Chapter Seven: Maldives the Beautiful
The island was beautiful, so beautiful that words could not do it justice. The island was peaceful and primitive. It was quiet in the sense that there were no cars, lawn mowers, or radios but, in stillness the island had its own sounds, of the ocean, wildlife, and birds chattering amongst themselves. The language of the inhabitants was a distinctive form of the Dhivehi language known as Mulaku bas. It was so different from what they had ever heard that it too seemed like an unknown noise.
The villagers were welcoming and simple people. They were as beautiful as their island. Their skin was smooth and dark, their eyes so black you couldn’t see their pupils and their smiles revealed the joy of their hearts. Ryan had never experienced such simplicity and lack of drama. It seemed to him that he was getting a glimpse of what heaven would be like. There was a variety of huts and bungalows scattered around the village. The hotel they would be staying at for the next month was a mud hut with a divider separating a small section in the back which would be Amy’s room. A pallet of four beds lay in the larger room with two lanterns. A small table that stood about six inches off the ground was in the common room with another lantern sitting in the middle. There were no chairs anywhere. Once they put their luggage in the rooms, Gamini took them for a walk along the beach.
It was dusk now and the sunset was slipping over the ocean with its warm colors softly saying goodbye to another day. From the beginning, the brothers stayed together. They were so much alike. They laughed at things that no one else did as if they had a secret language and understanding of their own. Anyone could tell that they came from a strong and close knit family. Bill mingled sometimes, but mostly stood in silence alone, yet not alone. His demeanor seemed prayerful. He stood at the edge of the ocean with his eyes closed with such purpose; it was obvious he was standing in the presence of God. That left Ryan and Amy together. They noticed one another from the beginning. They were the same age with the same passion for helping people. They were drawn to each other in many ways, but they never forgot the reason they were on the island.
After a rather tough night’s sleep, they were up at sunrise to labor before it got too hot. They had eggplant and fruit for breakfast, and then off to work. From 6:00 in the morning until high noon, they focused on the layout, design, and supply list for a large building. Gamini and Bill would make the long trip back to Malé for the supplies. One complete list with no room for error, every trip to Malé wasted two days of valuable time.
Mark, Wayne, Ryan, and Amy biked with them back to the boat. “What will we do while you are gone?” Mark asked a question that presented itself, desperate for suggestions.
Gamini spoke up before Bill could answer. “Go love them and learn from them. They will teach you much in two days.” The men climbed aboard the boat and pushed off into the Indian Ocean.
The four of them stood with bikes in hand. “I thought we were here to teach them,” Wayne was more confused than any of them of Gamini’s response.
“We will go back and do as they do,” Amy responded. “We will live as they live and bond with them. We aren’t here to be over them, but to be a part of them.” Amy was right. She knew what Gamini was asking of them.
“We don’t speak their language how are we supposed to ‘bond’ without an interpreter?” Wayne was more focused on himself than the possibilities.
“Kindness has a language all its own.” Amy wasn’t going to waste time trying to explain anything else. She lifted herself up on the bike and peddled away.
The three men stood there with their mouths open. The brothers were still dumbfounded on what to do. Ryan, however, was simply in awe at Amy’s determination and purpose. He wasn’t sure what he was going to be doing, but he knew he wanted to be doing it beside Amy.
By the time the men caught up with Amy, she had parked her bike by their hut and had sought out someone to get to know. She had a gentle look and soft touch; she was so open to everyone. The easy place to go would be to Gamini’s hut and hang out with his wife Ari, but not Amy. She stood by a small hut playing peek-a-boo with a child of maybe three or four. The girl’s mother smiled as she watched the interaction with her daughter. Amy reached out to the mom and imitated the motions she was making. The mom moved over making room for Amy to sit down. They sat around a large basket filled with coarse fiber. The mom pulled, separated, and beat the material in the basket piece by piece. Amy wasn’t sure what she was doing, but did her best to help. The mom took her hands and slowly moved them; they divided a handful into sections, twisted them and then laid them across a wooden table and began to beat the material with a stick, again and again. The material was so rough, but the mom made it look so easy. When the coir fibers were beaten to a tender pliable consistency, six to ten stands were separated and the ends of these strands were joined to the ends of another few strands by spinning between the palms of their hands. A thick rope started to form as the fibers blended. Thirty minutes later, Amy’s effort paid off with about ten inches of rope compared to the two feet of coir rope the mom had spun together. Amy flinched in pain as one of the fibers cut into the side of her hand and around into her palm. It was as if a knife was slicing her as she tightened the strands. With blood dripping off her palm, Amy pulled back and put pressure on the wound.
