We landed at Banda Aceh late in the afternoon. I climbed into the back of a muddy truck and we left the city just as the call for evening prayer wove through the dusk.
Immediately, we were in the tsunami zone. The destroyed coast was paradoxically painted by a rosy sunset, softening the blunt edges of destruction with glorious shafts of light. We drove slowly through the footprints of lost communities. Rosa, who had come to meet us, indicated an empty stretch of land. “This used to be military housing.” Across the road, next to the sea… “This was a kampong.” “The market was over there.” Not one building survives. Here and there a white tile floor gleams under the rising moon. Huge blocks of concrete lie ripped apart by unimaginable force. Cars so flattened that there is nothing left to scavenge. A long patchwork of foundations are the only evidence that this was once a bustling suburb. A lost world.
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I lost 27 members of my family in the tsunami,” Rosa says quietly.
Ours is the only vehicle on the shattered, muddy road. Bright lamps are stars in the darkness as we pass through refugee camps. Each camp has one or two tiny coffee shops lit with a flaring pressure lamp. They are full of men who watch impassively as we drive by, smoking. There are no women in sight.
The road twists up over mountains, then for a while runs within a few feet of the sea. I regard the gently hissing surf thoughtfully. Later I am told that the coastline is still changing almost weekly due to submarine seismic activity.
It has been raining, and at times the truck wades through mud axle-deep. Rarely, we see another vehicle. We drive for two hours through the tsunami zone and when we reach our destination, we are still only 50 km into the area of destruction.
At last we arrive at the IDEP project site, a modest house in the village of Lamsujin. Stiffly, I climb out of the truck. Although I have been driving through Asia in the back of trucks since I was 17 years old, I sense that I may be getting a little old for this.
Waiting at the door is Steve, an Australian permaculture specialist. He leads a team of tsunami survivors who will help establish a permaculture training centre for the Acehnese. Using techniques that were enthusiastically accepted in East Timor where he taught for five years, the centre will run 2 week courses in intensive food production, integrated pest management, environmental stewardship, natural fertilization, wastewater management and other skills. The school will grow enough food to feed the staff and students. The centre will also train trainers, or Green Hands, a core of local food security experts who will eventually run the two week courses and will also be able to travel to outlying areas to train farmers. This program will be instrumental in improving the amount and quality of food people can produce locally, with a positive impact on health. Excess food can be sold, bringing more cash into local economies. IDEP also plans to offer a range of livelihood courses from the centre.
Two hectares of land has been leased for 5 years, and local people on a cash-for-work program have cleared and fenced it. The next morning we walk 100 metres up a muddy road to look at it. It’s my first sight of rural Aceh by daylight. We are in a wild valley, out of sight of the coast, with soaring, green-clad hills running into the distance. Goats and buffalo crop the verges.
The project land is a pretty meadow, sloping toward the river, with mature trees here and there. In a few months it will be a model organic farm with dormitories, a classroom and plant nursery. We discuss the building of toilet blocks, which will begin next week. The first intake of 40 students is scheduled for September 21.
Next to the land is a little shack cobbled together from tsunami debris. This is Durian Central, with a constant stream of farmers and their children arriving with the spiny fruit in bags, on sticks or gathered into bunches by their stems. There are durians on tables, on shelves, on the ground, in the corners of the shack. Inside, everyone is eating durian with great intensity. We take our places on a rough bench and our toothless host begins to slash open small durians and lay them on the table before us. One of the Acehnese men explains that I am looking at several kinds of fruit and points out the subtle differences in colour, shape, size and aroma. These people really take their durians seriously. The Acehnese sample one and then the other, recommending this one for its flavour, that for its texture, and inviting us to try a certain kind that is very rare and special. Around us, locals are tasting each other’s fruit and offering their own as more continues to arrive.
We gorge on the world’s best durian, sipping sweet local coffee out of small glasses and tossing durian pits outside. Matilda, the project puppy, happily licks off any remaining fruit and then the goats eat the pits. Ah, recycling.
After three days at the site I get into a small local bus for the trip back to Bandah Aceh to visit potential donors. In any other part of Indonesia the bus would quickly be full, but few people remain on the coast and of these, few are traveling. Passing through the tsunami zone in daylight, I see that weeds have softened the hard edges. Many of the foundations are pathetically small – three or four metres square, a family’s sanctuary torn away in moments. Closer to the city we travel through the camps. As we pause in a community of makeshift shacks and moldy tents, a small boy of about 7 gets on the bus. He is immaculately clean in a pressed shirt and trousers. The last empty seat is next to me and he takes it with aplomb. After what he has seen and survived, sitting next to a foreigner is no challenge. Gravely, he accepts a biscuit as the bus heaves through the ruined villages toward what is left of Banda Aceh.
Three days after that I am on a series of planes back to Bali. I am so glad to be home, and profoundly thankful to have a home to come back to.
For more information on the permaculture training centre or to volunteer there, please contact me at bali_cat7@yahoo.com
