Shal­iza Has­sanali

Mark Co­la has sur­vived for 30 years on a di­et of dried co­conuts and rain­wa­ter on the beach­front of Ica­cos. Vil­lagers who live in the far-flung fish­ing com­mu­ni­ty mar­vel at Co­la's prim­i­tive sur­vival tech­niques, rep­e­ti­tious meals and his seclu­sion from so­ci­ety. It's a lifestyle no vil­lager wants, even though the scenery is re­lax­ing and pic­turesque.

De­scrib­ing Co­la as a her­mit, vil­lagers say they have nev­er seen him vis­it a su­per­mar­ket, bar, restau­rant or cloth­ing store in the three decades he has been re­sid­ing on the beach. Nei­ther does he so­cialise nor en­gage in con­ver­sa­tions with any­one. Co­la told to the Sun­day Guardian on Mon­day that he loves his se­clud­ed lifestyle.

"It's not a both­er to me," Co­la said, re­fus­ing to speak much. He al­lowed the Sun­day Guardian to en­ter in­to his sanc­tu­ary, or "home" as he calls it, lo­cat­ed sev­er­al me­tres from the shore­line. Co­la lives a stone's throw from the Ica­cos Fish­ing Fa­cil­i­ty. The lo­ca­tion he se­lect­ed is in­con­spic­u­ous. Asked if he want­ed to be re­lo­cat­ed, Co­la shook his head in the neg­a­tive. "This is my home," he mut­tered.

Vil­lager Shar­maine Ali-Mo­hammed who has known Co­la for years said on­ly a few peo­ple have been al­lowed to en­ter his sanc­tu­ary. "Con­sid­er your­self lucky be­cause he guards his home like a hawk." She re­mem­bered Co­la liv­ing a nor­mal life with his fam­i­ly in the com­mu­ni­ty. "He went on a deep-sea trawler as a young boy and jumped over­board one day. He swam to shore and nev­er went back home. No one knows why and he has nev­er told any­one why he chose to live out­doors."

Ques­tioned about his fam­i­ly, Co­la curt­ly replied, "I don't speak of my fam­i­ly." Ali-Mo­hammed said oc­ca­sion­al­ly Co­la would take a sea bath, but hard­ly ven­tures away from the beach. Hav­ing heard of Co­la's her­mit lifestyle, Ali-Mo­hammed, along with two male rel­a­tives, went in search of him on Mon­day. The Sun­day Guardian joined them on their quest.

Af­ter a 30-minute search along the beach, we came up emp­ty-hand­ed. Co­la was even­tu­al­ly spot­ted near the bank of a shal­low riv­er prac­tis­ing Chi­nese mar­tial arts. A small punch­ing bag, which hung from a makeshift goal­post and is used by Co­la to keep fit, stood out among his be­long­ings. His sur­round­ings were im­mac­u­late. He ad­mit­ted that he had not spo­ken to any­one in months.

Co­la sleeps un­der a makeshift struc­ture-a con­crete slab and stones less than two feet high, sup­ports five sheets of gal­vanise. Rocks were strate­gi­cal­ly placed on top of the gal­vanise to keep it from blow­ing away. To sleep at night, Co­la would crawl un­der the gal­vanise. The gal­vanise, which was built on a slant, serves as a catch­ment for rain­wa­ter, which Co­la col­lects in plas­tic con­tain­ers and buck­ets.

This wa­ter is then used for drink­ing, bathing and wash­ing his few pieces of cloth­ing. Above his liv­ing quar­ters, a mas­sive sea grape tree swayed in the breeze. Co­la clads him­self with gar­ments left be­hind by sea bathers or vis­i­tors. He wears what­ev­er cloth­ing he finds on the beach, in­clud­ing fe­male cloth­ing and un­der­wear. On a ta­ble made from tree branch­es, a grater con­tain­ing rem­nants of shred­ded co­conut rests in­side a plas­tic bowl.

On­ly mo­ments be­fore, Co­la had squeezed the milk from a grat­ed co­conut and placed it in a bot­tle with wa­ter to fer­ment to make co­conut oil. The oils are used on his flaw­less skin and hair, which glis­tened un­der the blis­ter­ing sun. Dozens of the dried fi­brous nut, which Co­la col­lect­ed from along the shore­line, were heaped in a pile.

The co­conuts, Co­la said, have been his main sta­ple for years. "It's all that I eat. There are no fruit trees around. I don't hunt an­i­mals or fish. I en­joy what na­ture has to of­fer."