The prevailing paradigm in paleoanthropology asserts that we developed larger brains to manage and adapt to a wide range of environments and challenges. Our cognitive flexibility is thought to have evolved so that we could think abstractly, plan ahead, solve complex problems, and adjust our behavior to changing circumstances. This paradigm places the human brain and language at the center of evolution, suggesting that these capabilities enabled survival in a mosaic of environments (Klein, 2009; Tattersall, 2012).

However, the fossil record contradicts this perspective. Homo erectus lived from approximately 1.9 million years ago to around 110,000 years ago (Anton, 2003). During this extensive period, their brain volume nearly doubled, from about 600 cubic centimeters to approximately 1,000 cubic centimeters (Rightmire, 2004). Despite this significant increase in brain size over more than a million years, they continued to produce Acheulean hand axes with only minor variations and lived in warmer climates (Lycett & von Cramon-Taubadel, 2008). Tools can be seen as fossilized behavior – if the tools remained stable, it is likely that the behavior was also stable. Even early Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, and our common ancestor Homo heidelbergensis exhibited extreme conservatism in their behavior.

This raises the question: if the brain evolved to be flexible, why is this not reflected in the fossil record? One might also wonder why humans would evolve in constantly changing environments while other animals evolved to thrive in specific niches with stable survival strategies, sometimes displaying complex behaviors. Mammals such as bears and orcas live in relatively stable environments and exhibit intricate behaviors, contrasting with the portrayal of human evolution as being driven by constant environmental changes. Perhaps the idea of a perpetually changing environment is a misconception – a projection of modern man’s idolized flexible nature onto the process of evolution.

The Necessity of Stability for Evolutionary Change

Evolution requires stability. If a body part evolves, it signifies consistent behavior and selection pressure over generations. If the brain evolved to enhance flexibility and creativity, it implies that these humans lived in constantly changing environments and had to be inventive day after day. This contradicts the evolution of other body parts, which require stability over generations, as consistent selection pressure is necessary for body parts to be selected and changed. During the same period that Homo erectus developed a gradually larger brain over millennia, they also grew taller, became more robust, appeared to lose body hair, and developed a wider pelvis, among other changes (Tattersall, 2012).

Within the paleoanthropological paradigm, several of the human body’s physical characteristics have been considered of secondary importance. Anthropologists have primarily focused on how and why we stood on two legs and freed our hands, as well as explaining why we became hairless, which is considered important for thermoregulation—both traits seen as prerequisites for living in various environments (Klein, 2009).

Specific traits that were not considered to have direct survival value, such as women’s round breasts, lips, and body aesthetics, have often been explained by male attraction. This has led to a sexualization of human evolution, as Elaine Morgan insightfully demonstrated (Morgan, 1997).

Thus, anthropologists have been predominantly interested in brain development and have primarily focused on physical traits that enabled flexible behavior. This, in essence, encapsulates the current paradigm.

An Anomaly Foretelling a Paradigm Shift: The Aquatic Ape Theory

The Aquatic Ape Theory (AAT) cannot be accepted under the current paradigm of human evolution. The more arguments presented in its favor, the more it is ridiculed and marginalized. It has been likened to a hydra; when one head is cut off, two more grow back. As an anomaly, it has been treated with anger, ridicule, and denial, as I discussed in my Bachelor thesis from 2008. The Aquatic Ape Theory contradicts our current framework, where human development is viewed through the lens of adaptability and thriving in various environments. The prevailing paradigm focuses on understanding human evolution by studying when we became bipedal and freed our hands, as well as how we adapted to new dietary and climatic challenges.

The Aquatic Ape Theory helps explain a range of physical characteristics in humans that have previously been of little interest in anthropology. It explains why we have prominent lips, round breasts, hairlessness, streamlined hair growth, the diving response, sensitive fingertips, and the phenomenon of surfer’s ear. (Morgan, 1997; Verhaegen, 2013).

Our prominent lips can be seen as an adaptation for creating a seal while sucking liquids and food in a watery environment. Women’s round breasts may have developed to facilitate nursing in water, where the child may need to grasp the breast differently than on land. Human hairlessness could be an adaptation to reduce drag while swimming. The remaining body hair, such as on the head, is directed backward, which reduces water resistance.

