Weddings

The ‘traditional’ institution of marriage is very much alive and well in Indonesia. Wedding receptions are big happy noisy colourful affairs with crowds and amplified music spilling out onto the street, so it’s impossible to miss them. When we were returning to Palangkaraya from Banjarmasin recently (a four hour drive, much of it through sparsely inhabited swamplands) we passed ten wedding celebrations along the way.

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The laws about marriage in Indonesia are interesting. Everyone in Indonesia must be registered as belonging to one of the six authorised religions: Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Protestantism, Catholicism or Confucianism. This gets recorded on your national identity card – and agnosticism or atheism are not accepted. There is a prohibition on interfaith marriages; if a Muslim and a Catholic want to marry, for example, one has to convert to the other’s faith.

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The national law is that the minimum age for marriage is 16 for girls and 19 for boys, but this is often ignored. UNICEF has estimated that 3% of Indonesian girls are already married by the age of 15. By law, anyone getting married at 19 or under is required to have written permission from both sets of parents. Having children outside of marriage is not acceptable. In Bali for example, neither mother nor child will be permitted to enter a temple – a significant sanction there!

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There are three parts to a wedding: the religious ceremony, the official registration, and the celebration or reception. It seems that the social conventions are sort-of the reverse of those in Australia i.e. the ceremony is a small private affair, and the reception is open to just about anyone who shows up.

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We have now been to six Indonesian wedding receptions, though we only had an invitations to two of them (and in only one case – Katie and Yoyok’s wedding back in 2009 – did we actually know the bride and groom!) Three were Javanese Muslim, one Banjar Muslim, and two Dayak Christian.

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But at every wedding we have been made to feel like honoured guests – and not at all like the freeloaders that we actually are! In fact at a couple of weddings we have felt like celebrities, and wondered if we were getting photographed more often than the bride and groom!

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Styles of clothing, food and entertainment vary, but they always have a similar structure. The reception may go on all day (or one case, all night!), and the guests come, pay their respects to the couple and their families, leave a gift of money, eat a meal, and then leave. People are coming and going all day, some only staying for a matter of minutes.

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Outside, there may be specially made billboards, festooned with flowers, from well-to-do well-wishers. When you enter, your are greeted by numerous members of both families. They’ll be lined up in two rows, maybe 20 of them, and you run the gauntlet between them to get in. You are expected to shake hands with EVERYBODY, touching your right hand to your heart after each greeting.

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You sign the guest register, and make sure everyone sees you deposit an envelope of cash into the gift box. Wedding presents are unusual, but a gift of cash, no matter how small, is expected. This helps to defray the significant costs of hosting a wedding.

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The bride and groom sit enthroned on a dais or stage at one end go the hall or pavilion, possibly with their parents on either side of them. They will be dressed either in traditional wedding costumes – or in western-style white wedding attire. They may go through a couple of changes of clothing during the day.

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Before any socialising or eating, you go up and congratulate the happy couple, and usually get photographed with them. There may be a queue waiting to pay their respects; at one particularly large wedding, there were hundreds of people lined up at one point waiting their turn.

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Then it’s down to the serious business of eating. Because there is no set time for the wedding banquet, there are meals lined up ready to eat throughout the day. Good food – and plenty of it.

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The entertainment will vary. There may be Dayak dancers and music. At a Javanese wedding there may be a wayang kulit (shadow puppet) or kuda lumping. Or else, for something more contemporary, that perennial Indonesia favourite: karaoke!

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A little socialising, a few photographs – and then you leave. The well-known Indonesian expression: “Sudah makan, pulang” (After eating, go home!) applies here. So you run the greeting gauntlet in reverse, shaking hands with and thanking all of the family members on the way out.

Meratus Mountain trekking

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Over the New Year holidays we went to the neighbouring province of South Kalimantan (Kalimantan Selatan, or ‘KalSel’) to do some walking in the Meratus Mountains near the town of Loksado. It’s about nine hours drive from here, but we stopped over in Banjarmasin (the bustling capital of KalSel) for a couple of days en route.

