Dhani inge

There’s no word for goodbye in Dhivehi.

Leaving a household or a group of friends, you might offer up a Dhani, inge? I’m leaving, okay? but little else. And it makes sense really, if you think about it. In all likelihood, you’ll run into your friend later that evening, or even in a matter of minutes round a corner, at the market, perhaps slumped in a joali. I like to think that in Maldives goodbye doesn’t exist for a reason. We’ll meet again.

3 months out and leaving home seems hazy. I just finished a quarterly report for the Watson Foundation – I’ve attached an abridged version below.

The morning I left my home in Maine for the airport, everything was quiet. In preparation for our annual Clam Festival, folded chairs lined the main street, casting milky shadows over a sidewalk that would teem with people in just a few hours.

No matter how hard I tried to predict what I would do in Maldives, how I would work with others, there was no way to forecast my experience. I was nervous, but excited. Uncertain, but ready. Maldives was the place where I had the least contacts. In the back of my mind a question lingered…how would I fill my days? Who would I meet?

En route to Male’, I had a 12-hour layover in Dusseldorf. Leaving my things in baggage storage and attempting to navigate the train system into town, I met Crista Meier, this incredible German mother from Munich who invited me to share a sausage and a beer at 10 a.m. (Ironic I thought later, as both are forbidden in Maldives). Browsing through the fashion district with her that afternoon, I stumbled upon a book of Islands outside a dressing room. I knew then that things would fall into place.

And as luck would have it, I arrived in Villingili – a small residential “suburb” island of Male’, the bustling capital - to find a house full of activists and social workers. The New Flower apartment was always bustling with activity. We would stay up late singing to guitar and discussing politics, religion, social issues. We had barbecues on the nearby beach, friends from all backgrounds gathering around the flames to discuss plans for beach cleanup and youth activism. Everyone was interested and supportive of my project, even though they struggled – as did I – to fully understand it.

The task of communicating my desire to pursue community work through media was difficult. Before the new democracy last November, for 30 years the media was the voice box of the government. Each day the staff at Television Maldives and Radio Maldives and would receive notes from the president’s office regarding what to say. Deviation from such press statements was dangerous. Newspapers, while arguably more open, were also on a tight leash. With the new democracy, Maldives is a country where freedom of the press – while guaranteed by decree – is still nascent and controlled largely by private sources – be it religious or politics-oriented. Especially in the islands, I found that people distrusted media, questioning its validity. In many ways I grew the most just by interacting with and meeting those people who had fought for freedom of press. The artists and writers and activists that helped bring about the new democracy.

I found myself falling back on my background in history more than I ever thought I would – I wanted to understand the current events with a historical backdrop. I befriended the head of the National Center for Linguistics and Historical Research, and I spent several afternoons sifting through the archives. I became acquainted with the historian Ahmed Shafeeg and his son Ishag, who could speak about all aspects of Maldivian culture, history, and society.

I found that I didn’t want to narrow my interest to one subject – to climate change or politics, or traditional society – my interest in sustainability really became an interest in how we live, how we survive, how we cooperate and how we change together.

I wanted to hear it all, do it all. As I interviewed I became more and more convinced that interviews should be centered on the individual. I might prepare a list of questions before chatting with someone, but I would let the person speak about what they were most interested in or passionate about. And people in Maldives love to talk! I don’t know, maybe it’s as though the floodgates have opened now that President Maumoon has gone and they can speak openly, or perhaps it’s the strong orality of the culture. But I also found that the people I interviewed were often becoming my friends – many people I interviewed more than once, or interviewed once and then spent time with for the remainder of my stay. I learned to cook different dishes, weave thatch and coir rope, take toddy.

Choosing to abstain from objectivity, the sacred doctrine of journalism, was a conscious choice of mine, but also yielded certain issues. Especially due to the insular nature of Maldives society, I became aware of the ramifications of sharing someone’s story publicly. First and foremost my dedication was to the individual. Discussions about religion, drugs, or politics could be potentially dangerous – even if they were only opinions.

In terms of artistic development, I felt as though I was thriving. I was engaging with different media, I was reading about documentary theory and my photography was taking off – and thinking about ways to represent experience and people and place, but as far as production, I have little to show.

Especially as I traveled through the inhabited islands outside of Male’, I began to feel the authenticity of my experience. 600,000 tourists flock to Maldives every year (double the population), but they never see how Maldivians actually live. They are shuttled from the airport island to their respective resorts and never get a chance to see the culture. Even Male’ – the most crowded place in the world, one where people sleep in shifts, is worlds apart from the real Maldives. I was almost always the only foreigner on the islands that I visited, and I was well aware of my unique position.

As my time in Maldives progressed and I began to think more in depth about change and politics, religion, education, family, I found myself self-examining my own world – thinking about how my education and society shape my views and my actions – what lenses or filters I have adopted and apply as I contemplate a situation or an issue. Luckily or unluckily, I was traveling through the outer islands during Ramazan, which made working a bit difficult as I observed the fast, but also afforded me an incredible perspective into Islam – which I found to be an incredibly peaceful, community-oriented religion.

Perhaps because of my wonderful friend base in Male’, and as I’m only just beginning traveling, I didn’t find loneliness to be an issue. There really is such an incredible magnetism that seems to radiate from someone who is traveling alone – people went out of their way to help me, and I found that I made so many intense, intimate relationships in such a short time. I did start to feel the transience of my experience, staying for a week or two in one island before moving on again – but I think Palau will allow me to slow down and really sink into a small community.

I started to make a list of all the people that helped me in Maldives and in minutes it numbered over 100 people. Each person I interviewed, each person I met, has touched me in some way. I want to especially thank my friends in Villingili – Sunta, Thanzy, Bebe, Shifa, Amadey, Alexa, Muku and others – you have inspired and supported me throughout!


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To the Watson Foundation - Thank you so much for giving me this incredible opportunity, I already feel so different – not changed necessarily, but more aware, and alive. I can say that I think differently about the world, myself, and how I engage with others.