#WanderAround
In Tuban, a small coastal town on the northern edge of East Java, the nights of Ramadhan carry a sound unlike anywhere else. It’s not the call of city lights or passing traffic — it’s the organic clatter of bamboo, tin cans, and oil drums. These raw, percussive sounds make up Tongklek, a beloved tradition that pulses through the heart of the community.
Originally created as a practical way to wake neighbors for sahur, the pre-dawn meal during fasting month, Tongklek has grown into much more than an alarm clock. It is a folk ritual, born from resourcefulness, shaped by creativity, and kept alive through shared memory. Young people from karang taruna (youth associations) and neighborhood groups build their instruments from found objects — bamboo tubes, oil containers, recycled wood — then rehearse tirelessly to produce rhythms that shake the town awake with joy and pride.
But Tongklek is more than just festive percussion. It is a philosophy of life, taught informally through movement and music. Through the process of preparing a performance — crafting instruments, coordinating teams, inventing rhythms — participants learn values of teamwork, patience, humility, and resourcefulness. There are no instructors, no textbooks — just the guiding hand of older members and the energy of young hearts.
In recent years, Tongklek has found a new spotlight. Local governments and cultural advocates in Tuban have embraced it not only as tradition, but as identity. Annual competitions showcase how groups transform the simple act of drumming into full-blown performances — combining rhythm, costume, choreography, and even social commentary. It has become a grassroots stage for expression, blending cultural pride with youthful innovation.
Yet for all its public celebration, the most touching part of Tongklek is how personal it is. For those who grew up in Tuban but now live in bigger cities or abroad, the sound of Tongklek evokes deep nostalgia: memories of barefoot nights, laughter among friends, family waiting for sahur, the scent of dawn. It becomes a symbol of home — raw, imperfect, full of life.
Tongklek teaches that beauty doesn’t require sophistication. It grows from togetherness, from working with what you have, from celebrating where you are. In a world rushing toward the modern and digital, Tongklek is an anchor — a rhythm that slows you down, brings you back, and reminds you of who you are.
So if you ever find yourself in Tuban during Ramadhan, don’t rush indoors. Follow the beat. Watch the kids march proudly, banging out their heritage on cans and bamboo. Listen not just with your ears, but with your heart. Because this isn’t just sound.
This is Tuban’s memory in motion. This is Tongklek — the rhythm that remembers.