The Moken: Vanishing Sea Nomads of Thailand

Across the archipelagos of the Andaman Sea, the Moken have spent centuries living in harmony with the ocean and its reefs. Masters of the sea and skilled fishermen, these sea wanderers have learned to navigate its vast waters with remarkable expertise. Today, however, their traditional way of life is under threat from the forces of modernity, leaving the future of this extraordinary community uncertain.

Reported by GEOFFROY DASSE

The Moken are a long-established nomadic community living between Thailand and Myanmar. They spent much of their lives at sea before gradually settling on land, often without citizenship. Today, their children face major barriers to education. Balancing the preservation of their culture with the pressures to integrate, the future of this remarkable community depends heavily on access to learning.

GETTING TO KNOW THE MOKEN

From the port of Ranong, the Andaman Sea opens out towards a horizon of work and promise. At dawn and again at dusk, boats move constantly in and out of the harbour, setting the pace of daily life. Thai and Burmese fishermen crowd the landing areas. Some haul ashore nets heavy with glistening fish, while others patch up ageing boats before heading back out. The air carries the sharp smell of salt, diesel and crushed ice. Amid the noise and movement, everyone is busy trying to make a living from the sea. Further offshore, between the Thai and Burmese coasts, a scattering of islands rises from the water. Each has its own character, shaped by its size, its shores and the people who live there.

On one of them, Koh Lao, a small village stands at the water’s edge. Wooden houses built on stilts hover above the sea, fragile yet enduring. Each day the tide brings in its share of plastic bags and drifting debris, a harsh reminder that even these distant places cannot escape the reach of modern life. And yet the rhythm of the village remains calm. The quiet is broken only by the soft rasp of women mending fishing nets or by the rattling engines of small boats heading back out to sea.

When the school opens, about thirty children gather in a single classroom built above the water. Their voices practising Thai lessons drift across the village, filling the air with an unexpected burst of energy. Once classes end, the village settles back into its usual calm. The children rush straight to the sea, diving into the water without a second thought for the rough shoreline, where sharp shells and fragments of plastic have replaced fine sand. By the age of three they swim with remarkable ease, the older ones keeping watch over the younger in a vast, open playground.

This is the world of the Moken. For generations they have made the sea and its islands their home. In the past they were known for their large kabang boats, wooden vessels in which families spent most of the year, moving from bay to bay. They were also renowned for their extraordinary free diving, able to remain underwater for long stretches while fishing or gathering food. Today many families live in houses on stilts rather than on boats, but their bond with the sea remains unshaken. It feeds them, guides them and shapes the rhythm of their everyday lives.

A LIFE SHAPED BY THE SEA

The Moken have never been tied to a kingdom or a permanent home, choosing instead to live with the tides and the islands.

Thailand Moken — Once nomadic, the Moken have settled in villages along the water, as here on Koh Lao.

The Moken have never built a kingdom or claimed a fixed homeland. For generations, their world has been the waters of the Mergui Archipelago, between southern Myanmar and the Andaman Sea. Their story forms part of the great Austronesian migrations, when seafaring communities spread from island to island across the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Unlike many others, the Moken never settled permanently or formed a nation of their own. Today only a few thousand Moken remain. Most live along the coasts of Myanmar and Thailand. In Thailand alone, only a few hundred, mainly in the provinces of Ranong and Phang Nga, still strive to preserve their identity.

For centuries, life meant constant movement. Families followed the seasons, tracking fish migrations, monsoon winds and the rhythms of the tide. Outsiders often described them as sea nomads. They lived aboard their kabang, wooden boats built from teak and bamboo that served as floating

homes. Each family found shelter there. The sea provided everything else: food, direction and a spiritual world closely tied to the water.

This intimate relationship with the ocean shaped a distinctive culture. The Moken were never conquerors of the sea. They were everyday navigators, able to read currents, winds and distant storms with remarkable instinct. Their skills extended beneath the surface as well. From an early age, children learned to free dive with ease, their eyesight adapting so they could spot fish and shellfish on the seabed. This knowledge, passed down orally through generations, remains central to Moken identity.

A FRAGILE TRANSITION

From the twentieth century onwards, the Moken’s traditional way of life began to crumble. The governments of Thailand and Myanmar gradually restricted their movements in an effort to control borders. The 2004 tsunami devastated many villages, forcing families onto land. Although their culture endured, this sudden shift marked the start of a fragile settlement.

Humanitarian aid programmes and the rebuilding of homes in concrete and timber accelerated the change. The kabang boats that once served as floating homes have largely disappeared, replaced by small, vulnerable coastal villages.

