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02 INDONESIA
Cuisine & Culture Nikoi Island Escape Visiting Camp Leakey
North Maluku Nights SPICEY TALES FROM EASTERN INDONESIA
contents Full-flavoured In this issue of Kabar & Expat, many different tastes are mingled. Whether you’re looking for a delicious local dish or a cup of coffee that packs a punch,
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stories of love and blues, spice and salsa, oragnutans, Mad Max, garbage dumps, or idyllic island escapes, it’s all here, in a broad
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array of words and images. And these are just some of the colourful experiences that Indonesia offers, every day. What Kelly Ginley says of her community association, ANZA, can just as truthfully be said of Indonesia: “you get out of it what you put in”. We hope you also get a lot out of this issue of the magazine. For subscription enquiries, please e-mail
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JAKARTA’S OLD-TIME EATERIES A selection of some of the city’s finest
subscribe@kabarmag.com
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WILLIAM WONGSO Indonesia’s gastronomy expert shares
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his passion for the language of food.
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PARIS IN JAKARTA: OH LA LA Interview with Ibu Nurhani
HARRY DARSONO The master couturier invites you to visit his museum.
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JERMAL The story of a father, a son, and life
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VISITING CAMP LEAKEY The orangutan camp in Kalimantan
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MAD MAX, BALI-STYLE A series of unusual events on Ubud’s sports field.
The scavengers of Jakarta’s largest
NORTH MALUKU Without a guidebook: an aimless adventure in Ternate.
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set up by Biruté Galdikas.
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BANTAR GEBANG city dump.
on an isolated fishing platform.
Sampetoding, founder of Oh La La.
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An escape with a difference: how to enjoy a private paradise.
and longest-serving restaurants.
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NIKOI ISLAND
KERONTJONG TOEGOE Musical ties in one of Jakarta’s oldest communities.
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SLANK Celebrating 25 years, Slank members take questions from their fans.
contributors
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Sulhan Wicaksono
Creative Gemini Sulhan Wicaksono was born in Jakarta. An interior designer by training, he has broad interests that range from art and music to football (both English and Spanish leagues). Since he was small, he has always enjoyed drawing and painting on any surface he could find (including his parents’ house). A lover of jazz, blues, and RnB, he enjoys playing piano and percussion. Sulhan’s illustrations can be seen in the books The Day the Sun Decided Not to Wake Up and The Little Grey Cloud (both by Ronald Stones OBE), and in the last edition of Kabar & Expat.
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Adrianna Tan
Adrianna Tan is a Singaporean photojournalist and new media producer based in Dubai and Kuala Lumpur. Her “Postcards from London and Dubai” travelogue can be found online at http://fortylove.tv.
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Toto Santiko Budi
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Toto began his career as a photojournalist in 2000, with a local newspaper in his hometown, Surabaya. He likes to capture documentary, culture and travel images. His work has been published both locally and internationally, and his photo essay about the Jakarta floods appeared in the 2007 Angkor Photo Festival.
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Sam Sherratt
Sam lives in Tianjin in Northern China with his wife, Kelli, and kids Ruby, Zahra and Aiden. An international school teacher, Sam lived in Bangladesh before moving to China and will shortly be moving to Bangkok. As a family, the Sherratts try to travel as much as possible around Asia and the camera always goes along with them!
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Rob Duryea & Scott Kofmehl
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Scott Kofmehl is a Foreign Service Officer with the US Department of State. He is a graduate of the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University and holds a Phd. from the London School of Economics. Indonesia is his first of many postings. Robert Duryea studided philosophy at Hobart and William Smith Colleges and Photography at The School of Visual Arts in New York City. He works as a IT security consultant in Jakarta with a focus on enterprise architechture. An avid “Mac guy” he teaches private lessons and classes on How to Get the Most out of Your Mac. He can be reached at Duryea.Robert@gmail.com. He would like to “do lunch” with you.
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Maeve Showell
Maeve lived in Jakarta for 2 years when she was a teenager, and recalls making a dash to the airport in 1998. Currently living in Perth, Western Australia, she holds a Bachelor of Arts/Communications from the University of Western Australia. She returned to Jakarta in early 2009 as an ACICIS intern, a program that matches Australian and New Zealand Journalists with Indonesian media organizations.
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Jakarta’s Old-time eateries Experience some of the city’s longest-serving locales.
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Ragusa
RAGUSA, ITALIAN ICE CREAM Jl. Veteran I No. 10, Central Jakarta, Tel. +62 21 3849 123
sweet sensations Circa 1930, two Italians, Luigi and Vincenso Ragusa first came to Indonesia to learn how to sew, but in 1932, they ended up selling ice cream in Pasar Gambir (today’s Jakarta Fair). It was 1947, the Dutch had fled and the Japanese had given way for Indonesia to prepare for independence, when these Italians were walking along and noticed their future ice cream spot on Jl. Veteran. Not long afterwards, the Ragusa brothers - Luigi, Vincenso, Oktavio, and Francisco - opened up their soon-to-be-famous Italian ice cream parlour in Jakarta.
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The youngest Ragusa, Francisco, fell in love with a Chinese-Indonesian woman whose in-laws are the current owner of Ragusa. Hj. Sias Mawarni has been preserving the Ragusa ice cream legacy for more than 75 years now. Menus like chocolate, mocca, vanilla, or strawberry single scoop have broadened to spaghetti ice cream and banana split.
Rumah Makan Gudeg Bu Tjitro royal favourite
The business started at Pasar Ngasem, Yogyakarta, back in 1926, moving to Jakarta in 1962. Once summoned by Sultan Hamengkubuwono VIII to sell gudeg at the entrance to the royal palace complex, the famous Bu Tjitro recipe is found in Jakarta on Cikajang 80/Q II (GBT 80 for short). After she passed away, Mrs. Tjitro’s business fell to her descendents and her grandson Antonius Purnawarman today continues the family business and preserves the traditional way of cooking and preparing gudeg. Along the years, Sultan Pakubuwono XII, Hugeng Imam Santoso (former Head of Indonesian Police), Bung Tomo (national hero from East Java), Nurma HB IX (one of Keraton Yogyakarta’s royal family) have dined at Rumah Makan Gudeg Bu Tjitro. The signature dish is nasi gudeg kendil. Be on the lookout for old pictures and traditional utensils when you pay the restaurant a visit.
RUMAH MAKAN GUDEG BU TJITRO Jl. Cikajang 80/Q II, Kebayoran Baru, South Jakarta. Tel. +62 21 7243 202
Sari Bundo balancing act
One of Indonesia’s most popular cuisines comes from West Sumatera: Padang food is found in every city and town across the archipelago. The Minang people like to travel and settle in places away from their hometowns and it helps the spread of Padang food. The food is typical of Sumatera with a lot of spices and chilies. One attraction of Sari Bundo is the way SARI BUNDO the waiter brings the food to your table, Jln. Ir. H. Juanda no. 27, Central Jakarta. Tel. +62 21 3458 343 sometimes bringing up to 20 small plates in one go. He arranges dozens of plates on his left forearm and bring the rest with the right hand. Sari Bundo holds the Indonesian record of carrying the most plates in a competition between Padang food restaurants (72 plates!). Built in 1967 by Hj. Azwardi Rivai, the restaurant has created its own menu that can’t be found elsewhere. Their spicy fried liver, savoury fried chicken, and the combination of three different fruit juices dubbed sari buah are some of the choices you may be interested in trying when you go there. Located close to central government offices, Sari Bundo is often visited by Indonesian leaders, past and present. So why not try it? You’ll get a first-hand experience of the original Indonesian fast food restaurant.
