Matador Network's Blog, page 2234

10 portraits from the Amazon

The northern Ecuadorian Amazon, encompassing the provinces of Sucumbíos and Orellana, is home to five indigenous tribal groups: the Cofán, Secoya, Siona, Kichwa, and Waorani.

Decades of oil extraction, colonization, forced religious conversion, and deforestation have had a profound impact on the rainforest and its indigenous cultures. Yet, amidst the destruction, these peoples fight to hold on to their cultures, their rainforest, and their dignity.

The ClearWater project presents 10 portraits from this incredible and rapidly changing region.

1

Marina
Marina is one of the last Cofán women who knows how to sing the songs of her ancestors. When she is gone these songs, and the stories and knowledge they convey, will be lost forever.
Photo: Mitch Anderson





2

Siona man
A Siona man gazes down the river from his canoe just before sunset on the Eno River, Sucumbíos Province, Ecuadorian Amazon.
Photo: Alex Goff





3

Secoya brothers
Secoya brothers stand in the forest near the community of Sehuëaya, Sucumbíos Province.
Photo: Alex Goff












4

Yawepare woman
A Waorani woman poses in the community of Yawepare, on the edge of the Yasuní Wilderness, Orellana Province.
Photo: Alex Goff





5

Siona women
Siona women in traditional dress, Sotosiaya, Sucumbíos Province.
Photo: Mitch Anderson





6

Emergildo Criollo
Cofán leader and ClearWater project coordinator Emergildo Criollo displays waste left behind by Chevron-Texaco in the Ecuadorian Amazon. ClearWater is working to provide clean water to people living in the contaminated zone.
Photo: Mitch Anderson





7

One of 400 left
The Secoya, or Siekopai, people live downriver from large-scale oil operations and the cities of Lago Agrio and Shushufindi, in a territory surrounded by African palm plantations. Their territory contains some of the last remaining primary rainforest in the region. There are some 400 Secoya people left in Ecuador.
Photo: Mitch Anderson





8

Bolivar
Bolivar is a Siona elder from the community of Orahuëaya, located on the Aguarico River, Sucumbíos Province. Bolivar asked for his picture to be taken, straightening his crown, and looking proudly at the camera.
Photo: Alex Goff





9

One-eyed hunter
Despite only seeing through one eye, this Waorani warrior is a renowned hunter with the blowgun. Photo taken in Waorani territory, Yasuní Wilderness.
Photo: Mitch Anderson





10

Clean water
Siona children goof off in the community of Sotosiaya while local community technicians build the rain harvesting system that now provides their family with clean drinking water. You can learn more about this project at www.giveclearwater.org.
Photo: Mitch Anderson

This post was produced by our friends at ClearWater, an indigenous-led movement for clean water and cultural survival in the Ecuadorian Amazon.

13 signs you're from Zimbabwe

Photo: Julien Lagarde

1. You say “hey” at the end of every sentence, hey?

Zimbabweans are renowned for their odd use of “Hey” at the end of sentences, as if we need approval or affirmation about everything that passes our lips.

2. You’re on a constant search for biltong wherever you live.

Biltong is widely loved in Zimbabwe and, despite what any beef jerky lover might say, it is far superior to its American equivalent, so don’t get me started.

3. You’ve tried to cook sadza nenyama (a local staple dish) for your friends abroad, and somehow it went wrong (and you blamed the South African mealie-meal for the mess).

Sadza is a thick, corn-based dish that tastes of home. Similar (but again superior) to grits, sadza nenyama, or sadza with beef, is a meal seasoned with nostalgia for the traveling Zimbabwean…it just doesn’t always work out as planned in foreign kitchens.

4. You compliment people on their takkies (sneakers).

Borrowed from our South African brothers and sisters across the border, along with other Zimbabwean slang, takkies kept our feet uncut as young ramblers and is a difficult colloquialism to shake off.

5. When you ask someone for cordial, you ask them if they have any Mazowe (the local mixer).

The juice market in Zim is dominated by one brand — Mazowe. It’s arguably the finest cordial in the world. Just don’t drink too much, as the sulfur content is quite impressive.

6. You always say you’re going to move back or come on holiday, but plans tend to get postponed…by one year on average.

With so many Zimbabweans abroad, this type of conversation has crossed millions of phone lines and Facebook message streams. And when you do return, expect an extended family you didn’t know existed to be waiting with open arms at arrivals.

7. You buy Axe / Lynx ‘Africa’ deodorant.

Out of some kind of loyalty to your home continent, or maybe just an obsession for sickly sweet deodorant, you cling to the brand.

8. You have a childhood fondness for Vaseline.

Another brand that defined our childhood. For that extra shiny look, a tub of Vaseline was the finishing touch on the morning routine for millions of Zimbabweans.

9. If you moved to a cold country, you wore way too much clothing when you first arrived and looked like a patchwork poster for winter warmth.

I remember my Michelin Man-esque Orlando Magic shell jacket with fondness — unfathomably tacky with thick layers of jumpers and t-shirts beneath it. To assure maximum warmth, thermal undergarments clung like skin to all the precious parts.

10. You have a Zimbabwean flag in your cupboard somewhere.

And you take it to festivals. Look out for a Zimbabwean flag at big events everywhere…you will see it.

11. Your heart still aches when Zimbabwe doesn’t qualify for the World Cup…for the millionth time.

We pride ourselves, in bittersweet unison, on being the underdogs of African football. The nearly boys, lovers of the last hurdle and kicking it every time.

12. When you meet other Zimbabweans, you talk about Zimbabwean snacks like Thingz, Fizzers, and Fishes.

Zimbabwean snacks were a big part of our childhood. Memories are fuelled with MSG and sugar highs that came in the most outlandish of shapes and colors.

