My cozy little calang-fornia

I just moved back down the West Coast of Aceh. Driving down the tsunami affected coast is such an awing experience. Imagining the way that those waves completely reshaped the landscape of the coastline, the rebuilding, the stories of initial response, and now the confusion about the future; not to mention the stunning beauty, the cliffs, the beaches, the construction out at sea that used to be villages, the islands, and so on…

We drove down bumpy dusty roads in an NGO shuttle and I finally got to my home in Calang. I live right on the beach but since the town was completely wiped out, after two years there has not been enough time for complete reconstruction/restoration. So I live right on the beach in simple pods and housing, with barbed wire fencing all around it. It’s my cozy little concentration camp in paradise. It’s paradise because it feels almost like a summer camp and right out the back gate is the most amazing bay with perfect waves, views of islands, and the most amazing sunsets wading slowly into the Indian Ocean every evening just around Maghrib—when the minarets sound off and signaling the end of swimming and bodysurfing on a beach that I often have all to myself.

Sinabung Jaya Part III

I was set to leave Berastagi and head back to Aceh. On the left is our family fruit stand. Sad to leave but the first thing I needed to do was get back on the sinabung jaya back to Medan to catch the evening bus for Banda Aceh. I gave myself three hours for a trip that usually takes two. On a crowded Sunday afternoon and some unexpected flooding, the traffic was really bad on the direct two lane road that winds back and forth down the volcano. I got in the front seat snug between two batak guys speaking their local language. These guys are notorious even as migrants in Jakarta as extremely aggressive drivers.

I was worried I was not going to make the bus I was chasing back to Aceh. Sitting in traffic, the two guys I was squeezed in between, yelling in my ear, decided to just go for it. We took off into the other lane into oncoming traffic and both of them with their heads out of the car yelling for motorcycles to move out of the way. As the cars got too close we squeezed back into our lane and waited for the next opportunity. Everyone honking. We must have zoomed pass several police men and I was starting to worry whether I would make it down the mountain in one piece. I had more reason to worry.

We passed the major holdup of the flooding and then we really began flying. From the video you can see the man hanging onto the dashboard and the extreme concentration (and aggression?) on the drivers expression.

We were starting to get close to Medan and picking up speed when suddenly there was a big explosion in the van. The five women crammed into the backseat started screaming and yelling “stop shooting” or “somebody has been shot.” Tension grew as we slowed down a bit but as the bang returned as a sputter the driver looked over me to his friend, “it’s just the muffler,” and he began flooring the gas petal again. We drove on godspeed with what sounded like firecrackers exploding in the back. But it was just the muffler. The traffic had held us up and I was beginning to worry about making my bus. I was somewhat torn about the reckless speeding because I didn't want to spend a night in Medan. Just then, my friend Taufik called me and asked me to check my ticket. Our bus had apparently left the night before because we had the wrong date on our tickets.

To make things worse, a lazy motorcyclist started crossing the road in front of us. To avoid us he had to veer quickly off the road but there was an oncoming motorcycle next to us. They smashed into each other. Debris shattered everywhere as we crunched over plastic/glass and other motorcycle parts. I was really worried about the people. I hope they are ok but I will never know because the driver quickly made the decision that it was not our fault and without skipping a beat we zoomed into Medan.

I rushed to the bus station and as the bus was pulling out they said they had room for the three of us who had been given the wrong dates and got safely on the bus. I was still somewhat in shock but I cuddled cozily into my spot on the sleeper bus and I was on my way back (home) to Aceh.

I finally got back to Banda Aceh at 5 in the morning. Although the AC was blasting on the bus the night before, and I tossed and turned through the night, I woke up refreshed. I got in a becak—local public transportation (unique and innovative sidecars attached to motorcycles). The becak had some lights attached to the car and as the driver took me home I noticed that the harder he gassed the brighter the lights would shine. I asked him how he put the electrical system together. “It’s attached to the engine. I can’t gas too hard though, because too much energy would shatter the light bulbs…”

Sinabung Jaya Part II

In Keling we walked through the village and stopped at the tea shop. Teh Telur is the most popular drink and I said I’d have one too. Teh telur, literally “egg tea” is exactly it means. They make tea and dump the raw yellow yolk of an egg into the tea and mix it up. It’s thick and with so much added sugar in it, it is an intense drink. That afternoon we went to the fields.

Sinabung Volcano was in the distance and we walk towards it through fields of cabbage, broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, and other vegetables planted in this lush region. Down some cliffs below some people planted rice and there were also fish ponds to add to dinners and to the economy. The system of ownership is as complex and inter-related as the familial ties and I realized this as Sakti kept insisting that the carrots grown over there are “our” lands. We picked some chives and squash for dinner and also took some oranges with us for the walk back. On the way back we walked on the road and stopped by my “Bapak tua,” Sakti’s father’s grave. I remember the last time I was here his wife Nande wailed and wailed when we visited the grave. He was an incredible man and left his imprints on many people. I remember the crying was contagious and almost magical as everyone became extremely emotional remembering him at the place he was put to rest.

