02 April 2008

 

Month of Living Dangerously Part Dua

6 March
This morning we were awoken from our slumber by our erstwhile companion – the 4th man- Dries. It was around 6:30 in the morning and we were definitely a sight for his sore eyes after going many days on little sleep (due to his self-inflicted behavior) and a long bus ride up to Rantepao, and searching all around town for us. Fortunately, he found us with little problem. After an easy breakfast, we made our way to the rental shop where we rented 4 motorbikes for the day. Keep in mind that neither Dries nor I had ever driven a motorized two-wheel vehicle in our lives. Hell, Dries had never even driven a car. As such, I had a slight feeling of trepidation at learning how do such a thing on the wild and rough roads of rural Central Sulawesi. After taking the bikes for a spin around the block and proving (sort of) to the renter and to ourselves that we could handle it, we raced out of town like bats out of hell. Or something like that.
Our first stop was a market a bit south of town where animals were sold. Not that we got to see that much, as a bunch of guys tried to extort an entrance fee from us to see the water buffalo auction, and so we decided to wander and peruse the other markets instead. It really reminded me of the Russian Market in Phnom Penh, with the cloth-roofed stalls and the amount of copy and possibly purloined wares.
We grabbed lunch while the sky opened up and poured down. We then rode down a side road which terminated at a cluster of some traditional Torajan houses arranged in a row. We stopped for some photos there and Anya – she served as our interpreter at the market – planned to trek through the hills from there. And so Dan and I made our way back to the main road and then waited for our companions. And waited. Finally, Dan went back and after another few minutes of boredom, I turned round as well, fearing that Dries had had a mishap with the bike – the assumption was that either he or I were most likely to get maimed that day. Instead it was Alex, having wrecked his bike trying to avoid a chicken that had bolted out into the lane. He was a bit out of it, but by the time I had gotten there he had already fastened bandages from his tattered shirt to his arms to arrest the bleeding coming from cuts he had sustained. The most alarming problem, however, was at best a bruised rib and at worst a broken rib that could potentially puncture a lung. He laid down and Dan elevated his legs while we took stock the situation and made sure that he was alright. Once convinced that he was okay, we slowly made our way back to Rantepao where we returned the bikes as if nothing had happened. Alex patched himself up with his crazy first-aid kit and then we sat outside and watched the rain pour down with fury once again.

7 March
The oblong blade glistened in the sunlight as the man pulled it above his head to strike. The bodies, of 3 water buffalo already, lay on the ground already, some still writhing around in the blood-stained mud. Scores had gathered around to watch the final sacrifice. In one swift deft blow, the buffalo’s throat was cleft open and the its next heart beat shot our a geyser of blood, raining down on those who chose to stand a little too close to the action. This was the start of a Torajan funeral, or at least the beginning of the end of one.

The four of us had taken a van that morning and followed Anya on her motorbike about an hour north of Rantepao where we walked on foot down a rocky and muddy path, through the terraced rice fields to the house of the deceased.
We arrived in time for the final sacrifice, which was a gruesome affair to witness. The man, whose funeral we were witnessing, had died 4 months before, remained in the house as preparations were made, buildings erected, the animals purchased and prepared. The body was embalmed and treated like a member of the family, a living member. He was in a coffin at this point, but we were still asked to treat him with the same respect that we afford the living.
As soon as the final buffalo was felled, the men immediately skinned it and started hacking at the limbs and removed the organs as flies swarmed around the carcasses. We were given snacks, coffee, and tea and climaxed in being served the buffalo meat itself, which I scrumptiously declined to eat. Our pictures were taken repeatedly and the kindness of the people was reflected in their generosity and sincerity. We returned to town in the afternoon and relaxed outside as the rains returned.

10 March
After a day of organizing our trip to the Togean Islands and a full 24 plus hour day making our way to the ferry, we are finally on our boat, awaiting our departure for paradise.
We spent Saturday wandering around Rantepao, avoiding the rain and packing up for our trip to the north. We ate traditional Torajan food at a restaurant on the north of town, the food was excellent: fish baked in bamboo with red rice. On our way back to our hotel – we were aiming for an early night – we ran into a wedding reception that spilled over into the street, replete with karaoke band, singing and dancing. They, like all Indonesians before them, welcomed us warmly and encouraged us to join in. For over an hour, we danced and joined in karaoke with the joyous families. Daniel stole the show, dancing the prettiest girl as only he could. It was an unconventional end to a fairly conventional day. We stopped by a talent show as well on our way back, but I was eager to get back since we left the next day at dawn.We awoke on schedule, ate our breakfast and were on the road by 7 am. What should have been a straight-forward 15 hour car-ride, devolved into a 24 hour one. We travelled over tortuous and worn-down roads, through valleys and mountains. Our tires went flat 4 times, delaying us even more as we slowly made our way from Rantepao northeast to Ampana. The 4th flat tire was the straw that broke the camels back; it occurred after midnight and was beyond repairing and the breaks of the car had worn all the way to the metal – I was concerned they were gonna lock up on us at any moment. Alex and Daniel had both taken ill, particularly Alex, who was also still reeling from his bike accident. Dries was exhausted from being unable to sleep. At dawn, an ambulance – station-wagon ambulance that is – offered to take us the final 50 km to Amapana and so we crammed in the back on the stretcher, and I had to convince the driver that none of us needed to actually go to the hospital. They took us finally to the ferry, which we are now on and with luck, we will be on the islands in a few hours.

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