The fruit bats have been shitting indoors again. As I creep up the stairs to my twins' bed space, I can see the seeds sticking out of the piles of guano on very nearly every step. They haven't yet decorated our accommodation next door - perhaps they have been put off by my incessant snoring. They swoop in silently during the night and hang from the intricate bamboo frames that support the vast vegetable canopies under which my children sleep.
"Daddeee" chirrups Octavia. I accelerate up the last few steps and launch myself through a gap in the mosquito net and land on top of my son. Tickling commences. Harry curls himself into a defensive ball and lets out a heartfelt and long groan. "Gerrrroffff, you irritating little man". I just love these moments with my kids. Selfishly, I have never really pondered whether or not this massive invasion of their space is as enjoyable to them as it is to me. I think they get that too but are prepared to be tolerant. After all, they're only 24.
I stand on our wooden balcony looking out over the small cove below our cavernous lodge. There is a tremendous rustling in the trees to the left followed by a sharp rasping cry as two enormous birds take to the air across the incoming tide. These are the horn-bills, their heads almost as big as the rest of their bodies, and which carry unfeasibly large pieces of armour plating above their sabre shaped beaks. Never mind fruit or pods or whatever it is they graze upon - these two look as if they could carry off a small sheep. They are among the occasional delights of flora and fauna on this tiny island in the northernmost part of the vast Indonesian archipelago.
Evi has already shown us the monitor lizards which play an important part in the ecology of this tropical retreat. The island is mostly organised so that the environmental impacts of its many visitors are minimized. Waste food is composted on heaps over which these giant reptiles freely roam. They have lumbering graceless movements but can suddenly put on a turn of speed to see off a rival or to move in upon a particularly tasty looking morsel. These are not the famed Komodo dragons that have been known to fell humans and buffalo, but they look frightening enough with their expressionless faces, sharp talons and tenacious jaws. Later, Fian takes us on the "Pangolin trail". These shy nocturnal creatures are one of the most trafficked wild animals on the planet, their keratin "armour" plates a staple of a certain type of "medicine" in the Far east, especially popular in China. The Javan variety of this otherwise harmless, toothless and termite eating mammal has been hunted almost to extinction and the only evidence we can find on our island is an ancient but long since abandoned nest at the base of a decaying tree. Further on, we spot a cobra slithering off among the dry and dead leaves.
But in truth, the wild creatures we are privileged to see are merely the surviving fragments of an ecology ruthlessly if haphazardly shoved aside by a rapidly growing population, industrial scale agriculture and by the aggressive exploitation of natural resources such as coal, bauxite and iron ore. Spread over a myriad of islands, when measured by longitude Indonesia is one of the biggest countries in the world but its geography does not make it easy for man to coexist with the wild. There have been vast internal migrations over the years as government has shifted people from the densely populated and predominant island of Java. Many have been left as refugees within their own country, uprooted and dumped on unfamiliar islands with the barest of necessities and living in large colonies of brutally sparse and often unfinished dwellings composed of concrete blocks and corrugated tin roofs.The challenges of running basic services such as fresh water, sanitation and waste disposal are herculean and would vex the most sophisticated of regimes. Fires are everywhere - burning is really the only way to tidy things up and anything living that is combustible is cleared to incinerate rubbish. The primeval jungle, where it exists at all, can only be found in inaccessible places such as the steep gorges and the craggy slopes of the volcanic mountains of the interior on islands such as Lombok, Borneo or Sumatra.
But mass tourism is also to blame. Along some "jungle" walks, you step forward almost ankle deep in empty plastic water bottles while on Mount Rinjani on Lombok, special teams are employed to haul the detritus off this over-popular hiking and climbing venue. The degradation in some tourist spots is appalling. The Ghilli islands are surrounded by dead coral over which the occasional sea turtle can be spotted swimming almost dazedly, amidst a churned up murk of sea, grit, weed, boat oil and sun tan lotion. The beaches of the islands are covered with benign if bored looking twenty-somethings, scantily clad and surrounded by beer bottles as they braid their hair and henna their limbs. With so little apparent interest or respect shown to the culture, religion and environment of their hosts, it is no wonder that the citizens of this predominantly Muslim country might regard tourism as a form of invasion.
