I enjoyed swimming; I did not love it. I wasn’t confident enough for the deep. Instead, I loved sitting by the beach, feeling the gentle push and pull of the tide. Later on, my father took me to the swimming track regularly and taught me how to swim. I never progressed beyond the dog paddle. I remember the nervousness I felt before he let go of my body, the feeling of nothingness beneath you, and, of course, the familiar smell of the power plants that generated power to our city.
As I grew older, I saw many of my friends falling in love with the ocean. The ocean was a brisk escape from the concrete labyrinths of Male’ city, the capital of Maldives. For some, the ocean accepted them when their families did not. For others, it was just plain old fun, nothing more, nothing less. I felt intimidated by the ocean, and even more so by those who loved it so much. I thought they knew a secret that I didn’t.
I am in my early 20s now, and I am falling in love with the ocean. It was a slow process. At the Eastern coast of the city lies the artificial beach, an unusual name for a beach. As a child, I probably spent most of my time swimming in this crescent-shaped beach. The beach is only a few minutes walking distance from my home, and strangely enough, I started falling in love with the ocean because of the artificial beach.
The water at the artificial beach is too shallow most of the time. Occasionally, plastic bottles and candy wrappers sweep in with the currents. Sometimes overcrowded, often not. I love it regardless. I feel safe there. For someone who never felt so confident in the sea, this served as the perfect stepping stone.
Grandpas and grandmas bob in the water with their colourful noodles. Kids try their hand at sand sculptures by the edge of the water. I learned to lie back and float in the salt. What an incredible feeling. It is the closest to silence I can have in Male’ city.
The sea became spellbinding. I sit by the surf spot and watch the waves rise and fall. The repeating patterns of motions are hypnotic. The white foam lacing over the blue is entrancing. Each wave is a symphony, with its rising tension and crescendo. I can’t even imagine what it must look like for the surfers riding the waves.
After purchasing a mask and fins, I was ready to snorkel. I loved everything about it. I loved the anticipation, cleaning the equipment, and wondering whether the visibility will be good. The closest snorkeling point is the reef at Villingili’s one love beach. Smell of salt and pots of masbaih permeates the air at one love beach. The familiar sight of the dive instructors heading into the abyss with soon-to-be dive masters.
Reefs across the archipelago have changed dramatically over the years. In the Villingili house reef, the corals lost their colour and yet thousands of multicolored life continue to settle during their migrations. The brightly coloured kaleidoscopic-patterned butterflyfish darts above the coral-chomping parrotfish. The timid eel slyly slithers from one hiding place to the other, and the defensive triggerfish vigilantly guards its territory. I can rest here. My heart rate slows and my mind can flow. Snorkeling is my glimpse into the more than human world.
I wonder what relationship our ancestors had with the ocean. Did they look at the dizzying garden of corals with the same awe and wonder? Or was the ocean a treacherous unknown? Home to spirits, monsters, and dangerous creatures. Perhaps it is not so different to how we look at the ocean today. The ocean is, like all of nature, beautiful and unforgiving. We have lost many lives to the sea but many have also found purpose from it. In a purely literal sense, the ocean is the lifeblood of all life.
The ocean is, like all of nature, beautiful and unforgiving.
Maldivians are here because of the corals. Only later in life I learned that these ‘colorful rocks’ underwater are ancient animals with tiny tentacle-like arms working alongside microscopic algae. They have been here for over 25 million years rivaling old-growth forests in the longevity and biodiversity of their ecological communities. According to a study conducted by the Marine Research Center in the Maldives. abnormal weather patterns and rising temperatures bleached over 73% of the coral reefs across 71 sites. Only when fish stocks reduce and tourists stop arriving, will we realize how fragile our ecosystems are.
I don’t know the relationship our ancestors had with the ocean, but I can see the relationship we have with the ocean today. Divers put on a tank and dive deep into the abyss. Free divers rely on their lungs instead. Surfers grab a board and ride the towering waves. My grandmother simply goes for a sunrise splash in the waters of the artificial beach. These are all ways in which we intimately connect with the ocean, the most powerful force that surrounds us. Every Maldivian, from the divers to the snorkelers, and even those who are deeply fearful of the sea, are all intimately connected with the ocean. It is the very nature of our being. We are and will always be people of the sea.
Writer and steward for the Earth.