Where are the bekantan and the Borneo?

I have been writing this blog for 3 months now, and you might have noticed that there is little to no mention of bekantan (proboscis monkeys) or even the island of Borneo.  That is because I have spent the last 3 months collecting permits, avoiding large exploding volcanoes, and learning a little Bahasa Indonesia, all on the island of Java.  However, this is all going to change because next week (aka tomorrow), I am scheduled to return to Borneo.  The crowd cheers, yah!!!! I figured I would take this opportunity, while I still have free 24 access to internet, to explain why I am going to Borneo.  I have two main projects that I am trying to accomplish, I call one my conservation project and the other my science project... both involve the awesome, amazing, incredible proboscis monkeys (aka the bekantan).  For my conservation project, I am attempting to evaluate how different conservation  projects protect both the proboscis monkeys and the local people.  I will be specifically looking at an ecotourism project, a national park, a carbon credit trading project and an area with no conservation projects.  I am particularly excited to look at the carbon credit trading project because it has the potential to have a huge impact on how we do conservation in the future.  For my science project, I am looking at how proboscis monkeys response to variation in food availability (both variation due to seasonal changes, and also variation due to human caused alterations to habitats).  I will be measuring how proboscis monkeys change their feeding, their ranging and travel patterns, their grouping, and their activities.  I am very excited to return to the field, and will try to keep you all updated on the progress I make.  Hopefully from now on, there will be a lot more bekantans and Borneo in this blog.

Living in the Ring of Fire

On December 18^th, I did something that I am not proud of, yet something that I am glad I did.  I participated in disaster tourism, particularly; I visited the site where Mount Merapi devastated many villages when it had its worst eruption in recorded history.  Disaster tourism is a new thing in Indonesia; it is a way for the country to bring in funds after being struck by natural disasters, like tsunamis, earthquakes, and volcanoes.  I personally am against the idea; however, I felt that I had to go to Merapi because of our history together.  Mount Merapi, one of the most active volcanoes in Indonesia, erupted my second day in Indonesia.  The eruption continued and intensified for my first month in country, to the point that Fulbright evacuated all Fulbrighters living in towns near Merapi, included the location of my language school.  The continual eruption of Merapi controlled my life for the first month in country, it dictated where I could go, when I could go there, and for how long I went there.  When given the chance to see Merapi in person, I had to. 

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. I have about 200 pictures (that I took over a course of 2 hours), so no wonder this blog post might be a little longer than my normal ones. However, when I was up there, I had to take pictures.  It was my way of coping.  If I was behind my camera, it made the things that I saw easier, it was like it wasn't real as long as I was looking through my camera.  For those of you that have known me for a long time, you might remember a period in my life when photography was a very large part of it.  I did not go anywhere without my camera.  However, when I entered college, I gave up photography completely.  I was tired of living through my camera lens and wanted to actually live life, not just capture life.  The necessity of my work, and my generous parents, combined for the purchase of a brand new camera.  That combined with my desire to create something and contribute something to society rather than just science has rekindled my interest in photography. 

I feel that I am in a special position that gives me the opportunity to travel to unique places and do my work.  One of the purposes of my work is to analysis the interaction between humans and nature, particularly primates.  I have realized that there are stories that have to be told; the stories of things and people with no voice.  There is the story of the monkeys losing their habitat, there is the story of the people who are trying to make a living along side some of the areas with the highest biodiversity, and today there is the story of the people that lost their lives, both physically and metaphorically to a natural disaster.  This is my first story… I hope I have the opportunity to tell more.

