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.
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