Nestled in the vibrant waters of Teluk Youtefa, not far from the bustling capital of Jayapura, lies a small but resilient community with deep ancestral roots and an unshakable bond with the sea: the Indigenous people of Enggros. For generations, they have lived in harmony with the rhythms of nature—fishing in coastal waters, harvesting in sacred mangrove forests, and upholding traditional values that honor the balance between humanity and the environment.
But in recent years, that balance has been pushed to its breaking point.
Climate change, once a distant concept to many, is now washing up—quite literally—on their shores. Rising sea temperatures, changes in salinity, and declining fish populations have begun to alter the way Enggros villagers live, eat, and survive.
Yet rather than surrender to these challenges, the people of Enggros have turned to an unlikely ally in their fight for food and economic security: the humble tilapia.
The Climate Crisis Comes Home
For decades, the Enggros people have relied on traditional fishing methods to meet their dietary and economic needs. Their relationship with the sea was not merely utilitarian—it was spiritual. The Tonotwiyat custom, an age-old law unique to their culture, governs their stewardship of the mangrove forests, specifically in the “Hutan Perempuan” (Women’s Forest), a sacred space where only women are permitted to enter, forage, and manage marine resources.
But even these time-tested systems are not immune to the changes brought by a warming planet.
In interviews with community members, it became clear that traditional fishing zones—once teeming with life—are no longer reliable. Schools of fish have become harder to find. The sea is warmer. The tides behave differently.
“We noticed the sea no longer gives as much as it used to,” said Petronela Meraudje, an Enggros resident and environmental advocate. “Sometimes we go out and return empty-handed. It’s not like before.”
The community began to recognize that without adaptation, their cultural identity, livelihood, and food security could erode as rapidly as the coastline itself.
The Tilapia Experiment: A Leap of Faith
In a twist no one expected, the Enggros community began to experiment with a species commonly associated with freshwater lakes and ponds—tilapia (ikan nila).
With support from local initiatives and environmental NGOs, they placed several keramba (floating net cages) in the sea, stocked with tilapia fingerlings. The goal was to test whether the fish could survive—and even thrive—in brackish water conditions.
To the community’s amazement, the experiment worked.
“At first, we weren’t sure. We thought, ‘How can freshwater fish live in saltwater?’ But we tried it anyway—and they survived. They grew. We were shocked,” said Petronela, smiling.
This revelation was more than a biological curiosity—it was a potential lifeline.
Nature’s Adaptation: Saline-Tolerant Tilapia
Although tilapia is a freshwater species by nature, certain strains have demonstrated surprising resilience in brackish or marine environments. These fish develop thicker scales and stronger immune systems, allowing them to adapt to saltier waters.
This adaptation aligns perfectly with the environmental conditions of Teluk Youtefa, where the mix of freshwater from rivers and the salty tides of the Pacific creates a dynamic ecosystem—not quite fresh, not quite fully saline.
“They’re not like the tilapia in the rivers. These are stronger and tougher. We feed them, and they grow fast,” said Seppy Hanasbey, another village elder who has helped lead the aquaculture program.
This success has allowed Enggros families to harvest fish more predictably, ensuring regular income and reliable protein—two things increasingly difficult to secure through traditional fishing alone.
A Community Transformed
Today, the once-unthinkable practice of farming fish in the sea is becoming a norm in Enggros.
Each household manages its own keramba, and neighbors frequently share feed, labor, and knowledge. Fish are sold at local markets in Jayapura, while some are kept for family consumption.
Children help feed the fish. Women monitor growth rates. Men build and maintain the bamboo structures. In this way, everyone participates, making it a truly community-based solution.
The tilapia are harvested in three to four months, and each cage can yield enough fish to sustain a family for weeks. With surplus, they can earn additional income—something vital in a region where jobs are scarce and economic opportunities remain limited.
Sustainability, Tradition, and the Future
What makes this story even more remarkable is how the Enggros people have managed to integrate innovation without abandoning tradition.
The sacred mangrove forests are still protected under Tonotwiyat law. Women continue to play their cultural roles in managing marine ecosystems. But now, alongside traditional practices, stands a new form of eco-friendly, culturally respectful aquaculture.
This balance reflects a deeper philosophy within Indigenous worldviews: the belief that humans must adapt in harmony with nature, not against it.
Petronela puts it best:
“We’re not giving up our ways. We’re adding to them. The sea is changing, so we change too. But we still protect it.”
Broader Lessons for Indonesia and Beyond
As climate change accelerates across the Indonesian archipelago, stories like that of Enggros are becoming increasingly valuable—not just locally, but nationally and globally.
Across Indonesia’s 17,000 islands, many coastal Indigenous communities face similar threats: disappearing fish stocks, eroding coastlines, saline intrusion into freshwater, and erratic weather patterns.
The Enggros model offers a low-cost, scalable solution that leverages local knowledge, minimal infrastructure, and community ownership. It is already attracting attention from environmental researchers, policymakers, and food security advocates.
In fact, several Papuan universities have begun to study the project’s results, exploring how other communities might adapt similar systems.
Challenges Still Remain
While the success of tilapia farming in Enggros is undeniable, it is not without challenges.
Feed access, technical training, and market competition with larger commercial fisheries are ongoing concerns. Some villagers also fear that pollution from urban development in Jayapura could eventually contaminate the bay.
There’s also the need for policy recognition. Indigenous aquaculture, though effective, remains largely unsupported by formal government frameworks. Without inclusion in marine spatial planning or small-scale fisheries development policies, communities like Enggros risk being overlooked.
Still, the villagers remain hopeful.
“We do what we can with what we have. Maybe the government will see our efforts and help us grow this more,” said Seppy.
Conclusion
The Enggros people have always lived by the tides, by the trees, and by the wisdom of those who came before. Today, they continue that legacy—not by resisting change, but by meeting it head-on, with creativity, courage, and collaboration.
Their journey from mangrove foragers to marine tilapia farmers is not just a tale of adaptation—it is a blueprint for Indigenous innovation in the face of crisis.
In a world that often treats climate change as a technical or political issue, Enggros reminds us that solutions can also be cultural, local, and deeply human.