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Kris Yoyo




Kuala Cenaku, October 30, 2007. Yoyo and Kris' engineer in the field. Adult body and eyes as a child, Kris seems an actor, but his job and 'another. Kris builds dams, organize patrols against illegally Talgo, worked on a voluntary fire-fighting brigade of his region, in Kalimantan. Kris
nuoa as an otter between stakes driven into the canal. He holds the meter in one hand, cigarette in the other, and never wets neither. Measure, 'the indications scuadra work, adjust the distance between the boards, make sure everything works as it should. It works together with others, has no trouble getting your hands dirty, he 'tired,' cause Kris and 'engineer in the field. His university 'has been the forest, its faculty' illegal logging.

How many trees will have 'fallen? No one can 'say, certainly thousands. And without a regret. After high school there was no way frequantare the university ', and you Kris and' look for a job. The work available was the woodcutter. About two thousand inhabitants in its Community ', three hundred were loggers. Ris e E 'become lumberjacks. He worked with his team, two hours work, and a tree went down, two hours, and another tree. And so 'for weeks, and then for another week to take away the logs. Twenty euros (300,000 rupees) for a trunk that Rummy was sold in Europe for thousands of Euro, but mostly ended up in the pockets of intermediaries, the barons of Rummy, who ran the channels and rented chainsaws. Once dug the canal, the Baron of checking the surrounding forest. The law of fait accompli.

Since 2003, Kris does a different job. Organize the unit on patrol against illegal wood, a project instead of mobilizing the police, however corrupt, involved communities' local. And who knows better how to combat illegal timber, and if not who we 'past?

Now Kris and 'happy. Sometimes his former colleagues put it in the middle, make fun of him, but he pulls straight. He knows that besides a job also has a purpose.

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The jump ship The police arrive



Kuala Cenaku, October 29, 2007. The sun rises behind the trees. A pair of hornbills flying over to greet the day strode the small team of orange T-shirts spotted with mud, "Tim Pembendung Kanal - Damming Crew." But no one wears gloves soaked, there is 'something not quite right: the other side of the dam, still under construction and' parked along a boat, about ten meters and switches. Still, as always at a traffic light red.
No, this really did not expect. What makes us a vessel of that scale in a drainage channel?
From the boat out a man and a woman, and peek behind the curtain three children. The clothes are faded rags, their faces bear the brunt of resignation, used to wander about in the mud if great efforts.
An exchange of cigarettes and words, and leaves a new story. They lived in the forest, fishing, cultivating a bit 'of cassava in a piece of land. Then there were the employees of the company and they told him to leave. Thus, from day to day. They put their few belongings on the boat-house, and have started. But nobody had told him that the channel was closed. Now waiting with the patience of those who have no alternative.

What do we do? Removing the channel is not talked about, and then the stakes are now deeply embedded in the ground, never give up his grip. No, the solution 'just one: building a ramp for the boat, above the dam. And then pull, pull, as hard as possible.
As the tide slowly build chute rooms. The water reverses and flows from the river, filling the channel. The boat gradually rises. When we begin to pull all the strings with which we have harnessed the ship, it seems a surreal scene, in the middle 'between Frizcarraldo and an epic Egyptian pyramids. But it 's all true. At the end of the boat climbs on top of the dam and diving lazily on the other side, plunging without apparent damage.
"Selamat tinggal, Pak" bye uncle. Two arms waving in the air, the boat moving away, while new beams keeps piling on the dam under construction.

