Mentawais: The funeral

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Written by Josh Pama and Cait Pinheiro

It was close to the end of our trip in the Mentawai Islands when our host, Rikka, challenged us to get a diversity of experience. We were close to one of the most preserved cultures in the world and she quite rightly pointed out that it would be a sin to not interact with it. We had also become close with the family and there was a desire to share their world with us, so we gladly accepted the invitation.

Rikka organised a day trip to a local village Toralago on the main island of Siberut, a thirty minute boat ride from our surf camp on Masokut Island. The village sits in a bay with access to the outside world via boat. It is built out in a regular suburban grid with no more than fifty free standing houses with small gardens surrounding each house. The houses are relatively uniform and classless, constructed from local timber with some concrete for the foundations. Importantly, it’s the village where Rikka’s husband Walter grew up, and where they raised their son Albert. Naturally, our first stop was their family home. Rikka showed us around and fussed over everything that was apparently wrong - like any mother in the world would do. We were then paraded around the village to various family member’s homes, ushered over thresholds and greeted with enthusiastic smiles and plates of food wherever we went. Leo did most of the talking in Bahasa while we all warmly and dumbly smiled back.

After a particularly long stop for some delicious fresh crab and hot coffee, we bumped into two strikingly dressed elderly men. If one was to hazard a guess at their ages, they would’ve said mid to late 80s. They were strong and steady, with a sense of vitality about them. They had minimal clothing on: shirtless, with a pair of shorts and barefoot. Elegant lines of tattoos flowed across their chests into their arms and down their stomachs. They wore detailed beaded necklaces and head garments; arm bands thick with tropical leaves; cotton red towels wrapped around the waist with leaves sticking out the back to emulate a tail. Clad in radiant colours, they looked like exquisite tropical birds. Much like the family member’s we had met, they greeted and shook our hands with the same warmth and enthusiasm. Their presence was energetic. Rikka explained that they were Sikerei - the indigenous people of Siberut Island and they were in the village (from the Jungle) to conduct a funeral. She asked if we would like to come back the next evening to attend. We, unknowingly, said yes - sure - we would love to.

The next day dawned and the surf was pumping. We headed out for the morning session, dropping Josh, our resident natural footer, at a right-hander wave called Pitstops before anchoring at EBay, a left. Pitstops was maxing out, which means the reef was not always able to handle the size of the swell and was often closing out into an unrideable wave. Josh was forced into pitchy take-offs but rewarded with what he claimed was his best wave of the trip. EBay was producing its famous fast barrels ending on two unholy rocks sticking out at the end section. Everyone scored.

In the afternoon session the swell had got big enough that a novelty wave known as Baby EBay was working a bit up the point. No one was surfing it and there was nothing cute about it. Josh paddled the shoulder on a bodyboard just to be out there while Nik and Leo were doing some of their best surfing of the trip. A little while into the session, one of Leo's friends from a nearby camp joined us. He had a wild sun-fucked look in his eyes. He paddled five metres deeper from where they were sitting and took off in such critical places that he came out of one wave with a thumb-sized piece of coral lodged into his board. He left it in to keep it sealed from water and paddled straight back for more. His energy propelled Leo's competitive spirit, resulting in him collecting a new set of tattoos from the reef. Nik finished the session with a seemingly unmakeable late takeoff into the barrel, on a board better suited for ironing clothes, eliciting hoots of delight from the boats. Drunk on adrenaline, we inhaled some Bintangs into the sunset as the boat moved towards Toralago.

We were all torched by the time we arrived at Rikka’s house in the village and the thought of a late night was daunting. Rikka cutely placed us in her and Walter’s bedroom with a few extra mattresses on the floor. We took turns to shower and flopped around the bed conserving energy while dinner was prepared. We joined the family for a traditional and delicious crab and rice dish, paired with some Bintang quarts that Nik and Josh had sourced from somewhere. Full, tired and imbued with anticipation, we set off into the night.

The clouds overhead seemed to be threatening a storm and the air was muggy and warm. The first sign of the funeral was a faint drumming sound in the distance. We followed it until we arrived at a brightly lit house at the end of the street. The porch seemed to be larger than the house itself and it was crowded with people. The atmosphere was relaxed and conversational. We were told that only family were seated on the porch and so we stood in the street, taking in the scene. Nik was feeling festive and uncharacteristically lit a Sampoerna - an Indonesian cigarette with a sugared filter and cloves that pop when you smoke it. Naughtily he would breathe the smoke just into his mouth and then blow out again before it went into his lungs. Tipsy baby giraffe behaviour.

