By Rizka Afif, deputy director, World Food Forum Indonesia chapter, and consulting member, International Forestry Students’ Association

My name is Rizka, and I grew up in a small village by the Progo River in Magelang, Central Java, Indonesia.

Nearly a decade ago, I took my first steps into the world of forestry. 

I was a student at a state vocational school deep in the Sawala Forest in Majalengka, East Java, when something clicked: the forest isn’t just trees and animals. It’s also community, policy, water, soil and harmony. 

From that moment, I was called to serve the Earth. 

I come from a family of farmers. My parents are true stewards of the land and were among the first to feel the sting of the climate crisis.

The rainy season here, which usually ends in March, now drags on until June. Crops are failing. Livelihoods are in jeopardy. 

Seeing them struggle, I knew I had to continue their legacy – not just as a farmer’s son but as a forester rooted in science, service and sustainability.

How I became a forester

Being a forester means many things. 

I’m currently working as a sustainability consultant in the field, researching economic and ecological values in local community households and studying local commodities such as sago.

I also serve as a consulting member of the International Forestry Students’ Association (IFSA) and co-leader of the Indonesian chapter of the World Food Forum (WFF). 

Part of my work involves mapping and legally registering local clans (marga) in South Sorong, Southwest Papua, that have not yet been officially identified. I also analyze survey results from field studies to decide how to best create stakeholder engagement and community development plans. 

Beyond my office work, I take part in regional and international forums and then take what I learn back to communities to keep them informed of policy and changing legal contexts.

I’ve worked with many organizations in various roles throughout my years as a forester.

I’ve spent 14 nights in a mangrove forest in the Bangka Belitung Islands, doing a forest inventory for the Baturusa Cerucuk Watershed Management Centre to be tailored to the national forest data system. 

I’ve worked with the Sarongge community in Cianjur, West Java, teaching ecopreneurship to primary school children. We made natural soap from Sapindus rarak and sold it to visitors in Gunung Gede Pangrango National Park. 

What began as a small school project took me all the way to Tokyo, where I represented my school at the Environmental Sustainable Development Symposium in 2017.

I then went back to the Bangka Belitung Islands and planted more than 500 multi-purpose tree species as part of an internship. 

I’ve learned to fly drones and create maps, picking up skills in topographic surveillance, aerial photography and thermal imagery – all valuable tools to help communities understand where best to plant trees and which species to plant.

More recently, I spent 45 days with communities living around the Mangunan pine forests in Bantul, Yogyakarta, studying how they cultivate a tuber called porang (Amorphophallus muelleri). I found that interplanting porang with other crops increased family incomes by an average of 15 percent.

And last year, through Green Leadership Indonesia, I led a ‘Sustainable Eco-Village’ project in Yogyakarta, working with over 40 women and 15 young people to build skills in maggot cultivation and sorting household organic waste to be used as natural feed for livestock.

We also taught them to make biopore holes – a method of transforming household waste into compost by drilling holes and filling them with organic waste. This allows rainwater to better absorb into the soil and the natural compost acts as a fertilizer.

Is it fun being a forester?

I often get asked if I enjoy my job as a forester.

In short: yes, I do. Being a forester is more than a profession: it’s a calling to care. It’s challenging and humbling. 

To be a forester is to see the world through a different lens. We’re not just caretakers of trees. We are the very axis upon which the wheel of forest management turns. 

But forests are more than just trees. Within them live people, animals, plants and entire ecosystems. 

Managing forests means tailoring approaches to each landscape and each community, always remembering that forestry is a shared, multisectoral responsibility.

There’s an old anecdote about forestry students from the 1990s. When asked why they chose this field, many said they were hoping to get rich.

That made sense back then, as the forestry industry was a pillar of the national economy.

But that natural wealth came at the cost of inequality. The riches ended up in the hands of a few, while forests and Indigenous communities suffered.

I find purpose in rewriting that story. I feel joy in dedicating myself to something far greater than myself: to protect, restore and empower. 

About 40.8 percent of Indonesians living in rural areas depend directly on biodiversity to survive. 

On small islands, ecosystems like mangroves, coral reefs and seagrass meadows are more than just natural wonders. They’re lifelines. 

Nature sustains the livelihoods of local communities, especially traditional fishermen, who have lived in harmony with nature for generations.

But how many of us are truly self-reliant? How many live in fairness, equality and dignity?

I don’t know the answer to that. But I’m doing my bit by safeguarding forests and the communities that depend on them.

That begins with spreading the message that landscapes are not just spaces to be managed but lifelines for communities, biodiversity and the health of our planet. 

This year, I had the honor of working with fellow IFSA members to deliver one of our most ambitious initiatives: the International Forestry Students’ Symposium (IFSS). 

For two weeks, we traveled across Bogor, Yogyakarta, Makassar and Maros, joined by over 100 participants from 26 countries. 

We met with government partners, Indigenous communities, youth organizations, think tanks and the private sector, all united by one belief: that forestry must be rooted in sustainability, justice and collective wellbeing.

As a forester, I carry a message for all of us: let’s continue the positive movement we’ve begun. 

I now serve as a sustainability consultant in Papua. Every morning, I get up early at 6 A.M. and see fishers and sago farmers start their day. I look on as enthusiastic mothers prepare breakfast and school supplies for their children before they set off for school.

In this village, electricity is only available between 6 P.M. and 2 A.M., and schools are heavily understaffed and underequipped.

Understanding this reality helps inform my survey work. Local people want a reliable power supply, restored ecosystems, just policy, sustainable livelihoods and healthy local food – and they want their voices to be heard.

From all of these experiences, I’ve learned that we must collaborate to scale up our impact.

Let’s be like Eusideroxylon zwageri – the legendary Bornean ironwood. The more it’s touched by water, the stronger it becomes. 

I see that as a metaphor for life: the more we’re exposed to challenges, and to learning and collective growth, the stronger we become.

The beauty lies in our youth, our strength and our collective solidarity. 

The Pavanmana Mantra, an ancient Hindu mantra, says: “asato maa sat gamaya, tamaso maa jyotir gamaya, mrityur maa amritam gamaya.” Lead me from falsehood to truth, from darkness to light, from death to immortality.

This proverb guides me in my work. We’re not just managing forests. 

We’re reclaiming balance, restoring dignity and planting the seeds of a future where no one is left behind.