A note for Rio Haryanto : the first Indonesian F1 racer.

Dear Rio,

Racing is such a new sport for me. I have no idea what it is. Then, you showed up on the media for your efforts searching funding to be the first Indonesian F1 racer. You look nice, very polite, just like any other Solo people. Things run normal until I saw your picture by Reuters praying by closing your eyes. Asking for Allah blessing that He may lead you on the way you go racing by giving up yourself totally to God.  I was stunned. How on earth such a young boy has a such high spiritual level. Believing that your soul, your body, your footstep, your life, and your breath are belong to Him.  For us, those things are lip service, but you really do it. I wish I could pray like you do. Though my age is double than you, but spiritually, you’re much older than me. Everyone said it’s a normal way of praying for a racer as the sport is a risky one, once an accident happen, you may lose your life.  But still, I do appreciate your spiritual level.

Start to feel interested, I search all the things about Rio. Your interviews in many TV shows. You choose a path to be a racer and dream to be an F1 racer.  A very lonely path, full of pressures, hard work, and (perhaps) only limited number of friends. Racing is an expensive and a mean business. By being an asian in the white people’s world, you’ve been treated unfairly and it still goes on. Everyone wants to show off in front of your face proving “who is the boss”. But you keep fighting. And fighting. The best thing you have is a total support from your family.  Racing here and there, only by yourself.  You even sang the national anthem, alone. Still you said, “I don’t mind if my country does not really pay attention to me, the most important thing is, what I have done for my country”.  Damn Rio !  I cried when I heard you said that.

Do you know Rio, how many people really love this country?  A few, very few. Even “they” who supposed to keep the dignity and be at front for the country, are the one who destroying it. Most people are thinking only about their own business. What the hell with other’s people interest. Make money as much as they can. Who cares about the environment. Who cares about the marginal people. Sometime I wish there would be a huge tsunami occurred throughout this country. Swap away the bad guys and leave only good people.  You are safe because you stay in other country.

This I gave you a note from an anonymous who hate Indonesia but I think what he wrote is true.

This country is full of discrimination, racists, religious fanatics, also corrupt system and politicians. Diversity in this country is very fragile, the people are easily provoked into chaos, especially if related to religious issues. Indonesian always sugarcoat their country as the most kind and loving country in SEA, which is in my opinion blatant ignorance and lie. Most people can't mind their own business and love to force their opinion on you. Most Indonesian are uneducated and aggressive barbarians, they are so eager to solve anything by violence. And worst, most people who have high education also so eager to insult and act like savages because of their extreme religious fanaticism. In this oh-so-peace-loving country, it's okay to critic Christian and other religions, but if you critic Islam, they will act aggressively and send death threats to you. Don't get me wrong, there are truly kind and peace-loving moslems in Indonesia, but the extremist and blind fanatics overshadow them. The good moslems usually got peer-pressured to silence. This country is a sad country.

Are you still proud to be an Indonesian ?  I am, because I have no choice. But you are different. You have the opportunity to make a choice. You can have a nationality where the country can support you fully, financially, for your professional career. But you refused. Fool Rio, you make me cry again.

Not all people supporting you. Some thinking that you’re just wasting money. Sports for people born with a golden spoon. They forgot that everything in the world nowadays is about marketing. Social media is the arena for contestation. The one who could get the most attention will be the one who will get the most access. Market, power, performances, funding sources, networks, you name it. It’s hard to make people understand when they used to live inside a box, framed in their own little world.

In my world, in nature conservation, many countries try to prove that they are the most green one by implementing  green economy, having green product, putting environmental services as priorities. Eco-tourism becomes a big business. New Zealand is a good example. See what we have. The mega biodiversity country has its own citizen burning down forest, burning down their own assets, their own dignity.  For nothing but money.  Sad, isn’t it.               

Rio, we both are born in a sad country. Having the nationality of a sad country. Where only a few really love the country. In this case, at least we are at the same side. No matter happen, right or wrong,  I love this country and I will do the best I can to make it better.

NB. We should dive together some day. Karimun Jawa would be a good choice. 

The miracle of my motorcycle's accident

Tonight, it was raining at a traffic light. I waited until the light turn to red to cross the road. Time to cross. While I walked, suddenly from my left side, a speedy motorcycle came across. I was stoned. Braaakkkk. I dropped my glasses. The star fruit in my hand flew all over the road. I fell off. My knee and my palm were on the road. I hurt my leg a bit but overall I am OK. I saw the motorcycle and the rider fell a few meters in front of me. People gathered and walked me to the side of the road.  They left while they realized that I am OK.

