Sea Gypsies can not be Princes
Based on a True Story
“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip…” the passengers were enjoying themselves, a bit obnoxious but enjoying themselves. Donn and his father were in good spirits as well. It was October and the father son team was happy to have a full boat at the beginning of the tourist season. October, the mid term break from school, allowed the eight good humored English teachers out for some fun, sun and snorkeling, taking in the sights of the islands in the Andaman Sea off of Southern Thailand.
The ride out was only an hour and a half and everyone enjoyed the early morning sun. They had then spent the beautiful morning snorkeling along the reefs before landing at the uninhabited National Park. Mi unpacked the sticky rice, chicken, sliced mangos and bottled water for his son and the passengers. Mi was to stay with the boat while his son went out ‘exploring’ the island with the group. This is where his son reined, a prince of Siam in his fiefdom the National Park. His son was out fishing… fishing the group for whoever would bite. They had and hour and a half on the island and most farang would only explore for 15 minutes before finding a spot to sit and pick at the picnic lunch that was provided. Now was Donn’s time to go fishing to find which one of these teachers would be buying the ganja off of him. Break time was when the fish like to bite.
Donn and Mi belonged to the Chao Le or Sea Gypsy people of Southern Thailand, now called the Thai Mai or newly patriated Thai people. When Mi was a child his family did not have a house. They set up camps during the dangerous southwest monsoon season but otherwise lived off of their boats. Now the Thai government expected them all to have census house papers and prevented them from fishing in their traditional manner. Many moonlight fishers from his village had been put in jail for fishing in their tradition manner. It was just not allowed. The government only allowed big fishing companies and motor boats with foreigners to fish the waters now. If he were caught out fishing they’d throw him in jail and confiscate his boat. To make matters worse, Mi did not have a birth certificate or Thai ID card.
The government had given their people an area to live on Lanta Island. It was on the far end of the island away from the tourist areas and away from the money. They were all registered as squatters on the land and told if they remained for 20 years the deed for the land would be turned over to them, but they never did receive Thai birth certificates or the rights of Thai citizenship. They were allowed to fish for a while but that had all recently changed. The big business oriented government claimed the waters were being over fished and put a ban on local fishermen. His seafaring life had changed to small village life and big business had changed that again. His village was converted into a smelly septic seafood processing station. The big boats would drop off their loads of shellfish to be cleaned for market. The women sat around this stinking slime shelling and shelling. The men now lazed around getting skinny in their hammocks, sometimes braving it at night to go fishing. The young boys often ran away from home. They grew tired of not having enough to eat, or always eating the same thing, and eventually left to work on the big boats that illegally fished the waters between Thailand and Myanmar. The lucky few men that could assimilate used their long tail boats to run tourist as Donn and Mi did. Mi owned the boat and had the skills but could never do it without his son. He didn’t speak English. His son was the true fisherman in the family now, fishing for tourist and fishing to sell ganja.
Mi didn’t approve of the fishing that Donn did, like fishing with dynamite, but he loved his son for the majestic, charismatic reign he had on people. The tourists loved him as well, his broad white smile against his coffee brown body, his flare for storytelling and also his flirtatious attention. Mi also realized that his son at age 20 was the true provider for the family. Mi was thankful that because of Donn’s second job. Donn’s illicit income might allow Jia, his 14 year old sister, not be tempted to run away from home for the money that tourist used to buy young girls. Donn’s job paid the bribes when his cousins went to jail for fishing and paid for the two kids his older sister left behind when she left for a job in a Karaoke bar on the mainland. Mi lulled his head in the warm sun listening to the lapping waves and lamented on the loss of tradition. Donn was a good son and provider. He was a natural swimmer and could speak the Molken language, but true seamanship, tradition, culture of his people was being lost.
“That started from this tropic port… aboard this tiny ship… aboard this tiny ship.” Mi was woken from his nap by the singing. Donn was returning, swaggering back with his arms around two of the female teachers. Mi flashed his eyes at his son but made sure he looked away before he smiled, His son had worked his charm. He caught some big fish.
