Corn Rice, an Old Friend, and Hope Flowing Along the Brantas River

MOJOKERTO — On Saturday morning (May 30, 2026), Mak Ning’s small food stall in Canggu, Mojokerto had not yet truly quieted down. The clock had not even struck eight. The wok was still busy over the stove. Customers came and went. The aroma of nasi jagung (corn rice), urap vegetables, and simple side dishes blended with the cool morning air that still carried traces of dew. Amid the bustle, a car pulled up in front of the stall. Three men stepped out. Like ordinary customers, they immediately looked for seats and ordered breakfast. “Nasi jagung (Corn Rice)!” one of them shouted. I was still busy at the frying station when the voice came again. Cak Pri!” I turned around. For a brief moment, the face felt strangely familiar. “Prigiii!” I replied spontaneously. We laughed. It had been a long time since we last met.

Prigi Arisandi is no stranger to my life’s journey. Years ago, we shared the same newsroom, both chasing stories for a daily newspaper in Surabaya.

While some of us stayed in journalism, Prigi’s path took him somewhere different.

He chose rivers.

He chose mud.

He chose voices that often go unheard.

And from that concern, Ecoton was born—an organization that for decades has consistently championed environmental issues, particularly the protection of Indonesia’s rivers.

As he finished the last spoonful of his corn rice, Prigi spoke briefly.

“Today we’re starting the Ngintir Kali action, Cak.”

The sentence sounded simple.

But I knew, just like in previous years, the action was far more than merely traveling along a river.

Behind the word ngintir lies long-term work, research, concern, and hope that continues to be fought for.

That morning, Prigi and his friends from the Riverbank Community Rescue Alliance (Akamsi), Ecoton, Posko Ijo, River Warrior, and TitikTerang were preparing to begin a four-day journey along the Brantas River.

 

They departed from the Mlirip floodgate area in Mojokerto.

This was not tourism.

They intended to examine the pulse of the river that has sustained millions of lives.

The Brantas is not merely a river.

 

It is a source of drinking water for residents of Surabaya, Sidoarjo, Gresik, Mojokerto, and Jombang.

It nourishes rice fields.

It flows into household kitchens.

It serves as one of East Java’s lifelines.

That is why when the river falls ill, it is not only the fish that suffer.

All of us feel the impact.

Prigi spoke with sparkling eyes.

Amid the many threats of pollution, there was still good news they had discovered.

Research conducted in March 2026 found 34 freshwater fish species in the Surabaya River, three of which are rare endemic species from Java.

 

There is the Rengkik (Baung catfish). The Javan catfish (Lele Jawa). And the spotted wader fish.

 

The discovery became a glimmer of hope.

That the Brantas has not given up.

That nature is still trying to endure.

That this river is still giving humanity a chance to correct its mistakes.

Yet hope walks hand in hand with threats.

Microplastics are still being found.

Industrial waste remains a serious issue.

Household trash continues to flow downstream.

Illegal structures are slowly encroaching upon the riverbanks.

That is why their actions do not stop at discussions or seminars.

They choose to go directly into the river.

To truly enter the currents of the Brantas.

 

In Javanese, ngintir means “to follow the flow.” Thus, Ngintir Kali is not simply a river expedition from the banks or an observation from a boat.

These activists allow their bodies to drift with the river’s current, immersing themselves in the pulse of life that has sustained millions of people.

 

From murky water surfaces, trash caught in branches, to changing riverbank conditions—everything is observed from the closest distance possible.

Watching them float with the Brantas current that morning, I suddenly understood something.

Sometimes, to truly understand a river, one has to step inside it.

 

Feel the cold water.

Smell its scent.

See directly what has only been visible from afar.

Perhaps that is the true meaning of Ngintir Kali.

Not merely following the river’s current.

But following the pulse of life that has long flowed alongside it.

 

I looked at Prigi as he prepared to leave.

His hair may no longer look the same as when we were young reporters together.

Time changes many things.

But one thing has never changed—his concern.

Back then, he wrote about the environment.

Today, he chooses to step in and protect it directly.

 

That morning, after breakfast ended and our brief conversation came to a close, they got back into the car.

 

A long journey awaited them.

I returned to the stall.

Back to the wok.

Back to serving customers who kept coming and going.

But my thoughts still followed their journey as they slowly disappeared into the distance.

Out there, a group of people had chosen to spend their weekend not at shopping malls, nor tourist attractions.

 

They chose to follow the river.

To document life.

To measure hope.

And to remind all of us that the Brantas River is not an inheritance from our ancestors to be exhausted carelessly.

 

It is a trust that must be protected for future generations.

That morning, amid the busyness of a small food stall in Mojokerto, I was reminded once again that great change often begins with people who choose to care.

And sometimes, a story about the future of a river can begin with a bowl of corn rice and a brief reunion with an old friend.

 (GoekPri)

Source : https://warungbercerita.blogspot.com/2026/05/nasi-jagung-kawan-lama-dan-harapan-yang.html