Toraja - The Art of Life with Death

Toraja
The Art of Life with Death
by Collin Key

Toraja - The Art of Life with Death
This is Gonna. Gonna is a Toraja girl who lives in Tana Toraja, the central highland
of southern Sulawesi. When I was Gonna's age this Indonesian island was still named
Celebes and - from our point of view - marked the end of the world. In those
days no visitors found their way into these tropical rain forests but a handful of anthropologists
and some adventurers like the
French Elisabeth Sauvy who, in 1934, published
her travel diary "A Woman among Headhunters“.
Their stories usually told of bizarre
rituals and terrifying death cults.
Meanwhile, however, we have learned that
the world is round and knows no end. Like
children all over the world Gonna will grow
up using a smartphone and the Internet. In
school she will be taught mathematics and

foreign languages. Gonna is a little whirlwind full of energy and curiosity. She is definitely
the child of a modern world.
Yet her home is a special place, indeed. All these adventure stories were not entirely
made up. The house Gonna lives in is named Maruang and its roof is bent
like a buffalo's horn. The Toraja call this kind of house tongkonan. They deeply cherish
them for they are the dwellings
of their forefathers. The title photo
shows Goona beneath the roofs of
her tongkonan as if under the protection
of all her ancestors. They
may long be gone yet all her dead
relatives are still close to her and her
family and part of their life in a very
real sense.
Ne‘ Yayu is the eldest of the family.
He permitted my son Robert and
myself to stay in Maruang tongko-

nan for some time to start exploring the wondrous Toraja world from there.
Often Gonna already awaits us when we return from our excursions in the late afternoon.
Joyfully excited she jumps across the yard to greet us, eagerly waiting to see
the new pictures I have taken with my camera. She escorts me to the veranda of our
tongkonan where we sit down to view the images.
Every scene is commented on and provokes explanations and stories which she keeps
on telling us without break - in a language that unfortunately I do not yet understand.
Our lack of understanding is made up for, however, by her contagious enthusiasm. The
photos that attract her strongest attention are not, as one might assume, the images
of landscapes, villages or even people she is acquainted with but those of graveyards,
the rock cut tombs and burial caves of her ancestors.
"tongkonan orang mati“ she exclaims - the dwellings of the dead.
Coffins, skulls and bones - for Gonna such things bear no terror. Again and again
she wants me to show these images to her.
And thus we start off our journey in the realm of the dead.

Tongkonan Orang Mati
The ancestors welcome us as we enter the funeral grotto of Tampangallo. From a pile
of skulls they look at us through empty eye sockets. The unprepared visitor cannot
but remember the old stories of headhunting and other bizarre practices at this sight.
Is this the way to treat your own dead relatives? Or rather your enemies?
But the first impression
of neclect is wrong. How
much they are still cared
for is revealed by a little
detail which at first glance
might even look a bit
untidy: cigarettes lie scattered
among the skulls. These
are gifts of the visitors who want their
dead forebears to enjoy
the beloved scent of cloves which is so characteristic of Indonesian cigarettes.
Upon their death the corpses of this cave had been embalmed and laid into coffins
made of tropical woods. Many years later, however, once the mummies had finally
decayed their osseous remains were taken out to make room for those yet to come...

Then we meet the dead in person: Around the corner they stand up on the wall
looking down on us with round and marvelling eyes.These are the tau-tau, life-sized
wooden effigies of the deceased.
Among them, to our great surprise - a Frenchman? Look at the second figure from
right: Short trousers, moustache, fair hair neatly parted! Nobody could explain that
effigy to me. It remains a riddle.
The American anthropologist Kathleen Adams recalls in her book "Art as Politics"
(2006 University of Hawai‘i Press) her first encounter with the tau-tau of Ke‘te‘ Kesu‘
village. She was then accompanied by two young boys from the village:
"While Siu picked up a bone and idly tossed it between his hands, Lendu nodded towards
one of the effigies... 'This is Ne‘ Lele‘... We felt sorry for Ne‘Lele‘, to see her in rags,
her breast poking out, so Mama gave her a sweater‘.“
Lendu then introduced the anthropologist to many more of his ancestors all of whom
he knew by name. To him this graveyard visit was rather like a family reunion.
According to traditional belief the tau-tau are bombo dikita, visible souls. They house
the spirit of the deceased person. Their relatives visit them regularly, offering cigaret-

