Yogyakarta is a historical city set in the beautiful countryside of south-central Java. Often referred to as "the jewel of Indonesian culture," the city is renowned as the center of classical Javanese art, ballet, drama, music, and poetry. It is also the capital of Jogja Province, the only province in Indonesia still ruled by a pre-colonial sultanate. Tourists flock to the city to tour the beautiful royal palace, visit the many historical sites, and immerse themselves in Indonesian fine arts and culture. Yogyakarta truly is the "gateway to Java."

However, nothing could prepare the beautiful city or its inhabitants for the natural disaster that struck on the morning of May 27, 2006. At 5:53 a.m., a major earthquake hit 25 kilometers (16 miles) southwest of the city, near the community of Galur on the coast of Java. Two major aftershocks soon followed. The deadly quakes killed nearly 5,800 people, seriously injured over 36,000, and left 1.5 million without homes. Residents of coastal areas fled inland, fearing a repeat of the deadly tsunami of 2004. Although a tsunami did not occur, the quake did move the rest of the world to action. Soon, medical assistance and relief supplies began pouring into the region.

This major disaster occurred less than one and a half years after a devastating tsunami swept through Southeast Asia in December 2004. The Indonesian government and international NGOs are still in the process of rebuilding Aceh and other coastal communities. Now, they have new challenges to face. However, not even these tragic disasters can shake the firm religious convictions of the people. Their beliefs provide support even when their world has been turned upside down. The survivors are emerging from their grief, recovering from their injuries, and drawing strength from their faith. It seems that their reconstruction is not far away.


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It was another beautiful morning in Jogja Province, Indonesia, on May 27, 2006. A few minutes before six, the sky was already a light blue color; birds chirped happily over the sounds of cowbells ringing and roosters crowing. Rice plants waved gently in the morning breeze. Many people were still in bed, just beginning to stir from sleep. They had yet to enjoy the loveliness of a peaceful morning on the beautiful island of Java.

But not everyone was still asleep. Cool, refreshing air surrounded those who had woken early. They were already up and about, busying themselves for the day ahead. Women and mothers were busy cooking breakfast in their kitchens. Children were readying themselves and their backpacks for school. Devout Muslims were donning white prayer robes, and vendors were setting up their stalls in the markets.

But within seconds, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered. Enormous energy pent up within the tectonic plates beneath the surface of the earth was released, sending destructive seismic waves racing outward from the epicenter. The ground rocked and undulated like a tidal wave. Deep rumbling sounds filled the air. The land was torn apart, houses caved in, and animals bellowed in fear. People screamed and ran frantically from their houses. Within a few seconds, the lives of thousands of people were altered forever.

The earthquake, measuring 6.3 on the Richter scale, occurred at 5:53 a.m. It affected provinces surrounding Yogyakarta, with the regions of Sleman, Bantul, and Klaten suffering the heaviest damage. The official death toll stands at 5,782, with 36,299 people injured. Over 200,000 houses were either completely destroyed or rendered uninhabitable.

The earthquake, coming so soon after the great tsunami, shocked the world community. Within hours, rescue teams were mobilized and dispatched to Yogyakarta. But when they arrived, they found an ancient, peaceful, beautiful city. Cultural influences from Indonesia's colonial Dutch past mingled with those of South Asia. Pedicabs and horse-drawn carriages were parked on both sides of Jalan Maliboro, a major sightseeing street in downtown Yogyakarta, waiting to take tourists around this elegant city, with its white walls and red roofs, and to show off the city's royal palaces, Buddhist temples, and historical sites.

Very few houses collapsed in Yogyakarta. However, as we traveled south to Bantul, the destruction grew significantly worse. We noticed more and more collapsed buildings, broken furniture, and tents provided by the rescue teams that had preceded us.

We also saw many survivors. Many looked blankly at the rescue teams from where they sat. Others were still digging through the ruins, trying to find anything still useful that could improve their miserable situation. They had pieced together the canvas they had received into makeshift "homes," augmented with plastic sheets, bamboo or wooden posts, and ropes. Straw mats were spread on the ground. For some survivors, the only belongings they had were the clothes on their backs and some pots and plates they had dug from the rubble.

The survivors often built their temporary shelters right next to their collapsed homes. Despite the destruction, they were reluctant to leave the area that held their memories. However, living conditions in the tents were uncomfortable. They had to face all kinds of dire conditions: the ground turned into a muddy mess when it rained, the sun was unbearably hot at noon, and the nights were pitch black without electricity. To make matters even worse, a rise in burglaries by looters threatened public safety.

Their warm, comfortable homes had been turned into tearful burial grounds. Those who could leave the disaster zone had already left; those who could not leave had to face their broken homes every day. To support their families, many children went out in the middle of traffic with boxes in their hands to beg for money. It was heartbreaking. "Mau Nangis Airmata Habis (I can't cry out my tears)" was scrawled in black on a wall, expressing the depth of loss and pain that survivors felt.

