The morning had started like any other for Ardi Wicaksono, a 28-year-old delivery worker who spent his days navigating the narrow roads of Lumajang on his battered motorbike. The December air was cool, and the village routes were busy with schoolchildren and farmers heading to the fields.
Ardi had one last delivery to make near Curah Kobokan — a familiar route he had taken hundreds of times. What he didn’t know was that Mount Semeru was waking up above him, preparing to unleash its most violent eruption in years.
“The sky turned black in seconds.”
Ardi had just stopped to ask for directions when he heard what sounded like a jet engine roaring across the sky. At first, the villagers froze. Then someone screamed.
“When I looked up, the sky turned black in seconds,” Ardi said, recalling the moment ash and hot air blasted downward. “It felt like night fell instantly.”
Panicked residents ran in every direction. Chickens scattered. Motorcycles toppled. Ardi started his engine, but visibility dropped to almost zero as volcanic ash rained down like burning snow.
“I couldn’t see the road. All I could hear was the roar of Semeru and people shouting for help.”
Trapped Between Fire and Ash
Just minutes later, a pyroclastic flow — a deadly cloud of hot gas, ash, and rocks — began rushing down the slope toward the village. Ardi abandoned his motorbike and sprinted, choking on the ash that filled the air.
“It hurt to breathe,” he said. “Every breath felt like swallowing fire.”
He stumbled toward a small house, where several villagers had gathered. Someone pulled him inside just before the ash storm swallowed the yard.
Inside the dark room, Ardi crouched with strangers — a grandmother, two children, a farmer still covered in dust. The only light came from a flickering phone screen.
“We didn’t know if we would make it out,” he whispered.
Hours of Waiting for Rescue
For nearly two hours, they waited in silence as the sound of rocks pelting the roof echoed like gunfire. The air smelled of sulfur; the floor trembled as Semeru continued to erupt.
When the ash cloud finally thinned, they pushed open the door. The world outside had turned gray. Trees had collapsed. Houses were buried to their windows. Ardi’s motorbike was nowhere to be seen.
He remembers stepping into the thick ash, his legs sinking with each step. “It felt like walking through snow — but hot, choking snow.”
Rescue teams had not yet reached the village. Ardi and the others started walking, helping elderly residents who had been trapped inside their homes. Children cried, calling for parents who had not returned.
The Long Walk Out
For six kilometers, Ardi and dozens of survivors walked through the deserted, ash-covered landscape. Their shoes melted from the heat. Many wrapped their faces with wet cloths to keep breathing.
Along the way, Ardi helped carry a young boy who had been separated from his family.
“He kept asking if Semeru was going to chase us,” Ardi said softly. “I told him no, even though I wasn’t sure.”
Hours later, they reached a military post where volunteers handed out water and blankets. Ardi collapsed to the ground, exhausted and trembling.
“I didn’t realize I was still holding the package I was supposed to deliver,” he said with a faint smile. The white box was covered in ash, its label barely visible.
Life After the Eruption
Ardi’s home survived, but many of his customers and daily routes no longer existed. Villages he used to visit were buried under meters of ash. Some of the people he delivered packages to were gone.
“It’s strange,” he said. “You see the news about eruptions, but when you stand in the middle of it… you understand how small you really are.”
Despite the trauma, Ardi returned to work weeks later, riding a borrowed motorbike. His delivery route changed, but he continues to pass by the shadow of Semeru every morning.
“Sometimes I still hear the sound of that roar,” he admitted. “But I’m grateful. I survived. And I want to keep moving forward.”
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