The Maldives

As Nautica approached Male, the capital of the Maldives, I struggled to find the palm trees, tropical blue water and white sandy beaches I expected. Instead, a large Emirates plane was taxiing on a runway in the middle of the ocean, and the island in front of me looked like a porcupine from all the offices and apartments

jutting skyward—it reminded me more of the view of lower Manhattan from the Staten Island Ferry than a romantic island paradise. The gold domes mosques and minarets were clues that this wasn’t New York City but the light breeze and

warmth was consistent with my expectation of tropical islands. I was intrigued.

I didn’t book any ship tours in the Maldives. I had made contact with friends of friends who are active in the local substance abuse recovery community. They were excited to have a visitor from the USA and I was enthused to see how addicts recover in the Maldives. Nautica was anchored here for two days. I decided to go over alone the first day and take Casey and my parents the second.

When I got off the tender at 3 o’clock, a half dozen people were waiting for me. I found the people in the Maldives quite beautiful, both in physical appearance and

their friendliness. We went to a local coffee shop and started talking.

“What’s the biggest drug problem here?” I asked.

“Heroin,” one of the men told me.

“Not alcohol or hash?”

“Oh, no,” he laughed. “Alcohol is illegal. It is only licensed for tourists. Hashish is much more common, you can get it all over.”

“So what happens if you are caught with drugs?” They all looked at each other and one of the women spoke.

“It’s very bad. Usually you get 5 years in prison for each drug. The heroin isn’t pure, so when they test your urine if they find other substances you can get five years for each.”

“You mean just for possession?” She nodded. “Have you been to jail?”

“Yes, I was sentenced to 10 years and was paroled in two.” She looked about 20.

“Have most of your been to jail for drugs?” They all nodded.

“Especially him!” Someone pointed to the man on my right. He was wearing a black T-shirt that read I’M NO GYNECOLOGIST BUT I CAN TAKE A LOOK.

“You were in jail a long time for drugs?”

“Well, not just drugs. I tried to blow up the jail so I was sentenced for terrorism. I served eight years. Two years I was in a little cell handcuffed like this,” he smiled as he held up his hands, wrists close together, in front of his face. He was full of life and had a wonderful sense of humor. I wondered how he survived the trauma of his jail time.

“What do you do now? How long have you been clean?”

“Almost four years. But here it is impossible to find a job if you have a drug conviction. This is a small country—only 300,000 people—and everyone knows everybody. So I bought a taxi and now I am a taxi driver!” He grinned again. I admired his resilience.

I asked everyone what recovery is like here, how long they had been clean and answered their questions about what long-term recovery is like in the USA as best I could. That evening they had arranged a special meeting where I could speak and answer some questions at the detox facility. There is only one detox treatment

facility in the Maldives, it has 12 beds, treatment lasts 21-days, and there is usually a 30 to 60 day waiting period to get in. It is free—paid for by the government—but it serves only men. There isn’t any detox for women yet.

We strolled along the coastline of Male, the streets were unlike any I have seen. At times I felt like I was in Zagreb, I turned a corner and it looked like Lima, I crossed a street and it felt like Jamaica. Vendors sold fresh coconuts and dried fruit and everywhere boys and young men kicked soccer balls. There were lots of beautiful children playing with each other and I heard lots of shouting and laughter.

“Do you have kids?” I asked one of the women.

“Yes, do you want to see?” She showed me a photo of her little daughter.

“How old is she?”

“Just six months. His wife has a baby too—they were born the same day only a few hours apart.”

“Really! That’s quite a coincidence. What day?”

“July 4^th.”

“July 4^th! That’s our US Independence day. In my country that day is about freedom. I think the children are very lucky to be born to parents that are free from addiction. You have very beautiful babies.”

As we walked along we passed a small manmade beach. They explained this is the only place to swim in Male and it was built by the Japanese. At least 60 children were in the small protected water. Just past it was a large sculpture.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It is a memorial for the Tsunami victims. Over one hundred people were killed. December 26, 2004,” one of the women said.

“Do you remember it well?”

“Oh, yes.” She laughed. “I was in jail. It was very bad. The water flooded the cell and came all the way to my chin. I kept thinking about the movie ‘Titanic’ where they almost drown! Fortunately the guards finally opened the door and saved my life.”

Eventually we arrived at a local walk on ferry. We rode to Villi-Gilli atoll, which is a 25¢, five-minute ride, from Male. Villi-Gilli looked much more like what I imagined the Maldives to be. The beaches were white and sandy, trees offered shade from the sun, and there were very few buildings.

“Do you have any animals here like snakes?” I was a little worried, as I didn’t know what to expect.

“No,” one of the men laughed, “just cats.”

“Cats? You mean a house cat?”

“Yes, cats.”

“What about dogs?”

“No we don’t have them. Our religion prohibits touching them.” I remembered that dogs were considered unclean in the Muslim faith, and I didn’t realize until this visit how powerful the Muslim influence is in the Maldives. Signs of it are everywhere. The calls to pray are loud and audible all over the capital, there are many mosques and most people had their knees covered. I wore long pants as I didn’t know where I was going or who I was meeting with. I was glad I did as I would have felt out of place and rude with my knees exposed. “The only dogs in the country are at the airport. They are supposed to find drugs but I don’t think they find too many there.” With the thousands of boats and over 1,100 islands smuggling was much more likely to occur by sea than air.

