Ngatini's house is one kilometer (less than one mile) away from the post, itself located four kilometers from the boiling crater of Merapi and 1,200 meters (yards) above sea level. She travels there by foot.

"What else can I do? I have to work to feed my family," says Ngatini, dressed in a worn gray coat to ward off the chills, a surgical mask meant to cover her face dangling from her neck.

Ngatini, in her thirties, is alone among a few dozen mostly young men who remain in Babadan, defying efforts by the government to evacuate villagers in the wake of increased activity at Merapi on Indonesia's teeming Java island.

She says she and her husband, a farmer, struggle to raise two children who are still in primary school.

Babadan, on Merapi's western slope, has been covered by thick whitish ash from the volcano and the only visitors still coming to the area are a few volcanology monitors, journalists or aid workers. Tourists who used to flock here are nowhere to be seen.

Merapi, whose name means "Mountain of Fire", was put on red alert on May 13. Scientists believed it was on the brink of eruption, which for Merapi typically involves it belching hot, speeding clouds that char everything in their paths.

Some 66 people were killed by such clouds, known scientifically as nuees ardentes, during Merapi's last major eruption in 1994.

The volcano's activity has been erratic since it was put on alert but it escalated again last week in the wake of a strong earthquake that hit the region to Merapi's south and killed more than 5,800 people.

Ngatini is not without fear. She says she trembled when the volcano belched its most intense hot cloud last Thursday.

"In all the years I have been here, that was the first time I felt so afraid," she says.

Business hasn't been so good since Merapi rumbled back to life in April, she says.

"During the good days my revenue could reach as high as 300,000 rupiah (32 dollars) per day but now I can only get 30,000 or even 20,000 rupiah," she says.

She uses firewood to heat water for boiling instant noodles ordered by a customer.

"I cannot afford buying a stove," she says, but the fire is good to keep her warm in the chilly afternoon.

More than 18,000 residents living on Merapi's slopes have been evacuated and sheltered at makeshift camps but many men who make a living from farming or sand mining have stayed to guard their houses and tend to their cattle or land.

Babadan's men complain that the volcano and ash rain it produces has made their lives more difficult.

"The cows have become skinny as the grass is not good because of the ash. We are not allowed to mine sand in the rivers anymore. Farming land isn't good either at a time like this," complains 35-year-old Edi Sumartin.

In a nearby field, his fellow villagers play volleyball, a favorite game here.

"Every one of us here is jobless. It's getting hard to make ends meet nowadays," says Isfandi, who shrouds himself with a sarong to keep warm.

In 2001, one Dutch tourist was killed and another injured by a hot lava emission in Babadan.

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