Sate Cikajang bring your own can
Established in 1964, the building itself was a knock-down tent, since the owner wasn’t allowed to have a permanent building at the corner of the street. It’s always packed during lunch. Once it had two branches at Bintaro and Blok M, yet the customers always came to Cikajang. Their signature flavour is found in the Betawi sauce and the all time favorite dishes are sate kambing daging (goat meat satay), sate kambing ati (goat liver satay), sop kaki kambing (goat foot soup), and sop tulang (bone soup). The owner insists on informing readers that they don’t sell alcoholic drinks; they do allow customers to bring their own canned drinks (not bottles), but won’t lend you their glasses.
SATE CIKAJANG Jl. Wolter Monginsidi No. 50. Kebayoran Baru, South Jakarta. Tel. +62 21 7245 587
Trio
the magic number If not for its green colour, new customers might miss this small restaurant. Old customers, on the other hand, don’t need any special sign to spot it. It was created in 1944 by Tan Kim Po, Lam Khai Tjioe, and Tan Lung. The name Trio was chosen to represent the three persons. Trio was well-known as a meeting point for Indonesia’s politicians and leaders in the past. People like Ali Sadikin, Harmoko, and Cosmas Batubara were regulars. American William Liddle, an Indonesian expert, also chooses to eat there when he visits Indonesia.
TRIO Jl. R.P. Soeroso no. 29A, Central Jakarta. Tel. +62 21 3193 6295
What’s special about Trio is its cheap, delicious Chinese food. It has, more or less, 70 cuisines to offer, but the current owner, Effendy Lam (the son of Lam Khai Tjioe), has selected 42 of the most popular dishes and written them up on a board in old Indonesian spelling. Lam guarantees the availability of each food, from shark fin and frog, to sea cucumber. If you have no stomach for these, then you can just opt for the beef, pork, chicken, and fish on the menu. Don’t forget to order their cucumber pickle. It’s very tasty and refreshing.
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Oasis
OASIS Jl. Raden Saleh Raya no. 47, Menteng, Central Jakarta, Tel. +62 21 3150 646
contemporary classic outkast This restaurant has been around since 1968. The building itself, a two-storey Dutch mansion, was built in 1928. Decorated with a stained glass window depicting Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam, it was designed by Dutch artist Robert Deppe. Guests will be welcomed by the sound of a gong announcing their arrival. Oasis has six rooms that can cater to your every need. Should you require some private time, the Raja rooms are the option for you. Oasis offers a wide range of food, from lobster thermidor, tournedo “rossini” (beef steak with madeira sauce and truffled goose liver), to bombe “vesuvius” (ice cream mountain). However, their most famous item on the menu happens to be the Indonesian rijsttafel. Rijsttafel itself is not a cuisine, rather a particular style of serving food. At Oasis, when you order rijsttafel, 12 women will serve you, each bringing a cuisine from a particular region in Indonesia. A variety of celebrities have patronised this luxurious restaurant, the likes of Bill and Hillary Clinton, former Indonesian president B.J. Habibie, and Phil Collins have enjoyed the food and the love music from a quintet of Batak musicians. Just remember two things when coming here: dress well, and pack your wallet.
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William Wongso Language is a powerful tool of communicating thoughts and ideas, helping maintain feelings of cultural kinship. In Indonesia, William Wongso urges his people not to forget their own cultural language, food.
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Wongso sees today’s Indonesians as a generation that often times takes iys local food for granted and therefore, depreciate it slowly but surely. “Nobody cooks at home anymore. Grandmothers aren’t cooking for their grandchildren as often as they used to be.” The role of grandmother or mother cooking their children home made food with a family recipe is slowly shifting to helpers who cook instant food or anything that’s easy to make. Wongso discovered the effect of this when he took six children to a traditional market. When asked what food they like, their answers are almost the same: fried rice and pasta, fried rice and soto. “This happens because nobody cooks at home anymore. Most parents just want it the easy way. Fried rice is the first that’s easy to make, then pasta.” Regeneration is important in preserving this cultural language of food, and it has to start with appreciation. “What food means to us is very important and sensible, if we can have a vast appreciation for it,” says William puffing smoke from his Cuban cigar. “In order to appreciate food, we need to change our mindset. We get used to the taste of food we regularly consume and how we value that particular taste stays. It’s when you get out of that zone and change your mindset, you encounter surprises everywhere you go.” Indonesian is a country that tempts you to be an adventurer, and Indonesian food is no different. Advice from Wongso: if you want to experience the authentic Indonesian regional food, then you have to go to the original location. Having a TV program enables Wongso to deliver this message. “Binte Biluhuta from Gorontalo for example. They use specific shrimp, found in the local lake. It has a
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distinctive flavour.” Every region in Indonesia has something noteworthy about its cuisine. It’s something that William pays attention to. He gives another example of finding nasi jamblang every time he visits Cirebon, West Java. “It’s rice wrapped with waru leaves. The tempe is half fermented, different from the usual. The jambal has to be originally from Cirebon as well and for me, how they make the sambal is extraordinary,” told Wongso enthusiastically. “Then, there’s sate kalong, which people mistakenly thought was made out of kalong (bat), whereas it’s actually beef. It got its name because the seller starts selling at 5.00 pm.” Indonesian cooking is obviously a village cuisine. According to Wongso, there is no national cooking, rather there is regional cooking. If you can’t make the time to visit the various regions of Indonesia to investigate, Wongso says it can all be found in the capital city. So, if William was about to take us for a culinary tour around Indonesia in Jakarta, where would he take us? “Jagakarsa in South Jakarta for Pecak Pucung, a traditional Betawi dish. If one can overlook hygiene than street food like Soto Madura on Gandaria with its rice still wrapped in banana leaves, is a choice. If you want to eat Batak food, go to Senayan (next to Senayan shooting range) and eat lapo.” Lunch with Indonesia’s gastronomy expert (as crowned by the media) was accompanied by a pot of freshly brewed Chamomile tea served at The Oyster. “Expert, that’s a relative term. If some people collect paintings, I collect food. The difference is that food is edible, yet stored in my memory. I have the knowledge, I understand taste and I practise it.” Wongso exercises his ‘language’ regularly and appreciates it. Indira Dhian Saraswaty
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Nurhani Sampetoding
Paris in Jakarta Driving through the city and looking for inspiration, the idea occurred to me that only the most crowded coffee house on a weekend afternoon would be the right place to start thinking of which interview to do next. I needed to loosen up. Coffee houses in Jakarta function as meeting points. Coffee is available, of course, but often also juices or Italian pastas are served on rattan tables in a setting of standard American interiors. Various crowds fill the five-star-hotel-lounge-feel room with chatter of up-to-date, but limited, society gossip. The coffee house that I chose to visit had a different atmosphere. Located in the same building as Djakarta Theater, one of the coziest theaters in Jakarta, when I arrived at Café OhLaLa, there was a celebration for the 480th anniversary of Jakarta. The coffee house seemed unable to hold the people who gathered. “Who is the person behind this generosity?” I asked someone at my table who seemed intoxicated by the pile of free Nasi Uduk and a glass of melting ice chocolate. His finger pointed to a woman among the staff, attired in an elegant blue moslem outfit. My friends and I give her a nickname, Madame OhLaLa. But for the purposes of this article I’ll use her real name: Nurhani Sampetoding. Madame Sampetoding started her business in 1990, opening a small café in the basement of Blok M Plaza. Her café specialized in serving French culinary staples seasoned with an ‘Indonesian flavour’. “I deliberately gave Café Ohlala a different taste to other coffee houses in Jakarta. Indonesian cannot be separated from sambal and insipid beverages, so I made tasty croissants to go with sambal and hot sweet Java Coffee,” Ms. Nurhani tells me when I return to interview her. OhLaLa is now a franchise that has grown to 28 outlets around Indonesia. However, there are four which are managed personally by Ms. Nurhani and retain a more ‘Frenchy’ atmosphere than the rest. Traces of beauty can still be admired on the face of the former ‘70s Beach Princess. Ms. Nurhani left a career in modelling to concentrate on the café business. She implemented what was familiar to her from her previous profession: perfection and quality. ANTONIUS MARTONO
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Harry Darsono With an unrivalled attention to hue and fabric, Harry Darsono is a master artist of fashion. His clothes, which have adorned the likes of the late Princess Diana and Queen Beatrice, are often the results of thousands of hours of knot tying, stitching sequins and attaching feathers, resulting in fabrics so intricate and detailed that upon first glance they look more like paintings than clothes. There’s much more, of course, but frankly Harry Darsono is a gentle soul without pretensions, best experienced in person. His museum of ‘art-to-wear’ is open
for the public, a visit to which offers the possibility of wearing his haute couture creations, including those once donned by the abovementioned royal icons. The South Jakarta Museum, an homage to Baroque architecture, is filled with fashion, artifacts and even a letter written by Albert Einstein. A lucky tour may be rounded off with some piano playing by the host, who is joined by opera singers on occasion. Harry’s exclusive private museum may be visited by appointment only. For more details call +62 21 766 8553.
