LIVING ON A LAHAR FLOW ROUTE

The village that won’t die  

Rising from the rubble: Nicholas Saputra, 11, (left) and Wildan Dwi Saputra, 10.

             

Like a dragon settling after a good meal Central Java’s Mount Merapi continues to rumble and belch.  Officials urge awareness.  Most villagers understand the dangers but want to stay.  Duncan Graham reports from Gempol, Malegang Regency.

The video’s special effects are astonishing, Steven Spielberg quality. But this is reality.

A flood to challenge Noah roaring down the river at maybe 60 kilometers an hour, boulders half as big as cars rolling like soccer balls, tree limbs thrashing the filthy foam like drowning men.

Banks are gouged and breached. Houses crumple and vanish. People rush to higher ground.  Maybe Armageddon will look like this.

Cut to the present. A dozen villagers gather in the Gempol (Central Java) community hall, a four-post, high roof traditional joglo.  They’ve come to hear the latest news from Sudiyanto, the elected head of the dusun (remote village).

He clicks a laptop file and projects a video of a meeting held two days earlier in another village.  The locals have no wish to see again the shaky footage shot by a brave neighbor in January 2011, but tolerate a viewing for visitors. 

The Gempol people want to move on, and for some that means away. They think the village is too dangerous despite diversion of the Kali Putih (White River), so they plan to relocate.  That suits the government.

But others want to stay with their homes, land, history and jobs.  They prefer to believe the assurances of engineers that their town is now safe and they reject contradictory advice from bureaucrats.

The dispute in the village 20 kilometers from Yogyakarta off the road to Magelang is shaping as a classic example of the social trauma that so often follows natural disasters everywhere in the world.

During the crisis all work together.  Later the cohesion crumbles and neighbors turn against each other, often over aid distribution and land use.

This drama began after Mount Merapi exploded in late 2010.  Although Gempol is 18 kilometers from the summit, the village lies in the path of a river that rises high on the mountain’s slopes.  This became the channel for the lahar on that awful January day.

Lahar is a Javanese word that’s pushed its way into English. It’s the fast-moving mix of volcanic mud, ash, debris, water and rocks that follows volcanic eruptions.  Lahar can be enormously destructive, but early warning systems helped save the lives of all the Gempol people.

Local warden Widodo was monitoring his walkie-talkie when the alert came from higher up the valley. The little mosque’s speakers screamed ‘lari, lari, lari’ (run, run, run) and Widodo bashed a steel pipe to sound the alarm. Signs in the streets showed the evacuation route.

“I didn’t have to do much,” he said. “We’d already seen the black clouds and knew from experience that a lahar could follow heavy rain.  We can build to reduce earthquake damage, but nothing stops a lahar.”

When the flood had passed the residents found 43 of their 160 homes had vanished.  Rubble from another 23 remained.  Most of the rest sustained some damage. Sections of the nearby main road had been torn away.

Families moved to a temporary camp about a kilometer distant and stayed for two years while the men went to and fro rebuilding their homes.  The giant boulders dumped in their yards were painstakingly fractured by hammer and chisel and stockpiled for sale as roadmaking material.

A house once stood here – 

residents Sumiyati (left) and Nur Hidayati,

Some of the rebuilt houses look better than the originals, according to resident Nur Hidayati, another reason to stay. “The lahar was a tragedy but for some of us it’s been a blessing in disguise,” she said.

Authorities say they are motivated by safety in wanting Gempol empty (see sidebar). However rumors swirl that the government wants the land to build a truck depot or set up a tourist center.

“The government has offered those who leave Gempol Rp 37 million (US$ 3,220) to buy land and rebuild – but that’s clearly not enough,” said Sudiyanto.  “A minimum of Rp 50 million is required.

“But the real issue is the people who want to stay.  They’re getting nothing, yet their needs are the same.”

High school dropout Sudiyanto, 39, (left) fossicked for food in rubbish dumps during the 1997 economic crisis, He then went Riau as a laborer before returning to his village where he set about learning leadership and ways to use modern technology.

“He understands that information is power, and to fight governments communities need to be equally well informed and better prepared,” said Dr Sari Timur who runs the Yakkum Emergency Unit. She came across Gempol women when helping in the refugee camp and has since been acting as a resource person.

“We don’t interfere,” she said. “If we are asked we put them in touch with individuals and agencies that may be able to help. What Sudiyanto and his supporters have been doing is extraordinary.  This is a text book case of community self help and transparency.”

Despite his successes Sudiyanto remains Javanese-modest. He’s papered the joglo’s walls with photocopies of correspondence, financial reports and letters sent to President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono and regional heads. Nearby are the receipts proving postage. Just one reply – a down-the-line referral that perished on its journey.

