SHAU reimagines architecture as a catalyst for social and environmental change. Through microlibraries and kampung projects, the practice shows how small, community-driven designs can shape broader urban futures. Awarded the Ammodo Architecture Award for Kampung Mrican Phase 01, SHAU bridges policy and grassroots action, proving how design can strengthen resilience and collective agency. This interview traces their open-ended process, where architecture becomes both a learning tool and living laboratory.
You can read and download this and many other conversations from this year’s Ammodo Architecture Awards in our carefully compiled open-access publication, available at this link.
KOOZ What drew you to the project for the revitalisation of urban kampungs like Mrican?
Florian Heinzelmann When we started the Microlibrary project, our first client was Dompet Dhuafa, a foundation supporting low-income communities. Back then, we didn’t have a specific site, but it was always clear to us that we wanted to work within kampungs. Kampung is a Malaysian word, originally meaning 'village'; the term has since evolved to evoke urban communities or enclosures, and the culture associated with such settlements. The basic DNA of the Microlibrary series was, from the start, about bringing literacy into these urban villages.
We carried out several studies in kampungs in Jakarta to understand how we could intervene as a form of urban acupuncture, inserting these small libraries into the existing fabric. In that sense, revitalisation was already embedded in the project’s DNA. Over time, we built a few Microlibraries, but with Mrican, the scope and impact of the idea expanded significantly.
Daliana Suryawinata As SHAU, we’re interested in a broad range of projects — both commissioned works and those we initiate ourselves. These self-initiated projects often relate closely to kampungs, because we see them as a vital and unique part of Indonesian cities — an urban fabric that is original and complementary to the development of the more generic city. For us, the kampung is endlessly fascinating. We keep asking: what can we do within this existing fabric, and what can we learn from it? For example, around 2014, we organised workshops with colleagues and architects from both the Netherlands and Indonesia to explore the question, what is the future of the kampung? We’d been waiting for an opportunity to actually work in one, and that chance came with Mrican. In 2022, we were commissioned by the Ministry of Public Works, who happened to be developing a kampung project. They approached us because they already knew our work — we’d been active with exhibitions, public space projects, and community initiatives — and that’s how we became involved in Kampung Mrican.
KOOZ Could you expand on these community-driven interventions and how they negotiate both the social and ecological urgencies of the site?
DS When the ministry first approached us, nothing was clearly defined yet — and that’s the beauty of their program. We were able to discover things together and, in a way, create the brief collectively. We started by looking at the wider context — almost like regional planning, but at a city scale — to understand what surrounds the area, its proximity to universities, and then spoke with residents and other stakeholders to identify what could be done where.
The microlibraries were our own initiative, not a commission. We asked ourselves, as architects, how we could respond to social issues — specifically literacy and reading interest, which is a challenge in Indonesia. We developed a model for a library under 200 square meters that combines community space, complementing city and mobile libraries. From the start, it reflected both our social agenda and our design approach, creating gathering spaces that are climatically comfortable through passive design.
KOOZ You mentioned that when the ministry approached you, the project was very much crafted together. With what ambitions did they come? Did they simply say, “We want to revitalise this,” or how did that initial conversation begin?
DS There was an area that was substandard — lots of garbage, narrow streets, and flooding issues. They said we needed to intervene, but beyond providing basic infrastructure like street drainage, they wanted to do more. They wanted to introduce design so that the administration could see the potential of the space.
FH It all is research-based. You go there, evaluate the site, and see what has potential for improvement. We talk with people, listen to what they wish for and identify the existing strengths. There’s some urban farming that could be enhanced, a pendopo — an open multi-purpose pavilion — and on the opposite side we placed the new library, also on stilts. This allows us to expand the space underneath, above, and over the street, so it becomes one connected, hanging space.
Essentially, it’s about going there, observing how people use the space, and identifying areas for improvement. It’s a very organic process.
"When we first stepped into Mrican, it was immediately clear: this was never just about fixing a building. It was about renewal of space, of identity, of collective memory. The task ahead was not merely architectural, but deeply human."
Pauline Boedianto When we first stepped into Mrican, it was immediately clear: this was never just about fixing a building. It was about renewal of space, of identity, of collective memory. The task ahead was not merely architectural, but deeply human. It required a process of co-creation, working alongside the community to mend more than infrastructure: to reweave the kampong’s social and ecological fabric.
