The squishy splat of dead fish tumbling onto sand fills the air. Clouds of flies zigzag into hair and ears. All over the shore, men scale, gut, smash, slice, smoke and pile up fish. The beach is filled with women sitting with fish stacked neatly before them. Sometimes young men from the boats hustle past with plastic buckets overflowing with a catch they are loading onto a wholesaler's truck.
Women nurse their babies by the water.
Men kneel and bow eastward and pray. Babacar Ndiaye, Dieng's grandfather, takes in the scene quietly. Every day Ndiaye, with a friendly round face framed by a two-day growth of white beard, comes to sit by the sea at 6 a.m., and he stays virtually all day. He relaxes under a shelter with other retired fishermen. At the end of the day, their sons share their catches with them.