Sri Lanka, well known for its cinnamon and Ceylon tea, has its fair share of tourist hot spots such as Kandy, Arugam Bay, Weligama and Mirissa. However, the bulk of these spots are localized to the south of the island, while the northern province is not known for tourism or travelers. With that being said, you can probably guess where the Edges of Earth team was headed.
From the immigration officer to the cell phone provider, the trolley handler and the taxi driver, every local we interacted with at the international airport was shocked to learn that our destination was Mannar Island, and that we’d be getting there by road-tripping along the west coast.
Despite them having us pegged as a group of surfers destined for the south coast, we assured them that we in fact hadn’t lost our compass and we very much intended on making it to the small fishing town on our expedition trail.
Exiting through the airport doors, with many people trying to help guide us to the well trodden tourist trail, we couldn’t help but notice a huge sign saying “The Ministry of Crab Welcomes You.” Having no idea what this meant at the time, we eventually came to realize our entire experience in the country would lead back to this very sign. Thinking that, in some way, this is what Sri Lanka deems itself—a ministry of the beloved crab—we moved on, ready for our long anticipated adventure.
One does not simply walk out of the airport and arrive in Mannar Island. The town of Mannar, located on an island adjoining the mainland, resides a whopping seven hours from the international airport. This journey was going to be long, bumpy, windy and unique to anything we’d ever seen prior. There were going to be stops along the way, crises to avert and lots of spice-infused Sri Lankan food staples to sample before making it to the final port of call.
While most people come for the culture, food and landscapes, we were here for ocean conservation. And that’s not something Sri Lanka is best known for. While there’s been lots of terrestrial protection efforts put forward, conservation of the Sri Lankan waterways, similar to most other countries around the world, has been tragically overlooked.
In recent times, a significant amount of damage has been dealt to Sri Lanka’s peripheral Indian Ocean by way of overfishing, pollution, habitat loss and unsustainable tourism. Flow on effects from neighboring India, the most populous country in the world, has also taken its toll. In a pure geographical sense you could quickly come to the conclusion that the ocean here, from a centrally strategic perspective, has been heavily exploited.
Road tripping with people you are familiar with, whether that be family or friends, isn't always for the faint of heart. On the other hand meeting people for the first time, people of a completely different background and culture, and then traveling with them continuously over the span of a week to learn about ocean conservation—now that can be a tall order. But here we were, making our way up the coast with our two new friends Hafsa Jamel, Programme Manager with Lanka Environmental Fund (LEF), and our trusted, bright eyed and bushy tailed driver, Dalara.
Going on such a long road trip with our on-ground partners was a first for our expedition team. And it was certainly Hafsa’s first guiding a team for this duration in all their time under the LEF banner. At first, our interactions were extremely formal. Everyone was feeling it out, recognizing the somewhat unusual social situation we’d created.
We were going to be living together in extremely close quarters, for the entire duration of the trip. But with a few ice breaking conversations and after a few stops on the side of the road for the local culinary delights that Sri Lanka is so well known for, the bonding process began.
For their young age, Hafsa knew so much about so many things. We covered topics from the 30-year war that ravaged the country to politics to cultural trends, but perhaps most often, we found ourselves talking about food. But through our conversations I found that despite being brought up in entirely different backgrounds, we could all relate personally as a part of the same generation. And because of that, a closeness with Sri Lanka started to form quite quickly. It was Hafsa’s role with LEF that enabled them to speak so eloquently on the topic of the ocean, as this organization supports local conservation groups to deliver withstanding impact. By helping those on the frontlines of conservation with funding, access and resources, LEF keeps a pulse on a wide range of conservation efforts happening around the country.
As we made our way past mangroves, deserted aquaculture farms, national parks and historical beaches, we finally made it to Mannar Island. The scenes were as beautiful as they were devastating at times, revealing how much has been extracted from this place. Yet even in places heavily scarred by human destruction, natural beauty continued to emerge, displaying environmental resilience and leaving hope for restorative potential.
