We sat together in his shop, his cigarette smoke being carried away by the small breeze from the storm that was pounding just inches from where we sat. We had built a silent ritual over the weeks. Any time I ventured from the research base, I would end up somewhere between his shop and Eriono Cafe. Not that they were far from each other—their only barrier being a small footpath. While it took a bit of bravery getting soaked walking barefoot between the two, I bounced between them frequently, grabbing refills of coffee or Bintang or snacks to fill the hunger of staying so focused on the task at hand. Bambang was teaching me how to carve, and I was determined to finish the name plaque he helped me start.
We were introduced in September 2015 while I was volunteering with an organization focused on orangutan conservation. A majority of my time with the project was spent between the rainforest and the research base, but free time was meant to roam through Bukit Lawang. I found my favorite corners rather quickly: a delightful cafe owned by Kenda the painter and his wife Yuli, and the open air shop of a local wood carver named Bambang.
During one of my visits, Bambang noticed I was wearing a crystal around my neck. He asked the story behind the crystal and I told him my cousin had passed in a tragic car accident two weeks before I arrived in Sumatra. Sharing such a sad piece of my heart meant he was also able to share a sad piece of his. I never expected death to be the thing to bind our experiences, but it became the root of a friendship that would grow and flourish over the next couple of weeks.
When those weeks passed, saying goodbye to everyone meant leaving a piece of my heart behind. Something about the impression Bambang left never went away. I carried his story with me through countless experiences, especially grief. The name plaque I carved with his guidance is a tangible reminder of my time in the rainforest spent with the most resilient man I have ever met.
When Jimmy—my best friend—passed away in a drowning accident, the thing to keep me moving forward was something Bambang said to me between wood curling away from a slab retrieved from the river’s edge. When speaking of his grief, he said he went to the river every day to make peace with the water for taking his whole world from him. There was no way of knowing I would need advice from my wise mentor a mere three years later.
I carried so much anger about Jimmy’s passing, but I remembered how Bambang turned tragedy into something beautiful. So I set out to do the same. In May of 2019, I walked the Camino del Norte in Spain. Waking up every day having to face the sea meant confronting the tidal waves of grief I had been drowning in since his death. I collected shells with new friends, found joy in the setting sun, bathed naked under clear skies on the rare days we had them, and shared wine and meals on many shores. Bambang remains the sole reason I was able to make peace with the ocean for taking the last breaths of my friend, though I know he would never take credit or understand the significance of his imparted wisdom.
Three months after the Camino, I returned to the rainforest, but not without quality time spent with the man who shaped so many of my opinions and experiences. As I approached the shop, he recognized me immediately and I burst into tears as we embraced. Two old friends reunited after the promise of some day returning. He turned to my friend Sydney, who I had shared so many stories of Bambang with, and said, “I see so many faces, but this one I will never forget.”
His shop is still the same size, directly across from Kenda’s art gallery. The walls and shelves are filled with even more carvings than before. Every surface is covered in faces and contorted wood shaped into creatures found in the rainforest. Teak, reisin, and tea tree fill the air with their fragrances. A small collection of driftwood leans against the wall near where Bambang sits when he carves. Conversation flows as freely as it did in our first days together. Familiar faces stop by to say hello to the girl from California who came back to her jungle home. We light another cigarette and share what has happened in the years we’ve been apart.
Under the soft glow of my laptop and a few lights in his shop, I sat with Bambang, who was ready to bring his story to a broader community. We spoke of his life, his work, and his philosophy on carving. He let me take photos freely, but declined to have our interview recorded. I was grateful for his reason. I was asking him to relive the trauma and heartbreak of the moment that altered his life forever. If I were to record him speaking, it would change the context and purpose of our conversation. This was about two friends, shaped by the jungle in different ways, who’ve continued to find each other in moments of immense growth and healing. There is no greater connection than staring into someone’s eyes and drinking coffee together as they recount their live’s journeys—heartbreak, grief, joy and all.
A note from the editor: I am so grateful to Bambang for allowing me to share his story. For welcoming me into his heart, his shop, and his home. For introducing me to his son and his friends. For teaching me how to carve wood and for the bits of wisdom he shared during our breaks together.
I’ve written the following sections from his perspective with permission to fill in words and grammar for better readability. Nothing about his story is fabricated, only edited to reach a broader audience. The world deserves to know of someone as precious and as talented as Bambang.
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