Dancing and Drugs, oh my!

Last night I crashed into bed, and then tossed and turned all night to the sound of endless drumming and the shine of a lightbulb that had no off-switch. Why, you might ask? First the music – we arrived on the first night of a three-day wedding celebration, which requires constant music for the duration of the event. Second the light – although villagers in Baya don’t have electricity from the government, they use generators, and like to sleep with the lights on – so they run generators all night and see no need for an off switch for lights!

I awoke this morning to the sound of roosters crowing and a ten year old boy asking – “Do you want to go to the waterfall to bathe?”. How could I say no! So at 6:30 am I along with the rest of the team piled into the truck and traveled about a kilometer to a 10 meter tall waterfall. After scrambling down to the base of the falls, I splashed around in the for about ½ hour until I was thoroughly cold – but I’d made a couple friends from the village too. Physical activity builds strong bonds more quickly than simply talking with folks here – I’ve found that after a hard day of work, or after a game (volleyball), people are more willing to be friendly, instead of simply curious/staring. Of course swimming fully clothed in a waterfall is not much of a bath, so upon returning to the village I bathed again, this time in the river.

After this refreshing morning, we ate breakfast (my life of rice and fish three times a day has commenced again) and then checked out the wedding celebration. It was far from anything I had ever experienced. I suppose I should back up a bit here and inform those who don’t know – Dayak peoples are the “natives” of Borneo. They inhabited this place long before Indonesia was a country, and even before the Dutch arrived. Each village has its own customs and even it’s own language (totally different from the Indonesain language). Dayaks make up almost 50% of the population of Indonesian Borneo, and even the governor of West Kalimantan is Dayak. Native Dayaks were marginalized by the Suharto government, and they are still a minority in Indonesia, both ethnically and religiously – all Dayaks are Catholic, Protestant, or Animist. Somehow old Dayak customs manage to mix well with the new Christian religions (introduced in the mid-1900s) and the wedding incorporates both Christian and Dayak traditions.

When we arrived at the wedding, this is what I observed: A newly constructed platform as an extension of an existing house, build especially for the wedding. In the center of this platform was a structure made from banana fronds, bamboo, rattan, and batik cloth, in the center of which was a jar filled with arak, or rice wine. Around this structure was a group of men playing gongs and drum, and next to them were two men gyrating in a slow dance. Encircling the players were village residents, watching the festivities and drinking arak from a woman walking around and offering the drink to all guests. In addition to arak, many of the men and women were chewing betel nut.

The villagers graciously offered my arak, and then an old woman grabbed my hand and asked me if I’d like to chew betel nut. I’ve encountered this plant before – in Thailand. It stains the teeth red, and I figured it must have some addictive and or drug-like qualities, since those who chew it seem to chew it constantly, like chain-smokers. Here, old women and men make betel-nut packets – they use the nut itself, a couple of different leaves, and a paste made from river snails (yuumm….) and stick the whole thing in the mouth. They chew, and spit bright red juice. The concoction is never swallowed. Locals think the nut makes your teeth strong because the teeth eventually turn black – but from what I can see, everyone who chews betel nut has very few teeth left!

Anyway, I chewed some betel nut along with the leaf and snail paste. It was one of the most nasty, bitter, definitely-not-food things that I’ve ever put in my mouth, and the villagers had a good laugh as I ran to the railing and spit the stuff out. But almost at the same moment, I realized why people chew betel nut – for its narcotic properties. I began to feel unusually warm, and slightly light-headed, and giddy. Of course my new village friends realized this, so they goaded me into a dance around the banana leaf structure – dancing apparently consists of stamping your feet and clapping in time to the music. Nice, but certainly not lindy-hop!

After my dancing and drug experience (at 10 in the morning, no less) I took a nap for about an hour before one of the villagers told me to come watch the pig ceremony. We walked to a pig pen where the villagers were gathered around, nervously waiting for…a woman to throw water on the pig. When you throw water on a pig, it throws water – and feces from its pen – back at you. Somehow this fact got lost in translation and after the water-throwing event I was covered with stinky pig-poo. So I went to wash in the river before the next event of the day, a ceremony where a live pig is beaten with a live chicken. Yes, this falls in the category of animal abuse – but of course I can only watch and smile. Next, a large basket of uncooked rice is prepared. Villagers must fight to win the basket, and whoever wins is…THE WINNER! These events are like carnival games for children, and as far as I can see have very little to do with the actually marriage of two young people.

In the afternoon I decided to clear my head and take a walk to another village, about 2 kilometers away. I was happily walking down the road, enjoying the quiet and the heat, when a motorbike roared up with two men. The man in the back got off the motorbike and asked where I was going, and why I was alone – typical questions in Indonesia. Then he started walking with me – which was fine, except that he complained every step of the way! How hot it was, how far to the next village, the fact that he didn’t have shoes, the fact that he was embarrassed to be seen walking instead of riding a motorbike, how this trip was going to make his skin even blacker. My peaceful walk thus turned into a good story of a man who was willing to bear black skin to spend some quality time with a foreigner who just wanted a few moments alone.

Returning to the village that afternoon, we immediately began our mapping meeting. As we did last year, this year we are mapping villages – but just three of them, and all Dayak. Thus the work is more or less the same, but the place is different. Here, in Baya, a land use and border map already exist, hopefully making our job easy?!? Mapping meeting finished, we bathed in the river, washed our clothes, and ate dinner, then headed to the wedding. Because they’d been downing arak all day, everyone was drunk, and madly dancing around the banana structure. They pulled me in using physical force and I joined the craziness for about 10 minutes before retreating to the quiet of the dining room, where I ate my first pork in Kalimantan. Delicious! How glad I am that I’m not a vegetarian here…