When Papua is free…..
I entered Papua by a frontier town named Sorong, a giant cargo container with no centre, a mix of Indonesians and Papuans. The Papuans are delighted to meet me, as soon as I say I am from Australia they reply with 'Free Papua'. I almost feel proud to come to come from Australia, the 43 Papuans given asylum were a fantastic bit of publicity for Australia on this island, although not in the rest of Indonesia. This place brings back a flood of memories from Nicaragua, reggae, the heat that sends me to sleep and the pervasive slowness. It is almost Australia, the plants, the ferns, some of the Papuan tribes, especially the highlanders look so similar to Aborigines I wonder if they could tell the difference by sight. I am on a pure seafood diet, the snapper, the fish in general is so good, to add chilli, or any sauce is to ruin it. I had a preconception about this place, maybe from the rascals of PNG, that it would have an edge of violence, but the people are soft, like the Indonesians, sweet and gentle.
Sharia law and homosexuality
After the magnificence of Toraja I decided to embark on my favorite form of traveling, set a destination and see what’s in between. I headed for South East Sulawesi, the least touristed part of the island. The bus wound through the lush mountains covered in dense jungle. My fellow passengers informed me of a village named Tobako, fitting for a nation of smokers. It was a good recommendation, friendly people, I worked on my Indonesian, a dozen people took my phone number and I fell asleep under a tree on a beach. I received an SMS apologizing for my loneliness, no one there spoke any English but he did, asking if I needed a guide or wanted to meet. I replied in the affirmative.
Tana Toraja
Tana Toraja is a world held firm, locked in the South of Sulawesi, their culture intact and alive. It was the topography of the island that brought me here and coincidence at a bus terminal that led me here. The Torajans have a fascinating culture, converted to Christianity on the second attempt, the missionaries tried to nuke the culture, their funeral rites, the Torajan’s resisted. On the second attempt they fused Torajan culture and Christianity succeeding where the attempts of Islamic missionaries had failed. Till today they build wonderful arced shaped houses, a banana sitting on its apex, raised from the ground, wonderfully decorated in intricate painting grand in symbolism, adorned with buffalo horns, painted roosters, a veritable bamboo palace. The houses are lined on a north-south axis, on the west are the houses, the east the rice granaries. The people sleep to the east where life starts, the dead to the west where life ends. It is in death the Torajan culture comes to life, status is made, ancient rites are kept alive. With death a person passes from our world to the second world where they wait in limbo for their funeral ceremony. The family gathers its members, pools its money for a lavish slaughter of buffalos. The blood of the buffalo’s transports the soul from the second world to heaven.
