Lessons on Life and Death in Toraja

*ANIMAL LOVERS BEWARE. THIS POST CONTAINS GORY IMAGES.

“Of course death is better than life” my guide Budi stated after we just watched the sacrifice of two large buffalo for a funeral ceremony. In my time in Toraja, I could not think of a better summary of their unique cultural beliefs.

It was in the slow hours of the morning in my first few months in Fort Albany I caught a short clip showcasing the elaborate funerals and death rituals of the Torajan’s in Sulawesi. I was captivated, having seen nor heard nothing of it before, I couldn’t believe traditions like these were still being played out in our modern world. It was Tana Toraja which kicked off my desire to visit Indonesia and it was Indonesia which started the idea for the whole 9 month trip that is now coming to a close.

I had a short visa stop in Singapore, where modern Asia unleashes its air-conditioned shopping addiction, and was forced to stay 4 days. I couldn’t wait to get out. My journey saw me skip over to Kuala Lumpur, then take an Air Asia flight to Makassar on the south end of the spider shaped island Sulawesi.

Makassar is a surprisingly large and chaotic city but there is little for travelers to do so I bought my bus ticket for an overnight bus trip the day after arriving. As far as overnight buses go, the nine hours trip was very comfortable although I wouldn’t be surprised if the the polar ice caps are no longer melting with the amount of air conditioning being pumped out.

The bus arrived around 6am and I was met by a nice local guy who offered me a free ride to my hotel of choice where I caught up on missed sleep. When I finally emerged, I walked down to the lobby and waiting for me were a couple of guides. When the one who answered most of my questions told me there was a funeral ceremony the next day in a small village and that I could attend. I said I was interested but was really just looking for some breakfast right now.

Walking into town I saw that I was going to pass the government tourist office and decided to ask some more questions. Finding the staff barely useful, I turned my attention to the guides who by this point had collected near the entrance. Nothing but confused faces appeared when I asked about a funeral the next day so i made a choice to use the guide I had met at the hotel. Really starving by this point, I headed over to a tourist oriented cafe and ended up running into the same guide from the hotel. This being the end of rainy season, tourist numbers are still very low and a fraction of what they are during the July-August high season when most of the biggest ceremonies are held and so the guides are constantly looking for tourists. He Introduced himself as Budi and informed me that his brother had told him of a ceremony taking place in a tiny village over the past few days and that tomorrow was going to be the final day. Budi let on that the village was very far and thought there would not be any other tourists. I’d heard that one before but decided to take him up on the offer despite my doubts. I pursued the idea of a multi-day trek but with trekking costs far too high in Toraja for a solo traveler to pay in my opinion, I worked out a solution with Budi to fit my budget constraints over the next few days.With business over and done with, I had planned to visit on of the nearby villages independently in the afternoon but accepted when Budi offered to take me on his motorbike for no charge.

Kete Kesu was where I got my first real look at the gorgeous Tongkonan, the traditional house of the people. Throughout Toraja, the landscape is covered in these unique and exotic architecture which usually house an extended family. An important feature to each are the buffalo horns placed in front, for in Toraja, buffaloes are a symbol of power and wealth and the more horns in front of your house the higher your status.

We moved on to see some hanging coffins in the nearby village of Palotekke. Similar to the culture of the Ifugao in North Luzon, Torajans also hang their dead on a cliff side. I met some wonderfully friendly locals and was introduced to the village elder (seen below) before heading back to Rantepao where I was staying.

Toraja is predominantly Protestant although many animistic beliefs exist alongside Christianity. When the dutch missionaries arrived, the Torjans had elaborate ceremonies for just about everything but the missionaries doing what missionaries have done the world over, stamped out most of the traditional customs, but its the Torajans obsession with death and the afterlife which has kept their sacred funeral ceremonies alive and well.

Now I’m sure it sounds strange, the thought of a foreigner showing up at a private family affair such as a funeral and I certainly had my reservations before going to one. I visited a total of three funeral ceremonies and while each day was different, I was welcomed with open arms by the family members and often encouraged to take more pictures or eat more food. For the Torajans, the funeral ceremony is the single most important aspect of life. When a loved one dies, the family will keep the body inside the house for up to six months or even a year or so just to raise enough money to send them away properly. This is where things get strange for after death, the body is not seen as dead but rather…sick. The body is talked to, washed and even fed until the funeral when the grieving can begin. Torajans believe their animals guide them into the afterlife which is bad news for all the buffaloes and pigs in the villages.

I saw a total of 6 buffalos slaughtered over the next few days but during the biggest ceremonies in July and August, as many as 50 animals maybe sacrificed. Of course nothing is wasted and the meat is divided up and distributed throughout the families of the village. A great feast is prepared, complete with bottomless coffee and a general merryness ensues. Infact, other than the sacrifice, I constantly had to remind myself I was at a funeral as the atmosphere felt much more like a celebration.

