Pulau Banda Neira: Meeting The Boss in the Middle of Nowhere

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This story appeared in The Daily Telegraph, August 2019

Standing on Pulau Banda Neira’s dormant airstrip can sometimes reveal what the middle of nowhere actually feels like. The sensation brings to mind the idea of being in a bubble: here on one of Indonesia’s more faraway outposts, life moves at a half-pace out of sync with everywhere else, and it comes as a surprise to remember that other places even exist at all.

Behind us loomed the island’s iconic volcano, Gunung Api. Across a small stretch of the Banda Sea lay scimitar-shaped Pulau Run, tended by a small fleet of fishing vessels and rustling contentedly as the ocean furnished it with a calm breeze. All around us, the usual tropes of tropical island life – snatches of rainforest, the faint aroma of unfamiliar flowers, an unaccountable feeling of great distance – made themselves known. The nearest port in Ambon was eight hours away by ferry, and all flights were cancelled for the foreseeable future, victims of the unpredictable December weather and its sudden outbreaks of stormy downpours.

Evidently, Banda offered no quick exits, which meant we had some time to kill. Left to our own devices, we set about seeing Pulau Banda Neira. First, we took a step back in time. Our early forays revealed the islands’ past importance.

History lesson

At one point, the Bandas were the world’s only source of nutmeg and mace. As such, they gained the interest of Portuguese, English and Dutch colonists, powers always keen to exploit a place’s resources. It was clear this unassuming place had a storied past, and that it had spent a lot of time in the hands of colonial outsiders.

The colonial-era Banda Neira church, Gereja Tua Banda, on Jl. Gereja Tua, is a very pretty building defined by its sturdy Doric columns and VOC markings that remind everyone of the Dutch occupation of Banda, as do the pair of strongholds, Fort Nassau and Fort Belgica, and the grisly murals depicting violence inflicted on the islanders by samurai warriors during the Banda massacre of 1621.

Buoyed by rumours of a secret beach, we ventured further afield. Banda Neira is a small place, so it was inevitable we’d find the village of Tanah Rata. Set in peaceful tranquillity under a thick canopy of trees, the village seemed deserted. Or so we thought.

Language barrier

Suddenly, a small figure appeared on the path. Then, a young man quickly joined her. Before long, it felt as though the village’s entire child population had emerged, cautious and intrigued, from their hideaways. While we tried to process these sudden appearances, a tentative stand-off broke out.

But we needn’t have worried. The tension soon broke. ‘Selamat pagi,’ we ventured encouragingly, wishing our new friends a good morning. They responded in kind and, ice broken, swarmed around us. Yapping excitement filled the air as both parties unleashed pidgin English and Indonesian phrases with reckless abandon.

Introductions were lost in the swirl, so we assigned our hosts nicknames based on the names and numbers emblazoned across the backs of their football shirts.

The group’s dynamic was quickly established: the diminutive duo we initially encountered assumed control of the youngsters. The girl we nicknamed The Boss, such was her dominant personality. ‘You can call me Dennis,’ her companion offered with a nod of insouciant cool. As the pair jostled to take our hands in a subtle game of one-upmanship, we sensed the formation of a new power couple on the Banda Islands.

Island opens up

Our new friends joyfully pointed out Banda’s flora and fauna, reserving a particular reverence for the ubiquitous nutmeg trees. The kids’ vivacity was intoxicating. With each new song and special handshake they shared, introduced by Brazil 10 and Gerrard 8, the island embraced us a little more. As our bodyguards guided us along dilapidated brick roads, we felt progressively more in tune with Banda’s unspoken frequency.

Before long, a crescent bay appeared, affording clear views of Gunung Api. This was the fabled secret beach. As we navigated the craggy path toward it, the sound of receding children filled the air. The Boss and Dennis, squabbling slightly, were leading their merry band back to Tanah Rata. Slightly lost and very much confounded, we stood alone beneath the midday sun’s heat, wondering what kind of benevolent spirits we had just encountered.

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