The centre of the porch was the only empty space we could see. The Sikerei we had met on the road were seated there, along with another, younger looking Sikerei man. The sides of the porch were lined with men and teenage boys, all seated either on the floor or on the slightly reclined inbuilt seating. The women sat observing from the space where the porch became the house. We were all initially unsure of how we felt about the womens’ apparent exclusion but it was later explained that it was ceremony dependent. As it was a man who passed away, his son, brother and other men were to be active participants in the funeral. After about fifteen minutes we were ushered onto the balcony of the next door neighbour. What ensued was a period of slow movement and lots of apparent “waiting around”. The Sikerei moved slowly around the porch, preparing gifts, smoking cigarettes, occasionally saying something to induce laughter from those nearby. A large group of the family left the home, guided by the Sikerei, and returned a while later. All the while, an off beat drumming came from the young boys who were responsible for heating the drums, made from snake and monkey skin, on a fire just outside the house. This relaxed period gave us the chance to chat quietly with the locals, asking them questions about the ceremony in broken English. It's worth noting that prior to the funeral we had not quite ironed out what a traditional Mentawai funeral entailed. We had attempted an inquiry, both in English and through Leo in Bahasa, and had received a mixed and semi complicated response. There was an order of events that needed to take place, gifts for the deceased spirit, an invitation for the spirit to move on. Rikka had mentioned that sometimes it was “difficult” for the spirit to accept the gifts, and thus to return to the home without complication. None of us paid much attention to what that could mean, or maybe we simply didn’t have the capacity to conjure up what we were about to experience.

The gears shifted when a young man on the porch had what resembled a seizure. He appeared to fly from one side of the porch to the other, his limbs rigidly held away from his body and his eyes firmly closed. He thrashed uncontrollably while a group of six or seven young boys quickly sprung to action to hold him down to not hurt himself or anyone around him. At this point, our view was obstructed and our belief systems were not yet adjusted, so we were unsure what was happening. Suddenly, one of the Sikerei was standing in front of Nik. He smiled, an unbelievably warm and cheeky smile, and stretched out his hands, beckoning for Nik to follow him. This was an invitation, one that we were not expecting to receive. We walked up the plank that led onto the porch and greeted the crowd with a series of nods and small smiles, trying not to draw too much attention to ourselves. We found a spot and melted into the surroundings as the focus was drawn back to the ceremony.

Now, from closer up we could get a better feel of what was going on. The Sikerei were perched on wooden planks, building up their life force for what was to come. The entrance had a few elderly men in semi-Sikerei attire, including the man who had guided us onto the porch. It seemed like their job was to create a relaxed atmosphere by providing “ballie” banter while relentlessly chain smoking. Men of different ages lined the four sides of the porch, they were observant and conversational. The gaps were filled by groups of adolescent men with a sense of anxious anticipation about them. They spoke to one another in single syllables and hushed tones. The start was signalled when the elderly men at the entrance were handed the adequately heated drums. They began to beat them in a fast and repetitive beat. Others joined in with anything that could make noise. The result wasn't particularly romantic but it certainly built the desired tension. As the energy built, the Sikerei men in the centre hands started to shake. The sound and hand motion brought them to their feet and soon they began to walk around the planks in an anti-clockwise circle. They began to chant and stomp their feet in the rhythm of the drums with their gaze fixed on the entrance of the porch. They walked around in a circle for about five minutes as the sound, pace of movement and chanting increased. At the peak of the energetic intensity, the Sikerei men walked to the entrance and then would usher what seemed like invisible parcels through the porch and into the house. Rikka leaned over and whispered, “they're inviting the spirits in’'.

Sudden motion. A boy starts thrashing uncontrollably as if possessed by one of the spirits. Without communicating his friends launch themselves at him, grabbing every limb to wrestle him to the floor. More motion, another boy, same response. Again, another boy. What the fuck is going on.

As the boys try to contain their friends in deep anguish, the clanking of drums continues. The Sikerei look like they start to feel the fatigue of holding the space. The youngest (about 40 years old) Sikerei starts to sway off of the figurative circle. His balance continues to falter until he falls into the same state of possession. As with the previously possessed boys, a group of men try to hold him down to keep him from hurting himself or others around him. The music slows and the elderly Sikerei men sit exhausted as the possessed men come back to their senses.

