Encouraged by her teacher and supported by her parents, who presented her with her first-ever diary, Evi started writing a chronicle concerning her life, including the hardships that arose from enduring twelve forced relocations. Evi, a second-grader at the Tzu Chi Middle School in Jakarta, won a national writing contest in Indonesia with this article. This moving account records her family's terrible ordeal in having to constantly shift from house to house.

"The government demolished our homes and drove my family out again and again. It hurt me so much and all I could do was sob helplessly. Would I be able to continue school? Or would I end up as a scavenger for the rest of my life, like so many others around me here?"

I will never forget that weekend in November 2001 when I first rode my beloved bicycle to school.

I once lived in the Permai District of Jakarta, where I attended the Fifth Pluit Pagi Elementary School. The school was located at the mouth of the Angke River, about ten kilometers (6.2 miles) from home. I used to walk to school. Now, I was overjoyed that I would be able to get to school faster on my bike. For me, this feeling of serenity and sheer bliss was beyond description.

However, the good times were not to last. One week after that joyful weekend, the makeshift shelters belonging to my family and others were bulldozed by the authorities. My dear new bike was buried in the debris.

My neighbors howled, and the government officials shouted out arrogant demolition orders in the commotion. The chaos still echoes clearly in my mind today. Our dignity was trampled on as if we were unworthy of Jakarta. I saw at that moment how sad and scared my parents were.

We went to live under a highway overpass. There, our family set up a simple thatched hut. I felt uneasy and awkward at first. However, the companionship which we shared with some fellow victims living next door dulled the pain, and I gradually settled in and started to plan for the future. As in the past, I walked to school, but now it was a little farther than before. However, I walked with my friends, and I actually looked forward to the walk and the new way of life.

Within a month, I had already reestablished my routine. However, I was devastated one day to come home after school and find that the homes had been flattened again by government machinery. I could not bear to hear the screams and wailing of our disheartened and disconsolate neighbors. I was heart-broken.

Is this the reality of life?

One forced relocation followed another. I could only weep and resign myself to this fate, wondering: "Almighty Allah, is this the reality of life?"

A blaze had devoured what little that was left of our home. That night we slept on the ground underneath the overpass. Vehicles sped by overhead, as if they were crushing our restless torsos. My brother shivered in the chill wind. Dad just sat there, in a trance. I wished that I knew what was going through his mind. I didn't know what to expect in my own future, either. Could I continue going to school? I finally fell asleep under the shadow and weight of all these struggles and puzzles.

Early the next morning, my parents collected some discarded building materials and built yet another crude hut on the same spot.

Life by the overpass piers exposed us to the harsher elements of the weather. On sunny days, we dreaded the intense heat. Stormy weather brought different challenges. One night when Dad was at work, Mom and I, totally soaked by the downpours, were busy trying to prop up the hut in the pitch-dark night outside. By the time we were able to get to sleep, it was almost time to get up for school. I was glad that at least I was able to continue my education then.

A few weeks later, as luck would have it, our suffering-ridden home was torn down again by the government. I screamed and challenged the officials, "Why are you doing this to us? Why are you so cruel?"

Then came Ramadan. We faithfully observed all the rituals for the holy month. We fasted, worshipped, and prayed out loud. The stark contrast between the prayers and our harsh reality particularly saddened me.

Am I going to be a scavenger forever?

Collecting refuse that could be sold for cash would enable me to give money to Mom to buy a tent for my family.

At Id al-fitr, my parents gave us new clothes and we had a feast. I kissed their hands as tears rolled down my cheeks.

Laughter and chit-chat abounded. My friends and I played jubilantly. I felt that all the frustration and weariness of the previous year had vanished.

One weekend Dad and I had a nice visit with a relative of ours. When we came home, we found that our home had once more fallen victim to forced demolition and we again had to move. But where to go this time?

In the tumult my parents were speechless. They didn't even try to salvage any usable furniture. They could only hug us kids, and we all left sadly.

A group of college students invited us to demonstrate at the Parliament or People's Mediation Center. Some neighbors went. But I decided to collect refuse to help with the family expenses. I was not ashamed of being a scavenger. It was legitimate work. Even though I only brought in a little money from it, every bit helped.

I had missed school for several days partly because I was working. Besides, I didn't have any books or school supplies because I couldn't afford to buy them again.

Soon my school asked my mother to come in for a conference. Initially, the teachers blamed me for skipping school. Later, as they learned more about our family situation, they allowed me to attend school only in the morning so I could continue working in the afternoon.

I really appreciated the help of my teachers. They cared about my situation and encouraged me not to lose hope for the future.

When can we reach a haven?

At the beginning of 2002, heavy rains blanketed Jakarta. We ran out of kerosene for cooking. My mother sent me to buy some steamed rice.

When I returned, our village (Kapuk Muara) had been flooded by the Angke River. I was very concerned about the safety of my family, so I braved the chest-deep water to look for them. But the flood washed away the steamed rice that I had bought and then sucked me in as well.

Fortunately somebody pulled me out and sent me to a disaster shelter where I was reunited with my family. I held Mom's hands tight so that we wouldn't be separated again.

