Pix courtesy of pulaubesarjohor.com
PULAU BESAR (Mersing, Johor), Oct 3: At the lobby of one of Pulau Besar’s three resorts, a dozen tourists in wide-brimmed hats gathered with their luggage, waiting to board boats bound for Mersing.
The weekend was over.
Above them, the sun blazed, its light scattering across the jewelled blues and greens of the Sultan Iskandar Marine Park in the South China Sea, which lapped against ribbons of white sand.
As the sound of the boat engines faded into the distance, the coconut palms on Pulau Besar – legend has it that the island (formerly called Pulau Babi Besar) was formed when a giant pig tumbled from a Chinese trading junk bound for Melaka – seemed to sigh into silence.
A stone’s throw away, islanders Saudah Rastam, 64, sat in a swing while her brother Jamil, 70, swayed in a hammock, in front of the wooden house they share with their youngest brother, already settling into the hush. Lined up alongside the building, scores of bicycles stood idle, waiting for another weekend’s visitors. The siblings rent the bicycles out to visitors and tourists.
Just a handful of ‘orang pulau’ or islanders remain to witness its return to stillness each week. Five years ago, according to the 2020 Malaysia Population and Housing Census, 184 people called this island home. Today, the population has dwindled to fewer than 20, leaving only a few committed locals, resort staff and conservationists to keep the island alive.
“I wish there were more people here. But what can we do? They don’t want to live here,” Saudah told Bernama.
Like the other islanders, she has a house in Mersing, where several of her children and grandchildren live. Since Pulau Besar is bereft of a local economy and essential facilities such as schools and clinics, many islanders now live on the mainland, where they go to school, work and get healthcare.
The dwindling of the local population prompted a striking development: the state government’s push to make Pulau Besar and the marine park a site for sustainable tourism. Despite its natural beauty, Pulau Besar is mostly an unknown jewel with rich marine biodiversity along the edges of the South China Sea.
The waning population is a conflux of climate change and economic losses. During the 1970s – when Pulau Besar was hit by a severe storm that triggered the exodus of islanders – globally, scientists were just solidifying consensus on climate change and that the biggest long-term threat was global warming, which fuels severe weather events.
Local experts are now hoping that reversing the exodus would not only help mitigate the effects of climate change but also preserve the islanders’ way of life and their stewardship over the island.
Of ‘Ketupat’ and Storms
Meanwhile, Saudah, known locally as Mak Udah, is one of the last remaining experts in fashioning ketupat into impossible shapes, a pastime she took up because there was nothing to do at night on the island.
Like a magician at a children’s party, she fashions a mangosteen-shaped ketupat pouch, made from coconut palm leaves. First, there are two ribbon-like strips around her fingers. Within a few seconds, a round pouch appears from the strips, and a spiky cap on top of it.
So far, she has not been able to pass on her skill to the next generation.
“They show no interest in learning,” the grandmother of 13 said, adding that once she passes away, no one would know how to make ketupat pouches the Pulau Besar way.
She has won the island’s women’s ketupat making competition many times, the last one held a decade ago.
Other art forms are slipping away, too. All the members of Pulau Besar’s ‘ghazal pulau’ band, the music central to Johor and unique to the island, have died, save for the violinist.
And only three dancers of the original ‘zapin pulau’ (traditional dance unique to Johor but with steps only known to islanders) troupe are still alive, although they have managed to recruit some fresh dancers from the mainland, with ties to the islanders.
Marine biologist Noor Azariyah Mohtar, who is executive director of Tengah Island Conservation (TIC), marvelled at the steps of ‘zapin pulau’, saying they paid homage to their island ancestors, who were mostly fishermen.
“In one step, they move their arms like they are rowing the boat like the nelayan (fishermen). It’s amazing,” she said, demonstrating the move.
She, like other conservationists, is trying hard to save and revitalise the island culture. Their arts are a link between the people and the sea, an expression of how islanders once lived in rhythm with the tides and the monsoon. The unspoken fear is that with the loss of island culture, so will the respect many have for their heritage and connection to their land, replaced instead by anonymous people with no reverence for the land.
