Text: Rifqy Faiza Rahman
Photos: Deta Widyananda and Mauren Fitri

Our rented car, driven by Hardi, a seasoned migrant from Bone, turned left at the Kampung Merapun gate intersection 140 kilometers from Tanjung Redeb. After five hours on smooth asphalt, the road abruptly transitioned to dry, compacted gravel. We passed settlements scattered amidst vast oil palm plantations, the lifeblood of at least five palm oil companies.

“The distance from the gate to Kampung Merabu is about 31 kilometers,” Hardi informed us. That day (09/10/2023), the clear sky offered a breathtaking view of the Sangkulirang-Mangkabayar karst mountain range in the distance, a stark contrast to the sprawling green expanse of Merapun’s palm oil landscape.

Merapun is the closest village to our destination, Merabu. The road here is mostly flat with occasional dips and rises. During the rainy season, it transforms into a muddy and slippery path, demanding skillful driving to avoid skidding.

An alternative, faster route to Merabu exists via Kampung Muara Lesan in the north. However, recent flooding damaged the only wooden bridge connecting the two villages, forcing us to take this longer, albeit scenic route. Interestingly, the distance we traveled today is only a third of the journey from Tanjung Redeb to East Kalimantan’s capital, Samarinda.

Asrani, Merabu’s current headman at 48 years old, reminisced about the significant improvement in road access compared to several decades ago. Back then, while attending school in Tanjung Redeb before the Berau-Samarinda road was built, Asrani’s journey involved a two-day odyssey. He navigated large rivers like Lesan and Kelay on a “ketinting” (traditional wooden boat) until reaching the Segah River in central Tanjung Redeb. Overnight stays amidst the forest were inevitable, requiring tarps to protect from the rain.

Ransum, Merabu’s 61-year-old traditional leader, recalls an even more challenging past. Back then, before “ketintings” and outboard engines existed, he and others embarked on a three-day journey to Tanjung Redeb (affectionately called “Tanjung” by the Merabu people) by rowing wooden rafts. They transported forest products like resin, beeswax, and rattan.

“The return trip could take 19–20 days,” Ransum explained, “paddling against the current. During high water, it could even stretch to a month.”

In Tanjung, as the Merabu people call the capital city of Berau, they earned a meager 10 rupiah per day through trade. “That wouldn’t even cover one meal for six at a food stall,” Ransum shared. “The rest went towards buying rice, sugar, salt, and clothes for home.”

Asrani, the headman, further elaborated during a conversation at his residence: “This Berau-Samarinda road initially served a timber company. Later, it facilitated the establishment of a palm oil company.” He expressed his concern about the lack of government support for the local population, questioning, “Where does the government prioritize building roads?”

Despite its stunning natural beauty, as Asrani previously mentioned, Merabu’s remoteness from both Berau and major cities like Samarinda-Balikpapan, coupled with its adventure-focused attractions, cements its position as a destination not for everyone. It caters to those with a special interest in experiencing and supporting the Sangkulirang-Mangkabayar karst ecosystem.

Therefore, when The Nature Conservancy (TNC), a global environmental organization from the United States (partnering with the Nusantara Nature Conservation Foundation (YKAN) in Indonesia), arrived in Merabu in 2011, their initial focus wasn’t solely on tourism. Researching ethnography and archaeology along the Lesan River and the karst area formed the foundation for their efforts to develop the village’s community-based economic potential.

Recognizing the potential beyond traditional livelihoods like rubber cultivation and bird’s nest harvesting, TNC prioritized building the capacity of Merabu residents. They aimed to introduce a broader economic avenue: ecotourism.

Shifting Mindsets: Embracing Ecotourism in Merabu

Yervina, the 40-year-old treasurer of Merabu’s Lebo ASIK Village-Owned Enterprise (BUMKam), described the initial challenges of introducing ecotourism to the community: “Historically, the community relied heavily on harvesting swallow’s nests from caves for their livelihood.”