The human diving response, which includes a reduced heart rate and decreased blood circulation to the extremities when submerged in water, is similar to that of marine mammals and supports the hypothesis of a water-based adaptation. Our sensitive fingertips may have developed to better feel and handle food and objects in a wet environment. The phenomenon of surfer’s ear, or exostoses in the ear canal, occurs more frequently in people who are regularly exposed to cold water, which could indicate an evolutionary adaptation to aquatic life.

These physical traits, previously seen as irrelevant or difficult to explain within the traditional paradigm of paleoanthropology, find a logical explanation through the Aquatic Ape Theory. This theory suggests that our ancestors spent a significant part of their lives in or near aquatic environments, which has shaped many of our unique physical characteristics (Morgan, 1997; Hardy, 1960; Verhaegen, 2013).

Both the fossil record, with its extremely conservative behavior observed in Homo erectus, Homo heidelbergensis, Neanderthals, and early Homo sapiens, and several of our physical traits receive a more plausible explanation when we envision a semi-aquatic past. As anomalies continue to accumulate within the current paradigm, in line with Kuhn’s theory, it becomes increasingly evident that a paradigm shift is imminent.

The Paradigm Shift

The copernican revolution, which I have previously written about, paves the way for the Aquatic Ape Theory by emphasizing bodily adaptations through evolution and highlighting the brain as an assistant to the body rather than a constant innovator. It is only through this fundamental shift that we can explain the fossil record over the past millions of years and fully understand our physical characteristics.

Our brains did not primarily evolve to make us continuously smarter and more innovative. On the contrary, their primary function was to stabilize our behavior, cement routines, and enhance our ability to imitate and emulate. This stability in behavior and technology enabled survival and adaptation over generations, rather than driving constant innovation.

The Role of Tools in Human Evolution: From Stability to Innovation

Once humans began using tools to survive in environments they were not biologically adapted to, evolution quickly and selectively adapted our bodies to these new surroundings. Throughout human history, this process involved adapting our bodies, behaviors, and the transmission of knowledge to new environments to become as efficient as possible in copying and imitating survival strategies. Working memory, perception, and especially language evolved and were refined to effectively replicate these behaviors. However, language should not be understood in the same way we relate to it today; rather, it was a stabilizing structure that linked humans to both their environment and each other. One could say that language functioned as if it were a biological trait due to its conservative nature. This explains the co-evolution of both brain and bodily adaptations, something the current paradigm struggles to comprehend.

The creative potential and power of language developed as latent abilities—they were the other side of the coin, the hidden force. During events of climate change, when the previously well-established survival strategy was no longer effective, language was reprogrammed, awakened, and became free and untamed. This led to technological innovations and adaptations. However, these innovations were only temporary until a new adaptive strategy emerged—since changes in nature do not occur indefinitely—after which stability and consistency were restored. This pattern applies to the transition from one human species to another.

For instance, Homo heidelbergensis appeared quite suddenly in the fossil record, with no clear intermediate forms linking them to their predecessors, suggesting a rapid evolution from earlier hominins (Rightmire, 1996). Similarly, Homo erectus emerged without evident transitional fossils, indicating a swift development from earlier species (Antón, 2003). This rapid emergence of new species can be explained by selective adaptation to specific environments, driven by the rapid explosion of creativity and intelligence. We developed new techniques that allowed us to adapt to new environments and find stable survival strategies. This stability, in turn, created strong selection pressure and led to evolution in a particular direction.                   

Final Reflections: The Hubris of Man

Homo erectus lived on earth for nearly 1.9 million years. Throughout this entire period, one tool was their most constant companion: the Acheulean hand axe.

This insight sheds new light on who we are today. During the cognitive revolution, our language came alive, and we immediately sought new survival strategies. This also helps explain Alfred Wallace’s conundrum, as he argued that humans are mentally over-equipped for the kind of life they lead. Here we are, dreaming of moving to Mars and creating artificial general intelligence (AGI) and striving to reach a singularity, when what we should be striving for is to find and reproduce a long-term adaptive strategy, just as our ancestors did.