13. Either that or Zimbabwean adverts that none of your non-Zimbabwean friends care about or can relate to.

Take a minute to look at your friend at the table with you…he / she is not enjoying hearing about a soap advert you seem so enthusiastic about, and he / she never will.

Hot shot: Mongolian Contortionist

Photo by author.

In this series, we dig a little deeper into the photographic process behind some of the coolest shot we’ve seen.

Photographer: Christine Schindler

“I was accompanying a friend to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, as she started training in contortion. I took this shot during a contortion training session at Pyramid Circus. A standard contortion position for warm up and performance, the girls would hold this position for 10-15 seconds at a time.

As the youngest and smallest, Khutsay (age 5) caught my attention with the ease she placed herself in the position. As the training room was full of distracting, unavoidable objects and colours, I chose a black and white filter to draw specific attention to the subject and her position.”

10 signs you're Irish in California

Photo: Chris Seward

1. You speak more Spanish than Gaelic.

Spanish is omnipresent in your everyday life. Advertisements, public signs, and even the touchpad at the grocery store checkout come with Spanish translations. It’s no wonder, as the Southland’s population is 38% Latino, and their culture, especially Mexican, is almost your own. You’re totally used to having taquerias on every corner, convivial BBQs with friends’ enormous families, salt-and-lime-infused Tecate, and Sabado Gigante on TV.

As for Gaelic? My dad still recites blessings at family gatherings in Irish, but that’s about it. Kids in Ireland continue studying it, but this pinche gringo is limited to “Sláinte” and “Póg mo thóin.”

2. You were and always will be the whitest guy on the beach.

“Get a tan!” or “Damn, you’re white!” are the reactions you commonly get when exposing your milky, almost transparent body at the beach. Of course you have your freckle farmer tan, but that doesn’t really count. In the land of golden brown Hasselhoffs and sun-kissed, real-life Barbies, you ruin the glamorous postcard beach scene. Irish skin and blazing sun just don’t jibe. Face it, you’re like a fork in a microwave.

3. When you visit family in Ireland you have spicy food withdrawals.

Now, visiting the homeland is a culinary treat, don’t get me wrong. High-quality sausages, rashers, golden butter, and that fiendishly dense brown bread. But you’re a spice-a-holic. Salsas of every kind: verde, roja, negra, pico de gallo, chiles de arbol, serranos, jalapenos, Tapatio, Cholula and maybe some Sriracha — you love it all. And the sad fact that Irish cuisine is devoid of capsaicin makes you frown. But hey, there’s always Indian takeaway.

4. The weather in Ireland is soul-crushingly gloomy if you visit for more than two weeks.

Growing up with nearly 200 days of annual sunshine, then visiting a country where gun-metal skies have a monopoly on the weather for days on end is dreadful. When I moved back to Ireland in 2004 to “find my roots,” I was completely unprepared for what the weather would do to me — rained out on every attempt at rock climbing, a constant runny nose, cold feet, and needing a tractor beam to get out of bed in the morning.

But then that toasty golden orb would occasionally peek out. Like magic, the flowing green hills and crystalline rivers shone like jewels, making Ireland the most enchanting country I’ve yet to see. Then it usually started to rain again an hour later. Feck it. To the pub!

5. People in California assume you can drink buckets of beer and like to fight.

Well, some stereotypes are spot on. I suppose it’s in our blood, as the Irish come in sixth in alcohol consumption worldwide and have been battling foreign invaders for millennia. And when you’ve got hallowed pubs like The Brazen Head in Dublin (opened in 1198), why wouldn’t you be swilling away your evenings in a place once patronized by Joyce, Swift, and Michael Collins. Sure beats pounding Bud Light in your garage while watching the Raiders lose again.

As all our friends know, my brother and I drink beer like water and typically end up punchy. But remember — it’s jovial bellicosity, and it’s all smiles and hugs when the poorly aimed fists stop flying.

6. Ulster Fry flashbacks hijack your breakfast burrito bliss.

Once you’ve had an Ulster Fry, breakfast is never the same: thick salty rashers, plump sausages, triangles of potato bread, fried eggs, rich black and white pudding, and tangy grilled tomatoes. In Southern California, despite your efforts, you have yet to find a decent Ulster Fry. It may take five minutes off your life, but the ten minutes you spent eating it were sublime, so you actually win.

7. If someone visits Ireland and doesn’t bring back Barry’s Tea, Flakes, and Tayto Crisps, you throw an internal tantrum.

When your parents go back (as mine do often), it is a sacrilege not to bring back one of, if not all the aforementioned foreign delights. From the suitcase, cushioned by layers of clothing, comes the red box of Barry’s Tea, the yellow box of Cadbury’s Flakes, and the crinkly sound of a bag of Tayto Crisps. Your friends roll their eyes and continue their unenlightened existence of Snickers and Flaming Hot Cheetos.

8. You wish you had a “charming” Irish accent instead of a Spicoli-esque California drawl.

I’m not talking about an incomprehensible knacker accent, but a Liam Neeson or maybe a Cillian Murphy accent. When you mention you were born in Ireland, Americans are genuinely disappointed you don’t have an accent, which elicits the “But your English is really good. How long have you been here?” response. You’re dying to lash out and say “Yes! Thank god for California public schools or I’d be a pagan leprechaun speaking Gaelic!”

9. In California you’re “the Irish guy,” in Ireland you’re the “American cousin.”

At home, friends never cease to remind you of your quirky, potato-gobbling, alcoholic heritage. Across the pond, you become that boring American relative who has no gift for the gab, contributes little to the Craic, usually ends up magnificently pissed, and is simply not as cool as a cousin from California sounds like he should be.

