The Community Fashion Show

Headscarves on the catwalk?

Traditional techno with an Arabic twist?

Welcome to the first annual Fashion Stars, a fashion exhibition on the teeny tiny conservative Muslim island of Naifaru, in the Maldives!

The staff of Naifaru Juvenile, as well as Deen and myself, dedicated our weekend to putting together this show. It was held at the conclusion of the first-ever sewing class sponsored by Juvenile. Even though, to my developed nation mindset, I could not understand how a sewing class could benefit the community as a whole. However, I now understand that the sewing class was one of the best things that could possibly come to the Naifaru community. It has given women a skill, besides cooking and having a family. All the local tailors have to be brought in from India, and now women can start making their children’s clothes without having to buy the ridiculously overpriced clothes that they sell at some of the shops. It is part of the baby steps taken by areas to develop: progress through giving the people a skill to find employment.

The fashion show started with a short children’s festival at 4 on Saturday evening. Then after evening prayer, the adult fashion show began at 9. We knew before hand that many island people would not come to the event. After all, everyone here is technically a conservative Muslim, and the religion does not allow the promotion of women in the manner that the fashion show would require. Of course, the women would be allowed to wear their headscarves, but they would still have to strut around stage attracting the attention of... men! 

But, even though it was only expected that 100 people would come, over 400 people came out to each event! I suspect the main reason for this is that most people out their religious beliefs aside for the evening. It happens to be summer vacation for the students, and there is absolutely nothing to do on Naifaru. Why not go for one night to a Fashion Show to enjoy oneself? 

At the event, I was lucky to see some of my students and to meet their parents. I got a lot of compliments from parents about how excited their children were to speak English. Of course, I could not help but notice that most people still stared at me with suspicion. What is an random arbitrary white girl doing on this underprivileged island in the middle of the Indian Ocean? But I have gotten over the stares of suspicion. I just smile at them and wave. It usually throws them off.

The nicest thing, however, was the sense of community felt by all at the event. People came out with their children to see the fashion show. You could see old friends coming together to share stories. People handing their newborn babies to complete strangers while they chased after their older children. Kids cheering on their classmates as they strolled up and down the catwalk. Women shining with pride as they received their certification as skilled sewers, only to watch some of their creations on display at the show. It was nice to see the small island village partake in a community developing activity.

All of this made me really think hard about community, and what it means for the participants, or inhabitants of Naifaru. A sense of togetherness lies in the soul of every individual. This comes from our care and dependency on our fellow beings. From our childhood days to our adulthood, we care for our family members, our relatives, our neighbors and friends. This leads to a need of togetherness among people, which helps in creating a community. We tend to enjoy any festival or social ritual together. This is a kind of community feeling. Without community people will be alone. Even though this is an island, surrounded by water and miles from the nearest inhabited island, these people are not alone.

I thought originally that the Fashion Show was ridiculous and would not serve a purpose, except angering the conservative island community. I was wrong. And I am delighted to say that I am beginning to understand the importance of  strong community bonds, even on this sun-scorched island in the middle of nowhere.

Fifty Shades of Religious

There are many things that can be said about the Maldives. The country being a land of opportunity and endless religious freedom is not one of them. To be Maldivian means to practice Islam. It is against the law to practice any other religions, and the law is so strict that even tourists cannot bring religious goods in the country.

Maybe because I am not religious, I really did not dwell too much about this law. (When I say I am not religious, what I mean is that I do not practice one religion in it’s entirely. I am spiritual. I have my own beliefs, but they are personal, private to me.) I did not really think about this law so much before coming here. Of course, I was informed by the Volunteer Maldives organization to not bring any religious items with me. The customs card also asked if I carried with me any suspicious religious items. “Suspicious?” I wondered, are gold cross earrings I received on my Communion considered suspicious? My Shinto good luck charms I carry with me to school, are they considered suspicious? Luckily, I did not bring these items, or they would have been confiscated and I would have ended up in the questioning chamber.

