Drifting Worlds: The Last Sea Nomads – The Bajau

Transcript

Phillip: 0:00

The Baja can dive up to 200 feet deep without equipment all in one breath. The Baja are literally and figuratively built different. Welcome back to Stories of Survival, the podcast where we preserve the pulse of endangered cultures before they drift too far from the shores of memory. In our last episode, we journeyed through the golden grasses of East Africa. Walking beside the proud warriors and wise elders of the Maasai. But today we leave the dust behind and we trade spears for spear guns because today we set sail. Imagine a life without fences, no highways, no borders, no land at all beneath their feet. Just the wide open sky above and the endless restless sea below. Today we enter the world of the Baja, the legendary sea nomads of Southeast Asia, of people who have lived their lives afloat for generations, drifting with the tides, diving with the fish, and carrying their culture across coral reefs instead of continents. The Baja aren't just fishermen or sailors, they're ocean dwellers, people who've called the sea home for over a thousand years. And their story is one of resilience, resourcefulness, and reverence for the water that sustains them. So tighten your ropes, steady your balance, and breathe deep because we're about to plunge into a world where the ocean is your cradle, your classroom, your kitchen, and your cathedral. I'm your host Philip, an explorer of voices and paddler of forgotten waters. Welcome to the world of the Baja, the last of the true c nomads. For the Baja, they live a life between wind and water. You wake up not to an alarm clock, but to the rhythmic lap of waves kissing the hull of your wooden boat. Sadly, there is no snooze button, just the sound of the C, always calling, always moving. The smell of salt is in the air and the horizon stretches out like a canvas of endless blue and beneath your stilted home or houseboat or coral reef, teeming with light, color, motion and dinner you dive in. No oxygen tank, no flippers, just your lungs, your knowledge, and a spleen that's evolved to store. Extra oxygen. Seriously, science confirms this, and 60 meters below, you'll harvest your meal. This isn't fantasy. This is daily life for the Baja people, a community of sea nomads who've lived on the waters of Southeast Asia for over a thousand years. In 2018, researchers studying the Baja discovered something astounding. They have genetically enlarged spleens. Nearly 50% larger than average. That's not training, that's evolution over centuries of life at sea. Their bodies have literally adapted to the deep. They have lived with the water for over a thousand years, and when the Baja dive, their spleens contract, pushing extra red blood cells into circulation, giving them a longer breath hold, and a greater resistance to low oxygen. How long can they stay down? Well, in some cases up to 13 minutes and not just shallow dives either. The Baja have been recorded to reach depths of up to 60 to 70 meters for reference. That's the height of a 20 story building straight down with absolutely no gear for comparison. An average untrained person might be able to dive four to six meters. And experienced free divers generally max out around 30 meters, and your average person can only hold their breath for about 40 to 90 seconds. The Baja literally blow that out of the water, pun intended. However, this isn't a one-off daredevil stunt. This is just breakfast. They glide beneath the waves, spearing, fish, harvesting sea cucumbers, octopuses, and shellfish with grace and precision. Their eyes adapt underwater too. Some Baja children have been found to have enhanced underwater vision, able to focus more clearly beneath the surface than children who grow up on land. There are sometimes called sea gypsies in tourism brochures or pop culture, but let's be honest that term, even though widespread is an outsider's label, a romanticized colonial leftover, the term Baja pronounced. But Jao is the respectful, self-identified name that honors their heritage and dignity. You'll find the Baja scattered like pearls across the maritime zones of the Southern Philippines, Eastern Malaysia, especially Saba and coastal Indonesia. And here's something to grapple with. Many Baja are technically stateless. They've spent centuries drifting between nations, cultures and tides. They were seafarers long before borders were drawn on maps, and because they rarely register births or claim citizenship, many have no official identity in the eyes of the government that now rule the lands they fish near. There are people shaped by the sea Uneed yet deeply rooted a culture that never sought to conquer land, but to live harmoniously with the ocean. And in a world obsessed with territory and borders, the bajas very existence is a radical act of fluidity. Now, when I say the ocean is home to the Baja, I mean that literally, traditionally the Baja lived on boats called Le Lippa, narrow, shallow wooden vessels with sails and tiny living quarters. Think of them as houseboats, minus the luxury, plus a whole lot of effort and soul. These boats aren't just transportation. They're homes, nurseries, kitchens, altars, and sometimes even classrooms. Children were born