Maldives

So you’re listing the countries of Asia. You’re doing well—you’re proud of yourself that you remembered Sri Lanka, and at least a few of the former SSRs. The Maldives? Oops! I forgot about those little islands southwest of India. Why don’t we remember them now? 26 July is Independence Day in the Maldives—in 1965 they gained their independence from the United Kingdom.

Oh, and population-wise, the Maldives is the smallest country in Asia. It’s also the smallest predominantly Muslim nation in the world. The country is the lowest in the world—the maximum natural ground level is 2.3 metres. No hills there. This obviously means that Maldivians are concerned about global warming—rising sea levels could submerge the entire nation.

Around the third century BCE Buddhism came to the Maldives, and this remained the main religion until the 12th century. From 1153 until 1968 the nation was governed as an Islamic sultanate—even during the period from 1887 until 1965 that it was a British protectorate. In the 1950s there was an attempt to become a republic, but the sultanate was quickly brought back. In 1968, however, the same move was successful: the monarchy was abolished and a republic declared—though in practice there wasn’t a huge change in the way the nation was governed.

In 1988 there was a coup. A group of Maldivians removed President Gayyoom from power, before the Indian military pitched in against the Tamil mercenaries that assisted with the coup, and Gayyoom was reinstated as president. The name of the Indian operation to restore the status quo? Operation Cactus. No, I don’t have any idea why that chose that name.

More recently, like so many nations, the country was devastated by the 2004 tsunami. While the death toll was low compared to some other nations, the damage was estimated at $400 million—which represents about 62 percent of the GDP of the Maldives. Fourteen islands were completely evacuated, while six were apparently “decimated.” Twenty-one resort islands had to shut down—while the locals might not have been the ones enjoying the resort islands, tourism is big business in the Maldives—and is the largest industry in the country. That’s got to hurt. Cartographers are actually planning to redraw maps of the nation, as the tsunami caused alterations.

Today’s poem is by Farah Didi. It comes from the wonderful Language for a New Century.


Dying for a Himalayan Dream

pristine white snow-capped peaks,
painted across the horizon,
above green clad foothills and valleys,
glacial waters cold and sullen,

meandering rivers now stand still,
where Sherpas carry their daily loads,
a fresh chill spreads along the wake
of footsteps over virgin snows,

a crimson range stenciled in the sky,
bleeding in the evening light,
half-shadowed flotilla of clouds,
descends into a misty night,

trudging against the hostile glare,
a ghostly moon to guide along,
with frozen breaths they suck the air,
as she pulls them ever closer to her womb,

the people of the frozen tombs,
the final dream, the dizzy heights,
the chilling promise the goddess made,
the summit for their lives.

—Farah Didi,
from Language for a New Century

Réunion

I’m not sure if today marks an independence overdose, or a non-independence overdose—after all, we’re celebrating all these territories today because they are part of France, and they don’t have a separate day on which they take a holiday in order to celebrate their own culture. Instead, Fête Nationale rolls around. Réunion is another of these territories—or, actually, it’s a department of France, and it also uses the Euro. Some trivia? It was actually the first region in the world to use the euro, as its time zone put it ahead of the rest of Europe in introducing it. The first purchase? A bag of lychees. Réunion is between Madagascar and Mauritius. The official flag is French. The flag at the left is the flag proposed by the Vexillological Association of Réunion.

While there Arab sailors had visited the island previously (They named it Adna Al Maghribain) when Europeans arrived they found no-one living there, and the Portuguese named it Santa Apollonia. And then the French arrived—people came over from Mauritius and the island was administered from Port Louis. The French first called the island Île Bourbon, but in 1793 they renamed the island Réunion, after the fall of the House of Bourbon. (Pesky revolution…) It didn’t stick the first time, though—in 1801 the island was renamed Île Bonaparte (I wonder who that could have been in honour of?) and, when the British captured the island in 1810, they decided to keep calling it Bourbon. Even when France got it back in 1815, it stayed Bourbon until 1848, when it switched back to Réunion. Yes. It’s confusing. But after 1848 it hasn’t changed names anymore. Phew.

In recent years, Réunion hit the news when it was hit by an epidemic of chikungunya—similar to dengue fever, the disease hit over a quarter of a million people on the island—around a third of the population.

Réunion’s poem is by Danyel Waro—I found it online here. The introductory note comes from the same website.


Explosion 
This song makes a parallel between two systems of dehumanisation in Réunion: one older, 
acknowledged and better known–slavery, the other more modern, more subtle–exile and de- 
culturalisation through departmentalisation. 
 
