Medan's Solar House

Because I was going to North Sumatra to 'develop systems' for the Weaving Centre, and because our building will be finished this month, it was time to consider the matter of electricity again, but more seriously this time. Decisions have to be made and very soon. We want to use renewable forms only. Are they available? Where? In the capital city of the province? More locally? Or should I be looking to import?

I turned to Google and, to my surprise, found the site 'Solar House' in Medan. I wrote to the proprietor via Facebook and, to my even greater surprise, received a response in Dutch! Mr. George Frans was an Indonesian who had lived a good part of his life in The Netherlands. So, too, his wife, Ibu Vonny. They demonstrated the inimitable hospitality for which Indonesians are famous, and invited to pick me up and bring me to lunch and show me their solar systems. What a fabulous opportunity!

The day after landing in Medan, I found myself sitting on their little porch. The experience was rather like looking at a traditional Balinese painting: the longer you look, the more you see. Mr. Ossy (as he is known because the 'George' is hard for Indonesians to pronounce) was experimenting with and testing a mind-boggling variety of tiny, inexpensive systems. They took up no room and were so well integrated with the home, that only when he began to talk and show them, did they really come into view.

I write from a little Homestay at the top of Samosir Island that utilizes a couple of large solar panels and one large battery. The lights in the house are bright and, because they are left on at night, without warning, when the energy is used up, everything is doused in darkness. One does not know when this will happen. (One hopes one does not have to go to the bathroom.) The system does not promote energy awareness. The solar panels are simply installed as substitutes for the state energy that is wired in.

The Solar House is different. It is not small-scale. It is tiny-scale and every part of its complicated network (complicated now because it is still being tried out; it will be simplified in time) promotes energy awareness.

Each room of the house has a tiny solar panel, no larger than a tablet computer, affixed to the roof.

The energy is wired to an energy controller that has USB openings so that the energy can be distributed to a battery and little power banks. The power banks are filled and utilized as required. This is what promotes the energy awareness.

Pretty well everything runs off USB connections: the lighting, the fan, the water pumps, the projector that serves the TV and the computer, and even the mini-refrigerator. The size of the latter promotes consciousness of the use and storage of food. The system is more complex than simply throwing a switch but it is also only a tenth of the price if not less. And the system is also infinitely expandable depending on needs that arise. It also allows for individuality. Mr. Ossy has a multitude of types of lamps: this little one for reading (that runs off its own power bank), that large one (with its charger built in) when overhead lighting is needed, a small one whose power bank allows it to function until morning, and so on. Energy can be tailored for individuals needs and tastes. This person likes to work on the computer, another would like to watch TV, and still another needs to use power tools. I imagine a household in which everybody meets at the central power controller in the morning to charge their power banks.

Because the panels are small, they do not support large energy drains. Mr. Ossy is building his house so that it maximizes the coolness that nature provides and he does not have to use an electricity-driven cooling system. His wife is careful with food so that there are not too many things that need refrigeration. Lights are not left burning, and so on.

Even before he moved back to Indonesia from The Netherlands, his 'obsession' was written up in an blog. He is an idealist and he knows that his ideas are useful. He gives workshops in which the participants make USB plugs (very easy, he says) and he can also show them how to exchange a regular wall plug for a USB plug. He surfs the internet and orders the interesting new gadgets as they become available; then he tests them for usefulness and accuracy. He knows the market. He is an ideal 'village consultant'. His knowledge is ideal for the 'poor man', perfect for villagers who have no electricity but who also have no money to buy a 'regular' (read: large) solar installation. His findings are ideal for students who can scarcely afford electricity and who live minimally, and for whom power banks are already a part of daily life. (His results are also for the 'rich man' who has little energy awareness...).

