Amisse Assane has been a fisherman for 25 years in Cabo Delgado, in the north of the country, but the rich waters that used to provide him with income are now closed off by the security forces because of the armed insurgency in the region.

"It was once possible to make ten thousand meticais in one day, but not today," Assne explains to Lusa in kimuâni, one of the local languages, the one used by the whole group.

Young people, with shirts worn by the sun and salt water, gather on the sand of Pemba, the provincial capital, to pull the nets from the sea, one of the steps of the artisanal activity.

"Things have changed, and we only make, at most, three thousand meticais" in fish, to be divided by the group, which is soon out fishing with handmade nets from Pemba.

The routine is told with suffering, because Assane, 47, is the father of five children that he supports through fishing - he has been doing this since 1997, in a house in Pemba made with an income that has been dwindling.

Since the escalation of armed attacks in 2019, fishermen have found themselves interdicted by defense and security forces from the islands of Matemo, Vamizi, Olumbi and Mucojo area, reports.

"We used to fish near there because we could get a lot of fish in those areas," he mentioned.

But the rebel groups that have been plaguing Cabo Delgado for the last four and a half years have been navigating the same places, sometimes decimating the population, sometimes mixing in with it.

One way or another, they have been targeted by the troops who want to clear the areas, which entails access limitations.

João Bento, 36, another member of the group, says he had never experienced such a difficult time as this, with rebel attacks and the restrictions associated with covid-19, a pandemic that tore the group apart and paralyzed activities.

Bento's youngest daughter became ill, with acute anemia from malnutrition, because it is from fishing that he also gets money to buy food.

The strong security measures on the islands, to avoid contact with rebels, and the banning of gatherings everywhere, to curb covid-19, have left him empty-handed.

"My daughter was diagnosed with a problem, anemia, because she didn't eat well. All because I didn't go fishing and only ate dried cassava 'xima' [porridge] every day, with leaves, without other ingredients," she tells Lusa.

He looks at the sea with tears in his eyes, because the situation forced him to go into debt for five thousand meticais to save the life of little Suzana, who was 05 years old at the time.

With shorts or pants rolled up, they enter the sea with water up to their knees: a boat has arrived and there are nets with fish to bring ashore.

Fishing in the city of Pemba is an alternative for work, but it is far from meeting expectations, says Alberto Nkabassada, 59, the oldest of the group.

He has been in the business since 1982 and today has a son with a degree, thanks to the work done at sea.

"At the time it was a job, today I consider it a piece of work," he told Lusa, adding that he is not sure what will become of his future: life is hard and he has mastered no other art than fishing.

In the group, they all ask for peace in Cabo Delgado, to go back to fishing on the islands of Matemo, Vamizi, Olumbi, and next to Mucojo: "That's where the good fishing is.

"We have asked the government to continue to strengthen security, we want to return to the areas that were once a success for the group," concludes Nkabassada, addressed by his colleagues as 'maestro'.