Sulawesi Ferry: A Journey under the Blue Moon

Crowds gathered at Wakai port, the heart of the Togean archipelago on Sulawesi island, eagerly awaiting the ferry's departure at 5 PM. By 4, anticipation had begun to morph into impatient nervousness as the ferry loomed closer. The scorching sun spared no one from its intense heat. Men struggled under the weight of crates stacked two meters high on their shoulders, while women clustered with white-cloth sacks tied firmly with string. Each lady wore a hijab of distinct color—emerald green, sunset yellow, fuchsia pink, and blood orange.
With an elegant descent of its back door, like a tamed beast lowering its head, the ship started beckoning the most impatient ones. 
"This kind of opportunity comes only once in a blue moon," Bulan's mother told her, having spent five of her last salaries on the ferry ticket. Now, arriving later than most passengers, she felt the weight of her mother's sacrifice intensifying. Bulan was a proud member of the semi-nomadic Bajau people, and the first in her family to leave their island life for a big city, relinquishing her deep connection with the sea. 
Showing the guard her much-cherished ticket she navigated the ship's ground floor, weaving past wooden crates filled with perfectly round and shiny tomatoes. They reminded her of the blue moon that would soon cast its rare light upon the night sky. She suddenly got a weird sense that a strong current possessed the ocean pulling the ship sideways even before it departed. Nevertheless, the thought escaped her as she encountered a new battle—ascending to the passenger floor on brittle steel stairs creaking ominously.
Reaching Business Class cabin, Bulan overheard, "I want to speak to the captain!" An angry group of European-looking travelers confronted a stern-looking attendant. "We were promised by Mimi that we would get beds in the AC section. We paid extra. This is unacceptable!" the man insisted, devoid of compassion.
"The Vice Captain will address your concerns shortly," the attendant said, visibly irritated.
"Not the Vice Captain, I want the captain!"
Just then, the commotion was drowned by a woman selling her freshly made goods: "Gado gado! Nasi goreng! Pisang goreng!" Her enthusiastic chant rose and fell melodiously, blending into a rhythmic song that lured hungry Executive Class passengers away. A boy half her size but just as loud was repeating the chant, jumping up and down with every line, "Gado gado, nasi goreng, pisang goreng", making sure that no one could even formulate the full thought of hunger before being reminded of the aromas of greasy fried rice, crispy fried bananas, and juicy steamed vegetables smothered in sweet-savory peanut sauce. 
Across the room, Bulan heard a group of friends boasting, "We even have our own bathroom and AC since we are staying in the captain's cabin!" making their friends in the Executive cabin—which had limited AC and beds next to an Indonesian aunty blasting her favorite hits—visibly jealous.
She made her way to the next cabin—Business class. There was no AC here; the ventilation was rather provided by both sides of the cabin fully exposed to the sea. The beds had no barriers in between, unlike the Executive class, and they were far too short for most of the passengers, feet hanging over the edge. 
The Business class might not have had AC but Bulan preferred to feel the breeze of the sea caressing her face. The predominantly local population of this cabin had a snack bar on one side and a musollah on the other, providing options for sustenance and prayer. Feeling slightly peckish, she approached the young man working at the stall. Whatever she pointed at, he responded enthusiastically, "10.000!".
Deciding on a bag of honey butter-flavored chips, she made her way to the final floor—the top deck. There, half of the people chatting around wooden tables, sipping on unknown locally brewed spirits, and the other half engrossed in a 90s Hollywood crime thriller playing on an old tv, faces illuminated by the screen. Bulan neared a group of Scandinavian-looking men in their 30s trying to entertain their Hispanic-looking friend.
"We are supposedly staying in the captain's cabin!" the first one exclaimed. His friend ardently continued, "There is even the captain's hat on the bed." The third one seized the brief pause to add mischievously, "I'm not sure what to do with it though. I don't want to disturb the ocean spirits and wreak havoc on our 12-hour journey."
Sadly the captain's hat was merely a marketing gimmick for affluent Western tourists to pay premium prices for private cabins. And little did they know that none of them was sharing the cabin with the captain, since he wasn't actually on board. At least not yet, even though the ferry had already departed.
Most of the passengers were also ignorant to the fact that tonight was the blue moon—the second full moon of September. As it ascended the night sky, an ancient celestial power awakened. Its silvery light washed over the ferry illuminating it with an otherworldly glow. Bulan felt a tingling of energy fill her entire body. Thinking that it was the excitement of one of the attractive Scandinavian men looking in her direction, she brushed it away. Nevertheless, as a sudden storm brewed, waves lashing against the ferry, her vision blurred and she almost lost balance. She was sure that it was her ruptured eardrums making her lose balance. Being of the Bajau people, as a child Bulan intentionally burst her eardrums to cope with the pressure during deep dives. But now, her torn eardrums were at best a superfluous trait and at worst a peculiar deformity, making her extra clumsy in front of potential suitors. The men, however, were not looking at her but at the bare rocks the ship was dangerously approaching.
Bulan once again felt a weird feeling wash over her. She raised her hands to gain balance but somehow started communicating with the sea. Not only could she dive thirty meters deep on a single breath—a gift of her people, who genetically possessed larger spleens storing additional red blood cells—but she could also suddenly control the currents. She quickly steered the ship away from the rocky island that had unexpectedly emerged from the dense mist created by the wild storm. So the ship was actually being pulled in the wrong direction by a current, as she sensed before. 
With a calm dance of her right hand, almost as if conducting the song of the sea, her newfound powers allowed her to calm the stormy waters and stabilise the ship. All of the passengers were now indeed staring at her, including the Scandinavian men. Acknowledging her pivotal role, the most handsome one of the three ran to his cabin and came back with the captain's hat, carefully setting it on Bulan's head. The captain had just boarded the ship. 
She remained like this for the next 10 hours, navigating the ship with her hands, receiving admirable looks, claps and all the excess pisang goreng that the passengers purchased, overestimating their hunger due to the lady's enchanting song. The Scandinavian man was as brave as to feed the fried bananas directly into her mouth, which she didn't mind. 
Reaching the mainland, she had fulfilled her last duty as a Bajau, guiding the people to safety. As the moon exchanged roles with the sun, Bulan bid farewell to her powers and stepped off the ship, ready to embrace her new life in the big city. The sadness of leaving behind her heritage was short-lived though, as she saw the Scandinavian man waiting for her with freshly fried pisang goreng.
 
 
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