When I first travelled to Mozambique back in 2014, that summer there were 25 deaths on the beach in just the one tiny village I was in. Myself and a friend were directly involved in the unsuccessful rescue of a four year old boy, with the most horrific part being that this kind of thing was normal. Since then, a surf lifesaving association has been set up by a small group of people committed to keeping the beach safe. In the summer just passed there were no reported deaths. T

The village of Pango on the island of Efate, Vanuatu is a patchwork of banana trees, coconut palms and coral. The houses are built on foundations of calcified bones of the reef out front and the water delicately colliding with the land could be drawn on with highlighter. In the afternoon high-tide kids play in the shallows, backs shiny in the evening light – their affinity for the ocean all too obvious. There were moments in my short trip there that I had to pinch myself at t

Notes on being female. Images by Mariah Main, Vanuatu. I have always thought that the best way to overcome the gender divide was to be excellent. Train, study, practise, be better. “Be so good they can’t ignore you,” I heard a red-carpet celebrity comment once. I chanted this mantra over and over again, personally discrediting those who spoke outright about gender issues. Grouping outspoken feminists in with vegans – recognising the value of practising rather than preaching s

The descent into the pits of existence, into a life ruled by paranoia and loneliness can only be seen when you reach the pit itself. Until the blind bats of self-loathing flutter in your eardrums, white noise that deafens you to the electric magnetism of life. Run back to the sea, back to where your pulse vibrates from your wrists to distant lands and back again, where only you can feel the lifeblood of the earth seeping into your veins and replacing your own. Run back to the