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Nikoi ISLAND
Think of Indonesia’s perfect beaches and idyllic island life, and Bali and Lombok immediately spring to mind. Their beaches and other island offerings may still rank among the world’s most stunning and exotic, but seclusion is an increasingly rare commodity. Adrianna Tan finds what she’s looking for on Nikoi.
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Perhaps you’ve tired of the ‘tropical paradise’ picture perfect postcard retreats you love, which are still undeniably beautiful, but now spoilt by unkempt beaches and more likely to feature other red-faced foreigners more interested in their Bintang Beer than endless stretches of white sand and palm trees. Or perhaps as a seasoned Southeast Asia old hand you’ve seen it all, and island-hopped enough so much so that it’s the rare few special island or resort that can stir up any excitement at all.
One of the best things about Indonesia that’s easy to forget, especially after getting caught up in the big city lights of Jakarta, is that the country is in fact also the world’s largest archipelago, among its other claims to fame, which puts more than 18 000 islands at your disposal — 6000 if you count only the inhabited ones. And the fact that few international travellers bother to venture elsewhere beyond the usual suspects only means more space for the rest of us. Nine more. If you’re here for privacy, seclusion, and a spot of romance, this is precisely it. Zipping over from Singapore by ferry, we whizzed through the VIP lounge on arrival, the seaport equivalent of ‘fast track’ immigration clearance. An hour later we were in Kawal, site of a small Nikoi-bound jetty. My measure of how special an island is is pretty rudimentary. How much does it makes my jaw drop, in the first minute or so when the island comes into your line of
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Timmer, who was part of the original founding party. Having lived in Bintan for decades and passionate about the natural surroundings of the region, he handcrafted the houses from driftwood, and emerged with distinctive double vaulted roofs for each. The way the houses are built, says Timmer, makes the very idea of air-conditioning unnecessary — the houses are kept cool naturally, for hot air escapes through the chimney-like roofs.
sight, and does it make me think “I’m so lucky to be here”? Islands like Koh Lipe do that to me, while Phuket and Koh Phi Phi never do. And now, onboard Nikoi’s homebound classic wooden launch boat “Mana”, as we approached Nikoi I felt what owners Andrew and Julia Dixon must have felt when they first spotted the island in 2001: this might be paradise. There was no one on the beach when we landed except the affable Yogi (“Call me Yogi Bartender!”) and his crew — amazing. Yogi mixed us a much-needed welcome drink, and the mellow sounds of good jazz never stopped. Some islands just exude a wonderful vibe without having to try too hard, and Nikoi was one such place. It felt more like stumbling into someone’s Robinson Crusoe island, not the least bit like the impersonal resorts we’ve all grown used to. And it kept getting better. Each one of the houses was a sturdy two-storey beach house. Downstairs, a wonderful chill out space with day beds and a bar; upstairs, a comfortable, spacious bedroom with the balcony opening out to the ocean. The houses, like most other architectural elements on Nikoi, are the pride and joy of designer Peter
I haven’t been in a hotel like this in a long time, in fact I wasn’t even sure I could call Nikoi a ‘hotel’ or a ‘resort’. It was everything it promised to be: secluded, private, charming, quiet... and different. This was barefoot luxury at its best. The houses in their smallest configurations, the one-bedroom houses (they also come in two and three-bedroom) had at least 100 square metres upstairs, a far cry from tiny standard hotel rooms. Instead of opulent five-star luxury, accommodation is all about adventure and charm — “Luxury Survivor”, according to its owners — and every inch of the rooms, with natural touches of stone and wood everywhere, stood out. Within five minutes of being there, I felt like I never wanted to leave. The food was fresh and seasonal, with the items on offer depending on what’s available that day transformed into fine dishes under the watchful eye of Nikoi’s expert chefs. The wine list was short but commendable, and Yogi Bartender’s cocktails delightful. Local flavours and dishes, barbequed seafood and unbelievably sweet tropical fruits, were served three times a day at the dining room or sea-view clubhouse, with the occasional live jazz act on hand to provide entertainment. At other times, meals can be served in the privacy of your own beach house or right on the beach. Whatever you end up doing in Nikoi one thing’s for sure: there won’t be many people around to cramp your style. The island can hold up to 60 people, but in reality very rarely ever even reaches half of that. If long lazy dinners, pina colada in hand, gets too much for you, the fine people at Nikoi will be glad to help. Pick up snorkelling or fishing equipment, and head for the sea — the waters off Nikoi are as lovely and pristine as the island itself is. All equipment for activities are provided free of charge, and on a slow day if you feel like sailing — but can’t — one of the staff will be
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happy to take you out to sea on one of the lasers they own. Land-roving adventurers may prefer unwinding at the beach or the lovely swimming pool, or if that gets stale, beach vollyball or a nature walk around the island to witness the beautifully conserved flora and fauna are always viable options (if you have children, ask about special activities for kids — there are too many to name). All of which was activity enough for us for three days. We woke up every morning in Nikoi to a view of the open ocean and trundled about barefoot everywhere: beach, house, beach, house, pool, house, bar, clubhouse, and when we decided to attempt to be ‘active’, ended up stuck at sea in a laser neither of us could operate (but that’s another story for another day). The food was good, and the beach, perfect. In a short period of time Nikoi’s become the best-kept secret you only want to tell your favourite people about, and is already becoming increasingly harder to book, but it’s easy to see why. This could be the new paradise.
