It began with bananas. Ona noticed that a lot of people came to the beach and she figured they needed to be fed. She opened a little stand selling fried bananas and coffee.
By putting away a small amount of the profits every day, she eventually had enough money to buy the lot of land next to the beach. She built a cottage for rent, and then another one…
Years later she has several cottages, making for a small resort with a restaurant and beautiful gardens.
Lutz, her now husband, is from East Germany. He runs the resort with her, and also collects beetles and grows plants – mostly succulents and orchids. He’s a retired entomologist who met Ona on a visit to Indonesia.
They lost touch, but when he was able to go back he went from town to town and showed people her picture, asking them “-Have you seen this woman?”.
He found her. He was a widower and she was unattached, they decided to marry. He’s now 75 and will live out his days in Indonesia.
“-Why go back to Germany and live in an old folks’ home?!? Here I have my wife, my plants and my insects, people are friendly, and the ocean is warm. And Ona’s family will take care of me if I need help.”
Their lives are long and eventful, and they share stories over dinner. My mind boggles when I hear of Lutz’ journey from the DDR to the remote Indonesian island of Halmahera; Una’s determination to build her own businesses is even more impressive.
I spend a whole day lying in a hammock, reading, sleeping and looking at the sea. Ona walks by and asks if I want a fruit smoothie. I accept.
The next day I rent their scooter and head out at dawn. The air is cool and there is no traffic. Villages are stirring and kids walking to school. I visit some hot springs, yet another beautiful beach, and the church in the village of Duma.
During the violence in 2000, some people took refuge inside the church of Duma. Then other people laid explosives around the church and blew it up. The people inside died.
Today a new church is built on the site, and right next to it a mosque. In between the church and the mosque sits the ruins of the old church as a reminder of what happened. Over a hundred tombstones also make sure no one forgets.
The afternoon is steaming.
I pass through the town of Tobelo, but can’t see any comfortable restaurants. Lunch becomes a dusty affair at a roadside eatery; noodles, rice and two boiled eggs.
Back at the resort, I take an air-conditioned nap and wake up late afternoon by a torrential downpour. Ona is preparing dinner. Lutz is dozing. I watch the rain.
Some locals come back from snorkeling, and for some reason are running from the water up to the restaurant where I’m sitting. They’re already wet so what does the rain matter? Is it instinct that makes us do those things?
We speak about the US, Indonesia, the environment and traveling. One of the snorkelers is a physician and speaks excellent English. He uses “awesome” in every sentence, which makes me like him. He just finished his studies in Jakarta and now he’s back in his home province practicing at the local clinic. He’s one of those young people who gives me hope.
Then dinner is served, and it’s delicious.