 


Banm Kalou Banm 
 


Way out at high sea, they say, it used to be 

The big white lords ran their ships above board

On those ships long ago, they say, way below 

Were many black men – like so many beasts 
 


They roll to the right

They bathe in their blood 

They roll to the left: 

The sea's endless flood 
 


Banm kalou banm! 
 


The oldtimers say when the overlords ruled
Even black brothers killed one another 

Driven to rage by the pain they endured

The red of the surge when the flamboyant blooms 



The blood dries at last over our past 

But the sore festers still – the boil never burst 
 


Banm kalou banm! 



Even now, you see, we skip overseas

Jobless, we look elsewhere for work 

Soon, you see, I'll be taking a plane

To leave my homeland – Reunion Island 



Immigrants today, slaves long ago

Paris is pretty, so all our young go… 
 


Vronm kalou vronm! 



The tyrants today aren't like they were then 

The whip they crack is their snobbish talk 

They make their money with their pretty French 

Not one bit of Creole in all their fine speech 

Meanwhile their people fight to cry out

To hell with your school, we'll find our own way! 
 


Banm kalou banm!


—Danyel Waro

Mayotte

You all remember Mayotte, right? The little group of islands and islets in the Mozambique Channel? Between Madagascar and Mozambique? I thought so. As another overseas collectivity of France, it too celebrates Fête Nationale—next year its voting on becoming an overseas department or territory. And of course the French flag is the official flag, but there's also a local (unofficial) flag.

So Mayotte and Comoros share a common history—Mayotte used to be part of the nation of Comoros. So, in 1500 the Mawuti sultanate was established on the island, followed only a few years later (1503) by the first observation by Europeans. The Portuguese. In the 19th century Mayotte was conquered and passed hands a few times, before, in 1843, it was ceded to France. When the Comoros archipelago held its referendum on separation from France, Mayotte decided to keep its ties to France, while Comoros became an independent nation. Comoros claimed the island was part of their nation, but when a draft resolution was put before the UN in 1976 to recognize Comorian sovereignty over Mayotte, France vetoed it.

It’s been a complicated situation for France—apparently the numbers in favour of Mayotte staying part of France were significant. On the other hand today there’s a general tenor of international governments keen to see former colonies cut their ties with their colonizers.

What I’ve found from Mayotte is a section of a folktale—it’s from an article on Comorian folklore, since the background to the region’s myths and legends is the same. It was quoted by Masseande Chami Alaoui in his “Genres of Comoran Folklore,” from Journal of Folklore Research, Vol 34, No. 1 Jan-April 1997.


Baye Kwembe

There was a man called Mwalimu Guwu. He came from Ikoni, that is why he was called Mwalimu Guwu.

There was a man in Mbadjini, that man, he was a king, he had been told, a wise man had said to this king, “If a child is born this year, that is the end of you.” So he found a woman who was sick in a house there. She stayed there, and she had a child, and they took that child, and that child was called Bayi Kwembe, because when he was born, they wrapped him in cotton right away, put a blanket around him, put him in a box and threw him into the sea, and he came back in one place. He came back…he came back at Ikoni, and it was a fisherman of Ikoni who fished him out. They opened the box and found this little guy.

He stayed, he stayed a long time, and one day—he was born at Fumbuni—after they took him and sent him there, he stayed a long time. He had sores from the cotton they wrapped him in there. That’s why they called him Bayi Kwembe.

One day, a man said to him, “Do you know that sometimes they fight down there on the shore?” So he left, he took himself a piece of a paddle…and he broke up the battle. There was an old man. He said to him, “Don’t you know where you were born? You were born in Mbadjini. If I conquer this country for you, what will you give me?” He said, “Every time I win, I’ll give you some land.” So Mwalimu Guwu came to fetch him and they went off to war. With every victory they divided up the regions.

Comoros

On 6 July the Union of Comoros celebrates their Independence Day—the gained their independence from France in 1975. Another young’un among world nations. Comoros is an island nation between the north end of Madagascar and the north eastern end of Mozambique—it’s the third smallest African nation, and I think it often gets forgotten, as the island nations of Africa do. But today we’re remembering it. While the country officially include Mayotte, it has never administered this island is considered overseas community of France, and France continues its administration.

For a small nation, Comoros has a diverse mix in its history—and today it is the only state that’s a member of the Africa Union, Francophonue, the Organisation of the Islamic Conference, the Arab League AND the Indian Ocean Commission.