Growing up, the islanders were taught to respect and exist alongside nature, knowing how much to take, when to push their luck, when to turn tail and run, and how to read the signs.
“That (ketapang or Indian almond) tree is a sign of the changing monsoon winds, usually around November. When the monsoon is about to arrive, at the end of October or early November, its falling leaves are the sign,” said Abdul Ghaffar Ismail, who operates an eatery-cum-convenience store on the island.
He added that the weather during the non-monsoon period from March or April to November or December has been getting worse over the past few years, becoming more unpredictable than when he first settled here in 2012 with his late wife, who was a Pulau Besar native. Hailing from Pulau Tioman, located to the north of Pulau Besar, he adapted easily.
“The weather is unpredictable these days, like in the current season. In the past, April and May used to have beautiful weather, right? But now, storms come suddenly,” he told Bernama at his eatery.
Cascade of the Storm
Ask any elder why Pulau Besar emptied out and the story begins with a storm. It came in the 1970s during the northeast monsoon, but no one seemed to know exactly which year it occurred. One islander said 1978, another 1974, and yet another said 1971. An online search failed to yield any report of the specific storm.
But all residents know the devastation it left in its wake. The storm destroyed the island’s only school, clinic and police station.
At the time, there were 500 people living on Pulau Besar, according to Tuk Kelana Ali Kahar, headman of Kampung Busong, Pulau Besar.
Once these facilities were destroyed, the authorities decided not to rebuild them as the population was considered too small.
“After FELDA was established, many islanders moved into FELDA settlements (in the mainland), (as for some other islanders) their children went to school and so they moved to Mersing,” he said.
When the people went, so did the island’s economy. Many took jobs on the mainland and stayed there.
The island still had a lifeline, of sorts. Abundant with coconut trees, a major economic activity at the time was supplying mature coconuts to a factory on the mainland to produce coconut milk and oil. But the industry ended one night when the cargo ship used to transport the mature coconuts disappeared.
“Ever since the cargo ship sank or was swept away, they stopped transporting out the dried coconut,” said Nurul Aida Amanina Mohd Roslan, project manager of the ‘Besar Bersih’ project undertaken by the TIC. She told Bernama no one knew how the ship vanished as locals said the weather was good that night.
Coconuts continue to permeate every part of island life, but in a less commercial manner, featuring heavily in islander cuisine – in old and new dishes. One traditional specialty is its curry puff, which contains coconut-smoked fish filling.
And, on the wall of Abdul Ghaffar’s eatery hangs a sign that says ‘Original Island Coconut Ice Cream’, indicating that it is available there.
Revitalisation Hopes
In 1994, the waters around Pulau Besar and other islands in the area were designated as a marine park (Sultan Iskandar Marine Park). Located off the coast of Mersing, the marine park is made up of 13 islands in six island clusters, namely Pulau Tinggi, Pulau Aur, Pulau Pemanggil, Pulau Besar, Pulau Sibu and Pulau Rawa. Most of the islands are uninhabited and until recently, relatively untouched.
Tourism efforts in the area were hit and miss, with little development, which locals and conservationists consider great for the environment, although not so good for the economy of the local community.
Over the decades, the islands have been receiving more attention. Today, near the jetty on Pulau Besar, a concrete building on stilts is rising, half on the beach and half in the sea. A project signboard says it will house a clinic and government offices — the first such facilities on the island in decades.
The infrastructure upgrade brings new hope to the islanders. In the past decades, they have not only seen many friends and neighbours leave, but also sell their land to developers.
Tuk Kelana fervently hopes that with the renewed focus on sustainable tourism in the marine park and the island cluster, islanders who left their homes will return.
“If we can create more job opportunities and attract more investors, maybe many of the islanders will return. Because it’s really the ‘orang pulau’ who can stay on the island long-term and work; outsiders usually find it more difficult,” he said.
However, he and other locals have caveats. Their fear is overdevelopment and mass tourism, which may end up destroying their way of life.
“It doesn’t need to be like Bali… too many people,” Abdul Ghaffar chimed in. “We love our place, don’t we? … the land of our grandparents.”
– BERNAMA