JungleLife by Kat 
Bali, Indonesia.
Arriving in Bali airport on a Saturday morning I was engulfed by the fragrance of frangipanis and incense as I headed off to meet my hostess buddy, Julie, at her art shop in Seminyak. I was so excited that I was finally about to partake in some Hindu ceremonies. After we had chatted for quite some time, I asked Julie where she had parked her car. “No car”, she said, “we do motorbike, Island style”. Julie chuckled at the amazement on my face. This was about to be a noteworthy ride with all my baggage.
I met Julie on one of my Bali trips five years ago. I had become fascinated by the little shrines on each corner, as well as those in their homes. The many ornate temples and statues around Bali, and the dedication of the Balinese women putting out their offerings and incense at shop entrances, motivated me to find out more regarding the Hindu faith. Having grown up in a Christian family and being familiar with our traditional churches, I found the Hindu faith extremely foreign and complex. This is a colourful faith, with a bold dress and much celebration of their many gods through a host of blessings, offerings, and ceremonies, as well as ornate temples and shrines. There were statues of Balinese female dancers, elephants, lions, and dragons that looked like demons. Frogs, monkeys, and pigs. A mixture of all kinds of statues. I was interested to find out what they all meant and wondered, as a Christian, would I succeed in partaking in a Hindu ceremony myself?
While Julie and I sat chatting about her photography in her shop, she offered to take me on a scenic drive. While admiring all the gorgeous temples, Julie mentioned that she was Hindu. “Tell me about your Hindu faith, Julie,” I asked. Julie patiently explained to me the Agama Hindu Dharma faith. I asked her if I could partake in the ceremonies with her. “Yes, in fact, please come and stay with me once my home is finished being built,” she said with excitement. After my visit, I flew back to Australia, then onto South Africa. Julie and I continued to keep in touch. A couple of years later, I took Julie up on her offer to join in some of the ceremonies with her. I had told her that I would like to write a story about the various ceremonies and felt having a personal experience would enable me to have a deeper understanding of the Hindu faith. What better way to do it than to stay with an Indonesian Hindu family, I thought? So, I flew back to Bali to start my Hindu adventure.
Agama Hindu Dharma is the style of Hinduism practised by the bulk of the population on the island. It includes Trimurti, the Indian trinity of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Having a personal exposure to living with a Hindu family and partaking in their ceremonies was an exceptional privilege for me. It enabled me to search out a lot more information regarding Agama Hindu Dharma firsthand. Balinese Hindus are known for sharing the different aspects of their religion to outsiders, allowing you to visualize for yourself how Bali attained its nickname, Island of the Gods.
Ganesha, the elephant god, appeared to me as chubby, happy, and playful in a childlike appearance. He is referred to as the lord of good fortune who provides prosperity, fortune, and success, as well as protection against diversity.
Narasimha who is part lion, part man destroys evil. Strong and powerful in appearance he is seen to end religious prosecution and calamity on earth, thereby destroying dharma. He is the great protector who specifically protects and defends his devotees from evil and is celebrated in many regional Hindu temples, texts, performance arts, and festivals such as Holika prior to the Hindu spring festival of colours called Holi.
While fun-loving Hanuma the monkey god is greatly admired and adored in the Hindu religion. He is said to be spirited, restless, energetic, inquisitive and mischievous. This we certainly do know about monkeys. He symbolises physical strength, perseverance, and devotion, and so the list goes on of many other gods and supernatural beings on the Island of Bali.
Then we have Manduka, the frog god who is always alert and ready to respond to nature’s timings, even with a smile across his face. He is also referred to as the bringer of rain, nourishment, and cleansing. In monsoon cultures, the croaking of frogs is compared to a rain charm. Frogs symbolise rebirth and adaptability, due to their visible life stages as a tadpole becoming a frog, a symbol of reincarnation.
That evening at Julie’s house, dinner consisted of rice accompanied by spicy vegetables and chicken. Rice is usually consumed at each meal, typically with duck, fish, or pork. Being poor, this family might only afford a bit of chicken or fish, a few vegetables and fruit, that they obtain from local vendors on the roadsides. After dinner we brushed our teeth outside of the shower using a tap, spitting on the floor then washing the toothpaste down the drain.