At the shelter, my five-year-old brother, like most kids of his age, was running a fever one moment and having chills the next. Seeing a doctor was beyond our means. Mother could only hold us close. I thought, "Haven't I suffered enough, Allah?" I longed for a haven.

I couldn't go to school anymore. My dreams and hopes for a better tomorrow were dashed. I was afraid that I was destined to be a scavenger forever. I envied and was saddened by the sight of my friends going to school in their red-and-white uniforms. I could do nothing else about schooling. All I could do was to be a good scavenger and earn more money for my family.

We don't need to move again?

After the flood, despite the muddy, filthy conditions in Kapuk Muara Village, we had no choice but to stay.

One day, a group of people in uniforms of blue shirts and white pants came to the village with some security officers. I didn't know who they were or why they had come. Were they here to tear down our homes again?

They came often to talk to residents and street captains. I appreciated the food that they always brought, but I was upset with their comments that our village was not suitable to live in and that we would continue polluting the whole area by throwing our garbage into the river.

Mom was very sad. But what could we do? Our voices of protest were hoarse and the local authorities had always turned a deaf ear to our complaints. Whatever would be, would be.

One day we attended a meeting. Those uniformed Tzu Chi volunteers told us that they were going to give us new homes in Cengkarang Village.

I didn't feel the slightest excitement when I heard this announcement. All I could think of was that any new home would inevitably be torn down again. And maybe they would even force us to convert to Buddhism. I didn't want that.

The Tzu Chi volunteers from their Indonesia branch patiently explained to us: "This has nothing to do with religious belief. Tzu Chi only wants to help you improve your living conditions."

Still only half believing, we moved into the brand-new village that they had constructed. When we came to the Great Love Village I [there is also a Great Love Village II] in July 2003, I was astonished at all the good things that I saw. I simply couldn't believe my eyes. Not only were there sturdy, permanent, and safe homes, but also schools, exercise fields, free clinics, etc. Oh, how beautiful and luxurious! Mom said that it would only cost us 90,000 rupiahs [about US$9] a month to live here. We were really lucky.

Added to this, it's a rule that all children living in the village have to go to school. The high quality of the Tzu Chi elementary and middle schools in the village is a far cry from that of the school I used to attend. All male teachers wear neckties. We are taught the Chinese language. Nobody litters, and there is no graffiti on the desks or anywhere on the campus! Every day we wear our uniforms to school, and we get nutrition supplements there. The school also gives us physical examinations. In all, the school takes really good care of us. All this for a whopping 20,000 rupiahs (about US$2) a semester!

It is through the grace of Allah that we are living this miracle. I would also like to thank the Indonesia branch of the Tzu Chi Foundation for their generosity and kindness.

I pray to Allah to guide me and give me strength to realize my dreams.　

(Photos and caption information provided by Ari Trismana, Lini, Dyatmika Wulanmarwati, Widodo, Agus Sapto, Nisa Famaya, and Gembong Budiyono)

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Evi's Wishes

Article and photograph by Dyatmika Wulanmarwati　

"I am very happy to have won this prize. Never before have I won a prize of any kind. I am grateful to my teachers and parents for all they have done for me. I will not forget this moment for the rest of my life." Evi Hermawati, 14, won a national writing contest with her essay, "My Home: It Has Been Dismantled and Removed 12 Times."

The theme of the writing contest was "Children Helping Children." Evi beat 1,753 other contestants to win the top prize of five million rupiahs (about US$520). When she was invited to a hotel in Jakarta to accept the prize, she was both excited and nervous. But she was confident. In a neat, clean Tzu Chi school uniform and her hair in braids, she looked like the exemplary student that she is.

Ms. Yuwanti, Evi's teacher for her Indonesian language class, encouraged every student to keep a diary. Evi's parents, although illiterate, supported her and bought her a diary to chronicle her experiences. Evi thus started writing, which led to her winning entry in the writing contest.

In the Great Love Village, many children, like Evi, have similar painful experiences of being forced to move. Their parents come to the metropolis to earn a living. However, a lack of formal education limits their job options. They have to work at whatever is available to them, often in poor and filthy conditions. Even so, they would still rather stay in the metropolis than go back to their hometowns in the countryside, where job opportunities are slimmer and living conditions even worse.

"I used to have a dream: I would like to go to a luxurious school for an education," Evi said.

She used to walk by a high-rise building on her way to her old school. That building housed a very well equipped school whose students came from affluent neighborhoods. Evi viewed that school as a "luxurious school," and she dreamed of studying in a school like that. Through Tzu Chi's warmth and love, Evi's dreams have been realized.

Through the tests that life has thrown her way, through her schooling and guidance from her parents, Evi has grown to be an independent and brave child. Her old neighbors on the banks of the Angke River might not even recognize her now.

She said that she used to be a naughty girl. Now she has a much better understanding about life. She used to throw garbage into the Angke River, but now she has learned to love and protect the earth. She is also learning to lead an orderly and organized life. Those Tzu Chi volunteers, always wearing neat uniforms and smiles, are good examples.

"I would like to be a journalist," Evi said. And she is not the only child with big dreams. At the Great Love Village, many other children are also growing up with dreams and aspirations. They know that there are Tzu Chi people who care about them. They know that these uniformed volunteers will accompany them and help them to realize their dreams.