The Togean Islands are a paradise, but for how long?

The Togean Islands are a secluded archipelago nestled in the Tomini Sea in northern Sulawesi, Indonesia. They’re known for their secluded beaches and marine life, and although they’re becoming a more popular tourist destination, it’s still considered somewhat of a hidden paradise. The group of islands was declared a national park in 2004, but unfortunately by then destructive fishing methods like dynamite fishing and cyanide poisoning had already taken its toll on coral reefs and its inhabitants. To this day, despite the Indonesian government’s best efforts, shark fishing, warming waters, and pollution continues to damage the area, and the growing tourist trade will surely do nothing to help.

We knew none of this as we coasted over the perfect blue water in a roaring speedboat issuing smoke and the smell of petrol. We pointed and snapped photos of men sat in narrow wooden boats, baking in the hot sun, dipping their heads into the sea in search of fish. This was our first glance of the Bajau people, an indigenous tribe who live on the water and rely entirely on fishing. They looked up and stared as we sped by, the sunshine glaring off their goggles, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. As our boat pulled into the sheltered cove of Sandy Bay, we were met with a peachy white beach scattered with basic wooden huts, some tucked away into the dark jungle foliage.

Depending on your boat pilot the snorkeling and diving can be extraordinary off the Togeans, and because it’s still not as popular as most beach getaways, it can truly feel like an unchartered paradise. It’s no wonder tourism is on the rise here, but at what cost, and can they sustain or even survive it?

Most of the resorts in the Togeans are either foreign-run, or managed by Indonesian entrepreneurs elsewhere, and when we did a little research it seems there is little to no government regulation when it comes to development on the islands. While the rising tourism trade may bring some benefits to the locals, there are some villages that could be facing utter extinction - the Bajau villages are one of them.

The Bajau are an indigenous tribe also referred to as ‘water gypsies” due to their seafaring lifestyle. Not only are their homes built on stilts over the water, the Bajau people can dive 15-20 meters underwater without using scuba gear, and they support themselves and their family off the fish they catch with spears at the bottom of the sea. It’s an incredible adaptation of human lung capacity, and a testament to their remarkable strength and endurance as a people. The decline in fish and the destruction of coral in the Togeans has probably affected them the most directly. The most well known Bajau village is on Palua Papan, which happened to neighbour the island we stayed on, Melenge. We had arranged a tour with a local guide who would bring us to the other side of Melenge Island, where we could walk over the bridge that had been built for the Bajau children on Papan who cross in order to attend school on Melenge.

We took a boat to other side of Melenge, and immediately it looked different to the heavenly cove our resort was nestled in. Sudsy waves lapped at the shore blanketed in trash, and smoke drifted up from ashy piles in the sand. We climbed out of the boat and followed our guide through the town, smiling and waving at small children who stood and stared, mouths hanging open. He gestured towards the plastic covering the sand, “this comes in every morning,” he said, sighing, “we try to clean it but it just keeps coming in.” “You burn the plastic?” I asked. “We have to,” he replied, “that’s the only way. It’s this or back in the water, which is worse.” He shrugged.

Soon after the Indonesian government declared the Togean Islands a national park, the area was earmarked as a tourist destination. Unfortunately the infrastructure necessary for supporting a steadily increasing number of both domestic and international tourists was never put in place, and the problems arising from the lack of proper trash and sewage disposal are largely ignored. Locals and resorts have no choice but to either burn or bury their trash. Although the national park fee tourists pay on arrival does supposedly go towards patrolling the water for damaging fishing methods, there either isn’t enough to solve the waste and sewage problems on the islands themselves, or the resources aren’t being appropriately prioritised. And like our guide had pointed out to us, the waste they had to contend with was not only their own, but what washes onto their shores daily. Some beaches, like this one, are currently caught in a constant deluge of plastic due to the direction of the currents.

Before the bridge from Palua Papan to Melenge was constructed, the Bajau children crossed over the water by boat, or swam with their bags on their heads, if they came at all. But recently the bridge is serving as more than an aide to Papan Island’s youth. As we walked the length of the wooden rickety bridge, we saw a large structure being built out in the water, attached not only to the bridge in several places, but to Palua Papan itself; as we got closer we realised what it was, or would be - an enormous resort. By the looks of the construction, and the floorplan posted proudly on a large sign near the village, it was being built not only alongside, but wrapped around the Bajau village. The plans showed a long patio covered in little red parasols, bungalows winding their way around the island, a large glass-encased restaurant and bar, it was a resort unlike any I’d seen on the islands we’d passed so far. I imagined sitting in the luxe restaurant and watching the women washing their clothes in the sea, their children running naked along the pier. It seemed to be teetering dangerously on the line between tourism and voyeurism, and as we stood in the centre of the village on a raised bit of rock looking out over the sea, we couldn’t help but feel we were perhaps standing on the same line.

The Bajau people looked at us with some curiosity, teens grinned and waved at us, some of the children followed us whispering and giggling, but the experience felt tainted. We had experienced and observed different cultures before in an exploratory and celebratory way, but we couldn’t help but feel now that we were simply gawking at not just poverty but at a community being ignored and dehumanised. We had been fascinated by their fishing techniques and their maritime existence, and were eager to see it all in person, but this felt a little icky. We were walking past peoples open homes, taking pictures of them hanging up their laundry and bathing their children, and the line between us and the tourists who would come and stay at this new resort seemed blurry at best. They’ll watch them gutting their fish into the sea from their shaded sun beds, and take selfies with them in their designer swimsuits, and their boats and waste and sewage will pollute and forever damage the natural resources the Bajau depend on. It’s easy to hate the resort, its developers, and its future guests, but the blame is also on us.

It was a wake up call. The Togeans are a paradise now, but in five years? In 10? If the nature of tourism doesn’t change, it’ll surely eat places like the Togean Islands alive.