I woke to the crowing of a rooster the following morning and consumed coffee and deep-fried bananas for breakfast. It was delicious. Through the morning, I noticed the neighbour washing his roosters in soapy water. Amazingly, they didn’t appear to mind. Then he put the roosters back into their woven bamboo cages. “Does he place them on show, sell them or use them for cockfighting?” I asked Julie. “No”, she said, “he simply keeps them as pets, treats them as his children.”
“Now it’s time for you to learn how to make an offering,” Julie said. In a small woven basket, Julie placed a banana leaf at the bottom, then a banana, another fruit, sweets, and flowers on top. “Just follow what I do. Typically, I place in rice, depending on what I actually have at the time. In our culture food is a present from Brahman and there are several rituals from day to day.” Explained Julie. “Now you’ll be able to take these offerings and place them within the temple,” she said. I walked up to a brief flight of stairs to a rooftop where her little temple was and placed the offerings on the altar and a few around the base.
Canang sari is a daily offering by Balinese Hindus, conveying praise and prayer to the Sang Hyang Widhi Wasa, the three major gods known as the Trimurti as well as the supreme god of Balinese Hinduism formally known as Agama Hindu Dharma. You can see Canang sari within Balinese temples on little shrines, in homes, and also on the ground or part of a more significant offering. The flowers on the offering are symbolic of essential devas: white flowers facing east for Iswara, red flowers facing south for Brahma, yellow flowers facing west for Mahadeva, and blue or green flowers facing north for Vishnu. These offerings are given daily to Sang Hyang Widhi Wasa as a thanksgiving for the peace given to the world. The philosophy behind the Canang sari is selflessness since they take time and energy to arrange.
Dharma in Hinduism means ‘duty,’ ‘virtue,’ ‘morality,’ even ‘religion,’ and it refers to the power that upholds the universe and society. Hinduism is a spiritual, philosophical, and cultural tradition that developed in India together with their sacred writings. The Hindus believe in a supreme being who appears in many forms and natures, but only in one eternal truth, their desire for liberation from earthly evils, and their belief in reincarnation.
Balinese adopted both Hindu and Buddhist concepts, which is why you see statues of Buddha in Bali. Therefore, the part of Indonesia, where these ceremonials and traditions are still being done, is in Bali. Every day, the folks of the island make offerings of food and create various things for the gods.
“Our God is the creator and upholder of all life,” said Julie. “The seeds we sow, cultivate, and eventually harvest is thanks to god’s blessings and beauty. Therefore, out of feeling and devotion, we offer especially good food to god. This can then be shared and distributed as prasadam or blessed food. Once consumed with love, the prasadam purifies the mind and senses.”
I associated Bali with seemingly endless ceremonies and celebrations, with sounds of water buffalo horns beating metal, high pitched melodies from bamboo flutes, gongs, cymbals, and hand drums. I felt myself being transported to an extraordinary world, a region to escape from a way of life immersed in technology. Balinese robes are ornately embellished in a rainbow of extremely bright colours: fuchsia, violet, turmeric yellow and fiery red. The colours red, white, and black mean, respectively: Brahma the creator, Vishnu, the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. From the last day of May till the first week in June, there’s a lot of prayers, feasting, visiting friends, and salutation. Balinese prefer to tell stories and build drama through their dance and music. June tenth is Kuningan – the ending of ceremonies and the time for the gods to come. The remote villages of Karangasem within the hills around the holy mountain of Lempuyang celebrate in their own inimitable fashion.
Once again, after waking to the crowing of a rooster and also to the excited chattering of youngsters, Julie, Amy, and their cousins went down to the beach for a swim, arriving back at nine for a bowl of rice and green bean stir fry breakfast. “We are going to the purification ceremony now, just beyond Ubud at the waterfalls,” Julie said. “We must wear brightly coloured sarongs, and anyone can participate in the ceremony, making offerings in bamboo woven bowls with flowers, incense, and a small amount of money inside. “
A large crowd gathered at the waterfalls in their brightly coloured apparel. Religious leaders reciting mantras, families walking, and talking, placing their offerings and incense on the alters. The people then walked all the way down to the waterfalls, still in their brightly coloured apparel. Standing beneath the waterfalls, they raised their arms higher than their heads shouting. I questioned whether or not this was through sheer praiseful joy toward their immortal deity or the magnitude of water falling on their heads; whichever, everybody was happy, enjoying the experience. The energy from the waterfalls is said to come from the Hindu deity Shakti. Her spiritual power flows, cascading down from the mountains of affection and meditation, creating strong healing properties in the flowing water.
