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Come on down to the Malé Twilight Zone
A Dhivehin
Maldives 2001
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It is a little over three months since the events of 11th September. This is ground zero - South Asia, the new theatre of focus in the first global threat of the new millennium.
While the overhead satellites are occupied in zeroing onto Taliban and Al Quaida targets in Tora Bora Afghanistan, there is drama and violence of another kind rolling on in the same theatre; an unnecessary distraction for CNN and FOX channels, and I suspect this story would be a bit embarrassing for BBC, as well. As they say in England 'let sleeping dogs lie'.
If you have read this far, then come on down to the Twilight Zone.
Tilt your focus to the Indian Ocean, south of Afghanistan. Travel among the clouds as they part and mingle, revealing an exotic travel destination called The Maldives - population 300,000. A stretch of coral islands scattered southwest of the Indian sub-continent. A hideaway for chic sheikhs from east and west, where the bubblegum generation parades its wealth and affluence.
Talk about the best kept secret of the century! This is an island nation, speaking an ancient language that has survived for centuries in a fast-changing world.
The native Dhivehin are a Sunni Muslim community of islanders and one of the world's the last remaining slave communities, despite being recognized by the international community, including the UN, as a democratic nation.
Zoom in and the first few hours in the capital island will dispel a lot of your starry-eyed misconceptions.
Here is a Robinson Crusoe dream where a ruthless dictator calling the shots. The script of life is written in his image. This is a silent, subservient community of islanders, frozen in time. Even the Taliban would be impressed, they'd learn a lot from the rulers of this tiny nation-paradise.
Control freaks will love the capital Malé. Sexual anxiety takes a morbid tone in this repressed town. Two square kilometers teeming with all the ethnic versions of Asia and the west.
Welcome to the first part of your tour to "Robinson Crusoe in Hell".
Criss-crossed with images of imminent danger, carnal desire and soft tumbling notes of creative energy flow through the town's collective subconscious.
Distant and sometimes nearby sounds of voices keep you unbalanced in a natural rhythm of life; an extended family going through daily rituals. Omnipresent TV screens blare out messages with palettes of religious overtones, while domestic intrigue and the rumour-mill feed the day's highlights into your sub-conscious self.
When you think you have been absorbed into this island's fabric of remote tragedy, something else happens to make you think all over again.
Meet the energised state military machine. For quality and quantity of their psychological terror tactics, they are one of a kind. They do not like journalists or writers; nor artists either. Their masters have programmed them to receive and act on search and destroy orders from high above. The silent community knows them as fathers, brothers, and uncles. This is their human guise. The truth is, in Matrix-Town Malé, there is no space for thought.
Time keeps watch. So many people, yet such little space. The stage is set for man-made disaster, it rumbles on like garbage going nowhere...
Can we have FOX and CNN back on Tora Bora again? Where is Osama? Could he be hiding in one of these islands? Not a pleasant thought!