on boats, raised on boats and learn to swim before they could walk, and they could even read the currents long before they could read a book. And though many Baja have shifted to stilt houses, which are timber homes, balanced on poles rising straight from the shallow reef flats. One thing hasn't changed. The sea is still everything. Their homes are built on the ocean, not beside it, and often kilometers from the nearest land. Imagine waking up and stepping outside on a bamboo platform with nothing but turquoise water beneath you and the distant hum of the tide. For the Baja the Sea is not a resource to be extracted, and it's not a tourist destination. For them. The sea is an ancestor, a provider, a cradle of life, a school, a supermarket, a playground, and a spiritual sanctuary all rolled into one where we see salt water, they see stories where we might see danger, they see direction. And this relationship with the ocean isn't just cultural, it's physical. As we touched on earlier, the Baja have lived at sea for over a thousand years so long that their bodies actually adapted to it. They have a suite of biological traits, some of which science is only beginning to understand. They've been found to possess greater underwater vision in childhood, and they can slow their heart rates dramatically during dives. What's also known as the mammalian dive reflex, which lets them conserve oxygen like seals or whales. And yes, they have those famously enlarged spleens. We talked about basically an internal oxygen tank shaped by evolution itself. They're biologically built for life under water. Extraordinary isn't just their biology, it's their philosophy. In Baja culture, the sea doesn't belong to them. They belong to the sea. They believe in taking only what is needed, offering gratitude and passing down wisdom from generation to generation, not in textbooks, but in songs, stories, and the practiced art of survival. And in a world where we are trying to remember how to live in balance with nature, the Baja never forgot. Nature to them is an ancestor, a teacher, a provider, and a spiritual force. Now, here's where things get even more fascinating and sadly fragile. The Baja don't speak just one language. Therefore, meaning there is no one single Baja language. Instead, they speak a whole array of closely related languages connected to the Hessian branch of the Aronian languages. The dialect and languages gently shift depending on where they live, and they, they're often mixed with local tongues wherever they reside. It's a language shaped by water. Travel and adaptation just like the people themselves in Malaysia, especially in Saba. Many Sam Baja speak, Sam Baja, a broad linguistic group with several dialects that can differ dramatically even from village to village. In the Southern Philippines, particularly the Ulu Archipelago, they speak sma, a melodic complex tongue passed down through oral storytelling, lullabies and ancient chants that guide everything from fishing to prayer. Here are some common greetings in sma. Good morning is Aha. Good afternoon is Aha Koha. My name is Translates to Koi, so in my case it would be Koi Philip. And finally, thank You means Pu. In Indonesia, you'll hear dialects blended with local inflections and sometimes mixing in Indonesian words. This is especially common among younger speakers. This linguistic variety is part of what makes the Baja so beautifully complex. Their speech is a living archive of their nomadic history filled with oceanic metaphors, directional knowledge, and environmental cues we don't even have words for in English. There are terms for currents, reef types, monsoon winds, fish behaviors, and boat navigation. So precise. They could rival A GPS. But here's the hard truth. These languages, this web of ancestral voices is fading. Why? Because as national borders hardened and formal education systems push for standardized national languages, younger generations of Baja are growing up without the fluency in their mother tongues. They're taught to speak the language of the state, not the sea. And when language goes, it's not just vocabulary. We lose. We lose songs, the ones that lull children into sleep and awaken spirits. During rituals, we lose oral maps. Stories passed from grandparent to child that explain how to read the wind or when the fish will return, we lose the names, the unique intimate words for different fish tides, weather patterns, and reef zones. We lose cultural identity. That deep sense of belonging to a world far more ancient and fluid than any passport. One Baja Elder once told a researcher, when our children stop speaking our language, they forget who they are, and the sea becomes silent. That's why we're here. That's why this podcast exists, because language isn't just communication, it's culture, ecology, and survival all liberated into one. Now let's discover a culture that flows like water. So what makes the Baja culture truly unique? Well, for one, they are master free divers and spear fishers. Children learn to swim far before they could even walk. Seriously. Imagine a toddler in diapers and goggles. They dive using wooden goggles carved by hand, and often use weights tied to their waist to sink faster. Baja perform Igal, a slow