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Published: August 6th 2007
After having waited from five-thirty am until a quarter past twelve for our flight to Wamena, we were not cheered up by the dodgy 'findus crispy pancake'-style aeroplane food. The morning had, frankly, been a nightmare. We had arrived in the rain and waited outside the airport for it to open, as they were late unlocking the building. Upon entering, there was no staff at the 'Trigana Airways' desk to exchange our voucher for a ticket, so we camped out in front of the desk, to be ready when it opened. Due to the rain, we knew there would be some delay, so we dozed off for a bit, and woke up to find that our flight was full, and ready to go! The lady who worked at the ticket office, had suffered a house flood that morning, so the other passengers had changed their vouchers at the check-in desk instead! We were waiting in the wrong place, and an announcement was obviously too much to expect. Little did we know that the next flight would be delayed by over three hours! Life was not made easier by the crowds of Papuans pushing to get their tickets, the surly staff who
A woman at the market
The string bags are important for carrying vegetables, grass, piglets or babies!seemed uninclined to speak to us in English or Indonesian, and the constant atmosphere of smoke and spit hanging over the dank terminal building.
Needless to say, we were glad to reach Wamena, and come face to face with our first tribal acquaintances, attired in nose-bones and gourds and wanting to say 'hello'. We prepared ourselves for the following day's visit to a nearby compound where we would meet the Dani people in their homes, and find out more about their primitive culture and customs.
The morning began sourly. After having been supplied with no electricity or water between about five and eleven the previous evening, we were a bit reluctant to pay the hefty bill. The resulting argument achieved no more than leaving a bitter taste in our mouths, and we soon cut our losses and hurried to meet a prospective guide, who was with another group of tourists, at a nearby hotel. We had discovered (luckily), that some other tourists had requested a traditional pig feast in a local settlement. We had already decided to stay a night in a village, but we were keen to join this group for the following day's festivities, thereby sharing
the large cost (pigs are expensive, you know). We paid our money, said our goodbyes, and headed off into the unknown, prepared for what would surely be our most remote destination so far.
On our way to the village of Jiwika, we stopped off at the local market. Cruising the aisles, followed closely by a gang of kids, we bought a few bits for lunch and some sweets and cigarettes for the tribespeople. Louise also bought a traditional string bag. We then boarded a scorching hot minibus full of the usual curious locals, and made our way to the village.
After some time, we were let off the bus in the middle of nowhere. All around was green, and hills rose in the middle distance. Our first activity was to go and see an old mummy that had been preserved for over three hundred years. Mummification of high status men used to be common practice in this region. Walking towards the site, it wasn't long before we had our first encounter with a local. A man in his traditional outfit (or non-outfit), approached us, beaming from ear-to-ear and shaking our hands enthusiastically. We continued, and as we approached
as they didn’t seem to know much more Indonesian than we did, and we certainly couldn’t speak their tribal language. We asked about the following day’s festivities, and we shared a book we had borrowed about local culture. The children leafed through, wide-eyed, as they recognised people from their own area, and marveled at the pictures of local landscapes.
After what felt like hours later, we looked at the watch, only to discover it was still really early. It became apparent just how slowly life moves here. There is very little to do. Having tended the crops and visited the market, the tribe's members have bags of spare time on their hands. Several more hours of sitting and talking passed, and after an energetic trek to a nearby village, it was time for dinner. The chief of the village, on learning that there were two new arrivals (us), had come from Wamena to meet us. We were given a very warm reception ideed, with the traditional welcome greeting (a firm hand-shake with both hands, accompanied by “wa wa wa wa wa wa…”).
While the rest of Indonesia are ramming rice down their necks by the bucket-load, the Papuans
feast on the sweet-potato every day of their lives. This is quite tasty, but there was little else to accompany it, and we soon had our fill. After eating, we sang tribal songs (more like chants really), and took in the incredibly unusual atmosphere. It was very smokey in the hut, from both the cooking, and from many, many cigarettes being smoked. Soon, we felt tired, and decided to totter back to our own hut for some sleep. Looking upwards on the way, we saw an incredible array of stars. With no light pollution or clouds, we could see everything the equatorial sky had to offer.