tes and even Rupiah notes. They chat with them and keep them informed about the
latest family affairs.
Subsequently to the missionary activity of their former Dutch colonial rulers, however,
95% of the Toraja population adopted the Christian faith. The predominantly
Calvinist-coined church suspected these chit-chats with the ancestors to be a sign of
superstition, or, even worse, of idolism, and condemned the use of tau-tau. Priests
would refuse to attend funerals if a tau-tau was part of the ceremony. Christian Toraja
countered that their interaction with the tau-tau was not due to their religious belief
(aluk) but to tradition (adat), which they were not willing to give up. Moreover, even
in Europe people would use photos of the deceased at funerals without disapproval
of the church.
In a small restaurant specialized on dog meat we engage in conversation with a native
priest. Being of Roman Catholic faith, he has no vital problem with effigies. Yet he
rejects the excessiveness of Toraja funerals: "They may well financially ruin a family,
yet most people rigidly maintain the practice. Well," he concludes, "my brothers and
sisters are a bit stubborn at this." Their obstinacy, I assume, may have contributed a
lot to the survival of Toraja culture.

One of the most impressive
sights in Tana Toraja
is that of the burial cliffs of
the village of Lemo. Numerous
burial chambers
are carved into the stone
while the tau-tau stand on
balconies silently gazing
down into the valley.
In other places the
ancestors have been put
behind bars as a kind of
preventive custody: Theft
of tau-tau has turned into
a serious problem since
the antiquity market has
realised their value.

The most bizarre rite of Toraja culture - at least from our alien point of view - is definitely
ma'nene', the provision of fresh clothes to the deceased and their tau-tau. On
that occasion coffins are opened and the mummies taken out. Together with their living
relatives they will celebrate a cheerful family reunion. Death is a part of life - to
Toraja people this saying has an utterly tangible meaning. Neatly vested, the corpses
will re-enter their graves while the day after their tau-tau will be tended to.
We have been told that ma'nene' is being celebrated in the village of Londa but as we
arrive the spectacular first day is already over and we will only see the tau-tau ceremony.
Whether by mistake or deliberately, in order to avoid the rush of cameras, I do
not know. In general visitors are welcome to
all festivities of the Toraja and this includes
tourists.
In the same year 2015, American journalist
Amanda Bennett has had the opportunity
to attend a ma'nene' ritual. Her report and
photos of the event can be found at National
Geographic's online edition.

The Child Grave
For their smallest family members, Toraja people have quite a unique kind of sepulchre:
they bed them in the trunk of a large tropical tree.
According to Toraja belief, the realms of gods, humans and spirits are entirely real
places of the world and not abstract locations as heaven and hell are to modern Christians.
The region to the east is the realm of the gods. Human beings live in the north.
The west is the place of the deceased and spirits and ghosts dwell in the south. As a
human is born, he passes from the east to the north. Once he is dead he will be in the
west. By way of an extensive funeral his relatives guide the deceased to the southern
land puya, the place where the spirits dwell.
When a baby dies before it has grown milk teeth it is assumed that it has not yet completely
arrived in the west before dying. Hence it will not be sent on that long journey
to the south. Instead they hand it over to that large tree which will gently guide the
little spirit back to the eastern realm of the gods.

The Funeral
In the end his favourite buffallo was his doom. Something must have had startled
the animal. A moment of inattention and the buffalo's horn hit him in a fatal blow.
So we were told by Lisa, our guide, who accompanies us to the funeral. It is a morbid
irony that numerous waterbuffaloes will now lose their life in return.
Three months have passed since the accident. Three months which the deceased
man has spent at home in his bed. He has been mummified to stop decay. Apart from
this, his family has treated him like a person who has fallen ill - one that has moved
away from the north but not yet reached the west.
This is perfectly normal in Tana Toraja. Sometimes the deceased will stay home for
years. A Toraja funeral lasts between three to seven days, in rare cases even longer.
Hundreds of guests have to be entertained. Organizing such a celebration takes time.
Gathering the necessary funds does as well. And many families are not ready to say
good-bye too soon. They keep on with their routines, give drink and food to the deceased,
talk to him, let him partake in daily life.

Once the date for the funeral finally arrives the deceased
is laid out in front of his family tongkonan and a lavish celebration
is staged. Guests from all over arrive who are generously
catered for. Days of great elation and profound dolefulness
follow.
Visible for all the dead man has finally reached the realm
of death. He is ready now to depart on his last journey to
the southern land of puya where ghosts and spirits dwell.
It is a difficult voyage and his funeral is conducted to safely
lead him on his way. His celebrating kin and friends are his
protective convoy so to say. The larger the funeral, the more
guests and visitors, the safer will he reach his destiny.
Having embraced the religion of the former Dutch colonial
masters, as the majority of Toraja people has, he may then
ascend from puya even further into the Christian heaven.

