2. Male' and Me

Happy New Year!


I’ve had an incredibly hectic first week. Or at least, it feels like I’ve had an incredibly hectic week, because I’ve just done a quick summary of the past seven days and realised that four were spent on the beach. Pah. So I arrived in the Maldives on Weds 27^th. It was an eleven hour flight with six of the other teachers; our boredom barely punctuated by The Smurfs Movie and stale croissants. Remind me to fly Emirates on the homebound trip. Admittedly, some light relief was provided by the dawn breaking over a glittering Indian Ocean dotted with lagoons and tiny desert islands, but by now that just seems standard. (I promised a blog, but nowhere did I say it wouldn’t be smug). The landing is an odd experience, because the airport – built on its own island with a runway that juts into the sea – is nowhere to be seen until the plane is gliding at about ten metres above the ground. It’s like the pilot has given up and decided to practice his water landings.

We were met in the hot and humid airport by some guys from the national volunteer corps, and shepherded onto a squat little passenger boat called a dhoni, which cost a dollar to shuttle us over to the capital city of Male’. (Just to be clear, this is pronounced Mar-lay, hence the apparently misplaced apostrophe and supremely witty post title – all credit to Phil Makepeace – who is getting quite good at thinking up titles for stuff). Our main contact in Male’ is Razzan, a twenty year old international cricketer and general superstar, volunteering in the off season because he’s just charming and lovely. (Anything else Raz?) He spent this week arranging our hotels, visas, meals, phone setups, excursions, meetings with officialdom, and negotiating currency exchanges. And with a group of twenty-four sunburnt and grumpy Britishers to deal with, I’d say he did a sterling job. 

So for the last week I’ve been quartered in Villingili View Inn, a budget hotel at the far end of the Majeedhee Magu – by some distance this is the longest tarmac road in the entire country. Sadly, most of the other teachers are at the other end, so every day seven of us were trekking the 1.7km down for food and fun. Until we realised that a cab can be procured for a grand sum of 20 Rufiyaa – or about 30p each – and this also means we avoid exposure to the maelstrom of mopeds which slalom around pedestrians as though it were a sport. If you waited at a crossing you’d still be there four hours later, so the best tactic seems to be stepping out with purpose and hoping the squeal of brakes comes sooner rather than later. Male’ is a buzzing, hectic and relatively poor city – by some estimates the most crowded square kilometre on earth – but it seems safe to walk around, and the people are very friendly! Shopowners seem to have taken a collective decision to give their business a bizarre name and stock equally ridiculous imports – particular favourites include the ARS Liquid mosquito repellent and the Arms Trade toyshop.

Male’ is a city that operates best at night. The heat and humidity at midday is stifling, so places close down in late morning and then reopen for a separate afternoon (3-6pm) and evening (8-11pm) shift. Fortunately beaches never close – so most downtime is spent on the sand, in the shade, and chatting with the lovely volunteers. There are twenty-four of us, aged between 21 and 36, with roughly half in possession of the hallowed PGCE. On the second day we went snorkelling at a beach a few kilometres from Male’, with stunning tropical fish of all colours imaginable. It was like having access to the aquarium at Sea World, a real-life version of Finding Nemo. The bonus was the edge of the coral reef, which doesn’t just taper away, but suddenly stops about 400 metres from the shore. So one minute the reef was two metres beneath me, and then suddenly I was just floating in the vast Indian Ocean next to a reef that just dropped off into infinity. It was kind of exhilarating but terrifying. Sadly, I underestimated the effect of the sun on my exposed back, so got some pretty nasty sunburn, but that’s cleared up quickly enough, and I’ve learnt to double slop for the Equator!

New Year was fun but understated – think school disco but with less alcohol. Everyone was very aware of a 5am start, with a long boat ride organised to take us to Dhiffushi, an inhabited island in North Male’ atoll. (To grasp how this works geographically, check out the Maldives on a map. The coral atolls are made by sediments that grew up in rings around submerged volcanoes – with the numerous islands being natural high points on these coral reefs. Now the atolls have outlived the volcanoes, and the Maldives is literally comprised of about 12 individual atoll rings). Dhiffushi was only 22 miles from the capital, but it took three hours. I now realise that Ihavandhoo, 300 miles away, is only going to be reached by plane. But on the boat trip we did have the opportunity to enjoy dolphins and stunning deserted islands, so it’s not all bad.

Each teaching pair was given lodgings with a host family for the duration in Dhiffushi. Andrew and I were lucky to get placed with matriarch Hawwa, her daughters Haafiza and Sharmiza, and 3-year-old granddaughter Irusha – who ran around, chatted excitably in Dhivehi and jumped on our beds as we unpacked. The men were lobster fishermen and away from the home for a month. Fortunately Haafiza spoke some broken English, so she was able to teach me some phrases, and ensured we were happy with our mas roshi (tuna and flatbread), tuna curry, and tuna steaks – seared in garlic, chilli and lemon. Fishy, but phenomenally nice. And eating really was a common theme in Dhiffushi – so much food was provided – and some host families passed on concerns to the island chief that their English guests weren’t eating enough and might be ill. Our surrogate mothers stood over us, eagerly awaiting comment and approval, and giggling as we struggled to adapt to Maldivian eating – right-hand only folks! (The left hand is used for less seemly purposes - toilet roll isn’t really known in these parts). Over the next day or two we snorkelled, canoed, chatted, sunbathed, read, and then did some casual Dhivehi classes, and met local councilmen and teachers for an informal advice session. So it’s not all play! Across the water was Meeru resort, costing upwards of $400 a night, with a $250 Male’ transfer. We were in the same place, but paying bugger all, with a $2 Male’ transfer. A slight mark-up?

We came back to Male’ two days ago, and it’s all been a bit more formal since then. We had a chat from the Minister for Education, and the Permanent Undersecretary, and secured work visas, residency permits, bank accounts, all manner of official documents. And then, proper highlight of the week, a reception in the Presidential Palace, with a firm handshake from Prez. Nasheed himself. They didn’t prepare me for that in basic training. But everyone’s now stuck in limbo, awaiting a phone call from the man with the plan, so we know how and when we’re transferring on to our schools. It’ll be sad to leave the big group, because we’ve got on really well after just a week, but there are school holidays and most people are planning to return to Male’ for supplies and respite from utter isolation!

Generally, it’s been a great week. The drain waters stinks of egg, and it’s bloody hot, but I’m really excited about the coming year. I’ll probably write less for each blog post as my enthusiasm wanes and the Maldives becomes old hat, but right now – all good!