We paid our respects and walked on, stopping for lunch at the side of the road. This was one of my “uncles” stops that sell cigarettes, coffee/tea, and also the famous Babi Guling of the region—Barbequed pork. It was refreshing to see the meat because in Aceh even the handling of swine is strictly prohibited. The Bataks laughed about the Acehnese when I told them about the stories of pig-hunting in Aceh. Pigs are an uncontrollable pest to crops in Aceh, and people hunt them but refuse to eat the meet that the Bataks value so much. “The Acehnese don’t know what their missing,” Sakti said.

Continuing back walking on the road we heard some very unique and strange music coming from the house. “You know what their doing?” I shook my head. I looked in and saw an old woman dancing. “They are raising the spirits. Somebody has died and that woman is consulting her husband and other ancestors and loved ones.”

It was Sunday morning and women were on their way home from Church. Sakti continued. “We are all Christians up here in the mountains but we still very much believe in our traditions, customs, and the belief of our ancestors. They are separate types of beliefs, the traditional view and the christian view, but I also believe in both, both in their separate ways.”

To be continued…

Sinabung Jaya, Part 1

Last weekend I had an opportunity to get out of Aceh. A friend of mine, Taufik, said he was taking the 10 hour bus to Medan from Banda Aceh and I have history/friends/family in the upper volcanic fertile lands in the mountains above Medan, so several hours before the bus was departing I decided to get out of Aceh for the weekend.

Off work and straight to the bus station. I got on the sleeper bus, struggled to sleep throughout the night but finally woke up in a bustling Medan. The light was barely beginning to show signs of the day but the city was already alive. I was mobbed by Bechak, cab drivers, and others gawking “mister, where you go” and grabbing me. Luckily my friend got us out of the bus station and we had a nice lontong breakfast. Curries and spices and these delicious rice cakes. I could feel the difference in atmosphere in Medan. I was not in Aceh anymore.

This region is the beginnings of my history of becoming a part of Indonesia. Long before I was born, my father first came to Indonesia and lived in a mountainous town and favorite scenic destination called Berastagi. I was practically imbedded into a family structure there, even before my existence.

Sakti, my adopted cousin, came down to Medan and after going to a very traditional Batak Karo wedding, we caught the Sinabung Jaya up into the mountains. Sinabung Jaya is a bus company and route that has not changed for decades. It is difficult to describe but basically it is a very colorful miniature version of a bus, with a distinct call of horns on the front, and very carefully restructured in the interior to seat an extreme over-capacity of passengers. They are notorious for their aggressive and borderline suicidal driving. I was stuffed in the back in a row that could probably seat five, but was filled with seven passengers, and having the longest legs of everyone I was stuffed in the middle—and crushed by the proximity of the row in front of me. The bus regularly stops and picks up passengers that wave them down from the side of the road. I wish I had a picture because at one stop, the bus was entirely overfilled, and twenty high school students hopped onto the roof of the bus. Up the mountain we went, overtaking every car in our path and taking the windy curves that made my stomach churn. The woman holding her baby in front of me had decided to rest her drooling baby on my lap, and the man next to me dozed off and decided to rest his head on my shoulder.

Finally, we arrived in Berastagi, and I had some trouble walking. I think I had strained my calf muscle from the bus-ride. It was a magnificent day; the air was cool in the mountains and to my left the Sibayak Volcano looked as if it had just blown its cap off and was still fuming. To my right the much younger and taller Sinabung Volcano was visible on this clear day.

Sakti and I met up with his eight year old son who is required to call me “Bapak Tua” (eldest father) because I am his adopted uncle and the eldest born. Three of us hopped on the motorbike, drove through the weekend fruit market and arrived in Keling—a small rural village.

To be continued…

Turbulence to Banda

Flying to Banda Aceh on the United Nations Plane. After take-off we flew over the town I’ve been living in for the past two months: Meulaboh.

We proceeded over the long West Coast of Aceh and then inland over the beautiful West Coast of Aceh over pieces of the 133 million hectares of serene forests of the Leuseur National Park Ulu Masen Conservation Area. There is serious illegal logging activity there and a new moratorium against logging passed through law this month has brought up some new controversial issues. I was now flying North though, to the tip of the island of Sumatra; to the capital of Aceh, Banda Aceh. Our small plane had to pass between two massive volcanoes and the wind was really strong. It felt like our plane was being tossed around like a toy in the wind. Some people actually screamed. Enjoy...

We arrived safely:

Jangan Terlalu Manis

Coffee is part of the culture in Aceh. It’s what people do. Before I came to Aceh I often heard stories about the coffee here. What I had imagined was this place known as the “veranda of Mecca” for their strong ties with Islam and as an instrumental location in spreading the religion into Southeast Asia. Someone also told me they drain their coffee through something that looks like a big stretched out sock. I had this image that guys with buckets and long spouts pouring stuff back and forth through this sock. I also had this Turkish-style image of curled shoes and sultan hats on. My vision was not far from the truth.

When I arrived in Aceh, my first day I had six cups of coffee. People say Acehnese are not very friendly but it’s all a matter of approach really. Like my earlier description, small doors but spacious interior. The important thing is to want to learn about Aceh and their rather stubborn image of themselves--a fact they recognize. I said one word in Acehnese, and we were off to the coffeeshops. And in the last two months I think I’ve developed a caffeine addiction.