Integration into Thai society remains difficult. Many Moken have no official identity papers and enjoy few recognised rights, with only limited access to education, healthcare and formal work. On islands such as Koh Payam and Koh Surin, government “protection” programmes often ended up turning villages into what locals call “living museums,” where communities are closely monitored and cut off from the wider world, while tourism continues to encroach.

Visitors come to observe the Moken, experiencing a simplified version of their culture through performances and demonstrations. Yet the community sees almost none of the benefit. Young people sometimes work as guides or casual labourers for tourists, and the traditional maritime lifestyle is gradually disappearing. Children attend public schools, learning the national language but losing touch with their own dialect and ancestral stories. This

enforced assimilation weakens collective memory and threatens the transmission of centuries-old knowledge, leaving a once vibrant culture exposed and fragile.

A FUTURE BEYOND THE ISLAND

Once at the heart of maritime knowledge, oral tradition is slowly fading.

Today, more than 150 Moken live on the island of Koh Lao, off the south west coast of Thailand, close to Koh Phayam and Koh Chang. Life on the island is challenging. The island is privately owned, and its Thai owner holds complete authority.

Work is almost non-existent, and most families rely on fishing and gathering shellfish simply to survive. Hygiene conditions are poor; rubbish lies scattered across the island and tensions between residents are frequent. Many students leave school very early, unable to continue their education beyond lower secondary level.

For generations, the Moken passed down their extraordinary knowledge of the sea through oral tradition. Yet forced settlement has slowly begun to erode this heritage. As life changes, the younger generation is no longer learning the maritime skills and wisdom that once guided their ancestors.

Yordrak, a 16-year-old Moken student now studying in Ranong, speaks about his childhood with quiet nostalgia. “In the past, students loved playing together in the open ground and in the forest. We invented stories, built huts and spent whole days outdoors. Now that mobile phones have arrived, many prefer to stay at home on their own, in front of a screen.” His words offer a glimpse of how deeply modern life is reshaping everyday life for the youngest generation.

For those fortunate enough to attend school on the mainland, new possibilities begin to open up:

They follow the national curriculum, learn Thai and begin to imagine a different future. Yet this opportunity often comes at a cost. Leaving the island and integrating into Thai society can mean stepping away from their maritime way of life, their traditions and their language. At school, students learn the same lessons as everyone else, but gradually lose the oral knowledge once passed down by their parents, along with their deep understanding of the sea and traditional fishing practices.

Families are therefore confronted with a difficult dilemma. They can remain on their islands, preserving their culture but continuing to live in poverty. Or they can send their children to the mainland in the hope of new opportunities, knowing that part of their identity may slowly fade. Today, the future of the Moken rests on this fragile balance between opportunity and the preservation of their cultural heritage.

LEFT BEHIND

Life for the Moken is far from easy. Many families face hardships that go beyond poverty: domestic violence, alcoholism, malnutrition and disease. Limited healthcare and marriage between close relatives leave children with a range of health problems, from physical disabilities to breathing difficulties or hearing loss. For many young people, childhood is lived in fear and uncertainty, with the future often looking no brighter than the life they were born into.

Education and social support can make all the difference. Sending Moken children to school, providing lessons suited to their needs and creating opportunities for learning and play gives them a glimpse of another world. Kicking a football, sharing a meal, or simply spending time in the classroom becomes a window onto possibilities they might never have imagined.

Chris and Angie, long-time supporters of the Koh Lao school, describe the situation plainly: “Today, the Moken are largely left to fend for themselves. Aid exists, but it is scarce, irregular and often poorly matched to their reality. Finding people who are both capable and truly committed over the long term is a constant challenge. Without support, many families feel abandoned and powerless to improve their situation.”

Through initiatives like these, young people begin to see that their future can be theirs to shape. They can continue to live with the rhythm of the sea, keeping their traditions alive, or they can step into Thai society while holding on to their identity. Education becomes more than lessons; it becomes freedom, a chance to choose their path and decide their own destiny.

SETTLING COMES AT A PRICE

The Moken are one of Southeast Asia’s sea-faring communities. Forced settlement has brought profound changes to their lives, including:

Loss of traditional territory
Lack of official identification
Limited access to education
Widespread economic hardship

Today, education is one of the most powerful tools to prevent their marginalisation. It gives children the chance to dream of a different future, acquire new skills, and navigate a world that has shifted so dramatically around them.

WHO ARE THE MOKEN?

The Moken are a nomadic sea-faring people from South East Asia, living between Thailand and Myanmar. Often called “Sea Gypsies,” they spend much of their lives on the water and have an exceptional understanding of the sea and its ways.