Funerals, cliff burial sites and Tongkonans – those striking traditional houses with dramatically curved roofs – are the hallmarks of Toraja culture. All of it is set within a stunning mountainous landscape.

On average, people stay for three days, hire a local guide, attend a funeral on one day, and explore the area on the other two. Their impressions will be intense and also puzzling. While the guide may answer many questions, the overall picture often remains blurred. The desire to understand this vastly different world remains unfulfilled.

This is why my friend Lisa Soba, who works as a local guide, and I decided to write a book about the cultural context of Torajan life and rituals. Before my first trip to Tana Toraja in 2015, I searched for such a book – but to no avail. All I found were anthropological surveys and scientific publications that were rather difficult to read. I made my way through one of them and wondered: why had no one written something more accessible? So, we did it ourselves.

Our book is titled “Toraja Culture”. A preview is available in my books section.

How it began

In 2015 my son and I stayed in Maruang Tongkonan, arranged by Lisa. It wasn’t a guesthouse in any usual sense – just a traditional Tongkonan that stood empty, and the family had agreed to let us stay there. No one in the family spoke English, nor did we understand Bahasa Indonesia at that time. Still, simply observing the everday life of the local people was a wonderful experience.

And then there was Gonna.

Gonna was about four years old and lived together with her mother in the lower part of the Tongkonan. Each day, when we returned from our excursions and relaxed on the veranda, she would jump on my lap and urge me to show her the photos of the day. Exitedly, she woulde hop up and down and comment incessantly on all the images she saw – never concerned that I might not understand a single word.

Her enthusiasm became my inspiration. I wanted to learn more about this unique Torajan culture. So I returned, and with Lisa’s help, made new experiences and gained deeper insights. The idea for the book was born – and Gonna became our cover model.

After all the work was finally done (and the dreadful years of the Covid pandemic had passed), 1,000 copies were printed in Yogyakarta and brought by us to Rantepao.

Now it was time to see Gonna again. But what a change! The wild child had grown into a shy but lovely young lady. It was indeed a touching moment, sitting with her and her mother, browsing the pages until she discovered her beautiful portrait from years ago.

Toraja Culture

There are three key features of Torajan culture that every visitor will likely encounter: Tongkonan houses, cliff burial sites, and funerals. The link between all three is the importance of ancestors in every aspect of Torajan life.

Tongkonan

The Tongkonan is the traditional home of Torajan people – and more importantly, the home of all ancestors of a family.

Each Tongkonan has its own name, and just as people are related, so are Tongkonans. When Lisa and I visited Kale Landorundun, the Tongkonan in this photo, the family leader gave us a warm welcome and explained that Lisa was a dear relative. But he could not remember Lisa’s name.

Or maybe he had never known it. For what matters is the close relation between their respective Tongkonans. The houses are like nodes in the network of Toraja social relations, a network that includes both the living as well as all their ancestors.

Death…

Toraja culture does not focus on death itself, as it may seem to the outsider, but on ancestors. They may dwell in Puya – the southern land of spirits – or may from there have reached Christian heaven (the majority of Torajans today are Christians). Still, part of their spirit remains here, in union with the living.

The grandmother of Kale Landorundun had passed away the previous night. Lisa recieved this information because of the affiliation between his Tongkonan and theirs. I was allowed to take photos. Arriving at sunset after a long drive, we were greeted with a cup of warm tea. I looked around. Children played outside the impressive Tongkonan house, men chatted under the rice barn. Everything seemed normal.

Then we were signalled to climb the stairs of the Tongkonan. Inside the dimly lit room, a group of women dressed in black sat on the floor. In front of them was a kind of stage, where the deceased grandmother sat in a decorated armchair, finely dressed in traditional Toraja costume, handbag on her knees, glasses on her face. At first glance, she seemed alive. And i clearly was not the only one who thought so – as her daughter began speaking to her, introducing the foreigner “who travelled so far to take a photo of you, Mom.”

…and funerals

After death, the body of a deceased person is mumified – and remains in the house! For weeks, months, or even years. During this time, the deceased is not considered fully dead but in a transitional state. Relatives will speak to the deceased just as if alive. Final death is marked by a funeral ceremony, when the deceased departs southward to Puya, the realm of spirits.

Lavish funerals are what Toraja is most renowned for. Most last three days, some whole week. I will not go into details here, as funerals are part of most guided tours and you might already have witnessed one (or are planing to do so). Each day hundreds or more guests will flock in at the funeral site, and tourists are just as welcome as anybody else. A large number of attendees enhances a family’s reputation, and, as we describe in our book, in Toraja society prestige matters greatly.

Here is an image of the authors of “Toraja Culture” at a funeral in Rantepao 2015.

Burial sites and Tau-Tau

An image of the burial cliff at Lemo sparked my fascination with Toraja even before my first visit. I imagined an early explorer emerging from the jungle and standing spellbound before this awe inspiring scene. And maybe he felt a shiver run down his spine as the ancestors stared back at him, unblinking.

Even today, as Lemo is easily accessible, the Lemo’s cliffs and their Tau-Tau are amazing. Tau-Tau are wooden effigies of ancestors interred in the rock. Tau-Tau are believed to hold part of the spirit of the deceased. Torajans visit them, talk to them, bring cigarettes or money – tokens of care. (I suppose cigarettes are not harmful once you are dead.)

But wait – didn’t I say most Torajans are Christians? How does this practice fit to the Christian belief? The church once said it didn’t. Priests refused to attend funerals featuring Tau-Tau. But Torajans, as one priest told me, “are very stubborn people”. Debates followed, Torajan leaders pointed out that even in Europe photos were displayed at funerals. And wasn’t this adat, their cultural tradition? Hadn’t the Indonesian Government encouraged all ethnic groups to preserve their adat, true to the state motto ‘Unity in Diversity’? The church leaders relented.