Our approach was rooted in the belief that architecture must go beyond form where it should support life. Not just as shelter, but as a system that holds community, culture, and the environment together. In Mrican, this translated into a process where design became a tool for participation, for care, and for collective authorship.
This multi-sectoral coordination was essential. It enabled genuine participatory planning, where residents weren't just consulted, they were decision-makers. Through this framework, we built solutions that were not only technically effective but also socially resonant and culturally grounded.
KOOZ Could you expand upon how the RPIP programme’s framework is structured and how this enables a more integrated approach compared to conventional housing projects?
Indah Swastika Purnama Sari The RPIP (Settlement Infrastructure Development Plan) is implemented through a structured, multi-level approach. At the macro level, it assesses overall conditions, constraints, opportunities, and policy frameworks; at the meso level, it identifies key priority areas; and at the micro level, it specifies concrete infrastructure components. The plan adopts an integrated approach, aligning priorities and planning documents across central and local governments, sectors, and stakeholders, while also embracing participatory processes through focused group discussions and public consultations with communities and organisations.
Kampung Mrican was selected for RPIP revitalisation by the Central Government due to its strong performance across multiple criteria: it met most readiness requirements (including documentation and land ownership), aligned with the seven slum indicators reflecting urgent need, demonstrated high potential for community collaboration, and received robust support from the local government, particularly the City of Yogyakarta.
Phase 1 of Kampung Mrican’s transformation has shown that slum upgrading extends far beyond physical infrastructure improvements. The initiative not only enhanced livability but also fostered a cultural shift, promoting environmental awareness and a stronger sense of shared responsibility among residents. Covering 5.58 hectares, Phase 1 represents a significant initial milestone; however, 15.58 hectares of slum area remain to be addressed in the next stage.
Phase 2 will build on the principles and strategies established in Phase 1. Its success will depend on sustained collaboration between national and regional governments, coupled with active engagement from the local community. This multi-stakeholder approach is crucial, as slum revitalisation is inherently complex and multidimensional, requiring coordinated action across sectors and levels of governance
PB The RPIP programme gave us the structure to move beyond traditional, top-down models of urban improvement. Instead of limiting interventions to hard infrastructure or unit delivery, RPIP allowed us to work across systems, connecting housing, sanitation, mobility, public space, and ecology.
KOOZ You mentioned flooding as a main ecological issue to address. Were there other environmental challenges as well? And socially, what kinds of opportunities were you asked to offer and to brainstorm with the community?
DS Yes, there were many issues. Compared to Europe, where a residential quarter often already has proper drainage and a network of pedestrian pathways, these elements were lacking here, which contributed to water not draining properly.
The main brief was to increase the livability of this kampung region. This included preventing flooding or adding the necessary infrastructure to manage it. At the same time, we were asked to insert public spaces wherever possible. This gave us the freedom to be imaginative — not just providing spaces, but also introducing initiatives like literacy and reading into the urban village.
That’s how the idea of the microlibrary and playground emerged. These concepts were brainstormed and refined through several workshops with residents and other stakeholders, and then designed and implemented. It truly was an organic process. Each implemented element has a clear purpose, responding to specific needs within the community and the site.
"This multi-stakeholder approach is crucial, as slum revitalisation is inherently complex and multidimensional, requiring coordinated action across sectors and levels of governance."
FH Coming back to flooding, the challenge is that the space is relatively limited and the problem is largely infrastructural. Keeping it clean and functional is key. For example, in Singapore, there’s a shift away from hardscape canals toward landscapes with bio-swales, like in Bishan-Ang Mo Kio Park — a more affluent solution.
Here, we had to consider what could realistically be executed within the dense urban fabric. Basic improvements were the priority. Sidewalks were often missing, so widening them was essential to allow continuous movement along the canal. We weren’t aiming for high-level landscape integration; the interventions needed to work within the constraints, improve living conditions immediately, and be maximally effective. There wasn’t space to create elaborate green edges or bio-swales, so the solutions had to be straightforward: managing water while maintaining accessibility, circulation, and integration of public space.
