All This to Earn Our Living
On Lonnie van Brummelen, Siebren de Haan & Tolin Erwin Alexander’s Monikondee
Shamica Ruddock
Monikondee
Director
LONNIE VAN BRUMMELEN, SIEBREN DE HAAN & TOLIN ERWIN ALEXANDER
Year
2025
Country NETHERLANDS, SURINAME
“We travelled to the Mama Ndyuka Creek to pray.
Our boats were filled with ritual items.
The deity Agedeonsu guided us.
Singing, we carried the deity into the forest.
We followed her with loud cheers.
Until she stopped at the sacred place, at that one tree stump.
It rained heavily, so we prayed for sunshine.
And the sun appeared.
Thanks to our prayers!
The deity guided us through the forest.
Only she knew the way.
Then we returned to the village.
Some people fell into a trance.
Possessed by spirits, they cried out!
Earth and sky spirits.
Earth and sky spirits.
I was still a little boy.
We don’t do it anymore.
If you were to carry the deity into the forest now…
She’ll no longer want to go to that place.”
A voice imparts, earnestly, against a subdued backdrop of night. A cerulean tinted charcoal sky generously peppered with furrowed clouds, quietly luminous. Silhouetted trees interrupt the disinterested vastness, betraying that delicate sense of infinitude a horizon often implies. She soon reappears, the sky, decisively sprawled without restraint across a textured water surface, aglow under moonlight. A lucid nighttime soundscape, alive with intent, punctuates.
A yet undisclosed figure leads a boat skilfully, with ease, through night-obscured waters. And no sooner do we settle into the orators' lull, the mellow of night suggesting an alternative narrative, we arrive at a market scene. Confusion stirs. We meet the scene at its pinnacle, unsure what started where. A disagreement over a market plot, it seems. Deception. No mercy for the vendor whose livelihood is at stake.
The market—a site of commodity, transaction, exchange—presents immediately the matter at the heart of Monikondee. This space–the market as a locale–collapses notions of extraction, labour, migration, displacement, ecologism, and modernity, too. No longer at the helm of the interior, the dense rainforest regions of Suriname the film opens with, we are quickly made familiar with the contradiction, the moral conflict even, those who feature in the film, face.
‘Monikondee’ translates as ‘Money Land’ in the language of the Ndyuka people. The Ndyuka people are a Maroon people. The Maroons are Africans who resisted enslavement in the Americas, freeing themselves from the plantations to set up self-governing settlements in the interiors, often alongside Indigenous communities. Gaining independence under the Dutch treaty of 1760, the Ndyuka form one of six core Maroon communities in Suriname. They are also referred to as ‘Fiiman, [free people]’ as Boogie, a key instigator for how this film unfolds, informs us. Twenty per cent of the Surinamese are Maroon descended, a noteworthy figure for any once colonised context.
Geographically, ‘Money Land’ refers to the coastal plains in the northernmost region of Suriname where the plantations were based, and where, historically, with its proximity to the Atlantic Ocean, most commercial trade and economic activity took place. The home of Suriname’s capital and only major city Paramaribo, it is thought that ninety per cent of the population of Suriname live in this region. The coastal plains account for only ten per cent of Suriname’s total land mass.
Yet here the laws of the land that the Ndyuka people have honoured for time immemorial, become eclipsed, subordinate even. The demands of a colonial modernity challenge their authority. We hear of these laws, and the gods that govern them. Sweli, the god of alliance, and Agedeonsu, the god of environment. Through Boogie’s journey, we see the ways in which these laws and their equilibrium are destabilised, and perhaps why, ‘if you were to carry the deity into the forest now, she’ll no longer want to go to that place’.
In Monikondee, it is evident that Boatmen transporting wares from the coastal plains to the interior function as intermediaries between the two locales. Similarly, Boatsman Boogie’s journey functions as the film’s core narrative arc. Through his interlocution, we are introduced to Boogie’s co-protagonists. From the market place we see him purchase fresh produce, bodi, karela. Later, he stops for oil. A broken propeller leads him to fellow Boatsman Marius Sekende, who soon joins him upstream. At each step of the way, we see differing systems of exchange in operation. Some barter, while others exchange in monetary terms, and individuals offer their views on the encroaching detriments of ‘Money Land’. One participant shares:
The money situation is undermining our communities, we are no longer self-sufficient. Our ancestors refused the western way of life…. Today no one wants to live like they did before. But since we started using money, we share less with each other.
Previously, Maroon and Indigenous communities would have bartered, and we see elements of that throughout. Boogie transports a rainwater tank for a woman from the market; he originally charges her €200 euros, but she offers a bucket of Kwaka and €120 instead. A bag of Kwaka is exchanged for some cassava cuttings, and a barrel of oil is offered for a propeller originally priced at €300. Here, it is the future that holds them back. Resisting enslavement only to be at the mercy of a vulgar modernity, with ultimately no land rights and little governmental representation, the Ndyuka, and other Maroon and Indigenous communities, are forced to be reliant on a fraught system that does not serve them.
We see the damage of resource extraction in the interior. Deforestation contributes to flooding of agricultural land previously used for subsistence farming. Flooding brings worm infestations, crops are spoiled. Firms levied by the government dig up riverbeds for gold polluting the waterways, leaving communities without potable water. A turtle lays eggs on land in a nest laced with litter. Agedeonsu could not be happy.
But not all is lost. At the end of Monikondee, we watch the communities watch the film they’ve fundamentally steered, and we sense hope. Conversation stirs. Voices speak up. Here are a people acutely aware of their position. We see the participants collectively acknowledge that they are trustees of their own future. We sense there is a chance to raise awareness, affect policy decisions, demand schools for the young. Most importantly, it is a moment to recognise this film, and its participants, as agents—active, galvanised, assured.
