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Friday, February 6, 2009 www.thejakartaglobe.com/features Section

A man climbs quietly from a grave andcloses a white burialcloth that shrouds a skeleton. The bonesare the color of burned earth and inpieces. A maggot

scuttles to hide behind the empty eyesocket of the skull. After more than 30 years of interment, all that is left of a oncemiddle-aged adult now fits into a small bundle.

A weathered, wooden plaque with jagged edges bears the name the skeletononce answered to.

At Menteng Pulo Public Cemetery inSouth Jakarta, the air is fresh with thescent of blossoming trees and rich earth. Alone mottled mutt threads cautiously among the graves, its skin matted andreddish from the rain and earth. She sits on

top of a grave, observing as 50 gravediggerscalmly go about their work. They are not burying the dead but raising them, literally,from their graves.

Along a large strip of land near theCideng River, 10,600 square meters to beexact, emptied graves with ragged edgesline the cemetery. The workers have beencommissioned by the city administrationto unearth about 3,500 plots to make way for a highway linking Jalan Soepomo andJalan Rasuna Said.

Traditionally, you cannot disturb thedead, sayd Entong, the head gravedigger.But this is a city that is developing, andthey need to expand the road.

Inside an open grave, Entong breaks upthe damp soil with a rusty hoe. His black jeans and feet are encrusted with redearth. He hands the last of the unearthed bones to his assistant to wrap in cloth andtake to another burial plot that has beenallocated for the exhumed bodies.

This one was buried in 1962, so thereare very few bones left, Entong says,

pointing to the decomposed bundle of bones about the size of an infant.Entong climbs out of the grave and

begins to break the gray headstone withhis hoe. Pieces of stone fly around him. Hehas to remove the name plaque embeddedin the stone so it can be placed with theremains for identification. His skin is burnished from the 32 years he has workedoutdoors as a gravedigger.

People call me first when they want to bury someone, Entong says.

On this overcast morning, no weeping orhushed prayers for the displaced dead areheard, only the thud of hoes hitting the soil.Entong says it has been two months sincethe excavation of the g raves commencedand it is scheduled to end next week.

At the beginning there were more

relatives, Entong says. Now it is rare forfamilies to come even though we haveinformed them we will be digging up thegraves. Maybe they have moved. Maybethey cant bear the process.

The majority of the graves are Muslim but Entong estimates 800 Buddhist graveswill also be uncovered this week.

The remains are being moved to new burial plots further down the road.Unclaimed remains are moved to a cemetery at Kampung Kandang inCilandak or to Srengseng Sawah Cemetery in South Jakarta, Entong says.

The ground is soft as paste from theongoing Jakarta showers and he flings itaround him as he hoes. An errant andpersistent fly flits around his bare feet.

We take the remains out, wrap themup and then knock down the gravestone,explains Suroh, a caretaker at Menteng Pulo since the 70s. Wearing a red shirt, a

large mole jutting from his chin, hewatches Entong work in the distance.I do not cry at anyones funeral, Suroh

says. I am used to them.We are here to fix their homes, their

final resting place.It is noon when Entong rests inside a

makeshift wooden hut in the middle of thecemetery. The soiled clothes of thecaretakers hang to dry nearby onheadstones and from overhanging trees.

A caretaker chugs on a motorcycledown the narrow dirt road that runsthrough the cemetery, ferrying four white bundles to an ambulance for relocation.

It is funny. Kaplok, kaplok, kaplok isthe sound of the bodies flapping, saysSuroh as he watches.

We are all the same. In the end we willdie, he adds as he deeply inhales from a clove cigarette.

Under the cool shade of the hut, the mensit in their mud-caked clothes, sipping hot,milky coffee and talk lightheartedly aboutdeath. Entong recounts a time when he had

to break the legs of a corpse.If I didnt, they wouldnt fit into thecloth, he says.

The kain kapan, or burial cloths, arerough pieces of white cloth two meters inlength. These ones cost Rp 12,000 [about$1], Entong says, pointing to a pile of fabr icin a cupboard. Cheap ones.

The hush is disturbed by the arrival of Iwan Suwandi and his family. Togetherwith his wife, Suwarti, his sister, sister-in-law and grandson, he has come to rebury his son Rachmad.

I was shocked to get the notice fromthe cemetery, Suwandi says, of being notified of the disinterment. I found out atLebaran, he adds.

A gentle-looking man with glasses andspecks of grey through his hair, Suwandi

had been ill for the past three months andunable to come to Menteng Pulo ea rlier.

Wearing a tan fishing hat andcheckered shirt, Ali greets Suwandi, whomhe knows. The caretaker has been tending Rachmads grave since he was buried herefour years ago. An old hand, Ali has workedat cemeteries since 1948 and takes care of 100 plots in Menteng Pulo.

Rachmad, Suwandis third son, died of liver problems at the age of 24. I wanted tomove him to Bogor but we have no family there, says Suwandi, who instead askedfor his sons body to be moved nea rby within the Menteng Pulo cemetery.

