Sticky Rice

Cost effectiveness has brought me to Makassar, Sulawesi where flights from Kuala Lumpur are cheaper than the nearby capital of Jakarta. After arriving in the new airport, I got my first true lucky break. A private taxi, empty after having dropped off some tourists, was to take me into the interior to Rantepao for only $2 more than the over night bus. This saved me the hassle of getting from the airport to the bus terminal on to a long grueling ride up winding roads and then off to find my hotel. I arrived at Hotel Pison before dawn and after ringing the bell for ten minutes, a sleepy doorman showed me to my room. I was in Rantepao to explore the Tana Toraja region and its people. In the villages of Toraja, death becomes celebration as funerals may take up to a week. The Toraja people believe that if not buried with the proper ado, the spirits of their family members will haunt them and bring bad luck. After someone's death, the body remains in the family house from months to years until enough funds are collected to have elaborate funeral processions, bull fights, and animal sacrifices. Upon arriving at the funerary compound in the village of Talung Lipu, I entered the main gate to see a small muddy courtyard, already soiled with blood, surrounded by small houses, the main gate and the main house at the opposite long ends. I watched a truck bring in an ornate coffin and dozens of men lift it onto bamboo trunks to be pushed up two stories onto a boat shaped vestibule, where it would preside over the rituals. A line of shouting dancers would makes it way around, bringing with them buffaloes, a deer and squealing pigs. The family members, all dressed in black, were to follow and accompanied by the sound of bamboo hitting a wooden boat, they brought offerings to the deceased. While talking to other tourists about the peculiar celebrations, I was caught off guard by the sacrifice of a large buffalo. Too astonish to bring out my camera in time, I saw a youth lead the unsuspecting buffalo to the muddy courtyard and cut its throat with a hooked blade. Blood splashed everywhere and the buffalo jumped wildly a few times before collapsing in defeat, trembling in despair, the life fled from its eyes as it calmly laid to rest. A group then proceeded to skin it in front of the crowd to the incessant screaming of pigs who no doubt would be next. In Torajan culture, Buffaloes, specially albino buffaloes, are believe to be sacred and a symbol of wealth that must accompany the deceased to the afterlife. After the excitement of the sacrifice, things seemed to lagged and so I decided to return to my hotel and rest.
The following day I rented a motor bike in order to explore the sites of interests around the area. After the elaborate ceremonies, the bodies are buried in caves or on the faces of cliffs in places such as Londa, Lemo or Ke'te Kesu; wooden effigies of the dead marking the graves. Babies are buried in trees for life having escaped them too prematurely, they will continue to grow in death with the trees of Kambira. While driving to these sites, I was taken aback by the Torajan country side. Time seemed to stand still as I passed endless steps of green rice fields and distant mountains reaching up to meet the bluest sky. Locals collecting the season's harvest would stare as I drove by, sometimes smiling as their children waved hello. I stopped to chat in my limited Bahasa with a man herding his buffalo in one of the fields and watched a small child fly a kite. While walking back to my bike through the narrow paths between rice patches, I slipped and in went one foot. Struggling to get my foot out of the thick mud, I pulled too hard and in went the other foot on the other side. Thunderous laughing came from the boy who had stopped flying his kite to revel in my ridicule. I walked to the nearby stream feeding the rice to wash off my muddy shame. After waving goodbye one last time, I made my way through the fields back to my bike half laughing but careful not to repeat the embarrassing and messy episode.