The Moken of Thailand have always relied on the ocean for virtually all aspects of life. Mark Eveleigh tracks down one of the world’s most exceptional communities
At just 23 years old Lin is newly widowed with two children to support. ‘My husband’s work was dangerous and we always knew there was a possibility that he might not come back – it happens here often enough.’ She shrugs, with typical Oriental resignation.
Traditionally known as ‘Sea Gypsies’, the Moken people once lived almost their whole lives on boats. But the majority of these were destroyed in the 2004 tsunami and today the Moken are confined to several dilapidated shanty towns on a few relatively remote islands in Thai and Burmese waters.
Without their boats, the great schools of fish that congregate in the rich tropical waters of the Burma Banks became inaccessible. The Moken have always been known as legendary swimmers and free-divers, however, and Lin’s husband was just one of many young men on Koh Noi island who was tempted by work as a diver. Indian fishing boats in particular often make the long voyage from their home waters just to recruit gangs of Moken divers who are willing to run the risks in the dangerous but lucrative quest for pearls and, more commonly, sea cucumbers.
Lin’s husband was the second man in this little hamlet of 300 to die of the bends in early 2008. In January, a 14-year-old boy died while in search of sea cucumbers.
Although backpackers and divers visit the Thai islands off the coast of Ranong, Koh Noi seems to be far removed from the tourist trail. Koh Chang, just a couple of hours away by motorboat, is a particularly sleepy and restful island with a few rented bungalows that see sporadic, if relatively lackadaisical, bursts of party activity around full moon. Even here, though, few people are aware of the existence of Sea Gypsies in the area.
I arrived on Koh Chang following a vague rumour that there was a Moken island somewhere in the area. It took me two attempts to swim out against the current to reach the only fishing boat that lay in the bay. Standing dripping in the bow, struggling with my woefully inadequate marketplace Thai and drawing numbers in the sand on the deck, I managed to haggle Petr the Thai fisherman into shuttling me to the Sea Gypsy island.
Petr had only visited Koh Noi once before and I crossed my fingers as the little skiff puttered out into the maze of islands that dot this part of the Indian Ocean. We seemed to be motoring for so long that I began to think we must have crossed the border and that I had surely already entered illegally into Burmese waters. In fact among this tangle of islands, reefs and rocky outcrops, few local people place much importance on just where the border lies. Many Sea Gypsies have yet to be accepted officially as citizens of either Thailand or Burma and they cross at will over national boundaries without giving it much thought.
As our voyage progressed I dozed to the accompaniment of a droning engine and the rays of a gentle sun. Then, Petr was shaking me awake to tell me we had arrived at Koh Noi. At first sight the village was sadly lacking in boats. A couple of skeletal prahus lay rotting in the shallows, their struts poking from the mud like the ribs of a long-dead whale.
The people lived in rough, stilted huts cobbled together from bamboo or drift-wood. The land on which the village is built is rented from a mainlander, but the villagers own no extra terrain that could be converted to orchards or crops.
Judging from the heaps of garbage strewn throughout their village it seemed that the Moken people had traded their old diet of fresh fish and their legendary knowledge of wild fruit and traditional herbal medicines for a diet of instant noodles and Chang beer.
As is often the case in South East Asian villages, a separate shack had been set aside as what was grandly described as a ‘guesthouse’. The ‘bed’ was just a rattan mat laid out on the floorboards and the ‘shower’ was a rusty bucket, but I was grateful for the offer and the hut itself was infinitely more sturdy than most of the villagers’ homes.
Missionaries from several organisations have tried to get a grip on the Moken of Koh Noi with only limited success. Sunan Thuanthong has been more dogged than most (and less self-serving than a great many). He has lived in a little shack on Koh Noi for the past 16 years and has worked hard to help the people. It is in great part through his labours that they are on the verge of winning the identity papers that would guarantee the community official Thai citizenship and thus offer them access to medical services, schooling and some chance of paid work that could provide an alternative to their dangerous diving.
As the island’s self-proclaimed spiritual leader, Sunan had to rush off to oversee the funeral of Lin’s husband. Six hours of traditional mourning would probably lead to the two or three days of drinking, dancing and carousing that was needed to lay the ghosts of the young man to rest.
‘I’ve tried to convince them that a day of drinking is already more than enough,’ the preacher said morosely, ‘but I’m not sure they agree.’
As the night wore on, the drinking led to fighting. Once or twice even knives and sticks were brought into action, but the fighters were always overpowered before they caused serious injury. I had been in more local tribal villages in Asia than I could count and had always
GETTING THERE
London-Bangkok flights are available from around $610 via www.roundtheworldflights.com
FOOTNOTE
The islanders of ‘Koh Noi’ are currently fighting to be integrated into Thai society. The process is a long and arduous one and rather than risk complicating the matter still further the names not only of the islanders but also of the island itself have been changed.
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