Entong is called upon to dig up the body.It is his job to d ig. We each have a duty,

explains Suroh, whose own position iscaring for the graves, like Ali.

Entong alternates using his hands andthe hoe to scoop out the earth. The burialcloth is laid on the ground beside the graveand he begins to place the unearthedchunks of bone on it. Two assistantscrouch nearby to lay them out on the burialcloth. Standing above his sons grave,Suwandis face is placid as he calmly

Italian chef reveals hisrecipes withlove at Rosso

City Beat C13 Will Heath Ledger make it as a Hollywood legend? > Feature C4

RaisingThe Dead Mortality is in the air in Jakartas Mentengdistrict as more than 3,000 graves arerelocated to make way for a new highway

Report Titania Veda

After more than 30years of interment,the remains of a manwho died aged 49make up a bundleabout the size of aninfant. JG Photo/Yudhi Sukma Wijaya

Traditionally, you cannotdisturb thedead. But this isa city that isdeveloping.Endong, gravedigger

> Continued on C2

Photo EssayEyewitness > C8-9For an expanded photo gallery online, go towww.thejakartaglobe.com/life times/

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C2 Jakarta Globe Friday, February 6, 2009Features

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2004An apparent suicide bombingkills at least 40 people and injuresmore than 100 on an undergroundtrain during morning rush hourin Moscow

1922 : The Washington Con erenceends with the United States, France,Japan, Italy and Britain agreeing onrestricting the use o poison gasand submarine war are

1922 : Cardinal Achille Ratti is elected Pope Pius XI,succeeding Benedict XV

1952 : Britains King George VI dies. He is succe eded by hisdaughter, Elizabeth II

1958 : A plane carrying the Manchester United ootballteam back rom a European Cup match crashes on therunway at Munich Airport. Eight members o the side,nicknamed The Busby Babes a ter their manager MattBusby, are among the 23 killed.

1993 : US tennis great Arthur Ashe,the first black man to win theWimbledon singles title, dies at theage o 49

1997 : Ecuadors Congress votes to oust embattledPresident Abdala Bucaram on grounds o mentalincompetence

2000 : Foreign Minister Tarja Halonen is elected Finlandsfirst emale president

2001The first Chinese ship tomake a legal, direct voyageto a Taiwan held island in morethan five decades docks at heavily

ortified Quemoy as part orapprochement ef orts

2003 : Colombias labor and health ministers are killeda ter their small plane cras hes on a flight that was to havecrossed an Andean mountain range

2007 : Two-time Olympic silver medalist Willye White, theonly American to compete on five Olympic athleticsteams, dies at the age o 67

Reuters

This Day in HistoryFebruary 6

When I toldfriends that my husband and Iplanned to

travel to Vietnam withour two young children, I

received many surprised looks. They couldnot understand why we would want to visita tropical country in the height of summer a place where you are cautioned to brush your teeth with bottled water.

The reason for the trip came from a deeply personal need to travel to the placewhere my father served as a flight surgeonin the US Air Force from 1962 to 1964.

Our itinerary included Hanoi, Hue, Da Nang, Da Lat, Nha Trang and Saigon. Wewanted it to be an emotionally andculturally rewarding trip.

However, as we began our planning, wediscovered a dearth of Web sites gearedtoward families vacationing in developing countries. So we talked with people whohad visited similar countries and whowarned us of possible pitfalls from chaosin the streets to the possibility of variousfood-borne illnesses.

But we remained undeterred about ourtrip. Sure, we had concerns about theflights, the food, and even fatigue, butleaving Nathan, 10, and Zoe, 7, at homenever entered our minds.

Overall, we found Vietnam to beincredibly child-friendly. Many Vietnamese from students at the Templeof Literature in Hanoi to the vendors in Da Lat asked to have their photo taken withNathan and Zoe.

At first my husband and I were wary, but when our tour guide explained peoplewere excited to see Western children,particularly American children, we

relaxed and relished the interaction.It was not until we arrived in Hue andsaw the tombs and the citadel that not only dated back centuries, but had withstooddecades of war that it really sank in howfar from home we were.

The Imperial City of Hue a complexof temples and palaces rests on the left bank of the Perfume River, about halfway between Hanoi and Saigon. Modeled afterBeijings Forbidden City, it covers almost6.5 square kilometers.

If you are taking a similar trip, beforewarned: Although water and ice creamwere available throughout the compound,it was not enough to keep young mouths

from getting parched during our high-noon tour. The citadel impressed, but theevening boat ride on the river enchantedour children. They loved waving to localswho were taking a sunset dip in the water.

From Hue we drove to Da Nang, whichserved as a strategic air and seaport during the war. The nearby city of Hoi An provedto be a festival for the eye. Colorfulpagodas, narrow houses, and rainbow-colored lantern shops adorn the 16th-century port. Having learned our midday

lesson in Hue, we decided on an early morning walk. Nathan and Zoe lovedambling through the ma ze-like market,pointing at heaps of maggots, squirming crabs, and wriggling eels.