http://www.nikoi.com/
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Jermal In the homogeneous stream of today’s Indonesian cinema, Jermal challenges the flow. A thoughtful portrayal of the relationship between a father and a son, it explores a classic theme given a unique twist by its setting: an isolated fishing platform, or jermal, in the middle of the Mallaca Straits off North Sumatra. The central character is Jaya, a 12-year-old schoolboy whose orderly life is dramatically disrupted when, after his mother’s death, he is sent to the jermal to be with his father Johar. Johar, a taciturn and solitary figure, is an escapee from the mainland with a past he is determined to reject. Snubbed by his father, Jaya is left to fend for himself in a tough new environment that transforms him from a naïve schoolboy into a hardened survivor. The idea for the film was seeded by a Kompas article read by director Ravi Bharwani a few years ago. “I felt at the time that a jermal would be a great place to make a film, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do with it. I just knew it was a great location. Not just aesthetically, but the possibilities of it being in the middle of the seas, this context of isolation.” Ravi developed the story together with Rayya Makarim in a 2003 scriptwriting workshop with Jakarta-based veteran cineaste Orlow Seunke, finally completing production in 2008. Here are some outtakes from the experience…
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Rayya: “When we picked the main actor (Didi Petet), we needed a partner and alter ego who would be able to challenge the main character, because the character of Johar is this big, formidable, strong, intimidating character. Because they’ve worked together for 26 years in pantomime theatre (in the group Sena and Didi Mime), they know each other very well, and Didi recommended him. I think in some scenes Yayu even steals the show! He was a very strong actor.” Ravi: “I like to see and I like to make films that have minimum dialogue. So we had at first short lines for him, then they became shorter and shorter until finally we had the idea, why not make him mute as well?” Rayya: “That was a challenge as well, as opposed to other Indonesian films, where everything is so verbal and every single thing is explained. We, especially Ravi, wanted to make a very visual film, so instead of putting things in, we took them out. Also, what I like about Bandi’s character – the irony in the relationship between Bandi and Johar – is that Johar is this person who can talk, he can express himself but he doesn’t say a word, he’s quiet, everything is closed up. Whereas Bandi, who cannot talk, is so expressive – that idea that someone who cannot talk is actually expressing more than somebody who can. Bandi is there as a supporter, but also as somebody who provokes his friend.”
Ravi and the casting agency scouted the whole city of Medan and the small towns nearby before discovering Iqbal through a screen test at his school. “He was a natural…the moment that we gave him something to do, he reacted quite fast, without having a script or without even telling him to prepare anything.” Rayya: “This boy was hyperactive [on set] – you’d think he had no concentration span whatsoever, he’d be goofing around all the time. But the moment we’d say ‘Action’ – we’d have the clapper in front of his face and he’d still be making faces – click – and suddenly he’s there! And sometimes as well it’d be really late and we’d still have to do a few scenes, he’d be completely fast asleep on a chair. I’d have to pull him, ‘come on Jaya’, he’d be grumbling…but he’d do it. The moment we say ‘action’, he acts, and that was quite amazing.”
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Some of the kids cast for the film were actually themselves from the jermal. All had different backgrounds, a couple were from the area, one has his own bakso stall – but they soon forged a close bond. Rayya: “We stuck them together in a house for about a week or 2 weeks before shooting and when we met them again they were all best friends! They really gelled well together. They were all friends, so bullying got hard, especially the stripping scene [a bullying incident where the jermal boys take Jaya’s clothes and force him to climb up one of the jermal poles]. Jaya cried for an hour, I had to babysit him. He said I’m not ready. I said you’ll never be ready. But if you don’t do it now, you’ll still have to think about it tomorrow… But the kids also felt bad about that scene. They were like ‘how can we do this?’. And when they did it, they did it so well, so naturally – one kid smacked his bottom! They were quite ruthless in their acting, but it worked well. Dealing with 9 kids was hard at times, the concentration, they had no experience in acting, no idea what it entailed. They had no idea they were going to stay on a Jermal for 30 days. They didn’t know that a big part of filmmaking is waiting, they were bored. Ravi: “For 2 weeks we kept them in the house, then we had a basic reading and doing all the stuff we were going to do in the film, rehearsing. I also made them stay over on the jermal for 2 days, to get the feeling of what it’s like to wake up on the jermal every morning.”
Rayya: “One night suddenly one of the boys, Ahab (the boy who thinks he’s a whale), had a fever. Then he suddenly was making all these different moves on the deck and he became this tiger, growling. He was possessed. For me this was something very exotic, but for the others, this was just something that happened all the time probably. But for me this was fascinating! When they asked him who he was, he answered ‘Mayong’. The workers on the jermal said that this word has two meanings: ‘keeper of the sea’ and ‘young tiger’. Then the main actor exorcised him, took some water and threw it on him…it was like watching a bad B film! And you don’t know whether it was acting or if they really believed it… There’s a story behind the jermal: the crew member who was lowering Ahab into the boat that night, as he was lowering him, somebody pulled his hair back. And he looked, and it was a little boy, who ran to the other side of the jermal to his mother. There was a family of spirits there, a husband, wife, and child. According to the crew member, the husband was annoyed because the film crew were having a buffet dinner, and had not invited the family to join them. The husband had a bad temper – he entered Ahab, possessed him. Then the next day it happened to two of them – Ahab and Franky. They were facing each other on all fours, held back by 5 people each, ready to attack each other. Then it was like, ‘alright, yesterday was fascinating, today we need to finish this! We need to shoot a film!’”
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Didi Petet was always the actor in mind to play the role of the father on the jermal; his name was already written on the script as it developed. Ravi: “There are not a lot of Indonesian actors who could act well in this type of movie, so he was our first choice. We didn’t consider anyone else.” Rayya: “Physically he fits the role, and we also thought that you need a formidable actor to be able to make the transition from being a very closed-up man, and slowly and slowly that wall gets scratched, slowly and slowly he opens up. And he also found it a challenge – it’s not just a normal character development, because the original character is a teacher and he had to keep in mind that he used to be this good man, open man, and then he closed himself up because of what happened and became an emotionally different, detached person. And then he had to go back to his original self again. And that for him he said was a challenge, he’d never done anything like that. Johar is isolated on so many levels – he wants to close out everything, be distant from everything, that’s why he wears earplugs at night, sleeps with a sarong covering his face, blocks out the light by covering his windows with newspaper. He has shut out the world.” The jermal is indeed often a place of escape for people who have something to avoid on the mainland. Ravi: “One whole jermal is occupied by convicts. Nobody even dares to approach their jermal – they have big muscles, long hair. Some of the other jermals have kids that have run away from their homes, just to be away from their parents, work over there. You even see mentally retarded people on some jermals. When they are not accepted by their family, they send them over there. Because they can do manual labour, they don’t need too much experience, they don’t have to interact on a social level, so they are well off over there in comparison.”
Jermal is released in Indonesian cinemas on 12 March 2009.
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Visiting
Camp LeakEy
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Primatologist Louis Leakey had three protégés, known as Leakey’s angels: Jane Goodall (chimps), Diane Fossey (mountain gorillas) and Biruté Galdikas (orangutans). He sent them forth to conduct long-term research projects on primates in their natural environments, in Africa and Indonesia.
0800 Friday: sunny, windy and dry. Flew into Pangkalan Bun, Central Kalimantan, about 75 minutes northeast of Jakarta. After a quick ride to the port, we boarded the SS Moon Light, with Captain Emeng, a spy and wiry gentleman, a salty sprig of a man, a man who has seen and done things. He knows the forests and waters better than the rangers at the camps. He is humble and we love him.