What people do here is go out and meet for coffee and smoke a lot of cigarettes… Sitting around with a bunch of guys at the coffee shop, 90% will be puffing away. Of course women are not allowed.

Sometimes they drink it upside down. They cook the grounds and mix it with rice, corn and other herbs—some places are very well known for the “coffee that will make you fly…” as this province is famous for its ganja trade. I have not tried it and hope I don’t accidentally drink it--which has happened to some people.

They also drink their coffee upside down sometimes. They cook the grounds in a pot, making it a rich thick coffee and pour it in a cup. Then they place a saucer on top of the cup and flip it upside-down. They give you a straw and you sip it through blowing through the straw, wait for some to come out, and then sip it up. Bizarre.

They also pour tons of sugar into each cup. Sometimes a third of the cup will be filled with sugar before the coffee goes in. This is no exaggeration. Jangan Terlalu Manis (“Not too sweet”) is not understood. If you specifically ask for just a little bit of sugar, the people preparing the coffee can’t really imagine good coffee without providing you with so much sugar. They don’t want to feel like they are ripping you off, so they go ahead and dump in the excessive regular amounts.

Country Music—The Dangdut of America. Alive in Indonesia

In the Capital, Banda Aceh, where I have been for the past two weeks, I made a friend who opened up a backpacking equipment store. He likes to climb mountains and go cave-ing. We talked quite a bit about my walk last year and came up with ideas to motorbike the massive island of Sumatra, ferry to Java and then make it to Bali. It’s Saturday night so we decided to drive around town. There’s not much to do and the youth seem to be rather frustrated. Boys and girls are not allowed to mix, alcohol is completely prohibited except for dingy speakeasy’s for the rare alcoholic, and also some pricey locked away restaurants that are strictly for foreigners/non-muslims. We drove around town for a while.

We got in the car and he put in a tape. John Denver came on and he said he loves this music. “Are there still cowboys in America?” I didn’t really know what to say…

“Are there still guys who wear flannel shirts? Is there still livestock in the US? I really want to go to Oklahoma. I have no desire to go to the cities. I really want to see America but I want to see the ranches—Texas, Montana, West Virginia.” I tried to think about what his visions of America was like. John Wayne…?

We stopped for coffee (see “Jangan Terlalu Manis” log) and some other friends showed up. Someone had heard of a billiards hall that had just opened up. We drove around some more, through a long and generally crowded street, there were motorbikes lining the sides of the streets. People were getting their spots ready to watch some motorcycle street racing. It Reminded me of rural America and stock-car racing. Pretty dangerous for a major street in the middle of the Aceh Capital however.

We drove around Banda and the city was really crowded. They explained to me that because there is nothing to do, and that they are not really allowed to do anything, people mostly just waste gas by driving around town and guys and girls riding two per motorbike yell and flirt with each other. There seems to be no other way.

We arrived at another coffee shop and walked to the back, through a dark corridor and up a flight of stairs. Techno music was pumping and there were three billiards tables as I descended into the cloud of cigarette smoke. The sign on the wall said “It is illegal to drink hard alcohol and gamble.” Next to the sign there was a poster of Absolut Vodka and another of a very scantily clad Jennifer Lopez. Playing cards and pool are a symbol of gambling and are looked down upon in Aceh. People don’t even play chess—a very popular game in rural areas throughout North Sumatra; but I suppose that stops at the Aceh Border.

Playing pool for a couple hours it would have been nice to sip on a beer but we had to settle for cold tea in a bottle—a favorite across Indonesia. Selling Alcohol is too risky. There is a specific police task force called WH that are assigned solely to protect Sharia Law, specifically punishing any alcohol trade/consumption, gambling, the mingling of unmarried men and women, and the incorrect use of attire (women must wear Jilbabs, clothes that are not tight, and covering their bodies completely except face and palms).

At the end of the night and on my way home, I had had a good time but my friends seemed unsatisfied. They wanted to do something a little more exciting, perhaps mingle with women their own age or have a place to more freely express themselves.

Entranced and “Going to Hell”

Kuda Lumping isn’t something you see everyday and it is not a very Acehnese ceremony. It is a distinctly Javanese festival and I have never seen one before but from the sound of it, it has to do with horses (‘Kuda’ means horse). Perhaps it was my lucky day because today in Damai, a small village along the coastline of Western Aceh, I was invited to attend.

Arriving in the village I could see the gamelan (orchestra) gathered under the shade preparing for their march along the road into the center of the village. Out ran a dozen young men with fake, flat horses. They were all wearing dark shades, pink shirts and traditional hats. The gamelan rushed to their feet and the two-step march began.

Then out came the Barong (a mask attached to a large cap with two people underneath) doing the same two-step. Arriving in the village center there was a dramatic end with the Barong mask biting violently with a sharp clapping sound. We sat down and the speeches began.

