide was pushing in but much of the beach was claimed by the lagoon that formed at the closed river mouth. The exposed light-brown sand was firm and easy to walk on. Nongcavu said winter had been typically dry and they were waiting for the first big rains to open the Mngazi River mouth. 

At the reef, Nongcavu selected a spot closest to the hill and cast his line. Their south-facing fishing spot was shielded from the rising sun by the hill behind it, providing welcome shade, but that day the men wore jackets.

Nongcavu calls the ocean “a healing place”. “Fishing is like therapy to me. If I have a problem, when I go to the ocean, I listen to the sound of the water, it cures me,” he said. 

The serene scene was tainted by the ongoing court case between the Wild Coast communities and Shell, which was about to reach the highest court in the country.

“When I first heard that Shell was going to do their seismic survey I felt like a dark cloud covered our land,” he said. “I became an applicant in the case, because I feel neglected by our government. We decided to stand up as a community and take Shell to court,” he said.

By midday, the tide had pushed in, ending fishing early. Some of the fishers caught a few seabream, while releasing smaller fish. Back at Nongcavu’s home, he spoke about how he learnt fishing from his father, by accompanying him, and carrying his rod and bag. He laughs when he recalls his first catch. “I stole the line!” he said. He took his father’s line, caught a big fish, and lied about going with an adult. His father believed him, and encouraged him to continue. Now, he credits that event as the reason he ended up becoming a full-time fisherman. 

Once Nongcavu grew up, the cycle repeated when Jiba, his nephew, in turn learnt from him in the same way. Jiba’s introduction to fishing began with him carrying his uncle’s bag, and observing him at work. Now that he is older, he fishes alongside his uncle. “I’m so happy that I received the skill from my uncle,” Jiba said, smiling. 

Nongcavu has been a full-time small-scale fisher since 2009. Since then he has been a member of Coastal Links, a grassroots organisation aimed at connecting small-scale fishing communities across South Africa, serving as the national secretary for some time. Today, he is a member of the Chascavu Fishing Primary Cooperative, which is allocated fishing rights through the government’s Policy for Small-Scale Fisheries.

Nongcavu is concerned about the livelihoods of all the residents of his village, but he is also concerned about the social and spiritual implications, believing that if he did not fight for his communities’ rights he would be failing his ancestors. “We believe that we live with our ancestors, and they also live in the sea. If we allow them to be disturbed we will lose our connection to them,” he said.

In the late-afternoon sun, his fellow fishers boiled and ate fish in a potjie pot on an open flame in Nongcavu’s backyard. Nandipa Nogwina, a 41-year-old woman who exuded hard-won confidence, was among them. She had learnt to harvest mussels and other shellfish from her mother. The activity became a necessity when her mother fell ill. Nogwina dropped out of high school to care for her family when she was 17. After her mother’s death she managed to put her siblings and her child through school by harvesting and selling mussels. “Lots of tourists go to Second Beach so I would sit on the side of the road and sell them mussels and fish,” she said. 

Nongcavu’s wife is employed at one of the hotels in the area. “If it’s a good month, she works 20 days, but it’s normally less,” he said. Nongcavu says tourism is one of the three pillars of development for his community, along with fishing and farming. “We want a government that listens to the voice of the people. They must learn what people want or need, and support them,” he said as he began to gut and clean a garrick given to him by a friend who caught it with a recreational permit. Working quickly and carefully, he prepared portions for cooking.

Nongcavu had been involved in the court case since the start. He attended the court hearings in Makhanda, Gqeberha and Bloemfontein. “All these courts agreed on one thing. They said the affected communities were left behind when they developed their [exploration] proposal,” he said. Now he is busy gearing up to be in Johannesburg at the Constitutional Court hearing. “We put our hope in the court now, because the government didn’t listen to us,” he said.

Nongcavu took the portioned fish to Nogwina’s home, to cook on her stove, since he doesn’t have one at his home. The road outside Nogwina’s home was filled with activity as neighbours carried buckets to fill with water at the public tap next to her home. Jiba stood at the fence joking and laughing with them as they passed by. At 27, he wants to be able to earn enough money to be self-sufficient. As a fisher himself he hopes to join the cooperative of which his uncle and Nogwina are members. 

As evening approached, Nogwina’s sheep and pig made their way into her yard. The warm light mixed with the smell of frying fish and the laughter of playing children. When the fish was ready, children gathered around her as she gave each of them a tasty morsel.

“I’m proud to be a fisher, because the mussels and the fish are like medicine for my body. When I’m eating the fish, I feel happy! If you don’t have anything to eat, take some mussels and put them on the fire and you have a nice meal!” reflected Nogwina.

“We just hope the judge will listen to every word our legal team says, because this is our last hope. When hope ends, there is no life,” said Nongcavu. DM

This story was supported by Natural Justice.