The Maldivian customs, did, however, open up my luggage and take a look at all the books. Mind you, in true JujuB fashion, I brought with me about 8 books, since reading tends to be the only thing besides running and movies that keeps me entertained. The customs officer looked at each book carefully. Most of the books, Young Adult novels, with pretty pictures on the front, were quickly thrown in my bag. I guess they were not suspicious enough. But the officer took an extra moment to look at the “Fifty Shades of Grey” books I brought with me. If you have not heard about these books, than you are either male or living under a rock. They are currently all the rage in the United States. One critic calls them, “Mommy Porn,” while others call them, “straight sex in a book.” Noticing that the officer as taking extra time to examine these books, I blushed fifty shades of red. 

Did the officer know what these books were? Unquestionably, he would haul my butt back on to the tarmac and put me on the first plane back to the United States of Heathens if he had any idea. Surely, if he knew, he would NEVER let me take these porn novels into a conservative Muslim country. Fortunately, as I have come to know, the Maldives is about a year behind the times of the rest of the world (Angry Birds and Justin Beiber are the top pop culture items as of 2012.) I realized that the officer was looking for Bible passages hidden under the cover. The irony was not lost on me that the Officer thought he might find the Bible in the Fifty Shades Book coverings. Now, that my friends, would be sacrilegious. 

Customs is pretty strict about the religious belongings, and I am certainly not the only ones they have targeted. The local Indian teachers have informed me that their Hindu idols of Krishna, Vishnu, and Shiva were rapidly stripped them upon arrival in male. They seemed rather devastated when they were telling me about it. 

This got me to thinking about religion and religious freedom. Going to Clemson University, in the heart of the Bible Belt, I have always felt that my religious beliefs have been oppressed to some extent. Perhaps, oppressed is not the right word. But I have long felt that I can not talk about anything but Jesus Christ and the South's strict versions of Christianity.

My favorite coffee shop in Clemson, is run by some pretty hardcore Christians. I can remember one occasions when the shop owner asked me about my religious beliefs, and I said, " I am not religious, but I am spiritual."The look I received was not one that I admit to welcoming. It was not a look of disgust or distaste, but it was a look of awe and lack of understanding. I was exceptionally pissed off at that coffee shop when they asked me this question. 

Now? 

The underlying fact is that they even asked me this question. They acknowledged, perhaps unknowingly, the differences in religion. And even though, they were not content with my answer, they did not kick me out of their coffee shop, refuse to serve me, or treat me any differently. I am not entirely sure the same can be said for the Maldives. No one has asked me what religion I practice, but I am sure they must know I am not Muslim. This is because I am usually lounged out on the couch, snoring blissfully in my bed, or half way through lunch during the 5 times-a-day prayers. I suspect if I went around touting my pride in Christianity or any other religion that is not Islam, I would get into some sort of trouble.

Hopefully, I won't have to find out.

Discourses with Deen

 Perhaps the greatest reward I have received in my experience in Maldives is my new found friendship, with an exceptionally giving, intelligent, Sri Lankan, named Malhardeen Muhammed. Better known in my past musings, as Deen.

Since I know he will creep on this blog within 10 minutes of me posting this, I will try not overwhelm with the compliments. But Deen happens to be one of those people that at a young age, has managed to impress a lot of people. For my first week here, when he told me about how he started his own foundation to help struggling Sri Lankan children, I was impressed. Then he bragged about his Software Engineering degree. He then showed me his nerdy computer skills, and I was convinced.

One day, out of the blue, he asked me how old I thought he was. Uh… 23? He started laughing. I thought I was giving him a compliment. He looks a lot older than 23, with his scraggly beard and 'wise' eyes, and he has plenty of qualifications that put him in his late 20’s. But then he told me he was younger than me.

What the heck? Sure enough, Deen is only 19. I felt pretty unaccomplished at that point.

My discourses with Deen are interesting, to say the least. I never really thought much about Sri Lanka. In fact, besides basic awareness of its existence, I knew nothing else about until I had taught a small lesson on the country 2 months ago during student teaching. That basic knowledge did not really impress Deen, but I assured him that fact that I knew Sri Lanka was suffering from a Civil War between the Tamils and the Sinhalese, was immensely more information than most Americans.