Ryan had been watching the whole time. He longed to be so open and able to reach out. He was quiet, slightly reserved, but willing. He could learn so much from Amy. He already knew that they would work well together if given a chance. In addition, if given a choice, he would choose to be on Amy’s team. He saw Amy’s hand bleeding and started toward her to help. The mom had been so focused on what she was doing that she hadn’t realized Amy was hurt until she saw Ryan coming closer with a look of concern on his face. She took Amy by the hand and led her over to the side of the hut where there were barrels of fresh water. She took a clean cloth from the rack above the barrels and dipped it into the water. Amy let the woman take care of her. Her rough leather-like skin caressed the wound pulling loose fibers out as she wiped it clean. She motioned for Amy to stay and wait.
Ryan came around to Amy’s side to look. “She is enjoying taking care of you.” He saw the blisters rising on Amy’s fingers. “You aren’t use to manual labor are you?” Amy was looking down when Ryan commented. He bent down and raised her face to his. “I am teasing,” Ryan said. He was shocked when he saw that her eyes were tear-filled. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Ryan felt horrible and didn’t know what to do. For some instinctive reason, he wanted to hug her as though it would take back his words and ease her pain.
“It’s not you Ryan.” Her hand was hurting. She didn’t want to seem weak or useless. Nor did she want to disappoint the woman she was trying so hard to work with and get to know. “This is much harder than crocheting.”
The mom came back holding what looked like half a coconut shell filled with a white pasty salve. She motioned for Amy’s hand with firm aggression. “Ryan, is this safe?” Amy looked pitiful.
“I think you have to show her you trust her, Amy.” Ryan didn’t like not knowing what was in the salve. He kept thinking of how she had nursed Amy’s hand already. He didn’t feel a reason not to trust. “I am here for you; I will keep an eye on you.” He hoped that it would bring some comfort.
“Aharenge namakee, Razan. Kon nameh Kiyanee,” she said as she put the salve on the wound and the blisters. “Aharenge namakee, Razan” she said a second time, but this time she pointed to herself. “Kon nameh Kiyanee,” she repeated looking at them.
“I believe she is trying to tell you her name, Amy. She is relating to you.” Amy was focused on Razan as she finished applying the salve and wrapping a clean cloth around her hand and between her fingers. “Ryan,” he said, pointing to himself. “Amy,” he said motioning towards her. This action was repeated until they all seemed to have the
correct enunciation.
Razan’s daughter curiously approached them. “Meena,” Razan called to her and then said something that neither of them understood. “Meena,” she repeated. Amy and Ryan waved to Meena and called her by name. She ran away playfully. Razan put the shell of salve back in the hut. She came out focused and walked directly back to the basket of fiber.
“Looks like it’s time to go back to work,” Ryan said. “How does your hand feel?”
“Better, believe it or not. The salve smells like it has some sort of mint in it. It cooled and numbed my hand quickly.”
Amy sat down beside Razan and assumed her previous position. Razan got frustrated immediately, motioning for Amy to leave and for Ryan to sit down. She pointed quickly between Meena and Amy. Just as quick, she pointed for Ryan to have a seat where Amy was made to get up. “Looks like it’s your turn to twist, beat, and spin or whatever it is I was doing.”
Amy got up and went to stand beside Meena. Ryan sat and watched Razan intently. He found a rhythm to what she was doing. He caught on so fast. When he looked up at Amy, she began acting jealous in a silly way. She may have been a little flirtatious too, although it’s not something she would admit. Meena started mocking Amy’s actions. They laughed at each other’s expressions. Soon, it became a game of charades and giggling. They imitated birds, turtles, trees, and Ryan! He had no idea that he was biting his lip as he concentrated on the rope. Both girls bit their lip and pretended to be Ryan as he repeatedly beat the coir fibers. He looked up, caught their mimicking, and shook his head in embarrassment. Since they had been discovered, there was no longer a challenge so they found something else to occupy themselves. He watched Amy play with Meena. He saw Razan smile at his efforts to help. Gamini was very right; kindness has a universal language of its own.
The brothers came out of the hut one time looking for water. Ryan called out for them to come and learn a new occupation. They disappeared as quickly as they appeared. “They sure are peculiar,” he thought to himself. He wouldn’t see them again until dinner.
The smell of rice, sweet potatoes, and fresh fish filled the air. Islanders that they had not seen at all came from every direction when the large bell was rung. Some were shirtless, dirty, and smelly, all were hungry. The oldest males ate first. Respectfully, everyone waited their turn. Ryan and the brothers joined the men, but waited until Amy was served before they began to eat. Food never tasted better, they were so hungry. As teenagers, they missed the convenience of chips and candy bars whenever they wanted.
After dinner, all the young men who had apparently been working out on the fishing boats since dawn stayed around the small village. It was now Ryan’s chance to reach out and to cross language barriers with kindness. Ryan felt really nervous when five men showed up with machetes. He didn’t react to the men as they swung the machetes around seemingly hoping to get a rise out of the three new men. But, it made an impression on the brothers. As soon as there was an opening, they high-tailed it back to the hut. They were envisioning some sort of missionary sacrifice and didn’t want to be any part of a tribal ritual. The village men laughed at the brother’s reaction. They knew what they were doing. It was a game that the younger men like to play on anyone staying in their village. Ryan instantly had their respect as he sat there quietly, still and watching their every move.