Power, prestige and culture

What I have described so far is what is generally considered as Toraja culture. But this oversimplifies in at least three ways:

• Rituals vary significantly between villages, especially between south and north Toraja.
• Historically, Toraja society was hierarchical: a ruling upper class of nobles who derived their prestige from a long list of ancestors, a middle class of free people, and on the lower end a class of enslaved people. Adorned Tongkonans, lavish funerals and Tau-Tau were privileges of the upper class. Times have changed: slavery is gone and with the rise of money, power and prestige are shifting. Today many people identify with this Torajan culture, even though historically they did not have access to its features.
• The elements described are only the frontstage so to say. There is a backstage, too, hidden from the visitors view, which enables the “show” and puts it into a much wider perspective. This backstage is what we try to explore in the second part of our book

Aluk to dolo – path of the ancestors

Tradition, or adat, comes into being through the shared believes and practices of a society. In other words: through a religion. In the case of the Toraja people, this is aluk to dolo, which roughly translates to “path of the ancestors”. Aluk is what originally gave meaning to adat. However, Aluk has now widely disappeared, superseded by Christianity to the brink of extinction. Still the Toraja rituals are very much alive, but there is a real chance that the tradition could become folklore. And some rituals are not quite as alive as others…

Rambu tuka’ and rambu solo’

Torajans distinguish between two different sets of rituals, those performed while the sun is rising (rambu tuka’) versus those while it is sinking (rambu solo’). The latter, associated with death, like funerals, are the ones that visitors are most likely to witness. Funerals are large events that bring a lot of prestige to the family, and the Christian church has come to accept them as local adat to a much larger degree than is the case for rambu tuka’ rituals.

Rambu tuka’ rituals are often much smaller and performed in secret. They pertain to the many different spirits that enliven nature, the crops and the animals. In Aluk belief, it is important to give them recognition and a fair share of food. The spirits of the ancestors, the spirits of nature, and the spirits of humans all have to be kept in a delicate balance.

In a hidden corner out in the fields, food is prepared as an offering to the spirits of nature in accordance with Aluk beliefs.

Meeting a Tominaa…

Tominaa are leaders of the Aluk religion, and we were scheduled to meet and talk to one by the name of Ne’ Yoksi. We had drafted a list of questions for him, but as we sat with him under the rice barn sipping sweet coffee, Lisa only got to ask the first one. Ne’ Yoksi answered with a long, very long monologue. It was interesting to watch him speak very eloquently with expressive gestures, even though I didn’t understand a word. They spoke in the Torajan language.

…or the difficulty of interpretation

Back home we listened to the recording, and Lisa translated everything for me into English. I often had to interrupt him: “Wait, Lisa, that makes no sense!” He would then translate the passage into Bahasa Indonesia. But again, wasn’t that contradicting what Ne’ Yoksi had just explained in a previous passage?

Torajan is an oral culture. In our written cultures, we are used to starting a thought at a specific point and then developing it in coherent, non-contradictory steps to a conclusion. And more often than not, we know our conclusion before we even begin to talk. This is how I write blogs or books. But Ne’ Yoksi seemed rather to talk in circles, trying out thoughts and returning to them with a new shift. Or maybe it could be better described as spiralling toward a conclusion that had yet to be fully formed.

I had to square the circle, so to speak. I wrote a linear interpretation, cross-checking every sentence with Lisa and the recording. It included only what Ne’ Yoksi had actually said, but some things were necessarily left out (as the talk lasted well over an hour) and others were arranged in a different sequence. Only one idea was included that was not verbatim from the Tominaa but was my own conclusion. Yet I didn’t feel at ease at all. Maybe squaring the circle would result in a gross misinterpretation after all.

There was only one way to find out. So a week later, we sat under the rice barn again, and Lisa read my text to Ne’ Yoksi. We had re-translated it into Bahasa Indonesia the night before. My anxiety subsided as I saw the Tominaa nodding several times. And on one occasion, he even underscored his approval with an unmistakable gesture. Later, I asked Lisa which passage it was that had earned his praise. It was the one conclusion I had inserted into his speech.

Note

Toraja Culture is a joint creation by my Torajan co-author Lisa Soba Palloan and me.

It is available at various places in Rantepao. e.g. the Heritage Hotel, Pia’s Poppies Hotel (my favorit place to stay), the Kaana Toraya Coffe Shop or at the lovely Loka Banne Bookshop. You may also ask the owner of your homestay or any local guide.

In Germany you can order the book online from Dr. Götze Land&Karte, Hamburg.

Finally you can ask me to send you a copy.

A glimpse into the book…

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Somewhere hidden in the Indonesian archipelago, the top of a volcano surrounded by ten small islets rises above sea level. All around nothing but wind and waves.  Here – and only here on the Banda Islands – grew something that for centuries was worth more than any pirate’s treasure: the nutmeg tree.

After Vasco da Gama had discovered the sea route to India in 1498, the Europeans immediately set out to find the origins of all those treasured spices that promised immeasurable wealth. Nutmeg, cloves and others were known to originate from islands much farther east than India. But where should they look for it? How to find some tiny islets among the seventeen thousand Indonesian islands?

In 1511, the Portuguese conquered the town of Malacca in what is nowadays Malaysia, which was at that time a center of world trade. Here, Malay, Arab, Chinese and Javanese traders met and haggled over the spices of the tropical world. Some captains may have known where the mysterious Bandas were. But such a knowledge would be the most valuable secret of traders. Nobody will tell that to some pale-faced newcomers.

Reaching Banda Naira

Although the Banda Islands are found on every map nowadays, reaching them was, even for us, more difficult than we had thought. Three attempts were needed until we finally got there a full week behind our schedule.

A speedboat connects Ambon, the capital of the South Moluccas, to Banda Naira, the only major Banda town. First we learned that this was not running, presumably because of engine damage. We then booked a ticket with Susi Air for their next flight at the end of the week. It was March and the rainy season had lasted longer than usual. The night before departure, a thunderstorm swept over Ambon. As a result, we could admired some of the most beautiful cloud formations on our way.

When descencding to Banda Naira, however, we got into strong turbulences which heavily rocked our small plane. The pilot made a steep climb and returned to Ambon.

In the end, the only remaining choice was to board a slow but never failing Pelni ferry.

The Discovery

In 1511, the Portuguese finally discovered the Nutmeg Islands. Years later they returned with an attempt to build a fort but were repelled by hostile Bandanese. Business went better for them in the North Moluccas, where the Sultan of Ternate invited them to his small island which, similar to the Bandas, was then the exclusive source of cloves.

Thus the Portuguese successfully entered the lucrative spice trade as yet another participant, whilst the traditional trade flows continued uninterruptedly. This only changed when in 1599 the captain of a tiny European country anchored at the sound of Banda Naira: a ship of the Dutch East India Company had discovered the Nutmeg Islands.

Nutmeg

What is so special about the nutmeg that made sailors risk their lives in the search for that spice?

The trees are rather small and need to grow together with giant almond trees. The leaves of the almond trees form a roof under the shade of which the nutmeg tree flourishes well.

The nut consists of four parts. First an outer fleshy shell, similar to that of a chestnut, which is prepared as jam or candies. Hidden inside a black capsule surrounded by a red layer, mace. Mace is used for dyeing and also as a tasty spice. The actual nutmeg as we know it lies hidden inside the black capsule.

None of this can explain its once amazing value: a 14th-century text states that a pound of nuts is equivalent to “seven fat oxen.”

