The Guide

by Anisa Hadiputri (Indonesia)

Making a local connection Indonesia

The sky was slowly turning darker. The rest of the group had hiked further up, closer to where the tent sites were located. The only two left were the guide, and myself, navigating through the woods in a race against time. I was shivering. Having joined the rest take a dip into the waterfall earlier, I had underestimated just how exhausting the hike up would be. But now I was paying the ultimate price for it, with my body moving at a very slow pace, and my back burdened by the weight of my own personal belongings. My head was starting to feel drowsy as well, compelling my entire body to stop on the nearest rock every few distances to sit, and close my eyes for a while, before eventually standing up and doing the same thing again a few distances later. The paracetamol pill taken earlier did not help, if anything, seemingly made matters worse. But we knew no matter how far the conditions were from being ideal, we had to keep going. The National Park of Rinjani had no helicopter ambulance or any other sort of air rescue to save hikers in the case of an emergency. It was no Everest Base Camp, nor was it Mont Blanc. Here, the best sort of rescue you could get in the case of emergency was none other than to be carried on the back of your very own guide, often smaller in size compared to the average hikers. Having observed the poor conditions of my body, and the obvious lack of strength of my two feet, it didn’t take long for my guide to offer help. “No thanks Udin, I would like to try and make it to the top on my own by all means. But you can help carry my backpack instead, if it’s fine for you.” A request which was soon accepted and fulfilled. By this time, the sky has turned completely pitch black. Sight visibility was then limited to how far the lights beaming from our respective torches could travel to. Instinctively, I asked Udin how further up it was to get to the top. “Not far from now.” He responded positively. “How many years have you been a guide here, Udin?” I continued the conversation in the local dialect. “About 4 years now.” Udin answered as a matter-of-fact. “Do you have any family waiting for you back home?” “2 daughters, and a wife,” He smiled. In the midst of the frequent rest stops and ongoing small conversations, it didn’t take long for me to get to know Udin better. Like many other locals hailing from mostly underprivileged backgrounds, Udin was one of the guides and porters working in the National Park of Rinjani. His task as a guide was to ensure all hiking groups stick together, follow the right directions, and complete the hike uninjured, if possible. Porters on the other hand, consist of mainly young males tasked to carry heavy baskets up and down the mountain daily. Baskets containing hikers’ essentials like food and tents, can weigh up to 100 kg each. Either jobs were undoubtedly strenuous and risky. Jobs which I am sure many would choose not to do if it weren’t intended to create better livelihoods both for themselves and their loved ones back home. My perspectives altered. Would I have bothered to listen to Udin’s story, if it weren’t for the eventful hike? “Did you know that many hikers have died here?” My thoughts interrupted as Udin continued. “Many hikers have died on this route because they got lost, or because they slipped on a rock…” I suppose this was Udin’s very own unique way to try and keep me motivated. “There was even a lady who gave birth by the lake, and left her baby there...” Oddly enough, it worked. I soon stopped imagining for the worse as I started to hear voices of others approaching us fast. Lights were then gleaming from their torches as a few porters hiked down the edge of the mountain to help support us. I gathered the last remaining bits of strength I had, until I finally caught sight of the tents once again.