It’s believed that the original inhabitants arrived from Polynesia, Melanesia, Malaysia and Indonesia—sometime before the 6th century. Following this, people came from Africa, Persia, Indonesia and Madagascar to settle on the islands, bringing different influences into the mix. Swahili settlers came in the 9th and 10th centuries, followed in the 11th to 15th centuries by arrivals from Madagascar and the Middle East, and new small towns began to crop up while existing towns got bigger. There’s a bit of a melting pot in the oral histories from Comoros—there are legends of earlier Arab settlements, and apparently Swahilis relate a history whereby they trace their roots back to these Arab settlers. With the Middle Eastern influence came Islam, and when this spread Comorians built large mosques. It was, by the 19th century, Sunni Persians
who dominated and religion and architecture reflect that influence.

Of course, in the mean time, Europeans got in on the action too—the Portuguese visited Comoros in the 16th century, while they were up to their explorations, and until the Suez Canal was opened Comoros was a stopping point for those sailing to and from India. Meanwhile, Comorians didn’t export much—except coconuts. But who doesn’t love a coconut now and then? But then the French came along, and established plantations of ylang-ylang, coffee, cocoa, sisal and—my favourite—vanilla. Yum. Comoros was officially a French colony from 1912 until its independence—the agreement was reached in 1973, though it was meant to take effect in 1978. Until, that is, the Comorian parliament passed a resolution in 1975 declaring independence. Itchy feet, and good for them.

Follow independence, though, there’s been a great deal of political turmoil in the form of multiple coup d’états. The first few months saw three different presidents—and Ali Soilih who lasted three years was the subject of seven attempted coups before one succeeded and he was killed. His replacement, Ahmed Abdallah (the initial president) brought with him authoritarian rule. After just over ten years in office, Abdallah was killed in 1989 and Soilih’s half-brother Mohamed Djohar came to power, leading the nation until an attempted coup in 1995. It didn’t stop there—two islands declared independence from Comoros in 1997 and tried to restore French rule—but France said no. More coups and attempted coups followed—since independence there have been over 20 in 33 years.

I had some trouble finding a poem from Comoros that had been translated—in the end I’ve decided to use a poem that remains untranslated from the French, written by the poet Adjmaël Halidi. It is a from a longer sequence—the whole is available online here.


Au plus grand poète des Lunes Saindoune, Ben Ali

1 
CYCLES NOCTURNES 



Oh silence pourrissoir

Temps quadruple de cruauté

: tel Nocher le mentor en transe

berce de ses mains walkyries la Chance

tympan sur panse bénie par Cybèle

il guette sentent la tachycardie

la stryge en cadence danse d’anses

: hématurie et hurrahs …eaux denses

: hématurie douce layette fœtale.



Ô plus de Chance chance de sûre vie 

Oh Chance dans les limbes les viocs sont aux anges



Parfois lycanthropie 

n’est plus un mythe.

D’autrefois les humanoïdes 

désertent la fiction.

Une preuve ! Interroges 

Les fosses d’aisances d’îles-lune.


— Adjmaël Halidi

Seychelles

The Republic of Seychelles consists of 155 islands off the east coast of Africa, northeast of Madagascar, and has the smallest population of any African sovereign nation. On 29 June in 1976 the country gained its independence from the United Kingdom. Since there’s no indigenous population, the nation consists of immigrants—mostly of French, African, Indian and Chinese descent. English and French are the official languages

It’s thought that either Austronesian or Arabs were the first to visit the islands—which were uninhabited—but the first sighting on record is that of Vasco de Gama in 1502. He named them the Amirantes after himself, the Admiral. Oh, and they were also used by pirates as a place to hole up between Africa and Asia. And we’ve learned how much I like my piratical history. Then the French began to take over from 1756, laying a “Stone of Possession” (which makes me want to go around laying stones of possession… see where it gets me) and, rejecting Vasco de Gama’s initial name for the islands, renaming them Seychelles after the Minister of Finance Jean Moreau de Séchelles.

Then there were the British. After contesting control over the islands from 1794 to 1812 (that whole French Revolution-Napoleonic War period) the British took over after the surrender of nearby Mauritius (then a territory united with the islands of the Seychelles) in 1812, and control was formalised in 1814. The Seychelles were granted status as a separate crown colony in 1903 before independence came along in 1976.

The ousting of presidents via coup d’états is beginning to feel like an alarming tradition as I write these histories, and, yes, the first president of the republic (James Mancham) was indeed tossed out in 1977 and replaced by France Albert René. From 1979 until 1991 the country was a socialist one-party state. In 1992 René was democratically reelected, and stood down in 2004 so that the then-vice president, James Michel, could step up to the plate. He was reelected in 2006.

There are giant tortoises in Seychelles. I want one.