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After four months on the peat swamps and sandy plains of Central Kalimantan, it was nice to get up into some hilly country, still mostly forested.  This being the middle of the wet season, we could hear the sound of fast running rivers almost all the time. The rivers flow too quickly to be used much for transportation, though they still make bamboo rafts for travel downstream (mostly to entertain and excite visitors). These rustic vessels consist of around 16 ten-metre lengths of thick bamboo lashed together with rattan, and a guy with a bamboo pole to steer you through the rapids (there’s a raft in the photo above). We did a two hour journey on one, and it was definitely entertaining, alternating between tranquillity and terror, and passing the remains of some wrecked rafts along the way. It was a camera-free experience.

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There are a number of small villages scattered around the region, populated by Dayak families, and accessible (only just, in some cases) by motorbike. These are Meratus Dayak, different to the Ngaju Dayak who live here in Central Kalimantan – different language, culture and religious beliefs.

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The villages, especially the more remote ones, are poor, and quite dependent on the forest for their livelihoods. They practice the traditional Dayak ladang shifting cultivation as we had previously seen in the village of Tewang Rangkang. During the dry season, an area of forest is roughly cleared and burnt, and then planted with rice, often interspersed with corn. There’s no irrigation, fertiliser or pesticides used. After a couple of years, the location is abandoned (at least for a few years of ‘fallow’), and a new plot is cleared somewhere else. It sounds pretty basic, but apparently they can grow all the rice that they consume – and they eat a lot of rice…

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For cash, they collect a range of different produce from the forest. Most important are karet (rubber), kemiri (candlenut, above left) and kayu manis (cinnamon, above right), but they also collect a range of medicinal and culinary herbs, as well as leaf and root vegetables. These get sold in the local market at Loksado.

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The rubber is only tapped during the dry season, so now it’s peak time for the cinnamon. To collect it from the forest, all you need is a good pair of thongs, a basket of rattan (or plastic) carried like a backpack, and the universal mandau, the machete-like knife worn by just about everyone, sheathed on the hip for quick access. The mandau gets used for everything from chopping trees to opening a durian to cleaning fingernails. For the cinnamon, the whole tree is chopped down when it’s 10 – 20 years old, and the bark is carefully peeled off and chopped into lengths to be later dried and sold.

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Although to us it looks like a jungle wilderness, the cinnamon trees in the forest are a managed resource. (Apparently there’s no Indonesian direct translation for ‘wilderness’ – it’s all regarded as productive land to them.) As well as bringing cinnamon bark back from the forest, seedlings are also collected. These are sorted and cultivated for a time in the village, and then replanted back in suitable locations in the forest. And then … wait another 10 – 20 years. In the picture above, that’s cinnamon bark in the foreground, and seedlings being sorted behind. And the white bags are all filled with candlenuts.

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We stayed overnight at homes in two small villages (Haruyan Dayak, and Manakili), each with fewer than 50 inhabitants. Very friendly, very picturesque, and very basic. The villages are beside the river, at a suitable spot to cross over to access forest on the other side. The river is also the very public place where you go to bathe, to wash clothes, and empty your bowels (squatting in the shallows, looking warily upstream for flash floods!)

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The first night was New Year’s Eve, we had a room to ourselves (in the house above) and a thin mattress, so we went off to bed at the same time as the rest of the family – around 8:30. We had paid for two litres of petrol to fire up the village generator, so that we could re-charge camera, phone and GPS batteries. Unfortunately, that meant that there was also power for the village TV set in the house next door, which allowed them to watch an appalling dangdut/Bollywood/disco/rock New Years Eve spectacular live from Jakarta. The volume was impressive, and we didn’t hear the river that night. (BTW, the very friendly old fellow in the photo above claimed to be 100 years old – though someone else insisted he was 150!)

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The next night we stayed with a lovely family in this room. No mattress, just a rattan mat. (At this point we started to wonder at the moderately high price of our ’tour’). The family has lots of cats, kittens, and small dogs, which were periodically rounded up and thrown out the door, through the window, and dropped through a hole in the floor. They’d look briefly offended, and then immediately return inside.

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There was some spectacularly heavy rain at times, and also some wind, so it was no surprise when we heard the sound of a large tree crashing onto the house next door. It was about 5pm, just when everyone is gathered to get the evening meal together, and the tree fell right onto the kitchen. By very good fortune, it was the only unoccupied house in the village, the owners having moved a couple of months earlier.