Out of the three funerals, the first ceremony in the village of Pangala was the most special. To my surprise but as Budi had said, I was the only foreigner around and was a point of interest to a lot of the family members while we visited over coffee and cakes. Funeral will bring many villagers back who may be working in far off places such as Java or Papua and I was lucky, for many of these Torajans spoke good english. I passed on my gift to the family, ironically, cigarettes, for this was suggested by my guide. Infact, since arriving in Indonesia, In all my travels I have not met people who seem to enjoy smoking as much as the Indonesian people.

When the coffee and cakes were finished, the two buffalo were brought out and my guide informed me that in the small villages they use black magic so the buffalo’s need not be tied up before the animals throat is cut. As soon as the large blade hit the animals throat there was a cloud of red as the buffalo’s carotid arteries were severed. The animal clearly knew it was in trouble and it was then the black magic failed and the thrashing creature broke the mans grip on the small rope and went hurling into a crowd of people. The second massive buffalo watching the demise of its companion, figured out what was coming and took off, coming a few feet away from trampling me but ended up dragging a less fortunate man through the mud and down a large hill. With the first animal in its last few moments alive, half the village set off to recollect their lost buffalo.

It took almost 2 hours to retrieve it but it had already been killed down the hill and about 40 men and boys began to drag the dead creature back up the hill. The animals were gutted in a blink of an eye and it wasn’t long before lunch was being served.

After saying farewell to the villagers I got back on Budi’s motorbike and made way for the village of Barruppu. Budi had mentioned that it was his wife’s home village and we would be welcomed to stay in the families tongkonan for the night. The village was gorgeous with some huge tongkonan towering over lush rice paddies where the village children were fishing for carp.

While the community was only made up of a handful of families, there were endless children who were my shadow as I walked around the nearby surroundings. Finally bored with the new face after an hour they went back to what seemed to be a very popular game in the village, whipping one another with sticks to the lower legs, back and forth. Dinner was basic but tasty with some sweet potatoes, rice and some fried carp from the rice field. It was a long day and after a few coffees around the fire in the kitchen I retired to my floor space for a nights sleep.

The following day I left my guide in Batutomonga and following the hand drawn map he made me, planned to walk back to Rantepao on my own. It bares repeating just how lush and green the Torajan landscape is and over the next couple hours I was immersed in it walking through the rice fields until I came to the village of Kaneapi. Some helpful locals steered me in the right direction and I followed the motor bike path and eventually came to the road leading back to Rantepao.

A guide is certainly not necessary for many things in Toraja especially if you drive your own ojek (moto) and have some form of a map. But before Lianna left the only promise she asked was that I would not attempt to drive my own bike having never done it before and meeting far too many people who this did not go well for. For this reason, I was forced to hire a driver most days in Tana Toraja and over the next few days I visited the villages south of Rantepao.

Its noticeably more touristy in the south especially the villages of Lemo which has a cave that can be explored with a lantern and londa, they each have their own vendor stalls and entrance fees. We visited some more graves including a large tree with large holes in its trunk which is where babies who have died are laid to rest. The most unusual sight was the tau tau which are life sized carving of the deceased and bare an unreal resemblance.I had the opportunity to visit the first and second days of a funeral in the village of Labo, which was a much larger and bloodier experience than my first ceremony in Pangala.

While the food at each funeral was always delicious (it was very fresh) I did not fare so well in town and most of meals at the local warung stalls were quite interesting. Anyone who knows my eating habits knows I will eat just about anything as long as it is hot. Infact, I just about always chose to scold my mouth instead of allowing things to cool down. You can imagine my challenge when just about every meal was precooked and freezing cold. Torajans eat just about everything and with a lack of bahasa Indonesian I found myself dining on things such as pig fat, soup of innards, and rice snake (later I was to learn it was eel). All would have been fine had it just been warm.

While Toraja is one of those places that is not for everyone, I absolutely loved it. In our modern age its is increasingly difficult for traditional languages and customs to surive and the dramatic funeral ceremonies of the the Torajans seem to be here for a while longer. The area is easy to get to from Makassar and for this reason I expected a bit of a tourist circus but this was not the case. Infact, I only ran into a handful of other travelers around town and at the last funeral ceremony. I spent a week in the area before boarding another bus heading south to Makassar as I had a flight booked to jayapura. my first ride being so comftorable I was looking forward to the nine hour ride in the daylight so I could enjoy the scenery. Things went well until the passenger next to me filled two bags of vomit and insisted on resting her puke bag on my knee until she needed it again. It ended up being an eleven hour trip and a long eleven hours at that.