Blue Planet, Limited Vision

It is, in fact, true that our planet is a blue planet. Sadly, despite being surrounded on all sides by the Pacific, despite the constant background noise provided by the ebb and flow of the ocean waves, despite the signs are all around me, it took me watching BBC’s “Blue Planet” to truly be in awe. Granted, I have ventured into the waters a few times and have seen some incredible things. Lagoon-side snorkeling near Ejit is filled with coral towers and a miasma of aquatic life. Enemanit offers even the most timid swimmers the opportunity to see a sunken fighter plane and not one but two sunken helicopters in addition to amazing snorkeling a few feet from the shore. I have had the pleasure, thanks to the generosity of the Curtis family, to go deep-sea fishing. While on the boat for the majority of a day we saw dolphins and flying fish and brought in two wahoo and a gigantic blue marlin. These have all been moments of awe where the underwater world became all too real and present for me.

Still, my time in and my reverence of the waters pales in comparison to what I thought it would be before coming to the RMI. I have distinct memories of telling people how I was going to come back a fishing/surfing/diving/snorkeling expert. Instead, I find fishing—while exciting when reeling in and landing a fish—boring. Surfing is nearly impossible here (unless you are a pro, some of whom I had occasion to meet), diving is terrifying, and snorkeling can be a chore of sorts. It seems that even though I ran away to the Pacific to get away from it all, try new things, and do as the proverbial Romans do, my American landlubber sentiments have prevailed. Why is that? It can't be that I do not have access. I have many ribelle friends here who do all of those aquatic activities all of the time. Perhaps its the fact that none of my students or my Marshallese associates do these things with regularity. It seems that the young people on Majuro are more interested in Americanized and urban activities than those activities that have helped to sustain their culture for years. As far as the Marshallese adults here I know, they too are wrapped up in their daily affairs. While they may take some time to go fishing, it is usually in the privacy of their own family or close group of friends. I do not mean to put the blame on others. I think with more initiative on my part I could be in the water everyday. However, that is not how I have oriented my days.

Still, every time I take a moment to look at the water, I am in awe of how blue that blue is; how varied and ornate yet profoundly simple; how perfectly present and unchangingly etherial. It is even more impressive when put into perspective with the rest of the world around it. The expanse of blue only serves to highlight the immensity of the sky. Clouds look as if they are painted onto a domed canvas. Stars, in their great number, remind me how infinitesimal I am. And the sunsets; there are no words. Melodious amalgamations of orange, red, and purple hues appear from under the water, peak from behind the cloud curtain, and stretch across the sky. The sunrises, though similarly beautiful, are much more gentle. As the world wakes up, warmth enters the colors of the sky and the ocean. I like to say that the water is so warm I would sleep in it if I couldn't drown. I had the pleasure of climbing up to the top of the water tower that is on the MIHS campus--the second highest point in the country--and seeing the entire island in 360 degrees. You could see both sides of the island, storms rolling in from the ocean side and the sun resting and waking in the lagoon, a thirty mile expanse brought into one field of vision--and everywhere, rich, rich blue.

John Irving so aptly states though the mouth of one of his characters in his novel "The Cider House Rules" that, "Living on land where you can occasionally see a long way provides the soul with a perspective of a beneficially expansive nature" (14). As I sat up on the water tower, looking out on what seemed like the entirety of the Pacific Ocean, I couldn't help but ask what lie beyond the horizon. I mean, I knew--maybe not what specific piece of land was in what direction--but it encouraged me, inspired me to want to explore the world further. To seek what was on the other side. It has always confused me that Marshallese people do not have this same sense of adventure or wonderment.

To be fair, I know it took an enormous sense of adventure for the ancient Marshallese people to hop on canoes and explore the ocean to find the other islands here, but now, my students have little interest in leaving Majuro. Regardless of the fact that tremendous resources are needed to get off the island (read: money), they do not seem all that interested. Some want to go to America, yes, but then return after college. They do not know what is on the other side of the horizon, and they don't seem to care. For a while I believed that the young people here were taking the ocean for granted. They too did not swim or indulge in the waters in the ways that I assumed islanders would. However, they feel at peace here, floating in the middle of the ocean on a small strip of land. The knowledge that in a few decades the island might not be here does not cause them too much worry. They are not leaving. Their ancestors survived for hundreds of years from the bounty of the waters, and people here still do today. They are attached to the land, attached to the water. I have heard so many juniors and seniors here say that they want to go to college somewhere outside of the RMI but that it has to be near an ocean. When I asked why they said that they could not imagine life without hearing the waves hit the shore. In fact, they struggle to sleep without it. It has become part of their lives, ingrained in their souls. Most assuredly it is I who is taking it for granted. While the vista from the water tower may have "[provided] my soul with a perspective of a beneficially expansive nature," the Marshallese soul's expansive nature bleeds into the community. They expand into each other, knowing that on this small strip of land each other is all they have--each other, and the ocean: giving and taking, nourishing and destroying, warming and cooling.

For the last few weeks I am here, I imagine my habits won't change much. I will get in the water a few more times and explore a few more things, but I know I will always be more impressed and engaged while I watch BBC's "Blue Planet." For the rest of my life I will be able to watch shows like that one and say "I've lived there! I've been in that water!" When really, I've barely touched the surface.

Until the next time,

Bar lo kom,

Andrew