PB If one takes the river walkway, it’s not simply a path, but a multifunctional space. It serves as a buffer, protecting homes from flooding while also creating a communal spine through the kampong. What looks like a linear promenade is, in fact, a resilience infrastructure, a meeting place, and a shared backyard. Similarly, the community gardens and urban farming spaces serve layered roles. They absorb stormwater, cool the microclimate, and produce food. But perhaps more importantly, they create ownership and daily rituals, a reason to gather, to share skills, and to reimagine self- sufficiency.
KOOZ It’s interesting that the microlibraries also work as climatic devices, beyond their educational mission, but also as moments of environmental respite within the city.
FH This is actually one of the core principles of our designs — to use passive climatic strategies. We are, in a way, relatively fortunate that even though it’s hot in a tropical country and relatively humid, it’s not like 40 degrees. It’s maybe 32–34, and as long as you provide shade and ample cross ventilation, the comfort is quite good, especially paired with light clothing.
This means these buildings can operate without large energy investments. They don’t need to be hermetically sealed; sometimes just a fan is enough. That’s the idea behind our envelope design: on one hand, it represents the site — like in Pringwulung and Mrican, where a batik pattern was needed — and on the other hand, it screens sunlight while enabling cross ventilation and keeping some rain out. The design strategy includes covering, ventilation, rain protection, sliding doors, or curtains.
We work with these elements in a low-cost but creative way. All the libraries we’ve done experiment with materiality and construction: one uses reused ice cream buckets, one is FSC-certified timber, another is a concrete brutalist building with breeze blocks, and one uses textile elements in the facade. It’s a big learning process for us while also trying new things.
KOOZ What defines the material you choose? Do you select it based on the site — for example, why use ice cream buckets in one place and breeze blocks in another? Is it due to availability or local industries?
FH For instance, with the plastic buckets, we initially wanted to use jerry cans, which are liquid containers. However, when we arrived, we saw that street vendors were selling them, and there weren’t enough available. So we looked around and found ice cream buckets as an alternative. Plastic is an issue, so using these also raises awareness about plastic waste, but it also reflects how, in Indonesia, anything useful and of sufficient quality tends to get reused. These buckets were available online, and we used them as a façade material — they’re very nice, about one millimeter thick.
DS In the case of the Microlibrary Pringwulung, we noticed there were plenty of local craftsmen working with terracotta bricks, blocks, or roofing materials. So if we choose a half-cylindrical terracotta shell, we can give work to them — they get hired locally to produce and install the shells. It’s a local material, made of earth, which suits the place in a way.
FH We learned this from the Alun-alun Cicendo 'Steel Plaza’ in Bandung, with its self-made rusted steel bands. There are lots of motorcycle spare parts and metal workers in the neighbourhood. Construction companies usually hire local people, so we thought, if you work with steel and welding, the locals from scooter repair shops could contribute. That became a design strategy — finding materials or construction methods that give jobs, at least during construction. And in Pringwulung, the terracotta became the facade material. Potentially, when people feel associated with the building, the project can start weaving a community.
KOOZ How do you juggle all of these elements together? It seems challenging to create something that works, keeps costs down, and engages local craftspeople. How do you manage and balance all these different needs — especially delivering a project that functions immediately?
ISPS Kampung Mrican presents a compelling model for the revitalisation of urban kampungs, especially those located in dense riverside areas. Its development showcases how adaptive infrastructure can be thoughtfully tailored to the socio-cultural and geomorphological characteristics of the community. Key interventions highlight this integrative approach: the construction of a river embankment, along with an inspection road and flood control post, effectively mitigates water fluctuations and minimises flood risk; the inspection road itself has been transformed into a lively waterfront space that enhances both functionality and livability; planter pots and urban farming initiatives incorporated along the route promote community-based food production; and open public spaces, together with a micro-library, provide inclusive facilities that foster social and educational engagement across generations. Ultimately, Kampung Mrican embodies a Blue-Green sustainability concept — harmonising water-sensitive design with verdant community spaces — that serves as a replicable model for sustainable urban transformation.
FH You have to be flexible. You design and propose something, but that’s never the end of the story. Often, during execution, plans change, and you have to react quickly and make the best of it. You need to let go of the idea that an architect’s plan is executed 100% as drawn — the plan should be seen as a starting point, also for negotiation. Things will change along the way, and you have to be flexible enough to incorporate that.