The speeches were incredibly formal and not many people listened. Each speech was also interrupted by a prayer and this was the first time I got to see the Muezzin perform his piece. It was actually rather calming and made me think about how this tune has entranced followers into one of the largest religions in the world. At that point the woman next to me turned to me and asked, “are you a Muslim?” After politely saying no she went on. “You should come move into the community, become a good Muslim and learn how to pray like we do. I mean you don’t want to burn in hell, do you?”

I had never heard of Muslims talk about hell before and I had never been approached that way by a Muslim before; nor have I ever heard of anyone being spoken to in that manner by a Muslim.

I chose not to think about it anymore. Finally there was more dancing. The youth did some Acehnese routines to some electronic music and then the Kuda Lumping started up again. This time, I could see people’s attention being drawn to a person who appeared to be violently shaking. He was Mabuk (lit. dizzy/drunk—but with the connotation that he had fallen into a trance and “been infiltrated by Setan—demons”). He had fallen into a trance. He seemed to have lost his senses and had taken on the form of an animal, licking the air and staying very close to the ground. He then got on the ground and began rolling around in the mud. It seemed like a very set ceremony as the people knew exactly what to provide him and they were dousing him with water as well. Finally the “entranced” demanded makeup and lipstick. He started acting like a girl and doing other funny things. Some of the non-believers I was with, said that this was just an opportunity for people to express themselves—because within Sharia’a law they are never allowed to do such things. I chose not to take sides.

Then another of the Kuda Lumping dancers fell into trance. He was shaking violently and grabbed a whip and started running around. Apparently if you were wearing red you weren’t supposed to get close. Even with my white T-shirt, I decided to stay in the back anyway.

Getting to and from Kuala Lumpur

I went to Kuala Lumpur last weekend. Ah what a nice break to be out of Aceh, and a lucky hiatus from the underwater coastlines of Meulaboh. Getting to KL however, proved to be quite an ordeal; getting home wasn’t easy either. Fitting that Kuala Lumpur actually means “Muddy Port.”

The waves were huge the day before I left. I mean, they get massive during these westerly seasons and the rip tides are vicious. These particular tides were especially strong and overnight the waves had reached over the beaches and flooded past my house. Water was up to the floor level and people were wading up to their hips in seawater on the streets and around their houses. Worried about what to expect when I came back, I was also really glad to be getting away.

Getting out of Meulaboh is not easy. My bus ride (more like a van) was leaving at six that evening and I was really chasing time to make it to my flight from Medan the next morning. Yes, the ride generally takes 14 hours!! The drivers drive like they are in a NASCAR race and I had to look away at certain points the way these guys were taking the curves. He was blasting Dangdut pop and random classics like “Summer of ’69.” The man in the front seat seemed to be vomiting the entire time. After about 10 hours of cramped knees and discomfort I finally felt at ease that I would make it to my flight in time. And I finally was able to doze off.

Apparently everyone had fallen asleep because next thing I knew, we had smashed into a tree. Yes the driver fell asleep too. We were lucky that he was going up hill as he veered deep into the forest. When I opened my door the road was nowhere to be seen and it was all very dreamlike. I peeled myself off the lap of the man in front of me I had been launched into, and started to panic that there was no way I was making it to my flight in time. Oh, at least we were all safe. “It was the summer of ‘69…”

Climbing through the steam of the jungle we made it up the hill to the road. Could we push it out? We tried but it sank into an even more difficult position. Finally a truck drove by and tied a rope (that looked like it would snap immediately) to the kijang van. Surprisingly he yanked us right out and before I knew it we were back taking those curves more violently than before. Maybe it felt like it because the van was a mess and all the shocks were gone. Thump, another bump, and no more sleep but I actually made it in time for the flight.

Kuala Lumpur was actually a rather lame town. Not much to do except for see the incredible twin towers. It doesn’t seem to have a real personality (seems like it’s trying to chase Singapore’s reputation) but the food was amazing, diverse, and cheap. The people I was hanging out with knew the town and were great company as well. That’s really all I needed and on top of that I got the best massage of my life. All the knots from that 14 hour bus ride were not easy to straighten out.

The weekend ended rather quickly and I was excited to get back to Meulaboh. Was my house still flooded? As I got to the airport to get on my plane however, I was told that my ticket was for the wrong date. No way was I going to accept more transportation issues and after having a heated exchange with the head of the airline in the Medan airport, I was on my way again. The plane was full of UN and other international NGO employees. Back to Aceh again…

Imagining the Tsunami

I went down to the beach the other day. It’s about a stone’s throw away from the place I am staying. The sea was really angry. Cement blocks designed to stop the creeping, eroding coastline, stand blockading this portion of the beach. The water was crazy. These thick, tall, and angry waves were crashing against each other, and then smashinto into the rocks.

A friend of mine told me the other day that she used to love the beach. Then one morning, over two years ago, she saw a big black wall in the distance.

