Almost Paradise Pt 60 Ennubirr

(10 May 88) The single light from the coffee shop was the only light on the island as we made our way across the lagoon in the early morning darkness. The sun appeared above the palms shortly after we docked.

I made the run to Ennubirr (Third) Island on the LCM this morning where we picked up about a hundred Marshallese residents and returned to Yokohama Pier on Namur Island. Most of the Marshallese were workers for the U.S. Army. The rest; men, women and children went to the terminal office at the airfield on Roi to sign up for standby on the flights heading back to Kwajalein Island. (Click image once to enlarge, then again for full screen.)

Every morning except Sunday scientists, engineers, and support workers make the trip from Kwaj to Roi. The Marshallese then fill the empty planes for free flights back to Kwaj where they visit friends on Ebeye or catch a commercial flight to other destinations throughout the Pacific. Seriously ill islanders are also treated at the hospital on Kwaj or flown to Honolulu if necessary. These are some of the “perks” the U.S. promised the islanders when they were evicted from their ancestral homes on Roi Namur in 1960.

In the afternoon the process is reversed. Marshallese return to Roi on military aircraft and American workers make the trip back to their homes on Kwaj. A rule on military aircraft requires that all passengers must wear regular shoes with no open toes. The Marshallese all wear “go-aheads”, or flip-flops, everywhere they go. While waiting for the C-130s to arrive, each islander changes into a pair of running shoes in order to meet Army requirements. As soon as possible after the plane lands, the shoes come off and the passengers slip happily back into their comfortable flip-flops.

Several hundred people live on Ennubirr and many of the residents are finishing the third decade of their “temporary” exile from Roi Namur. Living conditions on this much smaller island are less than adequate.

There is no working well on Ennubirr even though the Americans built western style homes for the people, complete with sinks and faucets. Each day residents bring empty barrels over on the LCM and have them filled up with fresh water at the Yokohama Pier. And every afternoon (except Sunday)  full barrels are unloaded at Ennubirr and carted to the homes. The women of the island also bring their clothes to wash at the utility shed near the pier on Roi Namur.

The American-controlled island is a top secret installation and each Marshallese must have a worker’s badge or written permission to visit the island. Marshallese are subject to search by the Roi police for contraband before leaving the island.

Although residents of Ennubirr can shop at Gimbel’s, the American base exchange on Roi, certain items, like alcohol, are not sold to Marshallese. Of course, the black market insures that the locals won’t go thirsty.

Ennubirr appears to be about a half mile in length and a hundred and fifty yards wide. Coconut trees are fairly plentiful. But the houses look out of place with many dressed up in bold colors. One home, for example, is large  with a sun porch and railing overlooking the water’s edge. It shouts for attention with it’s unusual combination of pink, green, yellow and purple. That does remind me of Haiti and Jamaica, though.

Several motorboats lay at anchor in the lagoon as we docked but activity on shore was minimal. Most of the residents were at the pier to help load the LCM. The shoreline is littered with trash (bottles, cans, plastic items). Organization seems to be lacking. Maybe the islanders can’t feel at home in this artificial environment. Perhaps they still have the feeling that Ennubirr is temporary and one day they’ll return to their ancestral home.

Reminders of the war years are still evident. On a slight rise in line with the pier is a large old concrete warehouse built by the Japanese Army. The narrow gauge railroad that once carried men and supplies over the coral reef from Namur to Gellinam is gone now. A generator that once supplied power to Ennubirr  was destroyed during the American bombardment in 1944.

Many of the Marshallese who board the boat carry styrofoam cups filled with coffee. On the way to Namur Island the empty coffee cups and other trash left a trail in the boat’s wake.

One resident had brought five large plastic bags filled with garbage. I thought that here was someone who really carried about the environment. He was going to deposit the refuse in a container when we arrived. However, when we reached the halfway point on our trip, the man threw all five containers overboard.

I watched as the black bags sank slowly in the clear waters. I wondered, after thirty years of this, what the bottom of this part of the lagoon looked like.