Deen has been in Naifaru for 2 months, receiving free meals and accommodation for his work with Naifaru Juvenile as the volunteer coordinator. The thought of staying on this island for more than a month gives me Island Fever (the equivalent is Cabin Fever, only worse.) What is even worse is that he has had to suffer about 30 days all alone, with no other volunteers. I suspect that is why he stalked me so extensively. I am remarkably bored after 12 days… and I have been fortunate enough to have Sri Lanka’s golden boy with me. 

Every night at 4:30, we meet and do several laps around the island. Mind you, it takes maybe 20 minutes to walk around the whole island. But Deen and I never tire in our conversations. We talk about everything: life, love, politics, and all the little things in between. It often amazes me how we continue to have things to say.

I fear my candid honesty with the older local volunteers. I try hard to hard my tongue about several things because I am female and also my opinion does not matter as it has been made clear. But with Deen, I say anything and everything. We talk about our mutual dislike of certain culutural aspects of the Maldives. I ask Deen a lot of questions about Islam as well. Deen is one of those people, my Clemson friend would refer to as a “Burger King” Muslim. (“Burger King” is all about “have it your way.”) He believes in some things, but he certainly disagrees with a lot of it. On Friday’s he goes to weekly prayer, but he agrees with me when I admonish the ban on alcohol and the headscarves. We talk freely about these sort of things, and I do not fear repercussions to the things I say.

I have talked a lot in the past blog postings about strangers in a strange land. Perhaps because we are simply this 'strangers in a strange land' concept, all the while fighting against a culture we both dislike well, Deen and I have become fast friends.

Cultural Collisions Part I.

I have been toying around for a few days at how to write this post. It does not come easy to me, someone that preaches tolerance and the constant “what’s right in my culture…” mantra that I use when discussing culture collisions. But it is important that I say it somewhere, openly and truthfully.

Is it justifiable to admonish another person's culture? Is it okay to admonish another person's culture if it works for them? It is okay to pass judgement on another country that is not your own? these are the questions I am currently grappling with.

It has been 2 weeks in the Maldives and I have decided that I do not like it here. I have given it many chances, and this is not a rash post without thorough thought put in to it.

There I said it.

I feel like I need to justify this post by addressing what’s on everyone’s mind: “You’re so American! Just because they do not have air conditioner and healthy food, does not mean you should dislike the country.”

This has nothing to do with air conditioner, the fact that I can not eat anything here but bread and tuna from a can, the fact that my room smells like sulfur, in fact I SMELL like sulfur from the horrible water conditions, the overwhelming heat that has fried my skin, etc. Because the fact is that I can deal with all these conditions. I have dealt with worse, and come out a better person. I expected to do the same after leaving the Maldives. Now I am not so sure.

The reason I dislike it here so much, simply put, is the culture.

In the Maldives, people do not seem to think they need to work. Deen says that people here are not, “goal-oriented. They do only what they have to, and nothing more.” Yes, they go out on their fishing trips and make enough money to support their families for a few weeks. But as for the rest of the time, they sit in their jolla chairs in the front of their houses and sit and stare for hours upon hours. They do nothing. They accomplish nothing. They do not care about anything. The do not know or care about life outside of Naifaru. They eye with me suspicious, as if my presence has brought some sort of progressive movement that they do not want to tolerate.

Still… I can deal with this. What’s right in this culture in not always right in others, right? Maybe this relaxation drives the laid-back attitude of the Maldivian culture. It seems to work for them. Okay. No problem.

The Maldivians seem to think that planet Earth is meant to be planet garbage. They live in the sweltering heat on heaps of garbage, that they refuse to dispose of or simply take to the make-shift dump at the other side of the island. I understand the fact that the do not have an adequate garbage disposal system, but the living conditions are atrocious. And don’t get me started on the ocean. I have been here for 10 days and I already enough stories to horrify and disgust about what goes into the ocean.

Even still…. I easily overcome this. I just think that these people are underprivileged and have not had the same education and experience that I have had. (Simply put, these people have not had watch Wall-E. Haha…) The people of Naifaru can not say their plans for tomorrow, let alone think 5 years, 10 years, 30 years, or 100 years down the road, when the world will be so polluted that living conditions will be impossible. They do not think about the kind of world their children will be living in. That's fine. That works for them. We need to educate them more.