Memories among the ruins

The Tzu Chi relief vehicles eventually entered Bawuran, a seriously-damaged district of Bantul, a city located just south of Yogyakarta.

Many houses had crumbled to rubble. Their wooden pillars, standing diagonally or lying on the ground, were like eagles with injured wings crying to the sky. Some houses remained standing. We could still see their internal structure, the living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms. However, most of them were still littered with broken bricks, torn wooden pillars, tiles, and dust. In some cases, the boundaries between houses had become indiscernible.

Parkyoro, 32, was searching through the remains of his home, trying to salvage any useful items from the ruins. His mother relaxed on a chair nearby. His wife's wardrobe still stood among the ruins, but the mirror was badly cracked. The cracks seemed to symbolize how family members had been torn from each other and would never meet again.

"When the earthquake struck," he remembered, "I was selling fish in the market. I ran out of my stall towards home. When I got there, I found my house had toppled. I thought that we could live in my market stall, but then I found out that it had collapsed too. I used to live with my wife, my two daughters and my parents. When the earthquake struck, everyone fled from the house. But my youngest, three-year-old daughter was still sleeping. When the tremors finally stopped, I dug through the ruins and found her, but it was too late. She was already breathless."

Parkyoro described the event calmly, but his wife held a family photo and stared at us sadly. The happiness of the family was gone forever.

Another survivor, Ngadio, led us to his tent, carrying the instant noodles, rice and drinking water he had received from Tzu Chi. His wife and children had been killed in the earthquake. His relatives also suffered like him: their family members had also been killed or seriously injured. Despite their grief, they had to go on living.

Ngadio and 12 relatives now lived in a tent with an area of less than seven square meters (72 square feet). He said, "The tent leaks whenever it rains. We have no electricity, so we have to use an oil lamp for light. We use it only one hour each evening to conserve our fuel oil."

Ngadio was able to use well water to wash clothes, cook, and bathe. However, he complained that he was unable to get relief goods from rescue teams because he lived in a remote area. He was very happy that Tzu Chi had given him much needed supplies. Without them, he was at a loss as to what he would have done.

Yeni Riana Dewi, 33, lived close to the Tzu Chi distribution site, so she was familiar with the presence of Tzu Chi volunteers. She had just finished her three o'clock prayer when she saw us. She told us in English about her experience.

She and her husband, Sul Imawan, had a business selling beef, and their son was in elementary school. She was driving their car to the market that morning when the earthquake struck. After the shaking stopped, she immediately turned around to check on the condition of her family. Fortunately, her family was safe and sound, and her relatives and friends had suffered only minor injuries. However, her home had been toppled. Seeing it, she was unable to describe her shock and grief: "I stood in front of my house, but I couldn't cry out my tears. I simply kept thinking, 'Why?'"

Yeni spread her family photos out on the ground. They showed every stage of her life, including her childhood, schooling, marriage, and childbirth. "It rained on the evening of the earthquake, so all of my photos were completely soaked. Now that the weather has become better, I am trying to dry them under the sun, hoping to preserve some sweet memories."

One photograph had been taken in front of her house. The rain had blurred the image, but the photo still revealed the grand scene of the family. She pointed out to us the bedroom, the kitchen and the living room in the photo. It showed how much she cherished the house she once proudly owned.

She also dried her son's notebooks and Muslim textbooks under the sun. "The school is closed due to the earthquake, but my son will have to take the final exams in two weeks. I have to dry the books so he can study."

She had no complaint about the earthquake, saying, "I believe this is Allah's will, and I accept it wholeheartedly." Before we left, she held our hands and said gratefully, "I hope when my life has improved and my house has been rebuilt, I can invite you here again."

We sincerely cherished her invitation. The survivors have dug out the love of their lives and remains of their past from the ruins. They still pick up bricks and tiles from the rubble and try to hold onto something complete, but when will their psychological traumas be healed?

Urgently waiting for help

After the earthquake, thousands of patients flocked to every hospital in Jogja Province. There were not enough doctors, nurses, or equipment to treat everyone. Many patients were forced to wait for help in hallways and lobbies.

Nygi Amat Redjo, 90, from the Jetis district of Bantul, suffered from a broken left shoulder. She was one of those lucky enough to get a bed in the hospital. She raised her right hand slightly to greet us when we entered her room.

Her daughter told us that Nygi had just finished her morning prayers when the earthquake struck. "I was hit by falling cabinets in the kitchen, but I managed to get up to rescue my mother. I asked our neighbors to take her to the hospital."