“I thought it was the end of the world. People were panicked and running in every direction. It looked like a giant snake standing tall and coming towards us, like a cobra its head spread and ready to strike. It slithered, gained volume and strength emerging like an oncoming dark cloud. The next thing I knew it was crashing through us. We were suddenly flooded. I was dragged by the water. My three children, all in primary school were washed away. I never saw them again. I got stuck in a satellite dish, barely hanging on. After several minutes I heard someone calling my name. Up in a tree behind me, I saw my husband. People were dragged several kilometers. It was hours before the water subsided. The coastline was completely changed. The entire infrastructure was gone. Our town was missing and so were much of our families. All that was left was a mess of debris covered thick in black mud. I don’t go to the beach anymore. I don’t like the ocean either. I can’t even look at it.”

As another wave crashed down onto the rocks I thought this might be a fraction of what those three crazy, successive waves during the tsunami looked like. The mass and power of the big waves I was looking at were hypnotizing. I can’t imagine the overwhelming sense of Armageddon the waves two years ago must have felt like. Ten minutes after the quake, water was initially sucked out. Some ran out to collect fish flapping around in the suddenly dry land. Then the waves came. The third, and most powerful, was said to reach up to 100 feet massive in some areas.

The sun was going down; I could hear several mosques sounding off for maghrib, the evening prayer. Both sides of the path back to the house I could see construction all along the beach. The rebuilt house I’m staying at, stands next to half a house and across the street all that remains is a staircase.

I thought back to my drive along the coastline from the northern tip of Sumatra, the capital Banda Aceh, down to my current home, Meulaboh. The drive covers over some 200 kilometers of stunning beauty, but also the fresh history of an unimaginable disaster.

As our vehicle traded between climbing up and down cliffsides and flanking beach straightaways, I witnessed a landscape I had never seen before—the contrast of natural beauty with the imprint of natural disaster. Through the forests, I saw monkeys and truly unique wildlife, and along the beaches were picture perfect cliffs, islands nestled among coconut trees. Some of these rural communities have rebuilt, evidenced by the regeneration of agriculture and a semblance of the previous fishing industry.

At one point the road split. One section was being rebuilt but the other half strangely led directly into the ocean. I asked the person next to me about the road. She pointed out to the ocean. “That's the old road. See that structure out there. That used to be a bridge. The village used to be there." She pointed out to the ocean. Sure enough I saw the ruins of what possibly was a town. There were still some coconut trees growing far out at sea. I tried to reconstruct what this might have looked like. The tsunami completely changed the landscape. In some areas there are bays further inland from deposited sea water that became land-locked after the tsunami. Some have gone so far as to say weather patterns have also changed.


My neighbor in the van went on… “The earthquake was unbelievable. You fell on your knees; you held on to the ground.” Before the waves even struck, one of the highest recorded earthquakes in history (measuring 9.1 on the Richter Scale--one of the highest ever recorded) thrashed these areas. “I saw cars being flipped upside down, rolling, somersaulting down the street. After several minutes of violent shaking, I thought I was safe. But I could sense the panic. Then the waves came and dragged me several kilometers. I lost about half of my family. I was saved by a floating log that I grabbed on to. I still have scars from tumbling through the mayhem; see...” I saw the scrapes. “You can’t imagine the panic. I never believed how I made it. I still ask myself why. I lost my wife and child. But, I just got remarried and my wife is six months pregnant.”



Through so much loss there is incredible trauma and the psychological and physical damages will take a long time to heal. Almost everyone has a powerful story connected to the tsunami. They speak about the experience with such frankness. I still have a hard time reacting to such tragedies. The tsunami is embedded as a part of everyone's lives here. It is a piece of them.

Taxi Cab Confessions in Indonesia

One of the best places to learn about the issues in Indonesia is by traveling around in a taxi. In everyday conversations it is sometimes difficult to decipher answers and the outward presentation of an Indonesian. There is such a unique way of presenting yourself and being polite in Java. The political realm in Indonesia is yet another very complex system of inner-workings relationships specially politicking in ways to arrive at desired outcomes. In a taxi however, things seem to be a little different for some reason. I don’t know why but conversations seem to be genuine and personal in a cab. It’s as if the character of the driver is perhaps let down by the fact that there is no exchange of names, titles, and the relationship will last only until the destination, upon which you disembark and never have any subsequent ties with each other—aside from the off-chance you step into the same cab again. But that is unlikely since there are about 13,000 bluebird cabs alone; not to mention the total number of taxis in Jakarta, which must double that figure and probably surpasses 30,000 cars. An hour south of the capital, in Bogor, the road is constantly clogged by a poorly planned transportation system—a mellow green mass of ‘Angkots’ crawl through the roads like cockroaches beeping at everyone and stopping just about anywhere to solicit rides—it has cause some of the most frustrating traffic imagine-able. I always take my chance for the front seat. The opportunities to conduct research about this fascinating country are limitless. In Jakarta, most cab-drivers are migrants from even the furthest reaches of Indonesia and in Bogor I get the local perspective.


The most popular topics always come up in conversation. The traffic is awful. After being stuck in gridlock so long, with one Angkot driver we actually came up with a fairly lengthy entrepreneurial plan to sell cigarettes in the cab to feed this overly nicotine-addicted and dependent society. The traffic is bad… and with such an overpopulated region without sufficient and effective public transportation, the problems seep into everyone’s everyday lives. I’m actually a rather big fan of the new transjakarta busway system and enjoy riding the busses but it’s just not enough to deal with the transportation needs of this mega city.