Before colonialism, there were groups of people who had lived stably for tens of thousands of years without actively reshaping nature through the domestication of plants and animals, such as the Kung people and Australian Aboriginals. Unfortunately, rationality and intelligence have taken over and led us astray. This is the hubris of man: to believe that endless innovation is the key to survival, when in reality, we might just end up being the species that perfected the art of self-destruction.

Literature

Antón, S. C. (2003). “Natural History of Homo erectus”. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 122(S37), 126-170.

Hardy, A. (1960). “Was Man More Aquatic in the Past?”. New Scientist, 7(1), 642-645.

Klein, R. G. (2009). The Human Career: Human Biological and Cultural Origins. University of Chicago Press.

Lycett, S. J., & von Cramon-Taubadel, N. (2008). “Acheulean variability and hominin dispersals: a model-bound approach”. Journal of Archaeological Science, 35(3), 553-562.

Morgan, E. (1997). The Aquatic Ape Hypothesis. Souvenir Press.

Morgan, G. F. (2019). The Acheulean Hand Axe: A Toolmaker’s Perspective. Academia.edu.

Rightmire, G. P. (1996). “The Human Career: Human Biological and Cultural Origins”. University of Chicago Press.

Rightmire, G. P. (2004). “Brain size and encephalization in early to Mid-Pleistocene Homo”. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 124(2), 109-123.

Tattersall, I. (2012). Masters of the Planet: The Search for Our Human Origins. Macmillan.

Verhaegen, M. (2013). “The Aquatic Ape Evolves: Common Misconceptions and Unproven Assumptions about the so-called Aquatic Ape Hypothesis”. Human Evolution, 28(3), 237-266.

Verhaegen, M. (2013). “The Aquatic Ape Hypothesis: Ten Years After”. Anthropological Review, 76(1), 1-17.

I am excited to release my latest photo book, which takes you through the captivating world of the Bajau Laut. Through a blend of vivid photography and engaging narrative, this book aims to bring you closer to the Bajau Laut — their everyday beauty, stark realities, rich culture, challenges, and their intimate bond with the ocean.

In this photo book, my goal is to offer more than just images; I strive to tell a story, convey emotions, and illuminate the unique cultural and environmental context of the Bajau Laut. Through my lens, you’ll experience the day-to-day life, the struggles, and the incredible resilience of these sea-faring people.

You can find the PDF version of the book below. Whether you’re a lover of photography, culture, or stories of human endurance and spirit, I hope you find this book both enlightening and inspiring.

Photo book: Waves of Being – a Phenomenological Journey with the Bajau Laut

In August and September, I, had the opportunity to participate in two screenings of the documentary Sama Dilaut, held at Copenhagen Biocenter and Kulturföreningen Tellus in Stockholm. Alongside the film director Christine Ramos, filmmaker Rhadem Musawah, ICLC director Michael Dawila Venning, and other panelists, I joined a post-screening discussion to explore the struggles faced by the Sama Dilaut.

The film gives an emotional glimpse into the day-to-day lives of the Sama Dilaut in Tandu-Owak, a coastal village on southern Sibutu Island in the southwestern Sulu Sea. Here, the Sama Dilaut, along with the Tausug and other Sama communities, struggle to make ends meet. Seaweed farming is an important livelihood, but fluctuating prices and a significant cut taken by middlemen make it difficult to sustain. The film also includes footage of the boat-dwelling community in Lahad Datu, which was dispersed several years ago.

The Sama Dilaut have traditionally viewed the sea as an endless source of life, a place where fish are plentiful for those willing to work hard and explore. However, over the years, this belief has been shaken by the reality of declining fish stocks, driven by overfishing, climate change, and destructive fishing methods such as trawling, dynamite fishing, and cyanide fishing.

The film has been screened in several European cities during the summer and autumn of 2023. It is a powerful way to highlight the challenges of the Sama communities, illustrating how climate change is already transforming the oceans and threatening the lives of the people who depend on them.

In April, I made a trip to Indonesia along with Eric Mulder, a doctoral student at the Department of Health Sciences at Mid-Sweden University. He is researching increased safety in free diving to prevent blackout. We went to Sampela in Wakatobi, a place I first visited in 2011 and have re-visited several times. Post-COVID, no airlines operate on the main island Wangi Wangi, so it took us three days to reach Sampela from Makassar.