Then I became conscious that my bag with a big book in it on my left shoulder became my shield. A shield with a force from nowhere, protecting me for not being pushed by the speedy motorcycle.   It was supposed to be me who pushed away by the speedy motorcycle. I might had been hurt badly. Instead, I stayed still and the one damaged badly is my bag.  Thank you GOD for giving the force to my bag functioned as my body shield.  Holding me for not being pushed. Keeping me living. Thank you GOD to show me that I need to pray and ask for your protection for anything I do, as I have no idea what will come through. Thank you GOD for convincing me that my life is fully in your hand that no matter what happen, when the time is not coming yet, I will be OK. Thank you GOD for protecting me. Thank you for giving me another chance to live my life. As a few months ago, the father in law of my good friend died crashed by a motorcycle. Exactly similar to what I had.

The motorcycle rider approached me limped. Instead of saying sorry, he blamed me that it was my fault creating the accident. He had the right to speed as he saw the light was green. The accident had hurt him too. Oh no.  A street boy defended me. He said I was the one who was right as I crossed the road at the zebra cross.  I hurt and I didn’t want to argue. I asked the rider to leave. Immediately leave and I meant it. He offered to take me home. With the way he drove, NO WAY. The boy suggested me to get cash from the rider for compensation. For me, to go to the doctor. I said, forget it. The soon the rider disappeared the better. I stopped a public car and went home.

What an evening. A meaningful evening. An evening warning me for being more watchful and thankful to whatever GOD has been blessing me.   Realizing me that GOD is protecting me more than anyone else.  Acknowledging that YOU are nowhere but within me in my blood. Keeping me for what I have been doing, mentioning YOUR NAME at every step that I make. And I will do it for the rest of my life as my thankfulness for the blessing YOU pour on me. 

My dive buddy

Early July in a thousand island marine park, I was hesitated to join the first group to dive executing a task finding ribbons under the sea to earn our new level diving certificate. “Come on mam, dive with us. I promise I’ll taking care of you” Titus – a ranger from Cendrawasih Bay Marine Park in Papua – convinced me to dive with his group. So I, Titus and Reza jumped in as the first group to dive and our mission accomplished very well. Titus kept his promise. He ensured I had my neutral in the water and hold my hand to make sure I was fine. Though at the last spot I got trouble with my BC, so Reza and Titus drawn me back into the sea.

July, 15 2011, I flew to Makasar for a business trip. I heard Titus - his complete name is Thitus Wemiyaupea - was in coma due to an accident at the airport. He fell off from the aircraft stairs and I was not sure the actual story about it. We went to the hospital and he was there, laid down on bed with all the medical machines to keep him alive. He just got a surgery at his head. His wife showed me a part of his skull took off from the surgery. I hold Titus cold hand. I tried to find his artery to make sure that his heart was still beating. I got it and I told him “ Be live Titus, so we’ll be diving together again soon”. It was only silent between us but the machine diagram showed me a change of his heart beat. He said nothing, he stayed still but he knew I was there. A few hours later, he died. A young man with bright future career and 6 little children.

The last time we dived together, he hold my hand. The last time I saw him, I hold his cold hand. Now he had gone to see his creator. May God hold his hand on the way to go to heaven. Good bye my dive buddy. Dive as much as you want now in the beautiful coral reef of heaven.

Pick pocket

Have you ever dealt with pick pocket? I just had it yesterday. After paying some bills through ATM, I went to Superindo – a supermarket in Bogor – to buy some soap for washing dishes. The shelf for those stuffs is located somewhere at the back of the room and only a few people walking around. When I was observing the ones that I wanted to buy – as normal I always buy things with an extra gift – somebody pushed me from behind. I looked back, a nice lady walked behind me. I ignored her. Again another push. The same lady, but now she walked away from me. At the cashier, I was shock. I found my bag had a big hole. Somebody cut it off and my wallet – for sure – had gone.

