Native Speak (part 1)

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Semporna. Not the most beautiful city that Sabah has to offer, but it's the launching point for the legendary islands that lie in the beautiful waters of the Celebes Sea. This is pirate territory, and it wasn't but 7 years ago that Filipino gunmen overpowered police on an island and took 20 tourists hostage for 5 months. Since then, (and with the islands still being contested for ownership by both Indonesian and the Philippines) Malaysia has set up a gun turret and police barracks on every island in the area, lettting everyone know who is truly in control of these waters. The real beauty of the situation is that not only have the pirates disappeared, but so have the dynamite fishermen and some of the tourist industry, making it easy for Malaysia to set up a protected marine park. We've come across Sabah for one purpose only, to snorkel and dive in one of the best spots in the world, Sipadan Island.

We're staying at the Dragon Inn, a hotel that is propped up on stilts, across from Semporna pier. The shallow water below us is heavily polluted, and we watch every morning as plastic trash and the occasional dead rat float by underneath us. The rooms are comfortable though, and we have a decent restaurant attached to the maze of wooden walkways that make up the Dragon's complex.

The people of Semporna are a reflection of the triangle of countries which surround it. Mostly fishermen, they've come from villages on the islands of the Philippines, Indonesia, and Malaysia over the years, although many of those borders exist in name only to this part of the world. Most travel packed into small boats, coming here to sell their catch from homes perched on stilts in the middle of the bay or tiny villages on the many islands. Even though there are many other backpackers coming through Semporna, we still manage to draw a lot of attention by how different we look to the locals. People constantly stare at us, or wave hello as we pass by, hoping for some kind of interaction with the strange foreigners. When we first checked into the Dragon Inn, Suz (who was standing on the side of the road keeping an eye on our baggage) achieved sort-of a celebrity status. Malaysian women approached her and insisted on having their picture taken with her. Group shots were done, then individual pictures with each woman hugging Suzanne around her waist. They waved good-bye and left her feeling confused and at a complete loss for words.

Around the corner from the Dragon Inn is a very popular dive outfit called Scuba Junkie. We had arranged our permits for the ultra-protected island of Sipadan with these guys before we had arrived. They are something of a cowboy outfit, young divemasters from around the world who figured that teaching tourists how to dive in the islands made famous by Jacques Cousteau was the job of a lifetime. After dealing with countless inexperienced thrill-seekers who need constant attention however, they've found themselves more as babysitters, and it seemed to me that they were simply going through the motions at this point, waiting for their contracts to end. They were nice enough people, but it didn't exactly instill confidence in Mark, who was looking for some professionalism.

On our first day out, we headed to the island of Sibuan. It was a good refresher dive for Mark (who hadn't dived in a year) and a good chance for us to do some nice macro snorkeling. The ride out was beautiful, we passed small villages built on stilts in the middle of the bay, colorful fishing boats, and countless little islands that shimmered bright-green under a cloudless sky. Sibuan suddenly appeared like a desert oasis; on overgrown, triangle shaped, sand bar that was made up of almost nothing but coconut trees. The boat pulled up to one point of the triangle, dumped us snorkelers off on the white sand, and pulled away with the small handful of divers to head for the deep end. Suz and I headed for the other end of the beach which provided a little shade, and the best reef right in front of it. We soon realized we were being followed.

This tiny island had some rather curious inhabitants . A small village of maybe 80 Fillipino natives were placed on one side, with a small contigent of Malay military on the other. Throw in 15 tourists wandering around in-between and you had a very curious mix of culture in very close quarters. We knew not to go near the army barracks, but we didn't expect to be thrown in with the natives, who were now following 20 steps behind us as we walked like aliens on the beach they called home.

Suz and I were definetely not the first foreigners to walk the beach, but we had really caught the eye of the kids from the village. A half dozen or so just followed in silence, wanting some kind of interaction. We left our things on the beach and dove into the water to partially check out the water and partially escape the awkward scenario. When we emerged, the kids had been joined by a sarong-clad mother and her three boys. As we dried off, the kids joined hands and approached us, once again silently gazing. By now, they had lost all intrest in me, but Suzanne and her blondish hair had their full attention. The said nothing, asked for nothing, but continuously inched closer to a now nervous Suz, who was trying to think of some way of engaging the kids.

"What about patty-cake?" I suggested.

We continued to formulate a plan when suddenly our audience got bored and left. The mother and her three sons remained behind, her smiling and the naked boys squinting and rubbing their eyes. It was now apparant that the boys were going blind, a common occurance on these islands which, with modern healthcare, would be easily cureable. They couldn't really see us but were only following their mother around the island, entertaining each other with whatever they could get close enough to see through the fog that they constantly tried to rub away from their eyes. The mother asked nothing from us. We felt terrible that we hadn't brought anything to her island. We sat and exchanged only smiles.

Meanwhile, Mark was in amateur hell. Most of the divers he was with were sitll getting certified for open water, and were sitting on the bottom practicing taking their masks on and off. The one guy he had been paired up with (a supposed "advanced" diver), flailed wildly in the water for 5 minutes, then got out and talked on his cell phone for the rest of the trip (he said he had to make some "business" calls). Mark was surrounded by what he called "strokes", his term for inexperienced divers who have a habit of freaking out and creating dangerous scenarios. With the Scuba Junkie instructors busy babysitting them, Mark made the best of the situation by looking for clownfish and floating inverted above them. A nice enough practice dive, lots of stuff to see, but he was starting to question what the dive the next day would be like. Stroke city.

On our various trips into the water that first day we saw lots of great stuff: beautful coral; forests of anemones; clouds of colorful fish so thick you couldn't see beyond them. We became preoccupied with all the activity of this underwater city so much that we didn't notice the tide receding. On the other side of the reef we found ourselves trapped by barriers of spiny sea urchins and towers of coral we didn't want to risk disturbing. We were forced to swim around the entire reef and beach ourselves next to the boat landing, completely exhausted but still amazed by what was around us. With all the divers back, we loaded up and took our last pictures of this little paradise. It was time to go, and another boat full of 8 other tourists had arrived. But why so late? The sun was making it's descent as they unloaded a huge cardboard box onto the sand. At the tip of the village they began to open it and with the call of some kids who had come to investigate, the entire village came running out to see what had arrived. Small shoeboxes began to appear in the hands of the mob, handed out by the family of newly-arrived foreigners. Ooh's and ah's were exchanged as all the men compared and showed off their brand new pairs of running shoes. The family had made themselves very welcome to the village and they were led back to eat and stay the night. It was heart warming to see, but we knew what would happen to the boxes and wrapping the shoes came in. Like all the other plastic bags, soda cans, and foil wrappers, they would be floating away in the ocean or lying on a bed of coral just yards away from a village that had no place to put them.

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Photos

Chillin'at the Dragon Inn
Happy Birthday Suzanne!

The tip of Sibuan
REAL small island

Island Boys
7 years old, trapped on a small island, and bored out of their minds

Relaxing on Sibuan
Mark gets a minute away from the strokes

Hard Life
We really miss Ohio. Really.

Coconut Trees
The only shade on the island

Shoe Mob
Everyone comes out to see what's in the box

Comments

[mompat]

what an education!
Wow, what an education you are receiving! Sorry Mark had such a lousy experience. I know how disappointing it is when expectations don't measure up. Thought you were going to say you were going to try scuba diving! I think snorkeling can be just as satisfying, though. Love, mompat