What It’s Like to Grow Up in Banda Aceh

Banda Aceh is often in the news. But it's rarely for something good. The press is obsessed with covering this province's Sharia Law. It's all reports on canings, church arsons, restrictions on what women wear, where they hang out, and how they ride a motorbike. It's seen as a place where every punk is grabbed off the streets for a haircut and religious re-education classes (thanks VICE). It's, in short, a pretty bleak picture of the city I call home.

This perception affects the way people see my city. A friend once asked me "hey, I'm going to Aceh and I have tattoos. Should I wear long sleeves?" They thought they would be chased out of the province for having some ink. But when all you read is negative press, can you blame them for being scared?

So, is life in Banda Aceh really this repressive? Not in the least. Let me list a few things that are common sights in the city: women in skinny jeans, women riding motorbikes however they damn please, punks sitting on the steps of the Tsunami Museum in leather and studs, young, fashionable people hanging out all night long. The hijab, known locally as a jilbab, is mandatory under Sharia Law, but plenty of women ignore the law entirely. Alcohol is banned outright, but even that doesn't stop some of the city's rebellious youths from sipping a beer out of paper bag under the hot tropical sun, in plain view of everyone. (I actually wouldn't recommend doing this, but that doesn't mean it never happens).

So wait, what about the Sharia Police? It's true they will hand you a sarong if your jeans are too tight or a hijab if you're a woman outside without a veil. But these things usually happen during raids. In our day-to-day life, the Sharia Police in Banda Aceh just pretend not to see you. They have to patrol the city—it's their job after all—but that doesn't mean they have to crack down on every single infraction every single day.

There have been so many times when I was out walking in shorts—a violation under our version of Sharia Law—and I caught the eye of the Sharia police. We stared at each other and then both of us went on our way. No one forced me to do ten pushups or lectured me on the law.

This is because life is pretty normal here. People have jobs, own vehicles, chill out at the cafe until early in the morning, and attend school without fear of being told that education for girls is forbidden. I've heard people say that Banda Aceh was like the Saudi Arabia of Indonesia. The hell it is. We don't ban women from leaving the house without their husbands. We don't execute members of the LGBT community for being gay. Most Acehnese practice a mainstream version of Islam. Sure it's pretty strict here, but, believe it or not, many people in Banda Aceh don't really believe that all the things banned by Sharia Law are actually all that bad.

There are a couple of things to remember about Aceh. The province fought a 30-year war against the Indonesian government to try to gain independence. It was a time when my parents, fearful that I would be caught in the crossfire, forbade me from going outside at night. For a while it seemed like the fight between the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) and the Indonesian military (TNI) would never end. The tsunami changed everything. On Dec. 26, 2004, a tsunami washed over Aceh, killing more than 170,000 people, destroying whole towns and cities in the process. A half-million people were left homeless.

When the wave hit Banda Aceh, I was at my family's home. I looked outside and saw people running in the streets. Then the panic set in. I thought, "this must be Doomsday," as we all rushed to higher ground. I spent a month up there. The devastation down near the beach was difficult to comprehend. One day I saw hundreds of bodies laid out in the street. Some of my friends survived. Others didn't.

Suddenly rebuilding seemed a lot more important than the war. One year later, GAM and the government had signed a peace agreement. The agreement said we had to implement Sharia Law. The peace agreement allowed us to restart our lives. But we had to do it with new restrictions.

"Everything has changed since catastrophe took everything people had," said Tiara, a 25-year-old lecturer and youth activist. "Since that day, we started a new life. During the conflict, we limited ourselves because the conditions were so difficult. So now that we're free, we want to taste everything we couldn't taste before. The good news is that we've become more open-minded, more fearless, more hopeful. The bad news is that we've become fragile on the inside, more stubborn, and prone to judging other people."

It's been nearly twelve years since the tsunami. Eleven years since the end of the war. Banda Aceh wasn't as badly affected by the war as other places, but it still shocks me that we don't have a movie theater. The old one was operating at limited hours because of the conflict (it was dangerous at night) and as soon as the war was over local Islamic leaders declared theaters dangerous spaces that cause people to commit adultery. It's stuff like this that makes people focus on the negative sides of Aceh.

"The international media depicts Aceh as a fundamentalist province, but they pay no attention to our daily lives, to the small acts of resistance," said Raisa, a 25-year-old a researcher and archivist at the arts space Kolektif Akar Imaji. "My generation grew up during the conflict, the tsunami, and now Sharia Law. It's not easy being hopeful in Banda Aceh. Back in the day, most people were just happy enough to be alive. They were happy to have enough money for their daily needs. But today, I find hope by organizing events that show an alternative way of life—events like movie screenings, music gigs, or public discussions."

It's a lot to take in, but after a while, I started to lighten up and notice the positive things that make this place unique. I saw the loving side of our culture. In Aceh we call it Peumulia Jamee—or honoring guests in our homes. When the Rohingya refugees showed up off the coast of Aceh, our communities welcomed them with open arms. We believe that its our duty to help someone in their time of need.

And then there's the food. Nothing can compare to the taste of martabak telur, or the simple joy of hanging out at one of the city's countless coffee shops.

Of course Banda Aceh has it's issues, but nowhere is without its problems. I've spent my entire life in this city. And I never plan to leave.

Teuku Fariza writes about music, his life, and hardcore/punk stuff. He also runs a booking label. Follow him on Twitter at @Teuku_Fariza.