By Zoher Abdoolcarim - Time Magazine Asia
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Merapi holds a sacred—and deadly—significance for the villagers who seek its protection.
The Indonesian province of Central Java is charged with mysticism: animist spirits, Hindu gods, Sufi saints. One of the most sacred sites is a magnificent 3,000-m peak called Merapi, which literally means "fire mountain." For centuries villagers living on its slopes and base have pledged their fate to Merapi, not just because it's an active volcano but because it provides fertile soil for them to grow food and raise cattle, and sand and stone for them to build their homes. Every year they bring Merapi gifts of food, tobacco and clothing, both to appease it and to seek its protection. The volcano even has a caretaker, appointed by a former sultan of the nearby royal city of Yogyakarta, to ensure that offerings are made and rituals observed. This is no mere mountain, but a giver of life and a deliverer of death.
In recent weeks Merapi has been showing its uncharitable side. A series of small eruptions has darkened the sky with hot clouds of gas, raining ash on the fields below, and discharging streams of lava down the mountain. By last Saturday, the dome remained intact, but threatened to blow at any time. "We are still at the highest alert status," says Subandrio, director of the Merapi-observation division of Indonesia's Center of Volcanological Research and Technology in Yogyakarta. "An explosion is still very possible."
When Merapi last erupted 12 years ago, 60 people were scorched to death by 300°C smoke. And since the tsunami of Dec. 26, 2004, which claimed 170,000 Indonesian lives, the government has been especially wary of the toll that can be inflicted by natural disasters. So the authorities have built dams to block the lava, set up evacuation routes, taught villagers to build bunkers, and transferred 20,000 people to makeshift shelters at least 8 km away.
Last week, however, thousands of them filed back to their homes, partly out of fear that they were being looted (they weren't). Merapi's current caretaker, 79-year-old Marijan, told reporters his dreams tell him the volcano won't blow its top, but that the eruptions are a warning to the people to fulfill their obligations to the spirits. He says he won't leave his own home, even though it's just 6 km from the summit: "If I do, I would not be guarding the mountain I have promised to guard. I would not be doing my duty." For the villagers living in Merapi's shadow, science has yet to supplant their faith in the power of their mountain.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
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Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Mountain of Fire
By Zoher Abdoolcarim - Time Magazine Asia
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Merapi holds a sacred—and deadly—significance for the villagers who seek its protection.
The Indonesian province of Central Java is charged with mysticism: animist spirits, Hindu gods, Sufi saints. One of the most sacred sites is a magnificent 3,000-m peak called Merapi, which literally means "fire mountain." For centuries villagers living on its slopes and base have pledged their fate to Merapi, not just because it's an active volcano but because it provides fertile soil for them to grow food and raise cattle, and sand and stone for them to build their homes. Every year they bring Merapi gifts of food, tobacco and clothing, both to appease it and to seek its protection. The volcano even has a caretaker, appointed by a former sultan of the nearby royal city of Yogyakarta, to ensure that offerings are made and rituals observed. This is no mere mountain, but a giver of life and a deliverer of death.
In recent weeks Merapi has been showing its uncharitable side. A series of small eruptions has darkened the sky with hot clouds of gas, raining ash on the fields below, and discharging streams of lava down the mountain. By last Saturday, the dome remained intact, but threatened to blow at any time. "We are still at the highest alert status," says Subandrio, director of the Merapi-observation division of Indonesia's Center of Volcanological Research and Technology in Yogyakarta. "An explosion is still very possible."
When Merapi last erupted 12 years ago, 60 people were scorched to death by 300°C smoke. And since the tsunami of Dec. 26, 2004, which claimed 170,000 Indonesian lives, the government has been especially wary of the toll that can be inflicted by natural disasters. So the authorities have built dams to block the lava, set up evacuation routes, taught villagers to build bunkers, and transferred 20,000 people to makeshift shelters at least 8 km away.
Last week, however, thousands of them filed back to their homes, partly out of fear that they were being looted (they weren't). Merapi's current caretaker, 79-year-old Marijan, told reporters his dreams tell him the volcano won't blow its top, but that the eruptions are a warning to the people to fulfill their obligations to the spirits. He says he won't leave his own home, even though it's just 6 km from the summit: "If I do, I would not be guarding the mountain I have promised to guard. I would not be doing my duty." For the villagers living in Merapi's shadow, science has yet to supplant their faith in the power of their mountain.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Merapi holds a sacred—and deadly—significance for the villagers who seek its protection.
The Indonesian province of Central Java is charged with mysticism: animist spirits, Hindu gods, Sufi saints. One of the most sacred sites is a magnificent 3,000-m peak called Merapi, which literally means "fire mountain." For centuries villagers living on its slopes and base have pledged their fate to Merapi, not just because it's an active volcano but because it provides fertile soil for them to grow food and raise cattle, and sand and stone for them to build their homes. Every year they bring Merapi gifts of food, tobacco and clothing, both to appease it and to seek its protection. The volcano even has a caretaker, appointed by a former sultan of the nearby royal city of Yogyakarta, to ensure that offerings are made and rituals observed. This is no mere mountain, but a giver of life and a deliverer of death.
In recent weeks Merapi has been showing its uncharitable side. A series of small eruptions has darkened the sky with hot clouds of gas, raining ash on the fields below, and discharging streams of lava down the mountain. By last Saturday, the dome remained intact, but threatened to blow at any time. "We are still at the highest alert status," says Subandrio, director of the Merapi-observation division of Indonesia's Center of Volcanological Research and Technology in Yogyakarta. "An explosion is still very possible."
When Merapi last erupted 12 years ago, 60 people were scorched to death by 300°C smoke. And since the tsunami of Dec. 26, 2004, which claimed 170,000 Indonesian lives, the government has been especially wary of the toll that can be inflicted by natural disasters. So the authorities have built dams to block the lava, set up evacuation routes, taught villagers to build bunkers, and transferred 20,000 people to makeshift shelters at least 8 km away.
Last week, however, thousands of them filed back to their homes, partly out of fear that they were being looted (they weren't). Merapi's current caretaker, 79-year-old Marijan, told reporters his dreams tell him the volcano won't blow its top, but that the eruptions are a warning to the people to fulfill their obligations to the spirits. He says he won't leave his own home, even though it's just 6 km from the summit: "If I do, I would not be guarding the mountain I have promised to guard. I would not be doing my duty." For the villagers living in Merapi's shadow, science has yet to supplant their faith in the power of their mountain.
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