Mama Lina’s vil­lage is one of the most iso­lated in Adonara, sit­ting high on the slopes of the vol­cano. A con­crete path leaps straight up the side of the vol­cano from the main road, the in­cline so steep that mo­tor­bike pas­sen­gers have to press them­selves up against the driver to avoid slid­ing off back­wards. […]
 I was a lit­tle sur­prised, then, to see a satel­lite dish next to a pa­paya tree in the gar­den, and a TV in the in­ner sanc­tum of the house. The vil­lage, it turned out, had a com­mu­nal gen­er­a­tor. By com­mon con­sent this was prod­ded into life ev­ery evening at an hour set by TV pro­gram­ming ex­ec­u­tives in Jakarta, a whole time zone away. As the lights came on and the tele­vi­sion sprang to life, ran­dom neigh­bours would wan­der into Mama Lina’s house, spread palm-weave tikar mats on the floor and flop down with the fam­ily for an act of col­lec­tive wor­ship at the al­tar of the sinetron.
 The sinetron, or soap opera…
 Eliz­a­beth Pisani, In­done­sia Etc.