A Kampong Between the Tides
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| Photo: Yusran Uccang |
to earn a living,
wandering alone above the waves,
against the current
— Samma Pammisi, a traditional Bajau song
Before sunrise, a stocky middle-aged woman rows a weathered wooden boat across Tomini Bay. As she paddles, she softly sings Samma Pammisi, a popular Bajau song about the life of a fisherman. Her name is Halima.
She steers toward a small, uninhabited island, ties her boat, and begins walking along the rocky shoreline. Her eyes were watching every crevice between the rocks. Suddenly, she thrusts her iron spear into a narrow gap. Found nothing, she moves and tries again. For hours, she repeats the same movement.
Near noon, Halima lets out a joyful shout. She has caught her third octopus of the day. Three octopuses mean she can buy rice and medicine for her elderly parents—and save a little money. On calm days, she searches for whatever the sea still offers that has value.
"Nowadays, I only look for sea cucumbers, giant clams, and octopuses," she says. "Fish are no longer worth much. They sell for only around 20,000 rupiah per kilogram (1,5 USD). During half a day at sea, I have to earn enough to buy diapers and medicine for my parents."
Octopus is her preferred catch, selling for about 100,000 rupiah ( 8 USD) per kilogram. Each octopus usually weighs only 600 to 800 grams. Giant clams fetch between 150,000 ( 10 USD ) and 200,000 rupiah ( 15 USD) per kilogram, while dried sea cucumbers can sell for as much as one million rupiah ( 75 USD).
Most fishermen in her village spend days or even weeks at sea. Halima cannot. Her parents have been ill for years, and she must return home every afternoon to care for them. She lives in Torosiaje, a Bajau village built entirely on stilts above the waters of Tomini Bay in Gorontalo, Indonesia. Hundreds of wooden houses stand above the sea, connected by narrow wooden walkways.
Long before these houses existed, the Bajau lived aboard soppe—traditional wooden boats that served as both home and transportation. Some of them then stayed and created a floating village. In 1980, the Indonesian government relocated the community to the mainland. Many families stayed, but others returned to the sea because they earn a living from the water. Today, around 1,500 people live in Torosiaje and still depend on fishing.
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Photo: Tommy Pramono |
"I never finished elementary school," Halima says. "I left in the second grade because I followed my parents to sea."
For many Bajau families, formal education was once considered necessary only to learn basic reading, writing, and arithmetic. The nearest schools were far away, and many children eventually dropped out to help their parents fish.
Life at sea has always been dangerous. Between November and January, strong seasonal winds often sweep across Tomini Bay. Locals call them the "widow winds" because they took the lives of many fishermen.
Today, climate change has made these winds increasingly unpredictable. Halima knows that uncertainty well. She became a widow herself when her only son was still a toddler, after leaving an abusive husband who never supported the family.
Women who dive for octopuses and giant clams in Torosiaje are rare. The work requires exceptional diving skills that are passed down to Bajau boys who spend much of their childhood in the sea. Halima learned because she had no other choice. Although she has eight siblings, she alone became responsible for caring for their aging parents.
The Bajau are often called sea nomads, renowned for their ability to free dive and navigate coastal waters. For generations, they fished mainly for subsistence or traded their catch for food. That way of life has changed. Today, they also pay for school fees, mobile phone credit, electricity, fuel, and household appliances. Those growing needs require catching more fish.
Traditionally, Bajau fishermen relied on hand lines, spears, nets, and small multi-hook fishing lines. But rising demand for seafood and shrinking catches have pushed some to use destructive methods such as blast fishing, despite government bans. Fishing itself has also become more commercialized. Investors—many from the Bugis community—now finance boats, engines, fuel, and fishing gear. In return, fishermen work under profit-sharing arrangements or monthly wage systems, replacing the more independent livelihoods of the past.
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| Photo: Sarjan Lahay |
Meanwhile, climate change, coral degradation, and pollution have reduced fish populations in the coastal waters surrounding Torosiaje. Fishermen must travel farther offshore using motorized boats, increasing both fuel costs and financial risk. These changes are reshaping the work choices of the next generation. While many boys once became fishermen after finishing high school, more young people now leave the village to seek work in cities.
Each morning, Halima still rows into the bay singing Samma Pammisi. Yet she quietly admits that she is saving money to open a small grocery store at her house. After decades on the water, she is tired of rowing. Perhaps, in the years to come, the song that she sings to celebrate a life at sea will become less meaningful.