I am woman. I am not a feminist, but I am proud to say I am a trilingual, wanderlust-infected, marathon-runner, Honors students, qualified teacher, drivers license-holder, gum-chewing, shorts-wearing, high-achieving, book-reading, prize-winning baker, volunteer, and decent person. Why do I tell you this? Because it matters. Maybe not to you. But it matters to me. It’s my identity and I need to reaffirm it somewhere because everywhere I go in the Maldives, I feel like none of this matters. When I walk around the island at night with Deen, people stop to ask Deen to go on fishing trips with them. They do not even say hello to me, unless they are my students. When I go to the café by myself with a book in hand, the men make offhand snide remarks about me sitting and eating while reading a book. On the night fishing trip, I described in an earlier post, I was completely ignored by all the men except Muhammad and Deen. It bothered me more than I care to admit.

And yet, even still, I can deal with this. Women are seen as second-class citizens in most Muslim countries, though certainly not all. I am in a Muslim country where this happens to be the case, and I can handle this with no problem. Sure, it bothers me, but I am getting over that. I imagine Muslim women are uncomfortable in the United States. Okay, this works for them. I can deal with this.

Then there is the fact that I am here in Naifaru and the Maldives to volunteer and help make this place a little bit better than how I found it. I feel as though my presence has been helpful to the kids. But otherwise, not so much. We did a beach cleanup yesterday, Deen and I. We slaved under the hot sun, picking up loads and loads of plastic water bottles, wrappers and old clothes from the beach. I was content with out work, and when we returned to the NGO, we were told that what we did was foolish. No one cares about the beach. No one cares about the volunteers who come here to give a helping hand. We are eyed with suspicion. Why would people From Sri Lanka and the United States come to the Maldives to partake in cleaning the country, when the citizens don't even clean it? Valid point, I think. Again, if this works for the Maldivians, it works for me. All of these things I have just described, I can tolerate.

But I have met the end of my patience.

It’s the entitlement, the belief that the rest of the world owes these people something. The islands are sinking into the sea, so the Maldivians seem to expect the rest of the world to take care of them, shower them with money and support. These NGO's that have sprung up all around the Maldives EXPECT the UN, the World Bank, the Canadian embassy, the American embassy, the EU, etc. to give them money to support their causes. Yes, these causes are helpful sometimes, and play an important role in the maintenance of island life in some areas. But this is something these countries have come to EXPECT. From this expectation springs this lack of gratitude. 

It’s all of this combined with everything else that makes me dislike this place so much.

Resurrecting an Old Post

http://franpan.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-i-love-about-places.html

When You See the Southern Cross for the First Time

"...When you see the Southern Cross
For the first time
You understand now
Why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from
Is so small.
But it's as big as the promise
The promise of a comin' day...."

I think these lyrics from the hit song by Crosby, Stills and Nash sum up most people’s feelings about seeing the constellation of the Southern Cross for the very first time. They sum up mine, at the very least. Of course, my first second evening in the Maldives, sitting on the swings by the water's edge with Deen, was not my first time seeing the Southern Cross. The first time I saw it, I was 14, it in the Outback of Australia. I did not know what I was looking at, when they told us the story of the Southern Cross. I had not lived enough yet to understand how powerful the constellation could truly be.

Although it is the tiniest of the 88 official constellations, its reputation is larger than most. If you do not believe me, just take a look at the Its the flags of New Zealand and Australia. They carry the British Union Jack adjacent to the Southern Cross constellation, which has become a symbol for the Southern Hemisphere.

The Southern Cross, or Crux, as it is now officially named, used to be visible from much of Europe, seen by the ancient Greek civilization around 1000 BC. Throughout the centuries, however, the slow wobble of the Earth on its axis (called precession) carried the stars of Crux south and out of view of Europe. Thus, it gradually was forgotten by the keepers of the stories of the constellations. European sailors rediscovered these stars during the 16th and 17th centuries as they began exploring the southern seas. Many of these European explorers were of the Christian faith and were awestruck by the resemblance of these stars to a tiny crucifix in the heavens.