Midway through our trip, we had thechoice of a six-hour ride from Nha Trang toDa Lat or a three-hour route.

It was not a hard decision. The shorterroute climbs and winds over mountainswhile offering incredible vistas of Dr.Seusslike trees, coffee plantations and redearth.

In Da Lat we visited the aptly nicknamed Crazy House. Designed by architect and proprietor Dang Viet Nga

and opened to the public in 1990, the treehouse-cum-guesthouse swirls withEscher-like staircases, winding passages,and whimsical statues.

Months before our trip, our family haddiscussed how different Vietnam would befrom home. Flexibility and patience would be words to live by, we emphasized. Dayswould be long; tour guides usually start by 8:30 a.m. and finish around 5 p.m.

During our trip, we learned to ask forlater start times to help offset sight-seeing

fatigue. We made sure every hotel westayed at had access to the beach, a pool or both. After a long day of touring, a dip inthe pool revived everyone. We could haveused a day or two to do nothing but wade inthe blue waters of the South China Sea.

Several guidebooks cautioned thatmartial music and governmentannouncements would greet each new day from the loudspeakers that bloom fromtelephone poles in nearly every town andcity. Well, we did not hear any sunriseannouncements near our hotels, but thatdid not mean it was quiet. From horn-honking trucks and zooming motorcyclesin Ho Chi Minh City to crowing roosters inDa Lat, noise filled the air.

Despite our planned itinerary, Nathanand Zoe had their best culturalconnections when we were not following a strict agenda such as when Zoe got upclose and personal with a villagers pythonin the Mekong Delta, or when Nathancarried an elderly womans wares in theHoi An market. More than any museum or

palace, these moments linked our childrento this land and its people. As we were told, few travel here with

young children, but if you do, it will be wellworth it. Even though Zoe began to yearnfor soft-serve ice cream like that found athome, she also relished the memory of eating an incredibly tender elephant fishwrapped in rice paper in the Mekong Delta.

The Christian Science Monitor

Taking the Kids to VietnamTaking children on holiday may take extra planning but can be fun for all the familyReport Cathryn J. Prince

Zoe, 7, and NathanSaldinger 10, thewriters children,visiting a

lacquerware actoryon a trip to Vietnam.CSM Photo/Cathryn J.Prince

Zoe Saldinger making a local riend at Hoi An Market, Vietnam. CSM Photo/Cathryn J. Prince

inquires about the whereabouts of his sonsskull.

The wooden headstone reads, RachmadH. bin Iwan Suwandi, etched black upon

painted white wood. Slivers of theskeletons rib cage are taken out one by one.Entong continues to dig and finds a hipbone. Finally, he finds the skull.Suwandi places his hand over his mouthand lets out a small gasp. The family beginsto pray. A sniff escapes Suwandi as hecontinues to look at Entong in the grave.

His legs arent here yet, Suwandi says.Entong clears the mud from his hoe and

continues digging.The air is hushed and the smell of rain is

heavy on the breeze. We forgot to bri ng an

umbrella, Suwandi says to his wife, whonods agreement. Their 7-year old grandson,dressed in blue, has his hand on his kneesand keeps his gaze intently on the opengrave. The women look distressed.

When Ali comes over to help wrap the

bones, Suwandi asks if the bundle is heavy. Ali says it isnt. Three men wrap the bundletightly and hand the bones to Suwandi.With steady steps on the slippery, rain-soaked earth, Suwandi carries his son to a prepared burial site, mouthing a silentprayer.

A little way up the road from whereRachmad was originally buried, a gaping hole six feet deep awaits. The smallcongregation stops, and Suwandi handsthe bundle to a gravedigger as he jumps inthe grave. The body is gently returned to

him and the gravediggers tell him to openthe bundle. All of it, says one as the other balls up chunks of soil with his hands. It isto prop up the body so it does notoverturn, he explains.

Suwandi carefully tucks his son into his

resting place and two men start to fill in thegrave. An imam in a black velvet skullcap,propping himself up with a mult icoloredumbrella, asks for the name of the deceasedand begins a low chant. Only the boysname, Rachmad, rings out as the imamcrouches by the grave. All els e is quiet savefor the sound of hoes hitting the ground.

The mother opens a prayer book, herface partially hidden under her black jilbabas she prays along with the imam. Hergrandson stands behind her, holding herarm.

Suwandi straightens his sons oldheadstone and turns his palms up to thesky. The imam moves toward him a ndthey pray side by side.

The earth atop Rachmads new graveis choppy and uneven, but Ali explains

it will be tidied later. He takes out oneof his clove cigarettes, lights it andstands before this new grave he willalso care for.

A warm wind blows. From a nearby mosque, the resonant call to prayers ringsout, echoed softly by surrounding mosques.

More PhotosEyewitness > C8-9For an expanded photo gallery online, go towww.thejakartaglobe.com/li e times/

Raising the Dead> Continued rom C1

Iwan Suwandi carrying his son Rachmads disinterred remains to their new resting place, where, a ter reburying them, he relocates the original headstone. JG Photos/Yudhi Sukma Wijaya