The income from swallow’s nests was undeniably attractive. A single overnight trek into the forest, often along the edges where karst caves naturally attract swallows, could yield results in mere hours. A single swallow’s nest could fetch 5-10 million rupiah (approximately $350–$700 USD) at the time.

However, Yervina expressed concern about the community’s lack of long-term financial planning during this period. Many residents, lured by the immediate windfall, failed to manage their newfound wealth wisely. “People believed the abundance of swallow’s nests would last forever,” Yervina explained, “ignoring the inevitable decline of nature if overexploited.” Investing in even basic necessities like motorbikes seemed like a distant thought, let alone saving for the future. Instead, millions were spent quickly on entertainment, gambling and other impulsive behaviors. This unsustainable lifestyle eventually took its toll, leaving individuals vulnerable as they aged and the ability to harvest nests diminished.

While some succumbed to the temptation of instant wealth, a few residents, like the teacher at SDN 001 Merabu, practiced sound financial management. He explains, “Fortunately, when the swallow’s nest market collapsed, I had the resources to transition into tourism. My family used our income wisely, allowing us to invest and build capital for this new venture.”

He, along with his late wife and brother, the previous village head (2018–2021), actively advocated for responsible management of swallow nest income, though their efforts weren’t always met with complete adherence.

With the decline of the swallow’s nest trade, new opportunities arose. Some residents turned to cultivating oil palm seedlings for sale to companies outside the village, offering another viable source of income.

Yervina, the BUMKam treasurer, emphasizes the importance of diversification: “Everything plays a role. Tourism is crucial, even though we shouldn’t solely rely on it. Oil palm is important as well, but with limitations. If an opportunity arises in our village, I encourage everyone to seize it. For tourism, we need to be prepared, like owning boats, homestays, or transportation options.”

Shifting mindsets, however, proved challenging. Yervina acknowledges, “Opening people’s minds isn’t a simple task. Achieving economic independence takes time.” For example, not everyone is comfortable hosting tourists in their homes. Currently, guests are primarily accommodated by Yervina, Ester, Juari, or Doni Simson— the head of BUMKam.

Yervina encourages residents to explore beyond ecotourism, aiming to reduce dependence on tourist arrivals, especially for ensuring children’s education. She reminds the community not to become complacent with their tourist destination status but to continuously seek diverse opportunities for a sustainable future.

The Desire for Sustainability

While Merabu embraces its path towards sustainability, obstacles remain. Amidst the flow of guests and the need to provide exceptional service, the community faces challenges that demand continuous solutions. One such challenge concerns the village’s Solar Power Plant (PLTS), which fulfills basic needs for residents.

During our visit, Ester, Asrani’s wife and the village head for the 2022–2023 term, informed us that the PLTS has been non-functional since May. A battery malfunction requires replacement, but the necessary skills differ from those of regular PLN electricians, posing an additional hurdle.

This months-long PLTS shutdown, after nearly five years of 24/7 operation, significantly impacts daily life for residents. “With the battery issue,” Ester shared with a light chuckle, “it feels like we’ve taken a step back.”

Despite its commitment to sustainability, Merabu faces ongoing challenges. One such obstacle lies in the village’s Solar Power Plant (PLTS), which fulfills residents’ basic needs.

During our visit, we learned from Ester, the village head from 2022–2023, that the PLTS has been non-operational since May due to a battery malfunction. While the problem seems straightforward, skilled technicians are required for repairs, and their expertise differs from that of standard electricians.

This extended PLTS outage, following nearly five years of uninterrupted service, significantly impacts daily life. “The battery issue,” Ester shared with a light chuckle, “feels like a step back. We’re relying on generators again, but not everyone has one.”

Diesel generators, a temporary solution, come with their own challenges. Expensive fuel, costing two to three times the usual price, forces Ester to limit her generator’s use to dusk until midnight. Similarly, larger generators on the PLTS grounds aren’t activated daily due to limited fuel availability.

