Sleman, Yogyakarta. Barono takes great pride in his newly rebuilt home on the scorched slopes of Mount Merapi, which several months ago erupted and killed at least 320 people.
His home is in the village of Manis Tengah Lor, which is in Sleman district in Yogyakarta’s north, located just four kilometers from Merapi’s smoldering crater and in an area deemed by the government to be unsafe for human habitation.
But the villagers and many others living on the slopes of one of the country’s most active volcanoes are staying put, masking their defiance toward the government’s warnings with characteristic Javanese politeness.
The government is planning to expand Merapi National Park to a 10-kilometer radius around the crater, which will mean having to relocate villages within that area. To persuade them to go along with the plan, residents have been allowed to retain rights to herd cattle and grow fruit within the park’s borders.
“It’s just not the same,” Barono says of the government’s plan.
“We’ve tried living in their barracks and shelters. For us, life on the slopes is better.”
Misunderstood Mysticism
For Abdul Jalil, from Yogyakarta’s Community of Architects (Arkom), it has taken years of interactions with villagers from Merapi to understand their enigmatic ways.
He says they have been misunderstood by bureaucrats as clinging too heavily to Javanese mysticism, which many city dwellers see as both irrational and irrelevant in the modern world.
“People from the city have ignored the fact that the villagers have for centuries learned how to live in harmony with a mountain that has provided fertile soil for them to grow food and raise cattle,” he tells the Jakarta Globe.
The people of Merapi, he adds, have also learned how to read nature’s warnings about imminent danger. This knowledge, passed down from generation to generation through folklore and customs, has enabled them to predict eruptions more effectively than even the most sophisticated detection equipment, the locals claim.
One testament to the effectiveness of this wisdom, Jalil says, is the fact that only one person from Manis Tengah Lor and surrounding villages died in last year’s eruptions — a woman so old she refused to be evacuated and chose to embrace her fate at her home.
Residents also believe Merapi’s former spiritual guardian, the late Mbah Maridjan, had foreknowledge of the looming eruptions and also opted to stay behind.
Maridjan died when pyroclastic flows, fast-moving clouds of superheated gas and ash, raced down Merapi’s slopes and seared his village of Kinahrejo on Oct. 26 last year.
He had ignored government calls for all residents to evacuate the area.
Science and Statistics
Jalil says that this deep conviction in the infallibility of local wisdom is not shared by people living at the foot of the mountain. There, residents tend to be more exposed to technology and urban life and, as a consequence, that was where most of the casualties from the eruptions were registered, he says.
But the government insists that it is the people living higher up the mountain that are most at risk. Armed with sheaves of statistics and scientific records, the government has said that the villagers must be relocated and the area declared a protected forest site by 2013.
“Based on the Disaster Area Map issued by the Volcano Investigation and Technology Development Institution [BPPTK], villages that must be relocated are those lying within 10 kilometers of the summit of Mount Merapi,” Yuni Rahayu, Sleman’s deputy district head, tells the Globe.
“We’re still persuading them to come to terms with the plan by using a cultural approach and listening to their wishes.
“We will relocate them to a safe zone that is close to their home villages so that they can adapt more quickly to their new surroundings.”
Vice President Boediono has also urged villagers to move, promising them new employment opportunities with the expected tourism boom that will accompany the expansion of the park.
“If possible, the national park must be set up,” he said.
“We hope it can become a landmark of Yogyakarta.”
The government has set aside Rp 1.35 trillion ($158 million) for the plan, which involves the reforestation of 1,310 hectares of land devastated by the disaster. The money will also go toward giving each relocated family a 100-square-meter plot of land and Rp 30 million to help them build a house.
Shoddy Construction
But the team at Arkom is not convinced that relocating the villages is the right solution.
Yuli Kisworo, another architect with the group, says the residents have tried living in the government-built homes in the designated relocation sites, but the buildings have been so poorly constructed and the land unsuitable for farming that the villagers gradually returned to their former homes up the slopes.
“They had to travel seven kilometers to get grass to feed their livestock,” he tells the Globe.
“That’s why they went back to their devastated homes and started rebuilding.”
He cites a similar attempt in 1994 to relocate villagers to a new site in Turgotritis subdistrict. Shoddy construction and the poor quality of the soil soon saw Turgotritis turn into a virtual ghost town, with nearly all of the houses abandoned.
The team at Arkom was so taken by the villagers’ determination to return to their homes that it began supplying building materials for the reconstruction effort. It also helped by contributing better architectural designs to suit residents’ needs.
What started as a spontaneous effort to help the survivors make the best of the situation soon became a full-scale project to help them get back on their feet and rebuild their lives.
“We discovered that bamboo construction was best suited for the kind of environment they live in,” Yuli says. “When exposed to heat such as from the pyroclastic flows, bamboo cracks violently, serving as an early warning of a possible eruption.”
The notion that modern brick and concrete houses are safer and hold a higher social status compared to traditional bamboo structures may prove to be a threat to their way of life, he adds. “That’s why it’s important to teach them to cherish their traditions.”
Devastation and Compassion
At the heart of the villagers’ determination to return to their homes higher up Merapi is their little-understood affection and respect for the volcano.
“The locals consider the mountain their ancestor, whose might and devastating power should be respected,” Jalil says.
“But at the same time, it’s also compassionate. They believe that the mountain won’t ever really harm them.”
He says the people of Merapi see the eruptions as part of the natural cycle of life and a reminder of mankind’s insignificance in the face of the forces of nature.
“After each eruption, which many others see as a calamity, the soil becomes more fertile,” Jalil points out.
“For the locals, Merapi is simply cleansing itself of the greed and immorality of the people. For those whose lives are spared, they are rewarded with an abundance of high-quality crops and volcanic sand that they can sell for a good price.
“That’s why they feel a deep connection to Merapi and they’re frustrated that the government simply doesn’t get it.”
( x the JG)
zo 22 mei 2011 - 21:18