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Kuala Cenaku, October 28, 2007.
They came to camp in the afternoon, apparently a courtesy visit. Few uniforms, many in civilian clothes. But many. One after another came from the path leading to river. One after another, twenty-two policemen who had come from Kuala Cenacu, Rengat, Pekambaru. And they have warned all foreigners to leave the camp. Indeed, the presence of foreigners means international attention and political pressure, in which they develop atorno tales and legends of fixers: every foreigner here and 'potentially a secret agent.
but the climate is 'lying, there's no' tension, at least not yet. Two of our sitting in a tent with twenty-two representatives of the order, and began a long negotiation, interrupted by you, 'coffee' and cigarettes. At the end waives off foreigners, and they decide to leave the field. But two of them will stay with us, for our protection, we are told. So cops are about to permanently reside in the Forest Defenders Camp. But it will not stay long: a week before the fire and the tiger-men legends that haunt this strip of land sufficient to change his mind. Early in the morning proceed towards the river to avoid being more 'to see.
Well, to be saved and the man-tiger 'still uncommon experience.

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Back to Kuala Cenaku



Kuala Cenaku, Sumatra
A group of children sits perched on the rickety little wharf and watch the loading of boats. The engines must be revised, and the sun 'already' when you give up the high peaks. The river continues to flow against the current with its load of water hyacinths, slowly. It seems that time flows according to ancient rhythms. Sometimes you come in half an hour, sometimes two hours. Sometimes when it happens. Once docked
begin downloading the equipment brought by Kalimantan, and immediately begin to test the soil. Kitz handle instruments carefully. Simple sturdy pieces of iron, but ingeniously combined. The rig for drilling is not 'that kind of a big knife that is screwed to a handle of iron. The result is a kind of halberd, which is stuck firmly in the ground, until and 'completely sunk in the peat. If not sink 'cause it encounters a stem change point and start over. If you reach the bottom, unscrew and add an extension cord, then back to push. Meter by meter, the drill continues to sink, until it reaches the mineral soil. At this point, the drill is turned on if 'itself, and one face of the "knife" as you browse the page of a book, capturing the perfect carrot to the ground. At that point just pull up everything and measure.
In each hole in the ground by planting a plastic tube stuck on the bottom and punched every ten centimeters with a hot nail. The water that soaks the peat into the tube by small holes, and fills the tube making it easy to measure the water level in the soil.

Every five hundred meters, a new hole. At the edge of the plantation record nearly five feet of peat, much more 'than allowed by law. As you go towards the center of the plantation, the thickness of the peat increases up to be more 'deep drilling rig with all the extensions in place: eight feet. We are a mud mask black and slimy, just long One flew from the rain that has now begun to soak. But the depth

'water does not exceed five feet. Peat and 'wet. But the channel at a pace that we continue to drag by water. "If the drainage is stopped immediately, there is still time - says Kits - But if we wait five years will be 'too late. As the' we, in Kalimantan." The forest 'has now been demolished, at least on this side, but the soil and' still alive. At our feet a lively stream of black water and foaming goes down to the river with the water drained from the channels. This time we can still do something. It is worth groped, even though some will be angry '.

On the way back the rain continues to beat the River. The air and 'cold facts, and the water still warm mist form balls. A magical and surreal landscape, which seems to come from other worlds.

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Riverside


Kualacenaku, August 29. The small fishing boat is started struggling. The engine made in China must have been more 'and more' times changed. Now it 's a collection of battered pots held together with string. When she finally managed to leave, it makes a hell of noise, spitting black smoke swirls and splashes of water every time you enchant. Teres keeps the foot with a rope tied to the power lever, and the other with a stick tied to the accelerator. While the engine leaps into convulsions, the boat slips River Light. Along the river
women washing clothes and men who make toilet more 'is rarely a fisherman. Clumps of water hyacinths run quickly towards the source as if going upstream, stretching their necks of swans with old-fashioned elegance. In reality 'is the current up the river, driven by the rising tide of tens of kilometers from here. And the sea takes us along the river to the concessions of oil palm.

