This is Ogut
Even if you’ve never met Ogut, you’ve seen his hand in the artistry of Bali. All those times you’ve admired a mural on the wall of a restaurant, puzzled over how long it must have taken to paint every tiny tile of a mosaic feature piece on the floor of a store, marvelled at a cool sign or one of Souq's swirling resin surf fins that look like they’ve been poured from stained glass, you’ve been seeing Ogut. His talent and the diversity of mediums he works with are mind-blowing.

He is one of the hardest-working people I know. He always shows up, works through the night and picks up the slack of other people to make sure the job gets done. And like artists all over the world, he earns very little money.

In Bali right now, businesses are closing, not just for lockdown but many for good. For those that are open, art doesn’t fall high (or at all) on the list of necessary expenses. Ogut is entirely without income and since he is Javanese, he doesn’t qualify for any food assistance from his local banjar. He has also recently been very ill with typhus and is a slither of his former frame and noticeably weaker than usual. His oldest daughter is 3 months pregnant and she and her husband have both lost their jobs at local supermarkets. He has two other young children at home studying.

In these dire circumstances, Ogut didn’t ask for money from the many foreigners he has worked for - he wrote to everyone and asked ‘do you have some artwork job for me?’

When I sat down with Ogut, he had idr 20,000 in his pocket (aud 2) and his wife had 340,000 (aud 34) to last them indefinitely. I asked him how things were really going for him and he said "everything is at your own hand, Sophie - I live by the words of my father who said ‘if you try hard to find a way, you will find a way.'"
No wonder that it took a lot of coaxing for him to accept a small gift of financial assistance - with tears in his eyes, he said ‘I will share this with the guy in my street who wheels the bakso cart every day and with my daughter for her baby’.

This is Made

Made was the number two child of six children born in Karangasem, the poorest area of Bali. It’s hard to grasp how a distinct area on a small island can be so economically disadvantaged relative to the rest of it but it’s partially because of the infamous Mt Agung who wreaks her havoc on communities in more ways than her bubbling temper. Agung literally cuts Karangasem off from the rest of Bali making access to and from the area much more difficult. Karangasem is traditional farming land; the people there are born into a lower socio-economic bracket and simply getting out of there can be more than they can afford.
Made had dreams of being a teacher and if his gentle nature and articulate English are anything to go by, any child would have been lucky to have him. But he couldn’t afford to study and had to earn a living from a young age to support his younger siblings. He first worked in a batik store in Sanur where over the years he taught himself Japanese to improve his communication with customers.
Since then he has worked in a tourism agency in Gianyar. When I asked him whether he enjoys working in tourism he thoughtfully paused and said ‘yes I do… because it is like teaching - I have the opportunity to tell tourists all the stories of my culture and country.’

It seems that Made has been an undiagnosed diabetic for many years - a common affliction in Indonesia complicated by a very under-resourced and indecently-serviced medical system. He has had multiple operations on his kidney and gall-bladder that have made him weak and unable to work. Just when he had regained his strength and wanted to return to tourism, covid struck.
Made has lived in the same Kos (single room) in Gianyar for 11 years with his wife and now 6 year old son, Dharma. They cannot leave this area because the hospital he regularly attends is there; the government health insurance system (if you are lucky enough to be covered) will only cover you for certain hospitals none of which are in his home district of Karangasem where his parents live ‘in a broken house’.

Despite being unemployed, Made has continued to pay his BPJS premiums from his savings to ensure he and his family are medically cared for if they need help. But it has left little money for anything else - they have been fed by the generosity of friends and stayed put using limited electricity to avoid any other expenses.
Made said “I have no other word to say but Thank You Very Much for your help. On behalf of my family, as well all of my friend in the Kos… we pray God will always bless you.”

Putu
We told you of Putu’s story in our campaign page. But something even more tragic befell Putu’s family since we first wrote about him. With two family members already chronically ill, his wife Anik, in her weakened state, prematurely gave birth to a baby boy. To their surprise given Anik’s condition, their baby was born healthy with a robust first cry. But within 24 hours, he was gone. Along with their grief they took home another medical bill which is beyond their means to pay, more so than ever now.