10. You know the difference between a well-poured pint of Guinness and a poorly poured pint of Guinness. But you’ll accept a watery, flat one without a peep.

The steps to pouring a perfect pint are subtle yet imperative. Hold the glass (a proper 20oz pint glass) at a 45-degree angle under the tap, and let the Guinness flow smoothly down the side. Fill the glass ¾ full and let it sit. Once the beer has settled and a creamy head has formed, top off the glass. Now behold your creation before taking a sip of gratitude. Rings of foam should line the glass as you get ever nearer to your next pint.

Tragically, the above scene is a rarity in “So Cal” or “Bro Cal” or whatever it’s called these days. You can scarcely watch as the bartender plops down a glass and smacks down the tap. She then whines about her broken iPhone while your Guinness overflows into the gutter. But you’re used to it. You gulp down your Canadian-made, Californian-poured Irish stout and accept your fate.

“Hey, at least I’ve got the weather,” you think, consoling yourself while checking the moles on your arm for signs of melanoma.

10 facts about visiting Hawaii

Photo: Justin De La Ornellas

1. We’re not all Hawaiians.

This is a hard one for most Mainlanders, but if you get this right, you’ll sound a lot more respectful. The term “Hawaiian” is only used to refer to people of Hawaiian descent. They comprise just under 10% of the state’s population. All others who were born on the islands are generally referred to as “locals.” This includes people of Asian ancestry, Caucasians, and people of mixed race.

When in doubt, just say “locals,” as in, “Where are all the secret surf spots the locals don’t want us tourists to find out about?”

2. You can say it with aloha.

Hawaii is the only state in the union that has two official languages: English and…(wait for it)…Hawaiian. You’ll see the option to use Hawaiian show up in places like banks or the DMV. You’ll hear Hawaiian spoken by airline attendants and in immersion schools from kindergarten to college.

Don’t worry, you’ll be able to get by just fine in English, but knowing a little Hawaiian can endear you to locals, who’ll appreciate your efforts. So it’s aloha for “hello,” “goodbye,” and “love”; mahalo for “thank you”; and Mele kalikimaka me ka hou’oli makahiki hou for “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.” You got that? Now try saying you’d like to see a humuhumunukunukuapuaa the next time you go snorkeling. That’s a triggerfish with the snout of a pig.

3. You’re on island time. Calm the road rage.

When we hear someone honking or being impatient behind the wheel, we know odds are it’s a tourist in a rental car. Most drivers here take their time and are super courteous to runners and bicyclists who share the road with them. Why rush? Enjoy the view of the ocean. Roll down your window and take in the warm air. New York traffic will still be there when you get back. Slow down and let island time wash over you.

4. We’re the only state that celebrates holidays dedicated to royalty.

No, not poor King George. Hawaii celebrates Prince Kuhio Day on March 26 to honor the man who worked to preserve Native Hawaiian culture and practices until his death in 1922. On June 11, Hawaii celebrates Kamehameha Day to honor the monarch who first unified the islands and became Hawaii’s first king. So if you’re traveling on these days, look out for festivals, canoe races, and lots of cookouts at the beach.

5. Guys can dance the hulu too.

Thanks to Hollywood movies, most Americans picture women in leafy skirts and coconut bras, gently swaying their hips. But from ancient times, men have also learned to dance the hula as a preparation for battle. Authentic, traditional hula (not the kind you see in Blue Hawaii) is very complex, telling stories about gods and goddesses, nature, and historical events. Male hula dance typically involves chanting, percussion, discipline, and strength.

Still can’t picture it? Check out the Merrie Monarch Festival, which takes place on the Big Island every April. It’s the Super Bowl of hula dance competitions and features many of the world’s best male groups bringing the house down (to the cheers of their ecstatic female fans).

6. You say soy sauce, we say shoyu.

Hawaii is the only state in the union where Caucasians have always made up a minority, accounting for less than 25% of the population. Who makes up the rest? Asians are actually in the majority at close to 50%, while native Hawaiians make up about 10% of the population, and most of the rest identify as mixed race.

So when you’re there, look out for a lot of Japanese, Chinese, Korean, and Filipino cultural influences. The island state is the home of Asian fusion cuisine, from spam musubi to plate lunches with kalbi and mac salad. Japanese words like tako (for octopus or squid) are part of local lingo. And when you’re in the farmers market, check out the native Asian fruits that have been brought over to Hawaii, including durian, the world’s smelliest fruit.

7. Bored of the beach? You can ski here.

The Big Island (so named because it’s the biggest island) has eight of the world’s 13 different climate zones. By driving around the island, you can explore its wet, monsoon, semi-dry, and even its tundra climates. And believe it or not, you CAN ski on the Big Island. Mauna Kea is a volcanic mountain whose summit sometimes gets just enough snow for you intrepid skiers and snowboarders. There are no chairlifts, though, so you’ll have to go up by 4WD. Just imagine the après-ski drink you’ll have back down by the beach.

8. Don’t even try to imitate pidgin.

Although English and Hawaiian are the official languages, pidgin is used by many locals in everyday casual conversation, and you may hear some phrases used in ads on the radio or TV. It’s been influenced by the languages of the many immigrants to Hawaii, including Portuguese, Cantonese, Japanese, Tagalog, and Korean.

Unless you’re in a situation where locals are good-naturedly trying to teach you some phrases, just don’t even go there. It can come off as condescending. Stick to the common Hawaiian words, such as aloha and mahalo, if you’re getting tired of plain-old English.

9. Watch out for kapu sites.

You may notice signs by the beach or other parks that say kapu. This means it’s a sacred site — perhaps an ancient burial ground or meeting place for royalty. To the outsider, these places may not look special — heck, they may even just look like piles of rocks by the side of the road. But kapu places have special meaning to native Hawaiians. When you see these signs, be respectful and don’t tread on the ground, take souvenirs, or leave any garbage. And definitely no nude sunbathing.