“Half of Sampela live abroad,” my host Pondang said. “Many inhabitants have moved to other parts to Indonesia, as for example Johor, to make a living”. Some of the better fishermen were away, while others had returned. The fisherman Jahajudin who caught a barracuda back in 2016 had just come back from working on a plantation in Kalimantan. In 2012, he was photographed during a fishing trip by Al Jazeera, posing proudly and calmly on his boat. Now, he lacked swimming goggles but borrowed a pair before accompanying us on one of our daily fishing trips with Pondang. “Fishing isn’t as good anymore,” he explained when I asked why he wasn’t fishing as much as before. “The small fish don’t get a chance to grow.” I remembered how, in 2011, he had been part of a net fish drive (ngambai) team and how he had thrown small fish back into the water.

Catching Octopus with a Fake Lure

In the community, we made several daily trips with ten of the best local speargun fishermen. Eric has been involved in developing a pulse oximeter that can be used during active diving, which the Sama Bajau fishermen wore during our fishing trips. A pulse oximeter measures heart rate and peripheral oxygen saturation (often abbreviated as SpO2), an indicator of how much oxygen is being transported by hemoglobin in the blood to the body’s peripheral parts, such as fingertips, earlobes, and toes. If saturation is low, it can lead to a blackout.

During one of our daily fishing trips, we met an old man named Laharumu on a small boat. He had paddled all the way from Sampela, bringing a small sail with him. He lay flat with his face under the water surface, holding a line leading to a fake octopus, which he used to lure potential octopus prey. “When he catches an octopus, he bites it between the eyes,” Pondang explained, just like many Sama Bajau do in Kabalutan, central Sulawesi, which I had the opportunity to film in 2017.

On our way back, Laharumu came paddling again, showing us a small octopus he had caught despite a long day on the sea. I felt sorry for him – here was an old Sama Bajau fisherman using no motorized vessel, paddling for miles, and luring octopuses by mimicking their behavior. This type of fishing is much less harmful than the practices used by other Sama Bajau and the larger Indonesian community. His way of living is quickly disappearing due to the rapidly deteriorating environment and accelerating ocean heat. In sharp contrast, one fisherman from the community asked if I could bring him a sonar fish finder next time I visit the village.

Remembering Tadi – A Speargun Fisherman Throughout His Life

Tadi, another well-known man in the community and the father of several good fishermen, both men and women, had recently passed away. Even in his late age, he sustained himself solely from speargun fishing and was well aware of marine life and potential dangers at sea.

One day, when the fishermen were taking turns in the water wearing the pulse oximeter, Kabei, the son of Tadi, who was featured in the BBC’s production “Hunter of the South Seas” from 2015, shot fish while standing up in the boat with his speargun. First, Pondang’s son threw in bait from a parrot fish that lured fish, and when the fish came close to the surface, Kabei shot them. On one occasion, he shot two fish to the delight of the rest of us.

Sampela: A Community Under Pressure

This time, I could not see any sea urchins in the vicinity of Sampela which before had been in abundance – most likely because of consumption. I also saw fishermen net fishing small fish that feed on waste from the community under the stilt houses. Both these observations indicate increasingly tight living conditions in the area.

Tradition and Modernity in Sama Bajau Communities

One day, we traveled to the opposite side of Kaledupa, where another Sama Bajau community, Mantigola, is located. Compared to Sampela, Mantigola is very silent and less busy even though it is the oldest Sama Bajau community in Wakatobi. “Many people have become rich here,” Pondang explained. “Many of them have completed Haji, which only few people in Sampela have.” While walking on the bridges, we could see some wealthy buildings and very few people. The cheerful greetings that are very common in Sampela were largely absent.

In Sampela and other Sama Bajau villages, different parts of the village have distinct characters; some areas are more adapted to modern ways while others maintain traditional lifestyles. Some residents hold on to traditional beliefs, which can be described as a syncretism of Islam and animism, while others have fully embraced Islam. These differences, along with the various pressures from wider society and traditional norms, can literally be felt as one walks through Sampela.

