The land of Toraja

Amelia Winnie, Contributor, Tana Toraja |

Rare skill: A Torajan woman weaves a tenun cloth. — Photo by Amelia WinnieRare skill: A Torajan woman weaves a tenun cloth. — Photo by Amelia Winnie

Known for its remarkable tenun or woven cloth and funeral ceremonies, Tana Toraja — “the Land of Toraja” — is a lot more than meets the eye.

Located in South Sulawesi, this prominent tourist destination in Indonesia is encircled by mountains, cliffs, forests and dotted with coffins as well as buffaloes.

It was an eight- to 10-hour drive from South Sulawesi’s capital city, Makassar. I did not want to close my eyes and fall asleep as the journey to Toraja offers a scenery I might regret missing.

Paddy fields and forests could be seen to the left of the road, and scary yet tremendous gaps to the right. The sky was bright blue and, through large clouds, the sun shone brightly.

Because it is a famous tourist destination, Tana Toraja is packed with visitors all year round, from backpackers to wealthy travelers.
Wealthy family: The number of horns in front of tongkonan, the traditional house in Tana Toraja, shows how prosperous their owner is. — Photo by Amelia WinnieWealthy family: The number of horns in front of tongkonan, the traditional house in Tana Toraja, shows how prosperous their owner is. — Photo by Amelia Winnie

If you want to go to Tana Toraja’s famous spots in Makale, Rantepao and Batutumonga easily, you can rent a car, which costs around Rp 400,000 (US$46) a day (negotiable). You can also take public transportation, such as a minivan (angkot) or bentor — short for becak motor (motorcycle-pedicab) — if you want to tour around the city.

Torajan houses called tongkonan, built using carved-wood panels can be seen throughout Toraja. The word tongkonan comes from the Torajan word tongkon — which means “to sit”. The walls of tongkonan are incised with wood-carving detail and are mainly colored red, black and yellow.

In front of a tongkonan, you can usually see a string of buffalo horns that show how affluent and wealthy the owner is. Four or eight horns indicate average wealth. Any other amount means the tongkonan belongs to a prosperous family.

Nowadays, many Torajans own modern-looking houses, but they still have smaller-sized tongkonan houses, which they use as guest houses.
Down below: Londa, a natural cave, is the burial ground for Tana Toraja ancestors, located in Sandan Uai village in Sanggalangi subdistrict, 7 kilometers from Makale. — Photo by Amelia WinniDown below: Londa, a natural cave, is the burial ground for Tana Toraja ancestors, located in Sandan Uai village in Sanggalangi subdistrict, 7 kilometers from Makale. — Photo by Amelia Winni

They are also used to store gabah (unhulled rice) or as the family grave. Indeed, there is something in Toraja you cannot and do not want to overlook: corpses, coffins and graveyards.

Before stepping into these spooky spots, you must visit Batu Tumonga. Located on the slopes of Mount Sesean, a one-hour drive from the center city in Toraja, Batu Tumonga offers a splendid view of Rantepao and Tana Toraja from its peak. Having a cup of robusta or arabica coffee (Torajan exclusive coffee) in a coffee shop there while looking at the views is very enjoyable.

On the way to Batu Tumonga, graves could be spotted everywhere. Interestingly, they didn’t look creepy — but culturally appealing.
Tree grave: Babies used to be buried in the Tarra’ Tree. — Photo by Amelia WinniTree grave: Babies used to be buried in the Tarra’ Tree. — Photo by Amelia Winni

The next stop was the baby grave called passiliran in Kambira. The passiliran is only intended for babies who do not have teeth — they were considered sacred. Deceased babies are buried inside a hole in a tarra tree, as it is believed to place them back in their mothers’ wombs. Tarra has white sap symbolizing a mother’s milk. Approximately 80 to 300 centimeters in diameter, the hole is wrapped with enau leaves (solitary palm sugar) after the baby is in. There are 15 holes in the tarra now.

Social status, again, plays a role here. The higher the baby is placed inside the hole, the higher the social status of the family. By paying an entry fee of Rp 5,000, tourists can see and take photographs of the baby graves.

Twenty minutes from the baby grave, meet Londa — a natural cave, the burial ground for Tana Toraja ancestors. Located in Sandan Uai village in Sanggalangi subdistrict, 7 kilometers from Makale, it costs
Rp 5,000 to enter the site.

Here, visitors must follow community rules — one of which is we are not allowed to move or take away the human bones. Among the tombs, you can see tau-tau — wooden effigies representing the deceased — placed on the top of Londa cave.

When you look toward Londa’s entrance, there are erong — Torajan coffins that stick out of the cliff side — filled with human bones from hundreds of years ago. Similar to the baby grave, the higher one’s social status is, the higher the dead is placed on the cliff.

Then, explore the 1,000-meter depth of Londa cave by foot and witness this coffin-filled cave with sesajen (offerings to the spirit) and items belonging to the deceased alongside.

Be careful, the ground and rocks inside are slippery and wet. Witness the infamous tale from Londa inside the cave revolving around a couple of skulls claimed to be Toraja’s Romeo and Juliet. They were deeply in love, but both families’ refusal to welcome their commitment brought catastrophe: suicide.

