Category Archives: Photos

Orangutans

Here’s a list of “things I didn’t know about orangutans before I came to Kalimantan”. To be honest, it was pretty easy to put together a fairly long list, because I didn’t know much about them before moving into their neighbourhood. They make interesting neighbours…

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Orangutans are native to the islands of Sumatra and Borneo. Since 1996 these have been regarded as two distinct species: Pongo pygmaeus in Borneo and the Sumatran species Pongo abelii. The two species may have diverged about 400,000 years ago.

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Population estimates are not reliable, but there are perhaps 55,000 Bornean orangutans and only 6,000 Sumatran. That makes the Borneans ‘endangered’, and the Sumatrans ‘critically endangered’. Numbers of Bornean orangutans have halved over the past 60 years, and Sumatran orangutans are now only found in an isolated area of Aceh province. Their numbers have dropped by 80% over the last 75 years.

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The main reason for population decline is loss of habitat. Peat swamp and other lowland forests continue to be rapidly cleared for oil palm plantations and forestry, but also for construction of roads and clearing of land for housing and small scale agriculture.

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Orangutans share 97% of their DNA with humans. They are amongst the most intelligent of primates, having split off from the evolutionary line that led to homo sapiens about 17 million years ago, after the gibbons, and before only gorillas and chimpanzees.

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Orangutans are susceptible to all of the same diseases as humans.

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The subfamily of used to include other species which are now extinct. They include species that lived in Thailand, India, Vietnam and China. One of these, the Giantopithecus, was (as the name suggests) really big, in fact the largest primate ever, and it only disappeared from the fossil record about 100,000 years ago.They could be 3 metres tall and over 500kg in weight.

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Orangutans have long toes and an opposable big toe, allowing them to grasp things (e.g. branches!) equally well with their feet as their hands.

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They are almost entirely arboreal, and are the largest tree-dwelling mammal. Their long limbs and curved toes and fingers make them a little awkward when walking on the ground.

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Dominant adult males grow large cheek flaps, usually by the age of 20, which no doubt the females find irresistible.

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An adult male orang-utan stands about 140cm tall, weighs around 75kg or more, and and has an arm span of TWO METRES! Adult females are about half that weight, and about 20cm shorter.

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Orangutans will wade – but they do not swim. That’s why individuals being prepared for return to the ‘wild’ are held by the Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation (BOSF) on three islands in the Rungan River (just a few km from our home). There’s no danger of them escaping from the islands.

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They eat fruit – lots of fruit, comprising around three-quarters of their diet. They will also eat some young leaves, shoots, bark, insects and ants, honey and birds eggs.

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Apart from mothers and their babies, orangutans tend to be fairly solitary – more so than gorillas or chimpanzees.

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Babies stay with their mothers until at least the age of seven, and sometimes into their teenage years.

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In the wild females won’t become pregnant until their previous baby is at least seven years old. This is the longest inter-birth period of any primate.

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They sleep at night in a nest made high in a tree from bent and interwoven branches and a mattress of leaves. Usually a new nest is made each night. Nest-making is a learnt skill, usually learnt from the mothers by the age of three. The orphaned orangutans at BOSF go to ‘Forest School’ where they learn nest-making from their human teachers.

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When angered, an orangutan will suck in air through its pursed lips, making the ‘kiss squeak’ sound.

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Rescue, rehabilitation and re-release of orphaned orangutans is both worthy and worthwhile – but it’s not going to be nearly enough to counter the rapid decline of the populations due to loss of forest habitat.

As the ecologist Dr Erik Meijaard, from Borneo Futures, has observed: “The balance in orangutan conservation is not right. In the past decade we lost some 25,000 wild orangutans and we rehabilitated a few hundred. Very few are investing in on-the-ground orangutan conservation. It’s like fighting a war with hospitals and nurses only.”

Extinction in the wild within a generation remains an appalling possibility.

Manugal 2015 at Tewang Rangkang

For two years in a row, we’ve had the pleasure of attending and helping with the planting of rice in the Dayak Ngaju village of Tewang Rangkang, on the Katingan River a couple of hours drive to the northwest of our home. It’s the kampung of our dear friend Lelie, who seems to be related to almost everyone in the village!

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When I wrote about our previous visit I described the rice planting process, and so I won’t repeat the detail now. In summary, family and community members get together for a ‘working bee’ (gotong royong) to plant rice for dry cultivation in a newly cleared and burnt field (ladang) in the forest. The event, which incorporates many traditions and procedural requirements from the Kaharingan religion, is known as Manugal. It takes place right at the end of the dry season, around the last week of October.

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Lelie is now away studying at Gajah Mada University in Jogjakarta, but we were invited back by her family, and stayed overnight in the home of her aunt and uncle, Tante Hentie and Om Indra. That’s them with their ces canoe above.

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In the evening before Manugal, we walked out to revisit the sandung (family ’tomb’) where the remains of Lelie’s grandparents are interred. It was one year to the day since we had attended Nenek’s Tiwah funeral ceremony. The two white sapundu pillars to the right of the sandung have since been relocated there from their previous location beside the road, where they had served as the tethering posts for the buffalo and cow sacrifices during the Tiwah.

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On the way back we chanced upon this large and quite beautiful toad, who was kind enough to pose for some close-ups.

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In preparation for feeding everyone at the next day’s Manugal, a pig was slaughtered and cooked, beginning with a very basic singing process. Another pig looked on, understandably looking rather disturbed. “Gerald, what have they done to you?!”