10. Hawaii should be seen on its own terms.

Hawaii has its own unique culture and way of life. Sure, maybe you can’t get great bagels or Blue Bottle Coffee easily. Maybe the generous use of brown gravy in a lot of local dishes isn’t your thing. Maybe the sight of people wearing flip-flops to upscale restaurants grates on you. You’re out of luck.

But, hey, isn’t travel about getting out of the lifestyles we take for granted? Focus on what Hawaii is and not what it isn’t. You’ll enjoy yourself so much more.

Last of the sea nomads

This story was produced by our friends at The Coral Triangle. Visit their site for more information on preserving this precious ecoregion and seeking out sustainable travel experiences within its borders.

Diana Botutihe was born at sea. She has spent her entire life — 50 odd years — living on boats that are typically just five metres long and one-and-a-half metres wide. She visits land only to trade fish for staples like rice and water, and her boat is filled with the accoutrements of everyday living — jerry cans, blackened stockpots, plastic utensils, a kerosene lamp, and even a couple of pot plants.

Diana is one of the world’s last true marine nomads — a member of the Bajau ethnic group, a Malay people who have lived at sea for centuries, plying a tract of ocean between the Philippines, Malaysia, and Indonesia.

Ibu Diana Botutihe is one of the few remaining people in the world to have lived her entire life at sea, visiting land only intermittently and as a matter of necessity in order to trade fish for rice, water, and other staples. Here she is pictured on her boat in Sulawesi, Indonesia.
All photos courtesy of James Morgan. Find him Facebook and Twitter.

A collection of traditional, handmade Bajau lepa lepa boats off the coast of Pulau Bangko. More and more Bajau are abandoning their traditional nomadic lifestyle to settle in permanent homes in stilt villages, but a dwindling few still choose to live the majority of their lives at sea.
Photo: James Morgan

When I first set out with photographer James Morgan in search of the nomadic Bajau, we weren’t even sure they still existed. Over the last few decades, controversial government programmes have forced most of them to settle on land, or in stilt villages at the water’s edge. We knew of settled communities in the volatile islands of the southern Philippines, around the popular resort area of Semporna in Malaysian Borneo, and further south on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi. And then a friend in Bali told us of a stilt village called Torosiaje in North Sulawesi, which immediately caught our imagination.

Unlike its many counterparts, Torosiaje lies a full kilometre out to sea, in the newly formed Gorontalo province of northern Sulawesi. It took us two flights from Bali, the second on a rickety twin-engined Fokker, and a seven-hour bus ride to reach the area, then a final boat ride out to this remote settlement, where we discovered a community divided. While some Bajau remained in the austere concrete bungalows provided by the government (still officially a part of Torosiaje Village), others had been reluctant to give up the ocean and had built a home in the shallow bay nearby — simple wooden houses connected by a network of walkways and jetties. And a few, we were told, still clung to the old way of life, spending months at a time on their tiny boats and returning to the village only for important occasions — weddings, funerals, Ramadan.

The Indonesian government has made a concerted effort to move the traditionally nomadic Bajau into settled communities on land. In Torosiaje, many Bajau left their government-provided homes and built this stilt village 1km out to sea. Basic amenities are scarce, however, and the poorest claim that government promises of help have been hollow, leading them to return to the old nomadic way of life at sea.
Photo: James Morgan

Despite the majority of Bajau now living in stilt communities and adopting cosmologies more in line with land-based communities, they still build their mosques over the ocean and practice a syncretic belief system that allows for a deep reverence for the ocean and the spirits that are said to inhabit it.
Photo: James Morgan

A young Bajau girl wades out from Torosiaje village to look for sea cucumbers and shellfish. The path to self-sufficiency begins at an early age, as children learn the vital skills of foraging in the shallows.
Photo: James Morgan

The origins of the Bajau diaspora are not entirely clear. Linguistic evidence seems to trace the ethnic group back to the 9th century in what is now the southern Philippines. As regional trade prospered under the wealthy Malay sultanates from the 15th century onwards, Bajau groups are thought to have migrated south in ever-larger numbers.

The Bajau themselves have a different way of explaining their dispersal, however. Legend tells of a princess from Johor, Malaysia, who was washed away in a flash flood. Her grief-stricken father ordered his subjects to depart the kingdom, returning only when they’d found his daughter. They’ve been wandering ever since.

Over generations, the Bajau adapted to their maritime environment, and though marginalised (so often the lot of the nomad), their knowledge was revered by the region’s powerful sultans, who counted on them to establish and protect new trade routes. Some are highly skilled freedivers, plunging to depths of 30m and more to hunt pelagic fish or search for pearls and sea cucumbers — a delicacy among the Bajau and a commodity they have traded for hundreds of years.

Jatmin, an octopus specialist, carries his freshly speared catch back to his boat in the shallow waters off the coast of Sulawesi, Indonesia.
Photo: James Morgan

Jatmin surfacing with an octopus.
The spearguns the Bajau often carry are handy for rooting the creatures from the holes in which they hide. Sulawesi, Indonesia.
Photo: James Morgan

In addition to the nets and lines traditionally used for fishing, the Bajau use a handmade “pana” for spearing their catch.
Photo: James Morgan

Since diving is an everyday activity, the Bajau deliberately rupture their eardrums at an early age. “You bleed from your ears and nose and you have to spend a week lying down because of the dizziness,” said Imran Lahassan, our guide in Torosiaje. “But after that, you can dive without pain.” Unsurprisingly, most of the older Bajau are hard of hearing. A 40-year old with skin like mahogany and pale green eyes, Imran’s home was in Torosiaje Darat, the land-based part of the village. But like all Bajau, much of his life had been spent at sea. He told us about the original Bajau, who continued to live on their lepa lepa — narrow, high-prowed vessels that are highly prized amongst the region’s coastal populations.

