Toraja
The Art of Life with Death by Collin Key
Toraja - The Art of Life with Death This is Gonna. Gonna is a Toraja girl who lives in Tana Toraja, the central highland of southern Sulawesi. When I was Gonna's age this Indonesian island was still named Celebes and - from our point of view - marked the end of the world. In those days no visitors found their way into these tropical rain forests but a handful of anthropologists and some adventurers like the French Elisabeth Sauvy who, in 1934, published her travel diary "A Woman among Headhunters“. Their stories usually told of bizarre rituals and terrifying death cults. Meanwhile, however, we have learned that the world is round and knows no end. Like children all over the world Gonna will grow up using a smartphone and the Internet. In school she will be taught mathematics and
foreign languages. Gonna is a little whirlwind full of energy and curiosity. She is definitely the child of a modern world. Yet her home is a special place, indeed. All these adventure stories were not entirely made up. The house Gonna lives in is named Maruang and its roof is bent like a buffalo's horn. The Toraja call this kind of house tongkonan. They deeply cherish them for they are the dwellings of their forefathers. The title photo shows Goona beneath the roofs of her tongkonan as if under the protection of all her ancestors. They may long be gone yet all her dead relatives are still close to her and her family and part of their life in a very real sense. Ne‘ Yayu is the eldest of the family. He permitted my son Robert and myself to stay in Maruang tongko-
nan for some time to start exploring the wondrous Toraja world from there. Often Gonna already awaits us when we return from our excursions in the late afternoon. Joyfully excited she jumps across the yard to greet us, eagerly waiting to see the new pictures I have taken with my camera. She escorts me to the veranda of our tongkonan where we sit down to view the images. Every scene is commented on and provokes explanations and stories which she keeps on telling us without break - in a language that unfortunately I do not yet understand. Our lack of understanding is made up for, however, by her contagious enthusiasm. The photos that attract her strongest attention are not, as one might assume, the images of landscapes, villages or even people she is acquainted with but those of graveyards, the rock cut tombs and burial caves of her ancestors. "tongkonan orang mati“ she exclaims - the dwellings of the dead. Coffins, skulls and bones - for Gonna such things bear no terror. Again and again she wants me to show these images to her. And thus we start off our journey in the realm of the dead.
Tongkonan Orang Mati The ancestors welcome us as we enter the funeral grotto of Tampangallo. From a pile of skulls they look at us through empty eye sockets. The unprepared visitor cannot but remember the old stories of headhunting and other bizarre practices at this sight. Is this the way to treat your own dead relatives? Or rather your enemies? But the first impression of neclect is wrong. How much they are still cared for is revealed by a little detail which at first glance might even look a bit untidy: cigarettes lie scattered among the skulls. These are gifts of the visitors who want their dead forebears to enjoy the beloved scent of cloves which is so characteristic of Indonesian cigarettes. Upon their death the corpses of this cave had been embalmed and laid into coffins made of tropical woods. Many years later, however, once the mummies had finally decayed their osseous remains were taken out to make room for those yet to come...
Then we meet the dead in person: Around the corner they stand up on the wall looking down on us with round and marvelling eyes.These are the tau-tau, life-sized wooden effigies of the deceased. Among them, to our great surprise - a Frenchman? Look at the second figure from right: Short trousers, moustache, fair hair neatly parted! Nobody could explain that effigy to me. It remains a riddle. The American anthropologist Kathleen Adams recalls in her book "Art as Politics" (2006 University of Hawai‘i Press) her first encounter with the tau-tau of Ke‘te‘ Kesu‘ village. She was then accompanied by two young boys from the village: "While Siu picked up a bone and idly tossed it between his hands, Lendu nodded towards one of the effigies... 'This is Ne‘ Lele‘... We felt sorry for Ne‘Lele‘, to see her in rags, her breast poking out, so Mama gave her a sweater‘.“ Lendu then introduced the anthropologist to many more of his ancestors all of whom he knew by name. To him this graveyard visit was rather like a family reunion. According to traditional belief the tau-tau are bombo dikita, visible souls. They house the spirit of the deceased person. Their relatives visit them regularly, offering cigaret-
tes and even Rupiah notes. They chat with them and keep them informed about the latest family affairs. Subsequently to the missionary activity of their former Dutch colonial rulers, however, 95% of the Toraja population adopted the Christian faith. The predominantly Calvinist-coined church suspected these chit-chats with the ancestors to be a sign of superstition, or, even worse, of idolism, and condemned the use of tau-tau. Priests would refuse to attend funerals if a tau-tau was part of the ceremony. Christian Toraja countered that their interaction with the tau-tau was not due to their religious belief (aluk) but to tradition (adat), which they were not willing to give up. Moreover, even in Europe people would use photos of the deceased at funerals without disapproval of the church. In a small restaurant specialized on dog meat we engage in conversation with a native priest. Being of Roman Catholic faith, he has no vital problem with effigies. Yet he rejects the excessiveness of Toraja funerals: "They may well financially ruin a family, yet most people rigidly maintain the practice. Well," he concludes, "my brothers and sisters are a bit stubborn at this." Their obstinacy, I assume, may have contributed a lot to the survival of Toraja culture.