Surely, exotic spices served as a symbol of status to the rich, who have always been willing to dig deeper into their pockets for such things. The economy of drug trafficking might be another explanation. Nutmegs contain a substance called myristicin which is provenly psychoactive. Finally, the nutmeg may have owed its exorbitant value to a mere rumour: for a long time people believed that the nut is an effective drug against the plague.

Trade Flow

For many centuries the spices of Indonesia had been brought to Malacca by Malaysian, Javanese and Buginese merchants (a people of South Sulawesi). Arab merchants then shipped them across the Indian Ocean, and camel trains carried the precious commodities to the coast of the Mediterranean Sea where the Venetian merchants were eagerly waiting. During this long journey the price of nutmeg skyrocketed like cocain in our days.

The Portuguese were able in part to eliminate the chain of intermediate trade and put the surplus in their own pockets. The Dutch East-India Company, however, entertained a plan that went far beyond this: they sought to establish the monopoly of spice trade.

The Massacre

The Bandanese didn’t pay much attention to such letters written on a piece of paper. They kept on, albeit secretly, to sell nutmeg to traders of other nations as well. In 1621, Coen returned his soldiers, among them Japanese samurai mercenaries. And he imposed the death penalty upon 40 leaders of the local nobility for illicit trafficking. Popular resistance was met with merciless brutality. Under Coens command – who for many years was considered a national hero in the Netherlands – thousands of islanders were slaughtered. The figures are not entirely clear, but of the islands’ approximately 15 thousand inhabitants, 14 thousand are said to have been killed or could escape to other islands. The Dutch took over the plantations and managed them with the help of imported slaves.

The monopoly of the Dutch is in a way also a first “victory” of capitalism. From early on the the East India Company had the clever idea to pool the many risks of their ventures. Thus the Company was constituted much like a public limited company whose shares could be bought and sold. In 1602, the Dutch East India Company founded the Amsterdam Stock Exchange, which is still active today.

Banda Naira

We stayed several days in Banda Naira and enjoyed the relaxed tranquility of the town. The first sight from the Pelni ferry is the colonial-style Hotel Maulana. Everybody was keen of telling us that Princess Diana once stayed here.

Walking through the small main street, I was overcome with the feeling of a journey through time back to the Dutch East Indies.

The Cilu Bintang estate is another reminiscent of an old colonial villa. Actually we had booked here, but now, after a storm and a week’s delay, our rooms were taken. This was not a big problem, though, because there are many other nice small guest houses in the city.

Later I learned from the owner of the Maulana that his hotel was only built about 30 years ago. And the Cilu Bintang originated but from the imagination of Mr. Abba, its busy owner. However, these insights did not spoil my beatiful nostalgia to the least.

Hatta

Banda Naira is a quiet and peaceful place. However, there is only one rather unattractive beach on the island. If you want to fully experience the wonderful underwater world of the Banda Sea, you have to cross with one of the public boats to Pulau Hatta. Here, travellers live in bamboo huts on beaches of soft white sand with a coral garden right in front. From the shore it is only about 30 meters to a bold reef. Hatta is certainly one of the best diving and snorkeling paradises in Indonesia.

King of England, Scottland, Wales and Run

The story of the Bandas is not yet completely told. An amazing chapter is still to come.

The Dutch were by no means the only ones who seeked to exploit the riches of the Bandas. Shortly after them, the English appeared and settled on the island of Run almost within sight of Banda Naira. The locals were obviously glad that someone came to offer help against the Dutch and signed an agreement in which they recognized the rule of the English King James I over their island. Run was thus the first colony of the English empire. James is said to have been so pleased with this that he proudly changed his title to King of England, Scotland, Wales and Run.

New York

His joy did not last for too long, because a few years later the Dutch fleet attacked the English and forced them to retreat. The battle was won, but the war of the emerging colonial powers continued. The Caribbean, in particular, became their battlefield. Finally, in 1667, the two countries agreed in the Treaty of Breda on mutual recognition of their colonial claims along with the exchange of disputed territories. The island of Run, with its wealth of nutmeg, finally went to the Dutch. In return, the English received a small, swampy river island high up in the cold northern hemisphere called New Amsterdam – which they quickly renamed as New York.

Dangerous Crossing

We also planned to visit Run This, however, almost ended in disaster. Once again, a  nocturnal thunderstorm had swept the islands. When in the morning our small boat left the protective sound of Banda Naira, it was rocked back and forth by menacing waves. The women screamed, the men scooped water out of the boat with all their strength, which nevertheless threatened to overfill, one man went overboard (and was luckily recovered). Eventually the skipper was able to make a carefull turn and we finally reached the save harbour of Banda Naira, albeit completely soaked with salty water.

Monopoly lost

What was the final fate of the nutmeg?

It remained the exclusive wealth of the Bandas for another hundred years, although this was now enjoyed by foreign Europeans. Finally, in 1769 a Frenchman named Pierre Poivre managed to smuggle some seeds and seedlings unnoticed by the watchful eyes of the Dutch guards. Subsequently, he successfully planted the trees on the tropical island of Mauritus.

The Dutch East India Company had lost its monopoly at last.

Note

Date of journey: March 2018

Please note that this text is not the summary of a historical research. All sources were found in the Internet and may not be reliable in every detail.

Further reading: The Dutch Conquest of the Banda Islands by Kees Klok.

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See more of my images from the Banda Islands on Flickr

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In 1619 the Dutch East India Company established a trade post at the mouth of a small river called Ciliwung on Java’s north coast. They named the place Batavia. Today this is the part of Jakarta that is referred to as Kota Tua (Old Town). Let me take you on a little tour through this area of Dutch colonial reminiscence.

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A Brief History

When the Portuguese arrived in 1522, the mouth of Ciliwung river was a bustling port named Sunda Kelapa (Coconut of Sunda), ruled by the Hindu kingdom of Sunda. 1527 the city was conquered by the troops of two Muslim Sultanates under the command of Fatahillah. The Portuguese were expelled, and the place named Jayakarta (Victorious City).

The early 17^th century saw the arrival of Dutch and English traders who both established warehouses at the place. Tensions grew into a war, and in 1619 Dutch commander Jan Pieterszoon Coen with the backing of the Sultanate of Banten attacked Jayakarta and burned it to the ground. Subsequently, the Dutch founded a new town which they called Batavia. It later became the capital of the Dutch East Indies colony.

Kota Tua

When you leave the Jakarta Kota station, you are welcomed by an armada of green clad ojek drivers waiting for customers. From there it is about 100 meter down the street to Fatahillah Square, the center of Kota Tua.