It must be that woman ! I ran to the shelf hoping to find her. I walked around the supermarket showing people my bag with a big hole - hoping that people would not as stupid as me - tried to find her. Hopeless, she had gone into a thin air. Fortunately, I have a few thousand rupiah at my jeans for public transportation going back home. Unfortunately, I lost so many things, my money, 2 ATM cards, 3 credit cards, ID card, student card, health insurance card, diving license card, employee’s card, and my beloved old currency of Checks Republic as the country uses euro at the moment. A few minutes later, I was in a police station reporting my losses.

How on earth such a beautiful lady became a pick pocket? She has a nice hair, nice face and a nice black bag. Perhaps, this material world has changed everything. Pick pockets now are not just guys in the crowds or buses or trains - they work in team - but has already a nice beautiful lady in a super market. They also have so many strategies to get people’s belongings. From cutting the bags – I had it twice – to hypnotizing the victims – I had this one as well. Several years ago, I went to visit a friend by train and in a train I was standing and watching things through the window. Felt like dreaming, suddenly, I realised the train ran through a tunnel. I should have been stopped at a station before this one. I got off the train immediately, grabbed my wallet and – for sure – it was not in my bag anymore. I took a cab and let my friend paid the bill at her place. Sorry pal J It was a time as well, in a bus, someone pointed my toes wondering that something was on it. I bowed, looked at the toes and saw nothing – not realizing that my bag was unattended behind me. After I got off from the bus, I wanted to call a friend, grabbed my cell phone and – for sure – it was not in my bag again.

Losing cell phones are my favourite ones as I have it too many times. Perhaps, I had it about 10 times. I dropped it in a cab, left it at telephone box or public toilet, pick pocket at a train, buses and in a crowd, bugler into my rented room, and I dropped it into the sea water. Ups ! To date, my cell phone is the oldest model and the cheapest you can get. Hoping that the pick pockets have no intention to take it off. They can’t sell it anyway. It is too cheap. Note : my friend has a car driver with his cell phone was similar to my own. Feel embarrass ? Not at all. I had lost a sophisticated cell phone and felt so bad. If I lose it again, it must be the cheap ones. A friend suggested, I may use an implant cell phone in my palm as if I lose it, I lose my palm as well. Perhaps, have an implant one in the head is a better idea as I have no intention to lose my head.

Tough it is bad when your wallet is stolen, but still better to have it in our own country instead of in another country. I lost my wallet with money and passport in Kositche, Slovakia. I spelled it Ko”shit”che as I had a bad experience in the city. It was early in the morning in a coffee shop. I left my bag on the chair and took my coffee. Only in a few second, two gypsies took my wallet. It was crowded that day as they had a marathon game to celebrate the city’s anniversary. The gypsies blended into the crowd. No hope to catch them. Fortunately, Emma my good friend was so nice as she paid all my expenses during my stay including the train bill to the Indonesian Embassy – about 120 km away – to get my new passport. I definitely needed a passport to leave that country as that year – in 2002 – walking around armies with big guns at the airport is a normal view in Slovakia. Even the Indonesian ambassador, felt so sorry and gave me US$ 150 for living in the country.

Oh well, I remember my losing big brown wallet. I loved that wallet. I lost it twice and it returned back to me. Once in the bus, but the pick pocket dropped it. I grabbed my wallet, and ran as fast as I could. The second one was in Seoul, Korea. On the way go to New York, with Korean Airline, at the Seoul airport, I fell in love with a nice key ring. I bought it and so happy to have it without realizing that I left my wallet at the handicraft shop. Fortunately I had all my cards in a different wallet to support my life in New York - I was smart at that time, not like yesterday. Two weeks later, on the way back home, I went to the same shop. Surprisingly, they kept my wallet and not even a penny was gone – there was US$ 800 in the wallet. What a Korean people !! I was told that the Japanese do the same. You can leave a big box of money, and no one will take it. Even in Europe, you can return it back or have a discount price for a damage you find in the good that you have purchased. They trust you - tough sometime an Indonesian student walked with a cutter in a store to make a damage on the goods, to get a discount price. Sometime I’m wondering, perhaps God gives those people fortunes as they are honest people. They trust to each other. Only bad guys take other people’s belongings and everyone wants to be a good guy. What about us, Indonesians ? Are there any trusted people here ? Yes, but perhaps only one between ten million people. Are they any good guys here? A few, but no one cares whether you are bad guys or good guys as long as you are wealthy and in power. In another word, social values had gone and people have no shame anymore. No wonder, our country become poorer and poorer now.