Rukmini, 50, had his right leg in a cast. His wife and daughter were caring for him. "My husband's leg was injured when he tried to protect our daughter," she told us. "They jumped out of a window to escape from the house. I was buried by falling debris, so I couldn't move. Fortunately, our neighbors pulled me out and I wasn't hurt. But where do we go now that our house has collapsed?"

Sudaryah, 16, came from Sabdodadi, Bantul. She tried to get up from her bed to shake hands with us, but could not do so. Although both of her legs were badly fractured, they were only bound with corrugated paper and bandages. She hadn't yet had any surgery to properly set them.

Her mother, Ish Suharhini, told us, "Sudaryah is my eldest daughter. She was awakened by a falling roof tile when the earthquake hit. Unfortunately, she was injured by a second falling tile when she tried to run outside."

Although everyone initially ran away from the house, Sudaryah's younger sister, Erna, ran back in to save her. Ish told us of her daughter's unselfish actions that morning. “Erna had just stepped out of the house for school, but then realized that she hadn't kissed my hand good-bye. The earthquake started just as she was returning home. During the quake, she was hit in the back by a falling rock. However, she ignored her pain when she heard her older sister crying, 'Mommy! Mommy!' Despite the danger, she went back in to save Sudaryah.

Ish continued: "Thirty people died in our village, and 50 people were sent to the hospital. My house collapsed and the furniture was destroyed. We don't have any food to eat or a place to stay. We have nothing left! I set up my tent next to our house and I'm caring for my daughter in the hospital, but the aftershocks keep coming and we're all scared."

Sudaryah was smiling at us, but we felt great heartache when we looked at her injured legs.

The only thing the principal worried about

After we left the hospital, we traveled to the village of Dusun Sawo. We met a resident named Adiyanto, the principal of three elementary schools. The white-haired gentleman spoke eloquently. His four children had all graduated from universities and had become teachers. Although his family's living condition had worsened after the earthquake, they felt fortunate that no one was hurt.

Adiyanto agreed to take us to his house--or what was left of it. Half of his house had collapsed. The bedroom, the kitchen walls, and the roof had toppled; only the living room was in good shape. Even so, no one dared sleep in the house. Fearful of what would happen if another earthquake hit, they set up a tent in front of the house and slept there. "It was fortunate that everyone was outdoors when the earthquake hit. Otherwise, we would have certainly been injured, or perhaps killed."

At Adiyanto's house, we saw a young man digging through the rubble. It was Adiyanto's nephew, a college student, who came to help his uncle after he had cleaned up his own house. "If I were the only one suffering, I would probably complain a lot. But now everyone is in the same situation. I have accepted the incident wholeheartedly and see it as a punishment from Allah. I have no choice but to stand up again and rebuild."

Adiyanto was not too concerned about the condition of his house. He was, however, very worried about his schools. "My schools were damaged. Although they didn't collapse, some walls have cracked. Some of the buildings are too dangerous to enter. Tomorrow our sixth-grade students must take the junior high school entrance exams, and they'll have to take them on writing boards in tents. The government said that it would come to fix the schools in a few months."

We followed him to one of his schools. Some students who lived in nearby tents followed us, laughing all the way. The school was still intact, but most of the ceilings had fallen. The walls had cracked in many places. Blackboards, tables, chairs and maps remained untouched. "After several aftershocks, the students and teachers were too scared to enter the classrooms. That is why everything has remained untouched."

According to the rescue center in Indonesia, at least 259 elementary and secondary schools suffered substantial damage. Half of these schools were leveled to the ground. It would take at least several months for the schools to reopen.

Despite the damage to their school and community, 22 sixth graders showed up for the junior high entrance exams the next day. No one was absent. "This is something that makes me happy the most," exclaimed Adiyanto.

Great damage to ceramic works

In villages damaged by the earthquake, people soon wiped away their tears and began the difficult work of putting their lives back together. However, reconstruction efforts in Kasongan, a village famous for its ceramics, are sluggish.

Kasongan, in the province of Bantul not far from Yogyakarta, is an important export center for Indonesian pottery. Unfortunately, the earthquake destroyed close to 90 percent of the stores and the ceramic workshops in the community.

We stood in front of a grand exhibition hall. The elegantly carved wooden main door was two stories high. It still stood on shiny floor tiles. However, when we pushed the door open and walked through, we noticed that the walls on both sides of the building had been ruined. Broken pottery and debris from the walls littered the interior.

"The earthquake knocked down the walls and smashed the pottery. I can't display any of my work, let alone sell it. My job is gone," said 22-year-old Delta. Her boyfriend sat on a rattan chair, paint brushes stuck under his belt. Both of them waited aimlessly for an unknown future.

Across from the street was Yopie's shop, in much worse condition than the grand exhibition hall. Yopie, 28, was from eastern Java and has worked in Kasongan for six years. His shop, exhibition hall, and home were located in the same building, with an area of 66 square meters (711 square feet). The earthquake destroyed the building completely.

