Members spend hours in the cemeteries looking at each grave and tombstone. They talk to the attendants and people in the community living nearby. They want to learn more about the graveyard – everything from its history and architecture to the stories of the people who are buried there. They often take photos of the graves, particularly those with intriguing architecture and backstories.

“Going to a graveyard is a door for getting to know the story of the people behind the mound of earth and tombstones,” says member Diella Dachlan, 44, a communications adviser.

Like others in Indonesia Graveyard, Dachlan is a history buff who says that whenever she wants to learn about an important local figure, a large part of her research is visiting the person’s grave.

“There is always something I learn and take away, including things related to our current lives,” she says.

The many variations in Indonesian cemeteries also provide much for the group to learn about, such as grave designs that reflect certain religions or ethnic traditions, and plots that illustrate the country’s massive economic gap. Cemeteries range from ultra-luxurious “private estate” graveyards in places like the San Diego Hills Memorial Park, right outside Jakarta, that can cost more than 2.5 billion rupiah (US$180,000) for a plot, to places so cheap and unkept that graves can end up piled on top of each other.

Photographer Ruri Hargiyono, 40, co-founder of Indonesia Graveyard, says cemeteries usually humble the visitors – “a reminder that we all will end up there one day”.

She finds it hard to talk about the group after fellow co-founder Deni Priya Prasetia died suddenly in August after an illness – a shock for every group member and particularly for Hargiyono. “I still go to graveyards, but talking about the things that we learned [together] is still very hard for me,” she says.

The two met in September 2016 as members of a community called Ngopi Jakarta (roughly meaning “Coffee Drinking Jakarta”), a WhatsApp-centred group of mostly history enthusiasts. With an interest in visiting graveyards, Hargiyono often shared photos of her exploits alongside captions explaining the sites’ histories.

Prasetia eagerly responded and the two made an appointment for their first graveyard visit together. On Chinese New Year’s day in January 2017, they visited the Tanah Cepe graveyard outside Jakarta, the final resting place for mostly Chinese-Indonesians, and quickly became friends.

“I felt connected with Deni as a friend because I learned so much from him, especially because he studied Chinese literature at the University of Indonesia and taught me how to read the tombstones at Chinese cemeteries,” Hargiyono says.

Between 2017 and the end of 2019, the members of Indonesia Graveyard visited dozens of cemeteries in Jakarta and surrounding cities. They never visited in large groups, mostly four members at a time. Members of Ngopi Jakarta sometimes joined them in these exploits, especially after Indonesia Graveyard started being featured on TV shows.

This year, the Covid-19 pandemic has kept many members away, though Hargiyono still occasionally makes solo visits to cemeteries.

As public awareness of Indonesia Graveyard has increased, the group has been asked for help by people looking for specific grave sites. Hargiyono remembers a New Zealander who sent a photo of a relative’s graveyard with a background showing a street sign in West Jakarta. “We could not locate it because it was too old, from the 1960s or ’70s,” she says. “With those old graves that do not have anyone paying the annual dues [to the landowner], another grave is usually piled on top.”

Some cemeteries stand out in members’ memories. For Hargiyono, it is the Mausoleum Oen Giok (OG) Khouw cemetery, where Khouw, a Chinese-Indonesian businessman successful in the 19th and early 20th centuries during the Dutch colonisation of the country, is buried. The monument is massive and built with imported Italian marble.

“It is a sign of a wife’s love because it was his wife who made it for him,” Hargiyono says. “Unfortunately, it is now run down because they did not have children to take care of it. After the rain, the water would fill up inside the graves.”

The mausoleum highlights another peculiarity the group often runs into: the living community that can grow up around graves. “Before a metal gate was built around [Khouw’s] grave, the bottom part of it was often used as a place for prostitution,” Hargiyono explains.

Another favourite graveyard is Museum Taman Prasasti (“Museum of Memorial Stone Park”), which was built in 1795 to accommodate the graves of the colonial Dutch. “It is the oldest European-style graveyard in the country,” Hargiyono says.

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Dachlan says her visit to the grave of Abah Rosidi has been the most memorable. He was one of the best-known survivors of the Indonesian government’s notorious 1964 detention of Indonesians considered to be members of the communist party, Partai Komunis Indonesia.

“He was a piece of history – one of the people who suffered wrongful arrest without trial,” she says. “His story is a tragic one which relates to the hoax that came up during the last presidential election: that the communist party was making a return.”

Dachlan also recalls a visit to the Jewish cemetery in North Jakarta, and the Megamendung cemetery in Bogor, West Java, site of the graves of 10 German soldiers who died during World War II. Some of them passed away naturally and some of their deaths were related to the war.

“There is always a sense of pride and emotion every time I visit and read the names of the heroes and remember their stories,” Dachlan says.

Her graveyard visits have made Dachlan reflect on the importance of a final resting place. “A grave acts as a closure for a person’s journey on Earth. For some, it is a form of keeping a connection with loved ones. That’s what I realised when I visited my father’s grave and ‘updated’ him on the happenings in our family.”

It’s not unusual to see signs of the living in Indonesian cemeteries, from stalls to homes, people hanging out their clothes to dry near tombstones, and others having naps on graves.

In the early days of their friendship, Hargiyono and Prasetia posted photos of the graves they visited on their personal Instagram pages, but their friends began to feel uneasy, thinking they were “ghost hunters”, Hargiyono recalls, laughing. This inspired them to set up the official Indonesia Graveyard account.

For many in the group, the cemetery visits are reminders of the friendships they’ve made.

“When we took Deni to his final resting place, we went around the cemetery and came across a lot of old artefacts near his grave,” Dachlan remembers. “It felt like he was still there exploring with us. His wife now also journeys with us and has become part of Indonesia Graveyard.”