What had gone, just let it gone. Like old bad memories, let them evaporate to the sky. Perhaps, this lost is a start for something better, something new. New wallet, new life, new luck and hopefully new boy friend - although scientifically there is no relation between losing a wallet and having a new boy friend. You never know.

Mt Bromo - an alert to erupt

At three thirty pm, 24^th November 2010, my mother called. “Where are you?” “I’m at a point where the crater of mount bromo is just right in front of me”

“Are you nuts! You know the government have announced that bromo is in a critical condition to be erupted”. “I know mum”. “ So, what are you waiting for. Go home!”.

“But mum, no one here is worry about the mountain, so why should I” “Do you know in Merapi. No one was worry as well. They believed in Marijan – the mountain spiritual keeper – until the boiling cloud flattened many villages including him. So once things change, move out from tengger”. “Yes, mum. I will”.

Well, a mother is a mother. No mother in this world is willing to lose their children, especially as a victim of an “angry” volcano. In Merapi, Central Java, a volunteer felt so bad when an injured mother gave him her child to be rescued. He planned to return for her but a few minutes later, a boiling cloud came down from the volcano and burned down the whole village, including the mother. My mother is so worry that Mt Bromo will produce similar boiling cloud as Merapi and burn things down, including me to become “retno’s barbeque”.

After receiving my mother’s call, I joined park rangers at their post. Mt Bromo is a national park established in 1982. The breath taking view of the volcanoes, various level of mountainous ecosystem dispersion and its strong cultural - religious relationship with the locals are the main considerations of its establishment. Mt Bromo is the major tourist destination in East Java Province. But now, the park rejects any visitors. Many local tourists cancelled their trips and make the hotels rate slope down to less than 50% occupation. But the international tourists are still there. The angrier the volcano is, the more breath taking view they would get. To date, the crater smokes big white-sulfured clouds up to the sky, about 300 meters of height. It is indeed fantastic.

I joined the rangers greeting a long line of cars came up from downhill. There were vice governor of East Java province, the head of district of Probolinggo, the police chief officers at provincial level and many more important people. They are going to discuss about actions required if the mountain erupted. Several tents for refugees are erected at 3 spots downhill, about 15 km from the crater. Many more tents will be erected in a few days. An ambulance is ready as well at the nearest hotel. I saw policemen all around. Though there are almost no visitors, but those policemen gave my old friend – Asih – a fortune to her small informal coffee shop. Another group of army will arrive in the next day for a back up. Those people look so panic. The government, the army, the policemen, red cross and definitely, the electronic media which give a live program of the mountain’s situation regularly. While the locals – including many rangers – are so relax facing the phenomenon.

The last eruption of Mt Bromo occurred in 2004. The volcano threw tons of stones as big as human fist to all over it. It was so sudden. Tourism activities occurred as normal that day and two visitors died, hit by the stones, an Indonesian and a Singaporean. Not locals, the tenggereses. There were many “nundans” – the local who escort and rent their horses to visitors – at the time but none of them hit by the stones. None of the locals run to save their life. They just stood still as they believed the stones would never harm them. I was told that the victims previously insulted the sacredness of Mt Bromo. The late Singaporean threw a stone to the crater and the crater threw the stone back to him, but bigger and many more. For the Indonesian, he was a teen ager. His father warned him of giving him to the crater if he kept annoying his parent. Then, his father’s word fulfilled, the crater took the boy off from him. Mt Bromo is a sacred place. So, don’t do bad things or say bad things. You’ll get the consequences.

Mt Bromo never kills locals, the tenggereses. Raden Kusuma sacrifice is dedicated for the sake of tenggereses as long as they live in harmony. During Kasodo ritual, people came to the crater and throw offerings for a request of giving them a fortune in their future life. People told me, why worry about Mt Bromo as the mountain is our destination when we die. Tenggereses love Mt Bromo, and the people feel that the mountain loves them as well. A very risky feeling, for sure, loving an active volcano.

On the way back home from Cemoro Lawang - the allowed nearest point to the crater - I saw Mr. Tomo’s car going up to his village after watching a volley ball game in Sukapura, a sub-district town downhill. Mr. Tomo is a dukun – hindu-tengger religious leader – from Ngadisari village, the closest village to the crater. When a vice governor of East Java Province and other important people from various institutions were having a meeting at a hotel in Cemoro Lawang, discussing actions taken for the natural disaster, the dukun who is able to communicate with the ancestors live in the mountain, having fun spending his time for a volley ball game.