“They come back to the village maybe every six months,” he explained.

We set off to find them, Imran’s nephew steering us expertly through the shallows, while Imran sat perched in the prow inspecting his handmade spear guns, or pana. Every man seemed to possess one or more of these, which they fashioned from boat timber, tyre rubber, and scrap metal. What their weapons lack in range and accuracy, the Bajau more than make up for in skill, as we were to witness.

We found what we were looking for just two hours out from Torosiaje, in the late afternoon; a cluster of boats sheltering in the lee of a small island beside a mangrove forest where the water was calm. By far the most talkative among them was Ane Kasim, who lived on her boat with her son, Ramdan, a boy of about 15 who was as silent as his mother was voluble. She told us that her husband had died, that she could not even afford a rudimentary engine for her boat, and that she would have to row her way back to Torosiaje when the time came. But when I asked her if she’d prefer to live in a house in the village, she shook her head emphatically. “I love being at sea…fishing, rowing…just feeling everything — the cold, the heat.”

Amja Kasim Derise cooking dinner at home on his traditional lepa lepa boat.
The back of the boat is used for cooking, the middle for sleeping, and the front for fishing.
Photo: James Morgan

As dusk settled, the boats slowly converged and small fires were lit in the sterns. One man grilled crustaceans while another boiled a stew of sea cucumber; we were handed plastic mugs of lukewarm coffee and Ane sang folk songs, her plaintive keen the only sound to be heard other than the lapping of the water on the sides of the boats. They slept under the stars, curled on the wooden slats of their vessels with tarpaulins at the ready should it rain.

The next day, we encountered Moen Lanke harvesting clams with a tyre iron. He was sporting woollen gloves and the handmade wooden goggles fitted with glass that are ubiquitous among the Bajau and which are good to 30m and more. Weighted with the heavy tool, he didn’t dive so much as walk down the coral outcrops, taking slow motion strides like some sort of cartoon spaceman. And he’d stay down there for a minute and more, digging the coral away to get at the shellfish. It wasn’t quite the image we’d nurtured of the freediving Bajau, but a striking one nevertheless.

Moen Lanke wrenching clams from the reef with a tyre iron. He holds his breath for long minutes underwater while the work is done.
Photo: James Morgan

Moen Lanke, seconds after freediving for clams with a tyre iron. The weight of the iron holds him down on the ocean floor, allowing him to run along the reefs. In order to get around the problem of equalising (a technique used by scuba divers to balance the pressure of the inner and outer ear at depth), it is common practice amongst Bajau people to intentionally burst their ear drums at an early age.
Photos: James Morgan

Later, we saw some more conventional freediving. Siding Salihing, apparently a noted diver among the Torosiaje community, went deeper than we could follow, disappearing into the blue to return triumphant with a stuck octopus, which he proceeded to drape theatrically round his neck.

What we were witnessing was foraging — these people were subsisting on whatever they could harvest from the reefs, occasionally selling their meagre catch at local markets. Their lifestyle seemed to be driven as much by economic necessity as by the vital connection they had with the natural surroundings. Times had clearly changed.

“I used to be able to cast my net for 100sqm and fill it with fish,” Bada Epus, a fisherman from the nearby village of Lemito, told us. He gestured to his net. “This is one square kilometre and I barely catch anything.” Reclining in the back of his boat was his brother, Taha Epus. “He can’t walk,” Bada Epus told me abruptly. “He got cramp. But he can still dive well.”

By cramp, he’s referring to decompression sickness, or the bends. These days, those Bajau that can afford it dive using compressors. An onboard engine pumps air through a common garden hose so divers can go deeper for longer — 40m and more. Unaware of the need to restrict their exposure to pressure, countless Bajau have ended up crippled or killed by deadly nitrogen bubbles in their bloodstream.

The practice continues, however, because it’s lucrative — especially when potassium cyanide is involved. Cyanide fishing was first introduced in the Philippines by Hong Kong fishing boats looking for reef species like grouper and Napoleon wrasse to satisfy the rising demand for live fish among Chinese seafood restaurants. It quickly spread throughout the Coral Triangle — a bioregion that encompasses much of the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, and Timor L’Este. The Coral Triangle is an underwater Amazon — home to the planet’s greatest diversity of marine species, including 76% of all known corals and more than 3,000 species of fish. Cyanide is by far the most efficient way of capturing predator reef species alive — divers use plastic bottles to puff poisonous clouds at target species, stunning them and damaging the coral habitat in the process. Today, the live fish industry is worth upwards of US$800 million a year, according to research by WWF.

And when it comes to destructive fishing practices, the Bajau have been some of the worst offenders, enthusiastically adopting both dynamite and cyanide. Torosiaje used to be flanked by teeming reefs; now there are only wastelands of broken coral, a legacy of years of dynamite and cyanide fishing. It’s a common story throughout the Coral Triangle — communities destroying the environment that sustains them, driven by voracious global markets.

