Volcanoes Hover Over Daily Life in Indonesia

By Peter Gelling

For more than a month, Ibu Suwarni’s life was on hold, as Mount Kelud, one of Indonesia’s most dangerous volcanoes, gave every indication a major eruption was imminent. Clouds of white smoke billowed as the temperature of its crater lake spiked as high as 76 degrees Celsius, or 169 Fahrenheit.

So hot was the water around the volcano by mid-October that Suwarni and the hundreds of other residents of this town who make their living mining for sand and rocks in nearby rivers had to stop working. Then, last weekend, when scientists recorded an intense series of volcanic tremors, they were ordered to evacuate.

Her family of four, along with 600 other people, moved into a government refugee camp 10 kilometers, or 6 miles, from the steaming crater lake. They joined thousands of others who had already been living in refugee camps in the vicinity since Kelud began amassing energy deep within its belly last month.

Thousands of others defied the order, refusing to leave their homes and crops, unwilling to give up their living on the uncertain chance that it might save their lives.

In Suwarni’s camp, nearly a hundred people crowded a single tent every night, while children played in ankle-deep mud outside, inevitably chased back inside by deafening thunder, nearby lightning and torrents of rain.

"I want to go back, I want my life back," Suwarni said earlier this week as the electricity flickered on and off. "We’ve been waiting for so long."

Her wait ended Thursday, when scientists reduced the alert at Kelud from its highest level and allowed most villagers to go back to their homes.

The layer of cooled lava that had formed over the bubbling magma beneath the volcano’s crater, trapping a tremendous amount of pressure and leading scientists to fear the worst, had cracked, and was beginning to release that pressure.

"Anyone more than three kilometers from the crater is allowed to return," said Pak Surono, chief volcanologist for Mount Kelud. "The mountain is erupting slowly. There will be no explosive eruption that could threaten those living nearby."

But that is simply the latest reading of the situation. Like most volcanoes, Mount Kelud is unpredictable. And everyone remains on edge.

Even if they have gone back to their homes, people cannot return to the work that provided them with a meager 80 cents a day. The once cool mountain rivers where they mined for valuable rocks and sand are still scalding hot, and noxious gas continues to spew from Kelud’s peak.

It is anyone’s guess when Kelud will start amassing energy again. Refugee tents remain, and search and rescue teams stay ready.

Volcanologists have raised and reduced the alert level here so many times in the past month that residents are totally bewildered.

"It is frustrating and confusing. All you can do is wait and hope we make the right decision," said Budi Rianto, the town’s mayor.

"I just hope the mountain goes back to normal so everyone can go back to work."

The area around Mount Kelud is not the only place in Indonesia where people are paralyzed by uncertainty.

Indonesia, which straddles the Pacific "Ring of Fire," has about 130 active volcanoes, more than 60 of which are in densely populated areas. The slopes and foothills of Mount Kelud alone are home to about 350,000 people. Two other volcanoes in Java are spitting molten lava, and scientists recently issued alerts for Mount Soputan and Mount Karangetan on the island of Sulawesi.

Last year, Mount Merapi in central Java forced thousands of people into refugee camps for months before it suddenly fell back to sleep.

Weekly earthquakes rattle the nerves of everyone across this sprawling archipelago as do the tsunami warnings that frequently follow.

That is the life here. And most accept it of out necessity.

"It is God’s will," said Suroto Jarot, a village elder on Mount Kelud who ignored government warnings and remained at home along with 10 other men over the past month to feed livestock and protect the village from looters. "There is nothing we can do. This is our home. We have lived here for generations. I have never considered leaving."

Glancing up at the crater as he dipped his hand into the hot river, Jarot said he would know it was time to go if he saw the deer and other animals around the peak fleeing to lower ground.

As for the others, they left because they saw the warnings on television.

"This is the first time there has ever been an evacuation," said Ibu Misyen, a 40-year old grandmother who has lived through three eruptions. "We could see the signs: the smell of sulfur, the warm air and hot water. But we wouldn’t have left if the government didn’t tell us to."