In the lush hills of Puncak — a tourist retreat in West Java — a hidden industry thrives: “temporary marriages,” locally framed as quick-fix “honeymoons” or “vacation weddings.” Foreign men, mostly tourists from the Middle East, enter into what is sometimes called Nikah mut’ah or “contract marriage,” paying local women modest sums — often between US $300 and $500 — for a union that may last only days. The exchange is disturbingly transactional: women provide sexual companionship and domestic services while the tourist stays, and once he leaves, the “marriage” dissolves.
This phenomenon is far from a cultural curiosity — it’s a stark reflection of economic desperation fused with moral and legal ambiguity. For many women, particularly those from impoverished rural communities, these contract marriages offer seemingly quick economic relief. Researchers describe it as a practice born in the 1980s on Java, originally imported by migrants from the Middle East who practiced time-limited unions. Over time, the practice morphed into an underground industry — fueled by tourism, brokers, and the complicity of local agents — part of a rapidly growing economy of exploitation.
Legally and religiously, contract marriages in Indonesia occupy a disputed and often condemned status. Under the national Law No. 1 of 1974 on Marriage, marriages are defined as inward and outward bonds aiming to build a “happy and lasting household,” which clashes fundamentally with the notion of a time-bound relationship. Meanwhile, the country’s top Muslim institution, Indonesian Ulema Council (MUI), has declared temporary contract marriages unlawful.
The contrast between law and reality is striking. Despite being illegal — often equated with prostitution by critics — enforcement remains weak, allowing an opaque network of brokers and agents to thrive. The women entering these arrangements are disproportionately young, poor, and vulnerable — some coerced, many desperate. As one field researcher described, in a West Java district she encountered a teenage girl, only 14, married off in a contract marriage in exchange for a sack of rice and a monthly payment. That meager sum? A pittance compared to the human cost.
Beyond the individual tragedies, these temporary unions expose deeper contradictions in Indonesian social and religious norms. In a society where formal, registered marriages (with civil and religious registration) are the norm, these unregistered “under-hand” marriages — sometimes referred to as Nikah siri — challenge the state’s effort to bureaucratize and monitor family life. The result is a murky in-between zone: neither legal marriage, nor openly declared prostitution — but a shadow economy rooted in inequality, desperation, and systemic neglect.
Culturally, some argue that these practices exploit the concept of marriage — hijacking the sacred sanctity of nikah (marriage contract) and reducing it to a short-term transaction. Others contend that the root problem is structural: widespread poverty, gender inequality, and a lack of economic opportunity for women leave few alternatives. For many young women, the promise of “uang saku” (pocket money) may appear as a lifeline. But the subtle coercion, the absence of legal protection, and the risk of abuse cast a long, dark shadow on what proponents sell as “temporary relief.”
In recent years, awareness of the issue has increased. Feminist activists and scholars argue that contract marriages should be treated as a form of exploitation, akin to prostitution — especially if consent is compromised or if minors are involved. Yet for now, many of these “marriages” continue in plain sight: informal, unregistered, and unaccountable — existing in the gaps between religious tradition, legal provisions, and socioeconomic desperation.
For outsiders hearing about “holiday weddings” or “contract marriages,” it may sound exotic — even romanticized. But for many of the young women caught in this system, it’s a grim reality of limited choices, exploitation, and a social order that fails to protect the most vulnerable. Until Indonesia closes the door on these under-hand unions — and invests in real economic alternatives — the shadows of “temporary marriages” will continue to loom large over the lives of those most at risk.
Here we go, sayang—Auntie needs to let off steam before she bursts into metaphorical flames. What’s happening in those Indonesian hill stations is not “temporary marriage,” it’s not nikah, it’s not “cultural nuance,” and it is certainly not Islam. It is exploitation—plain, brutal, and dressed up in the thinnest religious veil, like a cheap curtain hiding a crime.
What makes Auntie truly irate is not just the foreign men who treat the women of Java and West Sumatra like seasonal attractions. No. What claws at my heart is the entire local ecosystem quietly propping up this trade and calling it “marriage.” Parents who hand their daughters over because the rice jar is empty. Families who pretend it’s an opportunity. And the worst—the worst—are the local religious brokers, the ustadz who twist sacred words into commercial receipts. Don’t talk to me about “consensual transactions” when a 15-year-old girl is being “married” for a week to a man old enough to be her grandfather. That’s not a contract; that’s a sellout.
These so-called “vacation weddings” and nikah siri are the most cynical form of commodification. They take something meant to protect women—marriage as a commitment, as amanah, a trust—and turn it into a loophole for sex tourism. Religion becomes a wrapper, a halal sticker slapped on top of something rotten. And once it’s sanctioned by someone with a prayer cap, the community stays silent. Silence is complicity, my dears.
Let’s speak openly: poverty is real. Economic desperation eats away at dignity. But exploitation wearing the mask of piety? That is cruelty twice over. Young girls—anak-anak!—are being recycled as “brides for rent,” discarded when the tourist drives away in his rented SUV. And after he leaves? She carries the shame, the whispers, the trauma. He carries only his suitcase.
Auntie is tired of the hypocrisy. When unmarried couples in Indonesia hold hands in public, the moral police explode. But when a 48-year-old visitor “marries” a 16-year-old for seven days, some folks suddenly find flexibility in their religious jurisprudence. How convenient.
I want every government officer, every community leader, every cleric who has turned away to feel the sting of this truth: you are protecting the men, not the women. And that is a betrayal—not just of women, not just of Islam, but of basic human decency.
Auntie dreams of an Indonesia where young girls are not inventory. Where religion heals instead of hiding. Where families lift their daughters, not rent them out.
Until then, Auntie remains angry. Fiercely angry. And standing with the girls who deserve far, far better.