The PLTS, acquired in 2015 through a collaborative effort between the Millennium Challenge Account-Indonesia (MCA Indonesia), Bappeda Berau Regency, and PT Akuo Energy Indonesia, represents a crucial step towards sustainable development. With an investment of 20 billion rupiah and a capacity of at least 300,000 VA, the PLTS is managed by PT Sinang Puri Energi, a business unit under the village-owned enterprise (BUMKam) Lebo ASIK. This unit, led by Franly Aprilano Oley (village head from 2012–2017) as chairman, with Aco as operator and Ester as administrator, works in conjunction with the village’s backup generator.

The communal PLTS plays a vital role in supporting ecotourism development in Merabu. It fulfills essential needs like pumping water, powering refrigerators and other electronics, and providing lighting for homes and schools – all crucial for residents and visitors alike. Optimal PLTS operation ensures a smooth experience for tourists, allowing them to recharge devices and utilize the village’s Wi-Fi provided by the Ministry of Communication and Information.

According to Doni Simson, there are plans to transfer ownership of the PLTS installation from PT Akuo Energy Indonesia to PT Sinang Puri Energi. However, battery repairs remain the immediate priority. “Only technicians from Akuo Energy can fix it,” he explained, “because their expertise is specific.”

With renewed and efficient energy infrastructure, as experienced between 2018–2022, Merabu is poised for further progress. The village’s journey towards sustainable ecotourism holds the potential to surprise both residents and outsiders, transforming Merabu into a unique destination, not only for its natural beauty and cultural heritage, but also as a “natural laboratory” attracting researchers and fostering a collaborative future.

For Merabu to thrive, community synergy and cohesiveness remain key. The support of institutions like The Nature Conservancy (TNC), YKAN, Indecon, and other civil society organizations has undoubtedly accelerated the village’s progress. However, the future of Merabu’s ecotourism sector ultimately rests on the unwavering commitment of its residents.

Merabu’s journey is far from over. It will inevitably face new challenges and hurdles that could hinder ecotourism development. The potential of natural treasures like Bloyot Cave, Nyadeng Lake, Ketepu Peak, and others, meticulously nurtured throughout the process, must not be neglected due to inadequate maintenance.

Despite the potential obstacles, Asrani, the current headman, holds onto unwavering hope. Asked about Merabu’s aspirations in terms of recognition, he expressed a clear vision: “We want Merabu to be recognized both domestically and internationally. We are not just about cultural heritage; we also have a rich forest ecosystem.”

“We envision a future where visitors not only explore our breathtaking natural attractions but also immerse themselves in our vibrant culture and experience the warmth of our people,” he concluded. (*)

Translated by Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo:
Silhouette of Pak Cay, a local guide as he entered the main entrance of Bloyot Cave, which is famous for the paintings of palms on the cave walls. The discovery of caves and prehistoric traces was the beginning of the development of ecotourism in Kampung Merabu/Deta Widyananda

In September—October 2023, the TelusuRI team visited Sumatra Utara, Riau, and Kalimantan Timur on the Arah Singgah expedition: Bringing Harmony to Human Life and Nature. Our trip report can be followed at telusuri.id/arahsinggah.

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The post Balancing Progress and Preservation: The Ecotourism Journey of Merabu appeared first on TelusuRI.

Text: Rifqy Faiza Rahman
Photos: Deta Widyananda and Mauren Fitri

Ransum, the 61-year-old Dayak Lebo community elder of Merabu Village, embodied the village’s rich history. Time had etched its mark on him—silver hair, weathered skin etched with wrinkles, and a cane supporting his steady steps. Though his body, marked by swollen feet and occasional muscle cramps, hinted at limitations, his spirit remained vibrant. He spent his days on the long wooden chair on his stilted house’s terrace, cigarettes his constant companion. Erna Wati, his 62-year-old wife, sat beside him, their shared challenges reflected in her need to walk on all fours.

