Being female in Male - the flip side of the luxurious Maldives

Sonia Nazareth visits the flip side of the luxurious Maldives – Male, the capital, where the burquini, headscarf and even lingerie are basic fashion requirements.

Male, the miniscule capital of the Maldives, serves as an antidote to the tourist islands that dot the archipelago, with their buffet of luxury resorts and personalised service. It is in fact the complete antithetical, binary contrast, other. No sooner than I disembark from the seaplane, as well as from the thrill born of the underwater adventure and barefoot luxury of the resort islands, than my bikini is replaced by a gown that covers my shoulders and knees, to make me somewhat presentable for this Islamic capital.

While the tourist islands resemble a film set waiting for James Bond to speed boat up to it, Male feels like a paragraph from a Roald Dahl short story. The unexpected always lurking close around the corner. For one thing, unlike many other places in South Asia, Male stays awake late into the night. For another, it is one of the few places in the world where I see clusters of women in burquini, (a swimming costume which comprises of all the woman’s clothing and a headscarf), swimming in public pools created by the state, within the sea.

Maldivians don’t wear their identity just in their clothes, but in their actions as well. I join a group of locals proceeding in little clusters in the direction of the golden dome of the Grand Friday Mosque — something of a symbol for this city — for evening prayer. At Huruku Miskily, the city’s oldest mosque dating from 1656, it is hard not to be moved by the spectacle of the faithful gathering in this ancient structure of lacquered woodwork inscribed with calligraphy, and coral stone into which intricate designs like celtic knots and arabic writings have been carved.

The National Museum — which used to be the ancient sultan’s palace — takes my cultural exploration a step further, with its miniature hand-written Quran, ancient palanquins, traditional log drums from the royal palace used in the popular music of boduberu, and fly whisks used to scare away houseflies. In the midst of these intriguing objects, I fix my attention closely on what looks like an eggbeater, only to be informed by my guide that the intriguing object was used to spank an offender caught in adultery.

Local identity is as interwoven with moral rectitude as it is with the sea. When the egg-shaped ball of a sun makes signs that it is about to fry in the sky, I stroll into the fish market. The fishing boats have returned from their day’s catch, but the harbour with its multicoloured boats is still a flurry of activity. I am warned that I will be excommunicated from temporary membership in the local fraternity, if I leave without sampling typical Maldivian Hedika — or the sweet and savoury snacks popular with tea and between meals. At any tea shop worth its salt, it is possible to tuck into Mas Roshi — a fish and coconut patty in a round of roshi or chapatti, Gulha — a deep-fried fish ball with a thick crisp coating, and Foni boakiba — a gelatine-like cake.

Alcohol being off-limits, the coffee shops do a thriving, open-till-the-wee-hours business. And in them, there’s the energy of a place that’s becoming rather than being. Heated discussions revolve around the state of the reefs, whether the Buddhist artefacts should have been allowed to stay in the museum as a document of early history, the need to find ways to preserve the old mosque and its coral, the creation of budget markets for travellers flocking to the Maldives.

By 8pm the town is lit by the glow of lights from hundreds of different shops. What stands out especially is the quality of the dive gear, locally-crafted, fine-grass and reed mats, lacquered wooden boxes, headscarves and the accessories to go with them. The guide says, “ To wear or not to wear a headscarf is as culturally determined as it is religious. Until a few years ago, it was declining in popularity. But now the more modern the woman, the more likely it is that she will opt for one. “Fashion, these days,” he says, shaking his head disparagingly while buying his wife a leopard-print scarf.

Not much further afield I run into G-spot — a racy lingerie store, whose name was changed to Girls Spot by the authorities when they discovered what the name meant. The owner, who wears a T-shirt with — “Rock The Vote” written on its front, is optimistic about the survival of this relatively new institution. “Everyone uses lingerie,” he says, “I’m not asking people to wear it like Superman. So why should there be a cultural or religious issue attached? I’m merely filling a market gap.”

It takes persons with every agenda in the book to make up this pulsing little island. That’s amply evident as I walk by the artificial beach night. Gangs of bikers hit the streets, but I’ve never felt safer. Those playing basketball by the beach or dancing Boduberu in some open community space, are doing so for the pleasure of the activity itself and their own company. For most activities, including the night fishing, travellers are welcome to participate.

The ability of the islanders to maintain their unique way of life in the face of the blush-engendering liberties permitted on the resort islands around them, makes Male — with its live-and-let-live sensibility — a fascinating study in how to exist pragmatically. And if you’re one of those travellers who likes to bring back from your journey some insights along with a tan, Male is an inescapable stopover in any Maldivian odyssey.