It was an exceptionally wet early December of 2019 when photos of an increasingly dirty and pollution-stained Hukuru Miskiiy Munnaaru (Friday Mosque  Minaret) began circulating all over social media. In response, the Ministry of Heritage released a statement explaining that this 300 year old structure requires absolutely arid weather conditions for its regular treatment with lime and that they will carry on with “cleaning” it as scheduled when weather permitted. This incident is one of those rare times where mass civilians caught on to what goes into conserving these ancestral gifts. The very same structures we usually don’t afford a second glance to as we whizz by in our daily lives.

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Tools poised and a clear vision in their head, standing before the behemoth task of intricately carving into stone that was under water just recently, the first ever stonemasons must have wondered how their effort would withstand the test of time. Would they have truly imagined a city such as this would emerge out of time and birth citizens that know little to nothing about their time and work?

It was reportedly back in 1985 when the “methods for their (coral structure’s) conservation treatment developed and standardized,” by a delegation from the Indian Ministry of Culture with its Maldivian counterpart. Fast forward to 2006 and another such pairing assessed a very different looking Eid Miskiy when compared to the structure we know today. The outer walls were black and green splattered with algae happily growing in the millions of crevices inside coral stone. The paint had blackened in some places and was in need of a touchup.

The original palm-fond-thatched roofs over these ancient coral structures had done them no favors against the ravages of time and weather. Coral stone by nature is prone to “high absorption of water” and the annual monsoons left their mark in coral degradation and erosion. Not only were the algae penetrated deep into the structure, but acids released by their everyday processes were doing their damage slowly. Insects such as termites, wood borers and bumble bees also made these ancient structures their homes and left their mark. The team assessing Eid Miskiiy in 2006 found however that most of the wood containing  intricate paint and lacquer work looked relatively undamaged. Termicide solution, a beeline of several algae-destroying chemicals and speedy jets of water later, degraded sections were renovated using PVA, coral powder and lime putty over a span of eight months. This detailed record is just a small window into one of the many, many conservation efforts that went into effect throughout history.

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Renowned architect, illustrator and researcher as well as HDC’s current MD, Mauroof Jameel noted that replacing thatched roofing with the current corrugated metal contributed to the rise in temperatures inside these structures. This author of the most comprehensive work on the subject to date with “Coral Stone Mosques of Maldives” noted that in addition to weathering natural elements, structures located in the city for instance also have to bear the brunt of soot and pollution from vehicles and never-ending construction.

What of the future of conservation? What could be the bridge between where we are now and what these structures require of us?

For that, let’s dial it back to the Friday Mosque Minaret and to the story of Sultan Ibrahim Iskandar in 1674 who decided that he wanted to emulate the grandeur he saw during his Hajj pilgrimage - in his beloved capital. A 36 foot tower made of boulders was erected next to the Hukuru Miskiy, 18 years after it came into fruition, forming the Minaret. The Sultan then instructed his builders to fasten a rope around the entire structure to ensure it doesn't fall apart. How strange it is to be a Maldivian today and imagine what it must have looked like standing in a sea of thatched-roof streets. They say you used to be able to see all of Male’ from one end to the other if viewed from the top of the minaret - how in awe of it the local residents must have been. Some 200 years later in 1906, it was Sultan Mohamed Shamsuddin who fastened the structure with copper belts and intricate blue paint-work that we know and love today.

So what can we garner from this look back at history? We can understand that conservation is an act that doesn’t necessarily always point to the past. Conservation has innovation at its essence and building up on our ancestral legacy will only imbue it. We must learn to gain knowledge and ride the hightails of inspiration it offers into leaving a legacy we are proud of. It is a necessity, just the same. Afterall, these structures may be hundreds of years old, but not a day goes by without a worshipper entering its premises.