2/21 to Waingapu
Went with Mr Obed to kampung to find
this juk player. He was in the rice paddy but came out to sing a few songs. I
should have paid him more. Just 15,000. Made my way to Waingapu, broke a spoke.
Stopped for rain, bandaged a motorcyclist’s wounds, and got a parang. Stopped
and ate jagung bakar and traded songs with two brothers and hella peeps
chilling in a trad house working on drying corn. Racing the rain clouds through
beautiful grassy mountains. Slow incline, then down down down to Waingapu.
Rained on the way down, saw a group of people walking using leaves as umbrellas.
Long riding day. Stayed at a shitty hotel but made a friend Mr Hans, orang Sabu
selling peci, playing a 4 string guitar.
2/22 Bp Nabas
Headed east towards Melolo… passed the
Waingapu airport, biked through small rice and coconut palm operations. Pretty,
flat, close to the ocean but still out of striking distance.
Got tired when I made it to Watumbaka,
not really all that far out of Waingapu. Stopped when it started raining a
little and saw a group of fellas hanging out in a shady spot in a quiet section
of the road. A group with a range of ages were passing a bottle of peci around.
The house belonged to Bp. Nabas, his wife and sister were ikat cloth makers. I
found out there would be a traditional Marapu funeral with gong music being
played two days later in Bp Nabas’ brother’s desa. OK I’ll be back then. Nabas
was a retired government worker enjoying his pensioned life fishing. The ocean
on the north side of Sumba doesn’t have any waves, sheltered by Flores (which
is true of the North coasts of Java, Bali, Lombok, Sumbawa ,
and I’d guess all the islands in that line).
The following morning I went to Bp
Nabas’ brother’s house to hear his mother play the juk. They had a hard time
finding an instrument, due in part to declining interest in traditional music
(generally only old people know the songs and dance) and also because museum
people came and bought most of the good ones. But eventually they were able to
borrow a two-stringed juk (all the other ones I saw had four strings). The old
woman played some songs singing softly, trying to remember and warming up. Then
she drank some peci (a necessary part of singing for her), and let it rip. Her
daughter, with dyed-blue hands from her textile work, helped sing on a two
songs and danced for one. Wow it was really powerful in a sad kind of way for
me to hear songs that may be lost very soon.
2/23 Bp Oti
Hot and dry road, no shade really.
Stopped for a break when I saw a group of people hanging out in a front yard
under a fishing net- strewn tree. Many pictures were taken with me and all the
people said I looked like Jesus. My new friend Johnathan brought me to his
house across the street because everyone there was getting drunk, and he didn’t
want me mixing with the wrong crowd. His family comes from Sabu – a tiny island
halfway between Sumba and Timor . Many ethnic
Sabu people live in Sumba Timor. They are famous for “gula sabu” which is a
sweetener made from a specific kind of palm tree, about the consistency of
honey. Its actually quite different from gula Jawa which is closer to brown
sugar in taste and dryed… gula Sabu tastes more like date syrup. Johnathan told
me if Sabu people don’t have rice, they make a meal of Gula Sabu. It is also
fermented to make drinks with varying alcohol levels. I got an offer to stay,
but felt like I hadn’t yet made any progress and it was still early in the day,
so I promised to come back.
Biked until I got to Melolo, the
Eastern tip of Sumba , after which I read the
roads get really rough, so this is the furthest East I would get on my
adventure. Its quite a small town, but I really had gotten to prefer staying
away from busy places, so I kept going a bit out of town, when I heard some juk
and voice music being played loudly from somebody’s stereo. I stopped and
listened for a bit. Then about 100 meters past that point I saw a group of
people hanging playing cards so I stopped and talked with them. One dude, Bp
Oti, spoke a little bit of English and was excited to practice with me. He
wanted to show me around some traditional kampungs with megalithic tombs. I
expressed my interest in traditional music, and he called his uncle who is
married to a juk player. The tombs were huge and cement. I think the most
impressive one I saw was in Anakalang, Central Sumba ,
owing to its intricate stone carved images. Anyways these were massive (like
two storeys). Then Oti took me to where he was helping to build a big church,
next to his house. As it was getting dark, we made it to kampung ????, home of
Ata Ratu, the Madonna of Sumbanese traditional music (she graces the cover of
the Smithsonian’s guitar CD from their 20-CD collection of Indonesian music).