Biruté came to Kalimantan, where she founded the orangutan rehabilitation centre and Camp Leakey in Tanjung Puting Park, and in 1975 featured on the cover of National Geographic for her work. Over 30 years later, she still spends much of her time in Tanjung Puting, working with and researching orangutans. Biruté’s research there is the longest running field study of any non-human mammals, and she works to protect the primates against the greatest threat to their survival: illegal deforestation to create palm oil plantations. Rob Duryea and Scott Kofmehl recently paid a weekend visit, and kept a journal along the way.
The boat was modest, clean, and comfortable - a front deck with enough room for all of us to sit, a big middle section that served as the dining room by day and bedroom by night, and a small back area with a “manual” toilet and bucket shower. We sat down to lunch immediately - chicken, shrimp, vegetables, homemade hot sauce, fruit, and rice.
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While there was no A/C or running water, and we “camped” out on the top deck, it is hard to say that we were roughing it. All of our meals were made for us, our bedmats with sheets had large mosquito nets, and all we had to do was float down the river from one spot to the next. In the evening, we waltzed into that good night, sippin’ on Gin ‘n’ Juice as we watched the sky change color; reds, blues, pinks, golds faded into grey. As the changing light hit the tops of the trees, monkeys - Proboscis and Gibbons - sat in the trees and often jumped from limb to limb. For reasons unknown, they like to hang near the river. Their greatest predatora are
crocs, who dine when they fall asleep and out of the trees. Silly monkeys. 1300 Friday We visited feeding centers throughout Tanjung Puting National Park. The first two stops were at feeding centers where rangers brought in a huge pile of bananas, placed them on a platform, and then proceeded to make loud calls (we were not sure if this was encouraging to the orangutans or not) to let the orangutans know that the food was served. At the first two centers, we only had a couple customers, but it was still exciting. The orangutans would swing in from the tops of the trees; one female orangutan brought her small child (orangutan literally hang on to their mothers for the first 5 years and then stick around for another 2 years after that). The first few bananas that the orangutan would eat were pretty calm, but then if the orangutan heard another coming (or just wanted to take off ), the orangutan would stuff as many bananas as possible into its mouth; we counted 15 for one orangutan - and then swing away. 0900 Saturday: gray clouds and dank air. Hiked to Camp Leakey, which is home to over 200 orangutans, although we probably only saw 15-20. The first feeding we watched was wet. The rain started with our hike, and the further we got from shelter the harder it came down. The feedings at Camp Leakey were better attended - 12 or more orangutans all vying for a hearty swishy mouthful of bananas, milk from the rangers,
and attention from the gathering tourists. Whereas we were 10 feet or more away from the orangutans at the first two stops, we were often only a couple feet from the orangutans at this feeding because the orangutans walked wherever they wanted, often right next to some of the tourists. 1900 Saturday A night hike with flashlights - we saw phosphorescent mushrooms that lit up an entire small branch - amazing. Everything is better in the dark. 0600 Sunday: bright and windy. We took a two-and-a-half hour hike in the morning, made monkey sounds, dropped off the bananas on the platform and waited for our evolutionary brethren. They swung by for bite and a glamour shot or two and then split. 0700 Sunday Another feeding at Camp Leakey. As we walked to the feeding center, one of the orangutans - this one named Princess - was on the side of the path with her infant. Princess joined the group and then approached me. I backed away, thinking that I should not touch the orangutan. I was afraid of her strength but also that such close contact was not permitted. Then our guide said “no, it’s okay, she wants you to help her.” The guide took her arm, I took the other arm, and we helped her walk down the path. She can lumber along just fine without help, but I think her leg was sore and she seemed to also enjoy the attention. The most stunning thing about the orangutans was their hands - they are so much like our hands yet thicker and with more leather.
1300 Sunday We headed back to the Kumai port and visited the Yellow Palace, the site of the former sultanate’s palace, which is now being refurbished and will be the site of cultural performances. The building was nice, but the highlight was stopping to see the Prince of Kutaringin, the son of the last Sultan, who lives next door. It was probably only supposed to be a quick handshake and photo opp., but we ended up spending over an hour with the Prince. Now, he is not the prince of the fairy tale stories - he was wearing black jeans, a tight t-shirt, biker boots, and was a handsome older guy. The Prince showed us his collection of Javanese keris (swords), as his mother was from Solo, Java. Over iced tea and fruit, our discussion ranged from the mystical to modern politics (his son is running in the April 2009 national legislative elections). There are over 100 former sultanates in Indonesia - the most powerful being Yogyakarta (and the Sultan of Yogya, who is also Governor, is a likely Presidential or Vice Presidential candidate). I love how the different cultures, traditions, societies, and customs continue to shape the evolving social and political trends in Indonesia.
Getting to Camp Leakey: Register with the Pangkalan Bun Police Station by bringing copies of your passport and visa, then head to the national parks office: PHKA, Jalan HM Rafii’l (on the way into Pangkalan Bun from the Airport). Capt. Emeng can be reached on +6281349241814. BorneoHolidays@planetsave.com Remember that the Orangutans are ex-captives and unafraid of Humans. They are gentle but very strong and can take your camera or bag if provoked or approached foolishly. Young ones are highly susceptible to human diseases so do not initiate contact or attempt to cuddle. And while it is hot and the river is cool, crocs do eat people and there is mercury and other heavy
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metals in the river from a goldmine upstream. Mandi from the dock with clean water.
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The sun was edging down behind the trees, lighting up the rice terrace pools and turning them into molten gold. Perfectly poised women dressed in sarongs and lace bodices carried decorated baskets on their heads, the colour of their clothes and the bronze of their skin made richer by the evening light. Young men zipped past on their mopeds, bright white shirts fluttering in the wind and their heads protected only by ornately tied headdresses. The smell of sandalwood merged with the smoke of woodfires and grilled chicken. It was a normal early evening in Ubud, the artistic mecca of Bali, the usual aesthetic and sensory feast provided twenty-four hours a day by the town. We had spent a day driving up to Lake Batur and had sedately returned to Ubud along the road through Tegalalang, the road of a million temptations, lined with the widest of variety of handicrafts any of us had ever seen. I stopped at the traffic lights at the monument, ready to turn right onto Jalan Raya Ubud. A glint in the corner of my eye caught my attention and I turned to look at something that took me completely by surprise. A young guy was lying on the road, separated from the concrete by the strangest contraption I have ever seen outside a movie. A collection of bits of rusting and twisted metal, plastic bottles and animal parts had been welded to the stripped skeleton of a Vespa scooter. The rider, who steered the
machine with one hand while lying in an almost horizontal position, had dreadlocks, ripped jeans and a filthy black T-Shirt with the “The Ramones” printed on it. Behind him were several other outlandish bikes, ridden by equally alternative looking guys. For a brief moment I thought they would shoot my tyres and siphon all the petrol out of my car, like gangs of bandits in “Mad Max” or “Waterworld”. For an even briefer moment, I became Kevin Costner, all-American hero, irresistible to women and impervious to bullets. However, the lights turned green and we moved away, our tyres intact and me still just a teacher on holiday with his family Over the next few days, more and more of these post-apocalyptic characters appeared in the town, completely incongruous with the regular mix of locals, camera-wielding day trippers and longterm, arty vegetarians that usually inhabit the place. They tore around the streets on their crazy contraptions, taking swigs out of unidentifiable
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bottles and wolf-whistling at women. They were not threatening though, they seemed genuinely happy and they had a buzz about them. We wondered who they were and why they had descended on Ubud, of all places. All became clear one blazing afternoon as I popped into town for some Masakan Padang. The football field on Monkey Forest Road was an ocean of four stroke oil and Bintang. Bob Marley was jammin’ through the speakers and the bikers hung out on the grass. Crowds milled about, appreciating the creativity that had been put into making the motorbikes. Their owners stood by them proudly or found some excuse to get them started and rev them up for the audience. At night they partied hard under the close supervision of a large quantity of police. Then, they were gone. The football field was carpeted with Circle K plastic bags, cigarette boxes and soft-drink bottles. Several questions were left unanswered as they vanisghed. Who were they? Where are they the rest of the year? Where are they now?
