Ephemeral Isle,Tradition and tourism vie for the future of Nias:
Jesper Kurt-Nielsen Is a research associate  in the National Museum of Denmark, this article was first published in ICON Magazine 2003.

I have come to Nias on behalf of the National Museum of Denmark to retrace the steps of Agner Møller, a Danish doctor who carried out extensive ethnographic work on the island in the 1920s, and to document what is left of the island’s traditional villages and their wooden architecture. Møller, a somewhat controversial figure, procured an extraordinary collection of artifacts from the island on behalf of the National Museum of Denmark, including, of all things, part of an omo sebua or chief’s house from the village Hillimondregeraja which were bought from the owners, two deaf-mute brothers who lived in the only room that was intact. The house was a ruin, half eaten by termites and in danger of collapsing due to lack of maintenance, in fact the first time Dr. Møller entered the house, he fell through the floor. The owners descended from nobility and their ancestral forefathers had been chiefs in the village, but due to their handicap an outsider had taken political control. He tried to intervene in the negations between Dr. Møller and the two brothers, largely because he expected a kickback. And when the major carvings were removed from the house he opposed loudly, but was ignored by all the involved. According to popular myth the house was transported to Denmark but in fact Dr. Møller only bought the Carvings and left the house largely intact, although it must be said that the house was so fragile that most of it collapsed, there is no doubt that Dr. Møllers initiative saved the carvings for posterity.
The Carvings were sent to Copenhagen were parts of the house were reconstructed with carvings from the original house. Today only a few objects are on display, nonetheless they give the visitor a glimpse of the unique carvings that amazed and attracted Dr. Møller 70 years ago.

Much has changed since my first visit in 1988. At that time, the island was just beginning to emerge as a favoured destination for backpackers and surfers, who sought its rustic hospitality, lively nightlife, and towering “right-handers,” considered among the best waves in the world. Although many of the island’s traditional buildings were in desperate need of care and attention, they were, nevertheless, still standing. Today, however, concrete buildings with roofs of corrugated iron are getting more plentiful; satellite dishes have in most places displaced stone megaliths of revered ancestors as village focal points.
The recent political crisis in Indonesia, and the hardship it has spawned, have made it more difficult to travel on the island than in the past, even though the coastal road from Gunungsitoli to the south end of the island is in better condition than it was on my last visit, a by-product of a failed attempt to enhance the island’s allure as a “high-end” tourist destination a few years back.
Upon my arrival in Sorake Beach, which I planned to use as a base of operations, I was surprised to find, not the idyllic cluster of rustic palm huts lining the beach where I had stayed on my previous visit, but numerous concrete buildings, mostly guesthouses, abandoned midway through construction and left to rot in the tropical sun. The most opulent of these was the

Sorake Beach Resort, a multimillion-dollar establishment built by a businessman from Medan on Sumatra a couple of years ago, to cater to rich and discerning travellers, primarily those from Japan. General unrest in Indonesia and the economic crises in Japan has meant that the hotel is an empty shell with no gusts arriving willing to pay the astronomical price of 100$ a night. The owner has since then showed a total disinterest in the hotel. The hotel is tended by a staff of nine that spends most of its time cultivating vegetables on once-manicured lawns. As I walked through the reception area the only sound I heard, apart from my own footsteps, was that of geckos and good intentions gone astray. 

Over the course of a month, I took several thousand images of more than a dozen traditional villages, most of which had been documented and photographed by Møller nearly a century ago. Despite  enhancement of the coastal road, several of the villages are accessible only by a narrow paths that wind through dense tropical jungle and over steep hills making them very difficult to access. I knew from my last visit that much had changed since the doctor conducted his research. I was disheartened, however, to find that in less than two decades, a large number of the island’s traditional buildings have fallen victim to merciless sun, tropical rains, insects infestation, and benign neglect, while others have been completely stripped of their beautiful woodcarvings. Logging for timber has made it impossible to rebuild or restore the chiefs houses and in several villages there is only an empty spot left where in earlier times a magnificent building rose above the forest canopy.

The economic situation has spawned rampant trade of old objects. In one village I spoke with the headman/chief, and he was willing, almost insisting to cut out carvings from the wall panels in his house, without any regard to their age or importance. In another, the headman said to me in a melancholy, remorseful tone, “everything is gone, nothing is left, and everything has been sold,” his words echoing in a stately, but empty audience hall, robbed of all its former glory. Despite the seemingly desperate state of affairs, a few splendid omo sebua remain, in the villages of Bawömataluö, Ondhondrö, and Hilinawalö Mazino. At present, Nias does not have the infrastructure or even the service level to attract, much less support, the high-end tourism necessary to generate enough revenue to underwrite the preservation of what little remains of their vanishing vernacular architecture, and there has been little economic incentive to do. Trade in antiquities stripped from the houses handicrafts and the tourist trade account for nearly all of the island’s economy. There is no doubt that the economic crisis has spawned not only the destruction of houses but a rise in crime, an issue that was never thought of ten years ago. During my stay, perhaps 20 tourists arrived in the area. Most, however, left almost immediately, driven off by aggressive beach vendors and innkeepers whose idea of cornering the market was to prevent guests from dining anywhere outside their hotels.
One highlight is the yearly international surf contest that for a short period of time gives the impression that Sorake Beach and Nias is the vibrant lively place it used to be. The revenue from this short period of time is absolutely essential, as some innkeepers, if unlucky has no other revenues for the rest of the year. The longer term cultural impact of the pot smoking beach crowd is another and even more heartbreaking tale of young local kids dropping out of school not to learn a trade but to pursue a carrier as a professional surfer.    

Moreover, traditional cultural values continue to erode at an accelerated pace. For all their isolation, villagers now are treated to the never ending joy of Chinese karate movies, soap operas, porn shows, and music videos on flickering television screens that never seemed to be switched off. What has not been influenced by television, has clearly been affected by the surfing culture, with its cool, and apparent carefree lifestyle. For the adventure traveller who delights in the splendours of Angkor or of the regal city of Luang Prabang, a trip to southern Nias is more than worth the effort. And, if the political situation in the region ever stabilizes and if the Indonesian government is able to resist falling into the hands of fundamentalists, it is possible that a wider audience might be able to appreciate the cultural treasures Nias has to offer.Time, however, is clearly running out.