I’ve told these stories many times over the years, but this may be the first time I’ve written them down and put them in the public domain. Perhaps they’ll inspire more of you to believe that we can make our dreams come true.
More than 20 years ago, I was looking for land to build my dream house in Bali but nothing was working out. Everything I liked was unavailable, I was on my way to Europe to make some money, and my time was running out.
I’d given up when a Balinese friend, an English teacher, told me he had family, with land I might like, up higher on the slopes of Mt Batukaru. I figured it wasn’t going to happen this time, so I came with no expectations. Coming here the first time was like walking into my boyhood dream of a little house, on a mountainside, in paradise. Once I’d recovered my senses a bit, I sat on the ground outside the original farmhouse, drinking local coffee with three generations of the land-owning family, the grandfather, the father, and the son, Ketut Arimbawa.
They said that because I was known to their family I could build a house here, but there were two conditions… First, because this place is rich in spirit activity, I must never bring anything bad here, and second, I must never sell the place to anyone, because they wouldn’t know the new people, and therefore, they couldn’t rely on them not bringing anything bad here.
‘What’s bad?’ is the most commonly asked question at this point, to which I usually answer, ‘if we’re honest, we all know, all the time, what’s right and wrong’.
That’s what was implied at our meeting, and I found it perfectly appropriate, and also, amazingly different to what I’d grown up with in Australia.
The father, and head of the family, Pak Astini, delegated responsibility for working with me, to his son, Ketut Arimbawa, and thus began our, more than 20years long, association. I knew Ketut from his early twenties, through his tooth filing and marriage, then having two lovely children, Putu and Susi, now grown up. I always thought we’d sit on a verandah in our old age remembering all the stuff that had happened over the years. Our younger son, Oska, was playing cards with him and some local guys the night before. But on the 9th April, at age 44, he died suddenly.
Anyone moving to Bali needs their own Ketut, someone special who’ll facilitate their transition into the Balinese (and Indonesian) societies. We’ve been so fortunate for so long, and in so many ways, and we’ll always remember that Ketut Arim’, especially in the difficult early days, really made it all possible for us.
It’s too long a story to tell now, but in the end, I want to pay special homage to the way Ketut embraced the noble idea of responsible environmental management. Over the years, he converted hectares of his farm from grassland to food-forests, he was our best birding guide, he actively lobbied locals to protect the rainforest, and he was taking daily care of our very precious Bali Starlings.
Having someone close die unexpectedly causes us, perhaps only momentarily, to re-examine our own lives. With a sense of deep gratitude and real responsibility, I can honestly say that our family continues to live the dream. Ketut was a big part of making our dream come true, of making it work, and of keeping it real. You’ve left a big hole brother, thanks for everything.
Norm
April 15th