The passengers giggling and tottering loaded up into the long tail. Mi could tell the whole group was high, including his son. Now he was the responsible parent again, time to get them home.
The Chao Le people recognize two main seasons — the wet May-October southwest monsoon, and the dry October-May northeast monsoon. Traditionally, families would spend six-eight months aboard their distinctive wooden boats then stay ashore only in the wet and blustery southwest monsoon.
The new generation recognized two seasons as well, the low season for tourists and the high season for tourists. October started the high season, when the tourist started to leave their cold climate countries for the tropical warmth of Thailand with the high season ending after the parties of New Years. Most of the time the seasons traditional and new blended without ripples.
Today the winds of change started blowing strong. All loaded up and 30 minutes into the 2 hour return trip the sky darkened suddenly. Within 10 more minutes the waves that were before only gently lapping at the boat became half meter high washes. “The weather started getting rough.” Mi started to do some serious calculating. This storm had no warning. It was a change of season storm and an unpredictable one. Left alone with his family he would have gone back to the National Park and waited until tomorrow to return. Here he was in a predicament. Camping was not allowed in the National Park… let alone how would the eight foreigners cope with camping out under a boat during a monsoon. He had to get them back to the resort on Lanta.
“The tiny ship was tossed.” 20 minutes later the rain was cutting down in icy shards, the temperature had dropped at least 5 degrees, the wind slashed around the bodies of the scantily dressed passengers as the waves began to top at a meter high. Miserably wet the teachers began to sing again in order to lift the quiet that had settled. Mi could estimate that they were barely a third of the way back to Lanta despite the one hour they were out. Donn navigated his way to the front of the boat with his father staying in the rear with the engine and stood throwing his weight down in unison with his father’s in the rear to counteract the action of the waves. The time came that they had to turn the boat against the waves to avoid it tipping and yet they had to keep it somewhat faced in the direction of Lanta Island to get back home. Mi flashed his eyes at his son once again. This time, the passengers caught the meaning. He was scared. “The mate was a mighty sailing man;
The skipper brave and sure.” If this seasoned Chao Le sailor was afraid the teachers knew they were in great danger. No reassurance came from the son. Donn’s gentle smile had washed away.
Twenty minutes later and still less than half way back the swells were reaching 2 meters. Mi’s estimation now told him that going back would be as dangerous as going on so he resigned himself to going forward. He shouted to Donn in the dying Moklen language of his youth that only the sea gypsy people understand and Donn translated his father’s instructions for all of the passengers to all sit on one side of the boat and lean against the torment of the waves that were now splashing over and into the boat.
At the hour they should have been returning to their bungalows preparing for dinner they were still just less than halfway home frantically bailing the accumulating water with Frisbees and shoes as the darkness of twilight added to the dim of the storm. The storm’s fury was still in full swing. The occupants of the boat were soaking wet and shivering from severe cold and dread fear.
It was a 2+ meter wave that finally overturned the boat. Mi immediately disconnected the motor from the overturned boat and let it drop to the bottom of the Sea hoping at least to recover the boat for loss of the engine. He had his hands on rim of the boat waiting for the right patterns in the waves that would aid him in turning the boat over when he looked over to where he expected his son to be at the other end of the boat helping him turn it over. Instead his eyes flashed in the twilight catching hold of his son’s eyes that were beckoning him for help. Donn was struggling with the weight of the two girls he had previously been swaggering with bullishly on the island. The two unseaworthy sows were both hanging onto their daypacks and pulling themselves on top of Donn for support! Donn’s and Mi’s eyes were locked in true and desperate love as Mi turned and let go of the boat in one unthinking move to rescue his son. The boat that was rising up with the wave came down quick upon his head. He never gained consciousness to realize that he was drowning.
Donn in mad fury scrambled to get away from the girls who where wailing, scratching and clawing at him. His panic to get to his father added to their craze and they intensified their efforts to use him for buoyancy, mounted him and drown him within ten minutes of his father’s death.
The best swimmer of the group lasted another 4 hours before succumbing to the cold dark bitterness of the unexpected storm. No bodies were ever recovered.
Every year an unreported number of locals and tourists drown off the shores of Thailand.
