MALACCA: As a lean and fit-looking 40-year-old Edgar Rodrigues stands to greet visitors at the lobby of a four-star hotel, one might guess his build could be the result of lifting countless kilogrammes of guests’ luggage at his workplace.
But that is far from the truth. A turn of fate had caused this well-spoken traditionalist from the Portuguese Settlement to make the most difficult shift in his life just a year ago, from a fisherman to hotel bellhop.
“I couldn’t support my family with my income. What used to be catches worth between RM150 and RM200 in a four-hour shift are now gone.
“These days, we drift the butterfly net for four hours and we’re considered lucky if we have RM30 worth in catch,” said Rodrigues.
He had to give up life as a coastal fisherman, earning his living from drifting butterfly nets to catch geragau prawns (acetes, a genus of small krill-like prawns) used in the production of the popular local condiment cincaluk.
As a landfill developed to extend what was Pulau Melaka, a man-made island that came into existence more than 30 years ago, in came what Rodrigues describes as “dead mud”, one that is toxic and inhabitable for the prawns.
And it is not just Rodrigues who is feeling the pinch.
From more than 100 people with butterfly nets painting a picturesque view in the muddy waters off the Portuguese Settlement, 49-year-old Hilary d’Costa is now among the 10-odd people who still cast their nets in the hopes of earning a living.
Only a handful of acetes is his take from three hours of labour on the day the New Straits Times caught up with him, and d’Costa duly threw them back into the sea, hoping that they would spawn.
“Only geragau is available here these days. Other species of fish have depleted. Those days, in June when it is the geragau season, I can easily catch up to 40kg within three hours. Now, I catch so few that they can’t even be used to cook a proper dish,” he said.
Those in the Portuguese Settlement have had several brushes with the authorities over the years, in battles for their plot to not be taken away by reclamation.
Chef and traditional Portuguese cuisine campaigner Benildus da Silva, 42, believes the compensation paid by the state government should be in the form of increased educational and commercial opportunities.
“Our livelihoods, the traditional ways, they are gone. We came from the sea, so we would want to live by the sea. But that can’t be the case anymore. We are a small (community of) people, just about 2,000 of us living here. We can’t fight the authorities and large corporations.
“Some of us in the Portuguese Settlement had been compensated with a nominal sum for the loss of livelihood, but many who agreed did not see the bigger picture. We are losing something that has been a part of us, which we can’t get back.
“What they should have asked for was compensation in the form of opportunities. If the land was to be reclaimed, we should be given commercial lots to do business and our children given opportunities in education, so they can find other jobs, instead of the traditional ones.”
It isn’t just those in the Portuguese Settlement who are affected.
Along the coast in Klebang and Tanjung Kling, fishermen are facing similar plights due to declining marine life caused by what they claimed was excessive reclamation.
The days of the coastal fishermen, said Rodrigues, were gone, with conditions fit only for larger industrial-sized trawlers who ply their trade in deeper waters.
“There is no place for the traditional fisherman on the coast. It is all gone. We have to move on, but it is sad that Malacca has lost this part of our heritage,” he said, an air of defeat about him.