Despite his physical limitations, Ransum’s eyes held a spark. His voice, though raspy, spoke volumes, carrying the weight of countless memories. When adorned in traditional attire—a wooden bark shirt, layered necklaces, a cloth loincloth, and a mandau (sword)—his transformation was remarkable. A sable hat with a golden hornbill beak and feathers completed the image, and with a cane in hand, he straightened his posture, exuding the dignity of a Merabu elder.

A hint of a smile played on his lips despite his missing teeth. On October 10th, 2023, he shared stories with TelusuRI, tales of his ancestors and the traditions of the Dayak Lebo Merabu, a cultural heritage they fiercely strive to preserve in the face of modern times.

Life and death are intertwined with tradition

Similar to other Dayak tribes, the Dayak Lebo of Merabu are deeply entwined with tradition, from the cradle to the grave. As a subtribe of the Dayak Basap, itself descended from the Dayak Punan, one of Kalimantan’s largest Dayak groups, the Lebo people in Merabu carry on practices, rituals, and customary laws as ancient as the village itself.

“Living in the mountains and forests, how could we even comprehend the concept of a village?” explained Ransum. “Building a village back then was vulnerable to attacks, during the ngayau era. When that happened we sought refuge and food in the forest.”

Ngayau refers to a historical period of headhunting among certain Dayak tribes. The Dayak Basap Lebo, however, were a smaller, peaceful group, opting for isolation deep within the jungle. They found shelter in longai, narrow gaps between towering rock formations rich in prehistoric caves, forming the present-day Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst ecosystem. This remote and inaccessible location offered them sanctuary.

It was within these longai that Ransum’s ancestors began attempts at creating a village, constructing basic shelters. However, fear of raids from other tribes kept them from permanently settling.

Only when the ngayau era subsided and inter-tribal hostility ceased, did the village truly come alive. The community built houses, established farms with corn, cassava, and mountain rice, and their elders defined the forest boundaries, establishing customary rules, particularly regarding the protection of their surrounding forests and the Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst ecosystem, their cherished “backyard.”

Left: Nordiana shows her work in the form of traditional rattan bag crafts. Right: Hakim (red shirt) filters natural honey freshly harvested from the forest last night. The residents of Merabu Village depend on the products of the Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst buffer forest to provide a source of family economy/Deta Widyananda

“We fear outsiders entering and destroying our forest,” explained Ransum, the village elder, “it’s our lifeblood.” The Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst buffer forest provides an abundance of natural resources: sago, honey, forest fruits, wild boar, hornbill, deer, and even freshwater fish from the Lesan River.

The government system proceeded in stages when it was led by Sampan, the first village head before Asrani (48). Sampan is Asrani’s uncle. Last October, Asrani was re-elected as Head of Merabu Village, after serving in the 1998—2011 period.

The village’s close relationship with the forest is evident in their nickname, “the tribe of gatherers and hunters.” They utilize these resources sustainably, fulfilling daily needs, from food consumption to traditional medicines prepared by their Belian (healers) for the sick.

The Dayak Lebo community upholds a unique belief system. In certain rituals, they offer food to unseen inhabitants of the forest, particularly in sacred locations like Bloyot Cave, other karst caves, Nyadeng Lake, and Ketepu Peak. This practice, known as the “iraw” tradition or “village melas”, is a way to appease them and ensure bountiful harvests of honey, forest products, fruits, and rice.

Yellow rice plays a significant role in these rituals and other community activities. For instance, the manugal tradition involves sowing yellow rice during a collective effort to open new land for rice cultivation. This specific type of rice, classified as mountain rice, requires no seeding and yields only one harvest annually.

Yellow rice plays a crucial role in the traditions and way of life for the Dayak Lebo community of Merabu. According to Ransum, the village elder, choosing land for rice cultivation involves a lengthy process. Yellow rice acts as a spiritual tool to assess the suitability of potential clearing sites within the limited forest area. If the elders deem a plot unproductive, they move on to another location.