Eventually, precession will carry Crux back into the view of mid-northern latitudes once again, but that will be centuries in the future. Until then, traveling to the tropics is the only way to view the Southern Cross for yourself.

To me, the Southern Cross has a very powerful effect. more so, than I care to admit.  It reminds me and humbles me again at how small I really am in this great big universe. I tend to get oddly emotional at these kind of things, and I can not really explain why.

At home, I like to look up at the big Dipper or the North Star and ask myself, how many people are looking up at these stars right now? How many people on Earth, sharing nothing more than the same planet and the human species, gaze up  at the sky every night? I feel that way about the Southern Cross. So many people know the constellation and use it as a navigation source. I know that I am not alone when I look up at the sky, and the thought makes me feel so small.

To Want and To Need

“Well, folks, this flight from Doha to Male is making good time and progressing along the course. To all the Maldivians on board, I need to apologize but we are actually going to land in Male about 20 minutes early *chuckles* Hope you’ve had a wonderful flight!”

I had no idea what the crazy Asian pilot was talking about. I just smiled and looked confused at my neighboring passengers, a German couple that stared back at me with the typical iron glare, a characteristic of most German tourists. I gave up the mystery in that moment. Very few passengers appeared to be Maldivian, so I surmised that no one would be able to answer my curiosity.

After nearly a week in the Maldives, my curiosity is satiated.

Today, or any day for that matter, I arrived at the Naifaru Juvenile office 5 minutes before requested. Prompt to the point of being too early combined with my utter detestation of people who are late, is the philosophy that drives me. I am never late. I will never be late. If I am late, I am either dead or someone else is dead. 

This is another reason that things in the Maldives have been exceptionally difficult for me.

Promptness is not part of the Maldivian culture. I have not quite figured out if being late is part of the culture or if being on time is not. Either way, rather than my typical 5 minutes early, I am often left 15, 20, 30, or even an hour early. It drives me absolutely mad. When finally, the meeting begins, the Maldivians brush my accusations of lateness off.

On my second day in Naifaru, I gathered up $40 to give to Rikie to convert to Maldivian Rufiya. I would have converted more, but Deen warned me that any extra Rufiya I had after one month would go to waste because of the difficulties in exchanging the ‘useless’ money.  Rikie promised he would convert the money as soon as possible.  (As soon as possible, I have come to learn, is a relative expression.) I also asked for a hose for my washing machine, and some water for my room, which I maintained was an absolute necessity.

3 days passed, including 3 days of dire need for water, medicine, and chocolate. I did not want to voice my concern and ask for the money. I do not want to be annoying or seemingly needy. I was certain Rikie would convert the money. He made it clear that he had not forgotten, and he kept saying, “don’t worry. It’s coming!” I went to bed thirsty, and during the day, I stole water and Coke from Deen to satisfy my need for liquid. I thought at first, I would be okay, and with the constant reassurance that it was coming, I was confident that I would be okay.

Finally, I had had enough. I complained to Deen and finally to the older local volunteers. I spoke of my dehydration, and my need for water. I decided I did not care about being polite anymore and simply waiting for the water, hose, and converted money. It became less about the things I wanted and more about the things I needed. I needed water, or my symptoms of dehydration would get worse and worse. The rash on my body would continue to spread, and the sand paper tongue sensation in my paper would remain. I needed the hose for the washer. I no longer had any clean clothes and there was no other way I could wear any of the dirty clothes. I needed money desperately, not to just buy chocolate like was my original intention, but to buy medicine. I did not pack enough.

As I complaned to Deen, trying to hard not to let the tears that pinched at my eyelids flow, I got to thinking about the differences between wants and needs. Maybe the reason that Maldivians are late or slow with everything is because of this want and need category. Sure, it would be wonderful to have hose for the washer right now, but there are other thngs that are absolutely necessary first. Yes, it would be pleasant to have some extra money to buy a few treats for the walk home, but there are other things that need to be bought first.