Sudiyanto’s quest to preserve Gempol has come at a cost.  Eighteen families have already moved.  Some have abused him for challenging the government. Countering this have been invitations to explain his campaign to other communities.

Also displayed are the damage statistics and a map.  Any civil servant trying to drown community opposition with bombast should approach Gempol with great caution.  A sign reads: Perjuangan Warga Gempol Mengharap Keadilan (The Gempol people’s struggle is to hope for justice).

Processions and street demos have been organized and the local media encouraged to report. Sound and vision of meetings and visits are recorded for those unable to be present and a record of what was actually said.

After the flood the government built Sabo check-dams upstream to slow lahar and dump sediment. It has also spent Rp 64 billion (US $56 million) on a new bridge (right) and  a 2.3 kilometer concrete sloping-walled trench almost 100 meters wide to divert future lahar flows.

It’s this impressive example of civil engineering, much bigger than the original river, that gives the villagers confidence to remain.

“The difficulty is that government departments are not sticking to one clear message, and that’s confusing” said Sudiyanto. “All we want is to be treated equally and fairly.”

Still unsafe?

Despite the government diverting Kali Putih at huge expense it seems that Gempol remains a danger zone.

Sujadi, manager of the Regional Disaster Mitigation Agency BPPD, referred inquiries to a letter from the Geological Disaster Technology Research and Development Agency BPPTKG, which he said had been sent to Gempol.  He said this made the risk clear.

“This village is one of several that could be threatened and we are concerned about everyone’s safety,” Sujadi said.

“We are offering money to people to relocate but we don’t want to force them to move.  The grant of Rp 37 million was set two years ago and may be reviewed. It was available only to people who moved to secure locations.

“There are no plans to turn Gempol into a tourist park or anything else.  We are not sending conflicting messages.  However the people must understand that if they stay in Gempol they could be in danger if another lahar flows.”

(First published in The Jakarta Post, 11 April 2014)

DIOS IN YOGYA

A screaming start to a seminar            

Capable and committed; Dr Sari Timur (left) and Dita Novirani

       

Eight years ago on 26 December Indonesia was struck by the third strongest earthquake in the world’s recorded history. More than 170,000 perished in Aceh – another 60,000 in nearby countries.

Such natural disasters can’t be prevented, but effective preparations are possible.  Duncan Graham reports from Yogya:

DIOS sounds like an upmarket fashion house selling Italian calfskin handbags, though the entrance is more the airy foyer of a smart resort.  The walls carry relaxing pictures of beautiful Indonesia, the images beloved by government tourism.

So far, so good.

After check-in why not take a guided tour?  Through this door please, and just stand.

There’s little more to do because the space is draped in black curtains and it seems there’s no way forward.   Then the noise begins, a full-on real life recording of people in panic following a natural tragedy.  The distress is so close the terror is tangible.

“Welcome to the Disaster Oasis Training Center, otherwise known as DIOS,” said Dr Sari Timur, director of the Yakkum Emergency Unit that runs DIOS. “As far as we know this facility is unique in Indonesia.

“We call this our hysteria room. Outside you saw the Indonesia we love.   Now some reality.  Enter the museum.”

DIOS

When the racket ceases and the curtains open the ear-bashed visitor staggers into a large room with a mezzanine floor.  At its center a grubby, scratched Styrofoam fish box on two dugout canoes.

They’re surrounded by other garbage, making the display look like the work of a deranged artist with post-modern pretensions.

But this box is special. It saved the life of baby Nuri Isani. She was popped into the container by her mother just as the December 2004 Aceh tsunami hit following a massive undersea earthquake.

Most of the family perished including Mom but Nuri survived and was found bobbing in the water two days later, safe in her little lifeboat. 

The message is clear: Screaming and running is a natural reaction but one heroic parent rapidly improvised and saved her daughter.  In an emergency you need to think fast and act faster.

Miracles happen, but they often need a human nudge.

Elsewhere in the museum are photos of terrible destruction and heroic folk.  There’s no grotesque footage of bloated corpses, but the evidence is enough to ensure the visitor understands the enormity and tragedy that follows when nature turns brutal.

If still in doubt there’s a television, bicycle and bits of farm equipment, all ash gray, cemented and distorted.  They lie in a heap like the concreted corpses of the victims of Vesuvius, the Italian volcano that exploded in 79, smothering the people of nearby Pompeii.