“This was the way of our ancestors, and we still use it today,” Ransum explained. “But now, things have changed. People are quicker to clear land without the traditional methods, and it’s become harder to find suitable plots.”

Agus Atino, a migrant married to a Lebo Dayak woman, emphasized the importance of offering yellow rice during the manugal tradition, a collective effort to open new farmland. He describes a lemang party, where the community gathers in a hut within the fields to enjoy a traditional dish of sticky rice cooked in bamboo over an open flame.

“We built a small hut, one meter by one meter, filled with yellow rice and flowers,” Agus explained. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to prepare it yesterday. Everyone’s been so busy, there wasn’t anyone to help.”

This sacred rice also serves as a welcoming gesture for visitors from outside the village. Ransum elaborated, “It signifies our respect for everyone who comes to our village. We sprinkle them with yellow rice, wishing them a safe journey back home, free from illness or danger.”

However, Ransum admits his concerns, especially when guests enter the forest without prior notice. He worries that large groups, accompanied by unknown individuals, could endanger the village’s precious 8.245 hectare of forest.

Due to his health, not all visitors receive the traditional yellow rice reception. It is reserved for specific occasions, such as visits from regional or central government officials, representatives of non-profit organizations working in Merabu, and dignitaries attending the annual “Tuaq Manuk” peak procession, a traditional festival celebrated in Berau Regency.

In most cases, Ransum leaves messages, particularly for tour operators bringing guests to Merabu. He emphasizes the importance of respecting customary practices by seeking permission and informing him before entering the forest.

“Following generations of tradition and upholding customary law can be challenging, with its restrictions,” Ransum softly conceded. “But ultimately, these practices are also for our own good. We strive to maintain the forest according to the customs passed down from our ancestors.”

“If I pass away, it’s over…”

As the Dayak Lebo community elder for 19 years, Ransum faces significant challenges in preserving his people’s ancestral traditions. The rapid pace of modernization and the introduction of Christianity and Islam have limited the practice of traditional rituals.

While some community members remain open to practicing their customs, others have abandoned them due to religious teachings. Certain rituals, such as offering food to unseen forest dwellers or sprinkling yellow rice before manugal, are seen as conflicting with religious beliefs.

Ransum believes that religion lacks the specific restrictions found in adat traditions. He sees religion as a potential complement to existing customs, but he chooses to adapt to the current dynamics.

Asrani, the village head, acknowledges Ransum’s concerns and tries to bridge the gap between religious and traditional perspectives. He emphasizes that adat (customary law) life in the present era differs from the past.

“We are simply preserving our heritage,” Asrani explains. “We believe that these customs and traditions are our legacy, not something fabricated. Even if they are considered outdated, they represent our identity. I believe there’s nothing inherently wrong with our culture, as people in the past didn’t have religion.”

Accessibility to convenient and simplified information and technology poses another challenge, particularly for the younger generation, whose understanding of their village’s traditions is limited. This lack of knowledge and generational gaps threaten not only the survival of adat but also the development of ecotourism, which has been a key focus for Merabu in recent years.

No concrete efforts have been made to document Ransum’s vast knowledge of adat traditions in a written and organized manner. 

Ransum acknowledges the complexities of preserving ancestral traditions in the face of modernization and evolving beliefs. While he believes religion doesn’t impose the same restrictions as “adat” (customary law), he sees them as potentially complementary. However, he chooses to adapt to the current dynamic, allowing space for diverse perspectives within the community.

Asrani, the village head, recognizes the concerns raised by Ransum. He emphasizes the importance of safeguarding their heritage: “We simply strive to preserve our traditions, a legacy passed down, not fabricated. Even if deemed outdated by some, they are the cornerstone of our identity. Back then, there was no conflict with religion, as it simply wasn’t present.”