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Bantar Gebang And it’s scavengers by Kristen Scott
Eleven kilometres from the cluttered city of Bekasi, a rusty bicycle rattles along a dirt road, carrying a boy on his way to school. He peddles quickly – he knows it’s going to rain soon. In the classroom he will read out lines from his favourite book, but too soon, class will be over, and real work begins. Bantar Gebang is Jakarta’s largest city dump. It towers over shanty houses, and reaches out to the sky like beggars’ hands, threatening to come crashing down at any given moment. Every day it receives around 6000 tons of trash, which is immediately pounced upon by scavengers. They work relentlessly to find recyclable goods, wearing bamboo baskets on their backs like protective turtle shells. But there are no safety measures here. It’s survival of the fittest in one of Jakarta’s harshest environments. In 2006, two people died when an avalanche of rubbish collapsed and buried them alive. One woman was five months pregnant. Five other people were injured and many people lost their homes when the slide caused a truck to smash into a nearby shanty town. In 2002, an investigation found that E coli and other bacteria had contaminated a village’s ground water supply. It also found that children were suffering from dysentery and respiratory problems, among other diseases. Then there’s the danger of getting killed by a bulldozer. Yet thousands of people live and work here. Without the garbage these scavengers have no home and no work. They make shelters out of old metal and cardboard boxes. Families can earn up to $10 US a week, but most individuals earn much less - about 80 cents a week. Work is paid per piece collected, so the garbage fields become competitive. Three-thousand scavengers work over a 24-hour period to bring food to the dinner table. Many fights erupt over who saw the best piece of garbage first.
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Dogs, chickens and lizards run amuck. Feral cats covered in mud scream and chase rats. Goats eat left over banana peels and look depressed. On a hot day, the smell of the dump could knock you unconscious. The sun, saffron coloured, pesters the workers, poking them, teasing them. Sweat and heat exhaustion are not the only problems. It’s the smell. In 2004, two trucks dumped tons of rotten meat into the fields of Bantar Gebang. From a distance, one could see the steam swirling high above 15 metres of soiled rubbish. What is most disturbing about this mess is the number of children who work in the fields and attend school here. It’s dirty work. Children as young as three can be seen rolling in the muck and helping their mother sort through the rubbish. They dig into the dirt with splayed fingers, searching for peoples discarded treasures. Straws, old love letters, typewriters, car parts, plastic toys and broken bicycles. Nearby, a young girl in purple plays in the dirt, where a butterfly lands, trembles, and drops to the ground in spasms. She picks up an old doll’s head that has been battered and discoloured. A lucky find. This is where she will grow up, suck her thumb, and most likely, never leave. It is a vicious cycle. Children are often forced to leave school to help their family in the fields of rubbish. Without education and a knowledge that exists beyond the garbage world, many children can’t break away from the gates of garbage that seem to hide them from the outside world. But laughter does echo from within these gates. A sack of rice lies on the earth where a rooster rests against it. A young boy skins a chicken and holds it up by its legs, carrying a knife
in his spare hand. Among his friends he is popular. They sit around making fun of each other. For now they know no better. But all children must be born free - not into a world of trash slavery. Over the years, the rubbish at Bantar Gebang has been crushed and stripped, so much so that it looks like layers of ribbons hanging on a wall. In the same way we can tell how old a tree is, Bantar Gebang shows its wounds from the base up. Time can only tell how many more people will become victims to the carnivorous sludge. In the meantime, Bantar Gebang remains a huge environmental and health problem. The city estimates that waste volume will increase to 6,678 tons per day by 2015. Just beyond the garbage gates, there is a flowing river where moths dance and tremble with laughter. And there is a boy riding home on his rusty bicycle with a smile on his face.
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north maluku (without a guide book) Today’s Sultan of Ternate, fabled island of spice, is the kind of guy you notice across a crowded Jakarta room. The once-mighty domain to which he is heir is now long diminished, but he retains the debonair gait of a cosmopolitan royal, his large ruby ring glinting in the light. Not quite knowing who he is, but wanting to, we draw closer and are soon engaged in a conversation that ranges from Catholic education (his was with the Jesuits) to his wives (“Five...are you shocked?”) to his direct connection to the Divine. He comes from one of the longest continuous royal families in the world, in situ since 1257. The family domain once extended to the Philippines, where he still has royal relatives. Ternate was first visited by Europeans in 1521, when Ferdinand Magellan’s weary men, minus their recently deceased leader, dropped anchor off neighbouring Tidore. It was the start of an obsession. Milton mentioned it in verse (Paradise Lost), Cervantes set a novel there. When Sir Francis Drake encountered the Sultan in 1579, each party was well impressed with the other. Drake was particularly struck by then-Sultan Babullah’s rich attire and his left hand, which had upon it “a diamond, an emerald, a ruby and a turky; on his right hand in one ring a big and perfect turky, and in another ring many diamonds of a smaller size.” Drake’s sailors taught the locals how to dance the hornpipe and a good time was had by all, until the Golden Hind departed again, heavily laden with cloves. Yet, apart from such happy interludes, the Sultan’s ancestors have had mixed fortunes down through the years: pillaged by the Portuguese, disenfranchised by the Dutch. Yet he appears to retain a cheery enough attitude towards Europeans, and he invites us to come to Ternate for his birthday party. We accept.
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reparations for the journey are minimal. From what we have heard, not a drop of alcohol is to be had on all of Ternate¬ – a far cry from earlier days of arak-fuelled festivities – so we stow away a bottle of rum. The attempt to glean any valuable information from our slightly dated Indonesia guidebooks proves futile: the information in them is scant, and generally concludes with a warning to stay away. Both North Maluku and Maluku provinces witnessed intense communal violence at the turn of this century; once seen, the images of the burnt-out churches and gruesome hacked and burned corpses are indelible. When we are there, it is hard to escape the feeling that there is an edginess in the day-to-day life of the population, that while ostensibly peaceful, there are still some rippling tensions under the surface, a nervousness born of recollection. So much for the guidebooks then; in the end, a copy of Alfred Russel Wallace’s The Malay Archipelago is the only volume that makes the cut. While of no practical use, it seems appropriate. It was from Ternate that in 1858, 150 years ago, Wallace sent a letter to Charles Darwin containing the words “the fittest would survive”. This was the spark that impelled the sickly Darwin to finally publish the fruit of years spent quietly in his library studying the idea of natural selection: On The Origin Of Species.
