The Night Bukit Lawang Disappeared
Trip Start
Jun 02, 2007
1
13
47
Trip End
Ongoing
Danau Toba,
Indonesia
Thursday, June 21, 2007
song at any moment, you would never know that Felix Sohari suffers the
scars of a catastrophe that killed 400 people, including his best
friend and a child he tried in vain to save.
Felix told his
story in the most peaceful setting imaginable, settled amid pillows in
a gazebo overlooking the calm waters of Lake Toba. We had just arrived
in the village of Tuk Tuk, and were having dinner. His brother Budi was
with us; it was the first time they had taken a holiday together, so
tonight was special, and he was in a mood for talking about his past.
So when Budi brought up the subject, he arose from his pillow and with
his characteristic enthusiasm, said: "I was on CNN! They showed my body
being carried out!"
But then he became serious as he remembered the night that his village,
Bukit Lawang, was swept away by the raging waters of the Bohorok River,
the same river we had crossed in the canoe and seen children playing in
every day. This seemingly benign river comes down from the
mountains-the ones we climbed on our
trek-to nourish the community living at its head.
It would have remained benign, if not for deforestation. Because of
illegal
logging, the land became unstable and stray logs dammed the river,
forming a large lake in the mountains. It would only take a large
amount of rainfall for the lake to break through the crudely
formed dam. The rains came in November 2003. No one in the village knew what was coming.
Neither
did Felix. That night he went with his friend to their favourite café
to watch the football game and have some conversation with the woman
who ran the place, a woman he
said was always good to him and helped him in times of need. Her
children, two boys, ages six and nine, were also there.
"Suddenly
there is water-water everywhere-growing, growing, up to my waste," he
said. "It happen so fast. Then the house start to shake, like this." He
held his trembling hands out wide-"and the lights go, pop! Suddenly
everything dark. I can see nothing. I am thinking, what is going on? My
friend, he say, 'Run!' and he run away. But I can hear the woman
shouting, 'Help! Help my children!' I find the children and I hold
their hands, one on each side..." Felix held his arms out again,holding
onto the hands of the invisible children in our hushed gazebo.
"And
then the sound...so loud. Like two jet airplanes taking off. And the
house come down. The roof come down right on my chest." He felt the
impact again in his memory; he closed his eyes and his hands jerked
open. "I had to let go..."
The water swept them away. Felix
was under so long he thought he was dead. "I just lie there, thinking I
am dead. I am dead. But then I feel something. I pray for strength. I
pray, I pray. And strength come to me. I can feel it. It is in my body,
growing. And my body move up, up." He opened his eyes. "I am alive!"
Battered by the wreckage and the roaring river, Felix still managed to
pull himself from it and help save others who were trapped, somehow
finding the strength to carry them to a nearby hotel where victims were
being placed. He also helped recover
bodies. The logs from the
dammed-up lake had destroyed hundreds of people, ripping them apart so
they were unrecognizable. Survivors had to recover their own friends
and family members.
Felix finally collapsed from his own
injuries and was carried in, where he lay for three days in the same
clothes, his long hair matted, until his family found him. Relieved and
incredulous that he was still alive, they took him back to their
village several kilometers away, and carried him on a stretcher into
the mosque for prayer. The villagers who were watching thought he was
dead-understandable, considering the state of him. But by strange
coincidence, there were also death flags on the street where his aunt
lives, so everyone started to cry "Lili's
dead! Lili's dead!" (Lili is Felix's real name). It turned out the
death
flags were for an elderly grandmother who had died next door. When
people found out that Felix, just 25 at the time, was alive, they
rejoiced-it was as though he had risen from the dead.
He
had, in a way. But he arose a different man. After he recovered, he cut
his hair off, as many of the men have done, and never grew it back. And
every once in a while, in the middle of a chatty room, he suddenly
becomes still and quiet. I wonder if he is feeling the pain of his old
injuries and reliving what happened, what he might have done
differently. He is thinking about his best friend who ran, but died
anyway. And the nine-year-old child he was unable to save. He told me
he has a special bond with the six-year-old, who did survive. The
mother did, too.
When disaster strikes, it makes no
distinctions. One child lived, another died. Almost everyone in Bukit
Lawang lost someone, some people their entire families. Felix is one of
many who will always bear the physical and emotional scars of what
happened that night. And to make matters worse, the government, which
allowed
the illegal logging in the first place, also pocketed the funds donated
for the disaster and provided no help for rebuilding-just a few simple
six-by-six-foot tin sheds for a precious few families to live in.
Imagine a family with six kids in a house that size. Felix lost his
house and will never get it back. CNN never covered that part of the
story.
The rebuilding has been a slow and arduous process,
but the people are up to the task. When we were there, hammers were
ringing and saws were buzzing as new cafes and hotels continued going
up. But the landscape will never be the same-the river completely
changed its course, scouring out a wide,
shallow basin of loose rock. All the trees that once shaded the
riverbank are gone. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for
people to remain there, the new landscape a constant reminder of what happened.
But the people are resilient, and so is Felix. They remain stalwartly
by their diminishing forest, and the beautiful river they still depend
on for survival, too busy trying to recover their lives to protest.
Bukit Lawang is their home. And besides, even miles away in a peaceful
place like Toba, the memories still remain
fresh, as if they happened yesterday.
