As we drove out of Medan on our way to Bukit Lawang we stopped so that our driver could pray. After four hours of driving on bitumen lace – more holes than road, we were beginning to wonder if he hadn't, perhaps, had the right idea. And either side of the road, stretching away as far as we could see were palm oil plantations. Trees in neat rows and the shadows deep between.
As the light faded and the rain began we saw a truck bottomed out in a pothole. Our driver, who had once been in the military, shook his head as we passed. "Palm oil trucks too heavy, break the road." Over the next few days we were to see many of the too-heavy trucks, piled high with spiky bunches of fruit ready for pressing.
When we arrived in Bukit Lawang the first thing we noticed was the sound of the Bohorok river. For the next few days it would follow us everywhere. Louder than rain on a tin roof, louder than a freeway – part heavy surf and part grinding stones. Even in the jungle, high on a ridge that pushed upwards like the spine of some giant, ancient reptile we could still hear it. The colour of over-cooked pea soup and thick with foam, it is not a peaceful river. It rushes down its bed towards the sea, the tips of the waves on the surface breaking backwards, as though unable to keep up. On our final morning in Bukit Lawang we drank tea and watched the river for the last time. A floating strip of rubber made its way to the bank and, pulled itself in muscular coils out of the water. Ari looked over the garden wall and nodded, "Cobra'" he said and smiled. As we watched it eased itself back into the river and was swept away, its head above the waves like a periscope.
As the light faded and the rain began we saw a truck bottomed out in a pothole. Our driver, who had once been in the military, shook his head as we passed. "Palm oil trucks too heavy, break the road." Over the next few days we were to see many of the too-heavy trucks, piled high with spiky bunches of fruit ready for pressing.
When we arrived in Bukit Lawang the first thing we noticed was the sound of the Bohorok river. For the next few days it would follow us everywhere. Louder than rain on a tin roof, louder than a freeway – part heavy surf and part grinding stones. Even in the jungle, high on a ridge that pushed upwards like the spine of some giant, ancient reptile we could still hear it. The colour of over-cooked pea soup and thick with foam, it is not a peaceful river. It rushes down its bed towards the sea, the tips of the waves on the surface breaking backwards, as though unable to keep up. On our final morning in Bukit Lawang we drank tea and watched the river for the last time. A floating strip of rubber made its way to the bank and, pulled itself in muscular coils out of the water. Ari looked over the garden wall and nodded, "Cobra'" he said and smiled. As we watched it eased itself back into the river and was swept away, its head above the waves like a periscope.
Most of us know all about climate change, the loss of rainforests and the palm oil scourge but in Bukit Lawang they live with the reality of what that actually means. In November 2003 a makeshift dam built to store rainforest timber that had been illegally harvested from the national park burst its banks and swept through the town. It killed 250 people and destroyed over 400 homes. The town is still rebuilding – many of the people who had turned to illegal logging to feed their families now work in the forest as guides. There is work in the palm oil plantations too but it is very hard and often extremely dangerous. The plantations are mostly owned by foreign corporations so the income they generate does not benefit the people. In the middle of the monsoon our becak driver gestured to the dry channels running alongside the road and said, "They are dry. When I was a child they were full all the time. The palm oil trees lower the water table because they are so thirsty."
It's a pessimistic view point but Bukit Lawang feels like a city under siege. Surrounded by palm oil plantations and controlled by a government as short sighted as it is corrupt, this incredibly bio diverse area still faces pressure from illegal logging, climate change and the ever growing palm oil industry. As you enter the national park a sign states that the Sumatran orangutan is critically endangered. In some ways it feels like an elegy.
PJ
It's a pessimistic view point but Bukit Lawang feels like a city under siege. Surrounded by palm oil plantations and controlled by a government as short sighted as it is corrupt, this incredibly bio diverse area still faces pressure from illegal logging, climate change and the ever growing palm oil industry. As you enter the national park a sign states that the Sumatran orangutan is critically endangered. In some ways it feels like an elegy.
PJ