Mohd Riswan, 72, remembers his father telling him bedtime stories about tsunamis, called smong in the local Devayan language spoken on Indonesia’s Simeulue island.
“Listen to this story,” he recalled his father telling him. “An earthquake was followed by giant waves. The whole country sank suddenly. If an earthquake is strong, followed by receding water, immediately find higher ground to be safe. Remember this message and advice.”
His father had relatives who died in a 1907 tsunami that killed hundreds on the island. When Riswan felt the massive Indian Ocean earthquake in 2004, he knew what to do.
“I immediately remembered the stories I heard from my parents. ‘Wow, this is what I was told about,’” he had thought. “That’s why me and my family who were here evacuated.”
Nearly a quarter of a million people died from the 2004 Boxing Day earthquake and tsunami, the majority of deaths in Indonesia. Almost one in five people were killed in the hardest-hit province of Aceh on the mainland of Sumatra. But on the nearby island of Simeulue, with a population of 80,000, fewer than 10 people died.
Researchers say residents on the island of Simeulue survived, in part, because of folklore passed down from generation to generation. Two decades later, locals are trying to keep these traditions alive.
“We don’t know when disasters will come, so we must remain ready,” Riswan said. “The messages of our ancestors who were here before us must be maintained so that future generations can still have the knowledge.”
But that is proving to be difficult with young people on the island.
“Most of the local, young generation is not interested in speaking the local languages. That is another challenge,” said Alfi Rahman, a lecturer in the social and political sciences department at Syiah Kuala University.
Rahman, who studies the social aspects of disaster management, has researched the island’s folklore and how it is being passed on to adolescents on Simeulue. Without speaking the local languages, such as Devayan, Rahman said it will be more difficult for the youth to carry on these traditions and understand the messages contained in the local folklore.
“We cannot avoid globalization,” he said. “It has also influenced the local people, and we need to adapt.”
Rahman is hopeful that, even if the traditional artforms become less popular, disaster preparedness can be learned effectively if it is incorporated into school curriculums.
There have been efforts to appeal to young people by adapting and modernizing these stories. Musician Yoppi Andri, a native of Simeulue, has produced pop versions of these songs, and others have created animated videos for children using multiple languages.
In Simeulue, elders are working to pass on the traditions directly to youth by training young musicians. At a high school on the island, small groups of students sit cross-legged on prayer mats practicing a series of songs on hand drums. Older musicians and teachers lead the ensemble.
Karina Purwanti, a teacher at the school, was a teenager like her current students, when the tsunami hit in 2004.
“In recent years, this traditional art has begun to erode. Many of our young people tend to prefer modern music with modern dances,” she said.
She has worked with the principal and a team of local musicians to teach the students and preserve the traditional songs of Simeulue.
“We hope that, with the existing events and with extracurricular activities at school, these students will be interested and enjoy the traditions and culture of Simeulue.”
Naya Hidayatul Alyiah Alna, 16, said most of her peers are more interested in foreign cultures than their own.
She hopes more young people like her will want to learn these traditions so that they will know right away what to do if the island experiences another tsunami. During a future natural disaster, she worries that cell networks and other warning systems may not work.
“We will tell our children and grandchildren in the future so that they are safe from danger and know what people in the past have experienced,” she said.
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