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The next morning, after a disturbingly early start, everyone crossed the river by ces canoe, and travelled up a tributary stream to a spot where we could disembark and walk through the forest to the ladang rice field. The first wet season rains had only arrived a few days previously, but the water level was a lot higher than it had been the year before, obviating the need for a lot of muddy hiking.

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When we reached the ladang, there was still some smoke and flames rising from the clearing fires. The ladang is actually the same field as was used last year, as they get a few years’ use before the soil fertility becomes too low for cropping (This is very simple agriculture – no cultivation of the soil, no fertilisers, no irrigation or pesticides). The area still contains many felled tree trunks from the original forest. Since last year they have built a stilt hut (pondok) for temporary accommodation while working at the ladang.

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A line of men and boys work their way down the length of the ladang, making shallow holes in the soil with the pointed end of the staff that each carries. Some of the staves (the black ones in the photo) were prized pieces of kayu ulin (ironwood) that they keep for use from year to year.

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In some areas the smoke was still thick, but no-one seemed to be deterred.

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Meanwhile the seed rice is carefully scooped into handmade (mostly rattan) baskets (kusak dare), ready to be planted. There were several varieties including red rice, all saved from the last year’s harvest.

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No two baskets are the same. Some of them are really finely made, and most show evidence of many years’  use.

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The women and girls follow in a line behind the men, dropping a small number of rice grains into each of the newly made holes. There is a lot of chatting, laughter and tom-foolery in the process.

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With so many people helping, the sowing was all finished within a few hours. Time then for a big communal meal: plenty of rice of course, plus eggplant and other veggies, and babi ketjap (pork). “Hullo again, Gerald!” Little cakes wrapped in palm leaf, sweet coconut rice and coffee followed.

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Om Rudi and his daughter Jesica sat nearby at the edge of the ladang, sharing a plate.

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With the morning’s work finished, and the heat and humidity approaching the daily peak, we all headed back over the river to Tewang Rangkang.

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We are very interested in the weaving of rattan (or rotan, they call it), and later we went to visit Ibu Linie, who is possibly the only person in the village who still makes kusak dare baskets and sapuyung hats from rattan.

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She explained the many and complicated technical steps involved, from selecting the best rattan vines from the forest to preparing them and fashioning the cut canes into useful and attractive objects. After lengthy equivocation, she agreed to part with the basket above, and we established a mutually agreeable price. It now adorns our hall table – but sadly it may never be used for sowing rice at Manugal.

Kuda Lumping II

Not long after we first arrived in Central Kalimantan, I wrote about a Kuda Lumping ‘performance’ in the village of Suka Mulya, just a kilometre or so from our home. Several months later, we were delighted to hear of another performance which was to be held in conjunction with a wedding ceremony, in the same village.

The Kuda Lumping (also known as Jatilan) is a Javanese tradition, and the people of Suka Mulya are predominantly trans-migrants from Java, mainly East Java, though many have been in Kalimantan for two or three generations. It will be interesting to see if the Kuda Lumping in Kalimantan diverges over time from the ‘original’ versions of Kuda Lumping  and Jatilan as performed in Java. Perhaps that is already happening…

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With the formal parts of the wedding ceremony completed, a crowd of several hundred people, of all ages, began to gather around the area which had been prepared for the Kuda Lumping performance. It was essentially just a cleared area of bare dirt. At one end small stage was erected for the musicians, and vendors of snack foods, sweet drinks and souvenirs set up business. Spongebob Squarepants or Hello Kitty balloons anybody?

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During the Kuda Lumping, a number of people – predominantly young men from the village – go into a trance state where they are possessed by the spirits of horses (kuda in Bahasa Indonesia). Its origins are obscure, and its precise meaning is unclear, but there is no doubting its popularity or the powerfully spooky impact that it has on all who witness it.

It begins quietly enough, with traditional music from the small orchestra consisting of drums, woodwinds and gamelan instruments. The activities of the trance dancers are presided over by several shaman, who ensure that none of the trance dancers are injured or fail to return to their normal state of consciousness. The senior shaman looks out from backstage, to confirm that all is ready to begin.

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The first dancers to come out are teenage girls, each one astride a two dimensional toy horse.

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Their dancing is quite structured and formal. For a time, the performance has quite a graceful and elegant feel to it.

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The girls are joined by a group of adult males, dressed as warriors, each one also riding on a toy horse. The music is gradually getting louder by the minute, especially after another character with a monstrous red head appears in their midst.

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The warriors take up whips and flay the intruder mercilessly.

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From this point on, the performers – along with a large number of people from the audience – go into a state of trance. For the next hour or so everything seems to spiral wildly out of control, with ever more people going into trance, prancing around like horses, eating grass and dirt, and appearing to be in a wild ecstatic state of consciousness. It’s mayhem.

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Meanwhile the bride and groom sit on thrones in the nuptial pavilion, looking smooth and refined, and greeting a line of well-wishers congratulating them on their marriage. But just outside the pavilion, guys are turning into monkeys and climbing up trees.

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One of the trance dancers loops a batik cloth around the bride and groom, and leads them out into the open area where there are now perhaps 20 people in trance, doing crazy stuff.

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I didn’t see exactly what happened, but there was a commotion and the bride suddenly went limp and collapsed in a heap. Family members who were serving as attendants picked her up and carried her away from all the hubbub to a place of safety where she soon recovered.