Families then made their way up another flight of stairs to a pool where they stood underneath waterspouts from the mouths of carved Dragons within the rock. Exiting the pool, in their dripping garments, they stood in front of the priests to receive a blessing. As I sat on a low stone wall under a tree with Amy waiting for Julie to complete the ceremony, I watched the families make their way up to some food stalls, then sit underneath the trees to have their picnic lunch.
After the waterfall ceremony, we drove up to Kintamani, slightly below the volcano, through the misty rain, where temperatures drop below seven degrees. Arriving at her parent’s house, we sat down on the ground in their living room to eat rice and fish out of paper wrappings. Julie explained that the Balinese additionally participate in a purification ceremony at Bali’s sacred pool, the Holy Springs of Pura Tirta Empul, situated inside the village of Manukaya. We arrived back at Julie’s house at eight-thirty that evening. Exhausted, we fell asleep.
Tuesday morning, Julie and I left for Seminyak. While she worked at her photo gallery I went exploring. That evening, on our way home, we met a friend of hers for a meal of rice and deep-fried duck at a local eatery. It was surprisingly delicious.
The following day we spent the morning relaxing at home, helping Amy with her English schoolwork. Wearing a sarong and long sleeve laced jacket in bright orange and an oversized scarf tied around my waist, Amy, Julie, and I headed up into the hills in the early evening to a different temple encircled by trees. A row of food stalls was set up outside the temple, with twinkling fairy lights strung between them. Starting the ceremony outside the main temple we placed our offerings on an altar with sticks of sweet-scented incense. Sitting on the ground with the people facing the priest, we prayed. Then the priest blessed us with water by sprinkling some on our heads for purification, and within the palms of our hands. We sipped the water from our palms, meaning purification of speech, then passed our hands over our head after the fourth time.
In Bali, Hindus still don’t read a written book when they perform Puja (worship). They learned from a lontar, a manuscript that has traditionally been written by hand on palm leaves. Before they recite the Ramayana Kakavin, the lontar is adored. (Rama meaning God, Aayana meaning way, Sutasoma Kakavin meaning Indonesian Hindu scripture). Then there is a special ritual of lifting the sacred book and carrying it throughout a procession. Delivering it to a particular place on the ground doing the bhumi puja (mantra), worshipping, and consecrating the ground where they place the book down. The priest will then sit and recite the Ramayana.
Moving into the inner part of the temple, we repeated the recitation of the Ramayana ending by receiving a Tridatu, a blessing bracelet from the priest. It consisted of three colours of thread, red, white, and black. “Julie, what does this bracelet represent,” I asked. “These colours are for Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, the Gods we pray to, additionally they also mean birth, life and death,” she said. As we walked out of the temple on a path lined with trees, food stalls, and twinkling fairy lights, I found the atmosphere relaxed and calming.
One day rolled into the next, but all too soon I was leaving behind the easy-going atmosphere of the island, gamelan music, scented frangipanis, and sweet-smelling incense. I flew out of Bali the subsequent morning. My personal Agama Hindu Dharma experience had given me a deeper understanding of what the Hindu faith was all about. Having partaken in the different ceremonies, I had learned about the different offerings and ceremonies and what they meant. I felt this would give my story more soul and meaning and that I had achieved what I had set out to do: have a personal experience with the Hindu faith. It was now a little less complex and foreign to me. The sheer dedication of these folks, their kindness, and amazing hospitality, happy and content with their simplistic lifestyle will always be an experience I certainly will never forget.
Sumatra, Indonesia.