We had a most restless night, tossing and turning, and trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. Worst of all, we could hear the rustling of a small, unidentified creature, all night. We turned on the torch a number of times, but could see nothing. Eventually, it was morning, and we soon discovered the source of the panic-inducing noise. A village lady casually walked into our hut, and fished a small chick from a bag hanging on the wall. We did feel silly!
We had a little breakfast (you guessed it,
sweet potato), and prepared ourselves excitedly for the pig feast. Now, all the villagers were in their traditional dress, and the men began to position themselves for the beginning of the mock-fighting display. There were some outstanding headdresses on show, but nobody was better decorated than our chief, the oldest man of the tribe. Decorated with pig fat (they use this to keep warm) and his face blackened with soot, he was ready for action. Off he went to the village watch tower, as the tribe members gathered below with bows and arrows. We went to meet the other tourists from India/USA.
Soon enough, the action began. Tribal hollering resounded, and the villagers ran about madly, pretending to shoot each other down with their primitive weapons. Intermittently, they would run towards us, and make like they were going to shoot us with their arrows. David flinched in terror each time.
The threatening nature of this mock greeting changed as the tribe realised we were here in peace. Welcoming first David, as the only male member of the group, the tribesmen invited him to hold the bow and arrow and stand with them, in song.
We then entered
the circular settlement of huts, to be greeted by the women, who joined in the song and dance, welcoming the female guests. Louise was lifted onto the shoulders of one tribeswoman and carried around the group. The women continued to sing in tribal chorus, and Louise tried to join in with the strange noises/words.
The killing of the pig, signifying a celebratory welcome, began. Two men held the squealing piglet aloft and a third prepared an arrow in his taut bow. The pig squealed more than ever as the arrow pierced its skin. It was then made to suffer a slow death, as the men stood on its body and twisted the arrow. The tribespeople seemed to enjoy this process immensely. Next, the flinching pig was subjected to the removal of its ears and tail with a blunt bamboo knife, and carefully cut into pieces. Small village children fought over the intestines, which they played with between their fingers.
It was time to prepare the meal. Stones were placed upon a fireplace with large wooden tongs, and heated up. Then, they were positioned in a hollow, and layers of sweet potato, grass, and more stones, were carefully built
up. The last layer contained the pig meat, which had been wrapped in leaves. All but the small children joined in this process.
After some time, the food was ready, and the mound was carefully dismantled. The tribespeople sat amidst the steaming stones and grass, relishing the prospect of more sweet potato. The men and children polished off most of the meat (none was offered to the women, who had done much of the work!). Louise was glad to be a guest, which meant that she got a taste, and was also able to join some of the men-only gatherings, and observe their world.
After the 'feast', the women began to lay out their handicrafts in the hope of a few sales. Gourds, beadwork, string bags and other traditional artefacts were carefully arranged and held up for us to survey. Afterwards, the threatening rain finally struck in earnest, and we made our way back to the car, saying goodbye to our little village. It had been one of the most memorable parts of our trip so far, and we felt lucky to have had the opportunity to witness a life which is so dramatically different to our comfortable
western existence. Over time, these tribes will, doubtless, become more and more influenced by western culture. We know that in years to come, things will have changed here, but we hope that these people will be able to hold on to their heritage and traditions with some success.
It was good to be back in civilization after only a short time with this tribe. The slow pace of life and simple existence was actually quite tiring and the cultural experience a little overwhelming at times. We were soon ready to leave Wamena and get our plane tickets to Sumatra, for another chance to see the elusive orangutan!
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Michael
non-member comment
Amazing
Best Blog yet, hilarious entry - well Im sure you guys can laugh at it now, even the airport fiasco. Well worth the hasstle though meeting a truely primative tribe; something you will never forget and something that is very difficult to come by in this global village of ours. Was it as basic as it sounds? Was there pro evo or sky TV in one of their huts? Looking forward to the next entry Michael