The Maldives are located in the Indian Ocean, below the Indian Subontinent, south of Sri Lanka.
A few million years ago, a chain of powerful suboceanic volcanoes exploded, and eventually emerged from the sea forming the original Maldives. Originally they were much higher than now (highest point about 6 feet above sea level). But, as geothermal activity subsided, so did the Maldives, slowly sinking back into the sea. After a cyclical ice ages elsewhere on the globe, melting glacial water resulted in rising sea levels, and left corals barely peeking above the waves.
Mal Daivz (in Dhivehi language) consists of 26 atolls formed by above geological activity, and about 1200 islands. Some of those barely qualify as islands, as there is sometimes just enough sand above water to house a single palm. The word 'atoll' is derived from the Dhivehi 'atolu'. The Maldivian atolls are spread over 34,000 square miles of open Indian Ocean, in clear, emerald green, glassyly transparent waters full of islands teeming with colourful fish. Only 200 of all the islands are populated.
The first inhabitants 2000 years ago were the Dravidians. Then Aryans from India and Sri Lanka blended with them. Today we have a mix, reflected in the many languages spoken here. Dhivehi, an Indo-European lannguage, as well as Arabic, Hindi or English. Most were Buddhists until Barakat-al-Barbari, a Moroccan saint convinced the Sultan to convert to Islam in 1153. And the islands are strictly Muslim now: devout, conservative...and dry.
We anchored - in a crowded space between many islands and submerged atolls - just off Male, the capital of the Maldives. It is only half a square mile in size, flat as can be, and houses 40,000 ctizens, making it one of the most densely populated places on earth. Houses are named, bicycles are the most common mode of land transport, and dhoanis (small local boats, some looking like Venetian gondolas) ply the waters amongst surrounding islands. One of them is an artificial island, and the location of the local International Airport. Also location of one of the few near by hotels with a beach AND a license to serve alcohol. Thus is is a favourite day trip for many of the non Muslim expatriats living here.
Water is desalienated, electricity derived fromd Diesel generators, raw sewage is pumped into the ocean - which somewhat sullies the pristine waters, at least near the fall out stations somewhere...
The new president, Mohamed Nasheed, apparently is keen to reduce not only the carbon footprint of the island, but also introduce solar energy and clean up the sewer systems. He also has initiated actions to preserve the endangered sharks who hunt around the fish rich atolls by prohibing the sale of shark products (no more shark teeth necklaces). He also has initiated prohibition harvesting and sale of coral specimens, as well as coral, turtle and tortoise related 'souvenirs'. But, who need souvenirs, when the most enticing attraction in living underwater in flaming coral colours and a plethora of tropical fish. Truly a snorklers and divers Mecca, worth a pilgrimage at leat once in a life time.
The present president has also moved out of the traditional 'Presidential Palace' into more modest accommodation, and he has come to fame through his unusual 'underwater conference' which he held to draw attention to the dangers of global warming and rising ocean levels. Very well he may be concerned, as his nation would be one of the first to disappear under beautiful clear waves - if they remain clear...
Male is dominated by the golden dome and elegant minaret of the Huskuru Miskiiy mosque, which houses the tomb of Barakat (no relation to Barak) and several past sultans. Two dozen other mosques on the island allow prayer several times a day.
I started the day with clothing myself in 'conservative garb': long cotton dress with sleeves, flat shoes and a scarf...just in case. Many of my shipmates did not get the ''conservative' part of the message (both spoken and written) and turned up in true tourist fashion in strap-tops and shorts or minis (regardless of age). Although the locals proved to be pretty tolerant of this unsuitable attire in a Muslim world, only one lady was approached by police and asked to 'cover up' when she proceeded to shed her little clothing at a spot of sand in 'Male' to sunbathe surrounded by burqua clothes women...duh?
However, keen to attract tourists despite their heathen beliefs, many of the outlaying islands and atolls are 'exempt' from strict regulations. Resorts are as relaxed as they would be on any other beach in the non Muslim world, alcohol is served in resorts, and men and woman frolic in the warm cristalline waters with minimal clothing to surf, sail, swim, snorkel, dive or just bask in the sun or in the shade under an accommodating palm tree.
