"the women in my country
have coal black eyes
caramel skin
and olive-shine hair
the rib of the ship
the limb and backbone
they bear it all
yet i often wonder
are they caressed often?
are they even cherished?
or even fully embraced?"
This poem makes many readers uncomfortable. Good. It should.
Why I Wrote It
I wrote 'The Women in My Country' on an evening after attending yet another community event where women did all the organizing, all the cooking, all the cleanup, while men were praised for simply showing up.
It is a pattern I have witnessed my entire life. Maldivian women are extraordinarily strong. We are educated, employed and ambitious. We run businesses, raise families and contribute to our communities. We are the backbone of our society.
But here is the uncomfortable question: Are we valued the way we deserve to be?
What Tourists Do Not See
When you visit the Maldives, you see women in resorts providing excellent service. You might see women in local shops, in administrative roles and teaching your children in kids' clubs.
What you do not see is the full picture:
You do not see the woman who wakes at 4am to prepare breakfast for her family before heading to her job.
You do not see the working mother navigating minimal childcare infrastructure.
You do not see the daughter who sacrifices her own dreams to care for elderly parents because "that's what good daughters do."
You do not see the wife whose contribution to the household is considered "expected" rather than extraordinary.
"The Rib of the Ship"
I chose this metaphor carefully. In Maldivian history, we are a seafaring nation. Our dhonis (traditional boats) have been our lifelines for centuries. The ribs of a dhoni are the curved wooden frames that give the boat its structure, its strength and its ability to withstand rough seas.
Without ribs, there is no boat. Without women, there is no functioning society.
Yet, ribs are hidden. They do their essential work beneath the surface, unseen and uncelebrated.
That is the paradox I wanted to capture.
The Questions at the End
The poem ends with three questions, not answers:
"are they caressed often?
are they even cherished?
or even fully embraced?"
These questions are not rhetorical. I genuinely wonder. Because strength and resilience—while admirable—should not be our only value proposition.
We should not be valued because we "handle everything." We should be valued because we are human, because we are worthy, because love and tenderness are not rewards for productivity; but absolute, fundamental rights.
Why This Matters for Tourism
You might wonder: what does this have to do with tourists visiting the Maldives?
Everything.
When you visit our islands, you interact with Maldivian women constantly. Their eye color, hair color and skin tone is mentioned in a way to subtly guide the readers to dive deeper. When you visit the Maldives, you see them. They are serving your meals, cleaning your rooms, teaching your children, guiding your excursions, running the shops where you buy souvenirs.
Understanding the fuller picture of their lives makes you a more conscious, respectful traveler. It helps you:
- Appreciate the labor behind the service with a smile
- Tip generously, knowing it genuinely helps
- Show kindness to women balancing impossible loads
- Support businesses run by women
- Carry home stories about real Maldivian women, not just scenic backdrops
The Poem's Reception
This poem has generated the most conversation of anything in the book. Maldivian women message me saying, "Thank you for saying what we feel." Maldivian men sometimes get defensive. International readers express surprise—"I thought the Maldives was progressive!"
We are progressive in many ways. But like everywhere, we have work to do.
Poetry creates space for these difficult conversations. It asks questions without demanding specific answers. It invites reflection rather than imposing judgment.
What I Hope Readers Take Away
I do not expect this poem to solve gender inequity in the Maldives. I do not expect it to instantly change centuries of cultural patterns.
What I hope is that it plants a seed.
A seed of awareness. A seed of curiosity. A seed of commitment to do better.
For Maldivian readers: I hope it validates your experience and sparks conversations in your families.
For tourist readers: I hope it adds depth to your interactions with Maldivian women.
For everyone: I hope it reminds you that paradise, like everywhere, is complex. Beautiful and flawed. Strong and vulnerable. Worthy of both celebration and critical examination.
The Gift of Uncomfortable Poetry
The easiest thing would have been to write only beautiful poems about turquoise water and perfect sunsets. To create a "feel-good" souvenir that reinforces tourist fantasies of paradise.
But that would be dishonest. And dishonesty does not heal.
'Heal in Paradise' includes poems about grief, poverty, struggle, and inequality because healing requires honesty. You cannot heal what you will not acknowledge.
So yes, this poem might make you uncomfortable. Sit with that discomfort. Ask yourself why. And then ask yourself: what can I do with this awareness?
That is the power of poetry. Not to provide answers, but to ask the questions we are afraid to voice.
Read "The Women in My Country" and 48 other poems in "Heal in Paradise: Collection of Poems from the Maldives." Available now.
Photo Credit: Ibrahim Mushan (@ibrahimmushan on Unsplash)
Photographer Website: https://unsplash.com/@ibrahimmushan