Pak Ossy wants to help the world kick its dependence on non-renewable energy. He knows that it is doable to live comfortably with a low energy footprint. To my utter delight, he was excited by the idea of coming to our Weaving Centre to help us develop an appropriate energy system. Showing the villagers his wares is exactly where he wants to invest his talents and knowledge. Luckily it will be possible to schedule this workshop during my stay in Indonesia this time. I can hardly wait... and I wonder if he may have transformed my life back in Holland as well.  Knowledge and inspiration are the two roots of all change. Chance meetings as well.

Thank you, Pak Ossy and Ibu Vonny for the knowledge and inspiration that you have shared so openly, graciously and enthusiastically with me!

Update.....

On Monday 24 April Pdt W.M. Tarigan drove George Frans and his wife Vonny to visit us at the Simalungun Weaving Centre and explain how we can use solar equipment for our specific needs. Lasma made a delicious meal and afterwards George took over and we had our first Weaving Centre Workshop. He very generously donated two of his small systems to support what we do. He seemed very pleased that Ober, Lasma's husband, caught on so quickly and was able to operate the systems.

We collected on the 'weaving porch' for the solar

workshop. Pendeta Tarigan and Lasma's father are 

in the far left corner, ibu Vonny is exploring my book,

Lasma's sister, Agustina, is hugging her Mom while

watching Pak Ossy connect the systems. Pak Ossy 

is inspecting our pump

We now have a small system working in the bathroom. The light there goes on only occasionally, only at night (during the day enough light comes into the bathroom through the glass blocks in the wall), and is turned off again usually within a matter of minutes. A small solar panel is more than sufficient to supply this need. It is connected to an energy-efficient light with an internal rechargeable battery. The next day Ober affixed the solar panel to the roof, extended the connecting wire, attached the on-off switch and we now have light in the bathroom that behaves in exactly the same way as light from PLN (the state-run electrical network) sources. The whole system costs less than 50 euro.

The bedroom now also has an on-off switch that operates a lightbulb with its own inbuilt rechargeable battery. This is attached to a larger panel, approximately 20 x 20 cm., that Ober also installed on the roof. This larger panel supplies a power controller with USB openings that allows us to charge other equipment as well.

Ober (because he was born in October) is clever with his hands.

Here he prepares fresh coconut for us to drink.

George had ideas for our well pump that we want to explore as soon as possible so that we get our own water as soon as possible. Right now we get it from Lasma's parents and lugging it here is no fun.

Pak Ossy is exploring the idea of whether the Weaving Centre can be used as a demonstration model for solar electricity adapted to village needs. We will see whether this idea and opportunity are compelling for Ober.

Diagnosis is a huge step but it doesn't seem to bring cure much closer

Yesterday Lasma, her husband Ober and I visited Ma Kamra, Lasma's weaving teacher. She was flushed with excitement. She had just returned from Medan. The office of the Bupati (District head) had asked her to do a demonstration of her weaving skills and she pulled out a photograph to show us. There she sat, like a queen on a raised podium with her freshly painted equipment. During her month of intensive work at the Fair she finished a dozen headcloths and fetched many an admiring gaze. She felt proud of having been asked to do the demonstration and pleased with the amount that she had accomplished. A little recognition can go a long way.

Ma Kamra doing her demonstration

I was hoping to discover that she had continued her exploration of natural dye, but I was disappointed. She had prepared some yarn for the dye (in itself a long process) and was frustrated because the yarn was of such poor quality that it made no sense to continue. She emphasized that the process had taken up so much of her time. She didn't want to proceed with the lengthy task of making a really high quality textile unless someone ordered the textile from her in advance and she was thus assured of a sale. Between the lines it became evident that she very much wanted to be able to make a replica of an old textile that I had given her photographs of.

This evening I contacted her by text message. I wanted to know what she needed/hoped for in order to be able to achieve her goal. Again and again she indicated that she needed a buyer. It seemed to make little difference that the quality of her textile was as yet unseen and that it wasn't clear what materials she would use. I asked her if it wasn't the case that she needed more knowledge of natural dyes and access to better materials and in addition to a better market? After a long and frustrating exchange, she let me know that her roof was leaking and her floor in a dreadful state and what she really needed was money to improve her housing conditions. "I work very hard. I cannot afford to waste any time. I need a buyer for my work." Her words hit home. Once again the issue of poverty was rearing its ugly head, crowding out a woman's creative spirit and eroding the culture. She really needed money in a worrisome and overwhelming way.  I thanked her for opening up to me and said I would ponder the situation.