The square is lined by neatly renovated buildings, some of them housing museums. The Sejarah Jakarta (History Museum) is situated on the south side, neighbored by the Wayang (Puppet) Museum. Gaudy bicycles with sunhats in matching colours are awaiting the tourists. As I arrived on a Monday morning, all the museums were closed. As an advantage, though, I was thus pretty much the only foreigner and you will not see crowds of tourists in my photos.

In the north-west corner of Fatahillah square the colonial style Café Batavia is a beautiful place to relax from the heat and enjoy a fine meal (if you can afford the rather high prizes of this establishment).

On the opposite bank of the Kali Krukut canal I spotted a very picturesque phantasy style building. Somebody said the style is Balinese but I really can’t tell. I could not find the house on Google maps so I assume it is a rather recent construction.

Not far from there stands one of the oldest houses of Jakarta, the Toko Merah (Red Shop) built in 1730. I must apologize for not having a guidebook with me, thus I wasn’t aware of that historical fact – and now I can show you only half of the Toko Merah!

Decay

Many historic buildings of Kora Tua, however, are not in a good condition. When you just turn around the corner of Fatahillah square, you will find houses like the one below.

The decline of Batavia began during the 18^th century. One problem was the health-situation which worsened probably due to the foul water of the canals in combination with the hot and humid climate. Outbreaks of tropical diseases like malaria threatened the people. Those who could afford it, moved to a newly founded estate to the south named Weltevreden (roughly todays Sawah Besar and Gambir subdistricts). Batavia fell into decay.

Authorities agreed on a plan to revitalize the Old Town in 2004. It gained momentum under Governor Joko Widodo in 2014, when sixteen historic buildings were restored. But a lot more must be done, as becomes the more obvious the farther you walk away from the central Fatahillah square.

Sunda Kelapa

The ancient port of the Sunda kingdom’s city of Jayakarta regained its name after independence. Even though it lost its importance after the construction of the new Tanjung Priok harbor in 1885, the Sunda Kelapa harbor is in use even today. You will find it walking north from the Kota Intan drawbridge along the Jalan Tongkol, a street busy with tent makers and other workshops.

Sunda Kelapa is nowadays the pier for the Indonesian Pinisi ships. These ancient types of boats reigned the seas of the archipelago before the advent of the colonial powers. They are still being constructed on the beaches around Bira in South Sulawesi by the expert builders of the local Bugis people.

At Sunda Kelapa they assemble in an impressive row of boats, proving their usefulness even today.

Facts

Date of travel: October 2019

Along the railroad tracks between Kota Tua and Sunda Kelapa, there is a line of slums where people live in heartbreaking conditions. Even though I shot some of the above photos right next to the slum, I did not notice it as the dwellings are very well hidden from view.

Next day, though, I went right there with the Jakarta Hidden Tour which is designed to create awareness by bringing visitors to the slums. You can read about this experience on my previous blog post.

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If you visit Jakarta, you can book a city tour which is probably totally different from any other tour you have been on before. It is offered by Ronny Poluan and his wife Anneke Rompas. They call it Jakarta Hidden Tour because they will guide you to places unseen in guidebooks and tourist promotions: the slums.

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Poverty as a touristic destination? Understandably a deterring thought for many visitors. Nobody wants to feel like a voyeur of misery. But you won’t be. To put it in Ronnie’s words: “You are not our tourist, you are our participant in the 3E development Project.” Where 3E stands for emergency, education, empowerment. Thus the 50 USD one must pay for the tour is regarded as a donation to the project and the people.

Our tour took about two to three hours and left me with a lot of contrary impressions. I felt elated by the beauty and kindness of the people living in conditions that are more than depressing.

Such a short excursion is not enough to derive at any founded conclusions. Thus, I will not even try to offer a coherent text for this blog but rather offer glimpses and fragments from the slums of Jakarta.

The Harbour Slum

The first place we visit is one of the many slums at the edge of the harbor, just opposite a quarter of fancy modern office towers, costly apartment buildings and a neat school for children whose parents can afford it.

I feel uneasy about this and other photos – because I find it beautiful. But then, who says there is not beauty in poverty? The image, however, can’t convey the stingy smell of the place. Nor any other pain.

Ronny Poluan is not, as I had assumed, a social worker but an artist. So, before we even start on the tour, we talk about how art can relate to poverty. “We once did a photo exposition about the slums. Wonderful black&white images of high intensity” Ronny says. “But I had an uneasy feeling. The people’s misery had become something aesthetical.”

But look at the man who draws nails from used timber planks. Is the human face not beautiful everywhere – like a lotus flower even though it grows in the mud?

I find the place busy with people trying to earn some money in any imaginable way. One guy has padded the luggage rack of his old bicycle. He waits for customers who want to be taken to places, nowadays mostly in vain, as he says: “Since the Gojek motorbikes (an Indonesian version of Uber) offer their cheap service, nobody wants to make use of my bike anymore.”

Using a bike as mobile restaurant is probably a better business model nowadays.

But not everybody finds work every day. When they don’t, young men gather in their “club house” to smoke, drink tea and chat. The “club” is but a wooden shelter with an old sofa and an even older mattress.

Ronny talks with the men about community affairs, when one man comes up giving an ardent speech. I can’t follow the topic, but assume it is political.  Maybe I am prejudiced by his gestures, the Che-Guevarra-shirt and the barbed wire tattoo around his neck.

As we enter the slum, children come running to join us on the tour. Ronny and Anneke know almost each one of them by name. They organize English classes for the children as part of the second E – education. Thus, each of the kids also introduces itself to me using the English phrases they have learned in these classes.

“Lately a colleague, another artist, called me and asked ‘Ronny, what are you now, an artist or an activist?’” It is not clear to me if Ronny is amused or rather annoyed by this question. What is art if it is void of compassion?

The first thing Ronny and Anneke showed me was the view of the slums from the other, the rich side of the harbor shore. This is how the slums are usually viewed – from a safe distance. People know that poverty is there, yet it is barely visible. It becomes an abstract problem. That is what is meant by ‘hidden’.

Ronny and Anneke help people to meet. This won’t change the world. But at least people will be more than abstract problems to each other. And after all, isn’t it only natural for people to meet? Indeed, it seems even more natural for the resident people than for most tourists. “I treat them as my guests,” says an old slum dweller into the microphones of a CNN camera on one of the tours, “and I believe they would do the same to me.”

Most welcoming, as always, are the kids. They love to chat using the little English they have learned and show their visitors around.

The Slum Reform Project

The next place we visit is a reform project. A dusty open square with small houses surrounding it. It looks neat compared to the slum before, yet also somewhat deserted.