There’s a pause in the action. As soon as everyone has regained their strength, they go again. The same people get possessed. More join them. And on and on it goes. The ferocity with which these men are thrown across the room, and the positions that those restraining them have to put themselves in - it’s a miracle that people don’t come out with dislocations or even broken bones. This pattern continues for what feels like two to three hours. Each time chipping away more at our western paradigms of spirituality. We barely looked at or said anything to each other, but through the insights we had recieved earlier and conversations that were held the following day, we managed to piece together what was going on. The Sikerei were inviting the spirit of the deceased back into the house to make his peace. While they are calling the deceased, in this case the father, other spirits would take the opportunity to enter the space. Some were good spirits, others less so. These were the spirits that entered and possessed people. The Sikerei would offer the spirits gifts, they would invite them to join the ceremony, they would encourage them to leave those that they possessed alone. But most interestingly, they would apologise. Rikka explained this fully the next day - not all of the spirits that enter the space and possess people are necessarily “bad”. Sometimes, the living have done something to upset or offend the spirits. In this case, some of the family members were not in attendance, others had left early. The spirits were angry, and they made that known. The response from the Sikerei is not to loudly and ferociously banish the spirits - it’s to reconcile with them. Until that reconciliation is successful, the spirits keep coming, taking over the minds and bodies of the people in the room.

One young man was seated very close to us. He had been possessed early on in the evening and subsequently had a long pause while others around him were pinned down and the Sikerei circled. In this time he had to himself, he sat hunched over the edge of the porch feverishly smoking cigarette after cigarette. He appeared to be terrified, his eyes averted from the action in the room. A couple of hours in at the height of the tension, it was his turn. He endured possession after possession, each one increasingly violent and frantic. We saw some of the boys holding him experience a knee to the head, a locked arm smacked hard into the chest. His last possession was particularly bad and for about ten minutes he thrashed about, screaming in Mentawai various combinations of “ow”, “fuck”, and “kill me, I want it to stop.” All the while the Sikerei circled and murmured, with their eyes darting around the room at things that we could never hope to see.

Eventually a consensus was reached with the spirits and the ritual abruptly stopped. With everyone exhausted, a light set of formalities ended proceedings with a bowl filled with cigarette boxes making their way to the centre of the room as the final gesture. The Sikerei blessed the packets (much to our amusement), kicked back and proceeded to chain smoke them with their newly befriended spirit friends. It is only once this happens, once the spirits agree to join the Sikerei for a communal smoke, that the event has come to a close. One of the Sikerei turned to us and, as though absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, said in a casual tone, “cigarette?” The crowd laughed, and we joined in laughter, shaken from our reverie. At this point it was around two in the morning, so we reached a quick non-verbal consensus that we were ready to go. We exited the porch in a similar fashion to how we entered around three hours previously, nodding and smiling. The Sikerei man with the cheeky smile and kind eyes shook our hands and waved us off into the night.

The storm that had been looming overhead had seemingly been waiting for the opportune moment. We were a few metres shy of the house when the heavens opened onto us, followed swiftly by flashes of bright white lightning and a deafening clap of thunder. We all looked at each other in disbelief, only to break into exhausted and exhilarated giggles. We ran home through the wet streets of Torolago, led by Rikka and Walter, returning from an adventure that, prior to the evening’s events, would have only existed in our imaginations.

Powerful people

An excerpt about a gecko, from Cait

I noticed the gecko out of the corner of my eye. Geckos in the Mentawais can get to be pretty big, but this one was just shy of the length of my hand and pitch black. It wriggled in front of Nik who was sitting on the floor in front of me, and started making it’s way over to Josh. This is happening at the height of the ceremony’s action, people are being possessed in what feels like every corner and I’m trying to work out how to warn Josh that something is going to crawl up the leg of his pants. He jerks, somehow manages to keep a straight face, starts shuffling around on the floor. Leo has his turn, and in a series of sudden movements manages to ward the slippery guy off. Neither of them uttered a sound, but both had significantly wider eyes. This snippet came up in our debrief the following day, and Josh said that when he felt the gecko on his leg initially he thought he was going to be possessed. He was ready, he said, had surrendered to any outcome. And honestly, by that point, I’m not sure whether I would’ve been shocked or not. Maybe that’s the point here - you can be presented with something so far beyond your wheelhouse of understanding and within hours it can become a reality. Some of us approached that evening without any belief in a spirit realm. Some of us kind of believed in something but had never had any proof. But we were all curious and approached the event with open minds. Sometimes life can present you with experiences that fundamentally change your understanding of reality. Sometimes it’s just a gecko trying to crawl up your leg.