One of the most impressive sights in Tana Toraja is that of the burial cliffs of the village of Lemo. Numerous burial chambers are carved into the stone while the tau-tau stand on balconies silently gazing down into the valley. In other places the ancestors have been put behind bars as a kind of preventive custody: Theft of tau-tau has turned into a serious problem since the antiquity market has realised their value.
The most bizarre rite of Toraja culture - at least from our alien point of view - is definitely ma'nene', the provision of fresh clothes to the deceased and their tau-tau. On that occasion coffins are opened and the mummies taken out. Together with their living relatives they will celebrate a cheerful family reunion. Death is a part of life - to Toraja people this saying has an utterly tangible meaning. Neatly vested, the corpses will re-enter their graves while the day after their tau-tau will be tended to. We have been told that ma'nene' is being celebrated in the village of Londa but as we arrive the spectacular first day is already over and we will only see the tau-tau ceremony. Whether by mistake or deliberately, in order to avoid the rush of cameras, I do not know. In general visitors are welcome to all festivities of the Toraja and this includes tourists. In the same year 2015, American journalist Amanda Bennett has had the opportunity to attend a ma'nene' ritual. Her report and photos of the event can be found at National Geographic's online edition.
The Child Grave For their smallest family members, Toraja people have quite a unique kind of sepulchre: they bed them in the trunk of a large tropical tree. According to Toraja belief, the realms of gods, humans and spirits are entirely real places of the world and not abstract locations as heaven and hell are to modern Christians. The region to the east is the realm of the gods. Human beings live in the north. The west is the place of the deceased and spirits and ghosts dwell in the south. As a human is born, he passes from the east to the north. Once he is dead he will be in the west. By way of an extensive funeral his relatives guide the deceased to the southern land puya, the place where the spirits dwell. When a baby dies before it has grown milk teeth it is assumed that it has not yet completely arrived in the west before dying. Hence it will not be sent on that long journey to the south. Instead they hand it over to that large tree which will gently guide the little spirit back to the eastern realm of the gods.
The Funeral In the end his favourite buffallo was his doom. Something must have had startled the animal. A moment of inattention and the buffalo's horn hit him in a fatal blow. So we were told by Lisa, our guide, who accompanies us to the funeral. It is a morbid irony that numerous waterbuffaloes will now lose their life in return. Three months have passed since the accident. Three months which the deceased man has spent at home in his bed. He has been mummified to stop decay. Apart from this, his family has treated him like a person who has fallen ill - one that has moved away from the north but not yet reached the west. This is perfectly normal in Tana Toraja. Sometimes the deceased will stay home for years. A Toraja funeral lasts between three to seven days, in rare cases even longer. Hundreds of guests have to be entertained. Organizing such a celebration takes time. Gathering the necessary funds does as well. And many families are not ready to say good-bye too soon. They keep on with their routines, give drink and food to the deceased, talk to him, let him partake in daily life.
Once the date for the funeral finally arrives the deceased is laid out in front of his family tongkonan and a lavish celebration is staged. Guests from all over arrive who are generously catered for. Days of great elation and profound dolefulness follow. Visible for all the dead man has finally reached the realm of death. He is ready now to depart on his last journey to the southern land of puya where ghosts and spirits dwell. It is a difficult voyage and his funeral is conducted to safely lead him on his way. His celebrating kin and friends are his protective convoy so to say. The larger the funeral, the more guests and visitors, the safer will he reach his destiny. Having embraced the religion of the former Dutch colonial masters, as the majority of Toraja people has, he may then ascend from puya even further into the Christian heaven.