The story begins with a very early morning at a certain homestay in Yogyakarta.  After leaving the house at 6am, we traveled past sights that I have grown accustomed to from living in Indonesian cities for two months: mopeds zipping by, Baceks (Indonesian word for riksaw) pedaling away, and cell phone shops and warungs (local food stands) lining the streets.  However, the early morning traffic quickly thinned and the views out the window became more of the scenes that I imagine when I think of Indonesia.  Narrow streets lines with rice padi fields and banana plants, people in multicolored sarongs walking with loads of the seasonal crop on their back, and old men riding down the road on his bicycle.  The green from these sights was so blinding… I had forgotten how green Indonesia is. However, the green disappeared as quickly as it arrived.  Just 12 miles from the house that I live in, we reached the entry way for the Merapi Eruption Tourist Site.  We passed through a bamboo gate and everything was so different, it was like the small gate was not just to stop cars to collect their entrance fees, but instead a passage way to an alternative reality.  It was so shocking, I actually gasped for air. 

The first thing that hit me was the nothingness.  We went from a very densely vegetated area to an empty area with blackness.  As we traveled up the road, we saw ruminants of what used to be peoples’ lives.  Three motorcycles that looked like they had been discarded years ago, nothing but rusty frames remained… however, just a month and a half ago these were fully functioning bikes.  We parked on the side of the road and got out of the car.  A cool strong breeze hit me as I exited the car, reminded me of the power of nature, the power that caused all this destruction.  The landscape lacked the vibrant color of life that I saw on the way up, and everything that was in the path of Merapi was black. 

The only color on the scene was the items the relief workers brought in (brightly colored water tanks, tarps, and even makeshift bathrooms).  Next, I realized that things were not burned.  Merapi is known for its plumes of toxic hot gases, rather than its lava.   Therefore, most of the damage was from things melting and corroding away rather than being burnt.  As I began to walk around, it was interesting to see the things that survived.  Notebooks that had warped under the heat of the volcano but were otherwise intact with notes and scribbles of school children, while cars were just destroyed.  As I looked at the mountain side, bright green trees stood in contrast to the dark paths of nothingness, marking the fury of the volcano.  I wander around taking pictures, trying to capture the devastation and power of nature… but as I look at the pictures today and they don’t even begin to give the site justice.   

   

After about 20 minutes of walking around, I went back to my host mom and friend.  They were talking to an elderly lady that was standing in front of a makeshift snack bar.  I assumed she was just another person trying to make a profit on the natural disasters like the people selling videos and t-shirts.  I soon realized that she was not trying to make a profit but instead she was guarding the last remains of what was left of her life.  She began to tell me her story, and I realized that communication in humans means so much more than just formal language.  Although I could not understand most of the words that she told me I completely understood the message of the story.  

She told me her story in her eyes, the way that the  tears welled up in her eyes reflected the destruction of what was around her, she told me her story in her shoulders that were slumped under the burden of having her life destroyed by a volcano and she told me her story in the quiver of her voice as she described how she used to live here, and how that life was now gone.  I felt like she needed a hug, someone to hold her, to help support the weight of tragedy that she carried in her already frail body; however, I did not know how culturally appropriate it was.  I reached for her hand as my eyes filled with tears to tell her I understand, and maybe try to give her hope.  Besides not knowing the words in Bahasa Indonesia to comfort her, I really didn't have the correct words in any language.  There are no words in any language to bring relief to someone who lost so much.  It was in that lady that I started to understand what the eruption of Merapi really meant.  My host mom told me it was time to go, and as I left the lady, she started wandering around, lost in a place that she once knew so well. 

                 

As we followed the brightly colored yellow Merapi Tourist signs to the exit, I was able to have glimpses of how one begins to rebuild their lives.  Men worked on digging out the ash and debris that used to occupy someone’s living room.  That family was left with two walls and with a little hard work and money; they might be able to repair their house.  Further down the mountain, there was a house that was missing a roof and a large portion of a wall; however, it had clean brightly colored clothes hanging on the line.  To start to rebuild, one does what they can, anything to return  life to normalcy, even if that normalcy is hanging your wash in the front yard, back when there were actually things in your backyard.

As quickly as we entered the disaster area, we left it and were traveling through brightly colored rice fields once again.  These people were lucky and didn’t lose everything; however, the terror of the volcano changed them.  Houses upon houses had for sale signs on them.  For those people, they decided that it was best to try to rebuild a life that was not in the shadow of a volcano.