Razan yelled at one young fellow who looked so much like her he had to be her son. He went into Razan’s hut and returned with another machete. With machete in each hand, he stood in front of Ryan. He stood up looking the young man in the eye, not blinking; he waited for the young man’s next move.
“Rafah,” Razan was telling Ryan his name. Rafah gave a machete to Ryan and motioned for him to follow. This was getting more and more interesting. The brothers watched from the cutout window of their hut. They prayed that Ryan wasn’t going to have to defend his life or become a sacrifice.
Ryan followed a group of young men about fifty yards to a group of coconut palm trees. There were seven trees and seven men including Ryan. The six islanders slid their machetes between a rope and their pants. The machete was parallel with their back and legs. They stared at Ryan, waiting for him to do the same and he did.
As if they had done this a million times, the six men put one hand chest high and the other hand waist high on the other side of the tree. They jumped simultaneously, planting their feet on both sides of the tree with their knees perpendicular to their body. Their machetes dangled from behind them between their legs; they jumped up the tree like a frog. Ryan had never seen anything so funny looking before. They all reached the top in a matter of a minute and sat upon the fronds of the palm staring down at Ryan. He considered himself challenged by the men. This happened all the time back home in the States too. Who was stronger, faster, and braver, but the challenges didn’t consist of climbing thirty feet with a sharp machete between your legs.
Amy was afraid for Ryan. She prayed for help out of this situation. Surely Ryan wouldn’t be so full of testosterone that he would attempt this challenge. She was right; she didn’t know Ryan that well because he was taking his belt loose and readjusting it to fit the machete behind him. Amy felt sick and sat down before she fainted. She wanted to yell at him but didn’t want to embarrass him. He was focused like she had already seen him several times before. “Dear God help this craziness,” she pleaded out loud. Only God understood her.
Ryan walked over to the palm and examined it in detail. The palm trees didn’t have bark like the trees at home. There were sharp frond stubs all the way up the palm. “That’s why they didn’t hug the tree to climb up,” Ryan thought. He touched the end of the frond and it poked him like a pin. The guys in the trees began to talk to each other. Ryan knew they were talking about him and betting whether or not he was going to attempt, much less succeed the climb.
He placed his hands on the palm just like he watched the others do. He tried to put one foot up and then the next but the fronds gave way causing his leg to slip. The frond caught his jeans and ripped the inseam. “Okay, this is why they jumped,” he said aloud like he was instructing someone else. “Like a frog,” with that he jumped and clung to the tree. His grip was good. He was strong in muscle and mind. “Speed is the key not to exhaust yourself,” he mumbled. Jump, jump, jump and up, up, up he went.
Amy was amazed. The villagers watched and chanted with excitement as if they were all pulling for the crazy, brave American. When he reached the top, he pulled himself up and stood on the long fronds hoping that the others couldn’t see his tired arms and legs shaking. He took the machete out of his belt and sat down. The other wasted no time in celebration. They took their machetes and starting whacking the longs fronds and letting them fall to the ground. Without thinking twice, Ryan did the same. He kept a slightly slower pace than the others which should be expected from someone who had never done this before, his ten to their fifteen, not too bad at all. Ryan watched as the men allowed their machetes to fall to the ground. He was very relieved that he didn’t have to go down the palm with it in his belt. When all the machetes hit the ground, the teenage boys came to gather them and moved the freshly cut fronds away from the palm.
As Ryan looked down and watched the activity, he suddenly realized how high off the ground he was. He became a little queasy when he began to think about getting down. Suddenly the climb up seemed easier. The men lowered their bodies until their feet settled on the frond stubs. They positioned their hands the same as the climb up and began to jump down, froglike once again. Now it was Ryan’s turn to pray. His braveness had disappeared in the clouds that hung over his head. All eyes were on him. “Okay, here I go Lord. Be my strength.” Ryan mimicked the maneuvers of the guys who went before him and in a flash, he was down the palm like he had the experience of all the others. Now the villagers were excited and celebrated him. The men who met him at the bottom of the palm pat
ted his back like a puppy. That was their way of congratulating him. When the crowd dispersed, Amy ran to him, slugged him on the right arm, and then hugged him quickly, but with purpose.
“Ouch, what’s that about,” Ryan complained rubbing his arm as if Amy had actually hurt him.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again!” Amy cried out. “I was so afraid for you. I about died of anxiety!”
“Well, I about died from being impaled by a palm tree! Take it easy on me,” Ryan said, making light of Amy’s worries. “We survived better than my pants did.” He pointed to the tear from above his knee to mid-calf. “The first tear was half that size. I caught it again on the way down. I was so glad I was only five feet from the ground.”
They started laughing. Partly because they didn’t know how else to release their emotions and the other reason… they were starting to enjoy each other’s company.