Archipelago wages fight to stay afloat
MALE, Maldives--Ever since the Bodu Raalhu (Big Wave) lashed their homes a decade ago, residents of this lagoon nation have fought against the day when the sea swallows their habitat: 1,192 coral atolls strung like a necklace on the Indian Ocean. In the struggle to survive the doomsday effect of global warming that some scientists believe will flood their archipelago within a generation, the islanders jettisoned thousand-year-old traditions and adopted protective measures and an environmental policy other countries may soon have to copy. The efforts of the Republic of the Maldives to save one of the world's most spectacular beach and diving playgrounds--an area with hundreds of resorts perched on atolls in some cases no larger than a football stadium--have become a rallying cry for those who believe the planet is ailing. The curse, they claim, is global warming, causing sea levels to rise. Effects of the phenomenon remain uncertain, and experts differ over how long it might take before the Maldives, the world's flattest nation, vanishes into the sea. Estimates vary from 15 to 100 years. In his crammed Ecocare office in this village-capital, squeezed onto a 2-square-mile island so small locals joke that car owners fill their tanks just once a year, Mohamed Zahir, an ecologist, believes time is running out for the Maldives. "It has started already," he said. "Ninety percent of our atolls suffer already from erosion. In grandfather's time the sea each year took away some land at one end and put it back at the other end. Now the sea just takes. It doesn't give anything back. The little land we have is vanishing." Like many others, he blames global warming, the increase in atmosphere temperatures caused by fossil fuel gases that act as a blanket around the world, storing heat from the sun that would otherwise be radiated back into space. This could result in a significant rise of sea levels. Some low-lying countries could be swamped and climatic changes could cause hurricanes, floods and deserts. A recent issue of New Scientist quoted a special draft report of the United Nations Panel on Climatic Change. It predicted these "greenhouse gases" will multiply fivefold in the coming century unless industrial nations curb their emissions or new technology reduces the gas effects. Rather than wait for a miracle or for an accord among industrialized nations such as the United States--considered the world's biggest polluter--to reduce the use of fossil fuels, the Maldives have taken their own emergency measures. The capital is now partly ringed by a 6-foot concrete sea barrier known as the Great Wall of Male. The government is raising the 4-mile-square artificial island of Hulhumale, which is a 10-minute speedboat ride from Male. The idea is that Hulhumale could become a modern Noah's Ark for the Maldives' 280,000 inhabitants if the feared flood comes. At 6 feet above sea level, Hulhumale is already higher than the average atoll in this flat nation. When completed, Hulhumale will house the majority of Male's 120,000 residents, as well as a cluster of small industries and commercial centers. But most important, Hulhumale--already growing trees and nurturing a thriving rabbit population--will be 2 feet higher than the capital. "All the evidence indicates the sea is rising. It's a permanent worry. Everyone is concerned, even the smallest school kids know about it," said oceanographer Mohamed Aslam, Hulhumale's project director. "The saddest thing is we can do very little about it, except build an island and become the world's most environmentally conscious society." The leaders of the 202 inhabited atolls are building seawalls and breakwaters and dumping expensive imported granite and cement blocks offshore to diminish the ravages of the waves. At the same time, everyone has become a budding environmentalist. "Ten years ago, people would still harvest live coral and use nets to trawl for fish. You don't find that anymore," Aslam said. Dried coral, found in abundance, was the traditional building material for homes. Now its use is banned to prevent further depletion of the coral reefs that act as natural breakwaters for the atolls. A population that has lived off fishing for centuries voluntarily agreed to capture only tuna and spare other species, among them the endangered giant turtle whose shell has always been a major moneymaker. Concern about the environment keeps Male clean and the sea pristine. On a recent cloudy afternoon a speedboat chased a traditional island dhoni, a wooden cargo boat with a curved bow, after its occupants had tossed two plastic bags overboard. "Go back and pick them up!" the offenders were ordered. The chastised dhoni skipper turned around and fished the bags out of the water. On small reefs where schools of fat fish play lazily and safe from capture, signposts warn: "Sea birds lay eggs here. Don't take them away." Dive guides warn tourists they may not touch the docile fish population or step on or touch the delicate corals. Resorts are built according to stringent regulations and policed to make sure they comply. "We have tried to be realistic and pragmatic after the initial warnings. The Maldives have never polluted anyone, yet we are the first to go down. It's not fair," said Environment Minister Ismail Shafeeu. "What can we do? We maintain a sense of optimism and tell each other that technical solutions are just around the corner." His ministry has imposed a ban on sand and coral harvesting, threatening offenders with a fine of up to $1 million. No building permits are granted near the seashore, to prevent further erosion. Ships that run aground on reefs are punished with huge fines. Tourist resorts, offered only a 35-year lease, must have their own waste and sewage disposal systems and leave the atoll as they found it: usually barren, perhaps with the proverbial single palm tree on the beach. The islanders either take the prospect of losing their homes with a grain of salt or with trepidation. "Its not a good feeling to know you're sinking," said shopkeeper Ahmed Hussain. "I often wonder, should I build the extension to my grocery or will it be a waste of money." Such anxiety is hardly shared by the hundreds of foreign investors who have built luxury resorts on some of the atolls. Some are small, virtual Gardens of Eden where a day's bed and board costs $700. Others are prefabricated cabins, one long row that can accommodate 200 guests on tiny islands where diesel generators run day and night to supply electricity and power for the large desalination plants. The tourist boom, mainly from Europe, has made the natives disproportionately wealthy in this poor South Asian region. In 1968, a democratic movement converted the sultanate to a republic, and six years after that the first president absconded to Singapore with a reported $4 million from the national treasury. In 1988, about 90 Tamil Tiger mercenaries from Sri Lanka landed at the quay on Male in an attempted coup. A tropical fish exporter with designs on the presidency had offered them a sea base in return for ousting President Maumoon Abdul Gayoom. The plot was foiled when the late Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi sent 1,600 Indian paratroopers to back Gayoom. Gayoom is still in power. A passionate environmentalist, he has been re-elected for a fifth consecutive 5-year term in a country without political parties, no public election campaigning and only 50 independent parliamentarians. As the only candidate, Gayoom usually polls around 96 percent in what has become virtually a referendum on his performance. With an annual 9 percent growth rate, tourism has made the islanders wealthy, although the Maldives are no longer known as "The Money Isles," a label from ancient times when their precious cowrie shells served as an international currency, just as the U.S. dollar does today. The cowrie shells, like the corals, today serve as barriers against the rising sea in a little nation that has become acutely eco-conscious but still does not want to live without modern polluting luxuries, such as cars and power generators. Along the narrow, winding alleys of Male, outside whitewashed coral-wall houses and below new shiny office blocks, daily traffic jams are common, though no automobile on Male ever makes it out of second gear. A taxi ride from one end of town to the other costs $1 and lasts no more than five minutes. "Owning a car has become a status symbol even if you move much faster by bicycle, scooter or on foot." said Ali Rafeeq, editor of the Haveeru Daily. "The locals just want to live the way people live in the rest of the world."