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She wasn’t the only one to collapse. Some of the dancers also appeared to be overcome, and fell to the ground, frequently in strained and contorted positions.

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One guy managed to wriggle on his belly across to where one of the shaman had prepared a smoking pot of charcoal and herbs which seemed to revive him somewhat.

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But he still looked like he didn’t know whether this was Borneo or Tuesday.

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At no point did we see any of the dancers drop the mask of trance and revert to their normal selves. Although it is hard to believe that they had become possessed by the spirits of horses, there can be little doubt that they themselves felt that they had been transported to another realm, and taken on a quite altered state of consciousness.

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From time to time the shaman would get out a tiny bottle from his pocket, pull the cork from the top, and offer a sniff to one of the dancers. I didn’t find out what was in that little magic bottle, but whatever it was the dancers were pretty keen to get at it, and seemed to be energised afterwards.

Take these ones below, for example.

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Eventually things started to wind down. One by one, each of the dancers would be selected by the shaman and their helpers, and brought back from the state of trance. Different techniques were used. Some would be whipped several times until they collapsed, others would get a gentle flick to the forehead after which they would fall backwards into the waiting arms of the helpers.

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Each one appeared dazed and confused, and would spend some time looking around apparently trying to work out where they were and how they got there. Then they would be helped out backstage, where they would sit for a time drinking water and collecting themselves before returning to the audience.

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And finally, after all the adults had left to go home, and there was almost nobody left to witness it, the young boys would have their turn. Complete with mini whips and mini toy horses, they seemed every bit as enthusiastic as the adults. It would appear that the tradition of Kuda Lumping will survive and continue – at least for one more generation.

Banjarmasin

Banjarmasin is the capital of South Kalimantan (Kalimantan Selatan, usually just referred to as ‘KalSel’).

It likes to promote itself as “The Venice of the East”. The Lonely Planet reckons this is “a jaw-dropping exaggeration”, saying that the city “sprawls in all directions but offers little”.

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Well, sorry Lonely Planet, but we beg to differ. We’ve now been there on five occasions, either visiting or passing through, and have found that it’s got its own distinctive character and appeal, and doesn’t need a pointless comparison with Venice!

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Banjarmasin sits at the confluence of the Barito and Martapura rivers. It’s around six hours’ drive by car from our home, which is north of Palangkaraya in the neighbouring province of Central Kalimantan.

‘Banjar’ is a port city, and it’s the centre of commerce and industry for the province – which is actually one of the wealthiest (at least in terms of exports) in Indonesia. It was the capital of the Dutch colonial administration in Borneo, and after Independence it was the capital of our own region, until Central Kalimantan split off to form its own province in 1957.

Officially the population is a little over 600,000, but when you combine the cities of Banjarmasin, Martapura and Banjarbaru which are run into each other, there’s a total population of well over a million.

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The best way to see Banjarmasin, and to experience its friendliness, is to leave the roads behind, get into a small boat and get out onto the complex maze of rivers and canals, massive, mid-sized and minuscule, that criss-cross the city.

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A large proportion of houses back (or front) onto a waterway, and riverside is probably the more important side. It’s where you bathe, clean your teeth, wash and dry clothes. It’s where your children play, you catch fish for dinner, grow a few potted plants, relax and socialise.

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The waterways are also a place of commerce, and the early morning fruit and vegetable markets are still going strong in places like Lok Baintan. The Pasar Terapung is held every morning, with sellers (and most buyers) doing business from on board their little canoes.

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The range and quality of produce was good, and the prices seemed alright too. They were selling local seasonal fruit – mangoes, bananas, guavas, wild mangosteen, kasturi (Kalimantan mango), and some green vegetables. The fruit was carefully and nicely presented, in woven baskets or colourful plastic containers.

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Before I make it sound idyllic, I should mention that the waterways can also be… filthy. As well being the used for transportation, catching fish, bathing and washing clothes, they are also used for disposal of household garbage and human waste (with only 4% of households connected to the new sewerage system). Everyone just relies on the tides and the flow of the rivers to flush everything away downstream to the ocean and out of sight.

Such a system might once have worked satisfactorily, when the population was a tiny fraction of what it currently is (it’s grown by 1000% in the past century), and when most of the garbage was organic and biodegradable. But now there’s a huge volume of inorganic waste (especially plastic and foam packaging), and the environmental impact is all too obvious.

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The Barito River provides a deepwater port, and the main point for entry of manufactured goods and imported foodstuffs to South and Central Kalimantan.

It’s also a point for transfer of goods between the the river traffic from up-river and the inter-island and international vessels. There are two main kinds of outward-bound bulk freight: coal and timber.

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Huge amounts of coal are mined in the northern and eastern parts of South Kalimantan. The industry has expanded greatly in recent years, and the province now produces around one-third of Indonesia’s coal (with most of the rest coming from adjacent East Kalimantan). Incidentally, Indonesia has advanced to now be the world’s 5th largest producer of coal (Australia is No 4).

Legal coal concessions in South Kalimantan now cover around 1 million hectares (over 25% of the total area, including 14% of the forests). The environmental impact of the coal industry is felt not only in the areas of the open-cut mines themselves, but in pollution of the downstream river systems – and eventually of course in the increased CO2 emissions from burning all that coal. (Greenpeace have recently published a detailed report on the coal mining industry of South Kalimantan).