flowing dance, often accompanied by ang, a set of small nobbed gongs, ang, which are drums and sometimes bamboo flutes. Igal is performed during weddings, religious festivals, and ceremonies to honor spirits. The dance mimics the motions of the sea life. Gliding fish, waving seaweed, and rolling tides. It's both performance and prayer. Dancers are often dressed in ornate costumes made from brightly colored silk or cotton, and they're embellished with sequins beads, and gold thread. Baja weddings are very elaborate and in fact very colorful affairs. The actual wedding day is a community spectacle, and the couple is paraded on beautifully decorated bolts called lepa adorned with vibrant Sam flags fluttering above. Even their architecture tells a story. But Jiao families often lived in balo, stilt houses built above coral reefs or floating homes last to boats. These homes are a lightweight, portable, and tethered by logs or anchors. They're construction reflects a nomadic way of life, dictated by monsoons, fishing, migration, and intergenerational knowledge of the tides. Food is prepared. Communally grilled econ bacca, which is charcoal fish, sea urchins, and sea cucumbers are dietary staples for the Baja people. Every aspect of Baja life from cuisine to cosmology is deeply intertwined with the sea. This is not just a culture, it's a living archive of maritime human history. To live as the Baja do is to inhabit a fluid world, one where identity is inseparable from the ocean's pulse. Now religion among the Baja is a blend of Islam introduced through trade and animus beliefs that predated while most paja identify as Sunni Muslims and observe Islamic practices, many still perform rituals rooted in ancestral sea warship. Before long voyages or important ceremonies, offerings like rice, beetle leaves, or diet cloth may be made. T the Lord of the sea and other spirits of the sea. Shamans known as are sometimes called to heal illnesses, believed to be caused by angry spirits or broken taboos. In these moments, spiritual practice becomes survival and tradition becomes protection. They believe in sea spirits and ancestral guardians. These spirits aren't just folklore. They're considered very real presences embedded into the fabric of daily life. A sudden storm, an illness after a dive or a poor fishing catch might all be interpreted as signs that a spirit has been offended or balance has been broken. When the sea gets angry, the Baja don't just think it up to, oh, it's bad weather. No, they read it as a message. In these moments, offerings are made. These offerings like the ones discussed earlier, such as bele leaves are gently floated on the waves or left near mangroves and reef outcrops where the spirits are believed to dwell. Some families may even burn incense or recite chance passed down orally through generations. At the center of the spiritual practices is the HUN or Sea Shaman, a figure of immense respect and authority. The D is a spiritual mediator who can diagnose spirit caused illnesses, perform healing rituals, burlesque, voyages, and even interpret os from the tides, stars or dreams. Their knowledge is part inherited and part initiated, usually passed down from master to apprentice over many years. In some cases, Aun may go into a trance-like state to speak with the spirit world offering messages or warnings to the community. In some cases, a ceremonial dance is performed not for entertainment, but to appease the spirits of the sea. During this ritual, the shaman may wear symbolic attire and use specific instruments like drums and chants to call the spirits. In the end for the Baja, the Sea is not just water. It is alive. It listens, and if you know how to read its moods and respect its spirits, it will provide. Hey, if you made it this far, thanks for diving deep with me into the world of the Baja. Don't sign off just yet. There is much more to discuss, but if you learn something new, felt inspired, or want to support stories like this getting told, do me a favor, please, like, follow, subscribe, share, or whatever your platform lets you do, hit that button. Smash it like you're diving for sea cucumbers. Rate the show, leave a review and tag us if you're sharing it on social media. I'd love to see where you're listening from. Remember to follow advocates of Heritage on Instagram and TikTok, and if you have ideas for future episodes, questions, or just wanna share ideas over indigenous cultures and languages, please share with me, slide into the dms, or shoot me an email at advocates of heritage@gmail.com. Your support helps keep these voices alive and this project afloat literally, let's keep preserving the past one story at a time. Now, back to the episode. Sadly, the Baja are facing a lot of pressure, especially with modern struggles. The truth is many Baja are completely invisible on paper. Entire generations have lived and died without a birth certificate, passport, or any form of official citizenship. In the eyes of modern nation states, they quite literally don't exist. That means no healthcare, no education. No legal protections and no political voice. They are stateless at sea, caught in bureaucratic limbo between countries like Malaysia, the Philippines, and Indonesia, none of which fully