In the beginning, especially for me coming from a German background, I expected plans to be executed very precisely. But in Indonesia, we had to rethink the role of the architect and design — letting the process be open-ended, responsive to the input, capabilities, and capacities of local people, and integrating what they can build and contribute along the way. It’s all part of the organic nature of design and execution.
"You have to be flexible. You design and propose something, but that’s never the end of the story. Often, during execution, plans change, and you have to react quickly and make the best of it. You need to let go of the idea that an architect’s plan is executed 100% as drawn — the plan should be seen as a starting point, also for negotiation."
DS This kind of work isn’t attractive to most architects because working in an urban village is complicated. You have to listen to everyone’s needs — everyone is a stakeholder — which makes flexibility essential. You can’t force your design; you have to navigate how it will actually be delivered.
As architects, we aren’t living there — the residents know better what they need. But we still have the responsibility to provide the best technical advice and design solutions. Projects like this wouldn’t be possible without the ministry team trusting our design. This trust is crucial, because often architects or consultants would just deliver a design without being involved in its implementation or adaptation.
"This kind of work isn’t attractive to most architects because working in an urban village is complicated. You have to listen to everyone’s needs — everyone is a stakeholder — which makes flexibility essential. You can’t force your design; you have to navigate how it will actually be delivered."
FH Usually, architects deliver a design to the ministry, and then the ministry executes it with a contractor. Often, communication with the architect stops early, and what gets built may diverge from the original design. If you want to have a say in the execution, you have to go the extra mile and accompany the project until it’s built.
In Indonesia, the process sometimes cuts architects off early, meaning designs become subject to interpretation. We have to negotiate — wanting longer engagement for greater oversight, while also staying flexible to integrate changes as effectively as possible. Our team in Bandung, led by our Associate Partner Aditya Kusuma, was on-site frequently, attending numerous meetings, negotiations, and presentations. It involved constant back-and-forth, translating what residents need and want into the design — a lot of ‘ping-pong’ to make it work.
DS At the Microlibrary in Pringwulung, we researched and surveyed the site carefully. The ground area had been used for various activities, like weddings, and it also accommodates street vendors with their carts — an important part of the informal economy. So the design had to preserve this functionality while placing the library volume above it.
When it came to designing the façade, it went back and forth far beyond a normal government project. Consultants usually do the minimum — tendering and handing off. In our case, we requested the ministry have the contractor provide the rebar mesh, the clay shells in different curves and consistencies, so we could study the details together with the craftspeople and the contractors.
The second example is the manhole story. There is a plaza where we had an earlier design approved, but one day we found out the contractor had already started work — not according to the plan. The plaza had to be carefully integrated with a manhole used for the wastewater treatment program, so that it could be opened and closed as needed.
FH The manhole was originally in a different position, but the contractor placed it right in the middle of the plaza, where we had planned a playground. We had to decide quickly what to do. We took the circular shapes of the manholes and drew hopscotch-like graphics on the ground, with numbers and one-leg, two-leg jumping games. Since the forms were circular, we embraced that and expanded the idea, designing something playful for the kids. We integrated the circular lines into the ground pattern and added a small carousel, turning the manhole — which could have been a disruption — into a design feature. This is the kind of flexibility needed on-site: instead of being frustrated, we adapt, think creatively, and use unexpected challenges to inspire playful and functional design. What began as a problem became a design language that structured the entire playground plaza.
KOOZ Sahid & Pauline, I’m interested in hearing your perspective and experience in regards to the participatory process through which the project was developed?
Said Fahrudin In 2022, the Pringwulung Village was included in Phase I of the Mrican Area Improvement by the Ministry of Public Works and Housing. From the start, residents — both in Pringwulung and Pringgodani Mrican — were committed to improving their environment, aiming for a cleaner, safer, and better-organised community.
For decades, much of the area faced incomplete infrastructure: river contours, sanitation, roads, and buildings were inadequate, and waste and wastewater management were poor. Residents repeatedly coordinated with each other and with local authorities to plan improvements, with support from the village, sub-district, PU Sleman, the Kotaku program, and other institutions.
