Beyond the grave

The attitude to death here is informed by the belief that ancestors will continue to play a part in your life. This is one of the areas where traditional animist beliefs have continued to thrive next to catholicism, and to some extent the local Catholic church has co-opted some of the ceremonies associated with ancestor-worship.

For instance, after the death of a parent the offspring will hold a series of ceremonies ('sembahyang') to mark various anniversaries of the person's passing. Usually these are a short mass held at the home, 100 days after death, one year after, and almost every year after that. For instance, tonight we are attending the sembahyang for the mother of a local dignitary, yet she died fifteen years ago.

(In most cases people are buried in their gardens, and when I told my colleagues that in the UK we tend to dispose of remains in a more industrial manner they were horrified, not because they thought it disrespectful but because they did not understand how we could continue to receive help and guidance from our ancestors if they were buried so far away from the family home.)

At the weekend we attended a traditional ceremony ('acara adat'), in which to mark the two year anniversary of Pak Minggus' mother's death the family returned to the village to gather at the the family home where she is buried. The house is a traditional dwelling set in a valley next to a river, in an idyllic spot. To get there one has to walk along a narrow track a kilometre or so from the local village, and as you descend into the valley the air is damper and cooler. Beth and I felt that this would be a fantastic place to live if one could cope with the absence of electricity. This was also a good chance to catch up with our favourite piglet, which is currently taking a holiday from Pak Minggus' house in Maumere and is being looked after by his two elderly maiden aunts.

The ceremony was to mark the ritual ending of mourning, whereby black clothes are cast off to reveal white clothes beneath. Also, a cross can now be added to the gravestone, whereas that is impossible before this particular ceremony. In practice, this took the form of a trainee priest from the local seminary saying a few prayers, while candles were lit and a collection of black garments on the grave were tossed aside.

After this Beth was invited to sit with the old women of the village (in recognition of Beth's status) and invited to share their 'sirih' (a quid of betel nut, areca nut and lime). This is the mildly narcotic stuff that turns your teeth and gums bright red, and eventually destroys your teeth entirely. This was followed by eating pig in various forms, my favourite dish being the congealed pig's blood that is given to the old ladies (whose teeth have fallen out due to excessive betel nut chewing). It tasted like mashed up black pudding, and washed down with the usual copious amounts of arrak was quite delicious.

Before leaving the house we were all blessed by Pak Frans, the headman, who doused everyone with a mixture of coconut oil and palm oil, before throwing the bowl at the ceiling in the traditional gesture of bestowing fortune on the place.