What is up with the cats’ tails? I asked a local. If you have ever been to Sumatra, one of Indonesia’s larger Islands, you would have definitely noticed, and perhaps be bemused by, the strange tails that adorn the pleasant feral cats. Some are stumpy, some curly, some crooked, some are just average, long and slender. I asked a local about the curious cat’s tails, and he shrugged and said, “They are just born that way.”
My husband and I arrived on the Island of Sumatra to do some volunteer work in a small town surrounded by the jungle. I decided to go for a walk and explore the area.
Coming across a black cat, she watched me from a safe distance with her big green eyes. She was standing next to a table, and as I ventured closer, I saw three kittens, possibly a week old. She meowed at me and seemed quiet, tame for a feral cat. She obviously was used to human contact, as some food had been put there. Maybe someone had dumped her when they found that she was pregnant. I asked some other local people in the area if she belonged to anyone, but, like the last guy, they just shrugged. “Many people had cats in the town,” one of them said. As someone was obviously feeding her, I left slightly less concerned and went back to our house.
Eating a slightly spicy version of nasi goreng, a popular Indonesian fried rice dish with pieces of meat and vegetable added, at one of the local eateries, a cat sauntered by, gave me a bored look and kept going. Then it happened again with another cat. And again. These cats weren’t hungry. They seemed satisfied, well fed and content. Another strange thing was that they had stubby tails.
This town had so many feral cats and at least ninety percent of them had stubby tails. They would wander around the town, sleeping in shops, lay outside shops, on top of tables and under tables, being fed by the locals. They also survived in the Sumatran jungle. Many Indonesians believe that cats with short tails or no tails are better ratters, so they look after them.
But how did they get here? I decided to look into it. It seems that some of the cats in Indonesia and elsewhere through Asia may have descended from the Japanese bobtail breed. According to informed popular belief, most of the cats got wiped out by some poison spread by the Japanese during occupation during World War II, and so there was a rat invasion. Cats were likely imported from Japan and China. This mixed with interbreeding has increased the chances that a cat will be born with a smaller tail.
It is also believed that the small Indonesian cats are not descended from domestic cats, but small jungle felines. They are cousins of the true Siamese cats. Their bodies are narrow and flexible. The muzzles are square, and the eyes are large in proportion to the face to aid in hunting in dense foliage. The feet are very small and the back legs longer than the front. These cats are great jumpers.
I decided to go back to see if the feral cats were still where I had last seen them, which they were. The mother cat had patches of fur missing all over her body. This was obviously from surviving and hunting in the jungle. She had a slim body, pitch black fur, long thin legs, and small delicate features with big green eyes. Very much a Siamese resemblance. I would visit her every day with some food, and when I went away, I would often wonder what would happen to her and her kittens.
With little food and water, in very hot humid conditions, my husband and I decided to rescue her and the three kittens. We were prepared to do anything to ensure the safety and well-being of the mother cat and her kittens. We put them in the car and brought them home. I noticed the kittens all had long tails with kinks at the end. The mother cat had a stubby tail. Two of her kittens were tabbies, one, in particular, looking exactly like a little leopard cat.
I discovered that these creatures are called Bengal cats, a crossbreed of an ordinary domestic cat with a leopard cat. They have beautiful natures and can be very affectionate, though some might find them a little aloof. Leopard cats love to catch fish, and Bengals like to play around in their water bowl. I called my two Bengal kittens Tigger and Minx. Tigger was lighter in colour and Minx much darker. Tigger was the most affectionate of the two. Minx didn’t like to be cuddled and was a little bit wild. The Bengal kittens were great furniture scratchers. The third kitten was a female with white paws, so I called her Mittens. She was gentle like her mother. Chloe lived a very rough life before she arrived at my home. She is a cat of courage and poise, with a quiet gentle nature.
The Bengal cat is one of the fastest-growing breeds in popularity of recent years. Due to its hybrid background, the Bengal has not been accepted by the largest cat registry, the Fanciers’ Association (CFA). However, the International Cat Association and the American Cat Fanciers Association (ACFA) do register this breed.
Seeing my new life through the eyes of an extraordinary feline such as Chloe, as a cat lover writing about the feral cats of Sumatra and doing all of this through the eyes of a cat is never less than perfectly endearing.