Harry has however, fitted right in. He is the only white "Tuan" among the permanent staff of the island, but just by being himself he has found acceptance. By the time we arrive in the early southern hemisphere spring, he has already attended local weddings as an honoured guest and spends one day a week teaching at a primary school on another island. On the night of our arrival, Joseph, a Christian and one of the senior members of the team gravely informs us that our boy is "doing really well" and is much liked and respected. Later I see a photo of two colleagues, Jaslan and Boyan, with their arms around Harry's shoulders - "Although we are not of the same mother or faith, we are all brothers" says the caption.
Occy is loving this place. She chirps away happily to all and sundry, but she is also a good and empathetic listener. She has an instinctive feeling for what is right in any given social situation and works hard at keeping everyone in a harmonious rhythm. I can see she has hit it off with Harry's colleagues and they in turn are fascinated by the appearance of his twin. I am feeling pretty proud and delighted too that neither of them have inherited my occasionally over-booming personality and capacity for selective interest - on the contrary, they take it all in and "get" what I so often miss.
Mid-stay, we are taken by Jaslan and another colleague to the fishing village where Harry teaches. We are armed with an enormous poster that the children will colour in - " Save the Pangolin" it says. Our boat comes around a spur of beach and enters a channel full of fishing boats and other craft. On the opposite shore amongst the shanty is an enormous and highly decorated mosque, covered entirely in a pale lime sheen. The dwellings might be falling apart but the places of worship attract a high level of care, and where signs of construction are seen, it is inevitably a mosque that is going up.
We tie up to a sturdy wooden wharf, behind which stand rows of dwellings on stilts, the murky water lapping around the bamboo and teak supports. The houses are poky, neat and highly decorated. Many have little garden boxes in which grow chillies, peppers and herbs. We are quickly escorted to the yellow-painted school, which is a single roomed and storied structure at the back of the village. Some of the men are playing a form of volleyball that involves every limb apart from the hands and the tiny ball is flicked about with extraordinary skill. Jaslan's colleague has responsibility for liaison with the communities of the adjacent islands, but he has so far conducted our tour with a fixed and somewhat nervous grin. Apparently this village gets a lot of tourist visitors and although the men seem pretty focused on their game, the odd glance shows that we may not be entirely welcome at this hour.
Happily, the children get stuck in and there is a lot of hollering and excited chatter. Soon they are covering the stencilled outline of the pangolin with their colours and scrawl. Many of the girls have covered heads, but others do not and they all seem happily integrated and cheerful. Harry makes a little speech about looking after the mammal in their drawings and the children cheer and clap. By the time we leave the building, the mood has definitely relaxed. Photographs are taken of the kids with their handiwork and then we are back to the houses on the waterfront. The evening meal is in progress, men strictly segregated from women, but the atmosphere is a really happy one and we are invited to share. Two little girls of about five are holding each of Occy's hand and are leading her around. One is wearing an enormous and pink ballerina's tutu and her tiny teeth have been filed to points. She is not entirely happy about sharing this big "round eye", and tries to sink her fangs into her small companion. Fortunately after the first sortie, Occy is mostly able to hold them firmly apart. Now the men are laughing and pointing. Jaslan says they are fans of Harry and like the job he is doing at the school. He is not "lintah puteh". Later, I learn this means "a white leech".
The day we leave, the staff assemble on the quay while some join us in the boat. They are going home on furlough and the women have re-covered their heads in anticipation of re-joining their communities. Occy gets a lot of hugs from the female staff and Harry does a somersault off the jetty and into the swell as we pull away. The sky is flat and still and is barely distinguishable from the sea as it meets the horizon.
Our Indonesian hosts have been genuinely delightful. Following the departure of the unloved Dutch colonial masters, their forbears endured a bloody history as the indigenous state tried to find the groove along which it wanted to travel. This has left its mark in a demeanour that seems both reticent yet proud. Behind the polite reserve however, we have experienced many instances of touching warmth and incredibly graceful hospitality. Those we have met or observed do not seem to spend their energies individually getting and consuming, but nor is life simply determined by the daily struggle to survive. A lot of energy is plainly directed through faith, whether Buddhist, Muslim or Christian. They have not "laid waste their powers" and amidst the eroded landscape, the Indonesians maintain a serenity which we sophisticates might well consider emulating.
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