The exhibits are just one feature of DIOS.  The others are the solidly-built cottages sprinkled around a small pool, each one named after a disaster area like Nias, Flores and Lombok and featuring the architecture of the regions. A soccer field alongside doubles as a helipad and evacuation zone.

The center has 31 bedrooms and four meeting rooms where moving the furniture is inadvisable.  The desks are made of tough teak, designed to shelter should an earthquake hit and masonry tumble.

DIOS is promoted as ‘a pleasant and peaceful area in the midst of plight.’ The setting is serene, the ambience a delight.

“That’s what most foreigners say,” said Dr Sari.  “Unfortunately many Indonesians take a different view.  They prefer to have seminars in luxury settings.”

DIOS is hardly Hotel Hardship. The rooms have splendid outlooks and WiFi but no television; this is a place for serious study.  When you’ve tired of the museum there’s a library, a luxury-seat theaterette and a display of smart thinking drawn from real disasters, with the presence of a manikin corpse on a trolley as a reminder of the real purpose.

No sterile dressings for the wounded?  Use young banana-leaf stems before they uncurl.  The insides are clean and moist.  Damaged hands can’t hold spoons?  Wrap the handles in cloth and twist the metal around to suit.  Need splints for fractured femurs? Split bamboo does just fine.

Straight up the center of the complex past the evacuation signs and on a clear morning can be seen Mount Merapi, the fire mountain that exploded in 2010 killing 353.  This put DIOS to the test.  (See breakout)

The idea of an emergency training center came from the previous director of Yakkum, Sigit Wijayanta using a grant of 502,000 Euros from the German Protestant Agency for Diakonia (service) and Development known as EED.

Local architect Setyo Dharmodjo designed the reinforced quake-resistant buildings to be functional but appealing.

Despite YEU’s Christian background Dr Sari stressed the NGO was absolutely non partisan.  “We help everyone in distress whoever they are and we never proselytise,” she said.  “That’s not our job or interest. This is a Muslim area and we are the minority so we need and get their acceptance and support.”

Her office wall is dominated by a picture of the late president Gus Dur, an Islamic scholar who constantly preached pluralism and tolerance, above a Javanese poem in his honor

Despite this a few have protested the design of some buildings, claiming the roofs are too steep and therefore like a church, or that crucifixes can be seen or imagined in the way cross beam supports have been designed.

Logical explanations regarding load-bearing tend not to move those determined to find signs of sinister intent – but these have usually been dismissed by the less superstitious majority.  Many staff are Muslims and find no fault in the environment or philosophy, Dr Sari said.

The complex is busy, mainly running courses for corporate clients from across the archipelago.  It would seem the ideal place to train the police and army, but so far no inquiries.

According to YEU information manager Dita Novirani about 6,000 new hotel beds have become available in Yogya in the past year, many at prices competing with DIOS, but offering a less thought-provoking environment.

(Breakout)

Challenging SBY

DIOS staff learned useful lessons after their training center had been built in 2008.  Though located closer to Merapi than the city, the volcano wasn’t considered a threat.  Past eruptions had seen larva flow, and smoke blow, in other directions.

Not this time.  On the night of 25 October 2010 almost 400 local people, mainly women and children, were sheltering at DIOS, having been evacuated from their homes closer to the flaming summit.

Only four young women were in charge.  Despite all the careful planning, ensuring full rosters of well-rested staff at all times had slipped off the agenda.

The area was crackling with more than 500 quakes. Eruptions had topped those of the 1872 big bang. This was a national crisis.  President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono ordered all DIOS refugees evacuated to the city stadium.

“Five military trucks arrived around 3 am to move us, but I protested,” said Dr Sari.  “I feared our community would be stranded and get little care among the 32,000 other people at the stadium.  I wanted them to go instead to a seminary where accommodation and resources were available.”

Challenging presidential orders is a tough call, particularly for an NGO official with no government authority at a time of great urgency. But the people on four of the trucks backed her reasoning and the army yielded.

When the staff returned to DIOS weeks later they found it sagging under heavy mud.  In the ash on a sign advertising the Disaster Oasis Center some cruel wag had scrawled in English; ‘You got what you asked for.’

A few tiles had broken and let in rain.  Vandals had ransacked the bunker stealing emergency food supplies and fuel, but otherwise it was mainly sweeping and shovelling.

“It took about three weeks,” said Dita.  “We were offered a lot of help but managing volunteers is another difficult task, particularly when they come with limited time and their own values.

“We’ve learned that in an emergency we must make sure everyone is heard and involved even though separated.  We weren’t insured then – but we are now.

“When we face another disaster I hope our work will be lighter.”

(First published in The Sunday Post 23 December 2012)

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