She would snuggle up to me on the couch or on the bed, and the kittens were always at my feet.
When Chloe fell pregnant again, she gave birth to six kittens in the bottom of my cupboard, all different colours and all with stubby tails. The second father was discovered to be a large white domestic cat. With a proper diet, my cats were in really good condition, and Chloe’s fur grew back in the patches. She now had a sleek black coat.
As the first three kittens became young teenagers, they began to do their walkabouts in the jungle, as they still had that wild instinct in them. I would imagine they would venture back into the jungle to find a mate and continue to breed, keeping the snake and rodent population down for the locals. One morning, my little female kitten Mittens, wandered off into the jungle, and of course, never came back. She had been hanging around a larger male, whom I named Bobbitt, with markings much like a leopard cat, another Bengal feline. He was very aloof and kept his distance. I guess it was Mittens’ time to venture off and start her own family. At least I hope that’s why she never came back. I never saw Bobbitt again. Since then, time passed and due to being very busy with our work and me doing a fair bit of travelling, I decided to rehome our cats, knowing in my heart, I had given them a good start in life. They are living with loving local families, and I always get news and photos about them. The six new kittens of course are now happily running around. I have many photos of the cats while they still lived with me, which will always remind me of my experience with these beautiful feral cats of Sumatra, and the privilege of raising a very special breed, the Bengal. Who knows, we might rescue another one.
Feral cat interbred with jungle wild cat
Though small in build, these cats are tough and remarkably intelligent, surviving monitor lizards, which can grow as long as two metres in length, King Cobras, wild boar and other larger wild catsof the jungle.
At least six species of wild cats live, and seem to do so harmoniously, on the Indonesian island of Sumatra. The Sumatran tiger is the largest. The Sunda clouded leopards and Asiatic golden cats are in similar size but a little larger than a domestic cat, then the marbled cats and leopard cats, similar size to domestic cats.
Several cat breeds are defined by the morphological variation of the tail. The Japanese Bobtail is a breed that has been accepted for registration only within the past 50 years; however, the congenital kinked tail variants defining this breed were documented in the Far East centuries ago, and the cats are considered ‘good luck’ in several Asian cultures.
We have found the people of Sumatra are some of the most friendly, polite, and relaxed we have met. They are proud of their rich heritage and, despite their isolation, are eager to share what they have with the outside world, including their feral cats. Their smiles are infectious, and their hospitality is unmatched.
We have had the privilege of living on the island of Sumatra for seven months. Known as the “secret valley of Sumatra” by the Dutch, was one of the last places in Indonesia to fall to their control, as late as 1903. Local cultures remain very traditional, and tourists are few and far between.
I plan to visit my extraordinary cat Chloe in the next couple of weeks. Who knows what interesting stories her kittens might provide for me, and so the saga of the Sumatran feral cats continues? I wonder if she’ll remember me?
Sumatra, Indonesia.
The older boy, short and chubby, seemed the leader of the group. He smiled and waved at me, “Selamat Pagi Bu,” good morning mam. “Selamat Pagi, Apa Kabar,” good morning, how are you? I replied. “I am good,” he replied. “What’s your name,” I asked. “Yogi,” he replied. He sauntered over to me, three younger children in tow. Their smiles never leaving their faces. The older boy took my right hand, and bowing slightly touched the back of my hand to his forehead. The younger children followed suit, some with their forehead, some with the tip of their nose, then ran off with great excitement and keenness to continue playing.
Wherever I go on the Island of Sumatra, I notice the Indonesian people are very hard workers, given the opportunity. They rely on fishing as their livelihood and have chickens running around their yards. These people are very poor.