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Most of the coal gets trucked from the mines to the river, and then loaded onto flat-bottomed coal barges which are then towed down-river to Banjarmasin. The barges are massive things, black floating mountains.

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Timber production in South Kalimantan has reportedly declined since its peak in 1998, due mostly to the depletion of forests and the failure to establish large-scale productive plantations. (Logging continues largely unabated in the other provinces of Kalimantan.)

But based on what we saw, there’s still an awful lot of big-tree timber being floated down the Barito to Banjarmasin for processing and/or export. We were told that much of it comes from ‘our’ province of Central Kalimantan.

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There’s a stretch of several kilometres along the river that is entirely given over to sorting, storing, loading and processing of logs from upstream. In places, the waste timber and bark forms expanses of reclaimed land sticking well out into the river.

It’s a strange landscape. It’s all timber but it’s treeless, with clouds of smoke and people working ant-like amongst the logs, cut timber and the ‘waste’ wood and bark.

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Along another stretch of the east bank of the river is a neighbourhood of Alalak, where the boat-makers have their businesses. The large boat on the right of the photo above was virtually finished, and the builder (the man sitting in the middle) said that he expected to sell it for around Rp17 million (around AU$1700).

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The population of the city is 96% Muslim, and there are over 1000 mosques. By far the largest is the ‘Grand Mosque’ of Banjarmasin – the Masjid Raya Sabilal Muhtadin – which is one of the largest in Indonesia. At Friday prayers there is room for 5000 (men) inside. Construction was completed in 1981. We were told that the site, on a prime location in the middle of town, had previously been earmarked by the Dutch for construction of a cathedral, but they never got beyond putting down the foundations.

Nearby Martapura is considered to be even more devout, with so many Islamic boarding schools (pesantren) that it is known as kota santri (the city of students), or even as ‘the verandah of Mecca’!

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The Masjid Sultan Suriansyah is much smaller, but is revered as the oldest mosque in South Kalimantan, 300+ years old.

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The soils around Banjarmasin are quite fertile (especially when compared with the barren sand and peat soils of Central Kalimantan), and they produce good quantities of rice there. It’s wet-rice cultivation, unlike the less productive, slash-and-burn, dry rice ladang cultivation of the Dayaks in our area.

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There is a diamond mine at Cempaka, about 10 km from Martapura. They’ve been finding diamonds, and processing all sorts of precious and semi-precious stones in this area for hundreds of years. Cempaka diamonds are quite famous, but the mining processes are still very rustic, even basic, and entail men spending a lot of time standing waist-deep in mud and muddy water, pumping sludge up through pipes to be sifted for diamonds. It’s a process much like that used to dredge for gold in the rivers of Central Kalimantan.

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We were told that the men refer to the diamonds as ‘galah’ (meaning ‘princess’ in bahasa Banjar) and avoid using coarse language while they work, in the belief that the ‘princesses’ will hide from them if they do.

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And, speaking of princesses…

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There’s a lot more that could be said about Banjarmasin. Architecture, for instance – or history, as Banjarmasin has been at or near the centre of Borneo affairs since well before the arrival of Dutch spice traders and colonialists.

Or food. A whole book could be (and probably has been) written about Banjar food – especially my favourite, the delicious lime-and cinnamon tinged soup called soto banjar. Unsurprisingly there’s a lot of fish, prawns, squid and other seafood and river fish on the menus. The best places to eat are local restaurants like the Bang Amat (for soto banjar) or Cendrawasih (for barbecued seafood).

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Perhaps I’ll write at another time about food specialities of Kalimantan.

Till then, Happy New Year to all! We’re heading off north in early January to visit some villages in Gunung Mas and Murung Raya regencies. We plan to see some ‘classic’ longhouses, learn a little more about Dayak culture, and (hopefully) encounter some primary forest in ‘the Heart of Borneo’. Whatever happens, it’s bound to be full of interesting surprises…

Kupu-kupu (Butterflies)

The island of Borneo is deservedly famous for its butterflies (kupu-kupu in Bahasa Indonesia). There are masses of them, at least 939 species recorded in the Malaysian part of Borneo alone. And on top of that there are thousands of varieties of moths. The butterflies come in a huge range of colours, patterns, sizes and shapes, and many are stunningly beautiful.

We see a lot of butterflies, but haven’t yet managed to photograph many of them. They can show up and disappear quickly, usually when I don’t have a camera at hand, and they stubbornly refuse to stand still while I photograph them. Here are some that were kind enough to pose for me. About half of them were photographed ‘in the wild’, and the others were found in the wonderful ‘Butterfly Room’ at Singapore Airport (Terminal 3)

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Great Mormon (Papilio memnon agenor). Tangkiling, Central Kalimantan

The Great Mormon (no I don’t know how it got that name…) is a large and very elegant butterfly, and it is actually fairly common. This butterfly (or one of its 13 subspecies) can be found from northeast India across to China and Japan, and down as far as Australia. Lucky for us, they are attracted to many domesticated plants, and are often found around home gardens.

We have seen them regularly, and I have even managed to photograph them in three locations in both Central and West Kalimantan. This one above was in one of the herb and flower gardens at work, and kept coming back to feast on the nectar of the flowers.

