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It was just enough light to orient themselves by in the tossing swells.
Across the channel, the city of Cape Town appeared as a thin band of lights, its mountains black against the sky.
That Christmas, Jacob had to buy himself cheap clothes while his friends all got “nice presents” from their families—sneakers, football gear, cash.
“That’s a shit experience when you’re young,” he told me when I visited him at home recently, standing outside his wooden shack among a clutch of mismatched chicken coops.
Unlike many poachers he knew, Jacob didn’t blow his cash chasing a party lifestyle, focusing instead on looking after his family.