I headed via dhoani to a little island about 45 minutes away. Small enough to walk around in twent minutes, civilized enough to have very clean toilets and change rooms, a little dive shop, a little souvenir shop, and a little shady spot where one could buy and drink some soft drinks. A little dock lead from the clear landing spot, teeming with thousands of colourful fish, to a powdery white sandy beach. The surrounding waters were barely knee-deep for about 100 feet, after which a little coral atoll marked a rocky drop off. Some of my co-revellers took advantage of this paradisic locale and explored the submarine world. A couple of hourse there made one wish for more of the same, and wish for the snorkel that was left back home in BC. Absolutely delightful place!
Back in Male, the hub of activity, I put on my scarf and walked around 'downtown'. Protected from the pleasant ocean breezes it felt blistering hot. I asked one of the burqua clad women where I could purchase a head scarf like hers. The lady walked me around a corner, and pointed to a little shop with green paint on the door: there, she said. I braved the constant stream of mopeds filling the streets, even at lunch time, and got to the other side of the intersection without being flattened by cycle wheels. The shop was closed for lunch. I peeked through the show window, yes, black long gowns, shelves of scarfs, glittery bits and pieces, but no shop keeper. In the window reflection I saw a young man getting off his moped and walk towards the shop.
He stood there...a bit shy. I said: Are you the owner?
No, he said, I am a worker, but the boss is coming in two minutes.
I wait, I said. He got on his cell to see where his boss was.
He came from Kolkota, he said, and now lives here.
Promptly, the 'boss' arrived, a diminutive young girl no more than 16 or so, in full burqua, but with her pretty face showing.
In the shop, I chose a white scarf.
Please, could you show me how to tie it, I asked.
She started to drape and pin it around my head and after a little while she got it to her liking. By that time a few more people had entered and followed my beauty treatment with interest, smiling, but without saying a word. The young man from Kolkata kept showing me gowns and scarfs, hoping I would buy more.
But, scarf, fake jewel pins and $5 later, and clothed appropriately I wandered back into the bustling hot street. The new burqua scarf was surprisingly cool and felt very comfortable.
I passed women and children. Suddenly, they made eye contact and smiled at me conspirationally when passing by. That was a novelty. To local men I seemed to be invisible, that was NOT a novelty, as at 'advanced age' all women become invisible to the opposite sex.
But, I was enticed by one of them to enter his tiny second story shop to look at his treasures from the Maldives and India.
I looked at various necklaces, not really craving to buy anything. But, he and I got into a conversation about his country's politics, the foibles of past presidents, taxes, international aid programs, electricity costs, rents on mainstreet and tourists...
That's when he admitted, that he really appreciated my burqua headscarf.
It shows respect, he said, and for that, we respect you more for adjusting to our culture. We are Muslims here, and we have our own customs.
That was the longest conversation I ever had with a Muslim on this trip.
Of course, I bought something...after we bargained nicely, as an aside to the conversation and arrived at a mutually acceptable price. He gave me a 'bonus' of a couple of Maldive photo stickers. Quite nice.
Whatever western culture thinks of this 'covering up' of women in Muslim countries. Two things speak for it - in my opinion - it keeps one from getting sunburn, and, more importantly, it opens doors into another world and provides a measure of anonimity that is welcome and comfortable. Especially in a society, where a white single woman stands out, and more unpleasantly so, if she shows more than she hides of her body, especially when some female bodies are better kept under wraps than shown to all and sundry.
Dressed to enter a mosque, I wandered over to the entrance of the BIG one. A woman apparently guarding the shrine approached me at the bottom of the ample stairs to the entrance of the building. I had started to remove my shoes, and was in the process of putting them on the bottom step.
No, she shook her head, below the steps.
The steps were part of the sanctuary.
She accompanied be up the flight of stairs, where she pointed out a plaque explaining the edifice in various Indian languages (and script) as well as English. We crossed the wide expanse of smooth marble tiles leading to a gallery, from which one could appreciate the airy and inspiring expanse of the mosque proper. Carved verses of the Quuran adorned the marbled walls, an intricate alcove pointed west (the direction of Mecca), and the ground floor was covered with hundreds of small prayer rugs with a few electrical cooling fans placed in between. A small area was cordoned off for women worshippers.
My companion pointed out various of the beautiful architectural attributes of the holy building - silently. I whispered my admiration, and then we left again. She kept by my side, probably making sure that I would not do anything to offend the sacredness of the mosque (like taking photographs i.e.), led me outside again, watched me put one my shoes...and then she left.
When in Rome ....
I loved it.