Residents actively participated in planning, creating a shared vision that was recognised by PU Sleman. The river program applied the 3M principle — mundur (setback), munggah (move up), madep (facing the river) — turning the river into a front-facing feature and improving cleanliness. The Ministry managed design, permits, and logistics, and no residents were displaced — only reorganised — with full community involvement.
Revitalization of Kampung Mrican district, bird's eye view of the playground
PB Ultimately, the most resilient infrastructure isn’t made of concrete, but it’s built through trust. In Mrican, safety isn’t defined by fences or patrols, but by relationships: between neighbours, across generations, with place. When mothers lead clean-ups, when children grow up surrounded by books, when youth take ownership of rivers, a different kind of security emerges. One that doesn’t rely on external enforcement, but on collective care. On presence, pride, and participation.
What held the entire process together was an integrated, ecosystemic mindset. Environmental issues like flooding and waste pollution weren’t tackled in isolation, but they were met with layered, community-driven responses. Eco Enzyme became one such tool. Made from kitchen waste, this simple, affordable solution improves water quality and helps restore microbial balance in rivers. But more than its technical value, Eco Enzyme served as a catalyst for local leadership, especially among women.
We worked closely with PKK groups, mothers and homemakers often overlooked in development discourse, supporting them to lead environmental education, waste sorting, and flood mitigation. Their work reshaped not only the riverbank but the social dynamics of the kampong. From domestic roles to public leadership, a quiet but profound transformation took root. Meanwhile, youth groups were trained in water testing, data collection, and community workshops, linking science with lived reality and building a generation of local environmental stewards.
"The most resilient infrastructure isn’t made of concrete, but it’s built through trust. In Mrican, safety isn’t defined by fences or patrols, but by relationships: between neighbours, across generations, with place."
KOOZ Is there also a commitment to stay involved over the next three to five years, to observe how the projects are used, how the community responds, and how the interventions can evolve? I mean, given that the strategy of urban acupuncture could potentially be ongoing, where does your commission or interest stop — and where does it continue?
FH With other microlibraries — like Bima and Warak Kayu — there’s always the question of ongoing community engagement. Who is staffing the library? These people sometimes need supervision or training to ensure the activities continue. Then there’s the matter of funding and maintenance, which requires ongoing attention. Sometimes local youth organisations manage the microlibrary, but that can go off track — in one case it turned into a café, with people smoking inside. Then we have to step in and diplomatically get things back on course. So we remain actively involved.
DS This is also the question we ask ourselves — to what end are we doing this without being paid? Sometimes we even contribute financially, donating not only our hours but also energy and design resources. We want to see how the building is used, how the community thrives. We feel proud when it works well, and if something doesn’t, we want to help make it right.
For the Mrican project, recently completed, we are observing how it functions. Did we make the right choices? What could be improved? We stay connected with the people around the site — many students and visitors come to see the project — so we continue to learn and respond as the community interacts with the space.
FH There’s potentially a phase two where the project can be extended. With phase two, we would have the opportunity to revisit the existing interventions, see how they are performing, and refine them. Basically, it’s a continuation of this organic process. As phase two unfolds or the team within the ministry changes, we just need to find the right angle to step in again and continue making it happen. I’m actually quite positive that it’s possible.
KOOZ How do you evaluate performance? And perhaps going back to your methodology, which relies on workshops and what you describe as “express participation,” how do you define performance, and what role does the community play in understanding and shaping it?
FH We evaluate by talking with the people using the space — does it work for you? Are you happy with the function? For example, with our microlibraries, we designed an envelope to block the sun, doors that can open, and planter pots behind the facade. It was the first time we included planter pots like this, and we’re observing how they perform. If the plants survive, great; if not, or if they’re too much effort to irrigate or don’t get enough daylight, we rethink the solution. Step by step, we assess both detailed elements and the larger scale.
Earlier this year, during the end of Ramadan, we observed something interesting: people were gathering underneath the library and across the street under the pendopo, effectively connecting two spaces separated by the street. This suggested design potential for future projects — even streets with light traffic can be activated by community activity. By being on-site, observing, and talking with users, we evaluate what works and what doesn’t, then improve it immediately or apply the lessons to upcoming projects.
"This is one way to measure success: residents generating small income from the renewed space."
