Riding the wave

Two enormous waves have had a massive impact on the lives of the Moken or Chao Lay, the nomads of the Andaman Sea. The first of these in a sense created them – a mythical wave that, echoing legends of great deluges in mythologies the world over, is said to have struck the earth and left the survivors to wander the sea on houseboats. The second is the 2004 tsunami that devastated the coasts of Thailand and Burma, home to the oceanic nomads, threatening their very existence. 

 

A widespread media-created rumour suggests that the tsunami claimed no victims among the Moken. Suarama Moken, head of the community of Koh Surin (one of five islands inhabited by the Moken in the Surin archipelago, off the Thai coast) says they were 'warned in advance by the fish, of the arriving "freak wave",' as well as by their ancestors, who guard their villages. But of course, this story is only partially true, fuelled by the Moken's close relationship with the sea. In Koh Surin, I counted over 40 mounds of sand and soil – the graves of those who died in the tsunami.

 

In a sense, every Moken has been 'killed' by the tsunami, as the wave took much of their ancestral lands and forced many of them into a nomadic life. Others have been forced to shift from their traditional subsistence economy to a 'civilised' way of life. As for the most unfortunate ones, when they returned after the tsunami they found barbed-wire fences and armed guards patrolling construction sites on their traditional lands. 

 

Today, there are about 7000 Moken living around the seas between Thailand and Burma. They interchangeably claim Indonesia or India as their place of origin, an ambivalence that gives the Thai government an excuse to deny them citizenship. It is also not uncommon for them to be shot at by the Burmese coast guard when they cross the international border in search 

of fish. 

The tourist industry started to exploit their islands and waters during the 1980s. At first this was confined to bartering with the Moken, who had started to use commodities such as alcohol and rice. The industry has been quick to capitalise on the 'exotic' value of the community, but this has not prevented others from eyeing their lands, leading to standoffs between the Moken and real-estate groups who want to build resorts in islands where the tribe used to spend their winters. The Moken have lost all the resulting legal battles except one, known as the Tawana case. In Thai court in 2009, they received possession of three-quarters of their original land, based on the principle that those who have inhabited the land for a long period of time are its natural owners. 

 

In the new village of Khao Lak, the Moken fish not only in the sea, two miles away, but also in a pond formed inland by the tsunami. Yet as can be seen in the accompanying photographs, their relationship to the sea, which is almost symbiotic, remains – many say they continue to be more at ease on water than on land. In Koh Lan, a small island on the Thai-Burmese border, Moken children looking for an adventure seal their clothing in a plastic bag as they swim at night to Ranong, a town about six km inland. 

 

Their parents and grandparents, meanwhile, dive to hunt for fish during the day, with a spear and wooden goggles, or even catch fish barehanded, taking advantage of the low tides. In the late afternoon they gather on the beach, sitting around campfires, eating freshly picked clams cooked over the coals. At such times, one of the myths they recount talks of their identity – children of a great wave, the only ones who managed to ride it to safety. 

 

~ Translated and adapted from the original Italian.