I thought of Lasma's need for a place to work and how it had led to the building of the Weaving Centre. I recalled Ma Kamra's enthusiasm at the thought of moving there. Would that be a solution for her? No, just a band-aid solution. What she really needs is a structural improvement -- not only of her humble home, but of her weaving conditions and especially her market. She does the impossible by continuing to weave when other people have given up because of the poor market conditions. What kind of change can I initiate that will help her on the long term? I put the question to her but she remained focused on finding a buyer for her textile.

Her need pushed me to the realization that if and when we can and do sell textiles at the Weaving Centre, the full regular selling price must go to the weaver (any tribute to help keep the Centre alive must be added on to the price and not subtracted from the weavers' proceeds). Ma Kamra receives her yarn from a Middle Man, and weaves the cloth for about US$6. The textile is then sent to a twiner to do the finishing fringe and patterned edge, and then the cloth is sold with the Middle Man making as much profit on the cloth as Ma Kamra is paid to make it. (The twining and the yarn cost in the neighbourhood of US$6 as well.)

It also makes me realize that I have to make a thorough investigation of yarn. Where does it come from, what kinds are available, and why is the price so high? What can we do to lower the costs and get dependable quality?

.......

But why don't I just spill the beans? 

Recognizing Ma Kamra's need, I suggested she use the Morinda-dyed yarn that I had purchased in Savu and that I commission a high-quality textile from her. The yarn was expensive, and I hate to use it on an experimental textile, but we have no other access to Morinda-dyed yarn. And we have to start somewhere, so why not here? Ma Kamra was convinced she could make a good product.

She consistently and repeatedly refused to tell me what she expected as a 'wage' for doing the cloth and insisted that I determine the price that I would pay. In the end I asked her how much time she would spend on the cloth and I said that I would pay her the going rate for working in the fields. I thought this was much higher than her current wage and about five times what she receives for weaving her regular textiles, but she was incensed and insulted. I asked her to come back with the price that she would like but she refused. She was too hurt. She has heard stories about the prices that high quality textiles can fetch, and I think she had constructed a castle in the air and a dream about what I could provide. I have always treated her very well, giving her the opportunity to travel around the Batak area with me and bringing her to Java to learn about indigo dyeing. I think she had very high expectations especially on the heels of her demonstration work. I asked her to please understand that I know too little about price structure, but she said that she would no longer work with me, that I should find someone else who can do her quality of work. And she would give up on her dream of making a high quality textile, and just go on with her day-to-day regular weaving.

Ma Kamra is an extremely modest person and very shy. That she cannot just come out and share her dreamed-of price is symptomatic of her life of poverty and disempowerment. I know that empowerment of the weavers will be part of the process of building this weaving centre and this passive-aggressive response is one step along the way. Weaver empowerment is a micro-process.

Nevertheless I am upset at having hurt Ma Kamra and it has destroyed my sleep. I write in the wee hours. Somehow she and I must come to a realistic price. Ma Kamra and I both have to learn how to do that.

My Young Friend

Back in Tano Batak, I am having an eye-opener. I met up with a young woman whom I have known from a distance for a few years, primarily through Facebook. She is bright and won a scholarship to the University of North Sumatra, which meant reduced tuition. Her family is poor but everybody agreed that she must not pass up this opportunity to study. Her father is ill and cannot work. Her mother is chronically sick but does her best to look after the family. They grow a bit of rice and chilli peppers. There are two younger siblings still at home. And so my young friend went off to University, to claim the right that she had won to a good university education and to assume a new challenge of adulthood. She was 19 years old. She is now in her second year and doing well with about a 75% average. How she is accomplishing this has left me awestruck. Her stories are stuff for a novel.