DS The residents also shared their testimonials. One of the most interesting examples was how, with the new street, the back of their house became the front. They could start selling porridge — a form of micro-economy and empowerment. The space is clean, pleasant, with greenery along the railings where people can sit and buy from them. This is one way to measure success: residents generating small income from the renewed space. There’s also culture embedded — for instance, batik patterns on the railings. Another indicator is recognition: awards and publications show international acknowledgment of the project. This helps everyone involved feel that the place is well-designed and a good space to live in. Publications and awards thus also serve as meaningful success criteria.
FH It’s fascinating to see how something you design gets executed and then used — whether as intended or in unforeseen ways. In other projects, this happened often. For example, in Alun-Alun Cicendo in Bandung, we designed a park with rusted steel ribbons and a dry sand garden. We imagined people sitting there, but instead they used it as a reflexology path. Similarly, curved and long benches were rearranged by children into tunnels or seesaws.
Observing how people reinterpret the space is incredibly insightful. These moments inform future design: many play elements in our micro libraries emerged from noticing how children engaged with prior spaces. We realised that to make a library successful, it’s not enough to provide a reading container — you need to activate children and invite them in. Keeping your eyes open, observing usage, and responding to it allows you to adapt and evolve your design strategies accordingly.
"We realised that to make a library successful, it’s not enough to provide a reading container — you need to activate children and invite them in. Keeping your eyes open, observing usage, and responding to it allows you to adapt and evolve your design strategies accordingly."
DS And one more thing is that design plays a role beyond the immediate users. The head of the village told us that all the architecture departments from universities in Yogyakarta have visited the kampung because of the publication and recognition of the project. They study it as a reference, using the kampung as a case study for urban design in practice.
FH I think one of the rare things about this project in Indonesia is that it actually allows the idea of urban acupuncture to be realised. It becomes almost like a living laboratory. Sometimes things work better than intended, sometimes differently, sometimes not at all — but people are forgiving if you rectify it. You don’t have to know everything in advance, so the process remains organic.
For example, we designed a microlibrary as a helicoid — a double spiral. We were able to explain that it’s an integrated library with stairs, a slide, and a playscape, where you can overlook the whole space. People were engaged with the model and enthusiastic, saying, “Yeah, cool. Let’s do it.”
There’s no prejudice toward design, even if it’s unfamiliar. People are open to experimentation, which makes the process playful for us as architects as well.
PB I would like to reflect on the Microlibraries project in particular. Indonesia’s reading interest is second lowest among 70 countries, but Indonesians are the highest users of Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. In many kampongs, you see even small kids holding on to iPads and HP, but books are rare. Even where digital access is high, deep reading habits are in decline. Microlibraries are an attempt to close the gap between media consumption and critical literacy. By embedding Microlibraries into daily life, adjacent to schools, markets, and public spaces, we bring books into the flow of everyday activity. Children don’t need to make special trips to read. Books are simply there as a normal, accessible, part of the landscape. The result is not just improved literacy, it’s a shift in how knowledge is valued, shared, and experienced.
"Community participation has strengthened, with residents managing sanitation, public facilities, and maintenance collectively."
KOOZ Could you elaborate on how the residents’ daily lives have changed since the project’s completion? Beyond physical improvements, how has the project affected community pride and identity?
SF Community participation has strengthened, with residents managing sanitation, public facilities, and maintenance collectively. Cultural and recreational spaces along the riverbanks have been organised, supporting sports, social gatherings, and traditional arts. Economic activity has increased, with MSMEs, women’s PKK initiatives, food stalls, and tourism emerging. Health and safety have improved, with fewer disease outbreaks, reduced flooding, and a more secure environment. Access to religious and educational facilities has become easier and safer, and the area’s image has transformed from one associated with crime to a respected, vibrant neighbourhood. Though contextual factors complexify such a reading, poverty has decreased, with the estimated proportion of local households under the poverty line falling by over 25% between 2020 and 2024.
Challenges remain, including boosting the local economy, expanding urban agriculture, and optimising Integrated Waste Processing Facility operations, but coordination continues to ensure sustainable development. Thanks to the dedication of residents, local authorities, and the Ministry, the Mrican area is now cleaner, safer, healthier, and culturally vibrant.