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We met these girls when we walked through Malaris village, almost back to the ‘metropolis’ of Loksado (well, it has a road that cars can use). The girl on the front of the bike is wearing a rice paste mixture all over her face, used to try to stop the skin darkening (it looks awful). She is 10 years old, and her passengers are four and eight, all totally comfortable. Kids here are born on the back of motorbikes…

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Tiwah ceremony

Just two days after our November visit to Tewang Rangkang to help with the communal Dayak rice planting, our friend Lelie’s grandmother (Nenek) passed away at her home in the village, after suffering a stroke. The family decided to hold the full Tiwah funeral ceremony immediately, rather than waiting (often up to a year or more) as is usual in other places. We were honoured by being invited to attend, given food and accommodation for the three days that we were there, encouraged to participate in all ceremonies, to ask questions and to make lots of photos.

I put off writing about it because it was pretty intense, hard to try to summarise in a few words and photos (and I have exactly 999 photos to choose from). It was also – as well as a ceremony, a performance, and a party – a time of grief for a family that has been very kind to us, so I wanted to be sure they were OK with the text before sending. And, with the ritual slaughter of a buffalo, two cows, four pigs and a number of chickens, some of the details are …  a little grisly. So, rather than try to string together a narrative, here’s some selected pictures and a few words which try to explain them. (And I haven’t included the more disturbing pictures.)

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The traditional religion of all the Dayak peoples is known as Kaharingan, though practices and beliefs vary across different groups and regions of Borneo. Officially, it’s called ‘Hindu Kaharingan’, because everyone in Indonesia must register as belonging to one of the government-recognised religions (Islamic, Buddhist, Hindu, Protestant, Catholic, Confucian). But apart from the name there’s not a lot that’s recognisably Hindu about it. It has more in common with the pre-Hindu and pre-Islamic beliefs of much of the rest of Indonesia.

It’s an animist faith, with a strong belief that the spirits of the dead need practical assistance to make the journey from earth to heaven, where they will live with their family members in ’the Prosperous Village’. The hugely complicated (and hugely expensive) ceremonies of the Tiwah are intended to help the soul on that journey, and supply them with food and supplies so they will be comfortable when they arrive. Officiating over the proceedings is a Basir (Babak, at the right of the picture above), a shaman who is an expert in the rituals of Kaharingan.

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Nenek’s house is quite traditional in design and fitout. No chairs, tables or beds, but with a full set of gongs (five large, four small) and drums for performance of ritual music. The gongs played almost non-stop while we were there, day and night. The performers (all male) would change over regularly, with just about everyone, young and old (yes, even me) having a turn. It was strangely hypnotic and soothing in a clanging techno-rhythm kind of way, and the music is still bouncing around my head.

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We were invited to become honorary members of the family for the duration of the ceremonies (and for the following week), a select group amongst the 250 or so people at the Tiwah. That required a short ritual with the Basir (and Lelie beside us), and a red band of fabric with a coin inside tied around the right wrist (“Don’t take it off until 4pm next Saturday!”)  It also meant that were expected to participate in all the ceremonies (including, we were surprised to find out later, the ritual spearing of the buffalo and cattle prior to their slaughter).

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Two large wooden posts (sapundu) were erected in the yard. One unfortunate black chook was carefully placed at the bottom of the hole before the heavy ironwood post was dropped into place. Fresh-cut logs were lashed together with rattan to make a holding pen for the pigs, which were (yes) ‘hog-tied’, and several chickens were tied up outside. None seemed to be particularly pleased with the arrangements.

The cow and the (very expensive) buffalo (kerbau) were yoked to the poles, each held by a heavy collar made out of rattan. They were tied up there overnight, and given nice food, kind words, massages and offered prayers.

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The family members (plus the basir and us) assembled on a number of occasions in a circle around the sapundu. With the gongs playing loudly, we would proceed, facing in towards the centre, repeating the same set of actions. It was my kind of dance: very simple.  You raise both hands over the head, lower the arms with palms facing downwards, then make a sort of sideways pelvic thrust motion, then take a long step to the right. Repeat for 20-30 minutes, with periodic pauses for two low chants and a loud falsetto ‘whoop’!

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At one point in the circle, you stop for three women to attend to you; one puts an oily drop on your neck, chin and forehead, another sprinkles some coconut water and rice grains on the top of your head, and the third rubs two knives together over your head before putting one into your mouth (blunt side!) for you to bite on. You go through this routine many times, and end up with a lot of rice in your hair!

