Ayesha Majid, the chief of the Nancowry tribal council, comes from an illustrious family whose matriarchs have left an indelible imprint on the history of Nicobar Islands. During World War I, Ayesha’s great-grandmother, Islon, played a crucial role in the capture of a coveted German raider, Emden, prompting the British to confer on her the title of ‘Rani of Nancowry’.
After Independence, Ayesha’s grandmother, Rani Lachmi, acted as a vital bridge between the historically isolated Nicobarese community and the government. Upon her passing in 1989, Ayesha picked up the baton and has never looked back. Her leadership and resilience had a litmus test in December 2004, when the Nicobars faced a cataclysmic tsunami that claimed 3,449 lives as per the official count (10,000 or around one-third of the Nicobarese, according to the estimates of independent researchers). Then, in 2020, the COVID-19 threat loomed large. Ayesha promptly mounted a local response and safely navigated her vulnerable people through the crisis. Even as the country reeled under the horrific second wave, the Nicobarese, thanks to their equitable and inclusive response, did not have a single infection. Edited excerpts from an interview:
The late Tinfus, one of the last minluanas (spirit healers), whose sad demise in 2018 marked the end of an era in the Nicobars, had once said to me — “Nicobar is dying”. The late Mark Paul had said wistfully, “We may seem alive, but deep inside we all are dead people.” Similar sentiments were shared by the late Paul Joora and other elderly leaders. What ails the Nicobar Islands?
Today’s Nicobar feels completely alien to us. Week-long celebrations, frequent singing and dancing sessions, close-knit happy families, loving neighbours, flourishing coconut gardens, and a carefree life — all of these now exist only in our memories.
The tsunami took away everything from us. But the ensuing years of aid were even worse. Soon after the disaster, several islands were evacuated. The survivors were first moved to relief camps, and then to temporary shelters. People wanted to go back to their villages so that they could rebuild houses and tend to their plantations and kitchen gardens. We requested tools and boats. But the aid providers had different plans. They came up with ideas and projects that were strange to our worldview. Among other things, they promised us houses. Families sat idle in sweltering tin shelters for years — waiting and surviving on free rations. The community received huge compensation money that spawned mindless consumerism and alcoholism. Trauma, depression, sedentary lifestyle, alien food, and excessive alcohol consumption soon took a toll on our health.
During the allotment of the permanent shelters, joint families, the taproot of our society, were broken into multiple households. It ruptured the community’s mutual support system and jeopardised our labour-intensive traditional livelihoods. Now, when the compensation money is exhausted and livelihood opportunities remain inadequate, the Nicobarese are anxious and slipping into depression. They feel compelled to migrate to Port Blair in search of petty jobs.
Ours was a self-sufficient and self-reliant community. But since the tsunami, we have had a tragic downfall. This is what worries the elderly.
- Ayesha studied up to Class VIII in Lakshadweep and then worked as an assistant to Rani Lachmi
- First captain of Champin village, Nancowry, from 1982 to 1996, and chairperson of the Nancowry tribal council since 1996
- She was awarded a commendation certificate by the Lt. Gov. of Andaman and Nicobar Islands in 1987 for her contribution in the field of social work and community leadership
- Member of the Home Minister’s Advisory Committee for Andaman and Nicobar Islands
The Nicobarese COVID-19 response was one of a kind. Considering the community’s unique vulnerabilities — past trauma, poverty, illiteracy, erosion of traditional leadership, inadequate amenities and infrastructure — how did it manage to diffuse this unprecedented crisis so efficiently?
The initial phase, I must admit, was very difficult. Since 2004, we have been wary of earthquakes and tsunamis. Nevertheless, now we are better prepared to face such catastrophes. But the COVID-19 crisis was entirely new. The sudden lockdown led to panic in the Nicobars.
I called an emergency meeting and appealed to the tribal leaders to save our people at all costs. We worked tirelessly day and night, counselled families, spread COVID-related information, busted myths, regulated people’s movement, sealed the borders, distributed masks and essential commodities, set up a quarantine facility and numerous temporary shops across the villages, and provided special care to the vulnerable.
We lobbied the administration and succeeded in banning the movement of passengers to the Nicobars. The assistant commissioner of Nancowry supported us throughout. Essentially, it was the community’s dedicated, selfless, and collective effort that kept the deadly virus at bay.
How do you view Tinfus’s prophecy that the tsunami aid will ruin generations?
Tinfus had rare insight and wisdom. I cannot refute his prophecy. The crisis we are facing today had long been predicted by wise elders like Tinfus. I wish the community had listened to its elders rather than blindly following the outsiders.
The Nicobarese youth is fast losing its cultural roots. Is there hope for the revival of Nicobar?
It is disheartening that our younger generation is fast losing faith in traditional values and recklessly embracing the vices of the outside world — self-interest, greed, and dishonesty — without understanding their wider implications on the community. A feeling of inferiority has seeped into the hearts of youngsters. Of course, they must learn the best from the outside world. But they should not thoughtlessly discard the time-tested traditional knowledge and wisdom that has nurtured the community for centuries. All my hope lies in my people. If they come together, like the way they used to, we can still save the Nicobars.
What is your top priority?
We urgently need more livelihood engagement so that people don’t have to migrate in search of petty jobs. Besides facing racism and abuse in Port Blair, they learn ideas and concepts that are damaging to the community. Recently, several Nicobarese, with the help of outsiders, started making ‘junglee’ (country liquor) in the islands. It fetched them good money but posed a serious threat to health. The tribal councils launched an aggressive campaign. Many tried to convince us that they sell ‘junglee’ because they don’t have other sources of income. But we persuaded them that ‘junglee’ is a problem, not a solution.
Our people are helpless. They desperately need money. Thus, of late, the tribal councils have formed self-help groups in the villages across central Nicobar. We are working with the local administration to create new job opportunities. This is my top priority. Once we are able to provide sustainable livelihoods, the community will be back on its feet.
You have been leading your community for over two decades and have faced trying times, especially since the tsunami. What are your key learnings and future course of action?
My experience has taught me that no one can represent us better than ourselves. Among the three districts in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands (ANI), the Nicobars remain the most underdeveloped archipelago. A prominent reason for this is that the lone Member of Parliament from the ANI has always been (except for once) a non-indigenous person from the other two districts. Given this, it should not come as a surprise that five of the six indigenous communities on the islands are on the verge of extinction, while the total population of ANI continues to rise.
The tribal councils in central Nicobar are presently deliberating and will soon pass a resolution — keeping in mind the interests of the indigenous people and the fragile ecology of the islands — that the Andaman and Nicobar parliamentary constituency should be reserved for the Scheduled Tribes. If we succeed in this, the voices of the most marginalised indigenes from a remote periphery will also echo in the Parliament.
The interviewer is an assistant professor at IIT Delhi. He works with remote indigenous communities.
