The Canoe man’s story
I was paddling my canoe through the hinterland river that morning, like I’d done every day since I was a boy. The river was wide, the current steady, and I knew every bend, every shallow, every place the crocs liked to hide.
Then this professor came by the stream side. Big hat, small glasses, and a voice that sounded like he was reading from a book. He wanted me to ferry him to the village on the other side of the river. I agreed at a fare. Then he climbed in.
We hadn’t gone far when he looked down at me and asked:
“Do you know about biology?”
I shook my head. “No, sir.”
He clicked his tongue. You do not know how your body functions. How your blood flows around your body, keeping you alive. “Then my friend a quarter of your life is gone.”
Huh. I just kept paddling. I know which fish bite at dawn, which leaves stop bleeding, and how to read the sky before rain. But okay.
Few minutes later: “What about psychology?”
“No sir.” I replied, feeling a bit not to happy.
“What, you do not know the simple functioning of your mind. He shakes his head, mutters something about wasted life in a river, then declares pompously, My dear man, if you do not know psycholgy, then truly half of your life is gone.”
I nodded. I know when a man is tired, when a woman is lying, when a child is hungry. But maybe that’s not “psychology” in his book.
Then he tried again: “Sociology? Do you know Sociology?”
“No sir.” I answered in a small voice.
“Then I will simply tell you that three-quarters of your life is gone, if you do not know how to interprete your everyday interaction with the other folks around you.”
At this point I figured he was just counting down to something. I didn’t say much. I just watched the clouds.
And then the sky turned, the wind picked up, and the river did what rivers do. Splash!, the canoe flipped.
I came up quick, grabbed the canoe, and there was the professor, arms everywhere, mouth full of water.
I called out: “Professor! Do you know swimlogy?”
He gasped: “N-no!”
I sighed. Poor man knew big words, but not the river.
“Well sir,” I said, holding the canoe steady, “then your whole life is gone.” I allowed the turbulent river to toss him about a bit. Then I swam to him and grabbed him. I towed him to shore. He was shivering, coughin. And very quiet.
He has just learnt that some lessons, you don’t learn from books
Laughter is medicine