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And then next morning the cow and buffalo were speared (on the left side only) by each member of the family in turn. Although it is an honour to be invited, we decided not to participate. When each poor beast collapsed, after 30 minutes or so, it was tied up and dispatched with a large knife.

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Suffice it to say, there was a lot of blood. Sacrificial blood is considered to have great power and to have a very purifying effect, so a number of people were keen to collect it or to bathe their feet, hands or faces in it.

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The complex logistics of keeping all 200+ attendees fed and comfortable over the days of ceremony must have been challenging, but as always seems to occur here, everyone just pitches in and divides up the work amongst themselves without any obvious project management. And meals kept being prepared and served up. In this photo our friend Lelie is doling out plates of fresh (VERY fresh) beef stewed in coconut milk.

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There was rather a lot of tuak and baram (homemade rice wine) consumed during the ceremonies. Actually, a great deal of tuak. The tuak was carried around in a number of containers: kettles, tubs, and even this ‘Hello Kitty’ jug. But there were only a couple of glasses, which were refilled and passed around more-or-less continuously.

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For some reason I was a very effective magnet for the intoxicated, and got befriended by a number of amiable and largely incomprehensible blokes. But there was never any hint of any anti-social behaviour.

The fellow on the left above was closely involved in the business of sacrifice (as his face and hand attest), and the other guy is a keen handphone photographer. They were both sometimes quite intense.

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Nenek’s coffin remained in a room of her home until the third day we were there. During that time, she was brought meals and drinks of water and coffee, even sirih (betel), which were placed beside her a she lay in state. After the coffin was finally closed and carefully brought outside on the shoulders of family members, Berry (one of the grandchildren) was chosen to be hoisted up to walk the length of it and jump off the end (three times!) This signifies everyone ‘letting go’ of their attachments to the one who has died.

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In a small clearing in the forest stands a little wooden ‘house’ (sandung), erected four years earlier to hold the coffin and remains of Nenek’s husband. Before Nenek joined him inside, a small ceremony outside prepared all the material objects that were to accompany her on the journey to ‘the Prosperous Village’ i.e. heaven. There was a little bag of her clothing, baskets and small household items, snacks and two glasses each of coffee, rice wine and water (one for her, one for her husband). Her other clothing and linen was piled up and burnt nearby, so that her spirit wouldn’t be tempted to come back home. The sacrificed animals would have already joined her in the spirit world.

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The climax of the Tiwah ceremonies was over, but the ceremonies continued for at least another week (that we know about). Meanwhile there was still plenty of tuak and baram to share around.

The whole Tiwah process is really expensive and, like in Bali, it’s common for families to co-host Tiwah for a number of the recently deceased, so as to share the funeral costs. It’s also becoming less common as so many Kaharingan Dayak people have converted to Islam or (more usually) to Christianity. Interestingly, however, a lot of the converts will still hold or participate in Tiwah ceremonies, saying that it reflects their Dayak identity and tradition (adat), and is no longer a matter of religion (agama).

The YUM Agro Project

Some of you asked to know more about YUM (the ‘Yayasan Usaha Mulia’), which is the Indonesian charitable foundation that I am working for here. Here is an article I wrote for publication in the Jakarta Globe about the work of YUM Agro. It doesn’t describe my particular role, but gives a reasonable overview of the valuable work being done by YUM on the ‘Agro’ Project here in Central Kalimantan. Note that only one of the photos (the last one!) is mine – and all are ©2014 YUM.

Planting the Seed in Central Kalimantan: The YUM Agro Project

Bukit Batu, Central Kalimantan. Central Kalimantan may be better known for depressing reports about the loss of its forests, but there are also some good news stories. For one, the Yayasan Usaha Mulia (‘YUM’– the ‘Foundation for Noble Work’) is working with local communities in the Bukit Batu district to establish hundreds of home vegetable gardens, providing a year-round supply of tasty and nutritious produce for local families.

Home gardens provide a rich bounty of fresh produce

Home gardens provide a rich bounty of fresh produce

YUM has been working to improve the lives of people in some of the poorest communities in Indonesia since 1975, and in Central Kalimantan since 2000, with targeted and highly successful projects to combat malaria, provide clean water and improved sanitation, and to support early childhood education. It became increasingly clear that lack of access to fresh and high quality vegetables and fruit was undermining the nutrition and basic health of people in the district’s seven villages. So, in mid-2011, with support from Susila Dharma International and the German Government, the ‘YUM Agro Project’ was born.