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t is only on approaching Ternate that you fully realise how tiny it is, how improbable the position of power it once enjoyed. Mount Gamalama dominates: the volcano is the island, and Ternate is the volcano. Gamalama has been an active participant in the island’s history. In the seventeenth century, the timing of eruptions coincided with crucial visits by the Dutch. Later, a 1763 eruption created Batu Angus, a slope on the east side darkened with the remains of a river of lava that extends from the summit to the sea. More recently, as the mountain was threatening to erupt, the story goes that the Sultan took the crown given to the first Sultan by Allah, got into his boat, and circled the island, imploring the volcano to be calm. And apparently it worked.
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The best way to see Ternate is to charter some form of transportation (ojeks, bemos, and taxis are to be found) and take the coastal road that encircles the island. Along the way are the remains of Dutch and Portuguese forts, attractive beaches, stunning crater lakes, and plenty of opportunities to peoplewatch. The trade that made the island rich is long gone, but the impression is that these folks must be making money from something - there are no visible signs of poverty, no sense of desperation when haggling, rather it seems that if they don’t feel like doing something, they simply won’t bother. During the day, they sit on their verandahs, many attired in pyjamas, and watch the world go by, snoozing, eating, chatting, gazing at the rain, playing games, watching football on TV. Wallace had his own phraseology: “Natives of tropical climates have few wants, and, when these are supplied, are disinclined to work for superfluities without some strong incitement.” Or, as the Sultan would have it when we meet him again at the Kedaton, “The people are lazy here, aren’t they?” We are not sure how to respond.
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allace also spent some time on neighbouring Halmahera, then known as Gilolo, a lush rugged landmass that presents an intriguing view from Ternate’s east coast. At the harbour in Ternate town, next to the immense mosque under construction, we find Sam, possessor of a twin engine boat, and possibly the hardest working person on the island. We cross, soon reaching the other side, and greeted by a loud cry of “Bule!” before we have a chance to disembark. It is not an unfriendly cry. Soon we have made some new friends, and found a driver willing to take us on a simple quest to find a perfect beach on the northwest coast. As the road takes us inland, the colours seem more vivid; blues, greens, pinks and oranges dot the thick vegetation. Wallace found this “exceptionally gay” and was delighted to come across “some very nice insects”. We see little children with the “crisp, waved, and rough hair” that Wallace observed, and that convinced him that “here then I had discovered the exact boundary line between the Malay and Papuan races, and at a spot where no other writer had expected it. I was very much pleased with this determination...”
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ur driver D, whom we met at the harbour, is well-built, and attractive, with a ready smile and intuitive sense of humour. He stops to find some sirih for us along the way,
speaking the local suku dialect. We call at his house to drink coconut water with our no longer illicit rum and sit on his verandah observing the neighbours who are sitting similarly engaged on their own verandahs or strolling along the dusty road from school. His younger brother shins nimbly up the tree in their front yard and drops the coconuts one by one. They are orange, their water delicious. D’s wife is from Ternate, but has travelled often to visit relatives in Bandung and Jakarta. She meets us attired, as many of her neighbours are, in pyjamas. She is proud of her husband - no one else in the village is as wealthy as he, with his two cars and various business interests. They are all small farmers here. She seems bored; she has been married and living here for three months now. It’s a place that we find idyllic but she implores us to agree with her that North Maluku, and indeed all of Indonesia, is jelek compared with where we are from. His mother appears, greeting us with a bowl of sirih, calcium powder, betel nut and a wide, red, grin. As we depart from the village, he shows us houses that have been gutted, abandoned - people from Makassar who left after the ‘trouble’. “I was fighting too,” he abruptly declares, and hints at his ability to create nail bombs and start fires. We don’t enquire any further, but the mood of the day has suddenly changed, darkened. The road to Tobelo goes through Kao, an important Japanese air base during World War Two. Today the sandy streets of the town are quiet, and no one can tell us where to find the downed Japanese planes supposedly located in the nearby jungle. There is a signpost, but it is unclear to where or what it points. We reach Tobelo, and drive through the town aimlessly, as though waiting for something to find us. Heading north, having stalled at the ferry terminal, we see a cluster of islands close to the mainland with white sand beaches. Only one is inhabited, and there is no accommodation, but we are told that it is possible to go straight to the kepala desa there and stay with him. We are told this by a man with deep scars in his face and arm; he too was involved in the fighting. Perhaps on the other side. He and D lean against the hood of our car and laugh about it. “Sudah aman,” they both say.
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he boat ride back to Ternate is rough, in a sardine can vessel leaping over choppy waters, the man at the helm
L-R, from top: Kedaton Sultan Ternate, Ternater’s rooftops with Gamalama in the distance, Benteng Kalamata, musicians at the Sultain’s party in Bula, Dutch cannon, boat in Halmahera, beach at Tobelo, Lake Tolire Besar.
Tidore, as seen from Ternate.
wrestling with the sea, head sticking out of the boat to see the oncoming waves, as nothing is visible through the window. We and our belongings are tossed in every direction, heads hitting ceilings, strangers becoming uncomfortable close. The journey finally ends, our lives continue, and today is the Sultan’s 73rd birthday. The festivities go on late into the night, but we are exhausted; the next day, we meet him at the Kedaton. He invites us to come with him to Bula, a small village north of town, where they are organising an after-party in his honour. It is held by the sea, at a house built years before and given to him by the villagers as a present. We sit, on the verandah of course, with him, his wife, four ladies of Solo, and a potential investor in the region. The locals, mostly children, sit and stand around the front of the house, play in the water, stare a little, giggle. Refreshments are served: delicious hot ginger with kendari, and fried cassava and bananas served with a salsa-like sambal. When in his presence, the Sultan’s servants move in a half-squatting position, putting their hands together and bowing even lower when asking for permission or instruction. His young daughters throw peanuts from the verandah to the local kids, until an elderly male minder firmly explains to them the polite way of sharing food with the others. On the last day, we decide it is time to see neighbouring Tidore, an island even quieter than Ternate, with a couple of pleasant beaches and a town promisingly named Rum. The view of Tidore from Ternate, as seen on the Indonesian 1000 rupiah note, is as impressive and evocative as anticipated. However, we soon discover that it would have been better to stay at that side of the
view: the reception we get from a gaggle of underemployed Tidore police and hangers-on at the harbour is hardly welcoming. The impression is that if some money changes hands, all will be well and we will be left to our own devices to explore the island, but righteous bule indignation takes hold and we return to our boat.
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hough brief, the journey has been fun, memorable, and at times stunningly beautiful. Yet Ternate literally sees us off with a bang, and some odd interactions. Explosions can be heard from our hotel. Down by the water, there is a demonstration outside the Governor’s office. The putative Governor that is: a dispute over the true outcome of the last elections is yet to be resolved. The protestors are furious, shaking the entrance gate violently while a megaphone blares furious threats at those within. Yet, turning around to us, they are suddenly sweet and amiable, cordially inviting us to join in as though it is merely a slightly over-enthusiastic game of futsal. “Tell them about us in Jakarta,” they say. We stop for lunch en route to the airport. Suddenly there is a commotion. People are running down the street, shouting; the shutters of our restaurant come down and we are trapped inside. The other diners speak to each other in hurried whispers. Turning to us, they smile, tell us everything is alright, to be calm. But as soon as they turn back to each other, their anxiety is again apparent. After a few moments we are hurried out a back door and into a bemo. As we rush to the airport, a plume of smoke is visible, ascending heavenwards from Gamalama.