Toraja people place importance on buffalos. Not only do buffalo horns present social status, Torajans also sacrifice as many buffaloes as possible at a family member’s funeral. The number of animals sacrificed — buffaloes or pigs — equates to the power of the dead and their family’s.

Tedong — as Toraja people call the water buffalo — are given time to bathe in mud. Albino buffalo are given special treatment. There’s one in Londa, named Tedong Bonga. The guide says Tedong Bonga is worth more than Rp 200 million.

Another enthralling spot is Ke’te Kesu, the most picturesque village in Tana Toraja. It has a shipshape row of tongkonan and the hanging erong coffins.

Ke’te Kesu has many tau-tau on its cliffs, photos of predecessors, and wooden-carving crafts and souvenir shops selling Torajan handicrafts such as tenun woven cloths, T-shirts, ethnic jewelry and even traditional South Sulawesi costumes.

It is believed to be the oldest graveyard in Tana Toraja. To fully experience Ke’te Kesu, you need to walk upstairs with the precipice on your right.

Many skulls and other bones are on the ground. Walking past flimsy, old coffins, you can sense the mystical atmosphere around.
Valuable asset: This water buffalo, Tedong Bonga, is worth more than Rp 200 million. Photo by Amelia WinnieValuable asset: This water buffalo, Tedong Bonga, is worth more than Rp 200 million. Photo by Amelia Winnie

The last and hottest place to visit is Sa’dan To’barana. This is a special place to see the making of pattanun, Torajan tenun woven cloth.
You can also purchase cloth here. Sa’dan To’barana is a one-hour drive from Rantepao.

It is a traditional village in north Toraja where the pattanun fabric is originally made. Pattanun consists of a mixture of colorful tenun woven fabric and is sold at a reasonable price. You can have an authentic pattanun from Rp 100,000 to more than Rp 1 million.

You can also experience weaving with the traditional machine to make tenun woven cloth. One tenun woven cloth is 3.5 meters in size and takes two weeks to make.

Tasting Tana Toraja’s cuisine is also a must. Try pa’piong, beef/pork/fish mixed with vegetables such as utan bulunangko or jackfruit inside bamboo then roasted over a fire.

Do not forget to taste jipang Toraja, made from glutinous black sticky rice with brown sugar.

Tori cookies are also yummy and use similar ingredients to jipang but in a different form. Tori is made by adding sesame seeds and rice flour.

This superb city of graves and marvelous natural views invites those who visit the Land of Toraja to come back again.

THe Java Puppet

Wayang with a Touch of Dutch
Indah Setiawati,

There was no Arjuna in sight. The puppet characters appeared in classic European clothing from the 16th century. And the shadow puppet story was not based on the classic epic Mahabharata or Ramayana — but rather the heroic epic of Prince William of Orange.

That particular evening, the audience was given a rare treat — a wayang shadow puppet show with a fresh, contemporary twist.

Painted in classic European clothing from the 16th century, the puppet characters became alive as young puppet master Ananto Wicaksono told the heroic epic story of Prince William of Orange to a packed hall at the Erasmus Huis in South Jakarta.

Closing scene showcases the puppet characters of Prince William van Orange (left), his wife Louise de Coligny (right) and the Nieuwe Kerk (New Church) in Delft. JP/ Wendra Ajistyatama Closing scene showcases the puppet characters of Prince William van Orange (left), his wife Louise de Coligny (right) and the Nieuwe Kerk (New Church) in Delft. JP/ Wendra Ajistyatama

The Nusantara Museum in Holland had ordered the puppet of William of Orange — or Willem Van Oranje in Dutch — from Javanese puppet maker Ledjar Subroto, Ananto’s grandfather.

The puppet show was performed in Jakarta and Yogyakarta before being launched in the Nusantara Museum over the weekend.

The story revolves around the battles of Prince William, the proponent of freedom of religion against the Spanish army. The Spanish King, Philip II, declared William an outlaw and promised a reward for his assassination.

The show’s last scene depicted the assassination of the Dutch hero. Balthasar Gerard, a supporter of Phillip II, shot William to death at the prince’s home in Delft.

The contemporary shadow puppet show did not only present a series of serious political banters and war scenes, but also entertained and humored with creative and amusing scenes.

The hundreds of audience members burst into laughter when an old puppet character Jan Klaasen appeared on stage as an intermezzo in the middle of a war.

Jan Klaasen’s funny voice, humorous chat and silly movements became an instant ice-breaker. A Spaniard soldier tried to attack his head to no avail because it was so flexible — it could rotate, turning forward and even backward.

Ledjar said Jan Klaasen was an additional character that was comparable to Punokawan — four royal jokers in the regular puppet shows.

“I inserted the Jan Klaasen character so the audience did not only have to stick to the story, but be entertained by the humor as well,” he said.

Known as the innovator of wayang kancil — leather puppets in animal forms, the 73-year-old Ledjar was internationally known for his novel pieces of the wayang art.

His creations include Wayang Sultan Agung in 1987, a puppet made to depict the struggle of Sultan Agung against the Dutch troops under Jan Pieter Zoon Coen. The puppet was collected by the Westfreis Museum.

Later, he made Wayang Revolusi for the Bronbeek Museum in Arnhem, representing the Indonesian revolutionary figures of 1945. He also created a wayang cartoon based on the Japanese Samurai X comic for the performance of Japanese puppeteer Ryoh Matsumoto in 2002.