The district suffers from poor soil fertility, with acidic soils of sand and peat, and the equatorial climate is rather challenging. The environment has been compromised by logging and burning of forests, drainage of wetlands, siltation and mercury contamination of the rivers. Most vegetables and fruit are imported, rarely fresh, and often contain high levels of chemical residues.

The YUM Agro Project aims to help by facilitating the establishment of home gardens, delivering a continuous supply of clean, fresh, healthy and delicious vegetables. “I worry about pesticides in the imported produce”, says Ibu Khoiratun from the village of Suka Mulia. “But thanks to YUM I can now plant and grow my own organic vegetables – and reduce my spending at the market”.

Preparing to make compost

Preparing to make compost

Prior to working with the local Dayak and ‘transmigrasi’ (mostly Javanese) communities, YUM established two Rural Centres. These incorporate model gardens to demonstrate what can be achieved, and a small laboratory and other facilities for research and trial of ‘best practice’ techniques (adapted to local conditions) – before their use in the field. The focus was on developing a successful Homegarden Model, using sustainable organic practices and permaculture principles. Newer techniques such as bokashi, biochar and beneficial bacteria are employed – indeed, any techniques to improve soil quality which are proven to be effective, practical to implement, and sustainable over time.

Entrance to the YUM Kalimantan complex

Entrance to the YUM Kalimantan complex

YUM hasn’t tried to ‘reinvent the wheel’, but has worked closely with a range of external organisations with relevant expertise. These have included the Southeast Asian Regional Centre for Tropical Biology, Bogor Agricultural University, the Indonesian Research Institute for Animal Production, the Indonesian Development of Education and Permaculture and Sukabumi Freshwater Aquaculture Development Centre, amongst others.

YUM employs a young team of agriculture graduates, all with enthusiasm, local knowledge and connections to the communities. Their technical skills, and their ability to deliver training in culturally appropriate ways, have been critical to the project’s success. They provide training to new participants over a total of 15 days, broken into stages to coincide with key milestones such as bed preparation, planting, Integrated Pest Managment, Seed Saving and harvesting. This is backed up by ongoing monitoring, assessment and support.

 Fresh from garden to kitchen

Fresh from garden to kitchen

Small groups of (mostly) women go through the training together. After contractually committing to the project, they are provisioned with basic equipment to get them started (a hoe, watering can, a bucket, fencing materials and seeds). Within three months, each home gardener has prepared eight garden beds, and is already harvesting and enjoying their first crops of legumes, leafy vegetables, tomatoes, eggplants, chilli and tubers.

Three-and-a-half years after inception, 300 active family gardens are established and supported by monthly visits from YUM field staff. Feedback from mothers is that their home-grown vegetables are tastier and stay fresh longer, and that their children are eating (and enjoying) more healthy fresh food. As Ibu Yanti from Habaring Hurung village said: “I’m so happy that I can now do this gardening work that is useful for my family. And the vegetables – so fresh and sweet!”

From its focus on home gardens, the project has expanded into small animal husbandry, with village participants raising poultry and commencing small pond fish farming, to supplement existing protein sources. And secondly, YUM conducts a popular program of cooking classes at each of the local community health centres (posyandu) promoting good nutrition and healthy cooking practices to local women.

Cooking and nutrition classes are enjoyed by mothers and children alike

Cooking and nutrition classes are enjoyed by mothers and children alike

The Project involves a complex web of culture, technology, botany and local sensitivities. The program has been continuously evaluated and refined, and has had to overcome many challenges and obstacles. Future plans for the YUM Agro Project include expanding selected home gardens into small scale farms, improving food sources for chicken and fish, and further development of the nutrition program.

[More information at www.yumindonesia.org ]

Flamboyant Palangkaraya

The rainy season has finally and properly arrived, which (counter-intuitively) means that we are getting more clear blue skies and sunshine – with a heavy storm every day or two. We are continuing to see new and often surprising things, and to have some interesting experiences. “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Canberra anymore”.

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The capital of Central Kalimantan (Kalimantan Tengah, or ‘KalTeng’ as everyone calls it), is Palangkaraya. It’s a city of almost 250,000 people, about 40km southeast of the Bukit Batu district where we are living. It’s where we go, every week or two, for a taste of the high life (there are restaurants – and a coffee shop!) or to buy exotic products which can’t be procured in our local area (like dairy products, breakfast cereal, toilet paper, cracker biscuits).

