Hakku and the sea

What's your money worth? A series from the front line of the cost-of-living crisis, where people who have been hit hard share their monthly expenses.

Name: Hakeema Umar, known as “Hakku”

Age: 62

Occupation: Fisher

Lives with: Husband Umar Haroon (64) and daughter Hamida (who estimates she is about 20). Sons Imran (37) and Rehman (24) live in a separate house in the family’s 185-square-foot (17-square-metre) compound.

Lives in: A one-room, semi-concrete hut in Rehri Goth, Karachi, Pakistan.

Daily household income: Hakku and her sons make between 1,500 to 4,000 rupees ($5 to $14)

Daily expenses: Approximately 3,500 rupees ($12)

Each morning at first light, hundreds of fishers set out for the sea in Rehri Goth, a 400-year-old fishing settlement in Karachi. In a sea of men, Hakku stands out. She is the only woman in the community of about 43,000 who fishes—as far as she knows—and certainly the only woman her age, with deep wrinkles and skin weathered by years in the sun.

Hakku wakes before sunrise, and gets ready for the long day ahead, timing herself to the muezzin’s call to prayer. She packs all her equipment—rope, fishing nets, sinker weights, bait, water and biscuits—and heads to the harbour. Balancing a small boat made of thermocol, or polystyrene, over her head, light as a pitcher of water, she arrives as early as she can to give her an edge over the others. Typically, one or both of her youngest sons will join her. If they have to go further out to sea they hop on to a larger boat with their own smaller boats, get dropped off in the water, and picked up again later that day. Each time Hakku does this, she pays 500 rupees ($1.80) for fuel.

In the summer months, Hakku heads to the tidal creek waters where the mangrove forests are. She’ll attach small pieces of meat—usually chicken feet—to a rope, drop it in the water, and wait for the crabs to take the bait. Sometimes, she’ll also catch shrimp and smaller fish. In winter, she heads out to sea to catch “the bigger fish”. Two or three times a week, she will cut cooking firewood for the house, taking only the brittle branches of the mangroves. “We never cut the ‘wet’ part,” Hakku says. “We are the custodians of the mangroves, we care for them.”

In the afternoon, when the tide recedes, Hakku makes her passage back. She and her sons will head towards the open fish market, a 10-minute walk from home, to sell the day’s catch to a small vendor. After she's been paid, Hakku walks to the store next to her house to buy the daily groceries. As her daughter prepares lunch, Hakku tends to her equipment, rubbing salt on the bait to prevent it from rotting. This has been her routine every day for the past 15 years.

Becoming the main breadwinner

Hakku started fishing in her childhood as a way to spend more time with her father, who encouraged her interest. She would sit in a large cooking pot and join him on his fishing expeditions in Keti Bandar: a coastal town in Thatta, more than 100km (62 miles) from Karachi. Her hometown’s commercial and agricultural importance diminished after the construction of dams and barrages on the Indus river. “Our homes would keep getting flooded,” Hakku recalls.

Many inhabitants migrated to places like Rehri Goth in Karachi. Forty years ago, after Hakku married her neighbour Umar—a fisherman and boatmaker—they, too, moved to the city, excited to build a new life together.

“Before my wedding, my father instructed Umar to never stop me from doing what I loved, which was fishing,” she says. “And I never did,” Umar interjects. They are seated inside their home.

When the couple first moved to this house, sometime in the 1980s, Umar constructed a 22-foot boat, which they named al-Ferouz (‘Victorious’ in Urdu ). “Back then, we would fish together,” Hakku says. “The water was clear, and there were many species of fish.”

They made a living through fishing and Umar’s boat commissions, and put all the money they saved into upgrading and building their wooden boats. Ten years later, Umar crafted al-Kabootar (‘Pigeon’), which lasted 25 years. Then came al-Sikandar (‘King’ or ‘Warrior’)—an 18-footer, which could seat six to eight people—but by then, hard times had already fallen on them.

“Fifteen years ago, I started experiencing health complications,” Umar says. He developed kidney problems and tremors, and could no longer go out to the sea to fish. The family hasn’t been able to afford proper treatment, and over the past few years, his health has deteriorated further. Sometimes, when he exerts himself, he collapses. “I can’t even hold a pencil any more,” he says. “My hands tremble.”

His commissions started to dry up, and Hakku and her sons were left as the sole breadwinners. “She took my place,” Umar says.

‘It all depends on the sea’

Last year, Hakku and Umar had to sell al-Sikandar, which was disintegrating after only six years of use. “It wasn’t made out of the best materials, and we couldn’t rely on it any more,” Umar says. “What happens if it falls apart in the middle of the sea?”

They sold it for 110,000 rupees ($385). In its place, Imran made a small boat out of thermocol for himself, using epoxy glue to harden it. “I told him to make one for me, too,” Hakku says. “He made one that was even lighter, easy for me to carry around, and then he made another one for Rehman.” He painted them in different colours and labelled each, in English: “One Man Bood [Boat].”

Each cost 15,000 to 20,000 rupees ($54-$72) to make. “But these boats are unreliable,” says Hakku. Although she can swim, she would be vulnerable far out at sea. “If there’s a strong gust of wind, they flip over. It’s dangerous to go into the ocean in one of these,” she says. “You also can’t make food arrangements, you can’t sleep in them—you can barely even sit.”

The size of the catch she can collect in the boat is also limited. “The big ships come, with the big nets, and take all the fish,” she complains.

Fishing has gotten harder since they sold the boat as they can’t venture too far out to sea. Her income changes all the time.

“It all depends on the sea, how much we’re able to catch,” says Hakku. “We spend everything we earn, there’s nothing left to save. Even if we were to save one day, it’ll be gone the next day if there’s less catch. On the days there’s no catch, or very little catch, we cut wood and sell that. Sometimes we’ll get 300 rupees ($1.05) for it, sometimes 400 ($1.40).”

