School of hard, wet knocks
November 2, 2009
John M. Glionna
LOS ANGELES TIMES
TELUK MERANTI, INDONESAI–They're equatorial Huckleberry Finns, two wild-hearted boys guiding an old wooden fishing boat along a wide and mighty river.
Fandi and Alfan, brothers with one name each, live in a remote village in the heart of the Sumatran jungle, at once a protected and dangerous place to be a child.
Most mornings they rise before their rooster crows, bolting down a meagre breakfast of coconut and chile-spiced vegetables over rice before venturing out on their journey: rowing to school aboard a hand-carved, 4.5-metre sampan.
Barely 12, with large brown eyes and sticklike arms, Fandi is three years older than his brother – in his eyes almost a man.
"I am older," he said sternly. "I do more rowing. But sometimes the work is hard, especially when the current is strong."
Here on the vast Kampar Peninsula, a land carpeted with dense forests and veined by unpredictable rivers, isolated communities without schools or road access must send children like Fandi and Alfan out onto the busy river highway.
The boys' father, a farmer too busy growing rice to shepherd them to school, offers his sons advice: Row hard and watch out for danger.
Along the muddy-brown Kampar River, there are no kindly crossing guards, no lumbering yellow buses, no lines of parents jockeying for parking space to deposit their little ones, with last-minute reminders of forgotten books and raincoats.
On their hour-long row, the boys negotiate a river teeming with giant barges, invisible logs and islands of floating water hyacinth to tangle their oars. These waters are full of crocodiles and poisonous snakes. Worse is the dreaded "bono," a rogue wall of water that rumbles up from the nearby ocean, overturning boats and claiming victims.
The currents are fickle and the boys often must wait an hour after school to catch the right conditions. But their plodding pace allows the sights and sounds of the jungle to reveal themselves, and the thrum of life they know is packed into the dense foliage onshore.
They pass rice farmers tending riverside plots, fishermen dragging homemade nets; they hear the roar of heavy machinery as big companies from the city move in to clear the jungle and set up plantations.
One day, villagers crowded around a large net that some fishermen had dragged out of the water. They had caught a six-metre python. For the smallest boys who must negotiate the river each day, the snake was like a monster from the deep.
"Sometimes, I'm scared," said Megi, an 8-year-old friend of Alfan's who makes a similar trip to another village. "I'm just a boy."
Local officials are practical about such perils. Forest children, they say, must grow up fast.
"It's dangerous," said Ali Mursidin, an official in Teluk Meranti, a town of 2,500 people. "But this is our life here. Children must live it the way it is."
Teluk Meranti's four schools serve children ages 5 to 18. Many live in the town and walk or ride motorbikes to school. But scores of others from surrounding villages must negotiate the river. That frightens some teachers.
"I worry about them," said Mardiana, who like the brothers goes by one name. "Many are so small. The boats are unstable."
Students have been riding the Kampar River for half a century, since the first school was built in the area in the 1960s. Back then, many trips took two hours each way. Eventually, more schools were built, cutting travel times.
A few years ago, officials built a jungle road that soon will make the school boats obsolete, giving children the option to walk or ride motorcycles to school. But a major bridge connecting Teluk Meranti with other villages has yet to be finished.
Even when the new bridge is finished, Fandi said, he isn't sure he wants to give up his daily row. The trip is quicker on water. The river is what he knows.
Toronto Star