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The city lies beside the Kahayan River, on the site of an old village/town called Pahandut. It was only established as a city in 1957, when President Sukarno decided that it should be the location for the new capital of Indonesia, in place of Jakarta. That plan sort of lost momentum – as did Sukarno himself – in 1965. But before then, lots of money was put into town planning and constructing wide gracious boulevards and roundabouts, so in a strange way it resembles Canberra (with some fairly pronounced differences…)

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The old and low-lying part of the former Pahandut that fronts the river is known as ‘Flamboyant’ – presumably because there was (or is) a Royal Poinciana tree somewhere there, but no-one has been able to clarify the origin of the name for us yet. It’s certainly not ‘flamboyant’ in the Folies Bergère sense of the word. It’s on the floodplain of the Kahayan River, and soon after the start of every wet season (i.e. any day now) it gets inundated and remains under water till the rains ease in about March.

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For the residents, the solution is to raise everything up on wooden stilts: the houses, the narrow streets and lane ways, the little shops, masjids and churches, schools and all.

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It has a surreal village-like atmosphere in the midst of the city, with the clattering sound of motorbikes (but no cars) rattling past over the wooden walkways.

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The residents are fishermen, river traders, plus teachers, shopkeepers, hairdressers and public servants just like any community. It’s by no means a wealthy part of town.

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We spent last weekend in Palangkaraya, much of the time exploring the boardwalks of Flamboyant. We were greeted and questioned and photographed everywhere we went. Being regarded as celebrities (or perhaps just novelties) everywhere we go is alternately flattering, puzzling and annoying, but we certainly get to meet people. Friendly, warm, polite people. The lady in the doorway above was keen for Karen to photograph her – but she insisted on putting on a fresh blouse and jilbab for the picture.

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At the Islamic Boarding School the kids in the playground (yes, it is a wooden platform on stilts) shyly paused doing their gymnastics when we walked through. But after I did my ‘froggy handstand’ for them (you have to see it) the ice was broken, and the boys then showed us some of what they could do. In thongs!

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The downside of life in a wooden house on wooden streets on wooden stilts is the inevitability of fire. About once a year, a serious fire destroys a section of Flamboyant. There’s no way for firefighting equipment to get in, and typically a number of house are destroyed. Apparently the government tries to get people to relocate to other places, but the residents of Flamboyant always want to return, so they rebuild over the top of the fire damage.

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Manugal – planting rice with the Dayaks

A couple of weekends ago, our new friend (and workmate) Lelie very kindly invited us up to visit her village of Tewang Rangkang, on the Katingan River about 80km (or 2 hours) to the northwest of here. It’s a Dayak Ngaju village. (The indigenous people of Borneo, especially the interior parts of the island, are collectively known as Dayak people, and the Ngaju people are one of the many sub-groups). The occasion of our visit was for a ‘Manugal’ ceremony and working-bee.

Tewan_Rangkang_20141025_0185Gotong royong and Manugal. Across Indonesia, the practice of ‘mutual cooperation’, where a community all pitches in achieve some goal that is too big for an individual to do on their own, is very much alive. Think ‘barn-raising’. They call it gotong royong, and it’s part of the national ethos (although the concept got hijacked for political purposes by both Sukarno and Suharto).

Amongst the Dayak people, who still practise slash-and-burn dry rice cultivation in forested lands (ladang), everyone pitches in to help their family and neighbours to clear land for cultivation, and to plant and harvest the rice. The ceremony and working-bee at the time of planting the rice is known as Manugal.

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To get to the ladang fields, we first had to walk through the village and across the sandbanks to the river’s edge. Some small motor-powered canoes (‘ces’) were waiting to ferry us across the river, where we climbed up muddy banks and ladders, then through forest, plantations of durian, bamboo and rubber trees, and finally across a rather bleak terrain of recently cleared and burnt countryside. This was where the rice was to be planted.

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By the time we got there (about 8am) there were around 40 people assembled under a tarpaulin shelter on the edge of the field. Bags of rice were measured out into baskets to be carried by each of the planters – white, red and yellow rice. Everyone took a taste of sirih – betel leaf, areca nut and lime paste – to chew on as they started work. We walked out into the burnt field, spitting red as we went.