I do not claim to be someone aimed at figuring out another person’s culture, but I think I might be on to something concerning Maldivian culture. I have spent so much time in misery over the need for a washer hose, that I have not taken time to really assess whether it is a NEED. I have spent so much consideration pondering whether the Maldivian people are just lazy people with no aspirations, that I have not taken the time to consider that maybe they are really just working for instant gratification, rather than goal-orientation. Obviously, I need some more time to sit and ponder about this, but I think I might be on the right track to understanding an entire culture.

As for me? Today, Rikie brought me my Rufiya, several water bottles, and the washer hose. I am doing the wash as we speak, drinking water like there is no tomorrow, and scheming a trip to the local store to buy a big piece of chocolate (oh and my medicine, of course.) I think I deserve as much.

On a Sun-Scorched Island

I am not certain that I can write an entry about the Naifaru and the Maldives, in general, without sounding pessimistic, condescending of certain lifestyles, and simply miserable of the things I have been experiencing. 

I know my father will read everything I write and then taunt me when I return. (Dad, I love you to death, but can you at least try to understand that America is not better or worse, just different?)  Many people from home will say things, like, “Aren’t you glad to be home?” “That place sounds horrible!” “I do not know why you stayed so long with those savages.” I loathe when people put me in these tight spots with questions aimed at making me answer one way. I am tired of being surrounded by one-minded people who think America is God’s gift to the earth, and solely because I do not have air condition, this must be a complete shit hole.

It’s not.

And from what I have been saying over and over through all my travels, over the lush green mountains and vibrant rice paddies surrounding Kochi, through the lazy days in the Burgundy vineyards, across the street from Big Ben in a Tube station, chasing wombats on the Outback, and having in depth political discussions in Bielefeld, “what’s right in my country, is not always right in other countries.”

I hope you will remember that as you read my initial description of life in Naifaru.

I want to go ahead and write down all of my initial feelings about this place. I can already feel myself changing, growing further and further attached to this strange place. Certainly in a different way than I have ever grown attached to a country before. But before I become enamored, head over heels in love with Naifaru and the Maldives, I must go ahead and be truthful about my first few perceptions.

Everywhere I look, I see poverty. But it is a different kind of poverty than I have ever witnessed. I see homes built with crumbling cement, deteriorating roofs, crusty chipped paint. The roads, well, if you can call them that, are made of a combination of sand, dust, and garbage. It makes me for rather complicated stroll around the island, and I always seem to be tripping over used water bottles.

The stores are locally owned, disintegrating shop fronts, where people sit behind a counter and wait for the customer that just probably will not come. There are local resort islands that offer passage to Naifaru to spend the afternoon, but I suspect the resorts warn people not to make the journey. There are a few Russian doctors, Sri Lankans, Bengladesians, and Indians, but otherwise diversity is a rarity.  I try hard to think of a way to describe what I see everyday in Naifaru to people in America, so that they can understand and conceptualize it. It is not possible.

One should not drink the water, and it is not hard to understand why. The water smells profusely of sulfur, and tastes like nothing I have ever tasted before. It has been sitting in huge black vats since the last rainy season. There is no access to clean water, other than what has fallen already. The only water we can get in salt water from the ocean, and people can not drink that. Usually, people have to import water bottles from Male, but the high amount of plastic water bottles has made way for huge environmental problems, littering, and pollution concerns.

And, yet, people are happy. They only work when they want to, which is not very often. They do not pay taxes. When they want to buy food or clothes, they go out on fishing boats, catch a few fish and cash in. In the evenings, when the sun goes down and it becomes “cool,” everyone engages in their favorite activity: sitting in their lawn chairs on the front steps. (I would normally refer to this as ‘people-watching’ but I do not want to get people confused with the French ‘people-watching’ and the actual ‘people-watching.’) Children run around the streets blissfully, seemingly unaware of the blistering heat scorching the land.

I have spent the better part of this past week trying to think up a word to describe the Maldivian people on Naifaru. Impoverished? No, they aren't impoverished. Poverty implies they are poor all-around, which is not true, because they are not poor in the happiness department. Lazy? Too strong of a word. When they want money, they go work. It just seems like they do not want or need money very often. The best descriptor of these Maldivian people is underprivileged. This may sound arrogant, but these people have never had the privilege and opportunity that I have had.

I have a very hard time imagining how one can truly be happy in a place like this.