However, on 9^th November 2010, the village chiefs of Ngadisari, Jetak and Wonotoro , with Mr. Tomo, had held a ritual at the crater and threw some offerings into it, requesting the crater for not erupting. Those important people for tenggereses have spoken to the mountain. So, that’s it. Nothing to worry about. I and several others made a joke while having a cup of coffee at Asih’s coffee shop. If people have to become refugees, perhaps the chief of village would be the one as he is the most unpopular person recently due to his many controversial policies, including local tax for cell phone. While the rest, living in harmony with the active volcano.

Yadnya Kasada

It was almost 4 o’clock in the morning, August 26, 2010, the new dukun coronation should be started soon. Mbah Mujo, the dukun coordinator – the one that I was sticking on - read the story of Kasodo, where a couple – Rara Anteng and Joko Seger - promised the God of Brahma to sacrifice one of their 25 children as their thankfulness to the God for giving them plenty of children. However, their love to the children made them to be hesitated to give up one of them. They hide the children in Pananjakan mountain, hoping the God of Brahma would never find them. But then, whilst the children were playing, an arrow of flame came out from the mouth of Bromo. It took Raden Kusuma, the youngest child into the crater. Everyone cried and sad for the lost, but suddenly Raden Kusuma’s voice was heard. He said, all of his brothers and sisters should not worry about him as he was happy now. He didn’t mind to sacrifice himself for his family and hoping after his leaving everyone kept “rukun” or never fight and close to each other. As a remembrance of his sacrifice, he wanted people to throw their harvesting into the crater held on the 14^th of kasada month, which is now famous as Yadnya Kasada ritual.

After an assemble mantra spelled by all the dukuns or puja astuti to bless the ‘ongkek’ put in front of each of them, the coronation ceremony was started. Indonesian minister of tourism came as a witness. 3 new dukuns were coroneted that night after being tested to what extent they fluently spelled the mantra. All the dukuns gave their agreements – by saying “agree” when being asked - that the new dukuns were good enough to be coroneted. ‘Ongkek’ is crops that put together and designed in a special form that make people easily carry them on the shoulders. Not only crops, sometime they also put some money and snacks. ’Ongkek’ is the symbol of the harvest that will be thrown into the crater to fulfil Kusuma request for remembering him. Each ongkek represented one village. There was also two other big ‘ongkek’ – in a form of mountain and a horse - represented tengger area as a whole.

Normally people recognize ‘dukun’ as a medicine man who has a magical power to cure an illness. But ‘dukun’ in tengger means a man who gives his service as a mediator between people and God and their ancestors. People in tengger believe that dukun is the only person that can deliver their pray to God or Sang Hyang Widhi. Dukun, with his mantra and smoke of ‘menyan’, leads every single ritual held in a household. One person will get through several rituals within their circle of life, started when they were in mother’s womb, the first day s/he was born and at 35 days old, circumcise for boys , ‘tugel kuncung’ or cutting the hair for girls, being married, die and then ‘moksa’ or united with God. There are also other special conditions that make children require a ritual, such as the only child, having 2 children boy and girl and any others. People also need rituals when they erect a house, start farming, harvesting or even buying a new motorcycle. A dukun is a much respected person in tengger society. He is people’s advisors. When the dukun agrees to something, people will follow.

After the new dukuns’ coronation ceremony, all were praying in front of a ‘pura’ or hindu’s temple which is also facing the mount of Bromo. I missed something that night. I was told that a head of a bull plus its legs, was put as part of the offering during the late evening. Bull represents strength. Tenggerese believe that the bull is strong enough to carry all of the offerings on his back until the sun. Only until the sun. The next step will be preceded by white duck and ‘brumbun’ chicken. Why duck ? Tenggerese believe that the duck has a special power to penetrate another dimension of life belongs to the Gods since duck can live in three different environments: land, water and sky. ‘Brumbun’ chicken is a chicken with the mix of 4 colour of feather: white for the God of Iswara, yellow for the God of Mahadewa, black for the God of Wisnu, red for the God of Brahma, and ‘brumbun’ the mix one for the big boss, the God of Syiwa or Sang Hyang Widhi. The chicken will then take the offerings to all the Gods and lastly to Sang Hyang Widhi. After the pray, the ‘ongkek’ were taken by all men and followed by gamelan or ‘traditional music’ to be thrown into the crater of bromo. The bull, the duck and the chicken will be thrown as well. Tenggerese call the crater of bromo as ‘pelabuhan’ or harbour, the last destination of the offering. So that throwing off an offering is called ‘melabuh’. Due to the crowdedness, I and Mujo’s family decided to return back home and will do the ritual of throwing crops at 9 o’clock this morning.