To make matters worse, over the years, the amount of marine life has withered as factories and farms have mushroomed along the coastline, dumping industrial and biological waste into the water. Many species of fish that were once abundant in these waters have diminished or disappeared altogether.

Market rates fluctuate, but she doesn’t know what this is based on. She knows that some of the crabs she catches are exported to China and Thailand.

What concerns her is that expenses have gone up this year. “Especially for food,” she says. And in the past year, Hakku’s own health has suffered. “I’m getting old, I get tired,” she says.

Recently, she visited two doctors who told her that her blood pressure was high because of stress.

“It’s because of all the expenses, the financial burden,” she says.

“She works too hard,” Umar says. “All praise to God, always—but really, this past year has been very difficult for us. There have been days we’ve gone to bed on empty stomachs.”

Between October 1 and October 31, as part of a collaborative project, Hakku tracked her expenses with reporter Sama Faruqi.

Food: Everything is more expensive

According to Hakku, atta (whole-wheat flour) which they use to make bread is the most expensive item at 241 rupees ($0.85) for two kilos. Last year it cost 132 rupees ($0.46), according to her shopkeeper. The price of cooking oil has also gone up.

The cost of vegetables varies, with many items now much higher in price than a year ago, but Hakku only buys what she needs and can afford that day, typically spending between 300 to 400 rupees ($1.10-$1.40). Potatoes, onions, pumpkins and tomatoes have all gone up in price.

“Sometimes, the shopkeeper will give us a loan; other times he will not,” Hakku says.

“What can I do?” asks the shopkeeper, overhearing the conversation. “Everything has become more expensive. I’m also just trying to get by.”

“When I was growing up in Keti Bandar, we used to drink fresh buffalo milk every day,” says Hakku. “It wasn’t mixed like it is in the city. We ate the best fish. The butter was fresh. Nothing is fresh in the city, that’s why we’re having all these health problems.”

Milk is the second biggest expense after flour. One litre of milk, which they drink daily, costs 200 rupees ($0.70), up from 120 rupees ($0.40) last year. The family drinks two cups of tea a day. One box of tea, which lasts about two days, costs 180 rupees ($0.60), compared with 113 rupees ($0.40) last year.

And while they mostly eat their own catch, they’ll buy fish every once in a while, which costs 500 rupees ($1.76) per kilo.

2023: about 700 rupees ($2.45) for a day’s worth of vegetables, milk and tea
2022: Hakku doesn't remember how much she would have paid last year, only that food was much cheaper. 

Wood for Hakku’s boat

Hakku and Umar’s dream is to build a boat they can leave behind for their children. After selling al-Sikandar, they bought some wood that they keep outside their home. “It cost us 100,000 rupees ($350),” says Umar. The family used the little money they had saved and borrowed money from a friend to pay for this.

“The last boat cost us 200,000 rupees ($701) to make, but we’ll need 300,000 ($1,052) to 400,000 ($1,402) to make this new one since the price for everything has gone up,” Umar explains. “This time, I’m using better-quality wood, which should last 20 years. The nuts and bolts alone cost 100,000 rupees ($350), and the engine is another 100,000.”

Once they have collected enough wood, Umar will start building. “If there are two or three men at the job, it can be completed within two months. If it’s just me, it can take up to a year. But I will do it myself, slowly, over time. If not this year, then next year. If not next year, then the year after. I’m trying. It will happen.”

He adds: “My wife is fearless, but I worry about her when she goes into the sea in that small boat. I want her to be safe. I’m doing this for her.”

When asked what she’ll name it, Hakku thinks for a while.

“Allah Madad,” she says. “God’s Help.”

2023: 100,000 rupees ($350) for wood
2022: Nothing

Hygiene products and fishing equipment

The only other major expenses for the family are hygiene and fishing equipment. A bar of soap costs 130 rupees ($0.46), and they will go through five or six in a month. “Last year, it was under 100 rupees ($0.35),” Hakku says. Meanwhile, the soap they use to wash their clothes costs between 30 rupees to 50 rupees ($0.10-$0.18), and lasts a week, when last year it would have cost 20 to 30 rupees ($0.07-$0.10).

Once a year, Hakku will buy fishing rope. “This year it cost us 1,200 rupees ($4). When I bought it last year, it cost me 700 rupees ($2),” she says. To store the fish, she buys ice worth 200 rupees ($0.70)  each day from the fish market. The most expensive item is the bait, which she gets from a butcher two times a week, costing 1,000 rupees ($3.50).

2023: 1,200 rupees ($4) for fishing rope
2022: 700 rupees ($2)

Six quick questions for Hakku

1. What's one thing you had to forgo this month? Butter. (But not just this month - it’s a luxury the family hasn't been able to afford for years)

2. What’s the hardest financial decision you had to make this month? I have started experiencing pain in my body, in my bones. I’m getting old, I feel weak. So I haven’t been able to go out to fish for two weeks, and my inability to earn has been stressful for me and my family.

3. Which is the most worthwhile expense from this month? I visited two doctors at government hospitals. They prescribed medication, which cost more than 3,000 rupees ($10). The medication helps, for a while, but then it all comes back.

4. When finances get tough - what gets you through the difficult times? It’s very important for families to support each other. If one cannot earn, then someone else in the family can step in and help out.

5. What’s your biggest money worry? Our house hasn’t been repaired in six years. The floor is cracking, and when it rains, water seeps through the ceiling. Repair work would cost 100,000 rupees ($350) alone.

6. What’s the saving hack you are proudest of? We don’t use electricity. We have one solar-powered light bulb in the house, which we bought three years ago. It cost us 6,000 rupees ($21).

Read more stories from the series: What's your money worth?