Leo’s version (I prefer Josh and Cait’s though) xx

Throughout the trip Rikka kept encouraging us to go visit a local village called Toralago. After nearly two weeks of surfing being the prerogative of each day, we reached a point of satisfaction whereby we wanted to experience something else in these beautiful islands.

So one morning we hopped in the boat, along with Rikka and Walter, and headed for the small village in the river inlet of Siburet where they have lived for many years. The visit consisted of walking around the small cement streets, waving at curious onlookers and visiting various members of their family - who all fed us like it was the first meal that we’d had in weeks.

With full bellies and a feeling of social exhaustion setting in, we rounded the las corner; aiming to head home, when two Sikerei came walking down the road dressed in full ceremonial outfits. The Sikerei are the local tribe indigenous to Siburet that still live untouched in some parts of the island. They are a shamanistic people with deep culture and rituals. Rikka spoke with them briefly, we all greeted one another and they walked off. Moments later Rikka asked if we wanted to attend a funeral.

It would be in two days from now, and back in the village. Not much more information was offered on the matter, and all the Bules agreed on the adventure contingent on the fact that we truly had been invited. Rikka assured us that we definitely had been asked to come, and that was that.

Two days later the swell was enormous. We had just had a rather special session at Baby Ebay, I had lost some skin to the reef and we found ourself in the boat, heading for Torolago once again. The sunset added to the euphoria in the air and we headed off into the unknown.

The whole crew was there to meet us at the beach. We settled into a Christmas bed arrangement in a large room and put on our finest clothes to attend a funeral… wait what. It kind of dawned on us how peculiar the whole situation was. During a great dinner of crabs, fish, rice and veggies we probed deeper into what we were getting ourselves into.

My Indonesian vocab fell short during most of these conversations, I think Rikka’s English also didn’t comprise of the necessary words to convey just what we were about to witness. All I could gather was that the funeral was a three day event. We were going to be joining it closer to the end, once it had been opened up to the rest of the village, and that we were attending as Rikka’s guests.

Nine o’clock rolls around and we walk out the door. The sky is dark and angry, threatening to storm. Quietly we walk down the dark street, Niklas drinks a beer, it’s a weird juxtaposing situation. In the distance we hear drumming, it gets louder as we approach.

We arrive at a large Mentawai-styled house: wooden in construction, with a large porch raised slightly off the ground, surrounded by inbuilt seating. There are over fifty people sitting there, a great throng of bodies packed along the outside edge of the porch - spilling inside the house. We find out that this is the family. In the centre are three Sikerei, two of which we had bumped into two days before. They are chanting and assembling blessing made from vegetation.

Throughout all of our minds is the drumming. A set of drums made from monkey skins and wood are constantly being rotated by young children who warm them by the fire. Steel instruments join the rhythm and the minutes begin to fly.

We are invited to sit on a porch alongside the main house, where we can stay until they invite non-family into the main house. From here we better observe the situation unfolding before us. The family and Sikerei ceremony maintains it’s stasis until the first person suddenly has what seems to be a seizure. Our brains can’t seem to comprehend what is happening and it passes by without us fully recognising it. Wait what? We look at one another dumbfounded. Rikka nods at us knowingly, it will happen again she says.

The second time is in full view. The youngest of the Sikerei starts to act drunk, staggering around through his counterclockwise dance. I imagine that his eyes start to roll back. And then with a spasm he launches head first into the floor and convulses with such force that could never be faked. About six young men and children from the family spring into action; spear tackling him in the gut and taking him to the floor. They assume a well practiced formation, each grabbing a limb and pinning him to the ground. He’s a big man though and a few young children go flying. The convulsing continues for a few minutes and then calm ensues. All the while the Sikerei continue their counterclockwise slow stomp.

Then we are ushered in with the rest of the family. What proceeded was - in Cait’s words - the longest and shortest five hours of our lives.

Powerful people

We nod in acknowledgement to everyone in the room, nobody really speaks to us but their eyes are friendly. Rikka has prepped them for our arrival and we’re ushered to a perfectly reclined seat on the side. A young boy sits on our left rocking softly, chain smoking cigarettes and looking very upset. All the while the Sikerei continue their counterclockwise beckoning of the spirits.

Rikka explains that the Sikerei are calling the spirit of the deceased back into the space. Yet she says that their call is heard by all the spirits in the area, some of which are unpleased that certain family members aren’t here to attend the funeral. These spirits are the ones possessing certain family members and Sikerei.

The spirits. Rikka explains

Some of the other fits

The young boy’s fit

The gecko

the arrival of the deceased

The holy cigarettes (tell Cait - don’t laugh)

the lightning storm and the run