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Kerontjong Toegoe A small community in Tugu Village in Cilicing, North Jakarta, are bound together by their Portuguese heritage, their religion and their music, Keroncong Tugu.
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Christmas in the Tugu Church The mardijker, once Portuguese slaves of mostly Indian descent, whom the Dutch brought to Indonesia, were given the land that is now the village of Tugu after the Dutch made them free men. Also part of the original community were a group of mestizos (Portuguese-Asian Christians). The language that developed was a mixture of Portuguese, Indian and Malay dialects. Freedom entailed conversion from Catholicism to the Protestant Dutch Reform Church. The Tugu community first built a church in Tugu in 1678, when Dutch minister Melchior Leijdekker moved to the village. The present church was built in the 1740s not far from the original location. As with other Christian communities, the Christmas celebration is a special one; however, instead of organ and choir, it is the Keroncong Tugu group that contributes a musical tribute to the glory of God. The early roots of keroncong music are found in Portuguese moresco melodies; over the centuries, this was melded with a more local flavour. Today there remain only 50 families with a blood link to their Portuguese ancestors. Portuguese features can still be recognised in some of their faces.
Rumah Tua Keluarga Michiels The Michiels family are direct descendents of Titus Michiels, a mardijker who was among the first to move to Tugu. Their wooden house was built in 1889, and has witnessed the glory days of keroncong. It is here that keroncong is introduced to the children of the village, in the hope that they will keep the tradition alive. “The hope for the preservation of keroncong tugu is now with the children,�affirms Andre Juan Michiels, head of the household and leader of the Keroncong Tugu group, which practises every Wednesday at this house and was established in 1988 by his father Aaron Michiels. Andre plays the Prounga, a three stringed guitar. It is also at this house that the New Year rabo-rabo ceremony begins.
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New Year’s Rabo-Rabo Led by Andre (in red), the rabo-rabo ceremony begins when the first family pays a visit to a second family; these two families continue the journey together to a third house, and so on until the entire community is assembled. They sing, shake hands, and embrace one another. The word rabo has a meaning similar to ‘tail’.
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A smear of powder absolves all wrong To mark the beginning of the new year, the community gathers in one home where a service is held. The minister gives a sermon, the keroncong sounds, and after lunch they gather, standing close to each other, some carrying a bowl filled with powder. It goes from the elder to the younger: one smears the other’s face, saying as they do so, “with this powder I ask forgiveness�. The younger responds with the same words. Eventually the whole group is smearing powder with enthusiasm: this is the peak of their new year celebrations. Wine and beer are sipped at the end of this colourful, festive ceremony.
Words and Images by Toto Santiko Budi.
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Celebrating “Generasi Biru” Emerging from a small street called Potlot in South Jakarta they quickly shot to stardom. Slank, one of Indonesia’s most celebrated rock bands, marked their 25th anniversary recently. With their prolific output, releasing an album every year, the band has consistently shown their commitment to their music and their fans. When Kabar asked some Slank fans what they wanted to know about the band, Slank members Kaka, Bimbim, Ridho, Ivanka, and Abdee took the time to satisfy their curiosity.
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Š Mario Utama
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© Abbisena
You’ve been in the music industry for 25 years now. How do you feel? Rock ‘n’ roll! Forever young! We’re happy. We try to be consistent with the the spirit of Potlot (their headquarters and fan base). Peace, love, unity, and respect (PLUR). We love Indonesia, we love the environment, we love the community. We try to always do what we’ve always been doing. What do you think keeps a band going? For Slank, we’re proud to be independent. The reason why we can survive for 25 years is because of our independence. We produce our own albums. We dream, we try to be dynamic. It’s also important to have dreams to achieve. So, have you achieved all your dreams? No. We want to see better and stronger Indonesia. We want to apply the PLUR spirit in everyday life. There’s a burning sense of injustice at the moment caused by differences. We must use our brain instead of our brawn. Differences are good because we are not meant to be the same. Each one of us is unique. As long as this country (Indonesia) still exists, Slank will never disband. Do you consider Slank a patriotic band? Well...kind of. To us, patriotism is associated with the use of violence, no matter what, to defend your country. We hate violence. When Indonesia had some issues to deal with Malaysia, many Indonesians felt obliged to resort to violence. We encouraged our fans not to opt for it. Let’s work things out peacefully. You have a very strong fan base and very loyal fans (known as Slankers). How do you manage to do that? Good communication. Good communication is the foundation of good relationships. Well, usually, if girls like a band that consists of boys, they like them for their looks. In our case, it’s not the same. At first, we only had male fans and they didn’t care about our looks! They’re loyal. Now we have as many female fans as male ones. It’s good. Do you think Slank can be considered one of Indonesia’s icons? Yes. Marlboro asked us to participate in a rock/orchestra concert. Marlboro is American yet they have their kretek cigarette. It’s a blend of East and West. The concert is the same. Orchestra is Western and Slank is Indonesian. We don’t have to play gamelan to be Indonesian. Why do you guys have skinny figures? Can’t you get...fat? Sure we can, but we want to maintain our appearance, our weight. For the audience in a show, eyes and ears play the most important role. By the way, “slank” means slim in Dutch.
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A family group of U.S. origin that has taken Indonesia by storm, Debu creates music infused with the poetic mysticism of Sufi Islam. Is it their good looks, their message of tolerance and love, or simply their eclectic music that has led to their sensational success here?
It was on one morning in 1999 that his father woke up after having a dream, and told the family that they must move to Indonesia. Within weeks, their home was sold, bags were packed and they were on their way, ending up in southern Sulawesi, where they taught at Universitas Muslim Indonesia in Makassar. Acknowledging that some
It was while teaching in Makassar that the members of Debu discovered the power of using music to get their message across. “Our whole thing is trying to show an Islam that is full of love, excitement, something that enlightens your heart.”
Since 1981, the year of his birth in Oregon, Mustafa’s father Syekh Fataah has followed the way of the Sufi. His spiritual path has kept Mustafa and the rest of his family on the road, an upbringing that exposed him to diverse experiences and occupations, from training wild horses in New Mexico to teaching English in the Dominican Republic.
Today Debu’s following extends across Indonesia. “We have a huge fanbase. Sometimes it’s because of the Sufism, sometimes it’s because of the music, sometimes it’s the fact that we’re a bunch of white people, it really depends. We have fans ranging from children to people who…in their whole lives, their father has never allowed music in the house, and now, their father asked them to buy a DVD player so he can watch and listen to Debu.”
people might find this “kinda crazy”, Mustafa goes on to explain that “Sufism is knowledge. When you know yourself, you know your Lord. And once you know yourself, you then realise that Allah is constantly sending messages and commandments, telling you to do this and that. But most of the time people are so caught up in everything that they don’t notice them. It’s basically like this: Islam is something you can talk about, while Sufism is not, you have to feel it.”
Mustafa is regarded as the ‘driving force’ of the 18-member group. The 27-year-old is composer, main arranger, and lead vocalist. Between songs, he explains the meaning of the poetry in fluent Indonesian; he also sings in Arabic, Spanish, Chinese, Persian, Turkish, and of course English. The musical style defies easy classification, the Middle Eastern flavour diversified by a broad spectrum of instruments that include (among many others) the oudo, the flamenco guitar and the Irish harp.
DEBU
Dazzling