However, there are also many people from neighboring groups who have fully assimilated into Indonesian Sama Bajau communities. For example, one participant in our diving study was a man whose parents both came from outside the village and were born non-Bajau (or “bagay” as the Indonesian Bajau call them), yet they had integrated fully into the Sama community. It is very common for Bajau to marry neighboring people and become assimilated into Sama culture, and vice versa. After a few decades, there is no visible difference between them and the “original” Sama Bajau. Genetic tests have shown that the Sama Bajau are more closely related to neighboring groups than to other Sama Bajau communities living distantly throughout Indonesia.

Vanishing Traditions

The likes of Laharumu are becoming increasingly rare. With dying oceans, unique and traditionally eco-friendly lifestyles are being lost. The Sama Bajau’s methods of fishing and their deep understanding of marine ecology, honed over generations, are invaluable. These traditional practices, which are less harmful to the environment, could be crucial in the future for sustainable fishing practices.

However, as their environment deteriorates rapidly, the knowledge and lifestyles of the Sama Bajau are also disappearing. Preserving their way of life is not just about saving a culture but also about safeguarding ecological wisdom that might be vital for the future of our oceans. If we lose the Sama Bajau and their traditional ecological knowledge, we risk forgetting valuable lessons in eco-friendly fishing methods and sustainable living.

In the outskirts of Semporna there are more than 1 000 stateless Sama Dilaut. They live on remote islands in either stilt houses or houseboats with no right to basic health care. They also fear being deported to the Philippines and try to avoid the mainland.

They perceive the ocean as their home, but it can also be a trap in the longer run. There are several acute problems facing marine life, such as over fishing, coral bleaching, plastic pollution, acidification, and global warming.

With the current development, 90 % of all coral reefs will be dead by 2050. Carbon emissions have to to be cut by 8 % every year if we are to keep global warming within bearable limits. Corona is just the beginning.

In mid-January, I made a new trip to Malaysia and the Philippines to learn more about the Sama Dilaut and their day-to-day activities. The trip started in Semporna which seemed more crowded than ever before – there was a lot of Chinese tourists, more expensive homestays, one more KFC. The central market was still under construction as it has been for almost a decade.

The live fish market was still flourishing – Sama people were offering stone fish, lobster, groupers and mantis shrimps for sale every afternoon on the busy road near the port. At this time, rumors about the corona virus had just started, and the first cases had reached Sabah. “The Chinese are bringing a virus”, the local Bajau people told me. More and more people were wearing masks in the streets.

One day, I took a trip around the harbor with a local boatman, Pohon. We passed by a houseboat nearby Bangau Bangau. “There have been “operasis” in Bodgaya” they said and pointed to a mountain protruding from the sea. “We jumped on to the houseboat and left the area”. I was surprised by this news since the Sama are mostly left alone on the islands. The reason could be increasing tensions between the Sabah parks and the Bajau Laut communities inside the Tun Sakaran Marine Park. On islands such as Sibuan and Mantabuan there are restrictions on how many stilt houses that are allowed, and the Sama are prohibited to fish in their nearby surroundings.

Banking in Stateless Communities

Later, I was invited to by Pohon to his house in Labuan Haji, a community based on Bum Bum island just outside Semporna. Originally, he is from Sitangkai where he went to high school before coming to Sabah. He and his family of nine are still waiting for Malaysian identity cards. I was offered food, a fish head, rice and cassava. I was also given soy sauce, chili and salt to prepare for myself. Most of the people in Labuan Haji are without Malaysian documentation – many of them are from Philippine islands such as Siasi and Sitangkai. “Asigpit”, Pohons told me about his situation, there is a shortage of resources now.

As we were talking, two men in traditional shalwar kameez suddenly entered the stilt house. They were collecting utang, debts. One of the men had just arrived from Pakistan and was introduced to the banking business by his friend. The other man spoke Malay and he was also picking up some Sinama. After food we were talking outside the house next to a running washing machine. On the floor next to washing machine there was a brand-new boat engine. “It’s mine”, the street banker told me and glanced at a middle-aged man who was squatting by the machine looking at it with envy. “I’m waiting for installments”.