A lot of colorful flags have been erected, a weak attempt, so it seems, to submit some feeling of joyfulness. “Once 400 families used to live at this place,” Ronny explains, “then the government demolished the slum.” Only about 100 families remained moving into the new sheds provided by the city. “The others were displaced.” It’s a disaster for those who can’t stay. There has been resistance against the demolition. As obvious, to no avail.

The city is pushing ahead social housing projects. “Under the rule of (now president) Widodo as mayor the city’s poor people have seen two highly beneficial improvements,” says Ronny. “Free schools and medical aid for everybody.” There is a catch, though: this holds only for those whose ID card proves them to be residents of Jakarta. A vast number, however, are not, even though they might have lived in the city for decades. Can’t they get ID cards? “Yes,” Ronny answers, “if they have a legal residence in town.” Most slum houses, of course, are not legal.

The man sings karaoke inside his home. A speaker outside the door makes it an entertainment for the neighbours, too.

While Ronny takes a rest, Anneke shows me around the quarter. At every door she talks with the people, and I see her handing some Rupiah notes to an old man who tells her about his current problems. The houses looked much more solid from a distance. Up close they are just thin wooden walls under a common tin roof that encloses small rooms with no ceiling. People have even less privacy here than in the former slum dwellings.

From the wall which confines the quarter one can see high rising social welfare housing. The government has promised to build such a building on the dusty central square of the demolished slum quarter. All families must pay a small monthly fee for the project, though nobody knows how long it may take to be realized.

The wall, however, has already been decorated with jolly sea life paintings.

Below the Tracks

The quarter at the harbor was busy and vivid, the reform project offered at least a glimpse of hope for a better future. The last place that Ronny and Anneke show me, however, sends a shiver down my spine.

At Kota Tua, the historic center and tourist highlight of Jakarta, we enter a narrow and gloomy hallway between two houses. At the end of it we walk up a ramp and stand beside the railway tracks.

Across the tracks people are housing in decrepit shacks. The sun is just about to set. Eager to catch the moment I raise my camera, when people shoo me from the track bed as a train is appearing fast from behind.

We climb down a few steps and stand in a cave. People live below the tracks in coves reaching into the groundwork of the railroad. This is the kitchen of the place.

A gloomy path with a small gully connects the coves. At it’s end it leads outside to the banks of a stinking river.

A young couple opens their shed for us to look inside. Their floor is covered by one mattress which fills the whole space, while they watch some show on a TV screen on the wall.

I don’t take a photo; it is too dark. Or is it rather that I am too ashamed as to intrude into that tiny bit of privacy of this couple? They smile. It is not the people here that are ashamed but rather us, the visitors. Yet again, it is the conditions that are eerie, while the people are wonderful. As Ronny stated in a documentary: “I love to see how the people manage to survive, how tough they are, and how peaceful their mind is.”

After a while of watching and chatting with the people we climb out of the cave and stand on a bridge that spans the slum dwellings. And I recognize the place. I was here yesterday when photographing the adjacent historic draw bridge, one of the touristic highlights of Jakarta’s Kota Tua. While doing so I was literally standing above the heads of the poor people, the hidden reality of this town.

See my following blog post about Jakarta’s Old Town (Kota Tua)

Facts

Date of Travel: October 2019

Ronny and Anneke’s website: Jakarta Hidden Tour

A very fine short movie about the tour by Ulf Krueger.

Cost of the tour: 50 USD donation to their projects per person

The post Slums of Jakarta appeared first on Collin Key Photography.

For most travelers Tentena is but a short break from the arduous bus-ride from Tana Toraja to the Togian Islands. If you are there, though, don’t miss out on visiting the “Dodoha Mosintuwu” institute and restaurant/café. Founded by renowned feminist and peace activist Lian Gogali, the center is a true architectural gem, snuggled behind trees and tall reeds against the shore of Lake Poso. A perfect place to relax, or to gain a deeper understanding of the social conflicts hidden beneath the surface of this idyllic part of Sulawesi; or both.

Diesen Beitrag auf Deutsch lesen

In 1998 and again 2000 Tentena faced severe conflict between Muslim and Christian religious groups. The center of these riots was Poso, the district capital 50 kilometers away. One thousand or more people were killed during the clashes. Many Christian families from Poso left their homes and fled to Tentena, while Muslims escaped in the opposite direction. The Poso regency was officially declared a conflict zone. What most visitors don’t know: the area bears that label even today.

A first visit

At first attempt we missed it. The entrance to Mosintuwu Institute is marked by a nondescript bamboo gate with some small signposts. The place was not mentioned in our Lonely Planet but we had copied a few pages from the Sulawesi Guide of Indojunkie. They mentioned some institute run by a feminist activist named Lian Gogali on their Tentena section, so we walked through town looking for any indication of such a site. In fact, it is also marked on Google Maps.

At first, however, we just walked by the gate, taking this to be the entrance to some vegetable fields. On our way back, we tried it out and walked down the dirt track. At its end we were really taken by surprise: Unexpectedly, we stood in front of a large bamboo structure, a house of bewildering artistic forms. Next to it was a smaller house with a large, narrow window, behind which I recognized the silhouette of a young woman wearing headphones (top image). “Radio Mosintuwu” proclaimed some large sign with colourful merry letters.

“Can I help you?”

The young woman introduced herself as Susan, a Mosintuwu volunteer.  Learning that we had stepped into this place totally ignorant yet full of curiosity, she kindly offered to show us around and answer any questions we had. With a smile she opened the door to the radio station.

A young, blond haired girl signaled us to enter the broadcasting room flooded with bright warm light, while some rhythmical song was playing. She sat bare-foot behind a table covered with computers, technical stuff, lots of cables, the walls covered kindergarten-style with paintings of flowers and balloons in bright colours. She gave us a sign to keep quiet as she set in for a voice message. When the music continued, she gladly posed for some photos.

Next Susan led us into the main building. Later I learned that it  was built in the form of a fish, but this can only be noticed from some distance. Up close it just looked like a staggering chaos of bamboo poles rising high, coming down again, bending in every direction. More like a walk-in piece of art than an ordinary house.

The ‘head’ of the fish houses a café and restaurant open for everybody. Its ‘mouth’ opens towards the lake. And if fish had tongues, this would be the jetty leading far out to a pavilion above deeper water.

We ordered a pot of tea while Susan answered our questions. Besides her she told us  there are six other volunteers working at the institute plus three in charge of the radio programme. All but three of the workers arefemale. Then, she explained to us the meaning of the name of the place and organization: “Mosintuwu” in local Pamona language means ‘we walk together’. This term puts all the efforts of the institute in a nutshell: walking together, through a zone of conflict, thus finding the path to peaceMeeting Lian Gogali

“Maybe you should meet Lian,” Susan suggested, “she can tell you much more about this than I can.”

