Torajaland: The Land That Time Forgot
Here, in the southern highlands of Sulawesi is a place known as Torajaland. Visiting these misty mountain valleys is a little like walking into an anthropology lesson in unusual customs and ritual. The people of Torajaland build jutting “tangokonan” houses that vault out like ships from the snaking rice fields. But it is the ownership of water buffaloes, not houses, that indicates wealth and prestige in Torajaland.
Most distinct though are the elaborate funeral ceremonies that the Torajans are famous for. Huge, week-long events include dancing, poetry, music and hundreds of animal sacrifices to prepare the deceased for the afterlife, a journey to the stars.
Credit: Jesse Lewis
To ward off car sickness, I try to close my eyes and zone out as the battered jeep rattles around looping hairpin turns that come one after another. An enormous bag of rice takes up my leg space so I sit cross-legged. A young mother and four small kids crowd beside me, falling into my lap, and a screaming, bound pig in the back makes the zoning-out part tricky. This is overland transport Toraja-style.
Formed by crustal fragments of the Asian and Australian Plates that collided, central Sulawesi is rugged and mountainous. Streaked by several fault lines it is also highly prone to earthquakes, and several active volcanoes on the island keep things lively.
Covering an area of 67,413 square miles (174,600 square km), Sulawesi is the world’s 11th largest island. Roughly divided into four large peninsulas, a mountainous backbone straddles the interior cutting off each peninsula from one another. With such challenging geography, it is often easier for people to travel to different regions by sea than by land.
The isolation of the island from other landmasses also makes it unique. Sulawesi sits in the heart of Wallacea, a biogeographical region that separates the flora and fauna of Asia from that of Australia via deep water straights. On one side are species from Asia, on the other those from Australia, with Sulawesi sitting in the middle; a transitional zone mixing species from both, and others found nowhere else.
So far 127 mammal species have been documented in Sulawesi, of which 62 percent (79 species) are endemic and found nowhere else in the world. Anoas (dwarf buffalos); tusked, hairless pigs called babirusas; and tiny primate tarsiers all call these forests home, along with a menagerie of birds, fishes, insects and plants. Indeed, the whole island is a global biodiversity hotspot, barely understood and documented but already critically threatened.
This lush, Eden-like landscape is both wild and cultivated and represents a complex agroecological system. Monsoon rains nourish the rice fields that are the staple of Torajaland and much of Southeast Asia. Snails, small fishes, slippery eels and innumerable insects thrive in the paddies. Ducks eat these creatures while buffaloes and pigs root in the mud, all adding fertilizer to the system in the process.
Between the rice paddies, dense patches of forest contain fruit trees, lumber and enormous bamboo galleries used for all number of things, including building houses. Perhaps most notable though are the lush coffee bushes that thrive in the cool mountain air producing some of the finest java in the world, touted as better even than that from neighboring Java.
Each village is a closely related family clan where kinship is reciprocal. This means marriage between distant cousins is common, helping to strengthen bonds and create unity. Likewise, family clans work together to share work, property and wealth communally.
And in Torajaland, water buffaloes are wealth serving as labor, food and the means to pay off debts. Lazing in the mud, grazing by roadsides, or being bartered for in the markets, I saw these beasts adorned and adored everywhere I traveled. The most revered animals are rare albino buffalos that can be worth a fortune.
Historically Torajans practiced a form of animism tied to nature and ancestor worship known as aluk todolo. Aluk was and is more than a belief system, though; it is also a common law that governs social life, rituals and planting times.
When Dutch missionaries arrived in the early1900’s, Torajan animist beliefs combined in unusual ways with Christianity. Discouraged from practicing traditional spirit worship, many customs became incorporated into Christian ceremonies, including the renowned Torajan death rites. Today the fusion of these influences, part animist and part Christian, symbolizes the unique heritage of Torajaland — the water buffalo juxtaposed with the cross.
Traditional Torajan ancestral houses like these are called tongkonan. These iconic structures lie at the center of Torajan social life, linking ancestors to living and future kin. What are the origins of this unusual architecture though?
According to myth, the first tongkonan were said to be have been built in heaven on four poles with a vaulted roof of Indian cloth. However, ethnographic research by some anthropologists suggests the Torajan people migrated to Sulawesi in boats from mainland Southeast Asia and this architecture symbolizes those origins in the shape of boats. Still others believe they represent space ships, literally linking Torajans to their mythical heavens — in a sense, a gateway to the cosmos.
For the living it is quite a party, complete with dancing, chanting, poetry, many animal sacrifices and subsequent feasting. At the one I visited, hundreds of people were in attendance with water buffalo and squealing pigs being sacrificed by the dozen.
It is not for the faint of heart, though sitting around a rante funeral site watching the festivities with Torajan families starts to feel oddly like a family reunion after a while. Minus the visceral animal sacrifices and colorful, exotic ceremonies, Torajans are simply paying tribute to their elders as we all do. In Torajaland the deceased are celebrated and honored in a spectacular way.
In Torajaland the dead are buried in caves, hung suspended from cliff walls, or sheltered in stone tombs carved out of the numerous karst rock formations that dot the landscape. Such unusual burial rites embody the living culture and traditions of Torajaland, while offering a glimpse into the deep cultural past.
For the higher status deceased, stone graves are sometimes carved out of cliffs like these where spooky wooden effigies called tau tau guard the graves. Often many generations worth of tau tau sit shoulder to shoulder, looking eerily down on trespassers.
Ahead on the trail a small boy holds up a skull and carefully places it on a rock. As I watch, he collects bones stacking them neatly in piles and tidying up the trail. He looks up and smiles as two other boys arrive to play. Their relaxed demeanor seems odd at first here in this place of death, but then I realize it too is a place of life. After all, this boy is probably tending the bones of a great-grandparent, maintaining a long tradition and serving as a lifeline to the ancestors.
Like emerging from the cave darkness, exploring Torajaland is like emerging back from a journey into the deep past. A place where dreams and reality mix and intermingle, where life and death have little distinction, where the songs of ancestors still ring over the hills.