Mahari Leads Indonesia’s Bajau in Preserving Marine Life and Ancient Freediving Techniques

The ‘Pocong’ Technique and Traditional Bajau Freediving

Out on the water, Mahari acts as the ketua, or leader, determining which harvesting method his group will deploy based on daily weather conditions and visibility. When the water turns murky or currents run heavy, these fishermen rely on a weighted shell tool adorned with hooks, trailing it behind their moving boat. But when conditions clear up, they switch to the pocong, a specialized wooden and felt decoy fashioned to look like a live octopus.

Using the pocong requires extraordinary breath-hold ability and muscle control as divers descend 15 to 20 meters (50 to 65 feet) down to the reef. They will immediately realise it’s fake and swim away, a local fisherman told Mongabay, describing the intense precision needed to prevent the prey from touching the decoy. Only 10 people in their community can use the pocong. You need strength and skill.

This deep ocean connection begins at birth. As a Bajau, we know how to dive for as long as we can remember, Mahari recalls. Fellow fisher Nadir adds, Bajau people can tell directions without GPS, but by reading the stars, the wind, the air, and the currents. One week after children are born, we bring them to the sea.

The Health Crisis and Economic Pull of Compressor Diving

Despite deep-rooted freediving traditions, economic pressures pushed many sole providers toward compressor diving—a high-risk method involving surface air pumped through a long hose. While compressors extend underwater time and boost immediate yields, the physical toll has proven devastating across coastal communities.

Improvised diving rigs routinely lack safety checks, exposing divers to severe health hazards like decompression sickness, air embolisms, paralysis, chronic disabilities, and heightened drowning risks. With compressor diving, you can stay underwater for much longer, fisherman Well told Mongabay. If you get more octopus, you get more money. There’s a temptation. We’re human, right?

The human cost of these shortcuts is devastating. PELITA fisherman Wandra notes that many friends have fallen ill, suffered paralysis, or died from botched dives. Well personally abandoned the practice after suffering month-long paralysis on three separate occasions. Meanwhile, Mahari reports enduring paralysis 30 times, stating, I would go to the chamber, get healthy, and then go to the compressor to get back.

Community-Led Conservation Through PELITA and WMC

To combat these dangers, the marine-based NGO Jari Foundation partnered with local fishermen to form PELITA, an acronym for Persaudaraan Nelayan Gurita (Octopus Fishermen Brotherhood). Run by Hani Nusantari and her husband Boen across Lombok and Sumbawa, PELITA unites roughly 40 octopus fishers who have voluntarily abandoned compressors to embrace sustainable freediving and marine conservation.

Named after the traditional oil lamp illuminating fishing households, PELITA serves as a guiding light for coastal stewardship. Recognising the long-term impacts this practice was having on their health, they chose to return to traditional freediving methods while also actively involved in marine conservation initiatives and ecotourism, Hani explains. She also established Women for Marine Conservation (WMC) in 2022, expanding female participation into fisheries data collection, tourism, and community education.

Local enforcement supports this shift. While Indonesian fisheries law indirectly targets unsafe gear, the West Nusa Tenggara provincial government enacted an explicit compressor diving ban in 2020. Yet surveillance remains difficult; Boen notes that nighttime patrols once caught 50 to 60 illegal compressor divers operating secretly in a single area.

Rights-Based Management and the Future of Poto Tano Fisheries

Implementing the compressor ban required delicate negotiations regarding local livelihoods. In December 2025, Jari proposed village-level self-governance provisions empowering Poto Tano to manage its own marine zones. The problem is the Bajau are in the sea every day, Mahari says. We suggest ecological management, so limits on catch and size. Everything is enough for everybody. The problem is when there are greedy people who take more than what they need.

Advocating for a rights-based fisheries model similar to frameworks in Canada and Australia, Boen and local fishers stress that traditional ecological knowledge must drive conservation. Wandra points out that the community regularly rotates closures on two to three fishing grounds for months at a time to let ecosystems regenerate, while undersized octopus are routinely thrown back.

Looking ahead, Hani aims to bridge generational knowledge gaps by potentially opening a Bajau museum in Poto Tano to preserve oral storytelling traditions. Younger community members are already stepping up; Kadir notes that his son and peers reject compressor diving after witnessing its horrors, choosing instead to pursue ecotourism and marine science. Mahari’s own niece is currently studying marine science, ensuring the next generation will combine ancestral wisdom with modern scientific data to defend their coral reefs.