Compressor diving, often in conjunction with cyanide fishing, remains a common practice amongst the Bajau Laut despite being unsustainable, illegal, and highly dangerous. Young Bajau men, and often children, will routinely dive to depths of 60 metres with air pumped down to them through a hose pipe and a regulator. With no knowledge of the dangers inherent in diving to such depths, they often ascend far too quickly, resulting in nitrogen buildup and the bends. Compressor diving is one of the main causes of unnatural death amongst the Bajau communities I have visited.
Photo: James Morgan

Pak Usrin demonstrates how to make a fertiliser bomb. He assures me, however, that he stopped bombing reefs back in 2005. Today he gets paid through Reef Check Indonesia to protect his local coral environment.
Photo: James Morgan

Ibu Hanisa lost her hands and the sight in one eye when a homemade fertiliser bomb went off in her house. There are human, as well as environmental, costs to destructive fishing practices.
Photo: James Morgan

Back in Torosiaje village, we are introduced to Sansang Pasangre, the resident dukun, or healer. He explains to us that the ocean is filled with penghuni lautan — djinn, or spirits, that can be called upon if their names are known. “They enter our bodies and speak through us, giving us knowledge and advice. There are only 10 people in the village who can do this, though,” he explains. The Bajau’s beliefs mean that when at sea, a complex system of taboos govern their behaviour, since every reef, tide, and current is thought of as a living entity. The disconnect is a glaring one: How does this sacred regard for the ocean tally with the destructive fishing that is so rife among the Bajau?

The truth was, our vision of the Bajau before we encountered them had been a romantic one, as though we expected them to occupy some rarefied space, traveling migratory routes, the natural stewards of their ocean environment. Decades ago perhaps. But the nomadic Bajau we met were desperately poor and marginalized; many felt betrayed by the Indonesian government, which they claimed had failed to provide promised support in terms of subsidies. “Look, my boat has no teeth, just like me,” says Fajar Botutihe, Diana’s husband. He gestures at a section of his boat where the wood has rotted, grinning to reveal blackened stumps, probably the legacy of a lifetime chewing pinang — the mildly narcotic nut that Malay peoples commonly combine with betel leaves. He may be laughing, but his boat is in a sorry state and he hasn’t got the Rp.12 million (US$1,300) to buy a new one. We’re on a tiny island; Fajar’s boat has been pulled ashore and he has lit a fire beneath the keel to kill parasites and algae.

From what we witnessed, the integrity of the Bajau belief system had been diluted as their mode of living had changed, with socioeconomic concerns superseding the cultural cohesion that would have been a prerequisite of their traditional nomadic lifestyle.

Whilst few young Bajau are now born on boats, the ocean is still very much their playground. Here Enal plays with his pet shark.
Photo: James Morgan

Traditional Bajau cosmology is a syncretism of animism and Sunni Islam, with a rich oral tradition of epic songs known as ikiko — sung in its entirety, an ikiko can take as long as two days to complete and is a deeply emotional experience for the community. These songs used to be an integral bind, performed at all major ceremonies. We found one old man still able to sing the ikiko, though he needed frequent rests. His grandson looked on anxiously. “It makes him sad,” he explains. “He’s remembering.”

The future of the Bajau remains uncertain. Cultural dissipation looks likely to continue, as they contend with a modern world of nation states that has little room for wanderers. Still, conservation charities like WWF and Conservation International are helping create marine management programmes that encourage sustainability through no-fish zones and a return to artisanal fishing methods. It is often Bajau that socialise such programmes to local communities, communicating key messages at a grassroots level. There are also efforts underway to increase the benefits from burgeoning tourism, particularly in Semporna. If nothing else, such grassroots programmes demonstrate that the Bajau’s reverence and knowledge of their marine environment could so easily be used to conserve rather than destroy.

Practicalities

When to go: The best time to visit Torosiaje is during the dry season between April and October.

How to get there: From Makassar in South Sulawesi, you can take a connecting flight to Gorontalo. Hire a car for around US$50 (4-5 hours), or else take a local bemo or minibus from the town centre (6-8 hours).

Hot tip: Spend a few nights in Gorontalo if you can and check out the world-class reefs, which include many fascinating endemic species, one of which, the so-called Salvador Dali Sponge, is found nowhere else in the world.

Further info: There is a very basic stilted homestay at the seaward end of the village, which costs around Rp.100,000 per person per night. Boats can be hired from local people — be prepared to negotiate on price. Expect to pay between US$30-US$50 per day, so it’s cheaper if you’re traveling as a group. It’s best to start by meeting with the kepala desa (village headman) when you arrive.

This story was produced by our friends at The Coral Triangle. Visit their site for more information on preserving this precious ecoregion and seeking out sustainable travel experiences within its borders.

13 odd fruits from around the world

1. Rambutan

Photo: Aftab Uzzaman

My uncle had a rambutan tree in his backyard growing up, and I always thought these fuzzy little fruits looked like some dude’s hairy balls, so I had no interest in eating them. When I finally tried them later in life, I found them to be very enjoyable. They’re similar to lychee in that you crack the nut casing open with your knuckles and eat the white flesh inside. It’s slick and mildly chewy, with a pleasant sweet flavor.

2. Jackfruit

Photo: WorldFish

The jackfruit looks quite a lot like a durian (see #13 below), also green and spiky but not nearly as offensive in smell or taste. It’s sweet and yellow, and some cuisines use it for vegetarian curries. Jackfruits are very popular in Southeast Asia, where they can be dried into chips or eaten fresh, but in Brazil they’re left to rot on the ground. My parents lamented this when they came to visit me in Rio de Janeiro.

3. Korean pear

Photo: Koppenbadger

Korean pears are a big deal in Asia and are often given as gifts because they taste so good. If you ever wondered where that sweet flavor of Korean barbecue marinade comes from, it’s often Korean pear pureed into the sauce. Regular pears don’t have the sensual juiciness or the clean crunch that Korean pears do. I personally love to eat these chilled with an ice-cold bottle of San Pellegrino, pairing the biting zing of my snobby water and the sharp crispness of my snobby pear. Yum!

4. Dragon fruit

Photo: Matty Stevenson

To be honest, dragon fruit isn’t that tasty. It’s got a light, crisp texture and a pleasant tinge of sweetness, but the real appeal is in how it looks. It has a dramatic, curling red skin that looks like a sci-fi plasma grenade, and the flesh is a snowy white with black seeds. Eaten cold, it’s very refreshing, but it’s more of an opportunity to show off your sophistication and refined taste in fruits on Instagram than anything else.

