We paid the boys their rupias, and flagged down the same Makale bemo, this time to disembark at the Lemo turnoff, for another two-kilometer trek to another sheer rock face. Big black butterflies with turquoise tails followed behind us. High above were two rectangular cut cave balconies with packed rows of effigies, eyes wide shut looking down, wooden hands with outstretched palms extended to receive offerings, and bestow blessings in return.
They were different carved heights and painted skin tones. One man wore a faded green shirt and jodhpurs. Another woman had a black dress and a red bandana. But there were common qualities to all the Tau-Tau. Their bags for traveling into the next world may have slung over their shoulders, but their clothes were tattered, and their expressions were emotionless, vacant. They looked tired.
They should have been, for the sights they had seen on their horizon. And the songs they had heard.
Kaloe’ sambali’ Manda’
Pentia’ lambe’ko mai
Lakiperapi onimmu
.
Parrots over there on the Manda’
Fly long and far on the way here
We’re going to take up your song.
From the time a raid was planned, the expedition members were placed under a strict prohibition against eating foods made from palm or bamboo. The men commonly wore necklaces of octopus shells, which had to have been imbued with efficacy by a woman or no heads would be taken. The shells must have still been dripping with seawater at the time of the rite. The Toraja equated the dribbling seawater with the ejaculation of semen.
All warriors carried presents from a woman- a piece of cloth tied around the hilt of his sword, a penis-sized piece of wood, sucked during the raid, menstrual blood obtained by the man inserting his finger into a woman’s vagina, and a tobacco quid taken from between a woman’s breasts while she is sleeping. Sexual interest of any kind during the entire period of the raid was forbidden and would likely result in death. Without the presents, the warrior might not only obtain no heads, but also possibly die. Each man carried special rice prepared by a woman, alone in the middle of the night. The rice must be pure white and none of the grains should be broken. Any breach of protocol would abort the raid.
Malallengko toibirrin
Tomatilampe bambana
Lembum matil langkam borin.
Watch out you on the horizon
You low on the foot of our land
The blackened hawk is heading there.
The departure of the expedition was always at night
From an assault camp men crept into the enemy village and placed ash in a mortar there. They tried to get near enough to a sleeping member of the village to drop ash into their mouth. Under no circumstances was the head to be taken at this stage. The actual assault took the form of a general scrimmage, free of all ritual and rules, but one- it was absolutely forbidden to look at, let alone touch, the genitals of an enemy. This would bring misfortune.
No relative value was placed on male, female or children’s heads, but if too large a number were taken, the surplus was simply thrown away into the bush, on the return journey. (If a warrior lost his own head in the course of a raid, his body was abandoned, and his soul became a dangerous wandering spirit luring other headhunters to the same end.)
The remaining heads on the return trip, carefully carried in the warriors’ arms, were caressed, sung to, addressed and fed pre-chewed banana and other such foods. The warriors, prevented from re-entering their own village, because of their contamination, were fed with ginger by a woman directly into their mouths, and showered with dry rice.
When the men were finally allowed back into the village, they were met by jealous and possessed women, who tried to steal or bite the heads.
Before they returned to their homes, the men were required to sit down with the women seated opposite them and sing various appropriate chants in antiphony, like Pacific Chorus frogs in the spring.
Sambanuami tobalu
Satando’mi ana’bium
Santanetemi u’bu’na.
One homestead the place of widows
One hamlet the place of orphans
One mountain the place of the graves.
During the festival which followed, the heads were referred to as ‘Gifts from the Wurake,’ a category of very high spirit, capable of ending a period of mourning. After ‘The Feast of Bamboo Knives,’ in which the villagers attacked and cut the remaining flesh off the head with bamboo knives, the skull of the dead was installed in a special building.
“They look tired.” Said Robyn.
“They are.” I said.
“And some are missing their heads.” She said.
We had an early start in the morning.
“You leave today?” Asked the desk clerk. We nodded in the affirmative.
“You have fun in Tanatoraja?” She asked. We nodded a little less, to keep our heads on.
The name of the bus line ran the entire length of its fusilage. Batutumonga. We left the pristine cultivated valley of cassava and maize, wet rice terraces on the surrounding slopes, and climbed the cloud-covered eastern range of the central mountains. Our driver wove around the cloves and coffee drying in patches on the road, and Robyn and I opened our window to catch the sweet spicy scented alpine air, and views, and the most beautiful butterflies in Kansas.
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