Lime butterfly (Papilio demoleus). Tangkiling, Central Kalimantan

Lime butterfly (Papilio demoleus). Tangkiling, Central Kalimantan

This butterfly is not only attracted to flowers of the lime plant, but to all kinds of citrus. Like the Mormon, they are members of the ‘swallowtail’ family, are quite common and are often found in and around home gardens.

It might sound like an oxymoron, but this is an aggressive butterfly. It is highly adaptable, fast breeding, and has now spread to almost all parts of the world – including Borneo, where it was not originally found. In many locations, particularly places with citrus plantations, it is regarded as a pest. It’s also fast flying and restless, so it can be hard to capture in a photo before it flies off.

Malay Yeoman (Cirrochroa emalea emalea)

Malay Yeoman (Cirrochroa emalea emalea). Tumbang Manggu, Central Kalimantan

The Malay Yeoman is often found around the edges of forest areas, as was this one above, which we saw in a protected patch of forest amongst logging concessions in the upper Katingan river.

Blue Jay (Graphium evemon eventus), Common Bluebottle (Graphium sarpedon), Five-bar Swordtail (Graphium antiphates)

Blue Jay (Graphium evemon eventus), Common Bluebottle (Graphium sarpedon), Five-bar Swordtail (Graphium antiphates)

Emerging from the bush onto a dirt road after a hike in jungly forest near Tumbang Manggu, we came upon a mass of butterflies in a genteel frenzy, swarming onto the sandy road surface. This beautiful delicate scene is apparently an instance of ‘mud-puddling’, a common behaviour of insects whereby they extract salts and other nutrients from wet soil, dung, decaying fruit, carrion – even the blood, sweat, and tears of animals. We were told that the butterflies above are attracted to urine. It rather took the shine off the pretty scene, and made me uncomfortable about lying on my stomach to take the photo!

According to the Butterfly Circle website, the Common Bluebottle (the blurry blue-green butterfly in the photo above) can often be found feeding on “roadside seepages or urine-tainted sand”. The site goes on to say that it “is frequently found in the company of the Blue Jay and the Five Bar Swordtail”. We can confirm that, as those are the three varieties of butterfly in the photo!

Blue Jay (Graphium evemon eventus)

Blue Jay (Graphium evemon eventus). Tumbang Manggu, Central Kalimantan

Some more Blue Jay butterflies (not to be confused with the bird – or the baseball team – of the same name) feasting on the urine-soaked sand. Yuck. Like many butterflies, they have quite different patterns and colours on the tops and undersides of their wings.

Karen and a Malayan Crow (Euploea camaralzeman scudderi)

Karen with a Malayan Crow (Euploea camaralzeman scudderi). Loksado, South Kalimantan

This butterfly kept landing on us. We’ve been told that they do that because they like the saltiness of perspiration, but we reckon it was just being friendly.

The species is called a ‘crow’ because of its dark colour, but that’s where the resemblance ends. In the caterpillar stage, they feed on milkweed plants, and so the adult butterfly is poisonous, and is avoided by predators. Some other unrelated species, which are not poisonous, have evolved to resemble the ‘Crow’ so as to get the same protection from predators.

Another Great Mormon (Papilio memnon agenor). Tangkiling, Central Kalimantan

Another Great Mormon (Papilio memnon agenor). Tangkiling, Central Kalimantan

I like the symmetry of this photo. This butterfly is a male; the female is quite different, not blue-black like the male but a sort of sepia brown colour, and is much less common.

Common Cruiser (male) (Vindula erota), Singapore

Common Cruiser (male) (Vindula erota), Singapore

Frequently seen, although anything but ‘common’ in appearance, this cruiser is so named because of its regal flight pattern, cruising around the forest like it owns it. It is found from India right across Southeast Asia.

Common Cruiser (female) (Vindula erota), Singapore

Common Cruiser (female) (Vindula erota), Singapore

The female Cruiser is bigger, with an overall greenish-grey hue, and a big white stripe. As well as being sexually dimorphic, the Cruiser also has very different forms depending on whether it’s wet or dry season. So there are four quite distinct adult forms.

Tree Nymph butterfly (Idea leuconoe). Singapore

Tree Nymph (Idea leuconoe). Singapore

The Tree Nymph (also known as the ‘Paper Kite) is found across much of Southeast Asia, though in Indonesia only in Sumatra and Kalimantan.

Like the Malayan Crow, it eats milkweed in the caterpillar stage, so it is unpalatable for birds and other predators. With those big wings, it is able to fly by gliding as much as by flapping, and it sometimes looks like it’s floating. It’s very pretty…

Great Eggfly (Hypolimnas bolina).

Great Eggfly (Hypolimnas bolina). Singapore

The Great Eggfly (where do they get these names?) is found fairly commonly from Madagascar right through to New Zealand (where they call it the ‘Blue Moon Butterfly’). The female looks quite different, mostly brown and without the distinctive spots of the male.

Malay Lacewing (Cethosia hypsea hypsea). Singapore

Malay Lacewing (Cethosia hypsea hypsea). Singapore

This beautiful butterfly with lovely scalloped patterns along the outside of the wings is another poisonous one (not that I could imagine wanting to eat one). It’s a forest dweller.

Common Mormon butterfly (Papillo polities romulus). Singapore

Common Mormon (Papillo polities romulus). Singapore

I don’t understand why this butterfly came to be known as the ‘Common’ Mormon. It really deserves a name more in keeping with its beautiful and elegant form. ‘Exquisite Mormon’, perhaps?

