A Glimpse at Seponda Island: Bajo part 2

Life of the Bajo Part 2: Sea Gypsies of Kendari

The morning light shimmered over the water as we arrived at the Bajo village off the coast of Kendari. Wooden houses stood gracefully on stilts, their reflections rippling across the sea. The smell of salt and smoke drifted through the air, mingling with the laughter of children who raced across narrow plank walkways, their bare feet light as they balanced effortlessly above the water.

The Bajo—often called Sea Gypsies—have lived in harmony with the ocean for generations. Their world is the sea: they are born above it, live by it, and are buried beside it. Some still live in wooden boats, though many now build their homes above the reefs, connected by a maze of walkways and bridges that rise and fall with the tides.

When we arrived, our small boat drew curious eyes and quick smiles. We came bearing simple gifts—bags of cookies, biscuits, and small toys for the children. But the real gift was time. We spent the day with them—playing tag along the docks, swimming in the shallow water, diving after shells, and floating beneath the hot Sulawesi sun.

The children were fearless in the sea. Many learned to swim before they could walk, as did I. I was reminded of my own childhood, and the joy of playing, snorkeling, and floating with my mother and sister. as I watched the kids slipping into the water as naturally as land-born children step onto grass. They laughed easily, their joy as fluid as the waves that carried their tiny boats.

The Bajo’s way of life is deeply intertwined with the rhythm of the tides. They are expert free divers, able to descend remarkable depths to catch fish, octopus, or sea cucumbers—all without modern equipment. Yet their centuries-old traditions are under threat: coral bleaching, overfishing, and rising sea levels slowly erode not only their environment but their identity.

Still, resilience shines through every wooden beam of their homes and every child’s laughter echoing across the turquoise water. Their sense of community is strong, grounded in sharing and cooperation. Food, stories, and even the smallest treasures—like a plastic ball or bright toy—are shared among them, a reminder of the abundance found in simplicity.

As we prepared to leave, and waved our good-byes, I realized the Bajo were not just people who live on the sea—they belong to it. Their existence is a living metaphor for balance and connection, something the rest of us, tethered to land and screens, often forget.

That day reminded me that sustainability is not only about resources—it’s about relationships: how we live with the earth, with the sea, and with each other.