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Kualacenaku


Kualacenaku, August 28. The village is' a group of small houses and huts sandwiched between the river and the road. Trucks whizzing among the children playing, carrying oil, oil palm fruits. It is not 'yesterday that the people of Kualacenaku fights against big companies. A decade ago I managed to kick away a large company that had possession of their lands. Now she and 'presented another, Duta Palma is called, and appears to have learned the lesson in less than no time has no forest, dug canals, drainage and cultivation have made a good part of the community lands. It 's the policy of fait accompli. But do not stop there. The machines continue to advance, eating every day new pieces of forest. In his hand he has to grant a permit issued by the provincial government. A recent police investigation of the province of Riau has shown that most of the permits were issued in the region are illegal, but Duta Palma does not care: it has already 'gone beyond the limits of the grant awarded, and continues to push forward, as if not reach the boundaries of the sky. And 'we go to these boundaries.

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On the way


Pekanbaru, August 26. I try to remind me of that poster, when I'm on the bus. The window and 'the backstage of the advertising', the other side of the same machine: for a few gains, destruction and misery for everyone else. In reality 'is not a coach, and' just a van. But it has the same passengers on a bus, and each time picks up speed ', ie' always, like a suitcase frame Accessibility overloaded, dodging trucks and bicycles of a hair. But I am now almost five hours darting full speed, 'and the view on the roadside and' always the same: palm trees, palm trees, palm trees. Sometimes a piece of forest, every once in a rice field, occasionally clearing an area from which they emerge as blacks claws strains of the trees burned down. It 'a scenario that repeats itself without endless, impossible to believe that na twenty years ago here there were large forests. Yet it is 'so'. Then came the first plantations of rubber, then cut flush with large-scale plantations of acacia, and in the end 'here is oil palm.

As the minibus devours the street, the burned areas are more 'spread. And the results are: widespread fires in Indonesia in 1997 have issued more than 2.57 billion tons of carbon. Since then, every dry season, thousands of fires each year are issued between 0.39 and 1.18 billion tons of carbon. These issues are designed to grow with the conversion of the swamp forests into plantations of oil palm.
And this' easy to say. But to see it for yourself is a different effect. Out the window runs for miles a barren field of ground toasted, always equal to if 'itself. Eventually I dozed off, and when a pocket alarm with a start, you do not know how long after, the field and 'them yet, which runs like a ribbon enchanted. A ribbon that runs, runs, runs to the village of Kualacenaku. The border of the forest and 'come here, with its organization of chain saws, bulldozers and canals.

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on Dams



Kuala Cenaku, October 22, 2007. We all get up before dawn. It 's not the cold, rain and even here' hot, but just woken up wearing clothes soaked with mud the day before and not 'a nice thing. And yet 'wise: better to keep the shirt dry for the evening, when we destroyed the field of fatigue.
Cursing, feet covered in rubber boots, blisters screaming, protesting dislocated fingers, the bones are bruised, but the coffee 'and' warm, and always will set you up. Another day of hard work, the drainage channel. A drag beams and sandbags, digging immersed in water up to neck, to plant in peat beams with boom-boom, the gigantic hammer made from a section of trunk.
Nobody thought it was easier to build dams on the canals. No, no one thought, but now the body rebels. The feet slip on the catwalk that barely emerge on the sea of \u200b\u200bmud, his hands lose their grip on the beams of jagged shrapnel, gear slips. It 's not that in a Finnish sauna you would really want to give to hard work.
But shot after shot, one after the other trunks penetrate the turf for one, two, three meters. And one after another, rows of trees create a barrier to water. Sack after sack, the log files are filled with sand, a barrier made for last, at least until the forest is 'grown back, and it will be' she take care of the channel and regulate the water flow.



When the last stake is driven into the sand bags and start to fill the bottom of the channel, the water level rises visibly. Peat sucks the water as salt, fills, swells, prepares new life.
the edge of the plantation, we have found among the charred embers of young plants meranti, duriam, garcinia bintangor and a sign that life 'is still willing to return to this earth, if he comes back the water. Each year millions invested in reforestation plans if they go up in smoke on a soil has been affected, on a now dried peat. And then, 'cause waiting for? Act now, to have no regrets tomorrow. One kilometer from here we found a population of gibbons, confined by the advance of the bulldozers in a tissue of forest remaining. Certainly do not fare well, but if the forest will return 'to expand, we will treat them to repopulate.