Not yet identified (Kupukupu tyrannosaurus); Kelabit Highlands, Sarawak

Not yet identified (Kupu-kupu jokarus tyrannosaurus?); Kelabit Highlands, Sarawak

We saw this gorgeous butterfly in the forest of the Kelabit Highlands, in Sarawak close to the Indonesian border.

So far I haven’t been able to find it listed in any of the butterfly catalogues, and we’ve settled on the improbable conclusion that it’s never been seen by humans before. That would give us ‘naming rights’, so we’d like to call it Kupu-kupu jokarus tyrannosaurus. (But perhaps I should first have another look through the catalogues).

And below are a couple of others that I haven’t been able to identify (yet). Suggestions, anyone?

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Tiwah Kampuri

The rains have arrived, the fires and smoke have gone for another year, and life has returned to what passes for normal here in Central Kalimantan (KalTeng). In fact the wet season storms arrived with such gusto that they demolished much of the power line from South Kalimantan. As a result, KalTeng has had little or no electricity, telephone service, internet or even piped water for the past few weeks. Normal service appears to have been resumed the past couple of days, and so now we await further unexpected developments. Meanwhile…

I’ve previously written about the Tiwah (Dayak funeral ritual) that we attended back in November last year, and about another very large Tiwah in August this year. Both were quite extraordinary. When we heard that another mass Tiwah was being held in the village of Kampuri, we quickly made arrangements to attend. Kampuri is a village of around 600 families, in the Gunung Mas region of Central Kalimantan, about three hours drive to the northeast from where we live. It’s on the Kahayan River, whereas the two earlier ceremonies were on the Katingan River to the west of here. We were very interested to see how different the Kaharingan religious practices might be.

By a happy coincidence, my workmate (and our friend) Ibu Andarini is from Kampuri, and she very kindly provided us with transport, accommodation and great company for the main ceremonial days (Tubuh Basir Muduk and Tubuh Ngarahang Tulang) of the Tiwah. We were the only non-Indonesians there.

When we first arrived, the ceremonial site had been prepared, but things were pretty quiet, so we drove an hour north to the district (Kabupaten) capital of Kuala Kurun, and stayed overnight with members of Andarini’s family there – who made us very welcome.

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Back in Kampuri early the next morning, the crowd was gathering. Musicians had started playing the gongs and drums that continued for most of the next two days. The food, snack and drink vendors had set up their temporary warungs. No less than eight gambling operations had started business – but, being (technically) illegal, they were located a discreet distance away amongst the trees behind the main proceedings. “No photos!”

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Seventeen tall painted wooden sapundu were erected, one for each of the deceased. The poles were securely planted in deep holes in the ground. On top of each one was carved a stylised representation of the deceased. One man who had served in the army, for example, was depicted in khaki and carrying a rifle. The sapundu are used to tether the buffalo and cattle that will be sacrificed during the tiwah.

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The rituals of Tiwah are part of the Dayak Kaharingan religion. Adherents of this animist faith believe that the spirit of someone who has died will stay around the village that was their home in life, and will not be able to make the journey on to the ‘Prosperous village’ (i.e. Heaven) without assistance and encouragement.

So there are prayers, music and offerings to get the assistance of beneficial spirits (and to repel the malevolent ones). Chickens, pigs, cattle and buffalo are sacrificed, and the animals’ spirits will also accompany the deceased and support them when they arrive at the ancestral spirit village.

The gods and spirits are very finicky about protocol, and the complicated rituals must be performed exactly if they are to be successful. So one or more basir, experts in the minutiae of Kaharingan ritual and the sacred language of Sangiang, are required to preside over proceedings and to keep it all on track. At Kampuri, there were nine of them, mostly wearing rattan caps with the word ‘basir’ woven in so there could be doubt of their role and status. They were an amiable group, keen to try and explain things to us whenever time and our limited bahasa language skills allowed. And, like all Indonesians, they were ready to pose for photos at the drop of a (rattan) hat.

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There weren’t nearly as many prayers and songs as we had seen at the Tiwah on the Katingan River, but the ones that did occur were quite beautiful, in an extended, hypnotically repetitive cycle of solo voice and chorus responses. The little drums (katambung) that they play are significant, and their use is one of the things that distinguish the basir of the Kahayan from the pisur of the Katingan. Their prayers, chants and music went on well into the night.

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By day, the crowd was generally more boisterous than those we saw on the Katingan. There were frequent outbreaks of hujan tanah (literally, ‘raining dirt’) where clods of soil (perhaps later mixed with some buffalo faeces and blood…) would be picked up and lobbed across the heads of the crowd. After I got targeted and pelted a couple of times, including one quite solid missile that hit me square in the glasses, I expressed my clear displeasure and invited the throwers to come over and discuss the matter in more detail. That seemed to be the end of it.

More benign were the people who moved through the crowd, applying white rice flour paste to the faces of all present. We are not certain of the ritual significance of this paste, but the lady below made a fine advertisement for its beautifying effect.

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On each day, the first animals to be sacrificed were the pigs (babi). Unlike on the Katingan, where the pigs were slaughtered very quickly and relatively painlessly by a knife to the heart, the largest babi Kampuri were speared while held in a bamboo enclosure. Each family member took a turn, and so it took a little while, and the squeals of the indignant pigs were heartbreaking to hear.