“This is the detox facility,” one of the women said. “Here is the director.” I shook hands and they invited me in. It was a small institutional green one-story building near the beach. A single guard and a chain link fence were the only clue that something about this building was different.

“Is this a lock up facility?” I asked.

“Oh no. Anyone can leave. The men go to the beach, sit outside, and are free to go in and out. This is our withdrawal room,” he indicated a small room with two cots, an IV and a television showing the Koran being read. After the tour we went outside. It had gotten dark and the local recovery community had made a bonfire and prepared over fifty fish and potatoes for a meal after the meeting.

I set on the beach, talking to different people. Soon, including the men in detox about 40 people were gathered. We sat in a candlelit circle near the water and

talked about recovery. I answered questions as best I could, and when the food was ready we ate the fresh fish. I realized how far away I felt from the ship. This was the most immersed in any place I had visited since I boarded Nautica. I enjoyed the feeling of sitting on the beach, surrounded by locals and enjoying each others company. I arranged to meet a few of the people the next day to do some sightseeing with my parents and Casey before I returned to the ship for the night

A little after noon the next day we met again at the pier. I had warned our hosts about my father’s health, and they took turns talking to him, walking by him and making sure he was fine. We visited the National Art gallery and saw an exhibit from young children drawing their memories of the Tsunami. The crayon drawings were simple, poignant and sad. We visited the

Presidential Palace, the oldest mosque in the Maldives, the largest mosque and the museum.

The museum appeared to be only a few years old and had a wonderful collection of at least thousand year old stone carvings, most of them Buddhist, on the first floor. The second floor had more contemporary exhibits. There was a whale skeleton, the king’s headwear, coins, jewelry and a collection of fish.

Casey was starting to get bored with the museum. We had spent several hours looking at mosques, cemeteries and art galleries, and he wasn’t finding anything too exciting. In an effort to engage him, one of the men showed him a large carved wooden throne. The seat was about three feet wide and covered in purple velvet. The wooden arms, legs and feet were ornately carved and along the

bottom were three purple decorative cushions evenly spaced to rest the king’s ankles and feet.

“See Casey,” one of the men said proudly, “this is the King’s throne.”

“How old is it?”

“It’s very old.” Casey examined it closely. He looked up confused.

“Why are there three leg cushions?” He pointed to the three cushions near the footrest. “Did everybody used to have three legs back then?”

Our new friends laughter burst through the mostly silent museum. “No, they had two legs then too Casey!” They both started laughing and my mom and I joined them.

We left the museum and took the 25¢ ferry back to Villi-Gilli. I was concerned about my dad walking from the concrete pier to the small entrance on the bow of the ferry. He has been much better the past few days—I think all the concern, attention and prayers are helping—but we took no chances and our hosts made sure there was always a hand to support him if he needed it.

We stopped for lunch and sodas, talked, showed pictures and enjoyed getting to

know each other more. Our new friends gave us each a gift. My parents were especially grateful that four people took their entire afternoon to spend time with us and share their beautiful country.

“I wish you could stay one more day,” one of the woman said. “I want to show you one of the islands, it’s so sad you can’t stay a little longer.” We all regretted leaving. The hospitality was overwhelming and we didn’t even scratch the surface of the beauty of the Maldives.

The Maldives are the lowest country in the world. Their president has warned the world that if the oceans continue to rise that their future is uncertain. When I asked our hosts about this they said they were worried, that most Maldivians are.

When we got back to the ship I went over to my mom and dad’s cabin to return something.

“That was wonderful Jack. And your friends were all so nice… you know I’ve never said this to you before but for the first time, after watching you with everyone today, I think that maybe your drug problem turned out to be a good thing. I mean I wish you hadn’t had to go through it—it was hard on your father and me too—but we can’t help the people we met here, but because of your experiences you can. I can really see that you being clean over 20-years was inspiring to them, and they were so nice to spend the day with us. Maybe things just work out the way they are supposed to.”

I thanked my mother and went back to my cabin. It was a good day.

The next day was a sea day. I gave an enrichment lecture about my book and the Hong Kong to Athens itinerary. I hadn’t planned to do any lectures on board this trip, but seeing how my dad’s health has been, I wanted to do a book reading with him in the audience. In addition to Cruising with Mom and Dad, I read a 10-minute excerpt from the book I am writing about Casey and me. Our story isn’t so much about us as individuals, it’s about a willing heart, a needy child and the challenges created by a broken foster-care system. It’s ironic that the foster care system was created to help kids, but more often than not hurts them.

The lecture went well. Over half the room gave me a standing ovation and there were a lot of tears. It felt strange to have so many people tell me they enjoyed the range of emotions my reading evoked, but I’m becoming more aware that most of us seek authenticity. People are tired of slick slogans, sales pitches, image management and artificial realities. My stories will not always be popular or resonate with everyone, but they are real, and that authenticity shines through.

Our next stop is Sri Lanka.

Thanks for reading.

Jack