She plucked up her courage two years ago and took a bus to the city -- a luxury huge enough in itself because it cost money that the family didn't have. When she arrived, she got out of the bus and stood there in the station not knowing what to do. She had no family in town and no friends. Medan is a teeming, hard city and she had no money and no destination. The only thing she had was her courage and her confusion. Various men catcalled her, "Hey, where are you going? Do you need a lift?" Wisely, she did not trust them. When a young woman with a kind demeanour asked where she was going and invited her to come along, she decided to trust her. She found herself in the home of a kindly man who took in young students of her culture and helped them find a place to stay. She could speak her own language and met other young people in comparable situations. That kind man is still there and still a bit of a fall back for her, letting her know from time to time when there are hand-me-down clothes available for her to come and get. She has no clothes other than what her older sister hands down or other people give to her.

Initially she found a place to stay but it was a bad choice and led to a crisis with tears, sickness, fear and trauma. Now she has found a place that is tolerable. She sleeps in a small room with 4 other girls. They lie like sardines on two small mattresses. They share the cost of water and electricity. If one gets sick, they all get sick. The air quality is bad and the tropical heat is stifling in the small airless room. The important thing is that they all trust each other; they are good people. She has no bed, no closet, no clothes to speak of, no security. She lives by the grace of the young woman who rents the room. She has one bag in which she stores her stuff.

Her mother occasionally sends her money. She never knows when the money will come, or how much it will be. She puts in full days at the university and cannot take on a job. What she receives comes to almost US$1.00/day. She spends this money on food, water and electricity. Occasionally she receives fruit and vegetables from the village. Any and everything else is beyond her reach.

When she needs to use a computer, she goes to a computer cafe after hours. She has learned to survive on the good grace of people with kind hearts. The owner of the computer cafe allows her to type out her papers there, but it is night time when she does so, and walking there and back in the dead of night is frightening and risky. She had a kind friend, a fellow student, her first friend in Medan, who couldn't bear to know that she was out there alone at night. He used to get up and fetch her so that she wouldn't have to face that risk. Unfortunately, last month he died suddenly of meningitis leaving a black hole in her heart.

Walking to and from the University takes her 2 hours a day in the scorching heat. When she walks, she has time to think about her circumstances. She feels like everybody is watching her and thinking, "There goes that impoverished girl". She feels shame. She feels the burning rays of the sun. She wonders if this is what life is about, whether she should continue. But what are her options? Her sister calls her to pump her with courage.

She knows hunger. If her money runs out, she will do without food. She will sacrifice herself to be able to afford an extra. She has two more years to go. And then what? In this country, young people have to scramble together money to be able to apply for and accept jobs.

I invited her to occupy the second twin bed in my hotel room. She had never been in an elevator before, never slept on a box spring mattress. At home she grew up sleeping on a mat on the floor.  I invited her to come back to her homeland with me this Easter weekend because I will be traveling around Samosir Island. She has visited Samosir for a family ritual, but never traveled around. She had never been in a train before. She rarely gets to go home.

Every time we chat together more scales fall from my eyes. I have told her how much I admire her, that what she has accomplished is, in fact, impossible. Incredible. Not doable. And yet she does it and her marks are good. I tell her that she is capable of everything. She is unbeatable. She tells me about the psychological scars of poverty and her decision to smile. You can complain and worry, she says, but it doesn't help. It is best to be thankful for all that comes your way.

Home for weavers still being built

I am thankful to Lasma for sending on a few more photographs. It has been rainy and the building is delayed a little, but it seems more or less on track.

We have a front room where weavers can meet and work -- they can also work on the front veranda.

The string of rooms at the back are places where weavers can stay. There is a kitchen and a bathroom accessible to all and all get the light of the sun in the morning and fresh air. 

The side of the house forms a boundary with the neighbour, so it is a solid wall.

Getting the roof on

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Update 9 March

The first building of the Simalungun Weaving Centre is coming along.