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The mass Tiwah was held for the souls of some 17 people, and there was a major sacrifice – usually a buffalo (kerbau), but sometimes a cow (sapi) – for each one. The buffalo can cost up to nearly the equivalent of AU$1000, so it is a very major expense for each of the families that provide them. The decorated animals are brought out one by one, and tied to the appropriate sapundu with a halter (saluang) made from rattan.

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Disconcertingly, they would frequently fix their gaze on me, as if imploringly asking for help

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The basir and key family members formed a ring around the sapundu, each one now with a buffalo attached, and performed the slow dance of Ngangjun, Pakai selendang, which invites the spirits to descend to the village and take up temporary residence in the sapundu.

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The family members then take turns to spear the buffalo. The spear (tombak) is long and decorated with red fabric and pink and white chicken feathers. Afterward, the spearer was given a glass of rice wine (or beer), which was downed quickly then he (or she) would face east, raise their head and let out a loud ‘Woooo!!!’.

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The spearing continues until the beast can no longer stand up, at which point a wooden block is placed under the beast’s head, and its throat is cut. Unlike the Katingan Tiwah, there was less interest in collecting the spilt blood, or washing hands and feet ‘clean’ in it.

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A batik cloth is thrown over the animal, the family members all gather and squat down around it, and a basir waves a clump of leaves over their heads.

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Small pieces of the rattan that had tied the buffalo to the sapundu, or even bits of the animal itself (lips and nose) were collected by people to take away as good luck talismans. At the completion of ceremony, the animal is hauled away, for butchering, distribution and cooking. Not an easy task.

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Its even harder to load onto the back of a ute. But, like most things in Indonesia, it can be accomplished if you have enough people, a couple of basic bits of equipment, and a lot of shouted advice.

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The heads were taken away to be stored and displayed at the main ceremonial area.

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The Tiwah is a ‘secondary funeral’. That is, it is held for people who had died and had been buried some time previously – often many years earlier. The bones of the deceased are exhumed from the site of burial, carefully cleaned and placed on fine cloth in small wooden trays or coffins. They are then taken to the specially built wooden structures (sandung) where they join the bones of other family members who had pre-deceased them. All going well with the performance of the Tiwah, their souls join the ancestors in the ‘Prosperous’ village’.

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Our understanding and appreciation of the Kampuri Tiwah was greatly assisted by Pak Goldison (2nd from left below), who was the basir chiefly responsible for the organisation of the Tiwah. He was a very busy man, but he went out of his way to ensure that we were comfortable, well informed and well supplied with drinks and food throughout our stay.

And of course without Ibu Andarini (3rd from right) we probably wouldn’t have got there at all. She ensured that we had a place to stay (there is no commercial accommodation in Kampuri), that we didn’t miss any of the key events, and that we were made welcome by her family and friends in the village.

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And when it’s all over, it’s time to go back home. Five on a bike? No problem.

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More of my photos of the Kampuri Tiwah here.

Green crested lizard (Bronchocela cristatella)

We get a fair amount of wildlife as regular visitors in our garden. We see lots of bulbuls and other birds, squirrels, bats, even one small snake that wriggled into the innards of my motorbike and hasn’t been seen since.

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But yesterday was the first time we’ve had a Green Crested Lizard (Bronchocela cristatella) come to visit. He ran rapidly along the railing of the side fence, before stopping to pose for photos, and then scampering up a tree. He (and apparently it was a ‘he’ – only males have the crest) was very attractive. Bright green head and body, big eyes, and a long long delicate brown tail, which made up three-quarters of his 60cm length.

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Although it’s the first time we’ve seen one, the Green Crested Lizard is in fact common, and can be found across Southeast Asia, from southern Burma right through to New Guinea. They mostly eat insects, and in turn they get eaten by snakes and some of the larger varieties of birds.

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He is a lizard (Ind: kadal), not a chameleon (Ind:bunglon, but he can change colour. When stressed, he will turn brown. Our visitor must have been feeling relaxed, because he remained a brilliant green colour during his visit.

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Kalimantan smoke haze emergency

Around this time last year I wrote about the seasonal smoke haze that blights large parts of Southeast Asia each dry season. But last year looks mild in retrospect, as 2015 is shaping up to be the worst year on record. And without doubt the worst place for the worst smoke in this worst year is … our ‘home town’ of Palangkaraya, the capital of Central Kalimantan province.

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This is no idle claim. The World Air Quality Index monitors atmospheric conditions in over 8000 cities and towns around the globe. It compares them based on the number of micrograms of fine particulate matter (less than 10 microns) per cubic meter of air. For the past two months, Palangkaraya has had the world’s dirtiest air – by a wide margin. When I checked a couple of days ago, for example, the worst places I could find were New Delhi on 350, and Izmir on 500. Most cities (including Beijing on 85, New York on 10, and Sydney at 15) were well below those levels. Anything below 50 is regarded as ‘Good’.

But the level in Palangkaraya showed up as ‘999’ – and that’s only because the system wasn’t built to show numbers of 1000 or greater. The actual figure for Palangkaraya that day was 3334. That’s ten times the level classified as ‘Hazardous’. It’s enough to take your breath away.

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When we found the conditions had become intolerable in late September, we evacuated to Java to enjoy the (comparatively) fresh air of Jakarta. We got ‘homesick’ and so returned here about 10 days ago. However the 2015 Kalimantan haze emergency has worsened, and may still have a little way to run… But we are in good spirits and relatively good health.