They believe that the best solutions to breaking intergenerational poverty lies with the next generation. Having education and healthcare, as well as excellent infrastructure, is a major factor in alleviating poverty. The brightest students of Southeast Asia leave home to pursue higher education, commonly in the United States, UK, Australia, or the Netherlands. The government spends huge amounts on scholarships for Indonesians to study abroad. Soon this will be changing, with the Indonesian government opening up access to the local higher education sector, through partnerships with private Indonesian institutions, so students won’t need to leave home to get a world-class education. Thus far, the University of Cambridge, the University of Melbourne, and the University of Queensland have expressed interest in operating in Indonesia. The regulations also encompass a mandatory partnership with local private universities. In addition, the only majors they are allowed to offer are in the fields of science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. Having met a number of Asian students in Australia, achieving masters and doctorates in these disciplines, and hearing about their lifestyle back home, having come from such poor backgrounds, I was keen to learn more about their country and see their living conditions firsthand in Indonesia. Most students go back to their countries, offering their skills to improve productivity and economic growth, providing their families with a better life. An example of this was a young man I met.
Madi grew up in the backwaters of Sumatra. His family’s house was built on stilts to prevent flooding, as it was on the river’s edge, with the wild Sumatran jungle as the backdrop. His father fished every day to provide food for the family, as well as working on plantations to earn a little money. They had no electricity or a flushing toilet. Madi was the oldest of six children, and always harbored curiosity for the unknown as he said. He felt a sense of satisfaction on discovering anything new and vowed to one day find a job that would allow him to keep learning and help his family.
These children are also subject to work in agriculture, which exposes them to extreme heat, pesticides, and organic dust. Long hours, working with dangerous tools and machinery. These plantations are generally located near villages. Poor quality and low availability of schools and low regard for education in rural areas contribute to a steady supply of child labourers in the plantations.
“I worked hard at school, studying at night by candle light,” he said, “but it paid off. I received my first scholarship in secondary school.”
As the oldest of six children, Madi felt extremely lucky to be able to help relieve a bit of his parents’ financial burden with the scholarship. Through the company that he received his award from, he could get a university scholarship, he, of course, was extremely keen and decided to apply. This would pay for him to study at an agricultural institute, and also allow Madi to gain a full-time job with the company. He felt truly blessed. Though the families are poor, they will make every attempt to send their children to school and university. Fathers working in the plantations and mothers selling fresh produce.
Sitting quietly amongst shabby shacks, dirt, chickens, and cats, in the village, I watch Yogi and a group of younger children hanging on a branch, bending it to the ground, so a little girl could grab the end. “Lihat Bu,” look mam, yelled Yogi. The branch catapults into the air with the little girl hanging on. Letting go, she falls to the ground laughing, amazingly no broken bones, ready to try again. Having such excitement and eagerness for more, I find these children quite adventurous. They then run off giggling to play “let’s pretend.” Yogi, with a big grin across his face, holds up his shoe, “pretend mobile,” to do a “let’s pretend selfie.” The rest of the children quickly stand behind him, looking up at the pretend mobile, grinning with excitement to have their “selfie photo” taken, even though the mobile is not real. A simple pretend game that brings so much joy to these jungle children. Yogi being the leader of the group and quite adventurous, was good at creating something out of nothing. I hoped he would become another Madi someday. Before I left to continue exploring the area, I yelled out to them, “Selamat Tinggal”, goodbye. The children rushed over to me to perform Salim. “Nice meeting you,” I said. “Nice meeting you, too,” they replied. Then off they ran, waving back at me.
Happiness is simple. The cellphone is fake… but the smile… is real
The older people are respected through performing Salim, which is like a handshake, touching the back of the hand to the forehead. When shaking hands with an older person, such as parents, grandparents, and teachers, the younger children are expected to touch the back of the older person’s palm with the tip of their nose or forehead, showing respect from the young to the elderly. This is similar to hand-kissing, except only the tip of their nose or forehead touches the hand, not the lips. This is seen in the villages and amongst families.
On the main beaches littered with rubbish, children find coconuts to roll into the surf, over and over again, never getting bored with their simple game. Families fill the beaches with their picnic dinners, waiting for the sunset, a local tradition to end every day. A simple outing, yet so enjoyable and so much excitement. Food trollies set up along the beach and BBQs burning, oblivious to all the litter.
As I continue to explore the village, the jungle of Sumatra closes in on me with stifling humidity and heat. Wiping the perspiration from my face, I continue to walk down the dusty road enjoying the simplicity of my surrounds. I notice how content these people are with how little they have. Poor yet happy, always smiling, waving and saying Hello. Such a humbling experience.
