Life in many parts of Indonesia is shaped by the presence of volcanoes. Local photographer Putu Sayoga traveled across the country to capture how a spiritual and financial bond makes leaving behind these volatile mountains more difficult than you’d expect.
Few places on Earth are as volcanic as Indonesia, with about 130 active volcanoes threatening to wipe out everything in the nearby vicinity.
An estimated 175 million people live within 100 kilometers (60 miles) of a volcano, while almost nine million are within 10 kilometers (six miles). At this range, pyroclastic flows—which are explosive ‘clouds’ of rock, gas and ash—pose a lethal threat to 70 percent of Indonesia’s population living in areas vulnerable to these immense forces.
Indonesian documentary photographer Putu Sayoga has spent three years capturing how people live in the country’s most volcanic regions. Presented in his photo book, Living Under The Volcanoes, this journey began in November 2017 after Mount Agung—one of the two major volcanoes in Putu’s hometown of Bali—burst to life after more than 50 years of silence. It erupted five times in just over a week, causing more than 140,000 people to evacuate.
Working as a photographer for Getty Images, Sayoga initially focused his attention on this rare event. However, the more he learned about how life in rural communities revolves around volcanoes, the more he wanted to expand the scope of his work. Soon, he began researching the nature of fearsome mountains along the Ring of Fire, seeking a better understanding of how Indonesians live within their shadow.
Traveling from one region to the next, each offered more insight. At Mount Merapi in Central Java, the site of a deadly 2010 eruption, he learned how some of those killed ignored warnings to leave, or they returned during the evacuation period. Nearby, he visited the Dieng Plateau, where toxic volcanic gas killed 149 people in 1979. Today, its active volcanic complex is covered in lush farmland because of the rich minerals found in volcanic ash. On the island of Ternate, across the Java Sea, he explored where 212,000 people live atop the Gamalama stratovolcano.
“When I was at Mount Agung, I saw how people live so close to the volcano. I was afraid at the time, but the people I met really didn’t seem to care. They were like, ‘Oh yeah, there’s a fire over there,’” laughs Sayoga. “But I thought, maybe because they live so close, they have a different kind of relationship.”
With almost 40 million Indonesians relying on the agriculture industry to earn a living, the country’s volcanic regions feature some of the world’s most fertile soil. The earth is enriched with volcanic ash abundant in plant-boosting minerals like magnesium, silica and potassium.
Throughout diverse parts of the country, Putu discovered how religious practices shape this connection, with ceremonies held across Indonesia in the presence of volcanoes. The annual Yadnya Kasada ritual features prominently in his project. Taking place at the summit of Mount Bromo in East Java, Tenggerese people pray at the volcano’s precipice before making offerings to their Hindu gods by throwing produce, livestock, and money into the caldera.
“Tenggerese people use their own traditional calendar, so it’s quite difficult to know when the ritual takes place,” says Sayoga, explaining that many tourists arrive at the right time by chance. “The elders often wish for a good harvest in the next season because they are mostly onion and potato farmers. Other people just want to show their gratitude.”
In a strange modern twist on the ritual, outsiders descend precariously into the caldera carrying large nets and hoping to catch sacrifices thrown by the Tenggerese people. While you might think this would cause conflict, Sayoga says that most people are just happy to celebrate their connection to the volcano, even if others claim their gift to the gods for themselves. “I think because they are still acting in the spirit of the ritual of giving something to the mountain gods, they don’t really mind. But it’s really dangerous for those people trying to catch things without falling,” he says.
According to Putu, this intense spiritual connection is one of the fundamental reasons people continue to live within the deadly red zones surrounding Indonesia’s active volcanoes. Despite disaster alerts and the obvious hazards caused by an unexpected eruption, many people are reluctant to leave their homes. This clash between daily life, long-standing rituals and the devastating effects of volcanoes sits at the heart of Sayoga’s series. “It’s hard to put yourself in their situation, but I try to understand and respect why people live this way. Some Javanese believe volcanoes give them everything, so if the mountain wants to take their life, that’s okay,” says Sayoga.
Economic factors also explain why people still live in areas where volcanoes present a formidable threat. With almost 40 million Indonesians relying on the agriculture industry to earn a living, the country’s volcanic regions feature some of the world’s most fertile soil. Here, the earth is enriched with volcanic ash abundant in plant-boosting minerals like magnesium, silica and potassium.
“These are small islands. If there’s an eruption, the entire island gets ash from the volcanoes,” says Sayoga. “There are around 45 active volcanoes in Java, which is why it’s considered one of the most fertile regions in Indonesia. It’s probably also why most of the population lives there.”
Living far from Indonesia’s volcanoes isn’t an option for most. But this connection isn’t unique to the region either. Similar communities live dangerously close to Japan’s Sakurajima, Italy’s Mount Etna and Hawaii’s Kīlauea volcanoes.
Indonesia’s government has installed early warning systems to detect volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and tsunamis, although results have been mixed. This can give authorities a head start on evacuating potentially hundreds of thousands of people to a safe distance. However, with so many Indonesians’ livelihoods based on farmland and livestock, convincing people to stay away from life-threatening areas is an ongoing challenge.
Some of the 353 people killed in the 2010 Mount Merapi eruption were attributed to those checking on their property and livestock. Meanwhile, others delay following evacuation orders until it’s too late. In 2022, Indonesia’s National Agency for Disaster Management introduced training drills for evacuating livestock alongside landowners to reduce the human and financial costs when serious eruptions occur.
“People mostly don’t want to live in other villages because they still have livestock where they come from,” says Sayoga, describing how many locals return home prematurely when eruptions continue for weeks or months. “That’s basically all of their money, so they don’t want to leave it behind, even though it’s dangerous.”
Farming is not the only occupation that relies on Indonesia’s volcanoes. Putu also traveled to Mount Ijen in a remote part of East Java to document the local sulfur mining industry. Renowned for its blue flames rising from the caldera after dark, miners undertake back-breaking work with little protection to extract bright yellow sulfur lumps. This commodity is nicknamed ‘devil’s gold’ for its radiant color and the severe toll it takes on the workers’ health.
As one of the last remaining active sulfur mines in the world—most is derived as a byproduct from oil and gas production—what workers carry up perilous slopes from inside the caldera is used to produce everything from rubber and cosmetic products to paper and wine. Working on loose, sandy cliffs obscured by toxic fumes, miners earn between USD$12-17 each day. Yet that’s significantly more than those who work on nearby farms.
Motivated by religion while limited by economic and geographic forces, living far from Indonesia’s volcanoes isn’t an option for most. But this connection isn’t unique to the region either. Similar communities live dangerously close to Japan’s Sakurajima, Italy’s Mount Etna and Hawaii’s Kīlauea volcanoes. For Putu, this resilient bond between people and volcanoes was epitomized when he visited a refugee village for evacuees escaping a Mount Sinabung eruption.
“I met some people who had to leave their homes,” says Sayoga. “They had built a miniature version of Sinabung and placed it in the middle of the village. The farmers lived there because it was too dangerous to return, but they still had their connection to the volcano.”
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Hudson Brown is a Melbourne-based freelance journalist and content writer focused on architecture, design, food, travel and sustainability. His work has appeared in numerous local and international publications, including SBS Food, Urth, Treadlie and Assemble Papers.