5. Persimmon

Photo: Robert Otani

This is an odd one because they grow in the United States, but my white friends seem to have no idea these things exist. They come in two varieties: crunchy and soft. They’re both very sweet in an almost vegetal way, which sounds gross, but you’ll know what I mean when you try it. The soft ones are my favorite, because the way you eat them is to cut out the top with a sharp knife and scoop out the guts like a pudding cup. Just don’t toss them around because they will explode all over the place if they get too ripe. Word of warning: Persimmons that aren’t completely ripe have a very strong astringent flavor that sticks to your tongue. It feels like you’re swallowing a Kleenex and tastes about as good, so do take care to ensure your fruit is good and ripe.

6. Cherimoya / soursop / custard apple

Photo: Sylvia Wrigley

I’ve combined a few fruits because they’re similar in flavor and texture, though they’re distinct fruits. The cherimoya is called the ice-cream fruit by some because it’s got a creamy texture that you can scoop with a spoon. It’s even better when you’ve chilled it in the fridge. Cherimoya isn’t terribly sour and has a sweet, creamy flavor, and the flesh sort of looks like stracciatella gelato. It’s great to eat while zoning out watching TV and crying about an ex. Is that actually a thing or just a trope?

7. Mangosteen

Photo: su-lin

From what I hear from my New Yorker friends, mangosteen is the new cool fruit that East Coasters think they’ve discovered. They’re fairly common in Southeast Asia and, despite their name, have nothing to do with mangos. They’re little purple lumps you can crush open with the balls of your hands, revealing small seeds covered in a sweet white flesh.

8. Papaya / mamåo

Photo: Tatters ❀

For whatever reason, papayas in North America often have this nasty, farty taste that nobody likes, so papayas often get an unfair rap as gross fruit back home. In Brazil, it’s much sweeter and not at all farty and is a common thing to eat with breakfast. In Taiwan, they’re blended with milk into creamy, ice-cold smoothies, which are perfect when you’re walking down a hot alleyway and you just need a little relief from the weather.

9. Starfruit

Photo: Diane

Also known as carambola in certain parts of the world, this funky fruit is a five-pointed oval-shaped thing that if cut horizontally will yield star-shaped slices. The skin is waxy, but it’s sweet and juicy on the inside and is pretty versatile for eating raw or for being made into juices and sauces. They also make really cool drink garnishes.

10. Cacau / cacao

Photo: Rog01

Chocolate comes from the seeds of the cacao, but many people don’t seem to know the fruit is pretty tasty itself. The big seeds are covered in a soft white flesh you can suck on as you walk around in the Amazon. It doesn’t taste at all like chocolate, though, which may come as a disappointment to some.

11. Avocado / abacate

Photo: threelayercake

“What? I know what an avocado is, duh, Jarret,” might be what you’re thinking. Sure, you’ve had your guacamole or had it sliced on just about anything, but in Brazil and the Philippines, avocados are eaten as a sweet food instead of a savory one. Filipinos might eat it with honey or a dash of sugar. When I was getting breakfast in Brazil, my host mother gave me this sludgy light-green drink. I sipped it and relished its creamy texture and hint of sweetness. It seemed kind of familiar. “It’s avocado!” she said when I couldn’t figure it out. Mind blown like that guy whose head explodes in Scanners. Avocado can be eaten sweet! Best thing I learned in Brazil.

12. Maracuja / passion fruit

Photo: Victoria Rachitzky

The maracujá is dangerous territory in Brazil. It’s brilliantly tart, and Brazilians make it into a delicious custard called pudim de maracujá, and in fancier joints you can even find it in caipirinha-style cocktails. The reason this is dangerous is because maracujá has a reputation as a sedative, so drinking a maracujá caipirinha is considered a good way to knock yourself out early on in the night. In a country where a night out isn’t complete without a morning dip in the ocean, this is a total no-no. I knew a gringo who would just crack open maracujás and suck down the juice, but I’ve never seen a Brazilian do that, so I don’t recommend it. Stick to the pudim. Fun fact: I’m pretty sure the fruit that Rafiki busts open and smears onto Simba is a maracujá.

13. Durian

Photo: Mohd Hafizuddin Husin

Durian is the king of fruits and probably the only one with a legitimate body count. No joke, this heavyweight motherfucker is a spiky cannonball that grows on trees, meaning people who walk under them at the wrong time might get fatally beaned in the head. The durian lives in infamy for its powerful odor and its unusual taste. I grew up around durians, so I don’t find their smell particularly offensive, but others describe it as a combination of rotting food and body odor. What’s more, the scent sticks to your hands, so you’ll smell it on your fingers days after you ate the damn thing. It’s banned from public transportation in some countries because you can literally follow a durian’s path with your nose.

The flavor is kind of a nutty custard that can be on the bitter or sweet end of things, depending on the place of origin. Durian aficionados prefer bitter fruits, of course, so the more adventurous are advised to pick these. The process of selecting a proper durian, at least in countries like Singapore, is an art like fortune telling. Those who’re good at selecting a tasty durian are well loved by their families.

Chinese superstition pro-tip: Durian is considered to be a “heaty” food, which means if you eat too much your body will be overheated, resulting in canker sores and other nasty ailments. The counterweight to durian’s heatiness is to drink cool water out of the shell after consuming durian. I’m not saying this is supported by hard science, per se, but I will say I’ve gotten sick after binging on durian, and since I started doing this, it’s been smooth durian sailing.

