Jayapura, Jubi – Yustina Kereway, a 26-year-old woman, is always seen accompanying her mother, Esterlina Kereway, delivering food and drinks to guests at Bwonbesayor Homestay. Bwonbesayor is one of ten homestays available for tourists to rent in Aisandami Village, Teluk Duairi District, Teluk Wondama Regency.
This ecotourism activity has become one of the livelihoods for the people of Aisandami Village, especially when sasi is enforced in the waters around their village. Normally, the people of Aisandami depend on the surrounding sea for their livelihoods.
While women in Aisandami Village engage in ecotourism, women in Sombokoro Village go out to sea to fish and sell their catch, in addition to making handicrafts at home and producing lime used for betel nut chewing (eating betel nut and betel leaf).
A spirit of mutual cooperation among women is key in Sombokoro. They help each other, especially when faced with limitations such as the lack of boats and engines—essential tools for going out to sea to catch fish or sea cucumbers.
Whenever they travel to the nearest markets, such as the district center in Windesi (13 km away by boat) or the neighboring district center in Wasior (37 km away), to sell marine products, women in Sombokoro Village have to spend a considerable amount of money on fuel—about 10 to 20 liters for a one-way trip with a 15-horsepower engine.
Women, key actors in preserving local wisdom
The role of women in Sombokoro Village does not stop at fishing or harvesting sea cucumbers. During the sasi closing ceremony, they also take on behind-the-scenes responsibilities.
“When the men focus on the sasi ceremony, the women prepare traditional foods such as kolak, corn, sweet potatoes, taro, and red fruit,” said Tovelina Bebari, a mother from Sombokoro Village.
The women are also active in making handicrafts such as noken made from genemo fiber, bamboo baskets, and shell ornaments. These handicrafts provide an additional source of income for them when sasi is enforced in the waters of Sombokoro. However, if the market for these handicrafts is slow, the women of Sombokoro choose to focus on the sea to meet urgent needs, such as Tovelina, who must support her children who are now in high school.
“Because not all waters are under sasi,” said Tovelina.
The people of Teluk Wondama realize the wealth of their marine ecosystem — a combination of mangroves, seagrass, and coral reefs — is both a gift and a responsibility.
Another woman from Sombokoro Village, Marlin Rumbarar, works every day collecting bia (clam) shells washed up on the shoreline. She burns these shells to make lime for betel chewing. The white lime is then sold to meet daily needs and pay for her children’s education.
“We make lime so the children can go to school,” said Marlin.
Her work begins with gathering clam shells from the beach, cleaning them, and drying them until they are ready. After that, the shells are burned using firewood collected from the beach.
“If there is a lot of firewood, I can get ten jerrycans of lime,” she said.
If she collects plenty of firewood, she can produce ten 5-liter jerrycans of lime. However, if she finds only a small amount of firewood, the result is about five jerrycans. Making lime is not Marlin’s only source of income. In addition to producing lime, she also harvests sea cucumbers and makes salted fish. All these efforts she does on her own to support her son’s schooling in high school, especially when sasi is enforced in the waters around Sombokoro.
Nurhalimah’s spirit
Another woman in Sombokoro, Nurhalimah Mnuari, whose hair has turned white with age, still carries an unyielding spirit to provide for her family. She is also known as a woman who makes lime for betel chewing from dried clam (bia) shells. Nurhalimah often searches for and collects various types of shells such as giant clams (kima), bia kodok, and bia jari-jari along the beach during low tide.
“I make this lime to help pay for my child’s school fees in Wasior. It’s not bad—I can make a profit of about one million rupiah,” she said softly.
In the past, before sasi existed, she often went fishing with her mother and grandmother when the tide was low. Using a noken bag she sewed herself, they caught bobara fish and other small fish. According to her, at that time she simply followed her parents’ way of fishing—no hooks were needed, and there was no need to go far into the sea.
Now, in her old age, Nurhalimah finds it increasingly difficult to catch fish. She admits that since 2007, fish catches have been decreasing. Unlike in her childhood, fishing today is very different—it requires hooks and a boat.
To meet her daily needs, she not only fishes but also embroiders tablecloths and makes her own salt. She can produce five kilograms of salt in two days by boiling seawater.
Nurhalimah has 14 children. She is grateful that all of them have gone to school, and some have even studied in Java.
Regarding the sasi applied in her village, Nurhalimah admits she does not receive anything from it because she only works in the garden. However, she supports the enforcement of sasi in Sombokoro’s waters, as she herself has experienced the difference in harvesting marine resources between her childhood and now.
When her village enforces sasi, she does whatever she can to help. She believes that preserving traditional ways of life and the spirit of mutual cooperation, such as sasi, is a heritage that must remain alive to ensure their survival.
“This teaches our children and grandchildren to value and care for the sea and all that is in it,” she said.
Local knowledge and wise traditional practices
In Yop Meos Village, the women know exactly when to go fishing. They catch fish during low tide in certain areas using simple tools. This is a form of local knowledge and traditional practice that does not cause damage. They are aware that if the sea is overexploited or polluted, the fish could disappear. Protecting the sea means ensuring the survival of the coral reef ecosystem, where fish reproduce.
“When the tide is low, we go by boat or canoe to a place called Ujung Tanjung. In this spot, sasi is not enforced like in other places. There we can get plenty of reef fish, such as grouper, snapper, and other reef species,” said Mrs. Ayomi, a resident of Yop Meos Village.