First to arrive on the scene are the pigs donated by the invited guests. Tied to long
bamboo sticks they are still alive and certainly suspect no good. But their terrified
squeaks are drowned by the voice of the emcee who announces through giant speakers
and with dramatic intonation the incoming guests as well as their donations to
the celebration. Each gift is neatly noted down in a large book for later reference, revenue
officers fill out the necessary forms.
Then the invited families enter the square in long rows. Dressed in their finest black
garments they circlet the heap of pigs with measured steps. Their succession is strictly
hierarchical, headed by the dignitaries and completed by the working people, as
they are called nowadays. In former times, when the word and the practice had not
yet been outlawed, they used to be called slaves. Toraja society is by no means egalitarian,
but on the contrary feudal in structure, differentiating between nobility, free
people and working men.
Some men form a large circle to intone a dirge which like everything else is being
drowned by the emcee's dramatic performance. More guests arrive while the ones
who came before are offered cigarettes and drinks. The whole scene seems like an
odd medley of grief and exuberance. A vivid carneval of death.

In lieu of a pig or even buffalo we have offered a carton of Indonesian clove cigarettes
which, as our guide Lisa tells us, is the standard gift expected from tourists. Consequently
we are invited to sit down on one of the bamboo platforms that have been
constructed around the square to host the guests. The family already assembled there
kindly makes room for us.
Tea, banana chips and cigarettes
are offered to us, rice
and pork cooked in bamboo
tubes follow. Everyone
is friendly and welcoming,
people smile and willingly
allow me to take photos. I
am even invited to join one
of the processions and offer
my sympathies to the mourning
family.
No doubt, Toraja people
love their funerals.

The highlight of any funeral is the sacrifice of the buffaloes.
The horns of the animals sacrificed will later be exhibited on the
tongkonan's front pillar. They will enhance the dignity and prestige
of the house.
Bori village is renowned for its stone circle. Menhirs have been
erected in memory of great ritual celebrations well into the 19 th
century. When visiting Bori we accidentally met a mourning family
who had just finished the first day of funeral. After a nice
talk and some portrait shooting to which they consented we were
invited for the next day to attend the buffalo sacrifice.
As we arrive at the scheduled time carrying the obligatory carton
of cigarettes we find that our gift is uncalled-for today: Like
all other tourists who show up we are summoned to pay our entrance
fee.
It would be totally wrong though to conclude from this that tourists
are not welcome to funerals. On the contrary, as part of the
visitors' crowd they contribute to the reputation of the tongko-

nan of the mourning family. The more
guests the better the party.
In 1986 the village of Ke'te' Kesu' - today
a UNESCO world heritage site -
saw the ten-day funeral of its renowned
leader Ne' Duma. 300 kilometres away
at Makassar airport tourist officials distributed
pamphlets in Indonesian and
English language drawing attention to
the "truly unique Toraja event." Tens of
thousands of visitors followed the call
to what turned out to be one of the most
memorable funeral celebrations ever.
Being aware of the outsiders' disdain
for animal slaughter, Ne' Duma's family
urged Kathleen Adams, whom they
Ne‘ Dumas tau-tau in Ke‘te‘ Kesu‘

considered an adopted daughter, to explain the cultural value of the massive buffalo
sacrifice to the foreign audience. As an anthropologist, they expected her voice to be
compelling.
In fact water buffaloes are the animals most dear to the Toraja. They are fostered all
their life and don't have to do any farm work. The price of an average animal is about
1,500 US dollar while top- rated
buffaloes may reach the value of
a luxury car. Thus Toraja funerals
are a great financial burden.
"You spend your money on travelling,
we gladly spend it for funerals,"
I was told by a young female
tourist guide. Incidentally,
this is almost the same wording
Kathleen Adams reports her Toraja
family to have used on the
occasion of Ne' Duma's funeral.

Buffalo sacrifices are quite a bloody affair.The animals are killed by a clear cut through
the throat. Seconds pass until they slowly conceive that something is wrong. Some
buffaloes react at this point with a last defiant struggle, a moment not without danger
to the animal leader
and the crowd
of onlookers that
is even warned by
an English spoken
announcement.
Nevertheless,
neither this nor
their disdain for
animal slaughter
can prevent
the tourists from
pressing forward
chasing for the
best shot.

Tongkonan
The tongkonan is much more than a mere house.
Rather, it can be considered the focal point of the
social structure of Toraja society. A person's place
in society is determined by his affiliation to certain
tongkonans.
This is of even higher importance than blood relationship.
During her research Kathleen Adams
was 'adopted' to the tongkonan of Ne' Duma of
Ke'te' Kesu' village. Years later she met a native
Toraja at her American university. Both tried to
make out if they had common 'family' ties. In order
to do so, she reports, no names of people were
referred to but solely names of tongkonans.
The tongkonan takes centre stage in most rituals

and celebrations which in return enhance its reputation and thus the social prestige
of the affiliated family. As in the case of funerals many of these festivities pose a considerable
financial challenge to the family which can only be met by joint efforts. Even
relatives that have taken jobs in faraway areas of the Indonesian archipelago - which
is quite commonly the case - or who have migrated to foreign countries are expected
to partake in and contribute funds to the wellfare of the homely tongkonan.

