A Family Affair

Mister Bittikaka's funeral will be a very lavish affair - A traditional ceremony of the first degree₁. His nine sons (from two wives) will each bring four buffalos, so at least thirty six will be sacrificed. Funeral ceremonies are private, but tourists to Tana Toraja, are allowed to attend. We parked our motorbikes at the entrance to the village and walked to the family compound₂. It quickly became evident that this is a grand event. Scores of temporary huts surrounded the compound. All built to provide housing to the hundreds, maybe thousands, of family members that came from far and near to attend the multi-day ceremony.

Each guest must bring a gift. The value of the gift is determined by Torajan etiquette, and negotiated prior to the funeral. A close, wealthy relative will bring a good buffalo, while others may bring a pig or less. We, only outsiders, came with a carton of very expensive cigarettes. Vony, a granddaughter (in-law) of the deceased was summoned to accept our gift. She quickly took a liking to Adi and invited her to sit on the bamboo matt, under the shade of the central rice barn. We knew it was a great honor since on our way to the ceremony, we were warned that sitting on the bamboo mat is strictly reserved for the noble class. Yunasdi, our guide, rushed to fix this breach of protocol, but the traditionally dressed elder gentlemen surrounding Adi assured him that she can stay. Nonetheless, I think he was embarrassed with our behavior and, from that point on, kept his distance. While I was away taking photos, a delegation of high ranking officers arrived to participate in the ceremony. Seeing an obvious foreigner sitting in such a prominent location, they must have deduced that she is a very important personage. One by one they filed by Adi to shake her hand. She put on her noble face, and responded politely to their "Hello". It was several days before her air of superiority faded.

Around noon, the coffin was taken out of the family home where it resided for almost a year₃. During this time, the deceased was considered a sick family member and politely invited to participate in meals and other social events. The coffin was decorated with a boat-shaped roof, and carried in a long merry procession around the village. Onlookers splashed water on the procession, helping to alleviate the scorching midday sun. With a lot of cheers and laughter the pole bearers played Tug-of-War with the coffin, each team "trying" to take the body to their own compound. Safely back, the coffin was placed on a high platform at one end of the courtyard and the proceedings were blessed by a Shaman, and then by a Catholic Priest. An invited speaker, utilizing a high powered PA system began an almost interminable speech, describing the patriarch's virtues. Hardly anyone paid attention. This social event was not going to be wasted on speeches. In the shade of the huts, the kids played with their cousins, the women chewed betel nuts and gossiped, and the men smoked and played cards. We talked with Vony.

Vony lives in the city, a ten hour drive from this village, and works at a branch of the World Bank. Unlike most other women in the funeral, she substituted the black sarong with a black shawl and jeans, yet she was proud of her Torajan heritage, and was happy to tell us about her experiences. All the Torajans we met share her sentiments. Early in the twentieth century, the Torajans, facing Dutch guns and bibles, lost their religion, but managed to maintain their language and funeral ceremonies. Now they are aware that they are the owners of unique and interesting culture and take care to preserve it in their daily life. They are also gentle and gracious hosts to the many tourists who come to visit.

"For Torajans," Vony told us, "an individual is not alone. We are taught that the family is the most important thing."

She had one complaint. She would like to visit the US but cannot afford to do so. All the family savings go towards funeral expenses. Each year, they gift one or two buffaloes and several pigs. I could understand her problem. In the Rantepao animal market we saw a prized buffalo, white-spotted, with large horizontal horns, being sold for $20,000. Even a lesser animal would easily cover her desired trip.

The speech ended, and more people surrounded the central yard. The chatter subsided as a young man led a large buffalo into the center, facing our platform. He pulled on the animal's nose-ring and lifted its head. He gently stroked its neck, then drew a large machete from his waistband, and with one quick stroke, slit its neck, arteries and windpipe. The crowd held its breath. Silently, the buffalo fell to the ground, large volume of blood gushing out of the opening. This signaled the beginning of the reception process. The chatter resumed as several young women, wearing gold embroidered traditional costumes, led a procession of family members into the reception hut. Inside, they will be served refreshments and snacks, and spend some time socializing with each other in the presence of a life-like wooden effigy of Mr. Bittikaka. Vony asked for coffee and Torajan cookies to be brought to us. The aroma of the freshly brewed Arabica barely masked the smell rising from the pool of blood accumulating in front of us. I brought the cup to my lips, hoping that I can control my trembling hands. After a while, our conversations resumed.

"Still, I would not want to change our tradition," she emphasized, "I do not know if I could survive without the family."

She told us about several hardships that were alleviated by the support she received from her extended family.

The afternoon continued with ritual dances, buffalo fights, and other events, Towards evening, we said our goodbyes, and walked back among the huts where men were busy at open fires. They were cooking the traditional Papillong: Meat and special vegetables stuffed into a bamboo tube and cooked for a couple of hours over the fire. It is hard, hot work. Definitely a men's job.

The receptions will continue for several days. The majority of the buffaloes will be sacrificed tomorrow. The meat, by the way, will be distributed to the clan in a similar fashion as the gifts; according to status. At the conclusion of the funeral, the coffin will be brought to the family grave, which is chiseled out of a rock cliff, and the wooden effigy will be placed outside it.

The next day, we did not return to the village. However, we did order Papillong in our favorite restaurant.

Notes:

1. A Torajan has to be given a funeral ceremony appropriate to his status in life. Otherwise the spirit will not go to heaven. It will stay around, causing trouble to the living.
   
2. A family compound is comprised of a row of houses called Tonkonans facing, an opposing row of rice barns called Alangs. The rectangular yard between then is a common meeting ground, playground for the children, and the location of the funeral ceremony.The Tonkonan is an impressively large wooden house, distinguished by a boat shape bamboo roof which overhangs the house. The overhangs are supported by pillars at each end. Buffalo horns are attached to the front pillar marking the status of the owner. The tonkonan walls are carved and painted with geometrical shapes. All tonkonans face North, in the direction of the gods.
   The Alang is a small windowless version of the Tonkonan, and serves as a rice barn. It too has a boat-shaped roof as well as carved walls. It sits high on pillars made of palm trees which are sanded to a polish to prevent rodents from climbing to the rice. A platform at its base provides a shaded rest or work area.
   
   
   3. All deceased stay in the family home until the funeral. The delay allows the family members to save enough money for the appropriate gift and to make travel arrangements. The body (injected with formaldehyde) is placed with the parents in the South room, which is the direction to heaven, the deceased final destination. The funerals are held during the dry season.