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By HOWARD SHAPIRO
Philadelphia Inquirer
23 August 2005
MALDIVES REPUBLIC — Where are all
the Europeans? The Japanese? The people
who, since the first resort opened in 1972,
have been making this tiny nation of 1,200
islands one of the world's great tourist
pamperers?
The travelers are not coming, at least
not in force, not since the tsunami in
December. Tourism, the Maldives' number-one
moneymaker, usually accounts for more than
a fifth of the national income, and it's
down by 49 percent so far this year. The
government had expected tourism tax revenues
to come to $43 million by December's end;
new projections put the figure at $31 million.
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The tsunami took
82 lives in the Maldives, claimed
26 others whose bodies have never
been found
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In the Maldive Islands - sunny, serene,
with high-end accommodations, some of the
world's best diving and snorkeling, and
the general ambience of paradise - some
who depended on vacationing visitors for
livelihoods now depend on government aid
or help from private foundations and, in
the small, close-knit communities that
make up most of the 200 inhabited islands,
the generosity of family members and friends.
Some have joined fishing fleets, the nation's
second-largest industry, according to islanders.
And others have moved to new, less-damaged
islands where work may be easier to find.
The tsunami took 82 lives in the Maldives,
claimed 26 others whose bodies have never
been found, damaged about 4,000 buildings,
displaced more than 8,000 people, and caused
general havoc to individual island infrastructures.
The World Bank estimates that the Maldives
will need $304 million, in U.S. equivalency,
to rebuild.
Even so, of its 87 resorts - one to an
island - 67 are fully up and running. The
coral reefs and bright blue lagoons that
surround the islands are awash in many
colors of sea life. The ocean water is
a steady 84 degrees. Beachfront villas
and in-room whirlpools are polished, king
beds are made, diving equipment is double-checked
and chefs stand by imposing beachside charcoal
grills, filets of tuna and mignon piled
at the side.
Last year, the nation welcomed more than
600,000 tourists; that's more than twice
the Maldivian population of about 280,000.
Since Dec. 26 when the tsunami set a record
of another sort, becoming among the worst
natural disasters in modern history - about
179,000 people dead, mostly in Indonesia,
another 50,000 still missing - the Maldives
have been off the radar of many tourists,
particularly from Asia and Europe, who
might otherwise have come.
In the first six months of last year,
316,836 tourists visited the Maldives.
Statistics from the Maldivian government
show that from January through June this
year, the number was down to 161,493.
"We are expecting to maintain the
same level as last year," says Hassam
Zameel, who works in the tourism ministry's
financial section. "We are trying
to achieve that target." A big question
mark is this coming autumn, after the departure
of what Maldivians call the wet season
- and Americans would call generally beautiful
weather with some rain and clouds here
and there. If business picks up then, and
through the Christmas holidays, and if
some signature resorts such as the Four
Seasons are back in operation, Zameel's
prediction could be more than hopeful speculation.
The Maldives (mostly pronounced MALL-deevz,
but also with the last syllable rhyming
with "hives") were not hit by
mountainous waves. But most of the nation's
1,200 islands are no more than four or
five feet above sea level, so the three
waves that crashed onto beaches moved through
the islands to inundate communities, whose
streets are made of sand almost everywhere
but on the island of the nation's capital,
Male' (MAH-lay). One of the densest capitals
in the world, with 80,000 people on an
island of less than 1.3 square miles, the
city's sea wall failed to protect it.
"The water began to rise and people
panicked," remembers Ismail Nasheed,
23, a Maldivian who works at the Four Seasons
resort, structurally damaged beyond saving
by the waves, and now being rebuilt. Nasheed
was describing the scene on an island neighboring
the resort, where he stood with local residents
when one of the waves came in. "People
were crying and praying - we never saw
anything like this before. `Tsunami?' I
think I never even heard the word before."
Nasheed is still working; the Four Seasons
kept its entire staff on payroll, shifting
several to its three-story catamaran, the
11-stateroom Explorer, the only real cruise
around the nation's islands. For a time,
the Explorer was a relief ship, carrying
supplies to different inhabited islands;
of the 1,200, people live on 200, each
its own little town. In June, the Explorer's
crew went to one of the far southern islands
to deliver computers and books to a library,
gifts from the $300,000 that Four Seasons
employees contributed from around the world.
Other Maldivians are not as lucky as Nasheed.
They made their livings from tourism in
peripheral ways - souvenir stands, clothing
stores, restaurants. One on island, Dhangethi,
a shopkeeper named Aminath Ibrahim pointed
to a watermark, just high enough to damage
goods in the isle's single shopping street.
The street had little business on a pretty
Thursday a few weeks ago.
On another, the badly battered Guraidhoo,
where water left huge pits in the sand
streets and knocked down single-story homes
on several sides of town, rebuilding is
slow. "We depended on tourists and
they are not coming," says Ahmed Shiyaz,
23, standing at the dock of the island,
where striking coconut palms salute people
who disembark, and scattered debris farther
up the beach hints at the destruction in
town.
"My house is broken. My daughters'
houses were broken," says Ahmed Moosa,
54, who worked in a souvenir shop, now
closed. Some of his family, like others
on the island of 1,700 residents, live
in tents stamped with the words "U.S.
AID," on a beachfront. Moosa talked
about the disaster as he stood on a street
with no name, near the downtown streets
with a host of shuttered stores, some of
their contents taken to sea when the waves
crashed through store windows.
There are, of course, ironies. On another
island, Rasdhoo, with about 850 residents,
a builder of dhonies, the stately boats
that are the basic transportation of the
Maldives, got a gift from the tsunami.
He was able to use wood from full trees
that came to rest on Rasdhoo's beach, roots
and all, probably from Indonesia.
All resident Maldivians, the people without
foreigners' working papers, are Sunni Muslims,
and the Islamic nation has friendly relations
with the United States, which has no embassy
staff living in the country.
Most young Maldivians speak both their
national language, Dhivehi, and English,
and although the nation has its own currency,
cash registers are full of U.S. ones, five,
tens and twenties, a virtual shadow currency.
The average salary is about $2,200 a year,
according to United Nations figures.
Women play major roles in society and
some cover their heads by choice. Men may
have up to four wives, but Maldivians say
the practice is rare, because no one can
afford it.
If you were able to push all 1,200 islands
together, you'd get 115 square miles, which
is 21 fewer than the city of Philadelphia.
Many of the islands look like those in
cartoonists' survival gags and take about
five minutes to walk around, provided you
dawdle.
Traditionally, Maldivians can claim coconuts
that fall to the street by circling the
sand around them, then come back and pick
them up later - and then go home to watch
Maldivian and American channels on their
satellite TVs. Most get around either on
bicycle or on foot. The fact that secondary
public education is not available on each
island does not stop people from learning
crafts or professions; the nation's literacy
rate is 98 percent.
One result of the tsunami has been a liberalization
of politics. The government of Maumoon
Abdul Gayoom, president for almost 27 years,
has allowed opposition parties for about
two months, after pressure from other governments,
and many Maldivians see the country as
an emerging democracy. Some also see the
government as slow to filter relief funding.
"The effects of the tsunami galvanized
more people to understand that rebuilding
cannot happen with a single party apparatus," says
Mohamed Nasheed, chairperson of the largest
opposition party.
When he talks about tourism, Nasheed says
that rather than importing labor, the industry
needs to put more Maldivians to work. The
biggest local resource that resorts use,
he says, "is the beach and the sun." That
beach and sun, and the mass of underwater
life that also populates the country, are
what Maldivians count on to make the nation
prosper once again.
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