The truth about bathroom germs

AsapSCIENCE has released this handy little video for us. It explains (with hand-drawn pictures!) that the average kitchen cutting board contains 200 times more fecal matter than a public toilet seat. FASCINATING!

It’s actually all the rest of the stuff in the bathroom that you should be afraid of. But not that afraid! AsapSCIENCE explains how none of these war-zone germs can really get inside you. Unless you’re a walking, talking, human-open sore. In that case you should live in a biohazard suit. Not even constructing a Berlin Wall of bathroom tissue between your ass and the toilet seat will protect you.

I have always been a huge proponent of bare-backing toilet seats. I know there are some travelers who will combat me on this, and we’ve all experienced our fair share of public restroom horror stories. But I, for one, can probably count on just two hands the times I’ve chosen to hover and not sit. I can also recount for you in detail the setting, as well as the related emotions and sensations I felt while the hovering was occurring. (Is there a forum somewhere, where we can cope with these experiences?)

So, go forth and sit! I have no skin-eating diseases to report thus far.

16 things people get wrong about DC

Photo: Elvert Barnet

FROM HOLLYWOOD to the news media, depictions and stereotypes of Washington, DC, always seem way off. The city isn’t remotely like House of Cards, it’s not as full of conniving and kinky sex as depicted, and where, for the love of God, in all of these movies, are the non-white people?

1. Everyone is sexy.

For obvious reasons, Hollywood usually depicts DC as full of Robert Redfords and Kate Maras and Gerard Butlers and Julia Robertses. This is because Hollywood is full of unemployed Kate Maras and Gerard Butlers and needs to give them something to do. DC is of average attractiveness, and you don’t need to be attractive to get into power. Look at Mitch McConnell.

A friend of mine once said, “DC is Hollywood for ugly people.”

2. Everyone is smart.

I know you’re thinking, “No one thinks that,” but seriously — we’d have to be a much smarter city to pull off all those conspiracies you think are being masterminded here.

3. Everyone is stupid.

If someone makes a “gaffe,” they aren’t necessarily stupid. If someone disagrees with you, they aren’t necessarily stupid. While DC is hardly a city filled to the brim with geniuses and prodigies, it’s still a pretty smart city. This country is just that hard to govern.

4. Everyone is incompetent.

Most bureaucrats actually tend to be pretty well-educated, well-qualified people. In regards to most politicians, do you realize how competent you have to be to get that little done and still hold onto your job? They might not be competent in the ways you want them to be, but most of them know exactly what they’re doing.

5. Congress is evil.

Congress is pretty representative of America. If they’re evil, it’s because you’re evil.

6. This is a rich city.

I have never met any of the so-called Washington “fat cats,” but that may be because I’m poor. Regardless, there are a lot of people like me here, and there are also a lot of people who are way poorer than me.

7. Everyone is greedy.

Congressional staffers, for the most part, are incredibly smart and well-educated and get shit pay. They do their job because they believe in their job. The city is also filled with really idealistic nonprofit workers and bureaucrats genuinely trying to make life better for people they don’t know.

8. People are just into real kinky sex here.

For whatever reason, every depiction of DC sex involves leather and a ball gag. I have yet to be at a friend’s party and then, while looking for the bathroom, stumble upon their sex dungeon.

9. This is a conservative city.

My lefty friends all think DC is a really conservative city. Really, the only conservatives here are the Republicans in Congress. The city overwhelmingly votes Democrat in every election, and while our mode of dress tends to be professional and conservative, we have the largest out-of-the-closet gay population in America, and we recently decriminalized pot.

10. This is a left-wing city.

My conservative friends and family members tend to look at DC as a modern-day Sodom. Which, given the whole gay thing, isn’t totally inaccurate, but honestly, it’s hardly a bastion of revolution. The entire city’s economy depends on establishment, so it’s not a super easy place to get a job if you’re an anti-establishment type. Yes, it’s traditionally liberal, but it’s not revolutionarily leftist.

11. Everyone is power-hungry.

Most of us are just hungry. It’s like, a 40-minute walk from me to the nearest Shake Shack, and I’ll be damned if I’m eating something other than Shake Shack.

12. The town’s a bubble that’s out of touch with the rest of America.

I’m not from DC. My fiancee’s not from DC. Literally none of my friends are from DC. It’s an incredibly transitory town, with a lot of people moving into the city from homes around the country to work for a while and then move back home. This isn’t everyone, obviously, but the idea that a city that has people from literally every place in America is out of touch is a bit ludicrous.

13. We don’t have good pizza.

We don’t have the best pizza. But after living in London and not touching a good pizza for over a year, I’ll take a slice from We the Pizza any day.

14. We’re gaudy.

The immensely rich are the most likely to be gaudy. And they don’t live in DC. You want to know why? Because they can hire people to do what they want to do in DC.

15. It’s violent.

Look, like every major city, DC has its crime. It also has a pretty serious race and class divide. But crime has been on the decrease here in DC for a few decades now.

16. It’s just a bunch of white Senators.

For whatever reason, in media depictions, the city seems to be made up solely older white men. Seriously guys — this city is almost 50% black, and about 10% of the city is of Hispanic descent. You’re not even trying anymore.

Trippy night sky panoramas [vid]

The internet is flooded with timelapses of the night sky, but pretty much none of them look like this.

Vincent Brady used a multicamera, 360-degree rig to capture panoramic timelapse images of the night sky. His shoots — which ranged from the American Southwest to Glacier National Park to British Columbia to Missouri — are incredibly trippy, melding together images from several cameras and transposing a 360-degree view on a flat surface.

You can check out his explanation of the process of making the video on his YouTube page. The rig itself looks pretty rudimentary, with just four fisheye-lens-equipped cameras connected by a homemade cross. He’s also got more detailed notes on his webpage if you want to give this method a try yourself.