Mannar Island and the broader northern province is an ecological haven as much as any other part of the tropical country. It is reputable for its rich biodiversity, particularly the vibrant birdlife that thrives in its surrounding wetlands and sanctuaries. Its beaches, such as those along Adam's Bridge, are steeped in historical lore, linking the island to Indian legends as well as the country’s troubled past. Where there is beauty in Mannar Island, there is also hardship—there’s no denying that.
The LEF team opened our eyes, and stomachs, to a whole new world of cuisine. And we indulged in a lot of it. Most notably, we fell in love with:
But it was the crab that caught our attention most. Mannar Island’s crab farming, specifically for mud and the aptly named blue manna crab, was a sight to be seen—with each crab being weighed, sorted and graded for final delivery. The bigger the better, with some of them destined for places like the Ministry of Crab, which we somewhat disappointingly came to learn was a famed restaurant chain born out of Sri Lanka, NOT in fact what the country calls itself as we first assumed at the airport.
These crabs, a vital source of sustenance and income, are either consumed locally, sent to nearby markets in Mannar and Colombo, or exported. The best catches, especially during the rainy season, can yield up to 50-60 kg (110-132 lbs) of crab daily. Despite regulations on catch size, the focus here is on whatever can be caught immediately—and it’s all about the “luck of the draw.”
We witnessed the process of sorting, weighing, and packaging these crabs for further processing. This integral fishing operation is a key survival element for those living along Sri Lanka's coast, linking different communities in a shared economic activity.
With our travels extending beyond Mannar Island to other parts of the west coast, we had the opportunity to meet a diverse range of people connected to the marine world. Along every step of the way, our trusted driver Dalara, went beyond in translative and interpretative duties.
We met mangrove guardians, wetland scientists, bird watchers, student activists, fisherman, crab farmers, sea cucumber divers, rogue eco-warriors, seafood restaurateurs, scuba diving veterans and local legends who each had colorful stories to tell. A consistent theme was their obsession with their country’s food as well as how each one would directly or indirectly shape the next generation of ocean preservation, awareness and education.
This team represented the connective tissue between them all in one way or another, be it funding, connections and networking or access to other resources.
Every stop of our road trip opened our eyes to the reality of this incredible country’s ocean state and just how many people were rallying together to try and right the wrongs. It was a lesson in human connection through and through, proving there are plenty of enthusiastic people who want to make a difference—regardless of their skill sets, experience levels, backgrounds or preferences.
In this instance, the power of connectivity between people who share a common vision had us convinced that change can and will happen, albeit gradually. Instead of working in silos, thinking that individual missions will shift the needle for the state of the ocean, the people we met on Sri Lanka’s environmental frontlines are firm believers in the collective effort. Bringing together talent, resources, partners, skills and abilities together is what they believe will create the most consistent and wide-reaching change.
This was the first time our team had met so many people involved in ocean conservation and restoration in such a concentrated space of time. It was the first time where we could clearly observe the next generation galvanizing around something as deeply critical as restoring their surrounding waters, in their own unique ways.
With all of these firsts, we left Sri Lanka with a new outlook. Our interactions with the individuals connected by LEF emphasized the global dedication to environmental conservation. It was remarkable to witness people who devote their lives, forsaking comforts and personal time, for the sake of our planet. We were fortunate to meet so many dedicated individuals collaboratively striving to improve Sri Lanka's marine ecosystem, a testament to the collective effort being made to safeguard and enhance our natural world.
Striding back through the airport and onto our next adventure, we again crossed paths with the Ministry of Crab sign. After three weeks in one of the most flavor-filled countries we’d ever been to, we now looked at that sign a lot differently than when we first laid eyes on it. The crab now held so much more meaning, with its six legs carrying it sideways in the face of adversity before being able to move the creature forward.
If the many players involved in these conservation efforts are the legs, then the LEF are the shell connecting its them. Each one an integral piece of the puzzle to keep the economy running, push for sustainable tourism practices and ensure the ocean can work it's way back to thriving.
To be continued …
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