For them, the sea is not just a geographical space, but a living space—a source of daily food and livelihood. The reef fish they catch are not merely an economic commodity, but part of the family’s life cycle, the kitchen, and the future of their children. Protecting the sea means safeguarding the survival of coastal communities like Yop Meos.
Historically in Papua, sasi areas were managed by men. However, women in coastal villages in Teluk Wondama—such as in Aisandami, Sombokoro, Yop Meos, and Menarbu—have become the main actors in preserving local wisdom and supporting their family’s economy, especially since sasi began to be implemented. They play an important role as the frontline behind environmental conservation efforts and strengthening the local economy. Non-governmental organizations often carry out community-based conservation programs that place women as the main actors in the coastal areas of Teluk Cenderawasih.
Women’s wisdom also serves as the last line of defense for the sea, mangroves, and fish, which are increasingly threatened by ‘market greed.’ Customary rules are sometimes more strictly followed than government regulations. And it is the women who are more consistent in upholding these customary laws.
The role of women in Sombokoro Village does not stop at fishing or harvesting sea cucumbers. During the sasi closing ceremony, they also take on behind-the-scenes responsibilities
In the practice of customary conservation in Teluk Wondama, women play an important role, though often unseen. Even though the social structure is patrilineal and formal decisions are usually made by men, women’s voices strongly influence those decisions. Women do not attend customary meetings but whisper their concerns to their husbands or clan leaders. They know which areas are important for food, which should be closed off, and which must not be disturbed. So, these women are actually the decision-makers.
Aksamina Betay gave an example: when sasi was enforced in Menarbu, the men agreed to close the entire area, but the women reminded them that some coastal areas are essential for daily food gathering. Ultimately, only the offshore reef areas were closed, while the coastal zones remained open for women to collect clams or catch small fish.
“Our voices may not be heard openly, but our decisions are present in the final outcome,” Aksamina said.
However, Aksamina said that in some places, strong patrilineal rules remain. For example, in her own Menarbu Village, only men are allowed to catch julung fish, and even then only with simple fishing gear. The exact fishing locations are kept secret except to the owners who usually fish there.
In many villages in Teluk Wondama, she said, the community recognizes the concept of wilayah pamali — sacred areas that local people must never touch, let alone outsiders.
These areas are ecological savings accounts, where coral reefs grow intact, seagrass beds thrive, and mangroves strengthen the land’s foundations.
“Wilayah pamali can be in a hamlet, a neighborhood, or even just a small garden plot. Some places are marked with red cloth, sometimes cursed so that no one takes betel nuts, coconuts, or even fish there. That is how the community protects their life savings,” she explained.
Sasi, according to Esterlina Kereway, has become a kind of ecology-based economic system. Marine products are not taken carelessly but only when needed. When a child is about to enter school, the mother will open the sasi area to harvest sea cucumbers. When the church needs funds, the village opens the sea so people can catch bobara fish.
“This is like a savings account; they protect it first, then open it when necessary. It’s not farming with cages or artificial feed. It’s natural cultivation in harmony with nature,” Esterlina said.
This model is known as semi-natural cultivation. It has proven more suitable for coastal Papuan communities that still rely heavily on nature and maintain a spiritual relationship with their territory. However, combining it with modern programs presents challenges. Modern cultivation programs often fail because they do not align with local culture.
On the other hand, when customary conservation practices like sasi are in place, problems arise from outside — such as the lack of a stable market system, logistical distribution, and even institutional strengthening like village-owned enterprises (BUMKam) that are stalled. For example, there was once an attempt to build fish traps with 21 traps, but there was no market and ice was scarce. Selling to Nabire was uncertain, so people reverted to old methods.
Even when catches are abundant, there is no guarantee they will be sold at a fair price due to minimal infrastructure and management.
The people of Teluk Wondama realize the wealth of their marine ecosystem — a combination of mangroves, seagrass, and coral reefs — is both a gift and a responsibility. These three support each other to maintain sustainability. Mangroves filter mud, seagrass preserves fertility, and coral reefs provide habitat.
The role of women is significant
The role of women is also acknowledged by Nurhani Widiastuti, a researcher and lecturer at Papua University (Unipa). Based on her research, Nurhani concluded that women play a very significant role in managing coastal ecosystems in Teluk Wondama.
According to Nurhani, women in coastal villages such as Menarbu and Sombokoro are the main pillars in balancing economic needs and the preservation of natural resources. Women, she said, are not only the primary users of marine resources but also guardians of sustainability values.
She acknowledges that in the practice of sasi, women play important roles, even though they are not formally part of the management structure. They provide input to the men who make decisions, especially when women’s access to marine resources is hindered by overly strict sasi policies.
“I found that when women cannot access resources like kima, bia kodok, or mangrove snails, it directly affects family welfare. In the end, women raise their voices and influence policies so that there are zones that remain open for them,” she said.
Women’s awareness to protect marine resources, according to Aksamina, also arises from values of love and care. Women in Teluk Wondama often say they love the fish as if they were their own children. So even when sasi is opened, women catch only lobsters and sea cucumbers.
However, Nurhani highlights the risk of marginalizing women when carbon trading and conservation schemes are not managed inclusively.
“Women are the most vulnerable in cases of land grabbing. They are the ones who usually utilize mangroves and seagrass and may be displaced,” she said.
Nurhani emphasizes the importance of gender mainstreaming in marine and conservation policies in Teluk Wondama. Women in coastal villages, she added, have inclusive values and extraordinary care. If we talk about people, planet, and profit, women must be included.
“Thus,” she added, “women’s voices are not only about household economics but also key to sustainability and balance of coastal ecosystems in Teluk Wondama,” said Nurhani. (*)
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