Living in the Maldives means living in one of two worlds. You either live in Male, the micro-Manhattan capital of the Indian Ocean, or you live on “islands” in some of the quietest and most remote villages this side of the arctic tundra.
In these places, far from the archipelago's walled resort atolls, which are not actually inhabited by Maldivians, the country is torn between two visions of its future, as much as in other parts of Asia, if not more so. You are forced to make a choice.
Populations on the remote islands are steadily declining, making it less attractive to make a living fishing for tuna or growing coconuts along the shattered coral coasts. A sense of great isolation may attract tourists, but it seems at odds with the aspirations of islanders in a country modernized by global tourism.
As Maldivians give up on island life, the government feels it must continue building Male, the country's only real city. However, Male is already under severe pressure to the limit of human habitation. For some perspective, this island is the most densely populated island on Earth, with more than one-third of the country's 520,000 people on land that can be crossed in about 20 minutes on foot. lives there.
If more Maldivians are to move there, its physical structure will need to be fundamentally reshaped. Meanwhile, we are expanding outward as much as possible. The government has surrounded Male' with sea bridges to artificial islands filled with housing projects funded by China and India.
On January 22, President Mohamed Muiz announced the construction of an undersea tunnel between mainland Male and a reclamation project in which Chinese investors will build 65,000 homes on what is now mostly a sandbar. He announced a vision that seems out of this world.
Muiz, a civil engineer by training, said commuters will have “beautiful sea views” as they pass through the tunnel. (Feasibility is undetermined.)
Humay Ghafoor, a researcher who campaigns against environmental destruction, said “no one is doing an evaluation” before commissioning “large infrastructure” projects. This could, for example, result in an airport being built on top of a mangrove forest, destroying the freshwater supply for an entire island.
The Maldives is made up of 1,000 islands spread along a 550-mile axis, each consisting of slightly exposed coral that grew from the rims of a series of prehistoric underwater volcanoes. These form rings called atolls. The word atoll came into English from the native Dhivehi language. Most of the 188 inhabited islands have fewer than 1,000 residents.
All spacious villas set in turquoise waters, the resort is technically located on a “deserted” island. The guests are mostly foreigners, and the staff are mostly from India and Bangladesh. In some ways, resorts are like offshore oil rigs, pumping almost all of the country's revenue. Deliberately removed from Maldivian culture and abstracted from its South Asian location.
A typical inhabited island is similarly rich in sunlight and warmth, with access to shallow lagoons, palm trees, and in some cases mangrove forests. The population is highly literate, many speak English, and are connected to the rest of the world by the internet, mobile data, and long-distance ferry routes.
Their traditions still exist. All islands, except perhaps Male, have a covered seating platform in the harbour, known as horhuasi, sometimes with woven chairs hanging around it. The men meet at noon for a break and gossip.
There is little doubt that climate change will ultimately spell disaster for this country. Most of the country is only 1 to 2 meters above sea level. But that catastrophe is thought to be more than a century away.
Instead, Maldivians are leaving the island for their children and looking to Male and the world beyond. There is no substitute for city life when it comes to education and healthcare.
Norhibarangfaru is a powdery white sand beach in the shape of a fishhook, with lush cores between the beaches, similar to many inhabited islands in the Maldives. Atop an Islamic cemetery near the pier, blooming frangipani stands centered around a centuries-old shrine of Arab pilgrims. The nearest landmass takes him 25 minutes by speedboat, and from there he can take two planes to neighboring India.
It was a journey that Maryam Ashima, 30, a mother of twins, completed at great expense and personal hardship. She and her husband, the captain of a tourist yacht anchored 275 miles away near Male, were unable to conceive. Two years ago, Ashima's sister, who was in a similar situation, traveled to Kochi, India, a city of 2.1 million people, where she fended for herself during 11 months of IVF treatment.
Even on remote islands with good transportation, medical care is still rudimentary. Staff at a local clinic scoff at the idea of ​​someday doing IVF. They quietly say that even most medical emergencies cannot be handled on their own. Patients who require ventilators must be flown hundreds of miles away.
Ashima, who has now returned to the island with her six-month-old twins, says she is satisfied with the outcome of the ordeal. Her sister also gave her her nephew. Thanks to her encouragement, two of her other women on the island also became pregnant in the same way. The government has started offering $500 grants and the possibility of free air travel to families who need to go abroad for IVF.
She likes the island's “hometown feel” and would like to send her children to school there, even if it means having to travel to a nearby island to see a pediatrician. However, this is not her first home. Ashima was born on Maabaidu Island, an even smaller island that was abandoned after being flooded by the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami.
Many Maldivians have been migrating for more than a generation, leaving small communities for larger communities. Those who can afford it will go to Male more than anywhere else.
Thirty years ago, it was not uncommon for families to send unaccompanied minors on long ferry trips of 20 hours or more to live in Male. They stayed with distant relatives or strangers, working as meager domestic servants to earn room and board while attending better schools in the country.
Island families still send their children to study on Male Island, but now they usually make the trip during their teenage years. Better elementary school education is available even in remote areas.
The cramped conditions in the capital are their first challenge. The compact grid of streets is packed with pedestrians, bikers, workshops and high-end perfumers, making it a miniature version of central Hong Kong. The rent for a one-bedroom apartment is five times the starting salary of a civil servant.
Ajbad, a nervous and quiet 23-year-old, came to Male at age 16 to join his older siblings. Six people were crammed into three bedrooms. They are all professionals with jobs as teachers and engineers. But they grew up in another world, 36 hours away by ferry. There, the beach was a five-minute walk away, there were no roads or motorbikes, and their home was his four-bedroom home that his father, a fisherman, had built himself. Their mother made kamaboko and sold it to the neighbors.
Ajubad, who asked that her last name be withheld to protect her privacy, recalls the transition as “quite a challenge.” Having to live without his parents and without an inch of quiet space to study alone, he said, “I thought my world was falling apart.''
Ahmed Abbas, a 39-year-old hardware salesman, briefly moved to the urban sprawl of Male from a remote southern island 12 years ago. His family of six lives in his two-bedroom apartment in a complex built by a Chinese developer across the sea bridge from the city. They spend only half their income on rent, and he drives into the city twice a day, a 25-minute trip each way.
Mr. Abbas studied and worked in southern India for many years before settling down. He has seen enough of the world to understand the perch his family shares with his two beloved birds. Small, exotic pets are big business in little Male.
But he still misses life on the island. When he returned to his hometown, he said, “I was glad that the people were so kind.'' “They were just normal country people, and everyone was smiling.''