There was no electricity, and I was afraid the sound from their generator would
be annoying on my sound recorder, so I filmed in the dark with a dim lamp. Man
her voice is something else. She played two 9 minute songs, the first one
traditional and the second improvised about my journey (how I came from far
away to see how people live in Sumba, she isn’t sure how I like it here and if
I will ever come back, telling me to be careful, dll). It was a starry night,
and what a day for the turn around point of my trip.
2/24 Papa Putra
Headed back Northwest. Made it back to
Johnathan (aka Papa Putra)’s place. Once someone becomes a parent in Sumba , for community purposes they take on the name of
their first child, in this case Mama Putra and Papa Putra. We went for a walk
on the beach and saw some hand-made tree-trunk boats. Johnathan is a cowherd,
with 11 cows. His extended family lives nearby in traditional houses, but his
house is more modern with tv and cemented-smooth stone brick walls. Ate some
really amazing food (corn rice, pumpkin soup, singkong) made by his sister, and
studied bahasa Sabu with his family and friends. He wanted me to stay longer,
but I didn’t want to miss the chance to see a Marapu funeral back in Watumbaka.
2/25 Bp Nabas
This is the day of the funeral, but I
got going a little later than expected, so I charged back to Watumbaka, Bp
Nabas’ place. Didn’t recognize it coming from the other way, went too far, but
knew I was beyond then found it again. He came back to pick me up on his
motorcycle.
This was to be a traditional Marapu
funeral for a respected mother and grandmother in the community. First we went
to gather with Bp Nabas’ family, eat food, gather money to give to the family
of the deceased before all walking together to the rumah adat where the body
lay. Other families did the same. When we arrived maybe 100 meters away, simple
and fast gong music began. All the women in our group climbed into the house
crowding around the cube-shaped coffin to weep loudly in almost singing voices.
(for Merapu funerals, corpses are placed in the fetal position and wrapped in
many ikat textiles, then placed inside a box which is also wrapped in the hand
made blankets). The gong music was repeated each time a new group of people
arrived. Not far away from the funeral place, a bunch of young people were
gathered playing gambling games and drinking. After everyone was there (between
100–200 people), men gathered around the coffin and shouted. A horse with ikat
blankets was outside. There was a rush of activity as the coffin was carried
out of the house by four men, following closely behind was who I presume was
the daughter of the deceased in fits being carried by two women. The coffin was
spun in circles then the horse, the coffin, and everyone else ran quickly to a
sacred hill nearby and up to the top where a grave had been dug. There were
prayers spoken, more shouts. They opened the coffin and put something in it
(couldn’t see what), then let it down into the grave, and covered it with
cement. It all happened pretty fast, and then the people were gone. The sky was
really dramatic, lots of dark clouds all around but the sun was still out and
amber light enveloped the hill.
2/26 Bp Nabas
Went to Iron’s kampung for corn and
coconuts, then to the coast with Budi where we checked out a traditional sea
salt harvesting facility.
2/27 to and from Papa Putra
I had promised to come back to Papa
Putra’s place, and this was my last chance as my friend was coming into town
the next day, so I made the two hour bike ride to and from there to say bye. He
took me to his aunt’s traditional grass-roofed house where she showed me a set
of gongs and ankle rattles for dancers. Before I left he hooked me up with a
big bottle of gula sabu and a Sabu kain.
Made it back to Watumbaka as the sun
was setting. Ate dinner, then went to a rumah adat nearby to hear gong music
played. The occasion was: two community members had died (one Christian and one
Marapu) and they were having a combined funeral… but before the funeral
happens, gong music must be played for eight days from night into the wee hours
of the morning. People at the event are hanging out playing cards, singing
songs with guitar, drinking, socializing.
2/28 to Waingapu jemput Becky
My good friend Becky from California who had been studying in India for a year was now traveling in Indonesia and was coming to Sumba !
She had made a hectic and epic nonstop journey from Bali by boat and bus to get
here, and it was one more six-hour bus ride from the port
of Waikelo in West
Sumba to Waingapu. I met her at the bus station then we took a bus
back to Watumbaka to look at Iron’s traditional kampung then hang out at the
coffin house as part of the pre-funeral ceremony with gong music.
2/29 walk around Waingapu
Walked around Waingapu talking with
people in town and looking for a beach, it was really hot. There was no beach
with sand. Met some Dutch fellows, one who used to work here as a mechanic for
farm equipment. He had found a bookkeeping book with his writing in it from
long ago. Got my boat ticket for the next day.