First to arrive on the scene are the pigs donated by the invited guests. Tied to long bamboo sticks they are still alive and certainly suspect no good. But their terrified squeaks are drowned by the voice of the emcee who announces through giant speakers and with dramatic intonation the incoming guests as well as their donations to the celebration. Each gift is neatly noted down in a large book for later reference, revenue officers fill out the necessary forms. Then the invited families enter the square in long rows. Dressed in their finest black garments they circlet the heap of pigs with measured steps. Their succession is strictly hierarchical, headed by the dignitaries and completed by the working people, as they are called nowadays. In former times, when the word and the practice had not yet been outlawed, they used to be called slaves. Toraja society is by no means egalitarian, but on the contrary feudal in structure, differentiating between nobility, free people and working men. Some men form a large circle to intone a dirge which like everything else is being drowned by the emcee's dramatic performance. More guests arrive while the ones who came before are offered cigarettes and drinks. The whole scene seems like an odd medley of grief and exuberance. A vivid carneval of death.
In lieu of a pig or even buffalo we have offered a carton of Indonesian clove cigarettes which, as our guide Lisa tells us, is the standard gift expected from tourists. Consequently we are invited to sit down on one of the bamboo platforms that have been constructed around the square to host the guests. The family already assembled there kindly makes room for us. Tea, banana chips and cigarettes are offered to us, rice and pork cooked in bamboo tubes follow. Everyone is friendly and welcoming, people smile and willingly allow me to take photos. I am even invited to join one of the processions and offer my sympathies to the mourning family. No doubt, Toraja people love their funerals.
The highlight of any funeral is the sacrifice of the buffaloes. The horns of the animals sacrificed will later be exhibited on the tongkonan's front pillar. They will enhance the dignity and prestige of the house. Bori village is renowned for its stone circle. Menhirs have been erected in memory of great ritual celebrations well into the 19th century. When visiting Bori we accidentally met a mourning family who had just finished the first day of funeral. After a nice talk and some portrait shooting to which they consented we were invited for the next day to attend the buffalo sacrifice. As we arrive at the scheduled time carrying the obligatory carton of cigarettes we find that our gift is uncalled-for today: Like all other tourists who show up we are summoned to pay our entrance fee. It would be totally wrong though to conclude from this that tourists are not welcome to funerals. On the contrary, as part of the visitors' crowd they contribute to the reputation of the tongko-
nan of the mourning family. The more guests the better the party. In 1986 the village of Ke'te' Kesu' - today a UNESCO world heritage site saw the ten-day funeral of its renowned leader Ne' Duma. 300 kilometres away at Makassar airport tourist officials distributed pamphlets in Indonesian and English language drawing attention to the "truly unique Toraja event." Tens of thousands of visitors followed the call to what turned out to be one of the most memorable funeral celebrations ever. Being aware of the outsiders' disdain for animal slaughter, Ne' Duma's family urged Kathleen Adams, whom they Ne‘ Dumas tau-tau in Ke‘te‘ Kesu‘
considered an adopted daughter, to explain the cultural value of the massive buffalo sacrifice to the foreign audience. As an anthropologist, they expected her voice to be compelling. In fact water buffaloes are the animals most dear to the Toraja. They are fostered all their life and don't have to do any farm work. The price of an average animal is about 1,500 US dollar while top- rated buffaloes may reach the value of a luxury car. Thus Toraja funerals are a great financial burden. "You spend your money on travelling, we gladly spend it for funerals," I was told by a young female tourist guide. Incidentally, this is almost the same wording Kathleen Adams reports her Toraja family to have used on the occasion of Ne' Duma's funeral.
Buffalo sacrifices are quite a bloody affair.The animals are killed by a clear cut through the throat. Seconds pass until they slowly conceive that something is wrong. Some buffaloes react at this point with a last defiant struggle, a moment not without danger to the animal leader and the crowd of onlookers that is even warned by an English spoken announcement. Ne ve r t h e l e ss , neither this nor their disdain for animal slaughter can prevent the tourists from pressing forward chasing for the best shot.
Tongkonan The tongkonan is much more than a mere house. Rather, it can be considered the focal point of the social structure of Toraja society. A person's place in society is determined by his affiliation to certain tongkonans. This is of even higher importance than blood relationship. During her research Kathleen Adams was 'adopted' to the tongkonan of Ne' Duma of Ke'te' Kesu' village. Years later she met a native Toraja at her American university. Both tried to make out if they had common 'family' ties. In order to do so, she reports, no names of people were referred to but solely names of tongkonans. The tongkonan takes centre stage in most rituals
and celebrations which in return enhance its reputation and thus the social prestige of the affiliated family. As in the case of funerals many of these festivities pose a considerable financial challenge to the family which can only be met by joint efforts. Even relatives that have taken jobs in faraway areas of the Indonesian archipelago - which is quite commonly the case - or who have migrated to foreign countries are expected to partake in and contribute funds to the wellfare of the homely tongkonan.