Meeting Lian Gogali

As Lian approaches us next morning we are astounded by two seemingly contradictory impressions. On the one hand, the air of high energy that surrounds this small woman, on the other, the fact that she is handicapped – due to a motorcycle accident years ago she has to walk on a crutch.

Lian was born in a small Christian village near Poso. In 1997 she left home to study theology in Yogyakarta. Returning home in 1999 for the funeral of her father, she found Poso in ruins after the first outburst of the Muslim vs. Christian riots. People from her family had died, the house of her sister had been burnt down.

These terrible impressions brought about a change to Lian’s academical endeavor. More and more she became interested in the question of how religion could be abused in political conflict. Back in Yogyakarta she turned to social studies.

By 2002 Poso district was crowded with people from both religions, Christian and Muslim, that had lost their homes. Jihadists had poured into the area, further heating up the conflict. Lian returned to do research within camps of displaced people for her university thesis. Despite all the atrocities, she was impressed by many accounts of people – mostly women – who had overcome the hatred and helped their neighbors of different faith to survive.

“When I was about to leave the camp to finish my paper in Yogya,” Lian remembers, “a woman approached me and asked: ‘And what will you do now?’ ”

“I will publish a book for the world to know.” Lian answered. The woman looked at her. “And we will stay back here,” she retorted, “where nothing will change.”

This short encounter was her key moment, Lian tells us. It made her shed an academic life for that of an activist, dedicated to support the peace efforts in Poso. But returning to her homeland was extremely difficult for her, as she was a single mother of a girl by then, and her family back there did not even know. She declined the proposal to have her older sister adopt her daughter and, defying the resistance of a strictly traditional society, Lian brought up Sophia on her own, without being married.

In 2008 Lian founded the Mosintuwu institute. From the beginning it was dedicated to the education of women, because “women in Poso are the most untapped resource for religious tolerance and peace.”* Since then, the activities of Mosintuwu are too diverse to mention them all. Women are taught their rights and how to express themselves when facing the male dominated village councils. They are supported in setting up small scale enterprises. The institute organizes interreligious dialogue, houses a children’s library and also offers safe housing for women in danger.

“How much resistance do you face, challenging traditional concepts and male dominance,” I ask. “Of course, people trying to retain their privileges do react unfriendly,” Lian exclaims. “Lately I have been labeled ‘secessionist’ in Jakarta” she shrugs.

Saying someone is a secessionist is quite a severe accusation in multi-ethnic, multi-cultured Indonesia.

When, in 2012, Lian won the Coexist Prize from the British Coexist Foundation, she invested the money in the artistic bamboo center that gave her Institute a home.

Next to the center, she built another unusually styled bamboo house, which serves as home to her and Sophia but also offers rooms for visitors. “I want to establish ecological tourism in Tentena,” she explains with a sporting smile.

Fight of the Fishermen

Then Lian surprises us with another unsuspected change of subject: “At the moment we are supporting the local people who fight against the dam.”

“Dam?”

“Yes,” she replies. “Haven’t you heard of it? The government plans to dam the Poso river. In consequence, the traditional fish traps will be removed. The politicians and investors promise they will construct some fancy water-wonderland, but in the end the families operating the traps will be bereft of their livelihood and Tentena will lose a part of its spirit. You have certainly seen the traps, have you?”

Of course we have. The bamboo traps spun across the river from one shore to the other are the most peculiar sight of Tentena. Though at first sight we were not sure about the purpose of these constructions.

“Wanna go and see?”

An hour later Lian has organized the trip. In spite of her handicap, she joins us into the small and shaky boat to the traps, where one of the fishermen  already awaits us to explain their traditional method of catching eel. Even a camera man has joined in and, all of a sudden, we find ourselves being part of a campaign in support of Sulawesi fishermen.

Before we ride back to Mosintuwu Lian makes us change roles and asks us for a short interview. Just one question: “Why do you come to visit Tentena?” “Well,” I search for words facing the camera, “for the natural beauty, of course. And to experience some of the real life and culture. Like everyone else we could have gone to Bali to be entertained. But real Indonesia we will find here.”

I notice a broad smile on Lian’s face behind the camera man. Obviously, she feels reaffirmed by what I said. Just a tiny word of support. But Lian welcomes any bit of support she can get for her goal of a peaceful and just future of Indonesia.

*Quote from an interview with the Berkley Center, see below for the link.

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Facts

Date of travel: April 2018

Dodoha Mosintuwu offers three double rooms for tourists. I saw that one can be rented through AirBnB  for 16 Euro, roughly equivalent to 250k IRP.

The “Berkley Center for Religion, Peace and World Affairs” published an in-depth interview with Lian here: Berkley Center’s interview

Other worthwhile destinations around Tentena: Saluopa waterfalls and Hindu villages

After a bike-ride of about half an hour and a short walk you will reach the waterfalls.

On the way to the falls you will pass a Hindu village.

Excursions to Lore Lindu National Park, the Bada Valley and the ancient megaliths

The people from Mosintuwu can help to arrange these excursions. They work together with Agus Tohama, an experienced guide and native of the Bada Valley. Even walks across the mountains to the adjacent valley and from there to Palu are possible, with one night sleeping in the jungle.

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View my gallery of Sulawesi on Flickr

The post Walking together through the conflict zone appeared first on Collin Key Photography.

Close your eyes and inhale the beauty

The most exciting thing about the Togian Islands is that there is nothing exciting. At least not in the way of party tourism. Nothing but the breath of the ocean, the tropical sky and the colours of nature. The excitement of this destination consists in its peaceful tranquility. Come down to earth and admire its beauty.

I visited the Togians first in 2015 and fell in love with them so much that I returned again in 2018. There is hardly any place with mobile connection. Electricity is produced by generators during some hours after nightfall. And no ATM anywhere means you have to bring enough cash along. Better bring some more even, as you may want to extend your stay.

The Togians are an archipelago in the Bay of Tomini, south of the nothern peninsula of Sulawesi. Wakai is the major town and even has a hospital. Many other villages are home of the Bajo (also written Bajau) people, formerly known as the “sea gipsies”. There is an ever growing number of resorts, most of which are situated on the smaller islands. Each one with its own “dream beach”.

Most travellers visit two or three resorts while they are here. This is easy as one may either take a public boat or rent a private outrigger boat to hop from one island to another. We did so in 2015, visiting Poya-Lisa first, and then changing to Lestari Cottages on Pulau Malenge. Both are beautiful places, as is any other that I have seen on the way. On our second trip we stayed in Lestari only.

