The Maldives. A name that conjures images of sun-kissed beaches, prismatic coral reefs, cocktails by the beach, exclusive 5-star resorts, and a steady stream of well-to-do holidaymakers from around the world enjoying their little patch of paradise. It is little wonder then that tourism is the country’s biggest industry and employs around 10% of the island nation’s inhabitants. Most visitors though, would remain blissfully unaware of the political upheavals, recent public policy changes, and the environmental challenges faced by the country. This is largely by design; the resort owners pride themselves on providing a perfectly idyllic experience for their guests, shielding them from the worldly concerns they sought to escape by travelling. But the stories are there waiting to be told, an ear need but listen. It is no understatement to say that watersports are very popular in the Maldives. From snorkelling and kitesurfing to open-sea fishing and scuba diving, most resorts offer it all. For the most part these activities are taught and provided by young local men employed by the resorts, most of whom have no formal qualifications beyond high school. Imran is your typical twenty-eight year-old watersport instructor at a typical high-end resort. Tall and sporting the close-shaven hairstyle typical of many locals, his stocky build and broad smile simultaneously suggest his ability to jump off a boat and pull you in, and that he wouldn’t think twice about doing so if the need arose. Our conversation began with him showing me his photos of manta rays taken the previous day, big creatures that will let you swim alongside so long as you don’t threaten them or their young. Imran loves his work and his passion is obvious as he describes the “beautiful creatures” he has the pleasure of working with. But he was all work and his professionalism as well as his marketing nous was clear. When asked about the family photo on his phone background, a different man emerges. Married at twenty-one, “We get married young in the Maldives because that’s the Muslim way,” Imran is a proud father of two young girls and puts all his efforts into giving them the best life he can. His is one of the majority of families who are off-island, back home in a larger population centre while he works months at a time on the resort between seeing them. The resort provides free Wi-Fi for both staff and guests, so Skype is a popular downtime activity, “but it’s not the same”. It’s not long before he tells me of the problems he sees his country facing. The new administration has cut the monthly doctor’s salary from US$2,000 per month, down to US$1,500. Previously the majority of doctors were Indian, attracted by the decent salary and the promise of life in paradise. However, now the Indians are leaving. Imran’s own family doctor of ten years left last month back to Chennai where greater remuneration made his current salary unjustifiable, particularly to his own young family. Doctors such as he have been replaced, Imran laments, with many from Bangladesh, a country with significantly lower medical salaries and against whom the Maldives’ lower pay can compete. “They’re not as good as the Indians,” Imran tells me, simultaneously being quick to assure that the changes in recruiting have everything to do with economics and not that Bangladesh is similarly an Islamic country. After all, “most of the Indians here are Muslim anyway”. While it was always the case that more intensive treatments were only available in Sri Lanka and India, the current situation and resulting reduction of trust in the health system is apparently pushing more locals to seek their healthcare overseas, and to put off seeking ‘discretionary’ healthcare until the acuity is increased, if at all. As seen in so many countries that outsource their healthcare rather than import expertise or better still, develop it at home, while initially cheaper for a government such a policy usually results in worse health indices. The difficulty in addressing this issue lies in the fact that such trends take years to decades to become evident, long enough to blame on previous or successive governments. As Imran bluntly puts it, “I don’t like the new president. He doesn’t do what’s right for the people”. It is reflective of the current political climate that even while alone on a remote island beach he delivered this indictment in a conspiratorial tone and refused to be drawn on the issue further. Under a dictatorship for most of its post-colonial rule since gaining its independence in 1965 the Maldives held their first democratic elections in 2008, electing Mohamed Nasheed. The subject of the movie The Island President, Nasheed pursued a strong climate mitigation agenda. His administration, however, was not without controversy and in February 2012 he resigned from the presidency following protests in response to his arrest of an allegedly corrupt judge. Over the next two years he was arrested multiple times and following numerous aborted trials, was subsequently convicted in March 2015 under the Anti-Terrorism Act for ordering the unconstitutional arrest of the judge. The final trial was described by some international commentators as ‘politically motivated’ and exhibiting a ‘lack of appropriate criminal procedures’. In January 2016 Nasheed was able to secure a 30-day temporary medical release to visit the UK for back/spinal surgery. Within days of arriving he met with the British Prime Minister accompanied by high-profile international human rights lawyer Amal Clooney. Overstaying his medical leave by a few months, he was granted asylum in the UK in May 2016. But regime changes can seem academic and largely inconsequential when in the middle of the Indian Ocean on an island barely 800m in circumference. “What will sir be having for breakfast today?” I turn reflexively at the unmistakable South Indian accent, tempered by vestiges of British colonial rule. My suspicions are confirmed by a broad smile underlining an impressive moustache, which together with a no doubt involuntary head bob speak of service and pride in his work. As it turns out, Kumar is the head chef of the resort restaurant and when he talks of his various dishes as if they were children on whom he doted, his passion and competence are clear. “You must have the breakfast reef fish, it is sooo excellent!” I can’t say no to the kiss of his pinched fingers that accompanies this recommendation and we are not disappointed. Like so many on the island, Kumar’s family lives back home. In his case, this is Chennai in India where his wife and children live and work. Like Imran, Skype is the family’s solution of choice to maintaining connections during the three months they spend apart at a time. Kumar talks fondly of his loved ones, even more so than of his breakfast fish, but there is a subtle note of sadness that makes his longing to return home clear. He says as much when asked, recognising that he is finding it too hard to be apart for so long and that he would be happy to earn less but hug his children every day. As well as Indians, the Maldives particularly attract tourism industry workers from the Philippines, where the similar climate and tourist industries predicated on attracting predominantly Western holidaymakers for the experience of a lifetime make the transition easier. Nadine greets us at the entrance to the resort’s Teppanyaki area with the broad smile we have become accustomed to on the island. Initially shy and giving us just the minimum descriptions of the entrées as she serves them before scooting around the restaurant to chat with the chefs at the back, she soon realises that we are friendly enough and tells us a bit more about herself. Nadine began working in tourism soon after finishing a hospitality course. Her initial shyness evidently belies an adventurous spirit as she had travelled alone to Nepal and Japan during this time for leisure. It was this spirit that after a few years brought her to the Maldives to work. However, this was not the paradise she had hoped for and the separation from her parents took its toll. “I cried for three months after coming here.” Now she’s become accustomed to her new life but is looking forward to returning home. Presently the knife-throwing, food-flipping, noise, and theatrics that seem to be an obligatory feature of cooking on the teppan begin and the chefs are now the centre of attention. Ben has been doing this for a few years Nadine tell us, whereas Dumgu has only recently started. In his mid-thirties, Ben loves a joke and is well-versed in jokes at a new husband’s expense that the island’s steady stream of newlyweds no doubt keep in practice. Dumgu is more diminutive and less talkative, perhaps concentrating on not injuring his guests with the sharp knives he tosses around. It soon becomes clear that both also have family back in the Philippines, in their cases a wife and children. Both came to the Maldives for the greater salaries their skills earn here, so that they could better support their families. But just like Nadine, they still miss home. “We only get 42 days a year of leave. It’s really hard.” These stories and the hundreds like it epitomise the attraction of the Maldives. Whether it be for relaxation, a better-paying job, or for adventure, people come here for a time seeking something they can’t otherwise get, even if it means temporary separation from those they love most. But with the ever-larger threats of climate change and political unrest this island paradise, in all its beauty and isolation, may soon be lost to all adventurers forever.
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