KOOZ Going back to the scale, I understand that maybe this is the first time you’re working at such a scale, in terms of urban acupuncture with the ministry. What do you see as the potential for scaling this approach — both within your own office and as a model for other offices in Indonesia to follow?
FH We had a mayor in Bandung — later governor of West Java — who scaled up public space programs. You often need a local champion, because unfortunately, in some aspects, Indonesia isn’t resilient enough for a project like this to continue on its own; the administration needs to be motivated and willing. Interestingly, champions can often be found. Once a project is successful and people see the results, it can be scaled up. Back when we worked with the mayor in Bandung, we improved a few public spaces, like the Steel Park, and he scaled it up across West Java. Suddenly, many towns and cities got involved, and more architects participated. It would be fantastic if other cities or kampungs picked up the idea and created their own interpretations.
DS In a way we’ve been the test bunnies in another city to upscale a public space project. As Florian said, we did one public space, it was successful, and then it scaled up with other architects. The same could happen here with urban acupuncture: more architects could be recruited and work together — not necessarily with the ministry, but with cities or communities. There are many possible roles. Of course, we are not the first. There was a priest and architect, Romo Mangun, who studied in Germany and worked in Indonesia in the ’70s and ’80s. He delivered charismatic and very thoughtful architecture, especially in kampungs. It’s not widely published, so the world doesn’t fully know about it, but it serves as a precedent that such work has been done before.
FH He went so far as to live in the kampung and became, in a sense, the kampung elder. He refurbished the community completely, entirely bottom-up. So there are references, precedents for this kind of work. In that sense, it doesn’t always have to be top-down. Perhaps the truth lies in between—a mix of bottom-up and top-down. If there is a strong, engaged community, as in our case, and supportive people within the ministry, then projects like this can happen. And not just what we did, but also with other people and other communities.
KOOZ For a project like this to be truly successful, it always requires continuous engagement, which clearly demands a lot of energy. I wonder if we need to rethink the relationship between the commissioner and the architect — not a one-time handover, but as an ongoing sustained collaboration.
FH Ideally, at some point, the project would no longer need our engagement, and they could continue without us. There are examples worldwide, like in PREVI, Lima, Peru, with social housing from the 60s and 70s — Aldo van Eyck and a team of 25 other national and international architect teams designed a framework for housing. If you look at it today, the houses have changed: people painted them, added small attachments, altered windows. But the public spaces in between — the core structure — remain. The architects provided a bare-bones framework that evolved entirely differently. That’s quite interesting. We hope people don’t change our architecture too much, but it can also serve as a stepping stone, inspiring residents to integrate their own ideas while weaving the framework into the kampung fabric.
"Mrican is not a blueprint, it’s a living, breathing example of what happens when architecture listens. When design is not delivered, but co-created."
PB Mrican is not a blueprint, it’s a living, breathing example of what happens when architecture listens. When design is not delivered, but co-created. When communities are seen not as recipients, but as partners, leaders, and storytellers of their own future. This is not just about kampong improvement. It’s about the possibility of a different kind of development, one rooted in craft, care, and community. And that story is still unfolding.
About
Ammodo Architecture promotes and supports socially and ecologically responsible architecture worldwide. The programme is implemented through the Ammodo Architecture Award and an international knowledge platform. The Award is presented in three categories: from local driven projects, collaborations and initiatives to internationally renowned projects and completed buildings.
Biographies
SHAU is an architectural and urban design practice founded by architects Daliana Suryawinata (ID) and Florian Heinzelmann (DE) in Rotterdam, Netherlands, and Bandung, Indonesia. Recognised for performance-driven environmental and societal design agendas with built works across Indonesia and Germany, SHAU has received numerous awards, including the ARCASIA Gold Award 2024, the Good Design Award Japan 2023, the ArchDaily Building of the Year 2021, the Architizer A+ Awards in 2025, 2020, and 2017, and the Holcim Award for Sustainable Construction Asia-Pacific 2017, among others. Besides Kampung Mrican Phase 1, SHAU’s recent projects include Jakarta's upcoming Performing Arts Centre and the Vice Presidential Palace in the New Capital of Indonesia, both under construction, alongside other private and public developments. SHAU regularly participates in exhibitions and lectures worldwide and has been featured in publications including Monocle, El Pais and The Guardian.