Lestari on Malenge Island is a resort with ten cottages run by a local family. Even though I enjoyed it a lot, I am not claiming this to be the best place on the Togians. After all I have not experienced all the others. What makes Lestari different from many others, however, is the fact that it offers much more than just a white sandy beach and a coral garden. Let me show you what I mean with a set of images.

First, the beach. It is as beautiful as anywhere on the Togeans, with fine sand and coral gardens just two steps into the water. The famous Reef No. 5 and California Reef are within easy reach and trips out there will be organized for 75k IDR per person.

Built around a large rock across from Lestari beach, there is a Bajo village named Papan. Every afternoon Bajo women (and their girl) ride over from the village to prepare dinner for the guests of Lestari. The resort has its own traditional boat, too, that you can use to travel the opposite direction to visit Pulau Papan – that is, if you can manage to canoe in a straight line. We sure had some problems steering…

The resort lies on a small peninsula with this emerald lagoon at its backside. I could just sit here for hours, marvel at the amazing colours and listen to the sounds of the jungle. This is the perfect place to let go and deeply inhale the beauty! And it is a lovely place for breakfast, too.

Behind the resort the jungle rises. There is a path you can follow that leads to a cave home to millions of bats. The guys from Lestari won’t let you walk alone out there, since two people who tried went missing. Both of them were found the other day but, as one may imagine, they weren’t in a good shape after spending the night in the woods.

The Bajo (also written Bajau or Bajao) are traditionally sea nomads. Originating from the Sulu Sea around Mindanao, they used to travel the Malayan Archipelago without ever leaving their boats. Slowly they migrated south to Malayan and Sulawesi waters. Nowadays, most of them seem to have settled, though their affinity to water is always obvious – their villages are most often found on remote islands or rocks, their houses often built on wooden pillars above reefs. Pulau Papan is a good example of this.

It is fun to visit the village and witness some everyday life of the Bajo people. They are reserved, but friendly to visitors. And they have some very good badminton players, who play their game at a concrete court behind the mosque. So if badminton is your sport, ask if you may join in for a game.

Sepak takraw or kick volleyball is another very popular ball game in Indonesia. It is played with a ball made of rattan. Three players in each team kick the ball over the net. Hands are not allowed. As a consequence the audience will see many artistic jumps. There is a sepak takraw field in front of the Lestari cottages. Every afternoon some boys from the Bajo village used to come over to challenge Rolly, Akbar and the other boys from the resort.

A milelong jetty connects the rock of Pulau Papan with Malenge main island. The jetty crosses the ocean above the reef and one can watch the many-coloured fish between the corals. This is the daily way to school for the Bajo kids. It is also a nice stroll for the visitors.

As a habit, Akbar would approach the guests every evening after dinner to ask what their plans were for the next day. He and the other guys of Lestari really did a wonderful job, teaching us an Indonesian card game called parau-parau, playing the guitar at the nightly bonfire and accompanying us on various excursions. One of these excursions was a visit to the school of the Bajo kids. Students and staff were very welcoming as they presented to us what they had learned in their English lessons.

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Facts

Date of travel: April 2018

The prices at Lestari were 200k, 250k or 300k IDR per day and person (depending on the quality of the bungalow). Three meals and water, coffee and tea are included.

The Togian Islands can either be approached from Ampana (south) or Gorontalo (north).

From Gorontalo a ferry connects to Wakai. The trip costs 64k IDR and goes overnight. You may either sleep on the tatami (mat) deck or in business class which offers slightly more privacy. There are no regular cabins but the staff rent theirs to travellers for 500k IDR. Arrive well before departure and ask any of the officers.

From Ampana there are several boats going to the Togians. If you take the regular boat this will bring you to Wakai from where you either take another public boat to Malenge town (and then look for a small private boat). Or rent one of the private outrigger boats in Wakai which will bring you right to Lestari. Cost per person varies between 350k and 600k IDR.

There is a fast boat also from Ampana that stops right at Pulau Papan, the Bajo village opposite to Lestari beach.

Ampana has a new airport. To my knowledge, however, there is only a flight to Palu from where you have to connect to further destinations.

If you have visited Rantepao and Tana Toraja before coming to the Togians, you can take a bus from Rantepao to Poso (consider 18hrs or more) and from there a car or bus to Ampana. This is a long and tiring ride but you will see some wonderful mountains and jungles.

If you have a bit more time (you should!) consider to make a stop in Tentena. Beautiful landscape and a nice lake will help you to recharge your batteries. There you can relax at the wonderful bamboo cafe of the Mosintuwu Institute run by well-known women’s rights and peace activist Lian Gogali. My next post will be dedicated to Tentena and this woman.

Note

What seems a paradise at one moment can turn a desaster the next moment. Palu, one of the possible stop-overs on the way to the Togians, has been hit by a desastrous earth quake and tsunami in October 2018. I want to express my sympathy to the victims and my appreciation to all the people who came to help. My friend Lisa Soba Palloan was one of them.

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See more of my images from Sulawesi on Flickr

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Nature can hardly be more beautiful and surprising than around the Sulawesi islands of Labengki and neighbouring Sambori. Breath-taking karst rock formations, untouched rain forest, hidden lagoons, coral reefs and even a blue hole not yet taken note of by the SCUBA-diving world. Yet there is a dark side to the paradise: years of dynamite fishing have destroyed a lot of the reefs and shooed away many of the fish. And lately the crown-of-thorns starfish, that feeds on corals threatens what is left of the reefs.

Diesen Artikel auf Deutsch lesen.

But there is also a man and his team who fight for the rescue and preservation of this unique realm of nature. His name is Habib Nadjar Buduha, founder of the “Toli-Toli Giant Clam Conservation Project”. We meet him the day before we set out for our Labengki visit.

The Headquarter

I surely had not expected to see some fancy NGO headquarters but the  humble  wooden house that we enter after an hour’s taxi ride from Kendari airport still comes as a surprise to me. Habib lives here together with his old and wonderfully whimsical mother. They offer us tea on their large veranda. Habib sits behind his desk – a small and old wooden table covered with packs of cigarettes, a teacup, papers and mobile phones. Can this be the nucleus of a huge protected marine park? And what about giant clams?

“This is my parents’ home where I grew up,” Habib begins his story. “Later I have lived in Makassar for thirty years working as a journalist (under the name of Indra Andari) and tourist manager.”

Then one day he decided to return home and live here in Toli-Toli, his home village. “What I found was – a deserted ocean. When I was a boy the sea was inhabited by colourful corals but now they have mostly disappeared.” And most shocking of all: the giant clams, once abundant in this area, were gone.