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The men each took a wooden staff, sharpened at one end, and formed a loose line standing about two metres apart. We worked our way across the field. making shallow holes in the ground as we proceeded, twisting the poles to form a roughly conical depression every 30cm or so.

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The women made a second parallel line, sweeping across the field behind the men, and dropping about 10 grains of seed rice into each of the holes. It is all pretty rough and basic: the seeds aren’t covered at all, or watered in. In fact the crop is not irrigated at any stage, relying on the (usually reliable) rains from November to February to sustain the crop.

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At the end of the plot (ownership boundaries are marked with string) everyone moves across to the next strip and repeats the process until the whole area is done. There are stumps and logs all over the field, and you just clamber over them and plant around them as best you can. It’s not worth investing in full-on clearing, because the whole area is abandoned after a few years, or converted to growing rubber.

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The work was done with a lot of humour and laughter, and sometimes seemed to be more about bonding the community than getting the job done. Everyone got their faces smeared with charcoal at some point in the day, and there were breaks for coffee, fried pork and rice, and sweet cakes (all delicious).

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Even with the breaks, we were all finished by about noon. Just as well, as the day was getting seriously hot by then. Members of Lelie’s family, especially her sister and one of her uncles, spent a lot of time explaining things to us – as well as they could with our limited Indonesian language and non-existent Dayak Ngaju!

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So then it was time to pack up and head back the way we had come, no longer too concerned about keeping our clothes (and faces) clean. We knew there was a mandi and a change of clothes waiting back in the village.

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The mood was very relaxed on the way back, everyone seeming content with the morning’s (modest) work effort. There was much hilarity as the three ces raced across the river, each driver trying to spray the other boats in their wake. Halfway across I was asked if I could swim. “Yes”, I replied. “But my camera can’t”. This meant I got excused from the all-in splashing and dunking battle that erupted as we reached the home shore.  Tewan_Rangkang_20141025_0173 

We stayed back in the village for a wash, lunch, and to meet some of Lelie’s huge extended family. (Our standing joke is that she doesn’t have a pohon keluarga (a ‘family tree’) like most people – instead she has a hutan keluarga (a ‘family forest’)!

As we headed back home later that afternoon, feeling warm inside from all the hospitality (and good food!), we had no idea that we would be back for a three-day visit less than a week later. But that’s a story for another time.

Kuda Lumping

One of the nice by-products of the after-school art classes at the YUM library, which are now co-hosted by Karen, is that she makes connections with families around the immediate area. So, at the Sunday produce market at Tangkiling this week, a little girl tugged at her sleeve and shyly said “Selamat Pagi, Ibu Karen” and then introduced us to her dad.

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Another time, two girls from the (Javanese transmigrant) village of Suka Mulya invited her to come to the village “to see some dancing”. Not knowing what to expect, she turned up there at the appointed time (Tuesday at 2pm), to find that a large wedding celebration was in progress. A temporary stage had been set up in a grove between the houses, and a small gamelan orchestra had been installed. And the dance performance … well, it was a Kuda Lumping performance, and she phoned me at work to say: “get over here right away, it’s amazing!”

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The Kuda Lumping originated in central and east Java, and is a very special thing indeed. Over a couple of hours, a number of young men and teenage boys go into a state of trance, and supposedly become possessed by the spirits of horses. They strut around, stamping the ground, rolling in the dirt, eating grass and chaff (and sometimes, we were told, they eat glass and walk over burning coals), seemingly oblivious to pain or the crowd around. The meaning and origin of the Kuda Lumping is unclear. It goes back at least several hundred years, with one theory being that it began with Mataram Empire cavalry battling against the Dutch – but it could be much older again…

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The gamelan plays fast, just a few gongs and several prominent drums, and with vocalists alternately singing, wailing and making syncopated screeching sounds. A woodwind instrument (I don’t know the name) plays over the top, sounding like a jazz improvisation on an oboe. It’s quite powerful and other-worldly, and actually sounds rather better and more melodic than you might imagine!

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Overseeing the ‘trancers’ are a small number of very serious-faced older men (perhaps shamans) who ensure that the boys don’t hurt themselves as they trot and canter around. It’s a bit wild and chaotic at times, looking like it might spiral out of control, but the older guys keep a lid on it, and ensure that there aren’t too many in trance at any one time. These ‘minders’ have some kind of power over the horse-boys, and go through a dramatic and elaborate procedure to bring each of the boys out of trance.

