Century old oil wells a trap for workers

Century-old oil wells are a trap for workers. These wells are relics of the past. For over 100 years, they have been the most lucrative jobs in this remote part of Indonesia. But the land is ruined by toxic leaks. Workers risk their lives to extract what little oil remains. Yet, they do not own that oil. Instead, they must sell it to the state company, which many locals claim barely pays enough to survive.

So, why do these toxic old wells still operate? How did thousands end up trapped in this risky work?

Local man Pauni, started extracting oil at 19. Now, he teaches his nephew the ropes. The 700 oil wells near his village in East Java date back to the Dutch colonization in the late 1800s. Locals own most of these wells. However, only about 200 are still functional.

Before starting each day, Pauni and his colleagues pray. They rely on improvised and rustic tools like an engine salvaged from an old dump truck. The process is dangerous and messy. Pauni uses a bailer, a tube with holes that lets in oil when submerged. At around 1,000 feet deep, accessing the oil is challenging and risky.

Accidents are always a concern. Pauni sometimes wears a mask to guard against the toxic spray. His greatest fear? An explosion. Old equipment often overheats and can ignite. Just last June, a fire at another well in Sumatra claimed four lives.

Maintaining these wells is a nightmare. They’re too narrow and deep for repairs. Mud frequently clogs the pumps, stopping the bailer from reaching the oil.

Once pumped, the crude oil combines with water and mud. Workers scoop the oil, which they then transfer using a vacuum. Two hundred years ago, oil oozed naturally from the ground. Locals gathered it for lamps and medicine. But in 1887, the Dutch set up extensive drilling operations, transforming the land forever.

When the Dutch left after 1949, oil leaks had already polluted the earth and water. Farming, once the lifeblood of the community, became a struggle. Oil extraction became the most profitable work, but the reserves dwindled.

In 2004, Pauni could draw 900 gallons per day from these wells. Now, it takes him a week to collect 55 gallons. While oil still lies underground, the wells are too shallow. Worse yet, workers do not own the rights to the oil. The state-owned company, Pertamina, controls it and legally requires workers to sell their oil to them.

However, many workers earn more selling independently. The black market allows Pauni to make double what Pertamina pays. Yet, after all that, they might only make about $12 a week.

To make ends meet, workers share packed lunches. Pauni pays his nephew Joko an extra $6 a week to transport oil to refineries. Joko has been at it for 16 years. His trips have dwindled from ten a day to just four or five.

Processing the oil is labor-intensive. Jaenuri, a neighbor, works long hours in a small refinery. He carries heavy containers and uses traditional methods. The crude is heated in drums, then distilled into different fuels. But the air is thick with fumes—dangerous gases that can cause serious health issues.

In a single day, they produce enough diesel to fill a car three times. Despite selling to Pertamina, many choose black markets where locals pay more. Unfortunately, the quality of artisanal oil is low, primarily used to power old machinery.

Interestingly, Indonesia could power itself with its underground reserves for four years. Yet it still imports half its oil. Workers cannot dig new wells for fear of losing their rights. They must allow big companies to drill on their land due to laws passed to attract foreign investment.

In 2001, Exxon Mobil discovered a nearby field. They bought land from 3,000 smallholders, leading to a significant oil output today. Yet locals ask the government for support and better tools to extract oil independently.

With no other options, workers push forward. They dig more shallow wells for oil, despite knowing they are damaging their land. Some estimates suggest illegal wells are producing more oil than legal ones—ten barrels a day more.

Many locals feel trapped in a cycle of bleak work. Pauni’s family once grew mangoes for generations, but the crops now fail. Still, he is grateful every drop of oil brings hope. It allows his daughter the chance for a better life.