With a pick up car, madam mujo and other relatives went to bromo mountain. They brought with them a bunch of bananas, roast chicken, rice and vegetables. We stopped first at the gate to enter the national park in Cemoro Lawang. It was a place where the number tenth child of Jaka Seger and Roro Anteng – Tunggul Wulung - is staying. Stopping there means knocking the door and asking permission as we will enter the area of bromo mountain. All the ladies put a tamping or a small portion of food in bananas leafs and some small money. Tamping is a gift for ‘buta yadnya’ or bad spirit so that they would not bother everybody. Then we went to ‘watu wungkuk’ in the sea of sand of bromo, where Kaki Dukun, the number twelve of Jaka Seger and Roro Anteng children is staying. Tengger people believe that everything they ask to the ‘watu wungkuk’ will be fulfilled soon. Two dukuns from Sapikerep village gave their services to bless all the offering to ‘watu wungkuk’. Madam mujo left some bananas and put a tamping in ‘watu wungkuk’. The dukuns also blessed the food that people carried with that will be eaten soon they left the site. Everyone enjoyed the food – the blessed food - except me as I was fasting at that time.

From ‘watu wungkuk’ we went to Watu Balang. It looked like a monument. Our pick up circled the monument 3 times, before the ladies put the tamping, threw some flowers and small money onto the monument. I was told that 3 is a sacred number. 3 represents 3 Gods : Brahma, Wisnu and Syiwa. All are done 3 times, such as throwing the wholly water 3 times to each prayer, collecting water from 3 springs of wholly water, 3 different colour of ‘sajen’ or offering, etc. Before leaving, we circled once more to say goodbye. Watu Balang is a place to say thank you for the good fortune God had given people in the previous year. It is where Raden Bagus Waris, the child number eleventh of Joko Seger and Roro Anteng is staying.

Then the car parked somewhere to let us climb the mountain bromo. From the sea of sand, we went uphill to the crater of bromo. Nicely I took madam Mujo’s small bag and carried it with me. Though we walked slowly but going uphill absorbed my energy, especially I was fasting and we walked under the heat of sun. I said “I’m tired” and I did lose my breath. Madam Mujo said “ don’t say it, but say may God bless us”. Tenggereses believe that if we say “I’m tired”, I would feel so tired and would never reach the crater. If we say “I’m lost”, I would be lost and ended up somewhere far away from the crater. So I shut my mouth and kept walking. Madam Mujo’s niece took the small bag that I carried, and nicely pushed me from behind to make me move forward. What a weak Retno !

After about 1 km nonstop walking uphill, at last we arrived at the bottom of the stairs to the crater. It was called Bajangan, the place where Kaki Perniti, number 14th of Roro Anteng and Joko Seger children is staying. People put their tampings plus some amount of small money there. A dukun was also sitting there to bless the offering. Kaki Perniti has a duty to ‘niti’ or make sure that people are having the offerings for the crater of bromo as requested. For example, if there are some materials requested are not included as part of the ‘ongkek’, something would happen, such as somebody will become ‘trance’.

From Bajang, there would be another 250 steps of stairs to go. I heard that my knee gave me a protest. We’ve been walking uphill nonstop from the sea sand. But the 62 years old madam Mujo had no interest to take a break. Oh no ! So I hold her niece’s shirt in front of me, hoping that her body would pull me up to climb the stairs. Along the way the women always had something to say to the people who walked down stairs. At last, we did it. We arrived at the crater with our nonstop walk. For the first time in my life since 1988, I climbed the stairs to bromo crater with a nonstop walking. What a big achievement !

The two women put their tampings on the crater’s concrete fences and threw some small money into the crater whilst whispering their requests to the God of Brama and – the owner of the crater – and Raden Kusuma for giving them a fortune and a good life after this, and if their requests are fulfilled, they will return back to the crater again next year. They asked me to do the same thing. Requesting a fortune and a handsome future husband and return back to the crater when all are fulfilled. What ? Return back to the crater ? No No No. I’m not going to do it. It is so far away from where I live.

