04.2 Bird Watcher

The approach from the inlet waters of the atoll to Hittadu was spectacular with a vast lagoon glowing in turquoise as far as the eye could see. Wind dwindled on the leeward side as the boat crawled towards the landing pier. He could see the clearing and housing units of the RAF radio installations on his right with antennas and feeder poles. Commuters dis-embarked to a narrow jetty a quarter of a mile long with a steel pipe grid of a guardrail.

Twenty minutes’ walk up the jetty and trudging through a sandy trail arched along the coast, a canopy of sea lettuces produced a distinctive scent of strong mangrove leaves, lilies and cedars caught in the breeze rolling over at sea level.

The submarine cable supplying electri-city from Gan visible in the crystal-clear water of the lagoon.

Major paused by a guard post on the beach and it was getting hotter. There were two armed RAF soldiers and a couple of dogs. He observed the surrounding while waiting for his coach. A RESTRICTED AREA of 110 acres cleared of trees and thick jungle around. A U-shaped complex of the main unit looked like a single storey school. Minor units scattered but few. Steel pipes all over and quite a number standing vertically. Shirtless riggers burning in the sun to build more towers and trestles. Some constructing anchorage holes.

This place never closed after 1941 and sustained communications with the GCHQ based in Eastcote within the London Borough of Hillingdon and currently operating from the outskirts of Cheltenham. In March 1945, Britain shutdown the naval base. During the dreary years from 1945 to 1957, an air base operated ambiguously refuelling aircrafts. US aircrafts used to refuel occasionally and with-out British consent, including B-52s.

A khaki green Bedford lorry rolled up along the coastal road. Then he spotted a Land Rover hurtling up from the opposite direction. It stopped at the guard post. “Major Phyllis, sir! I am Sergeant Mark Stevens to escort you around the island,” called the sergeant.

Major hopped on and it turned around towards the thicket. Took a turn by a guard post into a quarter mile straight road through the woods. This road cut to width of the island that locals called ‘Areyfé’ – aah-ray-fay – even to the natives this was RAF; the factual RAF.

It turned into another straight road, a mile-long, through the coconut grove, dense wood and wetland, to climb an area called Mamendu and the settlements of the island.

On his first day, he briefly introduced to key persons of Hittadu community, mostly doing his talk by standing in the sand-filled lawns of half-acre gardens of beautiful villas. Rich traders and ‘topless’ poor dwellers. Some he noted with grossly enlarged limbs; cases of elephantiasis.

The most important person he met was Adaran, a frail tinny man, forty-plus years old, who happened to be the most powerful poli-tician in the south.

It was noon. Adaran insisted that he should take lunch. That expediently resulted in to sit the table together with Sergeant Mark Stevens.

His wife served at the table. She wore a dark blue faskuri-hedun – a top-tight gown passed during an era of Prime Minister Cancer and often known as the ‘national dress’ – with three long and hefty golden necklaces and a pair of reading glasses.

Major Phyllis elaborated, “To build this trust and confidence between the British and Addu people, in order to pave way to engage a sound British contribution to your cause, I ask you to be my counterpart as a liaison official to represent the Addu people.”

“I should accept such a title if only appointed by the central government,” Adaran said, “I don’t want to anger them with another confrontation.”

“I agree,” returned Major Phyllis, “I will send the name of my candidate to the govern-ment to appoint him officially.”

“Our boats are in bay restricted from sailing and watched by a British fleet. Tax is imposed on us.”

“I understand your dilemma,” Major Phyllis said, “Your ships will set sail. I give you the permission. I will advise the government that this has to continue for the given time. I have asked the commandant to double the locals in the construction of the base.”

Suddenly, he began to speak in Divehi, “Under the circumstances, even the British are lethal to Addu people. When the government call the representative and demand the British to stop your boats, they regrettably do. It is annoying to the British too because we don’t want to get involved in their policies either. My job is to change course. Addu is important for us. We have solutions if we work together.” Sgt Stevens could hardly understand a word.

“During the war, when the British ran the naval base, we had the blessing of having English teachers at our schools.”

“I will write to the WVS.”

“I want an access to the English media to tell the British public of our status quo.”

“British media will be at your service. I can assure that and drop a connection. A high-profile team associated to the BBC is getting organised to travel to shoot a documentary.

“My lord, this is a delicious meal. I’m so used to South Asian cuisine but this is truly outstanding. Thanks for the treat and I look forward to working with you.”

Next stop was three miles out, driving through a narrow path in the woods, to arrive at a tranquil location colonised by birds and deserted by humans. Bird species were fewer into hundreds however, seabirds and waders of avifauna adapt to the restricted and extre-mely isolated environment of the coral islands find their peace. A calm body of water sweeps through strewn little islets and banks forming an estuary; one of the remotest and beautiful places on earth. Clear water reflects the green-ery around and clouds in the sky, untouched and never littered, lying forever virgin – the Eid-Gali-Klee.

In the afternoon, they drove over areas of bushy sandbanks linked by causeways in the southern stretches of Hittadu to arrive at Maradu to meet the Atoll Chief who said, “We have to solve a problem with sixteen houses in Dooran who won’t move to Maaran.”

“I will cover the expenses for relocating them if that’d be fine. I give you stone houses.”

“Very well,” replied Chief Hazir.

After that he returned to Gan.

Back in Gan, Major Phyllis observed an aircraft taxiing to the apron, marshalled by a shirtless crew holding the bats. Aircrafts cont-inued to refuel and shirtless operators pulling the hoses worked around the clock.

Some played football on a sand pitch. Along the northern shore, off-duty staffers in casual clothes sat on bamboo chairs watching the boats, the islands on the horizon and the sky enflamed in grey clouds; an unforgettable moment and a beautiful sight.

Then the mosquitoes begin to bite.

After dinner, he joined a small crowd watching a film at an open cinema. A screen raised between two palms near a thatched hut. Drinks come cheap but a choice limited to one kind of Dutch beer. Abruptly, rain hit hard and the crowd dispersed.

Next day, Major Phyllis attended a tiny makeshift church dressed in a white shirt and a slim black tie.

In December ’57, an exotic white yacht called ‘Xarifa’ reached Addu Atoll and made scientific investigations on the various atolls over a period of four months.