Writing
The Resilient Farmers of Ampreng: Om John Piri’s Harvest Story
“The name of this farm is Aminyobi. It means ‘the farm at the lower part’ of the village,” explained Om Piri.
In the village of Ampreng, Langowan, John Piri—known affectionately as Om Piri—is recognized as a tenacious farmer. Together with his wife, he spends long days in the fields, from early morning mist to the cool darkness of night. Their lives revolve around the land—planting chilies (rica), tomatoes, and corn. This season, their harvest of chilies and corn has brought a sense of relief.
“We recently harvested 200 kilograms of chilies in the first stage. This is already the fifth time we’ve picked them,” he said. From this, he managed to earn nearly 10 million Rupiah in profit.
“How many more harvests will there be, Om?” I asked, sipping warm coffee while the sweet, smoky aroma of freshly roasted corn—picked just hours earlier—filled the air.
“It depends,” he replied. “If the crops don’t rot because of pests, there are still many harvests left.”
Farming Between Hope and Uncertainty
For chili farmers like Om Piri, the greatest threat is not always visible. Patek—a fungal disease known scientifically as Anthracnose—can silently destroy entire crops. Many farmers in the region have experienced total crop failure because of it.
“In one planting season, we can harvest 15 to 20 times,” Om Piri explained. “Sometimes even up to 30, if everything goes well.”
“In two weeks, we can harvest up to three times,” added Deddy Milanno Sarayar, his nephew, who helps manage the farm. Deddy and Indra, Om Piri’s son, work closely together—more like brothers than cousins.
Yet behind these numbers lies a fragile reality. Weather patterns have become increasingly unpredictable. Too much rain invites disease; too little dries the soil. Access to pesticides, fertilizers, and stable markets remains limited. For young farmers, this is not just labor—it is a daily negotiation with uncertainty.
“Sometimes we do everything right,” Deddy said, “but the outcome is still out of our hands.”
The Economics of Survival
While we were talking, Indra Congregations Piri arrived, fresh from delivering chilies to a collector in Tumaratas village. His clothes still carried the scent of the field—earthy, raw, and alive.
“Here is the money, Pa,” he said, handing the earnings to his father.
Chilies remain one of the family’s main sources of income. Based on their recent harvest, 200 kilograms of chilies can generate close to 10 million Rupiah, depending on market prices. However, these prices fluctuate dramatically.
Tomatoes, another key crop in Ampreng, tell an even more volatile story.
“Once, a crate of tomatoes reached 1 million Rupiah,” Om Piri recalled. “That was in 2017. Hopefully, it can be like that again.”
But the opposite extreme is just as real.
“I remember when the price dropped to just 5,000 Rupiah per crate,” he added quietly.
In early August this year, prices fell again to around 20,000 Rupiah per crate due to overproduction. With one village capable of producing massive quantities, supply often exceeds demand.
“The production from just one village could meet the needs of all North Sulawesi,” Indra explained. “That’s why prices collapse.”
This highlights a larger issue: the lack of coordinated distribution systems and market regulation. Without it, farmers bear the full weight of price instability.
Local Wisdom and Collective Strength
Despite these challenges, the people of Ampreng continue to rely on deeply rooted cultural practices.
Farming here is not just an economic activity—it is guided by local wisdom. Systems like Mapalus (mutual cooperation) and shared labor practices allow farmers to support one another without relying solely on money.
In simple terms, when one family needs help planting or harvesting, others come voluntarily. The favor is returned when it is their turn. This system strengthens both productivity and social bonds.
“We don’t work alone here,” Indra said. “If one of us struggles, we all feel it.”
Food, Community, and Cultural Memory
As our conversation continued, Vemmy Kaat, Om Piri’s wife, prepared spices for the day’s meal. The scent of garlic, chili, and fresh herbs filled the air. Today’s dish was Tureang—wild forest rat, a traditional Minahasan delicacy.
They invited me to join them.
In Minahasa, eating together is not just about nourishment—it is a cultural ritual. It is how harvests are celebrated, relationships are strengthened, and gratitude is expressed.
We gathered in the small hut (pondok) on the farm. The food—sourced from the forest and garden—became a shared blessing. Laughter, stories, and the clinking of plates blended with the sounds of nature around us.
Nearby, a dog named Korotey kept watch. Loyal and alert, he guards the farm. Om Piri jokes about him often—his affection for Korotey is unmistakable.
“They say I’m like John Wick,” he laughed. “But only because of the dog!”
Behind the humor is something deeper: care, attachment, and the quiet dignity of a life rooted in land and relationships.
The Future: Staying or Leaving?
For Indra and his peers, farming is more than survival—it is a choice shaped by identity, pressure, and hope.
Many young people from villages like Ampreng have left for the city, seeking stability and modern opportunities. Farming, with all its risks, is often seen as uncertain and exhausting.
“Some of my friends already left,” Indra admitted. “They said farming is too hard. And maybe they’re right.”
He paused, looking across the fields.
“But I’m still here. I still believe this land can provide.”
Today, Indra and his friends are also engaging in broader movements for Indigenous rights and food sovereignty. Through initiatives supported by the Alliance of Indigenous Peoples of the Archipelago (AMAN), they are working to strengthen economic independence and protect ancestral lands.
During the celebration of the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples (August 9), they marked their first chili harvest with a message:
#PassTheIndigenousPeoplesBill
#ManageYourAncestralDomainBeforeOthersDo
For the youth of Ampreng, cultivating the land is not just work—it is a commitment to life itself.
“I don’t know if I will always stay here,” Indra said softly. “But I hope this land will never be empty.”
Their story raises an important question for all of us:
What kind of future are we building—if those who feed us are the ones left behind?
- Buy directly from local farmers when possible
- Support policies that protect Indigenous land rights
- Share stories like this to raise awareness
- Reflect on where your food comes from—and who makes it possible
Or simply ask yourself:
What is your connection to the land—and how can you help sustain it?