Indigenous Youths Revive Farming in Ampreng

Indra Congregations Piri is an Indigenous youth from the village of Ampreng. He spends his days cultivating the fields alongside his parents. As the son of a farmer, he takes great pride in his heritage and consistently assists his family in managing their land.

“Sometimes I wake up before the sun,” Indra said, smiling as he brushed soil from his hands. “Not because I’m forced to—but because this is already part of who I am.”

Tomatoes and chilies are the primary crops grown on their farm. In addition to these, rice and cucumbers are also cultivated by many farmers in Ampreng. On their tomato farm stands a small hut (pondok) where Indra and his friends—most of whom are also children of farmers—often gather. Once the day’s work is finished, this hut becomes more than just a resting place. It is where they share stories, laugh, and reflect on the day’s labor.

“We don’t always talk about farming,” said Deddy Milanno Sarayar, one of Indra’s closest friends. “Sometimes we talk about life… about whether we will stay here or leave like others.”

Indra and his collective remain deeply active in agriculture, whether tending their parents’ farms or managing communal plots together. Their approach is rooted in Minahasan local wisdom—particularly the traditions of Mapalus and Ru’kup, which shape not only how they farm, but how they live as a community.

Mapalus is a system of mutual cooperation that has been practiced for generations in Minahasa. It is built on reciprocity, trust, and collective responsibility. When one family needs help clearing land, planting, or harvesting, others come to assist—without payment, but with the understanding that the support will be returned in time. Ru’kup, meanwhile, reflects a shared agreement and collective rhythm in working the land together, strengthening both social bonds and productivity.

“We don’t calculate everything with money,” Indra explained. “Sometimes what matters is that no one is left working alone.”

This spirit is evident in their daily lives. When one of them prepares land or harvests crops, the others join in. They also cultivate communal gardens, often on leased land, where profits are shared equally among all members involved.

Tomatoes are a preferred crop due to their relatively high economic value and the fact that they can be grown on smaller plots of land. This season, both tomatoes and chilies show promising results. According to Deddy, based on their recent harvest experience, a quarter-hectare tomato farm can produce approximately 400 crates. Each crate weighs around 20 kilograms, and at a current market price of about 400,000 IDR per crate, the gross revenue from one harvest cycle can reach up to 160,000,000 IDR. After deducting production costs—such as seeds, fertilizer, and transportation—the estimated net profit is around 150,000,000 IDR. With the possibility of planting up to three times a year, the potential income is significant.

Chilies (rica) also offer strong returns. A quarter-hectare plot can yield around 1,000 kilograms, which at current local market prices may generate approximately 50,000,000 IDR.

However, these numbers do not always tell the full story.

“The price can drop overnight,” Deddy said. “Sometimes we harvest with hope… and sell with disappointment.”

For young farmers like Indra and his friends, uncertainty is part of everyday life. Weather patterns have become increasingly unpredictable. Rain may come too early, or not at all. Pests can spread quickly. Access to farming tools and capital remains limited. Beyond these challenges, there is also a social reality: many young people are leaving the village, choosing urban jobs over farming, which is often seen as less promising.

“Some of my friends already left,” Indra admitted quietly. “They say farming is too hard… and maybe they’re right. But for me, I’m still trying.”

Despite these pressures, Indra and his peers remain grounded. When prices fall and losses occur, they accept it as part of the cycle. For them, farming is not only about profit—it is about continuity, responsibility, and identity.

For these village youths, cultivating the land is a way to ensure that it does not lie fallow. It is both a practical necessity and a deeper commitment to sustaining life itself. They believe that when the land is cared for, life continues—both for the present and for future generations.

“ I will always stay here,” Indra said, looking across the fields as the light began to fade.

For Indra and his collective, the future remains uncertain. Yet in the rhythm of planting, harvesting, and working together, they continue to hold onto something steady—an enduring belief that the land, and the knowledge passed down through generations, still holds meaning in a rapidly changing world.