11. Frugality Is My Watchword

With my mind made up to leave, the last few weeks of term have drifted by rather quickly. February became March, and nobody noticed. The students were busy revising for their midterm tests, so lessons became quite repetitive recaps, where I bored myself rigid with explaining how a question tag works. It’s like this, isn’t it? She can’t go there, can she? We should write the answer, shouldn’t we? It was only worth 2 marks out of 40, and they still got it wrong.

My head was elsewhere, filled with overambitious and expensive travel plans, and I spent hours staring forlornly at Google Maps and Skyscanner, willing the perfect route to somehow present itself. Meanwhile, my extravagant £6 per-day living was cut down to take account of the expensive months ahead, and I dabbled in c.1944 Home Front levels of frugality, aiming to get by on less than 50 Rufiyaa (£2.10) per day, and saving the rest. I would claim that it was like a return to student days, but as Mai, Kieran and Joe will attest, I was not the most frugal of students. Although in my defence, what I spent on cheeseboards I made up for in bags of bargain potatoes.

However, when pushed, I’m discovered that I’m extremely good at living the old frugal lifestyle. It was actually quite easy (maybe Edwina Currie is talking about the Maldives?), although admittedly my diet became even more repetitive than I otherwise thought possible. For 20 Rufiyaa (80p) at the local cafe I got a pile of spicy tuna and vegetable rice with ubiquitous fried egg, popadoms, a chicken sausage, and a glass of intriguingly fluorescent ‘orange juice’. Sometimes there was even a slice of cucumber on the side - for the necessary vitamins and minerals. This was by far the most cost-effective and filling fare on offer, and I ate it most nights for three weeks, although I did try alternatives. A low point was reached when I started fishing for little minnows in the harbour, and frying them up with potatoes and onion – very underwhelming – especially when the victims still looked like goldfish. On another occasion I attempted to break the monotony by making cheesy pasta (with canned cheese from Bahrain) but it nearly made me vomit, so I returned to the café. I stopped buying Coca-Cola, sweets, coffee, snacks, phone top-ups, internet credit, or washing powder. When an invite came to someone’s house, I took it and didn’t eat for the day, so I could fill up on the banquet that was invariably prepared. (They really did load the tables when Mr Liam was coming to dinner. There would be about two dozen options – each bowl loaded with enough food to make a meal in itself).

Altogether I’ve managed to squirrel away 10,000 Rufiyaa. This equates to about £400, which I’m hoping is more than enough to see me through two more weeks in Male’ and then ten days exploring Sri Lanka. Seven weeks in SE Asia, however, will be financed purely through the power of overdraft...

10. Going Lanka.

Considering I started getting drawn back into the political situation in my last post, I figured it would be a good idea to separate this out, and amongst the general hilarity briefly mention that a few weeks ago I decided to revoke my volunteer contract with the Ministry of Education following the midterm break. This means I’ll be leaving the Maldives in April, and returning to the UK on 12 June, after a few months maxxing out my location with some spontaneous travelling in South Asia.

I was starting to get real concerns about continuing to volunteer in the current political situation and this ultimately discouraged me from continuing. If you want to read about the sequence of events, stuff is available everywhere. Try the Guardian, Minivan News, and Haveeru. It’s both an interesting and seriously worrying situation, and there’s lots of lessons for the future, especially with regards the Arab Spring states!

Anyway, we had four main link bodies in the IVP programme, and all four were either disbanded or their involvement with us was terminated. The Friends of Maldives – who were supporting and funding us from the UK – were unable to continue their role after 7 February, and their founder and chairman was denounced all over state-run television. The next day there were some properly awkward questions in the staffroom over IVP links to the FOM. The UK High Commissioner and her deputy (the new President’s brother) also resigned in protest and advised us to leave. The Maldives Volunteer Corps was forcefully disbanded after the army and police sacked their offices early one morning. And finally our ‘volunteer’ contracts with the Ministry of Education were transferred to the Ministry of Youth and Human Resources without us being consulted. This may have been because the YHR was considered more institutionally aligned to the new regime than the MOE, which is apparently quite dominated by MDP supporters.

So it’s been a weird reversal in the info and support we’ve been getting. Supporters of the new government, who formerly denounced us as missionaries and imperialists, are now desperate for us to stay – because it shows continuity, and that nothing has fundamentally changed in the Maldives except for the President. Meanwhile, many of the people who put us here have since asked us to leave, to ignore the non-political clause in our contracts, and speak out. They want to show Maldivians the real and significant impact on the ground of the events they describe as a coup, and twenty-four British teachers leaving simultaneously would actually make news. This country has the population of Leicester – it doesn’t take too much to make the headlines. I don’t like being played by either party to be honest, but decided to jump the frying pan.

My resignation was effective from the mid-term break – so I’m happy that I held out and completed at least a one-quarter chunk of the planned year contract – and I would consider going back if elections were held and the volunteer programme reinstated, but I’m not optimistic. So in the meantime, I’m going to Sri Lanka, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos etc., for a spontaneous few months of travelling on the borrowed dollar, plunging my overdraft into new shades of red. India was always number one on my list, but who knew that sleeper trains are so oversubscribed with bookings two months in advance? Every train from Mumbai to Delhi had literally 200+ on the waiting list. That will be another year… and for now also means I can keep my blog address!

