Borneo burning: Life on the frontline of South East Asia's toxic haze

When the sun hits the smog enveloping Indonesian Borneo, it turns everything the colour of rust. Cars, houses and streets appear and disappear out of a dim russet fog. There are few better words than "apocalyptic" to describe the way this looks.

But it's at night, in the quiet darkness, that mother-of-three Dianyra Eka Nastiti grows most fearful.

"Sometimes at night my baby's chest makes a rattling sound," she says. "She was hospitalised for bronchopneumonia when she was just a month and a half old, and every single night I worry: Will my child cough tomorrow?

Dastiti lives in Palangkaraya, at the frontline of a months-long environmental catastrophe that has blanketed large parts of Southeast Asia in a toxic haze.

Wildfires have torched some 1.9 million hectares across Indonesia since the start of the year, according to open-access satellite platform Nusantara Atlas – an area roughly the size of the US state of New Jersey, or the entire nation of Fiji. One million hectares are thought to have burned in September alone.

But the toxic fallout is larger still. Swathes of smouldering forest, swamp and peatlands have turned the air thick with microparticles and carbon monoxide, creating a noxious cloud that has swaddled Indonesia and drifted as far as Singapore, Malaysia and the Philippines.

As of mid-October, Indonesia's Health Ministry had recorded more than 277,000 cases of people suffering from chronic coughs and acute respiratory infections. More than 62,000 of those were infants and toddlers under the age of five.

"The forest fires have had a huge impact, especially on everyone's health," says 22-year-old Natari Victoria, who was admitted to a health centre in Palangkarya after suffering from a cough for more than a week.

"I have young cousins, including babies, who are coughing too. It's really taking a toll on them."

Haze and smoke from peat fires contain a complex mixture of pollutants that pose serious health risks to the human body.

Among these are tiny microparticles which can penetrate deep into the lungs and, in some cases, enter the bloodstream, causing inflammation, chronic lung diseases and increased risk of premature death.

Another concern is the toxic greenhouse gases that are being unleashed into the air.

"Here in Central Kalimantan, especially in Palangkaraya, the sky has turned yellow and hazy," says Riduan, head of the Palangkaraya Health Office. "So what are the residents actually breathing in? It's not fresh oxygen; it's carbon dioxide and pollutants. And what happens as a result? The body – specifically the brain – doesn't get enough oxygen."

Children, older adults and pregnant women are particularly vulnerable to the dangers of haze, especially during prolonged periods of exposure, when the health impacts can accumulate.

In places like Palangkarya, the official advice is to stay indoors and avoid going out. But Dastiti says this is unrealistic.

"I still need to buy vegetables, stock up on food, purchase school supplies, and take care of other necessities," she explains. "It's simply not possible, and I feel like the people who say things like that have no idea what is actually happening here."

Dastiti's utmost priority, however, is the health and wellbeing of her children. And when the haze grows heavy, she is quick to force them inside.

"With conditions being so unsafe, I have no choice," she says. "Our young children should be at the park, playing with their friends and going to school. Instead, they are locked inside the house."

Lola Macitri, a 37-year-old who lives in the rural village of Ramang, 50km (31 miles) north of Palangkaraya, has been similarly housebound. As the smog has deepened over the past few weeks – from dusty grey to amber yellow and, more recently, burnt orange – she and her family have come to spend most of their time indoors.

Her children, like many others in Indonesia's more haze-affected areas, have been doing their school classes online, she says, while she and other adults struggle to manage half-a-day's work out in the poisonous air.

Countless farmers, daily-wage earners and small vendors have similarly been forced to either sacrifice their livelihoods or endure the risk of stepping outside. Beyond that, many are left with no choice but to wait out the storm.

"If you ask whether we are afraid of the health risks, of course we are. But where else can we go?" says Macitri. "We just have to endure and stay strong through this situation, because there is simply no other option."

The government is under mounting pressure from the public to do more to stop the fires, with many criticising what they see as a woefully inadequate response by the authorities.

Authorities insist they have pursued a range of measures to try to extinguish the flames and, in turn, the smoke – from aerial waterbombing to experimental weather modification. Last week, the Indonesian government said it had deployed more than 60,000 personnel to carry out a "land operation", claiming they'd achieved an 80% success rate in extinguishing new fires.

"At this point, I think we need to use every safe and effective option available to suppress the fires," says Dr Nisa Novita, a forestry expert and peatland researcher at Indonesian conservation NGO Yayasan Konservasi Alam Nusantara (YKAN).

"It's a bit like trying to save a sinking ship: we need to act urgently, use whatever tools can help, and prevent further damage while we still can."

But those resources are fast depleting for responders on the ground.

For more than 100 days, Juni has been fighting wildfires that show only false signs of abating. On the surface, the flames are out – but underground, smouldering blazes continue to burn through a deep understory of carbon, vegetation and peat.

"It is truly exhausting," he says, describing how the relentless smoke has produced in him a shortness of breath, a persistent cough and an unshakeable pain in his eyes. When asked what he needs, he says "air".

"The haze makes it hard to breathe," he explains. "We are just hoping for heavy rain."

Thousands of others across Indonesia and Southeast Asia have spent the past several months hoping for the same.

Seasonal wildfires are not new to Indonesia but this year, a so-called Super El Nino has amplified drought conditions and delayed the kind of rainfall that is critical to extinguishing peat fires. It has also made things exponentially harder for those at the coalface, like Juni, who have spent months battling a seemingly irrepressible fire front.

Dr Novita explains that conditions on the ground have become much harsher even in recent weeks, as the prolonged drought makes water increasingly scarce.

Fauzi Rahman, another firefighter in Palangkaraya, highlighted this as one of the main difficulties confronting him and his peers.

"Peatland fires are hard to put out because they require a lot of water and a long time," he says. "On regular land we can clear 20 hectares in a single day, especially with a large team... On peatland, it can take months.

"We really have to inject water deep down, all the way to the bottom, which requires a huge amount of water. And right now, water is hard to find."

What's more concerning for Dr Novita, however, is that her team has reported fires spreading into areas where there has been no history of fire before.

"So we're not only dealing with fires in the usual hotspots but also seeing them emerge in new areas," she says.

In Palangkaraya, people are growing desperate for an end to this apocalypse. But it will likely take a force of nature for that to happen any time soon.

Riduan, head of the Palangkaraya Health Office, tells the BBC that "hopefully, with all the extraordinary efforts from the community, the military, and the police working together, the fires can be put out".

"However, as of right now, the fires are still burning," he adds. "So what can we hope for? Our greatest hope is that Almighty God will bring us rain soon."

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