Thus the tongkonan strengthens the sense of community among people and by every ritual related to the house the family's bond with their ancestors is renewed. Each house has its unique lineage. The oldest and most prestigious tongkonans can trace their lineage back to the beginning of time itself, when the first ancestors descended from heaven on a huge ladder made of stone to settle in the tropical forest hills of Sulawesi. "Only if we remember who we are we will not forfeit our culture," Lisa claimes during our very first excursion. Lisa makes his living by explaining his world to the tourists he guides. It is obvious, however, that this topic matters to him personally. "I had to learn all the names and relations of six generations back in time. That certainly wasn't easy. Yet only if you know your ancestors you are able to retain your identity." The concept of 'identity' is quite in vogue in anthropological literature but rather rarely heard in common talk. The fact that Lisa uses the term might be seen as an indication that the vast anthropological work written about Toraja society influences that very society in turn. It changes the way people think about themselves. The typical Toraja village is made up of two rows of buildings with an empty square inbetween. The row of tongkonans is always facing north, the direction of human life, and is mirrored by the row of smaller rice barns (alang).
Tourism may have a similar impact, too. As mentioned before, Toraja society is of feudal character. Traditionally, large funerals and buffalo sacrifices as well as the construction of a tongkonan used to be confined to the nobility and free men while ornamental decoration of the houses and use of tau-tau used to be a privilege of noble men only. In tourist marketing, however, all this counts as 'typical Toraja.' Nowadays most
Toraja of whatever status identify with these cultural symbols and feel proud of them. So does outside influence endanger the authenticity of tradition? Might it serve to turn genuine culture into mere folklore? Kathleen Adams rebuts these fears. In her book she argues that the adaptiveness of Toraja society to new influences is actually a precondition to preserve their culture through the changes of time. They face the transformations of their environment with self-confidence and adjust them to their needs. Only thus they were able to embrace the Christian faith without losing the way of their ancestors. An old and notably splendid tongkonan. The many horns piled up on the front pole give evidence of many buffalo sacrifices and increase the prestige of the house. The floral ornaments are proof of the nobility of the family whose ancestors seem to have been active headhunters as well: human skulls are laid out on the high ledge.
The Wedding As fundamental as it seems death is of course not the only important topic in Toraja life. Having been told of an upcoming wedding we mount our scooters and drive to the place. We go there on chance as we don't know anybody of the wedding party and have not been invited. But again we are kindly welcomed and invited to join the other guests on their bamboo platform. Our standard gift though is met with some sneering glances: cigarettes are obviously reserved for funerals and we make our carton quickly disappear in our bag. No doubt the wedding is a gaudy affair with rewarding scenes for a photographer. In general, however, the ceremony is rather formal if not to say stern. None of the jolly mood that is so vibrant at funerals. The dignified entry of the bridal couple is followed by some rather short performances of music and dance after which time slowly passes with seemingly endless speeches. Finally the guests are feasted with a fine meal. That photo of the standing bride and groom which I shot somehow reminds me - I beg your pardon - of the annual congress of the Chinese communist party.
Maruang Tongkonan When our guide Lisa asked his relatives at Maruang if we might live in the tongkonan for a while his request wasn not met with unanimous approval. Foreigners in the house of the ancestors? Finally Ne' Yayu, the eldest, took a decision and told Lisa that we were welcome in Maruang.
As is the case with many tongkonans nowadays, Maruang stands partly empty. The lower level is occupied by Novita and her daughter Gonna while nobody resides on the upper floor. The rest of the family has constructed new houses to the sides of the old mansion of the ancestors which provide facilities for a life more comfortable. Thus we move to the upper floor which houses the traditional living quarters: a large central room with two smaller chambers to each side. The plain inside of the house contrasts sharply with its abundantly decorated facade. No one speaks English in Maruang, not even Novita who teaches Japanese at the local school. Gonna is the only one totally unimpressed by this lack of mutual understanding and she keeps on chit-chatting with us all day long. What a pity that I cannot write down her stories.
The kids of Maruang play ball Time for the ride to school
Lisa chatting with his relatives Grandmother roasting fresh coffee
Thank you
to Ne‘ Yayu‘ and the family of Maruang Tongkonan
Toraja The Art of Life with Death
copyright 2016 Collin Key