More serious and emotional matters always re-enter the conversation. People are disappointed in the state of Indonesia and always ask my opinion how it could be better. I insist that since reformasi (the fall of Suharto and reformation period in in the late 1990s), this is still a relatively young country and the legacy of Suharto’s KKN (corruption, collusion, and nepotism) style government is still very strong. After thirty years of normalizing a style of leadership and policy, it is impossible to think that the idealism of successful regional autonomy can be immediately achieved. However, headlines of “corruption” and “regional autonomy” are among the most common issues in the opinion pages of the Kompas newspaper, and it shows a strong commitment from a flourishing freedom of the press that people actually care about such issues. I reply to the driver, although the rupiah is still weak the foundation and ideology for democracy in Indonesia is strong and with constant monitoring and involvement there are possibilities for a very prosperous future. I try to provide some optimism.

Domestically, some major hurdles remain. Aside from genuine efforts at a free press, there needs to be better accountability in the legal system and more emphasis on secure investment. Indonesians are afraid of investing in their own country and are focusing more on secure investments in other countries (e.g. Singapore). Internationally, the Moslem community (about 88%) could play a crucial role in world politics. A recent visit by Iran’s president Mahmoud Ahmedinedjad has translated into deep respect and admiration from Indonesians. The greater rifts in the Islamic world and especially with the West that is developing surrounding the frenzy created by Ahmedinedjad may lead to possible serious conflicts through the divisions that are occurring on the world stage. Indonesia will hold an increasingly larger role to play in such issues of world politics.

On a national level, I feel the ostracizing of the Muslim community towards other ethnic and religious groups may also lead to severe unrest in the future. Overriding the Bhinneka Tunggal Eka ideology (One through Diversity) through more emphasis on Moslem groups towards Islamicization will lead to unity issues in Indonesia. Within Indonesia, Moslem groups are also creating greater rifts among themselves. “Before there seemed only two options from the major divisions of Islam and now it has become more complex and divided” one driver tells me. Perhaps the idea for Indonesians to think of themselves as ‘Indonesians first’ was something that Suharto was very successful.

The money has weekend and sometimes people are almost serious when they say that the Suharto era was better than things are today. “Money was easier to come by then.” It is true, when reflecting on the Suharto era things did seem a little better. But just like a deck of cards can systematically be built to reach fairly great heights, it is not built on sufficient infrastructure to sustain any problems or mistakes. 32 years of power built an impressive house of cards but also led to a plunging economy, a dysfunctional system of law, and cruel politics, which the people of Indonesia are now paying for. Less than a decade later, Indonesia appears a young country but with a promising hope at changing their ideologies for a better future—as long as there is a halt to corruption to build together a proud, united Indonesia.

It is rather exciting to be close to such a process. The Indonesian people are yearning for better leadership. They see the difficulties in their economy and are hoping for a better and more comfortable, secure future. Today, I leave for Aceh. A province with complex historical issues. People have told me the pride of Acehnese surpasses into a realm of stubbornness. The Islam and newly implemented Syariah law in Aceh has been described as fanatic. The people have gone through a unique and long history. At the tip of Sumatra with beautiful sceneries and a gateway into the spice islands, the region has been a very crucial stronghold. The infamous Zheng He, with one of the strongest navies in history expanded Chinese power and landed in Aceh in the 14th century; using the region as a trading stronghold. In the 1600s, Sultan Iskandar Muda based his kingdom in Aceh and he was able to control much of the Western coast of Sumatra and even expanded East into the Malay regions.

Flying into Aceh, the airport is called Iskandar Muda airport and on the drive from the airport into the capital, Banda Aceh, I passed several schools, plaques, a police complex, and other institutions dedicated to Iskandar Muda. The pride people have for their history, through this sultan, who people say was so dignified that he went so far as to order the execution of his own adulterous son (others argue the execution was because he did not want to give up his power to the heir to the throne). Iskandar Muda is a source of great pride and it seems people resort to his legacy because in more recent years they feel they had to submit to outsiders—like the Dutch, who fought a long and grueling war for control that the Acehnese say they never accepted. And then, there is the contemporary history. After the Dutch finally left, the Indonesians picked up right where they left off.

Aceh has very rich natural resources and especially of economic value are the natural gas deposits found in the Lhok Seumawe area. Acehnese complain that while their resources produce a lot of monetary benefit to Indonesia, the people remain poor and the fighting between the separatist GAM (Free Aceh Movement) and the military reached heights of conflict in the early 1990s, resulting in several thousand casualties.

And then there was the tsunami—perhaps the greatest natural disaster of our time. The Acehnese driver says he lost about half his family and subsequent conversations reveal similar personal accounts and statistics. More than five thousand teachers were lost, and 30,000 children orphaned. Casualties here are described as ‘disappeared’ rather than ‘passed away’ or ‘dead.’ Literally any trace of tens of thousands of people who once existed have basically disappeared. Another man tells me how he lost ten years worth of research, and while such issues may not compare to missing family members, they tell important clues into the recovery process that people must have been going through these past couple of years.