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The smoke occurs due to (mostly illegal) fires in several provinces on the Indonesian islands of Sumatra and Kalimantan. Fire provides an easy means of clearing vegetation from land which can then be used for plantation agriculture, particularly oil palms. They are set in primary and secondary forests, but the biggest and most problematic location is in the areas of peatland, dried remnants of the former peat swamp forests which have been largely cleared and drained by canals. Once established, peat fires are almost impossible to extinguish, as these fires can continue to smoulder deep underground for weeks. Smoke rises eerily from the bare earth.

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The peat can be many metres deep, and consists almost entirely of carbon-rich organic matter. It is one of the largest carbon storage deposits in the world. Its destruction constitutes an environmental catastrophe as well as a health and humanitarian crisis, because the burning of peat releases not only carbon dioxide, but large quantities of methane, carbon monoxide and other toxic compounds to the atmosphere.

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The 180 degree panorama above shows an area south or Palangkaraya that was once a peat swamp forest, now entirely deforested and drained by those canals. The peat, which has been saturated for hundreds or thousands of years, becomes bone dry, and highly flammable.

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According to NASA, the 2015 fire season is likely to be the most damaging on record, surpassing even the impact of the catastrophic 1997 fires. There are several reasons for this. Firstly, there has been little or no rain for the past six months, lowering the water table and causing the vegetation to become tinderbox-dry. Secondly, this year is subject to a particularly strong El Niño event, delaying the arrival of the wet season, and reducing the total rainfall which may be expected. Thirdly, and most significantly, there is more human pressure on the landscape, as the total population has steadily increased, primary forests are destroyed, and an ever-increasing proportion of the land is allocated to concession-holders for commercial development.

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Authorities have been slow to recognise the severity of the situation or to respond proportionately, but remediation efforts are now under way. Thousands of members of the armed forces have been mobilised, water-bombing planes and other assistance has been provided by Malaysia, Singapore, Russia, and Australia. The Indonesian Government has called an immediate moratorium on peatland development, and has sent naval vessels to provide for mass evacuations,  particularly of babies and small children with health problems due to smoke inhalation.

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There are billboards and signs around the district aimed at discouraging people from starting more fires, which is good – but in itself it’s not much of a deterrent. This one says: “Stop pembakaran hutan, lahan dan pekarangan karena menakibatkan hidup kita sengsara!” – “Stop burning forests, fields and yards because it makes our lives miserable!”

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But the scale of the disaster exceeds the capacity to respond, and emergency services are being stretched and overwhelmed. There is some (rather understandable!) anger about the situation, and there have been a couple of smallish protests, though remarkably few considering that this catastrophe could have been prevented.  But now even the head of the Indonesian Bureau of Meteorology, Climatology and Geophysics (BMKG) has publicly described the crisis as “a crime against humanity of extraordinary proportions”.

The statues in the picture above of a happy family, which adorn one of the intersections in downtown Palangkaraya, have been fitted out with face masks. The sign that the girl is wearing says: “Kabut asap bukan bencana alam tapi kejahatan manusia” – “The smog is not a natural disaster, but due to human wickedness”.

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It isn’t surprising that long-term smoke inhalation is having profound impacts on the health of all people living in the affected areas. Few homes are sealed against the smoke outside, and effective protective masks are not widely available or used.

It is estimated that nearly 500,000 people have contracted upper respiratory tract infections (ISPA), including over 52,000 in Central Kalimantan. Most at risk are people with pre-existing medical conditions (particularly asthmatics), the elderly, babies and infants. A number of deaths have already been attributed to the smoke, but it is difficult to establish precise numbers of proven fatalities.

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One major and insidious issue is diminished oxygen uptake. Gases in the smoke, particularly carbon monoxide, bond far more readily with haemoglobin in the than oxygen does. The metabolic impact of chronic oxygen deficit can result in low energy levels and weakness, depression and mental distress.

The lifetime health effects of extended exposure to the smoke are uncertain, in part because the exact composition of the complex chemical emissions from peat fires is still not well understood. However the smoke is known to contain a number of toxic compounds, and there is likely to be an upsurge in incidence of chronic cardio-pulmonary disease and cancers in years to come.

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My host organisation (YUM) is actively involved in delivering emergency assistance to those affected by the Kalimantan smoke haze emergency in the Bukit Batu district. There has been a large-scale distribution of N95 masks to participants in YUM’s agricultural and other projects. Copies of an information leaflet have been distributed in the community, and mobile medical clinics have been held, in conjunction with the NGO Dompet Dhuafa, the University of Palangkaraya and the Politeknik Kementerian Kesehatan (POLTEKKES) Palangka Raya.

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YUM (whose office is just on the right of the photo above) is looking for funds to build on and expand its existing response to the crisis. The primary objective is to deliver basic first-line assistance to remediate some of the most urgent and critical needs resulting from the Kalimantan smoke haze emergency. This will include distribution of thousands of N95 face-masks, medicines, oxygen supplies and much-needed information to the 13,000-strong community of Bukit Batu. A mobile medical team will continue to provide diagnostic services and first line treatment for the thousands who are suffering from respiratory ailments, and ‘safe rooms’ will be established to provide a clean air environment for people to recover from respiratory distress.

If you’d like to contribute to this project, visit the YUM website at www.yumindonesia.org/donate/, and specify “Haze emergency” on your donation.