Pak Hasan Yusran. Born Takengon, 1948. Coffee farmer, fifty-two harvests. Dictated to his granddaughter Maira at Klinik Cut Mutia, March 2026.
do declare this my final disposition. I have no money to leave. The hospital has most of it. What I have is one hectare of arabica halfway up Bur Geureudong, a black kettle that has outlived two wives, and a method of brewing that took me forty years to ruin and four to fix.
If you have read to this clause, you are already named in it. Keep reading. The estate is small but exact.
The plot sits at 1,420 metres. Volcanic loam, north-facing, mist arrives at 06:40 most mornings and burns off by ten. There are 1,108 trees. Three are older than me. One is a Typica that has never produced a cherry worth picking and I forbid you to cut it down.
N
│
╔════════╪════════════╗
║ . . . ·│· · · · · . ║ . typica (old)
║ . · · │ · · · · · ║ · ateng (1992)
║ ✦ │ · · ║ ✦ stone hut
║ · · · │ · · ✦ · · ║ ☘ catimor (2008)
║ ☘ ☘ ☘ ─┼─ ☘ ☘ ☘ ☘ ║ ─ access path
║ ☘ ☘ ☘ │ ☘ ☘ ☘ ☘ ║
║ ☘ ☘ ☘ │ ☘ ☘ ☘ ☘ ║
╚════════╪════════════╝
│
▼ to the spring (270m, downhill, slippery in May)0 trees · 1.02 ha · the typica is the leftmost dot, top row| Item | To | Note |
|---|---|---|
| One hectare, Kebun Tujuh | The first reader who finishes Clause IX. | You may not subdivide. You may sell the cherry, never the trees. |
| Black enamel kettle, 1.4 L, dented | My grandson Reza, if he asks. Otherwise, the reader. | It whistles flat. Don't fix it. |
| The recipe (see Clause VII) | Anyone, including those who skim. | It is not a secret. Secrets do not survive widows. |
| One mongrel dog, "Kupi", b. ~2018 | My daughter Aida. | He bites surveyors. This is a feature. |
| Forty-three field notebooks (1974–2025) | The library at Universitas Syiah Kuala, on permanent loan. | Three are missing. I burned them. They were wrong. |
Coffee is not a drink. It is a slow conversation between a mountain and the people who agreed not to leave it.
I planted catimor across the lower terraces because a man from Medan said the price was good and the rust would not come. The price was not good. The rust came anyway. I lost three years and a marriage. I leave this clause as a warning: do not plant for the buyer. Plant for the soil. The buyer will follow the soil eventually, or not, and either way you will still have the soil.
He is afraid of motorbikes and unafraid of leopards, which is the wrong way around. He will follow the new keeper of the land within nine days. Do not feed him rice; he will accept it and resent you for the rest of his life. Boiled chicken bones, twice weekly. He is not for sale, rehoming, or photographing for the internet.
I have served this in a tin cup to ministers and to the man who fixes the road. They drank it the same way.
No sugar. No milk. If you must, palm sugar in the cloth, never in the cup. The bitterness is not a flaw to be hidden. It is the part of the mountain you came for.
Read aloud in Bahasa Aceh and Indonesian, in the presence of:
If you have arrived here, the estate recognises you. There is no fee, no royalty, no tax. The condition is small: you must keep the trees that were here before you and tell at least one person, in person, what you read. Sign below if you accept.
Nothing transmits. Nothing logs. This page knows nothing about you and is not equipped to.