faraway

Upon arriving at the airport in Banda Aceh, Aceh’s provincial capital, I was struck by two things. First, foreigners were everywhere; something exceptionally rare the last time I was in Aceh during the 2002 ceasefire. Now the passengers descending from the aircraft sitting on the airfield were mostly foreigners, picking up their backpacks and laptops, looking for their rides – usually big utility vehicles boldly marked with logos and national flags. Over here was a friend who works at CIDA chatting with a couple of western men. Over there was Wakabayashi from the Japanese Embassy trying to organize his transport. After being picked up by a staffer, Anastasia, conspicuously wearing a head scarf (she is Catholic), we bumped into an old friend, Reza Primahendra from Indonesia’s biggest NGO, Bina Swadaya. Aceh, it is clear, is now the epicenter of a massive aid and NGO industry. It is like East Timor during the UN administration minus the bars and foreign military.

The second thing that struck me was how normal Banda Aceh seemed for Indonesia. The last time I was there, the ceasefire was breaking down and people were careful to venture out doors. Even during the day, the city seemed dull, quiet and dusty. As Anas and I drove into town, Banda Aceh seemed like any other Indonesian city: chaotic traffic mixing vehicles from various eras, the irrepressible Indonesian food stall, the warung is everywhere, crossroads festooned with countless banners, shops spilling with goods and coffee shops everywhere.

Afrizal as the facilitator

Anas and I were in town to run a workshop with local organizations to start planning activities for the upcoming local elections. Sometime this year – the date has yet to be set – Acehnese will finally be able to choose their governor and district heads directly in what we hope will be free and fair elections. NDI has been requested to assist local organizations to prepare to play a role as election monitors.

We stayed in a new hotel, on the edge of one of Banda Aceh’s main fields -- the one with the World War Two era Dakota aircraft which Aceh contributed to Indonesia’s Independence struggle. At night, across the field we could see Acehnese relaxing by the plane, chatting, meeting friends. Towards the coast, the effects of the tsunami are still obvious. He land here is mostly empty dotted by damaged buildings. A massive barge is still perched atop a house where it was deposited as the waters receded. Yet here and there, new houses are being build, land is being resettled. There are even a few warungs.

I also met some old friends. Some I hadn’t seen for years. Others were newly repatriated from Jakarta, having decided this was the time to come back and try to rebuild their home province. Others, of course, were just gone, like so many others taken by the tsunami. Despite the semblance of normality, the memory of the dead reminded intruded on me everyday. Some days, it is the sight of sad, empty fields where the unidentified bodies are buried en mass. Sometimes it is a suddenly remembered friend in the middle of nostalgic conversation. While chatting with old friend Afrizal Tjeotral, we abruptly thought of his lost colleague Maimul Fidar. Former teacher and human rights activist, he survived the war to be lost in the tsunami. On another day, I was having late afternoon coffee with friends from our meetings. At one point, one man looked around and joked, “it’s a gathering of widowers” as many of them had lost their wives.

On Friday, I flew to Jakarta, arriving home late in the evening. The boys were sleeping around Galuh. I bent to kiss her and gave thanks for the living.

Jerome