claim or protect them, but the pressure isn't just legal. Their way of life is' under siege from a cascade of modern challenges, one being overfishing by large commercial fleets, which has completely devastated fish stocks in coastal waters. Making traditional spearfishing a lot less fruitful. The Baja who fish sustainably and take only what they need now find themselves competing with industries dragging up everything in their path. Coral reefs are also the heart of Baja fishing grounds. And thanks to coral bleaching, a lot of them are dying. In addition, thanks to rising sea temperatures, ocean in acidification and pollution, these very fragile ecosystems home to the fish they depend on are collapsing in real time. Also, government bans on tradition fixing methods such as dynamite fishing, which were once common among a lot of Baja communities have cut access to what they have historically relied on to survive. While, yes, dynamite fishing can be harmful to the environment and it is rightfully banned. Many of these bands come without offering alternatives or support, which leaves entire communities without a way to fish. And perhaps the most destructive of all is forest resettlement. In places like Saba, Malaysia, the government has forced the Baja to push them into land-based housing projects. And when they did this without consent. Adequate preparation or cultural understanding for a people whose identity is tied to the tides, boats, and sea breeze. Being forced onto land is very distorting. The result is a loss of language, loss of tradition, and loss of identity. And here's the harshest truth. UN recognition equals silence, and silence equals cultural extinction. Without official Documentation, the Baja remain excluded from national census records, history, books, and policy decisions. It's as if they were never there, and if we don't listen, really listen to the stories, the songs to spirit of the scene, nomads, they could be gone before the next generation even knows that they were there. Now, here's where you come in by donating to our mission, subscribing to our podcast, following the podcast, or sharing our podcast or following on any of our platforms, you're opening a doorway. Your support helps us travel directly and hear the voices of the Baja, not just talk to them. It allows us to sit beside their boat builders, dive with our fishermen, and learn hand to hand. And heart to heart. We're here to listen, document to be taught, and to share, to understand the rhythms of the le, the pulse of the, and the sacred bond between a people and their sea. Then we bring back that knowledge, not to keep, but to share through podcast episodes such as this films, exhibitions, and workshops that help amplify indigenous voices, not replace them. So if this story moved you, please like, share, subscribe, and follow. But more than that, support because preserving a culture doesn't happen from a distance. It happens when we show up, ask questions, and honor the answers. Let's make sure that Baja aren't a scene. But truly heard. This movement isn't about freezing the past in Amber. It's about steering the future with one hand on the rudder of tradition, it's about ensuring that the next generation. Doesn't just inherit memories, but tools, stories, and purpose. Now, you might be wondering, why should I even do this? Well, the Baja are extremely knowledgeable and can teach us multitude of things. One being free diving techniques, breathing control, pressure, adaptation, and underwater hunting without modern gear. They spear fish with precision, patience, and reading underwater currents to catch fish sustainably. Also, they're boat building, crafting lepa bolts by hand, using traditional tools and no blueprints, just memory and skill. In addition, their navigation and marine stewardship by using wave patterns, stars and winds to travel across open sea without instruments they can understand reef systems, fishing seasons, and respectful harvesting. Another thing being their healing practices, such as natural remedies and spiritual rituals but most of all, to prevent the world from losing another culture and another language, one language dies every two weeks, meaning by the end of this century, half of the world, 7,000 languages are predicted to be gone. I would like you to imagine the world as a mosaic, a sort of painting, and when one of these indigenous communities. Dies when one of these languages dies, one of these cultures dies. A piece of the human mosaic is falling with it, and therefore, we are losing a point of view, a perspective, and a people that we can learn from. I would like to remind you that the Baja aren't lost. They're just drifting in a world that no longer values the tide. But if we can pause, if we can dive in and hear their song, maybe we'll find ourselves a little closer to the truth. So next time you hear the ocean, imagine it Carrying stories of freedom, of survival, and of a people who never needed maps only stars. Thank you for joining me on this journey across the waves. Next episode we'll travel to the snow covered lands to meet a people who sing with a throat of the wind and ride reindeer through the Arctic desk. Until then, stay curious, stay kind, and keep the stories alive.