Another significant challenge lies in the easy access to information and technology, which can create a disconnect from traditional knowledge, particularly among younger generations. This lack of understanding, coupled with difficulties in documenting and passing down these traditions, creates a risk not only for the survival of adat but also for the sustainable development of ecotourism, a vital pillar of Merabu’s recent economic growth.

Unfortunately, there are currently no concrete efforts to formally document the wealth of traditional knowledge held by Ransum, potentially leading to the loss of this invaluable cultural heritage.

The Tuaq Manuk Festival held last July offered a glimmer of hope for preserving the Dayak Lebo community’s cultural identity. This week-long series of traditional ceremonies showcased Merabu Village’s dedication to keeping the “cultural blood” of its ancestors alive.

Conceptualized by the village’s early leader, Simpo Belian Danyam, through spiritual guidance, Tuaq Manuk signifies a collaborative tradition with spiritual undertones. It serves as a platform for learning about various aspects of Dayak Lebo customs, encompassing elements like language, knowledge systems, social organization, daily tools, livelihoods, religious practices, art forms, and sacred rituals.

The festival unfolds in four distinct phases. Beramu, a period of preparation and practice. Pasing, a time for prayer and expression of gratitude for what exists. Menyadi Tuaq, fulfilling one’s duties and responsibilities. Peding, the period of observing the established rules and taboos.

These phases are accompanied by vibrant dances and diverse forms of traditional music, such as tajaan, bibi temongang batang, tapik-tapik bagizam, sebumung buka-buka sebumung, batu luga-luga, and tarenten buto taretung.

Ultimately, the Tuaq Manuk Festival aims to bring blessings to the people and forests of Merabu, fostering a sense of gratitude for their harvest, fruit, and honey. It also provides an opportunity for healing and prayer for those facing difficulties. Local residents and visitors alike are welcome to participate in the festivities and gain a deeper understanding of Merabu’s rich traditions.

However, despite the festival’s success, a sense of worry lingers on Ransum’s face. He recognizes the immense challenge of preserving these traditions in the face of rapid modernization and evolving beliefs. He acknowledges the potential threat posed by external influences that may marginalize the customs, regardless of their nature.

Ransum expresses deep concern about the diminishing respect for traditional practices. “It saddens me that many of our taboos are being violated,” he laments. “People do things they’re not supposed to, and the consequences only come later when someone falls ill. It’s heartbreaking to see our traditions fading away.”

Despite his role as a traditional leader, Ransum feels his influence limited to spiritual matters. “People rarely seek our guidance for resolving physical problems affecting the village or the forest,” he explains. “They only turn to us when things are truly dire.” He sees his position as more symbolic than practical.

Another source of worry is the lack of a clear successor. While his son, Soleman, has been designated as the potential heir to his role, Ransum acknowledges the challenges involved. “He still needs to learn the intricate details of our history and traditional rituals. Absorbing this deep-rooted philosophy takes time,” he emphasizes.

Ransum’s words carry a sense of resignation, “If I’m gone, I fear the Dayak Lebo customs may vanish altogether.” They would only exist as relics in photographs, hornbill crowns, mandau, and clothing hanging silently on his house’s walls. (*)

Translated by Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo:
A Merabu man holds a traditional wooden (tugal) with a charcoal smudged face. During the manugal tradition, residents fool around with each other by poking charcoal in each other’s faces. There is no exception for anyone, even guests from outside the village. It is a form of welcoming people from outside the village. The atmosphere became boisterous and friendly/Mauren Fitri

In September—October 2023, the TelusuRI team visited Sumatra Utara, Riau, and Kalimantan Timur on the Arah Singgah expedition: Bringing Harmony to Human Life and Nature. Our trip report can be followed at telusuri.id/arahsinggah.

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The post The Fate of Dayak Lebo Tribe at the Crossroads appeared first on TelusuRI.