Anik became extremely depressed and Putu lifted another canyon onto his broken shoulders. He came to us, weeping for his lost son and told us that he believes this is happening to him because he has bad karma from another life. We struggled to convince Putu that it was not karma that had served him this misfortune but then we were handed the perfect proof.

We were contacted out of the blue by a group of private individuals from Germany who have created a charity amongst their friends to support people in particular need in Bali during this time. They asked us if we knew of anyone they could help who had unusual or particularly needy circumstances. We introduced them to Putu and his family.

It has been an emotional week for us. We’ve seen help brought to people close to our hearts and opened our own for a community of brave women. All the while witnessing and hearing of the increasing need for help.

Here are a few of the stories that particularly touched us.

Bali Street Kids
We visited the Bali Street Kids centre in Denpasar after receiving a call from Piter at Balilife Foundation. Balilife runs the centre to help women learn skills and work in small business cooperatives to generate income. By looking after the mothers, you take care of the children and keep them all off the street.

It's important to understand that these women look at begging as ‘work’ - it has been all they know. This is the work they do to care for the children they love, just as you and I would do any work we needed to provide for our kids. However once this cycle begins, it’s very difficult to jump off. The children beg with their mothers while they are cute enough to attract donations. But the kids progress through what is known as ’the sympathy age’ of early teens and lose their value; no longer doe-eyed and tearing at our hearts, they don’t attract the attention of donors. This is when the cycle kicks off again: the boys get involved in gangs, the girls fall pregnant and they all end up back on the streets.

The risk now is different. Balilife has supported these mothers through the transition of becoming skilled in other work. They commune at the Centre where they tend to a vegetable garden they have planted, the kids are safe and cared for, schooling is provided and the mothers produce orders of textiles and embroidery. But the orders have now stopped. The obvious choice they face is to return to their default work and go back to the streets with their kids. What awaits them there is worse. There are no tourists here to hand out money. Danger is increased. Piter faces the likelihood of the centre having to become a homeless shelter in the very near future.

Bali Emergency Fund gave money to each of these brave people and more this week to help them support their children and families through this time. We hope you will help us go back to them soon to give again.

Niluh
A few years ago Niluh found the incredible strength to leave her abusive husband. A difficult step for anyone but in Bali it comes with cultural shame and abandonment of a woman’s family and entire community. She is often left standing very much alone. This was the case for Niluh.

Her husband refused to allow her see her daughter, Riska, and even excluded her from Riska’s teeth-filing ceremony - a rite of passage into adolescence and a moment of huge significance for a Balinese parent. Niluh began her new life with the heartbreaking absence of her daughter but eventually Riska found her way back to her mum and now they live together in a small room in Denpasar.
Niluh is determined and impressive having taught herself English and worked her way up in hospitality to become a manager. She is the sole provider for Riska. However Niluh lost her job two months ago and has since been struggling more and more each week - she makes small biscuits to sell at the local warung to pay for food. She turns the electricity off most of the day only to be used when needed. She can’t afford the petrol to visit her own elderly mother in Kintamani who is alone but assures Niluh that she will be ok and to stay where she is and worry about Riska.

The generational unconditional love of a mother.

Which got me thinking that at this time of year, we'd usually be planning for Bali's best-weather months with book-ended visits of our friends from Australia to forestall the coming winter blues, or from Europe and Asia for their languid summer breaks.
But the Bali of this moment is empty. It feels like along with those dry winds there should be tumbleweeds snaking down the streets.

I know it can be hard to imagine from far away what ‘empty’ really means for Bali so I took a video of the heart of Seminyak in the middle of the day. None of the usual bumper to bumper traffic, the cacophony of horns, the street hustle. And what this emptiness means is no work, no income… hardship.
We know for many of you, your pockets are as empty as these streets. But if you are able, please help Bali.