“I thought somebody had to do something against this. But here, in Indonesia, I can’t hope for the government. So, I decided to do it on my own.”

As a matter of fact, the whole area around Labengki island is officially a protected nature reserve. Officially. On paper. A fact, as it seems, that slipped the attention of the government. Corals are destroyed by dynamite and poison fishing, mining companies line-up along the main coast like pearls on a string. Most if not all dispense with costly barrier lakes but let their mine wastes flow directly into the sea, causing a heating of the ocean water.

Stop Dynamite

“First of all, I persuaded the fishermen of Toli-Toli to stop dynamite fishing,” Habib continues his narration with a smile. “This was the easiest step – practically everyone here is akin to me.”

He found volunteers, young men mostly, who assumed the idea of stopping the destruction of their native environment. Together they set out and gathered tens of thousands of giant clams from unsafe places and brought them to the Toli-Toli coast which, by then, was declared protected area. Not by the government but by the local people. This was the second step.

Next came a bold move reaching out as far as Pulau Labengki (sometimes written “Labengke”, too).  The rugged rocks of the Labengki islands are a two-hour boat ride from the coast of Toli-Toli.  They are populated by one small village of Bajo people. Habib set out to convince them to protect their islands, just as the fishermen of his homeplace had done before.

In the morning we set out for the same destination. Habib has organized a boat and a skipper for us. One of his volunteers, a young man called Iman, will also join us as a guide and translator. We will stay there three nights in a Bajo homestay.

At the Bajo Village

The Bajo (also written Bajau or Bajao) are traditionally sea nomads. Originated from the Sulu Sea around Mindanao they used to travel the Malayan Archipelago without ever leaving their boats. Slowly they migrated south to Malayan and Sulawesi waters. Nowadays, most of them seem to have settled, though their affinity to water is always obvious – their villages are most often found on remote islands or rocks, their houses often built on wooden pillars above reefs.

After we have towed our boat we are guided to the only stone house of the village right behind the jetty. A small room with a mattress on the floor will be our home for the next three days. The welcome is rather matter-of-factly, quite distinct from the usual smiling faces you are always met with throughout Indonesia. I felt this kind of reserved attitude in other Bajo villages again. It might be explained by the fact that these people have traditionally stayed among themselves while living on the ocean. Which is not to say that we were not met with friendliness. It did not take long until we became part of the nightly chit-chats on the veranda abundant with jokes and laughter.

Bajo people make a living on fish. There is an ice machine at the jetty, so that when people bring by their large catches the fish can immediately be packaged. The tuna, they told us, goes to Singapore, the squids to Japan. And all the rest seemed to fill our dinner table.

“They used a lot of dynamite to boost their catch,” Habib told us. “So how could I convince them to stop the practice and return to their traditional methods?” The answer is rather surprising: he joined them in dynamite fishing. And afterwards he demonstrated the disastrous effects this bombing had on the coral reefs and pointed out that this was the reason, too, why the large fish had begun to stay away.

But living on the ocean with so intimate knowledge of the aquatic nature, wouldn’t they have known before? To answer this question Habib pointed out their former nomadic life-style. “It did not matter to them. Before the effects were noticeable they would move to another place.”

Habib is a very dedicated man and his dedication succeeded with the Labengki villagers, too. They signed a detailed treaty laying out how the Labengki islands and their surrounding water were to be protected from now on. And the Bajo people themselves will guard those rules.

To compensate for the loss in catch they start to create tourist homestays guided by Habib’s NGO. They learn how to entertain outside guests and present them to the natural wonders of their place. The huge marine park Habib once dreamt about is beginning to take form. And this time it will be protected by people, not by paper.

The Fight

We have visited the incredible orchid lined blue lagoon, have snorkelled through a cave to reach the green lake, have marvelled at the ragged bay of Nirvana resort. At the time of writing, this resort is the only tourist accommodation besides the Bajo homestays and some cottages across the village. It was planned and built with the help of a Java-based investor on Habib’s own land with the aim of raising funds for the Giant Clam Project. Then conflict broke out and the investor banned Habib and his volunteers from the place.

You can’t expect the police and the courts to solve such a case unbiased. Being an activist out here is not quite the same as joining an NGO in Europe or America. It means you have to fight. Literally. And as a rule, your opponents will be stronger than you – they have the money.

While the Nirvana issue is still unresolved, another threat appears hidden underwater: the crown-of-thorn starfish. This animal feeds on corals and as its numbers explode, it emerges as a dramatical hazard maybe worse even than dynamite fishing. Habib has an explanation for this alarming development, which we find supported by biologists we later talk to. The excavation materials of the mining companies, which are not retained by any barrier lakes, flow into the ocean and heat up the water.

Habib has appealed to the authorities to prevent this practice – so far to no avail. There is more money involved with these companies than with any Java investor…

This is not to say that the authorities do not recognize the work of Habib and the Giant Clam Project. They have received a fair number of official rewards – which usually come in the form of trophy cups made of plastic. “We have no money and for the time being no support, either,” says Habib. “But we will not give up on this. We will dive and take the starfish out.” Clearing an area of more than one hundred square kilometres by diving?

“They look quite decorative when dried. Maybe the Bajo can sell them as souvenirs to the visitors.”

Being an activist in a place as remote as Labengki means you need stamina, the ability of improvising – and an endless reservoir of optimism.

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Facts

Date of travel: April 2018

Pulau Labengki are actually two islands, Labengki Besar (Large) and Labengki Kecil (Small). The Bajo settlement is on Labengki Kecil.

The islands are situated in the north of Sulawesi Tenggara (Southeast). The neighbouring island Pulau Sambori is already part of Sulawesi Tengah (Central).

The most convenient approach is to take a plane from Makassar to Kendari (capital of Sulawesi Tenggara), then a taxi to Toli-Toli and from there by private boat.

Don’t expect this to be a very cheap trip. The remoteness of the area makes for higher than average costs. Here is what we paid:

• 700k IDR for the return flight Makassar – Kendari
  
• 500k IDR taxi Kendari to Toli-Toli (round trip)
• 3.5 Million IDR boat, skipper and guide for four days
• 400k IDR Bajo homestay per night/person (including three meals)
• 200k official entrance fee

The Nirvana resort charges 1.3 Million IDR per night/person. During the week you can expect to be the only guests there. On weekends and holidays Indonesian travel groups crowden the place.

We have been told that the Beach Huts across the Bajo village go for 500k IDR per night/person.

More resorts are in planning which will be even costlier. At Sambori there is one resort under construction.

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See more of my images from Sulawesi on Flickr

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