WITNESSING
THE
DISAPPEARANCE
OF THE FARMERS

LOVING THE VIEW WITH RICE PADDY NEXT TO YOUR VILLA? 

LOVING TAKING YOUR FAMILY WALKING THRU RICE FIELD? 

IMAGINE THE VIEW OF THE LUSH GREEN TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU BECAUSE A NEW VILLA BUILD NEXT TO YOU?

IMAGINE THERE IS NO FRESH PRODUCE IN YOUR PLATE BECAUSE BALI HAS NO FARM LEFT OR EVEN FARMERS THAT DO THE JOB?

 

 

PICTURE BALI WITHOUT ITS LUSH FARMS, WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO HARVEST AND NO FARMERS LEFT TO CARE?

"When the farms fade, so does Bali’s soul. Will we stand by as the island loses its roots?"

 

I am Yeni, a farmer's daughter. For a long time, I hated that identity. It was hard. It wasn’t cool. We were poor.

 At school, I was bullied because of it. I felt like I was losing my childhood, spending countless hours helping out on the farm.

One vivid memory still haunts me—Never forget the day I won a school championship match. For the first time, I felt like I had done something big, something worth celebrating. But when I came home, there was no celebration—no new shoes, no bag, not even a word of encouragement.

It wasn’t just the lack of a reward that stung. What hurt the most was my father’s reaction. He looked at me and said, ‘What’s the point? You’re not going to make it anywhere.’ It felt like the door to my future had been slammed shut.

At the time, I didn’t understand. But looking back, I realize he wasn’t being cruel—he was being honest, at least from his perspective. There was no hope in his eyes, not just for me to succeed in life but even to dream of something as distant as a university degree. He couldn’t imagine a world where he could afford that for me.

That moment became my turning point. It lit a fire in me. If he couldn’t believe in me, then I would believe in myself. I didn’t just want to succeed—I needed to prove, to him and to myself, that I could do more, be more. And so I did

 

I LEFT MY FAMILY AND THE FARM BEHIND​

​

I lied about everything. I refused to admit I was a farmer’s daughter. I worked hard to build a new identity, one that people would respect. And I succeeded. I put myself through university, earned a degree, and by the time I was 19, I was working for an international company.

I made good money, traveled the world, and even lived abroad in places like Australia—modern, fashionable cities that many Balinese dream of. But deep down, I felt empty. Something was missing.

Six years ago, I decided to start my own company and began working closely with farmers. That’s when I realized what was calling me back all along: the farm I once hated.

 

SO, I MADE MY WAY BACK TO BALI​

​

Returning to Bali, I found it heartbreaking. The farmland I grew up on, where my siblings and I flew kites and played in the mud, was neglected and disappearing. Hotels and restaurants had replaced fertile fields. My father, a Balinese priest, could no longer keep up with the land’s demands as he grew older. The fresh tomatoes and cucumbers we once grew? We now have to buy them—most of them imported from Java.

It made me wonder: What will happen to Bali if this continues? What will happen to the iconic rice paddies that tourists come here to see? What will happen when there are no farmers left to grow fresh, beautiful food for our children?

 

 

COULD YOU IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE, IN JUST 10 YEARS THERE WONT BE FARMERS?

 

This is why I’ve returned. To rebuild what’s been lost. To honor the land, Inspiring the youth and the farmers who shaped me—even when I didn’t appreciate it