Shamica Ruddock is an artist-researcher often found working between sound and moving image.
This text was commissioned by Open City Documentary Festival to accompany the screening of Monikondee at Bertha DocHouse, 19 April 2026.
Our boats were filled with ritual items.
The deity Agedeonsu guided us.
Singing, we carried the deity into the forest.
We followed her with loud cheers.
Until she stopped at the sacred place, at that one tree stump.
It rained heavily, so we prayed for sunshine.
And the sun appeared.
Thanks to our prayers!
The deity guided us through the forest.
Only she knew the way.
Then we returned to the village.
Some people fell into a trance.
Possessed by spirits, they cried out!
Earth and sky spirits.
Earth and sky spirits.
I was still a little boy.
We don’t do it anymore.
If you were to carry the deity into the forest now…
She’ll no longer want to go to that place.”
A voice imparts, earnestly, against a subdued backdrop of night. A cerulean tinted charcoal sky generously peppered with furrowed clouds, quietly luminous. Silhouetted trees interrupt the disinterested vastness, betraying that delicate sense of infinitude a horizon often implies. She soon reappears, the sky, decisively sprawled without restraint across a textured water surface, aglow under moonlight. A lucid nighttime soundscape, alive with intent, punctuates.
A yet undisclosed figure leads a boat skilfully, with ease, through night-obscured waters. And no sooner do we settle into the orators' lull, the mellow of night suggesting an alternative narrative, we arrive at a market scene. Confusion stirs. We meet the scene at its pinnacle, unsure what started where. A disagreement over a market plot, it seems. Deception. No mercy for the vendor whose livelihood is at stake.
The market—a site of commodity, transaction, exchange—presents immediately the matter at the heart of Monikondee. This space–the market as a locale–collapses notions of extraction, labour, migration, displacement, ecologism, and modernity, too. No longer at the helm of the interior, the dense rainforest regions of Suriname the film opens with, we are quickly made familiar with the contradiction, the moral conflict even, those who feature in the film, face.
‘Monikondee’ translates as ‘Money Land’ in the language of the Ndyuka people. The Ndyuka people are a Maroon people. The Maroons are Africans who resisted enslavement in the Americas, freeing themselves from the plantations to set up self-governing settlements in the interiors, often alongside Indigenous communities. Gaining independence under the Dutch treaty of 1760, the Ndyuka form one of six core Maroon communities in Suriname. They are also referred to as ‘Fiiman, [free people]’ as Boogie, a key instigator for how this film unfolds, informs us. Twenty per cent of the Surinamese are Maroon descended, a noteworthy figure for any once colonised context.
Geographically, ‘Money Land’ refers to the coastal plains in the northernmost region of Suriname where the plantations were based, and where, historically, with its proximity to the Atlantic Ocean, most commercial trade and economic activity took place. The home of Suriname’s capital and only major city Paramaribo, it is thought that ninety per cent of the population of Suriname live in this region. The coastal plains account for only ten per cent of Suriname’s total land mass.
Yet here the laws of the land that the Ndyuka people have honoured for time immemorial, become eclipsed, subordinate even. The demands of a colonial modernity challenge their authority. We hear of these laws, and the gods that govern them. Sweli, the god of alliance, and Agedeonsu, the god of environment. Through Boogie’s journey, we see the ways in which these laws and their equilibrium are destabilised, and perhaps why, ‘if you were to carry the deity into the forest now, she’ll no longer want to go to that place’.
In Monikondee, it is evident that Boatmen transporting wares from the coastal plains to the interior function as intermediaries between the two locales. Similarly, Boatsman Boogie’s journey functions as the film’s core narrative arc. Through his interlocution, we are introduced to Boogie’s co-protagonists. From the market place we see him purchase fresh produce, bodi, karela. Later, he stops for oil. A broken propeller leads him to fellow Boatsman Marius Sekende, who soon joins him upstream. At each step of the way, we see differing systems of exchange in operation. Some barter, while others exchange in monetary terms, and individuals offer their views on the encroaching detriments of ‘Money Land’. One participant shares:
The money situation is undermining our communities, we are no longer self-sufficient. Our ancestors refused the western way of life…. Today no one wants to live like they did before. But since we started using money, we share less with each other.
Previously, Maroon and Indigenous communities would have bartered, and we see elements of that throughout. Boogie transports a rainwater tank for a woman from the market; he originally charges her €200 euros, but she offers a bucket of Kwaka and €120 instead. A bag of Kwaka is exchanged for some cassava cuttings, and a barrel of oil is offered for a propeller originally priced at €300. Here, it is the future that holds them back. Resisting enslavement only to be at the mercy of a vulgar modernity, with ultimately no land rights and little governmental representation, the Ndyuka, and other Maroon and Indigenous communities, are forced to be reliant on a fraught system that does not serve them.
We see the damage of resource extraction in the interior. Deforestation contributes to flooding of agricultural land previously used for subsistence farming. Flooding brings worm infestations, crops are spoiled. Firms levied by the government dig up riverbeds for gold polluting the waterways, leaving communities without potable water. A turtle lays eggs on land in a nest laced with litter. Agedeonsu could not be happy.
But not all is lost. At the end of Monikondee, we watch the communities watch the film they’ve fundamentally steered, and we sense hope. Conversation stirs. Voices speak up. Here are a people acutely aware of their position. We see the participants collectively acknowledge that they are trustees of their own future. We sense there is a chance to raise awareness, affect policy decisions, demand schools for the young. Most importantly, it is a moment to recognise this film, and its participants, as agents—active, galvanised, assured.
Shamica Ruddock is an artist-researcher often found working between sound and moving image.
This text was commissioned by Open City Documentary Festival to accompany the screening of Monikondee at Bertha DocHouse, 19 April 2026.