"The earthquake knocked down the walls. Without time to worry about my work, I ran to the back door and jumped into the farm field to save myself. Among all my works, only this female statue escaped total destruction."

The statue Yopie referred to had previously greeted all the visitors at the front door. The golden ornaments on her head, her thin eyebrows, and her crimson lips were extremely refined. Even though her right hand was broken in the quake, her beautiful face still brightly reflected the sunlight. "A statue like this takes me a week to complete by hand. After I glaze and fire it in the kiln, I can sell it for 150,000 rupiah [US$16]. Now, even all my tools have been damaged. I can't do any work, even though I want to."

As we talked with Yopie, he picked up fragments of one of his ceramic works and tried to piece it together. It was an image of a farmer standing by a water tank. "An earthquake is as natural as a sunrise or a sunset. I can accept it with ease, but I'm worried that the tourists won't come anymore. Only tourists can bring in the money that I need badly."

The local media reported that around 100,000 people's lives in the village were affected by the earthquake. It will take a minimum of four to five months for life to return to normal.

"My loss can't be measured, but I'm lucky--I'm still alive." This was Yopie's biggest comfort.

Looking forward

"Seven people died in our village; my son was one of them," said Rohani, chief of a village near Dusun Sawo. He and several men were watching over the relief supplies.

Rohani said that when the earthquake struck, he, his wife, and their four children dashed to the back of their house. Sadly, his ten-year-old son was knocked down by a falling pillar and did not make it out. "The aftershocks continued nonstop, and we didn't realize that our boy was missing until the shaking stopped. When we couldn't find him, we frantically started looking everywhere. When we dug through what was left of our house, we found his body among the rubble. He was only one step away from the door."

His son's death was unbearable to Rohani, but he was unable even to take time to grieve for his loss. "I'm the village chief and I have to look after the whole village. My wife was stronger than me. She cried for a while, but then she prodded me to check on the villagers. People were scared that a tsunami would come after the earthquake, so they all tried to run away. They were scared, and everything was chaotic. I told them to stay calm and to protect their homes."

The villagers had no place to go, so they all slept under trees. Soon, Rohani ordered men to build shelters and set up a central kitchen so that the women could cook for all of them. He said to us, "I will remain strong; I just hope that our future won't be so difficult and that someone can help us."

Rohani's sincere wish was granted immediately: Tzu Chi volunteers handed out several hundred bags of white rice and daily supplies that afternoon.

We returned to Bawuran 13 days after the earthquake. The village was already showing signs of recovery. Saeijan, a vendor in the market, told us, "I'll build my new house smaller this time, since it will be cheaper. I'll build a badminton playground in the front yard; my kids can play and we can have a place to run to in the event of another earthquake."

After Saeijan and his children cleaned up their own house, he went to tend to a neighbor, Waeidi, who had a broken leg. When asked if he was tired, Saeijan replied with a laugh, "I'm not tired until I think about rebuilding my house!"

Wiwid and her husband, Nawawi, lived in Gudung Kidul. They took 80 homemade cakes to visit Wiwid's sister, 40 kilometers (24 miles) away. Nawawi handed out the cakes to every adult and child there. The coffee-flavored cakes were very sweet, but we felt the love between the people was even sweeter.

Wiwid said, "We have many relatives here, and we heard that this place was seriously damaged. My husband has come four times to check on their condition, but I still felt uneasy about it, so I asked him to bring me here." She then turned to her brother-in-law, Asnawi, and asked, "Do you need help? Just ask and I'll bring in a truckload of people to help you." Asnawi was very sincere in expressing his deep gratitude to her.

After visiting so many places, we discovered that most survivors were just as normal as they were before the earthquake, even though their houses had collapsed or their family members had passed away. One explanation for their resilience was their deep religious faith.

A mosque in Bawuran still stood after the earthquake, but its main structure had been damaged. The spotless white tiles on the first floor were still very bright, but the white walls had cracked in many places. The pillars on the second floor were leaning diagonally, but they were still straining to support the white dome, a common feature of Islamic mosques.

The mosque had become too dangerous to enter, so the residents used an empty lot nearby for their prayers. The sunlight filtered through the coconut trees, illuminating the survivors as they read from the ancient text of the Koran. Everyone was very sincere, but some started weeping as they prayed before Allah.

The scene reminded me of what a survivor said: "The earthquake was Allah's will, and we accept it wholeheartedly." Not even the earthquake could shake the support provided by their strong, firm beliefs.

Their power to stand up again and begin reconstruction derived from their optimism and from the rescue efforts of international relief teams. "No matter what, we still have to live our lives," was a common refrain among the survivors. They demonstrated this sentiment in everything they did.

The survivors are emerging from their grief, recovering from their injuries, and finding strength in their faith and mutual help. It seems that final reconstruction is not far away.