Having just a few conversations in Aceh I think back to the metaphor the cab driver gave me on the way to the airport. “Aceh’s houses have very small doors. You’ll have to bow to get in. Once you are in however, the interior is very spacious and comfortable. You’ll see, the people are like that too.” I now see his point. I am looking forward to my time in Aceh.

Exiting the cab and glad to have new insights (including a financial analysis of the meager earnings of the typical driver) I utter my usual goodbye to the driver—“Here’s a little extra tip for the ngobrol (conversations),” and hand him a little extra. Hopefully by a slim chance I’ll step into this car again sometime...

Siberut

Upriver from the port town of Muaru on the island of Siberut, West Sumatra, a man lights his cigarette with a stick of burning rattan that he keeps with him at all times. Surprisingly, the glowing coal smokes gently and seems to stay lit for hours while he’s in the forest. As he heads home from working in the forest, he stops to talk to people in the small village of Ugai. A sago palm leaf cigarette holder is wedged in his teeth at all times - burning down and waiting to be refilled. Several others like him are also on their way home, all equipped with their burning rattan coals in their right hand, machete in left, and an empty bucket swinging further up the elbow. Dried and dyed bark cloth is their only covering, but their arms and legs are decorated with unique tattooed designs. These are the Kerei: the traditional medicine men of the Siberut people.

Within the thatched roof houses in the village, women are preparing dinner from their staple food source, sago palm. The starch is derived through an intensive extraction process. In recent years, however, rice has been introduced and has become dominant in the area. Pigs and chickens emerge from the forest cover and cross the village paths, smelling the the prospect of dinner from the houses. Although the livestock are uncaged and free to roam, the community can identify who has rights to each of the animals through methods such as ear-markings. Animals are used for celebrations, eaten, sold, and are a sign of wealth used to pay amends or fines for a variety of offenses.

In the history of the Mentawaians (Siberut’s ethnic group), the village of Ugai has not been in existence very long. In the last several decades, government programs have sought to create more localized village settlements in which a more concentrated population lives closely together. Traditional livelihoods remain fairly similar to their old norms, however—people harvest sago on their lands, and collect other necessities from the forest. Sometimes villagers will stay in temporary huts built deep in the forest, returning on Sundays to be with their families.

Almost 60% of the 4,030 sq km. of Siberut island is covered with tropical rainforest composed of several forest types such as primary dipterocarp forest, mixed primary forest, swamp forest, Barringtonia forest and mangroves. And yet, every piece of land is divided between “Uma,” or patrilineal extended families. The system and ownership rights often change, and conflicts are not unusual due to complex familial relationships and claims over properties. Aside from conflicts among Uma, in recent years additional forces from the outside have posed greater confusion and a more complex threats.

In recent decades, the advent influence of outside forces has significantly impacted management of the region, all too often without the consideration for local culture, history, or aspirations. In the 1970s, all but 5600 hectares of Siberut Island were conceded to four outside logging companies; in the 1980s the World Wide Fund for Nature arrived to protect the unique biodiversity of the island—in particular the 28 endemic species, four of which are primates. In 1993, President Suharto, to the surprise of many, signed an order declaring 190,000 hectares of Siberut (almost half the island) as national park lands. In addition, the opening of the island brought outside immigrants, including laborers and transmigrants, mostly of the Minangkabau ethnic group (along with some Javanese and Bataks) who settled in the island’s port towns. In 1990, a newpaper article reported that Mentawai was awaiting 20,000 transmigrants of Javanese and Sumatran origin, mostly recruited from the Padang-Pariaman area—this is in relation to Siberut’s entire population of 24,000 (18,000 ethnic Mentawaians).

Government programs consolidated communities into village spatial planning units and rice was introduced into their diet. Communities were also encouraged to adopt one of the five recognized national religions of Indonesia (Mentawaians mostly identify themselves as Christians). These activities were part of an ongoing national program focused on reforming and “modernizing” masyarakat terasing (literally “isolated communities”). The Mentawaian response to the declaration of Siberut National Park (which constituted an area amounting to almost half the island) is also significant. A lack of communication and misunderstandings over statutes hindering local communities from managing their traditional lands created major frustration and mistrust. One noteworthy example occurred when certain communities presumed that they were to be barred from harvesting their lands within the boundaries of the National Park.

Mentawaians also resent the extraction of their native resources by logging companies and other outside interests. Logging concessionaires and palm oil plantations often employ outsider laborers, resulting in scarce benefits for local communities. Local livelihoods are thus limited to traditional activities associated with the forest, and the forest itself has often been cleared without their consent or compensation, leaving areas prone to erosion and other negative environmental impacts. One of the more extreme examples of these local concerns involved the recent burning of a logging base camp and associated violence, resulting in ten arrests.

The recent growth of the surfing and tourism industry is yet another outside force affecting the island. Once again, local people express are frustration that they do not often get the benefits from these new interests and activities. A lack of community cohesiveness is the main factor hindering broad-based community response and solidarity. Creating a united voice among Mentawaians has been especially difficult since there has never been a system of organization outside the localized Uma; nor has there ever been a culture of unifying Umas for collective action.




