I have my own way of monitoring climate change in Bali. I can tell you for a fact that it’s been raining a lot more than usual, not because I keep a diary or a rain gauge but because I grow tomatoes. Until about three years ago I got excellent crops. Since then it’s been hard to find a four-month period of clear, sunny weather to see the plants through to harvest.
When I first lived in Asia 40 years ago, the wet season could be defined very accurately. Fishermen on the east coast of Malaysia could tell me the week – sometimes the day – the rains would begin. They could tell what part of the day would be rainy and when it would end, and they were invariably right. When I came to Ubud a decade ago the rains were fairly predictable, beginning in late November and ending sometime in March. Then a few years ago the rules changed. One year it rained torrentially from October through July with hardly a break. The next year was fairly normal, but the last two years have been wet, wet, wet. Mildew invades the cupboards and rising damp frescoes the lower walls. Roofs spring leaks in interesting new places. Exotic species of ants are washed out of their ancestral homes and move into the kitchen. Endless rain is very inconvenient for the householder, but it’s disastrous for the local food producers.
Fruit, vegetables, rice and herbs all need lots of sun. Months of rain and waterlogged soil add up to an empty grocery basket – and empty pockets for farmers. The price of tomatoes has trebled and the fruit is mushy and flavourless. People in the supermarket complain about the poor quality of the salad greens. But give a thought to the poor producers who are trying to grow food in this unpredictable, wet new world. In the newspaper, there are pictures of Javanese farmers up to their knees in flooded chili fields. I drive past rice fields where the almost-ripe crop has been hammered flat by heavy rain, and harvested rice in saturated heaps, rotting before it can dry. And as for trying to grow tomatoes…well, tomatoes need seven hours of sunshine a day.
I have a bit of an obsession about growing tomatoes. I am at least the fourth generation in a family that plants tomatoes everywhere – in pots on apartment balconies and window ledges, in city allotments, in the garden, up the side of the house, on holidays, in other people’s gardens...
The tomato probably originated in Peru and was taken to Mexico where it was domesticated by the Aztecs. Sometime in the fifteenth century an adventurous Spanish sailor carried the fruit back to Europe, and the Spanish were cultivating and eating tomatoes by the 1540s. The Florentines, Britons and North American settlers continued to view it with suspicion until the early 18th century; it was commonly believed to be poisonous and the Puritans thought it was an aphrodisiac.
The tomato is indeed a seasoned traveler. It may have been brought to Indonesia by the Dutch, or from the Philippines where it was distributed by the Spanish. In any event this nutritious, easily cultivated fruit is now grown all over Bali. A rare variety known as the Bali Pleated Tomato is mentioned in obscure American seed catalogues, which offer seeds at about Rp 2500 each. Of course this particular variety originally came from the highlands of South America but never mind, we’ll take our fame where we can.
There are about 7500 tomato varieties but as with so many other foods, industrialized cultivation now limits us to a few varieties bred for consistent size and shape, disease and pest resistance, suitability for mechanized picking and shipping, as well as their ability to be picked before fully ripening. Although the tomatoes available in Bali’s markets don’t travel far, they are still the boring commercial variety. We hard-core tomato fanciers are more interested in flavour and the exotic yellow, orange, pink, black, brown, white and purple fruits that make a salad look more interesting. One of the reasons I’m so grumpy about the weather is that I’ve now collected seeds from seven different varieties of tomatoes and there’s no point planting them in all this rain.
There are other challenges to cultivating tomatoes in Ubud. I’m at constant war with the snails, which flourish in wet conditions and sail across the damp grass in squadrons to consume my tender seedlings. I’ve learned that the best way to put them off is to mulch heavily with cheap shag tobacco from the market. A solution of the same tobacco repels the grasshoppers. Then there are the chickens, but they are the dogs’ responsibility. I can manage the pests, but not the weather.
When the issue of climate change first came up, I assumed Bali would be dry. I began to plan the vegetable garden accordingly with sunken beds and lots of mulch. But now I think it’s going to swing the other way and we’re going to have to figure out how to grow, harvest and store food in the wet.
The bottom line is that climate change will –- is already –- having an impact on the production of food on Bali. And the poor farmer, as usual, will get the shortest end of a short stick.
Dragons in the Bath, a collection of Ibu Kat’s stories, is available in Bali from Dijon in Kuta, Ganesha Books at Biku and in Ubud, and Periplus Books. It can be ordered nationally and internationally through www.dragonsinthebath.com <http://www.dragonsinthebath.com>
