Reporting on Aceh empowers the soul
Tony Hotland, The Jakarta Post, Jakarta
It took me less than a second to say yes to my editor -- who seemed to approach expecting me to turn him down -- when he told me to start packing for a two-week assignment to Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam.
I had wanted to put my name up for the assignment ever since the disaster hit. Although I was still wet behind the ears in terms of journalism, after almost two years, my news instincts had developed a bit and rang a bell -- that this was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences.
I don't think I've ever had any such experience before this. The only one that comes close was when my male friends booked a stripper one New Year's Eve. Then again, I only got a glimpse because of a family gathering -- and while I may rue that missed chance, it didn't affect my career one way or another.
It was in the wee hours when I took off with two full bags in the heavy rain, with my mom's voice still buzzing in my ear, telling me to head quickly to the airport if a firefight started.
When my plane touched down at Blang Bintang airport, I felt completely out of my element, knowing that I was to be an eyewitness to an historical episode of both my country and the world -- the aftermath of a 9.0-magnitude earthquake and tsunamis that had already claimed over 220,000 lives.
Here, my inexperience told: I drew a blank about what stories to look for in this particular situation, in a place I had never been before and the only thing about which I knew was the military operation and gross human rights violations.
Fortunately, my chief editor was sitting next to me, coaching me on what stories to look for in the pulverized land, at refugee camps, in broken hospitals where high-spirited volunteers and medical workers were sapped of strength by their 24-7 shifts.
The situation in Banda Aceh was better when I arrived than it had been during the first few days after the tragedy. I arrived three weeks after the disaster and Banda Aceh, the only city I had the chance to visit, was relatively intact, being an inland city.
No dead bodies were strewn along the streets -- as journalists who had arrived here far earlier had reported -- but the city looked dead and dry, with its shattered buildings and billowing dust.
One of the first challenges I faced was approaching and talking to survivors at refugee camps -- which meant they had to relive the horrifying experience of running for their lives as walls of water rumbled behind them and revisit the still-fresh memories of their dearest ones who had failed to escape death.
It was a devastating experience for me personally, but at the same time, it was everything a staunch journalist could ever wish for. A press conference seems like a piece of cake now.
Looking for stories took up most of the day, but filing them to Jakarta was the real headache. In a press room provided by the Aceh administration, the available Internet connections were extremely limited and most of the time, failed to work at all.
When they did, it was a real feat for me to write a full standard article within minutes, compared to the usual hour and a half. Not to mention, dozens of journalists -- both Indonesian and foreign -- took turns with the limited facilities.
Instead of laptops, a personal digital assistant (PDA) would have been the more suitable device in Aceh. Its smaller size and Internet capabilities via General Package Radio Service (GPRS) would have been invaluable under the circumstances.
Transportation and accommodation were also killers. I had the luxury of traveling in a rented car and staying in a rented house when my chief editor was in town.
When he went away, so did those facilities.
The only other transportation available was motorcycle taxis (ojek) -- which meant no car roof to protect us from the elements -- and whose drivers charged newcomers a hundred times higher. A Rp. 5,000 trip would suddenly cost Rp. 50,000. The scorching sun became so despicable that I could almost imagine we were on Mercury.
The smartest decision I had made was to bring only thin cotton T-shirts and dark jeans to ward off the dirt, mud and dust.
Reporting in post-disaster Aceh really took the best journalistic skill in you, including the ability to mingle with the Acehnese within their own culture and with their preformed perceptions about "people from Jakarta".
In as much as I would think it over a couple of hundred times if I had to do it all over again, I consider the experience -- which also included spending sleepless nights on a bench and bathing once a day because clean water was scarce, but a welcome luxury nonetheless -- as one that empowered my soul, both as a reporter and as a human being.