Ananto, a student of the Indonesian Institute of Arts in Yogyakarta, said the Nusantara Museum planned to introduce Dutch history to school children through Wayang William.

“The problem [faced by Indonesia and the Netherlands] is the same. Children are reluctant to study history,” he said, adding that wayang was chosen because both countries shared a strong cultural relationship.

The idea to wrap the Dutch history in a wayang story came after officials from the Nusantara Museum watched Ledjar’s Sultan Agung puppet show performance at the Pasar Tong Tong fair back in 2008.

The officials, who saw a Jan Pieter Zoon Coen puppet, were inspired to order the puppet character of William. They were happy to see Ledjar’s creation of the William puppet a year later, saying that the puppet’s image matched the prince’s portraits. Ananto said he researched on the Internet to study the history of William of Orange and watched an original classic movie about him.

“At first, I was thinking of full gamelan for the music, but then I changed my mind because this was a European puppet show. I don’t want to make it an ordinary wayang purwa [traditional puppetry],” he said.

His effort paid off. The Willem puppet show performed in the Erasmus Huis was far from boring.

The music was a collaboration between pop orchestra and traditional gamelan. Some of the conversations in the show, which included an English translation, were even set to opera-esque music, such as during a romantic chat between William and his fourth wife Louise de Coligny.

Ananto, who has been a wayang puppeter since he was four years old, said the Nusantara Museum’s visitors could also watch his 15-minute animated film of the William puppet show in addition to enjoying the real puppet performance.

The museum also plans to tour the puppet show around several cities. Ledjar said the marriage of modern and traditional genres could attract young people.

The most important thing, he added, was to preserve the traditional nuance.

However, nowadays the majority of appreciation for wayang comes from foreign countries like the Netherlands, and little attention is paid to the art form in Indonesia.

Ledjar said no order to make a wayang show about Indonesia’s modern history had come from his his own country.

“You know, there is no interest here in Indonesia. I am concerned about how to encourage our children and young generation to love wayang.”

Puppet master Ananto performs a battle scene during the shadow puppet show at Erasmus Huis in South Jakarta.

Batik Indonesia, Indonesian Batik

Going back to the roots of batik in Pekalongan
Prodita Sabarini, The Jakarta Post,

Still noble: A batik artist stamps a pattern onto a cloth at the workshop of Nur Cahyo, another batik producer Edo Hutabarat works with, in Pekalongan, Central Java.Still noble: A batik artist stamps a pattern onto a cloth at the workshop of Nur Cahyo, another batik producer Edo Hutabarat works with, in Pekalongan, Central Java.Designer Edward Hutabarat was sitting cross-legged on the floor of one of the oldest Peranakan Chinese batik producer’s house in Kedungwuni, Pekalongan. Piles of colorful batik tulis (hand-painted batik) worth Rp 10 million were scattered on the ground in front of him.

Next to him, batik producer Liem Poo Hien, with a pen and paper, a nervous smile and a frown, carefully noted down Edo’s — as the designer is popularly called — instructions.

“Without tanahan, without boog, without tumpal,” Edo said, uttering words that may have sounded like a foreign language to the batik novice. In batik vernacular, tanahan means an intricate hand-painted background, boog is the arching lining on the edges of batik, and tumpal is the area that covers the front part of the lower limbs when a batik cloth is worn as a sarong.

Hien looked apprehensive when agreeing to Edo’s instructions, but Edo was determined to have his way.
Edo is one of Indonesia’s designers who successfully turned the country’s traditional national dress and clothes into modern and global fashion. He is known for having revived the kebaya and batik, tweaking the nation’s traditional clothing into something modern and chic — on par with clothing from international brands such as Hermes, Gucci, and Bottega Veneta.

Hien meanwhile is the fourth generation of Lim Ping Wie, a family of Chinese Peranakan batik producers in Pekalongan. She adheres to the tradition of the Peranakan style batik almost religiously. But Edo is convincing her to move beyond its rigid rules and produce batik cloth that will give him more freedom to design clothes.

The results of Edo’s fruitful collaboration with Hien will be on show in his next collection that will celebrate the former’s 30 years in the fashion design industry. His aim has been to bring batik into the world of international high fashion and ensure Indonesians’ love for batik lasts the test of time.

Household products producer Kao Indonesia, which recently launched a liquid product called Batik Cleaner, and Edo, invited The Jakarta Post to Pekalongan in December to see how batik is made.

The trip to Pekalongan, one of the 200 spots in Indonesia where the designer collaborates with local textile producers, aimed to explore the roots of batik. Central Java’s Pekalongan is one of the main production areas for the colorful batik pesisir (coastal batik). Being a fair distance from the Javanese royal courts such as Yogyakarta and Surakarta gave producers of batik from Pekalongan the freedom to explore batik outside the courts’ canon, resulting in vibrant and colorful patterns, with influences from China, the Dutch and Arabs.

Batik’s popularity has gone through ups and downs. But from the day Edo worked with batik in 2004, the fabric has been widely accepted and gone from being considered as old and traditional — conjuring images of the lovely grandmother wearing a kebaya and sarong — to a fashionable and stylish garment.

The country has even dedicated a day to batik, Oct. 2, after the UNESCO declared the method of hand-painting cloth using hot wax as world heritage in 2009.