Florian Heinzelmann is a co-founder of SHAU and serves as an Associate Professor in Practice at the Department of Architecture at the National University of Singapore. He is a licensed architect (SBA) with a doctorate from Eindhoven University of Technology on Design method for adaptive daylight systems for buildings covered by large (span) roofs. Florian studied architecture in Germany and graduated in 2003, with his graduation project winning an award at the international Archiprix. He received scholarships to work in Japan and undertake postgraduate studies at the Berlage Institute, graduating in 2006. He worked at UNStudio in Amsterdam for three years and as a researcher at TU Delft. Florian has taught, researched, and spoken at conferences worldwide. His work has been exhibited internationally, including at the Venice Biennale and the London Design Museum. Florian was a judge for the 2023 World Architecture Festival.
Daliana Suryawinata is a co-founder of SHAU and a licensed architect (IAI). She studied architecture at Tarumanagara University in Jakarta and the Berlage Institute in Rotterdam (2005). Her early career included working for OMA (Rem Koolhaas), MVRDV, and West8 on high-profile projects across Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. Daliana has taught Master courses at the Berlage Institute, Rotterdam Academy of Architecture, and The Why Factory at TU Delft. She has lectured, exhibited internationally, and served as a critic at ETH Zurich, NUS, and UPenn among others. She was recognised as one of Globe Asia’s 99 Inspiring Women (2019) and RIBA’s 100 Women Architects in Practice (2024). Daliana was a jury member for EUMies Awards for Young Talents 2025 and Holcim Awards for Sustainable Construction 2023.
Indah Swastika Purnama Sari is a seasoned public official with nearly 20 years of professional experience in human settlement development, urban planning, and landscape architecture. She is dedicated to advancing sustainable urban environments through the promotion of green infrastructure and renewable energy initiatives. Currently serving as Head of the Division of Monitoring and Rehabilitation at the State-Owned Asset Management Bureau, and as a Commitment Officer at the Indonesian Ministry of Public Works, she leads the formulation of policies and information systems for state asset management, as well as the coordination of asset recovery and regulation at the national level. Throughout her career, Indah has managed and delivered key urban development programmes across Indonesia, including strategic projects such as Kampung Mrican Phase 1 and Labuan Bajo. She has published and obtained certifications in green building and public-private partnerships. She holds a Master’s degree in Urban Planning from Tarumanagara University and a Bachelor’s degree in Landscape Architecture from Trisakti University.
Sahid Fahrudin is the Hamlet Chief of Pringwulung in Condongcatur, Mrican, Yogyakarta, where he oversees neighbourhood development and leads community programs with local youth and residents. Deeply committed to sustainability and social resilience, he actively promotes green initiatives and inclusive participation in village activities. Between 2022 and 2025, he was an anchor person in focus group discussions organised by the Ministry of Public Works and the City of Yogyakarta administration. Together with his wife, Umi, he co-leads the community garden and urban farming program, enhancing nutrition and local food security.
Pauline Boedianto is recognised as both a slum restoration architect and a skilled conflict-resolution negotiator. Her career spans collaborations with governments and institutions dedicated to uplifting marginalised communities. She began with Delft Municipality, working on the rehabilitation of deteriorated urban mass housing and later partnered with the Government of Kenya to empower street children in Nairobi’s urban slums. More recently, she contributed to the Government of Jakarta, facilitating conflict resolution at the Muara Angke Integrated Fishers Village, and served as an advisor to Indonesia’s Ministry of Public Works & Social Housing on the eradication of extreme poverty in Medan Belawan Bahari, North Sumatera. Pauline graduated with a Master of Architecture from TU Delft, The Netherlands, in 1997 with a thesis focused on the restoration of rural slum areas in Kenya.
Federica Sofia Zambeletti is the founder and managing director of KoozArch. She is an architect, researcher and digital curator whose interests lie at the intersection between art, architecture and regenerative practices. In 2015 Federica founded KoozArch with the ambition of creating a space where to research, explore and discuss architecture beyond the limits of its built form. Parallel to her work at KoozArch, Federica is Architect at the architecture studio UNA and researcher at the non-profit agency for change UNLESS where she is project manager of the research "Antarctic Resolution". Federica is an Architectural Association School of Architecture in London alumni.