Joseph Napitupulu is gearing up the ‘speed’ (the term used for small motorized boats for traveling upriver) for another trip to Ugai. It is a difficult trip, accessible by a long trek through the forest or more comfortably by boat, if river conditions allow. He’s done this so many times that the preparation is second nature. His only concern is for the relatively dry river from lack of recent rains. Joseph has walked a full day’s hike to the inland villages and knows the path along the river fairly well, but traveling by ‘speed’ seems the better option. This time he is bringing his notepad, a major change from his attitude of long ago. His name rings of the Bataks of North Sumatra, but he has lived in Siberut all his life and views himself as a local on the island. He is one of a team of seven, called Collaborative Management, that is all that remains of the headquarters of a failed twenty million dollar Integrated Conservation and Development Project (ICDP). The complex is also the Siberut National Park’s center of operations. The ICDP proved unsuccessful because of its conventional top-down approach that failed both to understand the capacity of local communities and to gain their trust and support.
Joseph, reflecting on the early Collaborative Management (Co-Management) projects, explains that going into the villages in those days was not easy. The locals initially reacted negatively towards the Co-Management effort. Mentawaians have traditionally had a difficult time developing trust with outsiders, but in the past five years Co-Management has made a lot of headway. Communities seem to understand that Co-Management is designed to work with local people and address their interests. The Co-Management approach is focused on creating community run-programs within individual villages, but also seeks to develop a larger network (with government, NGOs, and private companies) as a means for a stronger voice to locals. Some of the successful Co-Management projects include: introduction of clean water, the development of agroforestry systems, measures for building coalitions through support for local cadres and by using this broad-based organization as a buffer/voice with outside forces (such as communications with the National Park, Government agencies, NGOs and other parties).

And yet the people who are promoting the Co-Management concept are dissatisfied. In trying to strengthen communities and advocate for local wishes/needs, they tried to tackle too many issues, and have found it difficult to evaluate true measures of success. Nevertheless, the Co-Management program has established the most essential and basic foundation for all future programming—mainly the trust of the people. They have successfully created an atmosphere whereby communities are succeeding in their wishes and feel like they are creating the change within themselves.

By developing programs addressing local communities’ interests, the Co-Management team is institutionalizing their project approach, and they have shown initial successes in working with local communities on programs concerning sustainability and conservation. At the same time, the program has grown by incorporating local philosophies and traditions. One Kerei participant, for example, became extremely animated over a discussion concerning conservation, his sentiments resonating with Mentawai stories and folklore about the enchantment of the forests and the need for protecting them. “We have always been taught from our ancestors that these forests are alive. Our culture revolves around a system that says that when you cut something down, or take something from the forest, you must return it by planting again or regenerating the wealth taken away.”

Despite the outside pressures, the wishes of the Mentawaians remain similar to those of most other peoples. They believe in the future of their children, and have a deep yearning for their children to receive a good education. They believe that if their children can succeed in education, then all Mentawaians will have a greater voice in their future. Health issues are also a priority, as infant mortality remains high and access to modern treatments/medicine is limited. Mentawaians understand that although the traditional Kerei treatments are more effective with minor illnesses, there is no substitute for technologies that combat the major diseases (e.g. malaria). Mentawaians also have a strong commitment to growing their economy. Discussion of opening new markets and possibilities to increase their income always leads to very engaged conversations. And socially, they worry about their changing culture, especially in response to globalization and outside influences—in particularly their traditions and customs related to marriage.


Joseph and the Kerei laugh over a smoke and a joke. Heavy questions about the future are balanced with some good humor and fun. After heavy discussion of heavily looming challenges in the near future, they ironically end their discussion, laughing: “Oh, it’s safe. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it under control.”





**This article was published in TROPIS magazine in it’s Bahasa Indonesia version**



Works Cited:

Convention on Biological Diversity. Siberut Island. Accessed 23 Feb. 2007. http://www.biodiv.org

Durst, Pat B., Chris Brown, Henrylito D. Tacio and Miyuke Ishikawa. In Search of Excellence: Exemplary Forest Management in Asia and the Pacific. Asia-Pacific Forestry Commission. 2005. (Introduction)

Investigation Report June 1990 to July 1991. “Siberut: Will the Tuddukat Play Again.” SKEPHI. 1991.

Luseno, Lianto (Director). Luka Hutan Siberut-Indonesia INFORM (2002)—Producer: M. Abduh Azis Editor: Rahmat (30 minutes)

Persoon, G.A., “Conflicts Over Trees and Waves on Siberut Island.” Geografiska Annaler
(2003),85B(4):253-264

Persoon, Gerard A., “The Management of Wild and Domesticated Forest Resources on Siberut, West Sumatra.” Antropologi Indonesia: Indonesian Journal of Social and Cultural Anthropology. Th. XXV, No. 64. January-April 2001.

Persoon, Gerard A., Tessa Minter, Clara See, and Clara van der Hammen. The Position of Indigenous Peoples in the Management of Tropical Forests.Tropenbos Series 23. Tropenbos International. Wageningen, the Netherlands. 2004

Siberut National Park. Informational Website. Accessed 20 Feb. 2007.
http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/4466/index.html