When greeting or introducing yourself, smiling, shaking hands (Salam), and a slight nod is a kind gesture. A medium to a soft handshake is adequate since gripping too hard can be considered rude or aggressive. It would be considered polite to follow this form of salutation. Generally, in Salam, the equivalent of the handshake is to proffer both hands and gently touch your counterpart’s extended hands, before finally bringing one’s hands back to the chest to demonstrate that you welcome from the heart. Politeness, as well as respect, modesty, and loyalty, is prevalent in the culture. Indonesians believe smiling initiates contact, so it’s recommended to smile back in return. Smiling, toward strangers that you interact with, or someone you have eye contact with, is considered polite, being a social icebreaker and to show that you are approachable. Probably that is why Indonesians are rated the most smiling people in the world.
Content with life itself, they survive poverty, sickness, floods, landslides and deadly roads due to poor maintenance. When the floods come, the roads break up and leave gaping holes in the road, which are difficult to pass through especially when they are full of water and you don’t know how deep they are. Traffic is slow due to the condition of the roads, and there are many large trucks, cars and motorbikes over taking on solid white lines, blind rises, blind corners with oncoming traffic. There doesn’t seem to be any road rules. Everyone takes a chance. Some motorbikes are laden with baskets of produce, some have an entire family on, some with helmets and some without.
When the main rivers flood, water flows into the plantations bringing fish with it. Local Indonesians find places to fish wherever there is water, in wide, deep dug canals along the side of the roads, which help to prevent flooding across the roads, and along river banks. Children and adults are quite content with fishing rods, some sticks with fishing line and bait, to catch fish for dinner. Mothers sit on a blanket waiting patiently, who knows what they catch in these waters. I guess the Indonesians are quite resilient, you have to be, living in these conditions. Yet they are happy with the little they have. Again, smiling, waving and saying Hello. I guess innocence is bliss in a way.
Simple games and things Indonesian jungle children do. So little in life, and yet always happy and never complaining. This is a humbling experience about life for me, making me feel guilty in a way.
As for Madi, having studied in the Netherlands, he hopes to expand his knowledge further in the field of science, continuing his studies at the master’s level, and then working towards his Doctorate. Having had access to a good education, and earning a good salary, Madi is now able to give his family a better life and access to good healthcare, building a new house for his parents’, where they can have electricity, a flushing toilet, and a television. This is proof that access to education and healthcare, and good infrastructure are major factors in alleviating poverty. Madi tells me that when he goes home, he still studies by candle light, of course, until the new house is completed. Such high achievements for a young man from the backwaters of Sumatra. Since meeting Madi, I have come to learn of many young Indonesians who have achieved university degrees, masters, and doctorates. Studying in the disciplines of science, technology, engineering, and mathematics, proving how extremely bright and determined they can be, these young people have come from such poor, disadvantaged backgrounds, and yet they still can achieve so much. This is a sheer determination for education and a better life.
A human being is part of a whole……Our task must be to free ourselves….by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in it’s beauty. – Albert Einstein
Hi, my name is Kat.
I am a travel blogger at junglelifebykat.com currently living in Indonesia.
I was born in South Africa then immigrated to Australia in 2009 where I lived for the past ten years. I am now living and travelling in Indonesia. I would like to share with you my travels and experiences on the Island of Sumatra, as well as other parts of Indonesia, interacting with the locals.
As a child I loved exploring my surroundings and burying myself in books, especially mystery, adventure and fantasy. Now I enjoy reading an assortment of Authors such as Lee Childs, David Baldacci, Khaled Hosseini, Bryce Courtney, Sidney Sheldon and the list goes on.
My stories are about the folk on the islands of Indonesia, how they live, how they survive in the jungle and the type of work they do.
Their love for cats, and how the local cats coexist with the wild larger jungle cats, as well as other wildlife of the jungle.
I’d love to connect with other free spirited travellers and bloggers who like to explore local cultures and travel to out of the way places.
I hope to accomplish sharing my many interesting stories about my travels and the locals of Indonesia, and what we can learn about the Island of Sumatra, it’s people and their simple way of life.
JungleLifebyKat
Luke