Not your ordinary request: Designer Edward Hutabarat (left) gives instructions to an attentive Liem Poo Hien, who is taking notes down about the batik Edo wants her to create for his latest collection.Not your ordinary request: Designer Edward Hutabarat (left) gives instructions to an attentive Liem Poo Hien, who is taking notes down about the batik Edo wants her to create for his latest collection.But according to Edo, people’s renewed interest in batik remains superficial. Very few realize how long it takes to make one piece of batik tulis and how intricate the process of batik making is.

“Not many know about the woman who paints batik eight hours a day without leaning forward,” he said.

Because of how elaborate batik looks, and how complicated it is to make, Edo’s philosophy on wearing batik is “less is more”. He isn’t a big fan of the many extravagant fashion shows involving batik. The big hair, the bows on the shoulders, appliqués, heavy makeup, and chunky shoes are so hillbilly, he went on.

And never wear batik with diamonds, he warned. “It’s tacky.”

Back at Kedungwuni, Edo asked Hien to create a 5-meter-long cloth. Batik cloth usually measures around 2 meters. They bargained on the length and settled for 3.5 meters.

Besides worrying about the rigid rules Hien adheres to when making batik, she is naturally nervous she won’t succeed in producing such a long cloth.

Batik tulis production is a painstaking process.

To understand how intricate it is to make batik tulis, one has to spread the cloth wide and examine its pattern and colors. One of Hien’s Japanese-influenced Hokokai batik has ornate flowers, leaves and butterflies. Each of them are filled with different patterns of dots, lines, half circles and curves. These fillings are called isen-isen. In batik tulis each flower can have different pattern of fillings, depending on the artist’s creativity. In the background, a neat pattern of curls and dots can be seen, called tanahan.

To create batik, Hien’s artists will sit and use their canting, a metal container with a needle. The canting holds the wax while it trickles down the needle allowing the artist to paint the cloth.

After the wax dries, the cloth is soaked in color and hung to dry. The wax is then removed from the cloth when plunged into boiling water, a process called ngelorot. The batik artists will then paint the cloth several more times to produce the isen-isen and tanahan.

Different colors might appear in one batik cloth. If three colors come out, the cloth will be soaked in color three times, and the batik artists will have to block the areas that do not need to be colored.

A very detailed batik might take a year to finish, not counting failures, Hien said. “So, if you see a batik that costs over Rp 2 million, don’t think that’s expensive,” Edo added.

Hien believes she has a lot to learn from Edo. Responsible for around 30 batik artists, she candidly explained Edo was the only person she felt comfortable asking for money to help her pay her artists.

Given the meticulous nature of the batik-making process and its reliance on sunny weather to dry the cloth, Hien said running her business was tough work. She never sends her batik cloth to customers, the latter have to come to her place, in case the batik gets damaged when mailed.

While Hien is Edo’s Chinese Peranakan batik producer, his go to guy for the more modern pekalongan batik is Nur Cahyo who produces batik tulis and batik cap (stamped batik) with natural and chemical coloring in Pekalongan.

Edo claimed that of all the batik tulis Pekalongan he had come across, Cahyo’s was the finest. The two met in an exhibition four years ago when Edo discovered his products. Edo then contacted Cahyo and the pair started working together.

On the world stage: The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) has named Indonesia’s handmade batik as world heritage.On the world stage: The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) has named Indonesia’s handmade batik as world heritage.Cahyo’s batik tulis workshop is located in a modest lush green Angsana garden, surrounded by a lopsided bamboo fence. There, the batik painters sit in groups in a large hall. Edo’s design office is an open-air room looking over rice paddies.

When we walked in, the wind made lines of the crepe de chine batik hung on lines under the trees roll like ocean waves.

Cahyo, who likes abstract patterns, is more open to innovations in batik. He is currently working with Edo to make a masterpiece from a 9-meter kereta kencana cloth. Edo also uses silk rolls imported from Japan and is designing a flora and fauna pattern on it.

His batik tulis usually takes between 3 months up to a year to make. Using stamps, one can produce batik faster, up to 100 per week, which reduces the cost by hundreds of thousands of rupiah.

“Still it is more noble than print,” Edo said.

Edo was optimistic about Cahyo’s production because his batik artists are mostly in their 30s and 40s.

“I know that good batik will still be produced knowing that there is regeneration,” he said.

There are still many villages in Pekalongan where elderly ladies make batik for a living or to pass time.

These pieces are called batik kampung, and can be recognized from their big flowers and full tanahan patterns, mainly green, brown and purple. The ladies buy the white mori cloth from a middleperson. They ask the middleperson to take their cloth to workers who color and rinse the wax. While the middle person pays Rp 200,000 to Rp 400,000 for the batik, the price can go up to Rp 750,000 at the market, and Rp 1.5 million in Jakarta.

Edo said more people should visit these artisan cities to learn about batik-making culture. The city of Pekalongan is a laid-back town with many batik workshops, a batik museum and good food — a great place for Indonesians to go on study tours and learn about their heritage.

“Indonesians should know about batik,” he said. “This is ours

Restoring peatlands

Central Kalimantan, home to the largest remaining peatland forests in the country, has three million hectares of peatlands that store more than 6 billion tons of carbon dioxide - the main contributor to global warming. The Jakarta Post's Adianto P. Simamora visited the Sebangau National Park conservation area last week to observe peatland restoration projects that are aimed at preventing emissions from being released into the atmosphere.