However, it was so tempting to request something that I don’t have at the moment, a fortune and a good looking partner of life. But if I become a wealthy person, would my richness lead me to my ultimate destination of life, heaven ? I don’t think so. If I have a handsome partner, would he support my feeling, my mind and my purpose of life to make this world as a better place to live? And would he accompany me not only in this life on earth but also in the life after death? I don’t think so. For me, a real life is not a life on this earth, but an eternal life after my soul and my flesh have separated, and I return back to my creator, God. I will leave everything else behind and take nothing but my good deed. God has created 7 level of heavens exclusively only for human. I don’t mind to enter the lowest level as long as I will live in heaven. My money means nothing there. And I might have a partner much nicer than the one that I would have on earth. You never know. So I threw my two thousand rupiah and said nothing. I have nothing to ask. All I want just a simple and a happy life. No more. No less.

In the crater there were people standing on the crater’s cliff to catch things thrown by people. They built tents functioned as nets to hold the fallen offerings especially money. They even hold a butterfly trap to reach the flying offering. They are marginal farmers from the surroundings. Some of them are teggereses from Argosari village. They are poor and landless. All the crops and money offered by people are a good fortune for them. Last year a friend of mine bought a goat from them for fifty thousand rupiah. A very cheap one but a big money for them. And that afternoon, I saw a woman bought a chicken for fifteen thousand rupiah, and hope the chicken will bring luck to her, since all of the offerings thrown by people have been blessed by the dukun. Then we left the crater, returned back to the sea of sand where the car was waiting for us.

On the way back down the stairs, I saw people from various ages climbing the stairs. Children, teen agers, adults and old people are climbing. And I saw women with hijab or moslem women as well. Perhaps they are moslem, perhaps not, as tenggerese wear hijab too to avoid the sun heat while farming. However, it is not only hindu’s people do the rituals, moslem also. Is it real, that the God of Brama will fulfil people’s requests? I spoke to several people a day before. They were both moslems and hindus. They said that things they requested were really fulfilled. If not, there is no reason for them to return back to the crater again every year. A moslem couple told me that they were able to held big wedding parties for their children as they became a wealthy family. And this year, they want to buy a sheep, a new motorcycle and redesign their house.
All want to have a good fortune and a better life, whatever your religion is. When you believe a thing, do it, and things would happen. That is what everyone does in the ritual.

To complete the ritual that day, all women in our pick up went to the tents or stalls that sold various goods, from food, snacks and fruits. For a small shopping. It was part of the ritual as well. I was told that beside the real stalls there are also unseen stalls where the spirits are also shopping. Ups ! The purchase at stalls is also an indicator of something. If all the goods at stalls are sold out, it is good for the seller but bad for the villages. Sold out means a difficult life in the coming year. Mbah Mujo said this year most of the stalls are not sold out, so it means that things would be OK in the coming year. After things were completed so we off home to Ngadas village, with a hope that everyone’s request – except me - will be fulfilled in the coming year, then they will do another Kasodo ritual.

A note from tengger

June 5, 2010. Today is the last day I stay In Ngadisari village, tengger region. I’m going home tomorrow after more than two months living in the village, studying and observing tenggerese’s life. Understanding what they think about themselves and where they are going in the future. Though there were suspicious eyes watching me when I first arrived, today I have many friends – real friends – that expect me to visit them again sometime in the future.

I read and I had heard that tenggerese are people who put honestly and kindness first for every single thing they do. More than that, there is nowhere else in the world where you live with people where none of them will harm you at any level. No one will take your belonging. There is no burglar, no pick pocket. Even when someone found the neighbor left the house with an open door, one will wait until the house owner come and make sure no one else enter the house. When one has trouble in his/her life, others will try to help. I saw when a half paralyzed guy tried to walk, everyone was taking care of him and tried to cheer him up. They are Hindus. The religion obliges its followers to believe “karma” - when you do bad things to the others, you will get the consequences later on. So better to do good things as life will treat you better.

In the village, you have no worry to be betrayed. No one will hurt your feeling. In contrary people will hold their feeling for your own interest. A few days before I left, it was a guy who put his interest on me though I have no interest at all on him. Actually I prefer other more good looking guys to escort me, not him. But all his friends supported him – including the guys that I prefer - and tried to set up a situation where I would spend most of my time with him, by escorting me wherever I go. With thousand of reasons I avoided him. If he were a guy from Jakarta, I would appoint my finger on his nose. Warn him to get off from my view. But I can’t do that there. Otherwise the whole villagers will recognize me as a cruel woman. Though for some aspects, I am.

