In the evening bayou of eastern Louisiana, close to New Orleans, you walk along dry areas as well as you can, the croaking of frogs and call of birds around you. Without a sound, the figure of a man appears from the waters, wearing hip-waders. He’s a large man, his brown skin is tattooed with black symbols and images, his brown hair beaded and braided. He wears fishing gear, and his eyes are dark and piercing. “Bonjou, stranger,” he greets you in his French-creole accent.