Kusnawi, a resident of Sebangau, sat in a base camp at the entrance to the Sebangau National Park and watched visitors arriving at the area, which is located 55 kilometers south of the Central Kalimantan provincial capital of Palangka Raya.

He reminded them not to start any fires in the highly inflammable forest.

"My job is to check water levels in the canals every day," said Kuswadi, a father of two. He spends three weeks a month in the park.

World Wildlife Fund (WWF) Indonesia has developed several conservation projects in the area and hired Kusnadi in 2005 to monitor the daily condition of the peatlands and to water seeds that were planted to restore the degraded park.

The Forestry Ministry designated Sebangau, which covers more than 568,700 hectares and is more than 10 meters in some places, as a national park in 2004.

Currently, 66,000 hectares of the reserve have been classified as "degraded" and have no big trees.

"As of today, we have only managed to restore 850 hectares by planting trees," Sebangau national park management unit head Rosdy Abaza told reporters.

The project was hampered by a lack of funds, he added.

"We only have Rp 8 billion *US$880,000* in the annual budget, which includes salaries. It's much lower than the estimated minimum budget of Rp 80 billion," he said.

Sebangau National Park has 46 employees.

Located between the Katingan and Sebangau rivers, Sebangau used to be a logging concession granted to 13 forest concession holders, despite its rich biodiversity.

The concession holders left behind thousands of canals in the peatland forest, which drained the area.

Canals were previously used as waterways which ran deep into the forest to transport illegally-logged timber.

"We have to block the canals to stabilize the water level. It's the cheapest way to restore the peatland," said Rosdy.

More than 200 dams have been built this year to block water flow, at a cost of Rp 20 and Rp 80 million per dam, to allow the water table of drained peatlands to rise.

The reserve and WWF Indonesia plan to block 400 canals this year, he added.

"Before trees can be planted to restore function of peatland, the water level must be raised," WWF Indonesia's Central Kalimantan chapter program manager Rosenda Kasih said.

If new trees are not planted and canals are blocked, emissions will continue to be released from the peatlands, she added.

The park is located near the abandoned "1 million hectares peatlands project" (PLG) developed under former president Soeharto.

There are also thousands of canals in the area.

Peat is an early form of coal that develops over thousands of years.

As plants in peat swamp decompose they produce a brown mass of twigs, branches and leaves, which in turn traps tons of carbon emissions.

When it's draining, the peat turns into a highly combustible material, prone to fires in the dry season.

Central Kalimantan suffered massive fires due to the forest conversions and peatland exploitation in 2002, 2005 and 2006.

The discussions of the role of peatlands are taking center stage in line with climate change talks that have called for a moratorium on peatlands conversions.

Experts say peatlands forests store about 50 times as much carbon dioxide as other tropical forests.

A study by the National Development Planning Agency (Bappenas) says that Indonesia's peatlands contribute 1 billion tons of emissions per year, or half of the country's total emissions.

Indonesia, which has pledged to cut carbon emissions 26 percent by 2020, has also promised to stop conversions of peatlands.

A draft presidential regulation proposed a five-year moratorium on peatland conversions and promised a review of concession permits to mitigate climate change.

Currently, peatlands with a depth of less than 3 meters can be converted from residential to business purposes for oil palm or mining companies.

Industrial timber concessions, forest concession holders to oil palm companies have been running business on peatland in Central Kalimantan and elsewhere in the archipelago.

Rosenda warned that although the government has designated Sebangau as national park, threat of forest fires and the expansion of oil palm plantations remained in place.

"What's worrisome is the Central Kalimantan administration's plan to reduce the area of Sebangau national park to allow oil palm companies to expand," she said.

"The future of Sebangau National Park will depend on whether the Forestry Ministry will approve spatial planning revisions in Central Kalimantan."

The WWF Indonesia is currently conducting a preliminary study of 50,000 hectares of Sebangau National Park as part of a pilot project for reducing emissions from deforestation and forest degradation.

"We are in first stage to prepare baseline to count the carbon emissions in the peatlands. The study will determine total of emissions that could be protected if the water level rises," she said

The Dayaks live

Our river, our life: Residents cross the Mendalam River in West Kalimantan on a motorized wood raft. Members of several local Dayak communities that live along the river said that deforestation has led to regular flooding and murky waters. JP/Evi Mariani Our river, our life: Residents cross the Mendalam River in West Kalimantan on a motorized wood raft. Members of several local Dayak communities that live along the river said that deforestation has led to regular flooding and murky waters. JP/Evi Mariani

For members of the Dayak Iban community, the kampung where the clear water flows into the river, the plenitude of trees grow and the fertile fields yield rice is Sungai Utik, their home for centuries.

One day in October 2007, a representative of companies that claimed to have permit from the forestry ministry came to Sungai Utik said the kampung was part of a 88,000-hectare area called “Unit 1”, where the company could log.

Two months previously, former forestry minister Malam Sambat Kaban came to Sungai Utik and gave the community an eco-label certificate for preserving their natural forest.

The contradiction puzzled the residents of Sungai Utik.

