Reporting on Aceh empowers the soul

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.