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This can involve tapping them on the forehead to make them pass out backwards into the arms of waiting support crew, wiping a cloth violently across the boy’s forehead, or … striking him three times around the abdomen with a whip. And they don’t appear to hold back with the whip arm, either! Once returned to normal consciousness from the trance, the boys look dazed and confused, with a what-am-I-doing-here expression on their faces, and they are ushered off backstage to ‘recover’.

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We had seen a Kuda Lumping performance once before, in 2009 near the Prambanan temple outside of Jogjakarta. On both occasions we were the only non-Indonesians present, and the structure of it was much the same. On both occasions the trances looked half-real, half-contrived. We did see that some of the trancers were sitting backstage in a very spaced-out state for some time after they came offstage. Perhaps they were just exhausted from all that horsing around.

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One difference on this occasion was that the bride and groom got involved at one point, with one of the trancers carrying first the groom, then the bride, through the crowd and into the wedding pavilion and onto a little throne set up for them there. They each tried to look dignified as their ‘horse’ swerved and reared up on the way.

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We went over to congratulate the bride and groom, and to pay our respects to their parents, and of course (this being Indonesia, perhaps the most hospitable place on the planet) we ended up sharing in the wedding feast and refreshments (i.e. buffet meal, cakes and coconut water).

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Idul Adha in Marang village

A few weeks ago we were invited to attend an Idul Adha event in the (mostly Javanese Muslim) village of Marang – about 20km from here. We rode our little Yamaha Jupiter to the village, bouncing along very slowly on the broken sandy ‘main road’ into Marang. The road, like most roads other than the Trans-Kalimantan Highway, was bitumen once (perhaps a few hundred years ago?!) but is now largely broken and potholey, with a narrow smooth sandy strip along the edge where motorbikes can get through.

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Idul Adha (or Eid al-Adha in Arabic) honours Abraham’s submission to God’s demand that he sacrifice his son Ishmael. God was satisfied with Abraham’s submission, and let him sacrifice a lamb in place of the (no doubt relieved) Ishmael. I’ve had the first verse of Dylan’s Highway 61 going round in my head all month!*

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The event is commemorated amongst Muslim communities world wide, with each year around 100 million animals (sheep, goats, cattle, camels) sacrificed and shared with family, friends, neighbours and the poor. It’s a feast day, and for many people in this area, it’s perhaps the only time they get to eat meat (other than chicken) all year.  Beef is expensive, around the same as Australian prices – but the cost of one beast is about about equivalent to the average annual income here!

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Marang is a poor village, but there were two cattle and a goat slaughtered, in an open area beside the masjid. One of the cattle was a gift from the Mayor of Palangkaraya, and one was provided by YUM (the Yayasan Usaha Mulia, for who I am working). Apparently YUM donates an animal to a different village each year.

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The event was more of a community butchery session than an overtly religious event. We arrived at 9am, and so we missed any ceremony that may have occurred before our arrival. We had read that Idul Adha is an occasion for everyone to wear their very best clothes, so we fronted up in   the best that we have, batik and leather shoes etc, to find that most (but not all) of the villagers were very sensibly decked out in clothes suited to work in a slaughterhouse!

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All of the adults participated in the work, with clear demarcation of responsibilities – but no-one seeming to be in charge, or giving orders. We see this repeatedly, how the logistics for events just seem to work with a whole community working seamlessly towards some common goal. The animals were very efficiently slaughtered, skinned, chopped up, cleaned and hung, with much good humour and laughter.

Kids

We, the only bules (westerners) in attendance, were made to feel very welcome, and a mat was laid out for us to rest in the shade of the masjid when the day started getting real hot. As always, the kids were very interested in us, wanting to ask questions and pose for photos.  All on their best behaviour – perhaps because the adults of the village were all nearby, wielding large sharp knives?!

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 * Oh, God said to Abraham: “Kill me a son”
Abe said: “Man, you must be putting me on!”
God said: “No”
Abe said: “Why?”
God said: “You can do it if you try.
Or the next time you see me coming, you’d better run”
Abe said: “Where you want this killing done?”
God said: “Down on Highway 61″