“It was as if the minister’s visit earlier meant nothing. On the map, there are no signs that they recognize that there are human beings here,” said Raymondus Remang, the head of Rantau Prapat village, which administers Sungai Utik.

Raymondus said the company’s permit was issued by the Forestry Ministry.

“To them, there are monkeys and birds here — not human beings. Maybe to them we’re monkeys,” said Apai Janggut, a respected figure in Sungai Utik.

“Once, they came here to log the trees. We told them about disasters and diseases that come from destroyed forests. They did not understand. In the end, they are the monkeys.”

For generations, people in Sungai Utik have cleared some forest land to grow rice for themselves.

Residents keep half the kampung, which is comprised of 3,667 hectares of natural forest, as a protected area and reserve the other half as their customary forest, where they hunt boars and clear some forest for their personal needs. “The customary law says a family cannot log more than 30 trees a year. In reality, however, a family cuts no more than five trees on average. Some haven’t cut any trees for years,” Raymondus said.

Forest living: Residents of Benua Tengah village sit in a traditional long house made from wood taken from a forest reserve established and maintained by the community. The house has been renovated several times, but its supporting beams, which were made from dozens of tall trees, were built by their ancestors almost a century ago. JP/Evi Mariani Forest living: Residents of Benua Tengah village sit in a traditional long house made from wood taken from a forest reserve established and maintained by the community. The house has been renovated several times, but its supporting beams, which were made from dozens of tall trees, were built by their ancestors almost a century ago. JP/Evi Mariani

In a participatory mapping made in the late 1990s, the residents decided to set aside more than 2,000 hectares for government’s production forest. However, they prefer to keep all the forests in a good shape.

Apai Janggut, 96, had an experience working in logging companies throughout Kalimantan during his younger years, which gave him knowledge about what a forest destruction could bring to communities like Sungai Utik.

“When they cut the woods, they logged earnestly, leaving nothing but bare forest,” he said. “That forest-destructing diseases, there’s no cure, no doctor for those who want instant wealth. We have to prevent ourselves from getting the diseases.”

Apai said he experienced enough not to want such destruction happened to Sungai Utik.

From stories of other kampung whose forests have been damaged, Sungai Utik residents knew they had to preserve the forests. Dayak Kayaan residents of villages along Mendalam River, however, knew the disasters first hand.

For 30 years, since the 1970s, a logging company has cut the forests on both sides of the river. When the company came, they promised welfare from the employment and economic boost from the activity. What the Kayaan Mendalam residents got instead were meager salary plus new environmental, social and health problems.

“I once worked for them. But locals here could only get to peel off the outer part of the wood. No one could climb the career to be a supervisor,” Gregorius Ding said. His wage back then was Rp 3,500 (40 US cents) per day, not enough to support a decent life, he said. Obviously, such amount of money would not be enough to pay for the environmental damages in the villages.

The residents said from January to June this year alone, the Datah Diaan village had experienced nine floods. “It rains for an hour and the river rises so fast,” Agustinus Haang said. When it rains, water of Mendalam River gets murky with soil it brings from the upstream. “But today, even during the dry season, the water is not as clear anymore.”

They also have to hunt for boars farther and need motor boat for fishing. “Then, our grandfathers and fathers only had to paddle to fish,” Haang went on.

After the forests were cut clear, the number of malaria cases in the villages increased.

Another problem is the higher number of single mothers with fatherless children who have to survive after their husbands, mostly are outsiders who work for the company, abandoned them after the woods had all been gone.

Wonderful, dark and deep: The Sungai Utik’s backyard is a forested area. To reach the kampung’s primary forest of 3,700 hectares, people must pass through the Dayak Iban’s indigenous reserve forest and walk for three days deep in the woods. JP/Evi MarianiWonderful, dark and deep: The Sungai Utik’s backyard is a forested area. To reach the kampung’s primary forest of 3,700 hectares, people must pass through the Dayak Iban’s indigenous reserve forest and walk for three days deep in the woods. JP/Evi Mariani

When a new company came to the Kayaan community, the situation got heated and emotional. The residents pulled all the stops to block companies that want to take away what is left from Mendalam forests. “Legal or illegal, it doesn’t matter, we don’t want them,” they said.

Since 2006, the villagers have traveled as far as to Jakarta to assert their will: They want the remaining forests to be preserved. But they have been ping-ponged from the regency office to the Forestry Ministry office. They have also met with the Kapuas Hulu Council. So far, no one has given any significant support.

“Every election, we voted. National legislative body, local council, president, governor, regent, we always voted [for them]. Those who we had voted for, always the ones winning. But nothing changed. Now we have been exhausted, we don’t want to deal with the government anymore,” Ding said.

When the residents met with the local district heads recently in June, they no longer expected for a sincere support from them. What they wanted was to make it clear to the district heads that all Kayaan Mendalam residents reject any companies that wanted to clear the remaining forests.

One of the district heads, Alfiansyah, told the visiting residents that the government acted based on regulations. “The government does not see borders. What the government knows is that Mendalam is a production forest. That’s the regulation,” he said, while with his right hand gesturing a movement of “the government” seeing a land from above. “I’m here to help enforce the regulations, that’s what a district leader should do,” Alfiansyah said.