Thus the tongkonan strengthens the sense of community among people and by every
ritual related to the house the family's bond with their ancestors is renewed. Each
house has its unique lineage. The oldest and most prestigious tongkonans can trace
their lineage back to the beginning of time itself, when the first ancestors descended
from heaven on a huge ladder made of stone to settle in the tropical forest hills of Sulawesi.
"Only if we remember who we are we will not forfeit our culture," Lisa claimes during
our very first excursion. Lisa makes his living by explaining his world to the tourists
he guides. It is obvious, however, that this topic matters to him personally. "I had to
learn all the names and relations of six generations back in time. That certainly wasn't
easy. Yet only if you know your ancestors you are able to retain your identity."
The concept of 'identity' is quite in vogue in anthropological literature but rather rarely
heard in common talk. The fact that Lisa uses the term might be seen as an indication
that the vast anthropological work written about Toraja society influences that
very society in turn. It changes the way people think about themselves.
The typical Toraja village is made up of two rows of buildings with an empty square inbetween. The row of tongkonans
is always facing north, the direction of human life, and is mirrored by the row of smaller rice barns (alang).

Tourism may have a similar
impact, too.
As mentioned before, Toraja
society is of feudal character.
Traditionally, large
funerals and buffalo sacrifices
as well as the construction
of a tongkonan used to
be confined to the nobility
and free men while ornamental
decoration of the
houses and use of tau-tau
used to be a privilege of noble
men only.
In tourist marketing, however,
all this counts as 'typical
Toraja.' Nowadays most

Toraja of whatever status identify with these
cultural symbols and feel proud of them. So
does outside influence endanger the authenticity
of tradition? Might it serve to turn genuine
culture into mere folklore?
Kathleen Adams rebuts these fears. In her
book she argues that the adaptiveness of Toraja
society to new influences is actually a precondition
to preserve their culture through
the changes of time. They face the transformations
of their environment with self-confidence
and adjust them to their needs. Only
thus they were able to embrace the Christian
faith without losing the way of their ancestors.
An old and notably splendid tongkonan. The many horns piled up
on the front pole give evidence of many buffalo sacrifices and increase
the prestige of the house. The floral ornaments are proof of
the nobility of the family whose ancestors seem to have been active
headhunters as well: human skulls are laid out on the high ledge.

The Wedding
As fundamental as it seems death is of course not the only important topic in Toraja
life. Having been told of an upcoming wedding we mount our scooters and drive
to the place. We go there on chance as we don't know anybody of the wedding party
and have not been invited. But again we are kindly welcomed and invited to join the
other guests on their bamboo platform. Our standard gift though is met with some
sneering glances: cigarettes are obviously reserved for funerals and we make our carton
quickly disappear in our bag.
No doubt the wedding is a gaudy affair with rewarding scenes for a photographer. In
general, however, the ceremony is rather formal if not to say stern. None of the jolly
mood that is so vibrant at funerals. The dignified entry of the bridal couple is followed
by some rather short performances of music and dance after which time slowly passes
with seemingly endless speeches. Finally the guests are feasted with a fine meal.
That photo of the standing bride and groom which I shot somehow reminds me - I
beg your pardon - of the annual congress of the Chinese communist party.

Maruang Tongkonan
When our guide Lisa asked his relatives at Maruang if we might live in the tongkonan
for a while his request wasn not met with unanimous approval. Foreigners in the
house of the ancestors? Finally Ne' Yayu, the eldest, took a decision and told Lisa that
we were welcome in Maruang.

As is the case with many tongkonans nowadays, Maruang stands partly empty. The
lower level is occupied by Novita and her daughter Gonna while nobody resides on
the upper floor. The rest of the family has constructed new houses to the sides of the
old mansion of the ancestors which provide facilities for a life more comfortable.
Thus we move to the upper floor which houses the traditional living quarters: a large
central room with two smaller chambers to each side. The plain inside of the house
contrasts sharply with its abundantly decorated facade.
No one speaks English in Maruang,
not even Novita who teaches
Japanese at the local school. Gonna
is the only one totally unimpressed
by this lack of mutual understanding
and she keeps on chit-chatting
with us all day long.
What a pity that I cannot write
down her stories.

The kids of Maruang play ball
Time for the ride to school

Lisa chatting with his
relatives
Grandmother roasting
fresh coffee

Thank you
to Ne‘ Yayu‘ and the family
of Maruang Tongkonan

Toraja
The Art of
Life with
Death
copyright 2016
Collin Key