The next day we went on a fishing trip with local Bajau people. Pohon was organizing the trip – but it was not his boat, not his license. Without Malaysian documentation he can only rely on commission when taking tourists to the outer islands. His day-to-day work is to drive locals back and forth to Labuan Haji for 1 RM per passenger.

Visit in Numbak and MSU in Kota Kinabalu

After the visit to Semporna, I headed north to Kota Kinabalu – the metropolis of Sabah with direct flights to several Southeast Asian cities. One morning, I met the Malaysian anthropologist Sanen Marshall at University Malaysia Sabah (UMS). We headed towards the village of Numbak, where there is a big community of Sama Tabawan from the Philippines, as well as a small Sama Dilaut community. When we passed by the University Malaysia Sabah’s (UMS) walls Sanen activated his GPS and signed in to work before we continued towards the seaside. Nearby the community a long line of cars was lined up. It was Friday, so many people were staying at home. Next to the water bridges there was a mandatory volleyball court.

Everyone was speaking Sinama, and they greeted me happily. I was frequented with the question if I can sing Jumadin, whose origin is Tabawan. However, I had to disappoint people since it is my friend Luke Schroeder who entertained the audience in Semporna in a karaoke bar a few years ago. Jumadin himself is still missing for a few years after a Philippines-Malaysia crossing at sea.

Many people in Numbak are increasingly integrated into the Malay society, even if some of them are still struggling to get Malaysian citizenship. Many of the inhabitants work in shops, restaurants, and shopping malls in town.

“If we had lived in a houseboat, we would only have to pull up the anchor and leave in case of any unrest”, a Sama Dilaut woman living in a stilt house told me. She was one of the key informants of Sanan. Next to her sat her 14-year-old daughter who had previously worked in a restaurant in town but stopped because she felt insecure on the way home. Now she was missing her daily meals.

During our stay in the village, we also visited several older women who were making traditional abstractly designed mats called “tepo” – one of the specialties of Sama Tabawan. The mats are usually woven of pandanus strips and consist of a patterned upper layer with a plain under layer. They are normally used for sleeping, but they are also used during rituals and praying. In Semporna, I have seen older women Bangau Bangau selling them in the streets.

Later we headed towards MSU for lunch and a meeting with one of Sanen Marshall’s former students. On the way, Sanen stopped at nearby a storehouse belonging to the university and changed to his formal dress.

“We are working on a program in which street children can get training in a learning center”, Sanen explained when we sat in the university cafeteria. “We want to keep them away from the streets”.

Many Sama Dilaut children sell plastic bags in the night market before they return to Pulau Gaya with their families who also make a living from the market. Others live in the streets under bridges.

Sanan Marshall also stated that the Malaysian authorities don’t have a special category for the sea-based Bajau Laut in the Malaysian migratory Act. However, practically, the sea-based Bajau Laut are mostly left alone by the local officials – at least if they hold on to their traditional lifestyle. At an International Conference on Bajau-Sama Communities (ICBC), held in Sabah 2004, the Governor spoke about the Sama Dilaut as “part of Sabah’s cultural mosaic”. In many of the islands, stateless Bajau people live nearby military outposts.

“However, when the Bajau Laut linger too long in town they might be arrested and deported”, Sanen Marshall explained. 

Meeting with New York Times Writer Ben Mauk in Kota Kinabalu

In Kota Kinabalu I also met with the Berlin-based American award-winning writer Ben Mauk who presently writes an anthology about the conditions for stateless and marginalized people in Asia.

We met up at the seashore where we took a boat over to Pulau Gaya – or more specifically the village of Pondo which is generally characterized as a “no-go zone” because it is inhabited by many so called illegal Philippine refugees. As we entered, I was immediately recognized by people who had seen one movie widely shared in social media in which I speak Bajau, and a group of enthusiastic children immediately accompanied us. We stopped nearby the volleyball court where we talked to people about livelihood and statelessness.

“For men it is risky to be in town, it’s easier for the women”, one man said. “But it is very rare that the police come here, unless they suspect drug abuse”.