But regulations are not always right, Dayak Kayaan indigenous leader Ignatius Sebastianus Faranli replied. The residents were witnesses of floods, diseases, climate change and scarcity of fish, he said.

“As a district leader, you don’t take sides. We understand. But as a human being, deep inside your heart, you should know what is right.”

“If you don’t stand on the veins of the tree you cut, you don’t know anything. But we, who live under the thickness of the leaves, know what’s right. Our environment is something we must protect,” he concluded.

Go Away..

For more than a century, the Kutai community of East Kalimantan has been organizing the Erau Tempong Tawar ritual to cast out evil and bad luck.

Erau, a festive celebration, is a cultural icon for the Kutai ethnic group. This ceremony, important for local people, has long attracted interest among domestic and foreign tourists, even being attended by representatives of Southeast Asian member nations of ASEAN in the 1990s.

This year’s Erau, which ran from July 26 to Aug. 3 at a cost of about Rp 4.5 billion, was held at the Tenggarong Seberang Stadium in Kutai Kartanegara regency in East Kalimantan, with around 2,000 spectators from Indonesia and other countries.

Windfall: The weeklong Erau festival is good business for local entrepreneurs selling traditional handicrafts. JP/Nurni S.Windfall: The weeklong Erau festival is good business for local entrepreneurs selling traditional handicrafts. JP/Nurni S.

“Erau is one of East Kalimantan’s cultural assets that enrich our national culture,” said East Kalimantan Deputy Governor Farid Wadjdy. “We should therefore preserve the Erau Festival for future generations. I feel very grateful to the Kutai Kartanegara sultanate, Kutai Kartanegara regency and people as well as all relevant parties for the success of the celebration this year.”

The weeklong festival is marked by an opening and a closing ceremony, all related to the Ayu, or the pillar of the throne, of the Sultanate.

The opening ceremony begins with the erection of the Ayu by the Sultan of Kutai Kartanegara ing Martadipura XX H. Adji Mohammad Salehoeddin II in the court of Kutai Kartanegara, or Mulawarman Museum, in Tenggarong. It is also marked by the ritual release of jagau or roosters into the air by the Sultan and regional officials.

To close the celebrations at the end of the week, the Ayu is removed.

Next in line: Youths in traditional costume guard the entrance to the royal palace as the king takes his bath. JP/Nurni S.Next in line: Youths in traditional costume guard the entrance to the royal palace as the king takes his bath. JP/Nurni S.

While the Ayu is in place, the Sultan is not allowed to step foot on the ground in order to remain blessed.

During this weeklong period, the Sultan is required to shower at a fixed time each day in front of
the court, thus open to public view, to a distance of two to three meters only.

While this bathing ritual, called beluluh, is being performed, nobody may pass before the Sultan. After he is bathed, visitors can approach and collect some of the colored rice – tambak karang – used by the Sultan in the ritual.

The tambak karang rice offering, which is believed to bring benevolence or good luck to those who observe it properly, is prepared every year for the Sultan’s beluluh ritual. The colorful rice is arranged on yellow cloths to produce decorations in the form of dragons.

As always, the rituals that marked the peak of this year’s Erau festival were mengulur naga (lowering of the dragons) and belimbur (the sprinkling of sacred water).

In the dragon-lowering ceremony, the Sultan and his relatives lower from their position a pair of ornamental replica dragons, one male and one female. The two dragons, each 10 meters long, had been previously placed on either side of the court in the Mulawarman Museum.

Among those attending the dragon ritual were Sultan Kartanegara H Adji Salehoeddin II and his wife, East Kalimantan Deputy Governor Farid Wadjdy and Acting Kutai Kartanegara Regent Sjachruddin.
Before the dragons were removed, Asmuni, a royal family member, read the story of the Erau dragons. The dragon procession was preceded by Tempong Tawar, a ceremony to dispel evil and attract virtue for the entire Kutai community; this was conducted by Adipati Praboe Anoem Soerya Adiningrat.

Praboe Anoem then led the procession carrying the dragons to Kutai Lama village in Anggana district, which was the site of the first capital of the Kutai Kartanegara kingdom.

As the dragon parade left, the Sultan sprinkled sacred water, known as air tuli, from Kutai Lama to start the belimbur. At the wail of a siren, all those present began sprinkling each other with the water.
During the festival, other rituals and traditions were also performed. Among these were menjamu benua (offerings of lavish meals); Kutai’s traditional jepen dance and oral narrative art; seluang mudik (encircling the Ayu); belian (healing), besaong manok (cock fighting) and menjala (coin tossing). There was also a pilgrimage to Kutai Lama (Old Kutai) and to the tomb of Aji Imbut, the founder of Tenggarong.

A grain of luck: Women arrange the tambak karang rice into colorful motifs. The rice is used during the king’s bathing ritual and later will be thrown to waiting members of the public as a sign of good luck. JP/Nurni S.A grain of luck: Women arrange the tambak karang rice into colorful motifs. The rice is used during the king’s bathing ritual and later will be thrown to waiting members of the public as a sign of good luck. JP/Nurni S.

Originally, Erau was held for the succession or coronation of a sovereign. The first such festival marked the initiation of five-year-old Aji Batara Agung Dewa Sakti, who was the first king of Kutai Kartanegara (1300–1325) and his coronation.

