faraway

I spent the weekend in Aceh. I am working with Aceh groups to audit the voter registration list. I was with my long-time staffer and friend, Anastasia Soeryadinata. Our task is to evaluate the quality of the voter list. Together we have organized more than 500 volunteers to go out all across Aceh and check the accuracy of the voters list by interviewing voters.

I spend Sunday driving around to spot check on some of our volunteers while Anas stayed in Banda Aceh (the provincial capital) to troubleshoot. The most interesting location I visited was a newly re-built village, Lam Isek. All the houses are practically the same, cookie cutter style, white square structures with tin roofs. There is lumber piled up everywhere as construction of more new houses continues. There are no trees, the tsunami just snapped them off, tore everything away.

The tsunami completely wiped out this village. You can still see foundations of houses, the squat toilets and ceramic tiles left by the tsunami after it swept every other structure and carried it away. I spoke to the village teacher, Mr. Nasar. He told me an incredible story of survival. The tsunami killed all but two of the women from this village. His wife was one of the two. When the tsunami hit, the men were mostly at work and the women were at home. Nasar’s wife was walking home when the tsunami reached her. She lost consciousness as the tsunami swept her up. When she awoke, she was encased in a house-sized ball of vegetation, leaves and branches. She called for help and eventually people came to pull her out of the cocoon of vegetation that both saved her but now threaten to imprison her. She found herself in the foothills of the mountain several kilometers from her village. But she walked away without a scratch.

Now Lam Isek is being slowly repopulated. There are almost 200 houses but merely 50 villagers. Many villagers are still living where they took shelter after the tsunami. Many had to find jobs to earn money or schools for their children and it is difficult to move back. Mr. Nasar told me that at least there are 20 women in the village now. Many men have remarried over the past two years since the devastation. And there are children, playing amidst the jumble of construction materials afraid of my camera but alive and well.

I drove down the coast. The views are stunning and beautiful. On the right there are sandy beaches pounded by a heavy green-blue surf. To the left there is a solid wall of mountains covered in lush emerald forests. Here and there stand massive bulbous hill – more like massive rocks -- almost as high as the mountains, also covered in forests. Dotted along the coasts, communities are re-building their homes with the help of foreign donors and NGOs. Logos and foreign flags cover all these projects. There is construction everywhere.

I am amazed and humbled at how resilient these people are. People who have lost entire families, who have lived through a three-decade civil war, who are still quite impoverished are putting their lives back together brick by brick.

Jerome

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

Last week I visited Makassar City in South Sulawesi to meet some Non-government Organizations for our new Budget Monitoring Project. I went with Eni Widyastuti and Ihsan Haerudin from my office.

It has been nearly seven years since I last visited. Back then I was working for USC Canada and came to monitor several projects we were funding through our Jakarta-based partner, YAPPIKA. I was happy to meet some old NGO aquaintences and meet new people doing interesting things there.

Makassar, being a sea port, is famed for fresh seafood.

The high point of our trip was an amazing seafood meal at an unasuming restaurant called, Lae-Lae not far from our hotel. It has no decor nor scenic view yet it seems to be always full of appreciative diners. We ordered a huge meal of grilled fish, boiled mussels and grilled prawn. Unfortunately, I could not order the crab (my favorite) because my wife is pregnant. Believe me I really wanted to. This crab-fast is due to a Javanese belief that when a husband breaks the shell of the crab, it hurts the unborn baby. (I invite Javanese blogger to please explain the rationale behind that). Sadly for me, my wife strictly enforces this prohibition. I took a picture of our meal to prove my faithful compliance to Javanese wisdom.

Jerome, at home
A National Holiday for Indonesia Independence Day

In June, I spent a week in Manado to observe the North Sulawesi local elections (on 21 June). We organized a Quick Count with our local partners, PuBliKa Manado. It was very successful and thanks to a cooperation with Manado TV, NDI and PuBliKa had our 15 minutes of fame in North Sulawesi. (You can read about the Quick Count at www.jurdil.org) After an evening interactive interview on Manado TV, PuBliKa director Ismail Dahab and I went for seafood at a well known seaside area. A table of diners next to our table recognized us from the interview and congratulated us.

Manado is also a seaport and is well known for its fresh seafood. We ordered a fanatistic seafood meal but as usual I was bound by the Javanese prohibition on eating crab. There is a Javanese belief that if a prospective father breaks the shell of crab, it will harm the unborn child carried by the mother. The crab in Manado is huge (!) and would have been awesome. In addition, I don't get to Manado often. So I trust my wife, appreciates the sacrifice this entailed.

Jerome, at home

Two weeks ago, I gave a presentation on fundraising at a training on "Resource Mobilization" in Jakarta organized by Resource Alliance, an NGO from the UK dedicated to the development of fundraising and sponsored by Citigroup. In September 2004, I gave a presentation in Manilla for Resource Alliance. Since then, Resource Alliance invited me to join their Region Advisory Board and I attended my first board meeting in Bangkok last May 2005.

At the beginning of June, I travelled to Kutai Kertanegara District in East Kalimanatan Province to observe Indonesia's first local and direct executive election.

I began election day early at 6am. My observation team included Mimy Santika from USAID, Senji and Firman from my local partner, Pokja 30. As we left the Singasana Hotel, mist clung to the contours of Tenggarong City, Kutai Kertanegara Distict's capital. We began by observing several polling stations in Tenggarong including a showcase station where the incumbent candidate, Syaukani, cast his ballot amidst a scrum of media. Most stations were set-up well although voters were scarce. After seeing several stations in the city, we decided to check out a few upriver. In particular, we were curious about the so-called "floating polling stations" which had been established following the flooding which had inundated several rural regions several weeks prior to the election.

We headed out of Tenggarong by car along the course of the Mahakam River and soon came to a smaller tributary, the Jembaya River. Here we boarded a thin river craft which the locals call a "longboat". Several other passengers came aboard as well. The longboat pushed off and with a great buzz of its motor sliced away up the river.

East Kalimantan is dominated by majestic rivers like the well known Mahakam which carry much of the economic lifeblood of the province. The Jembayan is a brown liquid highway bearing the traffic of the river people up and downsteam. We passed other longboats, "ketingting" cargo boats carrying lumber, fishing boats and flats of timber lashed together and floated downriver. A dilapidated bridge was being used as a fishing spot for a couple of men.

The river is enclosed by massive green walls of trees and vine. Occassionally the green walls give way to a village of wooden houses standing on stilts at the edge of the river. The grey planks of these houses are festooned with colourful laundry drying in the sun and blackened pots hung over the water. Many of the villages have riverside mosques.

After an hour and half speeding up the river, we arrive at Sungai Payan, a town which straddles the large stretch of the river. A large wooden bridge casts a shadow across the dock where we come ashore. On either side of the river, wooden houses huddle around the bridge. We climb slippery and rickety stairs up to the main street of the town.

After reporting at the town election office, we go in seach of the "floating polling station". It appears four days before the election, the flood waters receeded. The floating polling station was never floating in the first place. Instead the local election authorities placed it on the highest ground they could find: at the intersection of two roads. They are quick to tell us that they consulted villagers who use the road that they would be blocking it. In anycase, election day is a holiday so there is not much traffic. After observing the station for an hour, we head back.