When everyone is nice, is there any mechanism of punishment? No, they don’t need it. If a guy does a bad thing, he would be the topic of discussion. People will see him differently. Once the chief of village call the guy for an advice, it is the time he feels shame and loses his face. No one in tengger would like to lose their faces. They’d better committed suicide than losing faces. It is reported that a former chief of one village in tengger region committed suicide after being caught gambling.

When you deal with people who sincerely treat you well, there is no choice than treat them nicely with your sincere feeling as well. As a result, I feel that the whole villagers love me. It is great to have this feeling. A feeling to trust everyone, an assurance that no one will harm me. I see every single individual gives me a sincere smile, and I smile back to them. Everyone asks me to visit their houses, and once I come they will provide meals. Eating meal is a must to prove that you appreciate the house owners. Once I ate big meals three times in one evening. I had to do it though I felt that the rice had reached the upper level of my throat. I’m learning that for being nice I have to put other people’s feeling ahead from my own. Sounds like a soup opera where the leading role is naively nice to everyone. I hate soup opera but for the time being, I am the leading actress.

It was also a time when I stopped by due to heavy rain in Wonokerso village. I entered a house and joint the hostess at a fireplace. I tried to communicate but she spoke poor bahasa and I couldn’t speak the local language. We ended up sitting together in silence. Then her son came joining us. Again I tried to break the ice. He answered my questions with only short sentences. Then silence again. I asked to leave as the rain was stopping but they hold me by saying that it was still raining heavily. They liked my present. They wanted me to stay, but in silence. For a chatty person like me, being silence is a real torture.

Tenggeresses are living in harmony within their society. Everyone trusts everyone. No matter happen in another part of the world, who cares. My village is my heaven. Unfortunately this discourages young people to pursue higher education. Most of the villagers are elementary school graduated. Even people who went to universities, once they finished, they return back to the village again, to become farmers. Including the guy who put his interest on me - an illiterate guy who is drunk every day. My education, my job, my expected achievements and my future are the things beyond his imagination. In the village, there is almost no intellectual discussion. You would hardly hear any debate on politics or country’s economic condition. The most intellectual discussion I have ever heard were about selecting the best seed quality of vegetables and where to the get the best price to sell vegetable – tengger region is famous for vegetable productions. When they gather, they talk about funny things. One will make the best jokes that one could create. It was fun anyway – for certain period - being around by humorists. They do gossiping. Once you’re part of the society, people will watch every single move of you. So beware !

I mentioned about “drunk” earlier. They do consume alcoholic drink. In a cold place like that – more than 2000 m asl – they need alcoholic drink to warm themselves. During parties such as a wedding party, there will be unlimited flow of alcoholic drink to everyone, especially men. Drink as much as you can. They also use drink only from recognized brand. No experiment. Fortunately, they know when to stop. People who are drunk in public, will lose their faces in society. When they are drunk they don’t behave negatively. Just sit nicely or stay still and smoke cigarettes. One night, I walked through drunken people – more than a hundred people- to find a person. They stared at me only behind their cigarettes’ smoke and let me passed. Different to North Celebes and West Papua or perhaps in other places on earth where walking through 100 drunken people is similar to committing suicide. Party doesn’t have to be held during week end. Mostly during week days because each individual has different lucky day. After having fun in one evening, the next day people return to their daily routine. Farmers go to their fields, teachers and students go to schools, etc.

No wonder tenggerese prefer to stay forever in their villages. Every individual has – at least - a piece of land for farming. They regularly have money from vegetable productions. From tourists, young tenggerese are able to collect at least fifty thousand rupiah per day from tips as being middle men between tourists and tourism facilities eg. hotels, transportation, horse riding, etc. During peak season, they could even collect more than five hundred thousand rupiah a day. Where in the city, it is difficult to earn money, even for ten thousand rupiah per day. The easiness to earn money, unlimited flow of alcoholic drink availability and a feeling of trust that no one will hurt you. It is heaven. Everyone who lives in the cities wants to live like that. Lucky tenggerese. Except one thing : your brain would be frozen as life is too good and only a few have intention to use their brains.