Today’s poem delights me. PBS did a program on the Seychelles in 2002, and included in this program was a song written and sung by secondary school students from the nation and a poem and a story written by two different primary school children. The poem, “Thoughts of a Shark,” is below. The story and song can be found here. I’m sorry that I don’t have the name of the author of the poem.


Thoughts of a Shark

As I watched another of my kind
Being hauled into a wretched boat,
I think of the future that I will never see,
I think of how many of my kind are done for like me
My only future now is on a plate somewhere.

And my teeth shall be sold as a necklace
Somewhere in the market place
You don't know my pain
All you care about is your own gain.

I have survived from the time of the dinosaurs
But now even my immediate future looks bleak
Soon my kind will be no more
We shall be just another lost treasure of this world.
Only heard about, never seen
A legend that once lived.

—Written by a primary school child in the Seychelles

Madagascar

Of all things it was the boardgame Risk that gave me a fascination with Madagascar—it was one of the largest islands on the board, and tucked down in that corner it seemed, like Australia, an out of the way place. (Safe for amassing armies, but, after all, not very strategic on the board… I never won many Risk games.) It is, in fact, one of the largest islands in the world—if we’re not counting Australia (apparently a lot of people don’t, instead citing it as a continent) then it only lags behind Greenland, New Guinea and Borneo. Even better, 5 perfect of the world’s animal and plant species call Madagascar home—and the vast majority of these are endemic to Madagascar. Wow!

On 26 June, 1960 Madagascar gained its independence from France. Prior to French colonisation, it is believed that Madagascar was populated sometime between 200 and 500 CE— with seafarers most likely arriving from Borneo or the southern Celebes (one of the lesser-known-by-name island groups of Indonesia.) Around the same time, Bantu groups arrived, crossing the Mozambique channel. Hot on the heels of this, Muslims set up trading posts in the 7th century.

The Portuguese named the island Sāo Lourenço—they were the first Europeans to spot it nad set up trade from the sixteenth century. In the mid-seventeenth century, France got in on the action—initially setting up ports on the islands that are now Reunion and Mauritius (formerly Bourbon and Ile-de-France), and by the late 17th century they succeeded in their goal of establishing trading posts on Madagascar.

Better than all this, though (well, not better per se, but more exciting for anyone who grew up on Robert Louis Stevenson) is the fact that pirates loved to hang out in Madagascar in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Imperialism became the order of the day in the late nineteenth century—in 1883 France invaded Madagascar and in 1890 the country became a French protectorate. (I have to admit, I always find the term “protectorate” problematic…) War continued with inhabitant until 1896—in a statistic that is a nice inversion of Europeans bringing diseases to the Americas, 20 French soldiers died fighting, and 6000 died of Malaria.

Following World War II, the independence movement really fired up—there was a (rather bloody) nationalist uprising in 1947. It took nearly a decade before the journey toward independence started to move forward peacefully—first the Malagasy Republic was proclaimed an autonomous state in 1958, a new constitution was adopted in 1959, and full independence followed in 1960.

The early days of independence saw a quick change of government (the first president only lasted two months) and the following leader resigned after fifteen years—his successor was assassinated after just six days in office. In 1975 President Ratsiraka came to power, limiting political opposition and press freedom. There’ve been few changes of government since the 1990s (including a return of Ratsiraka after the impeachment of the man who beat him in 1992). When Marc Ravalomanana took power in 2001, Ratsiraka supported cut transport routes in the country, causing political crisis. When this was over (Ratsiraka is now in exile) the new President began a number of reform projects.


Today’s poem is by Jean-Joseph Rabéarivelo, and comes from his work Presque-songes. It’s from the Penguin Book of Modern African Verse.

Cactus
(from Presque-songes)

That multitude of moulded hands
holding out flowers to the azure sky
that multitude of fingerless hands
unshaken by the wind
they say that a hidden source
wells from their untainted palms
they say that this inner source
refreshes thousands of cattle
and numberless tribes, wandering tribes
in the frontiers of the South.

Fingerless hands, springing from a source,
Moulded hands, crowning the sky.

Here, when the flanks of the City were still as green
as moonbeams glancing from the forests,
when they still left bare the hils of Iarive
crouching like bulls upthrust,
it was upon rocks too steep even for goats
that they hid, to protect their sources,
these lepers sprouting flowers.

Enter the cave from which they came
if you seek the origin of the sickness which ravages them—
origin more shrouded than the evening
and further than the dawn—
but you will know no more than I.
The blood of the earth, the sweat of the stone,
and the sperm of the wind,
which flow together in these palms
have melted their fingers
and replaced them with golden flowers.

—Jean-Joseph Rabéarivelo
from Penguin Book of Modern African Verse