After the trip to Pondo, we visited a neighboring more integrated community on Pulau Gaya. I talked to a group of women about statelessness, but some of them got upset. “Why do you ask about IC?”, one woman asked suspiciously.

“Kudat is the New Center for Boat Living Sama Dilaut”

The same evening, we had food in the Philippine Night market where we were accompanied by Terence Lim who is a production’s consultant for Scuba Zoo, a Borneo-based film and production agency who has been involved in many productions on Bajau Laut, as for example Sulbin’s world famous stride under water. Terence estimated that the numbers of boat-dwelling Bajau Laut were reducing in Semporna.

“The bigger boats are disappearing in Semporna”, he said. “The problem is that the house boats are costly to build and maintain, and that fishing is getting increasingly difficult”. He concluded that larger, commercially important fish is getting scarce outside the marine protected zones. He also reported that the number of tourists were declining drastically in Semporna due to the ongoing corona outbreak. This was early February.

“There are probably more houseboats in Kudat than in Semporna nowadays”, Terence told me.

The same evening I waked through the Night market on my way home. “Ikan baru” (fresh fish), one young Bajau woman told me while I passed by her temporary stand. She didn’t address me in English, but in Malay. “Are you often addressing foreigners in Malay? I asked her”. “I don’t know any English”, she replied. Children immediately came up to me with their plastic bags, happily shouting. “He speaks Bajau!”. “He speaks Bajau!”.      

Davao coastal road – a Four-lined Road Next to Coastal Communities

After my stay in Malaysia, I went on to Davao city in Philippines – the place where I first got in touch with the Sama Dilaut ten years ago. Some things had not changed significantly– most of the inhabitants of around 400 were still making a living from selling secondhand shoes and clothes, and there was still a group of fulltime fishermen (they mostly use the speargun) and freshwater pearl vendors.

However, an extensive road construction project was underway on the seaside. A four-lined coastal road (Davao City Coastal Bypass Road) is being built just outside the community, and the fishermen need to take their boats through a tunnel below the road to get to sea. The road construction is part of Duterte’s administration’s “Build, Build, Build” program and aims to strengthen Davao’s economic muscles. As always, the inhabitants were supportive of the political leadership, and only a few criticized the road project that will severely disturb the community life upon completion. The living space has already been reduced and a few houses have been relocated.

During my stay in Davao, I had the opportunity to follow on a fishing trip with a few families I know. For ten years I have followed Issau and his son Noah at sea – and it is impressive to see how Noah has developed over the years. It is clear that it takes a lot of training and hard work to become a full-fledged fisherman, which does not only mean that one should be good at diving and aiming, but also that one should know a wide range of fish and their specific behavior, master a boat, and quickly identify potential dangers. This can only be made possible by at least a decade of knowledge transfer from older to younger, and it is sad to see that the regrowth among the younger ones is a fraction of what it used to be. It is also sad to realize that the younger generation encounters a sea far different from the one their fathers grew up in.

Manila – Shark Fin Soup in the Grand Opera

The last day – before catching my flight back to Sweden – I spent some time in Manila, where I walked down the M. Adriatico street – a Malate street that cuts right through top end night clubs and hotels, and poor areas were many Bajau and other migrants from southern Philippines dwell. Even here I was well-known – people greeted me as “the white guy from Facebook that can speak Sinama”. Here, many Bajau people facilitate the nightlife scene, while others sell jewelry and beg for money. Some of them are Bajau Laut, while others belong to other Sama groups from the Zamboanga region.

At the end of the street a large number of Sama had gathered to prepare the supper meal; cassava, fish, mango and chili. One woman told me that she had family in Semporna and she asked for help to get back there. One Bajau man said that he used to work for Smorgasbord & Bar as a doorman. “It’s own by a Swedish guy”, he told me.

In Manila, testing for corona virus was getting more and more common. One of the earliest fatalities due to the virus outside of China took place here.

The Bajau Laut are still providers of shark fins and other lucrative marine species throughout the coral triangle. Perhaps debt is the best way to make it continue. The Bajau are paid for future catch. Hence, their equipment, household equipment and petrol is still at sea. In the shape of groupers, mantis shrimps and shark fins. And the interest rate is high. Not only for the Sama Dilaut, also for the sea.