The tradition continued and, as it grew, Erau also included the conferment of titles by the king on community figures for their meritorious deeds for the kingdom.

In 1960, when the kingdom of Kutai Kartanegara was made into an autonomous region, Kutai regency, the Kutai people continued the ritual as a popular celebration and cultural festival, included
even on the agenda of the regency administration.

Erau also served to commemorate the anniversary of the founding of Tenggarong (on Sept. 29, 1782) as the capital of Kutai (now Kutai Kartanegara) regency. Later, Erau was held every two years.
Erau in the style of the Kutai Kartanegara sultanate was last held in 1965, when the sultan’s son Aji
Pangeran Adipati Praboe Anoem Soerya Adiningrat was inducted. In later years, Erau took its place as Kutai’s cultural festival and customary ritual.

In 1971, under the initiative of then Kutai regent Achmad Dahlan and the last sultan before autonomy Sultan A.M. Parikesit, Erau ceremonies began to be handled by the Kutai regency with some exceptions such as the conferment of titles.

For five years from 2003, however, there was no Erau. Following earnest petitions by the Kutai people, Erau was resumed last year. The Erau Cultural Festival is now included in the tourism office’s calendar of annual events.

Acting Regent Sjachruddin said Kutai Kartanegara regency would fully support future Erau events.
“Erau has become a cultural icon of East Kalimantan to be conserved for posterity,” he said. “It also has a major tourism potential that merits due attention today.”

The ancient game of thieves

The people of Tenganan Pengringsingan caught two thieves red-handed on a Saturday afternoon.

The pilferers, Kepra and Beben, were too busy stealing slices of pork meat dried on the village’s open community hall Bale Agung to notice the villagers had embushed them. The two youths tried to run away, but the villagers cornered them before they had any chance to escape.

As a punishment, the villagers forced the suspects to apply makeup on their faces. Slices of pork meats were tied to their heads, waists, wrists and ankles. The suspects were told to wear odd-looking crowns made up of dried coconut leaves and skirts out of dried banana leaves. The villagers finally colored the suspects’ bare chests with markers.

When they were done with the suspects, Kepra and Beben could have passed for transgender members of royalty from the Kingdom of Loonies.

The punishment didn’t end there. The suspects were escorted across the village, providing ample opportunities for villagers to mock them. Local residents, who lined the street, also had the right to add “fashionable” items to the suspects’ already bizarre costumes.

By the end of the march, the suspects met their heaviest penalty; Tenganan-style forced labor. The villagers had free reins to ask the suspects to do any chore as long as it was related to the preparation of the village’s major religious ritual.

“The suspects must perform whatever tasks the villagers require of them,” the village chief I Komang Karyawan said.

The catch? Kepra and Beben were not real thieves. These innocent young men were handpicked to impersonate thieves in the village’s ancient game of thieves.

Known as Maling-malingan, derived from the word maling (thief), the game is an integral part of the village’s annual religious festival Usaba Sambah, held on the fifth month of the Tenganan calendar, or June in the Gregorian calendar.

“The game is an annual ritual, which has been carried out over centuries,” Karyawan said.

Playtime: Young women in Tenganan play on the Ferris wheel-like, sacred wooden structure during the Usaba Sambah festival.Playtime: Young women in Tenganan play on the Ferris wheel-like, sacred wooden structure during the Usaba Sambah festival.

Karyawan didn’t know precisely when the first Maling-malingan was held. Local folklore only detailed the nature surrounding the first Maling-malingan.

“It was first held several centuries ago during a Usaba Sambah,” he said.

It is believed several villagers stole the meats reserved for sacred offerings during that festival. Locals then devised the game as a way to punish perpetrators.

“It was a sort of collective punishment aimed at humiliating the thieves,” he stressed.

This collective punishment still exists today. Citing an article in local customary law, Karyawan stated a thief would be given the same punishments as in the Maling-malingan.

“Fortunately, we haven’t witnessed any thefts for decades,” he said.

Tenganan Pegringsingan, located 70 kilometers east of Denpasar, is an ancient village home to Bali Aga, a term generally used to refer to indigenous Balinese although it literally means the mountain people of Bali.

Tenganan Pegringsingan’s Bali Aga observe different rituals and hold different religious beliefs from the majority of Balinese. While the large majority of Balinese follow the Trimurti concept of Hinduism, with its three main gods, Brahma the Creator, Wisnu the Sustainer and Siwa the Destroyer, cultural artifacts suggest the people of Tenganan are the last remaining worshippers of Indra, the lord of the sky and thunder in the Hindu pantheon.

The villagers observe strict monogamy. Those who marry outsiders or practice polygamy are banished from the village and stripped of all hereditary rights. The community owns most of the land and property, and the village vehemently protects the forest around the village.

The village is one of the island’s main tourist attractions, providing visitors with a chance to see the weavers of rare double ikat cloth Geringsing in action, as well as the Perang Pandan, during which local youths partake in a duel using clubs of thorny pandanus leaves.

Who moved my meat?: A villager from Tenganan, Bali, who was handpicked to play the Maling-malingan game of thief, is covered in makeup and wears a crown with pieces of meat hanging from it.Who moved my meat?: A villager from Tenganan, Bali, who was handpicked to play the Maling-malingan game of thief, is covered in makeup and wears a crown with pieces of meat hanging from it.