9. Alidhoo-dhoo-dhoo, push pineapple shake the tree...

Well… it’s been a while. Too long if I’m honest. Over six weeks since the last update, and I’m not entirely sure that I remember what’s happened in the interim. So you may have to settle for a long, confusing and incomplete summary split into several incoherent chapters – the sign of a master story-teller at work.

But I’ll get at least some chronological balance, because one of the proper highlights happened way way back in late February, and is pretty much unforgettable. After seven weeks ensconced on my own little acre of Indian Ocean real estate, and with unmistakeable signs of islands fever setting in, I was able to jump ship and experience beautiful Dhidhdhoo, lured by the glowing recommendation of the Chris Collective. (Plus there was an unconfirmed rumour that a nearby exclusive resort offered a decent rate to previous cohorts of volunteer teachers). I chartered my own bathtub and driver for a quite monstrous 1000 Rufiyaa (£40) and set out across the Ihavandholippu Channel. It was a choppy twenty kilometre journey through tuna-infested waters, and took nearly two hours, but the time, money, danger and soggy clothes were rendered worthwhile when I stepped onto the hallowed Dhidhdhoo jetty, where Chris and Chris were waiting for me.

That afternoon we sang, danced, got merry on Coca Cola, and generally enjoyed our youth by going fishing. It was not the most successful of expeditions.  I first screwed up by letting go of the reel when Chris H threw the baited line in. Cue some spontaneous swimming to recover this vital equipment - it was more of an embarrassed clamber than triumphant return to the pier, and left me sodden for the rest of the afternoon. But even holding the reel didn’t improve the fishing; our expertise only stretched to snag every single discarded garment that was quietly rotting under the pier. Some shirts, dresses, a headscarve, blanket, and pair of trousers later, and we were ready to set up a fashion house, Liam Vuitton, specialising in reclaimed wet and rotting Maldivian junk.

The next day we were up bright and early for a speedboat connection to Alidhoo Resort, which zipped across to the service jetty in five minutes. Apparently they were not expecting us. The deal supposedly arranged between Dhidhdhoo’s fixer and Alidhoo’s management via some mutual friend in Male’ did not seem to have materialised, so after tentatively explaining why we were there to the lackey on reception, we quietly slunk off to the poolside bar, hoping to grab a few drinks before the management kicked us off the island. An hour later, with a cool $8 glass of Fosters in one hand, and a pool cue in the other, the manager arrived in a golf buggy. If a golf buggy can look ominous, this looked ominous. I heard the Imperial March tune from Star Wars playing in my head, and prepared for the worst… But no summary exit for us; the manager had a quick chat with Chris H, mentioned a discount on beer, free buffet meals, and some casual reference to a ‘day-room’, which he said was being arranged by reception. After being given the keys to Room 101 (again – ominous), we later discovered this ‘day-room’ was actually free stay in a $400-a-night suite, complete with kingsize-bed, Jacuzzi, outside bathroom, beachfront verandah, and a cool bowl of fresh water with hollow-coconut-on-stick-implement for washing sand off your feet. It was like blagging the jackpot!

So for the next 36 hours we swam in the infinity pool, sunbathed, read, showered (communally) in hot water (Chris C enjoyed that too much), stuffed ourselves with gorgeous buffet food, got tipsy on $2 beers, and watched hilariously inept Chinese tourists learn to snorkel in the swimming pool. One girl held on to the ladder for an hour, face down in the water staring at her feet. It would not have been so funny if she weren’t wearing a life-jacket, brand-new wetsuit, and if the pool was deeper than one metre. With such hilarious anecdotes, what wasn't to love about our new home...

It was a shame to leave Alidhoo, but the long weekend was ending and reality was calling. So we returned to Dhidhdhoo with heavy hearts but also heavy wallets, not quite believing what had happened, nor what to do next. Somehow, the earlier failed fishing expedition did not deter a return to our Waterloo. Three hours later we had learnt two more important life lessons: that crabs are mainly constituted from smelly yellow gunk, and that fish do not like eating this.

The next morning I got back to Ihavandhoo to find the island agog with excitement. Former President Nasheed, ousted in the event of 07 February, was conducting a whirlwind tour of the northern atolls - where he remains extremely popular and his Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP) have a clear majority of support. He was stopping in Ihavandhoo that afternoon. Yellow banners and flags were flying across the island, and little paper Maldivian flags were being handed out to everyone. I took my camera down to the rally, and pretended to be an intrepid photojournalist. Scratch that. I am an intrepid photojournalist. Was very tempted to line up for a third handshake with the Island President, but didn’t fancy seeing myself on national television again. A photo of us volunteers meeting Nasheed back in January was being circulated on the new regime’s television station as evidence of the links between Nasheed and the Friends of Maldives (FOM) NGO - the new regime claimed this partnership was attempting to subvert the traditions, culture and religion of the Maldives. So we were already being used as political pawns, which was extremely frustrating! Anyway, I got some snaps, and being mistaken for someone important by the welcoming committee, was handed a lovely kurumba (coconut) with a straw. The life of a photojournalist….

I’m going to write my next blog post immediately. It needs a new heading, because it deals with some totally different stuff.