Munying, a Dayak traditional healer

The Jakarta Post , Jakarta | Fri, 09/27/2002 12:00 AM | Life

Munying is not much different from everybody else in his village. Living in a four meter-by-five meter wooden house in Tanjung village, Jalai Hulu district, he makes a living as a farmer.

But he is also known as a healer, or baliatn. Since childhood he has never been much interested in religion. ""I can't comprehend religion,"" he says.

""Once I had an illness that was hard to cure and I almost went mad,"" he recalls.

He suffered for a long time, but Hangiq, a baliatn from Air Dua, healed him. Since then, he has studied the arts of the healer so he too can help others.

As a baliatn, Munying leads a different life than people of other Dayak subtribes. He must, for example, be able to fast for seven days. There is also a period in which he can eat only certain foods. And he must be able to stir-fry seven grains until each forms something like a cracker.

A baliatn can eat only three grains, and must dump the rest on the ground. In a barayah rite (Dayak Jalai-Ketapang), refraining from eating certain foods and fasting are compulsory. Without this process, one cannot be a legitimate baliatn.

Payment for the services of a baliatn are large earthen jugs, plates, bowls and so forth, suitable to the disease cured. If someone is cured of an illness, then he must give the baliatn six plates, a machete and a chicken, plus some rice. Sometimes, the healer will not take this gift. So, a healer is in essence a volunteer worker, and cannot be blamed if his healing powers fail him.

Munying says he does not regret becoming a healer, because it was his destiny. To be a healer, a person must suffer. Understandably, only a few people are able to qualify.

Healers from Dayak Ketungau Sesat also have their own superstitions. They must not walk through a cemetery. They may not divulge their supernatural partner. And after healing someone, they can't go home alone.

Then the healers -- also called manang -- must not eat certain foods. They also are not allowed to refuse a request to heal someone.

""Even if there are hurricanes or rainstorms, I must go to a patient's house even though I have to walk,"" Munying said.

To be a healer is to assume a heavy social responsibility indeed. There is little economic gain. Almost all Dayak tribes allow a healer to receive their fees only in the form of goods. A healer cannot set his fees. The sick person gives something to his healer voluntarily. If he can afford to give a healer only some plates, the healer must accept this gift.

It is a social profession, as such a Dayak healer lives a modest life. As being a healer entails heavy consequences, not many Dayak youngsters are interested in this profession.

--Erma S. Ranik

Madurese leave shacks, start life anew

The Jakarta Post , Jakarta | Mon, 08/12/2002 12:51 PM | Life

Erma S.Ranik, Contributor, Pontianak, West Kalimantan

Clothes are piled up in Noriah's shack in a refugee camp at Pontianak Haj Dormitory. She is getting ready to leave the place.

For three years, Noriah, 58, her husband and their six children have lived in the four meter by six meter shack. They fled to safety when in March 1999 ethnic rioting broke out in their home village in Sabaran Sungai, Sambas regency.

Now, along with dozens of other displaced Madurese families, her family are being moved to their new home in Kota Baru, Pontianak municipality.

""I'm happy we can leave the camp now,"" she said, her face beaming with happiness when packing up and getting ready to leave.

The refugees are vacating the camp on the instructions of the local administration, not of their own will. The regional administration decided that they could no longer stay in the haj dormitory because the June deadline for them to leave voluntarily had passed.

The data compiled by the Foundation for Victims of Sambas Rioting (YKKSS) shows that 68,394 people or 12,499 families from Sambas have become refugees.

They are staying in three places: Bengkayang regency, Pontianak regency and Pontianak municipality. Pontianak municipality received the biggest number of refugees (39,735), followed by Pontianak regency (18,878 people) and Bengkayang district (10,370).

They were displaced in the wake of the 1999 ethnic clashes between the ethnic Madurese migrants and indigenous Malay people. Thousands of people were killed in the fighting.

Yakob Mohsin, a local government official who leads a team tasked with the Madurese relocation, said the displaced people were moved after long, careful preparations.

Reconciliation among the conflicting parties, he said, is still a daunting effort because the Malays in Sambas still fiercely reject the presence of Madurese in their area. That's why the Madurese are being relocated elsewhere.

West Kalimantan governor Aspar Aswin said the provincial administration had built houses for the refugees in Tebang Kacang, 240 houses, Parit Haji Ali 118, Parit Bahagia 556, Sidomulyo, 100, Pulau Nyamuk 117, Tanjung Saleh 19, and Sungai Asam 1,700. Most of the houses have been occupied.

""We offer them cash as part of their economic empowerment so that they will abandon the camps. Each family asked for Rp 20 million but we could only give them Rp 5 million,"" Yakob said.

After several rounds of negotiations, most refugees agreed to accept the funds although some families have stuck to their demand for Rp 12.5 million, and refuse to move.

Ibu Mulyana, a refugee from Marga Mulya village, Samalantan district, Bengkayang regency, said she decided to accept the money because there was no other choice.

""We found ourselves in a dilemma. If we don't accept the money, we will have nothing but if we do, the money is not enough to start a new life,"" she said.

She hoped that the local government would continue to pay attention to the refugees, especially to their welfare. She said that in the last seven months, the refugees were not given their rations. Previously a refugee would get a ration of 400 grams of rice a day plus Rp 1,500 for other food.

The provincial government is preparing more relocation sites to accommodate the tens of thousands of refugees still waiting in other camps across the province.

""As of late February this year, 4,438 families had been relocated,"" he added.

Eager to see the refugees leave, the local administration has simplified the bureaucratic procedures. Basically they can leave a few days after they register themselves with the neighborhood chief.

The vacation of the camps has proceeded peacefully. The police had deployed 3,000 personnel to oversee the transfer, according to spokesman for the West Kalimantan Police command, Comr. Suhadi SW.

In fact the refugees even demolished their own shacks.

But the relocation would not mean the end of the Madurese's misery.

Ibu Mulyana was right in saying that the money was insufficient to start life anew. Furthermore, the relocation may spark new conflict with the indigenous people in the new area.

A Madurese settler, Mathori, said, ""Locals refuse to sell us their (farm) land on various grounds. Some of them said they did not want to have so many people coming to their regions.""

The strongest rejection occurred in Pal Enam. In mid June, locals set fire to a number of shacks newly built by the relocated refugees. The situation was brought under control after security officers arrived at the scene.

These refugees are beginning to start their lives anew. Some still cherish the dream of going back to their home in Sambas.

""I'm from Sambas. I will return some day to the land where I belong,"" said Komariah, who was born and grew up in Sambas. -- The writer is an editor of Kalimantan Review.

Saving traditional Dayak tattoos

The Jakarta Post , Jakarta | Wed, 02/19/2003 8:01 AM | Life

Erma Ranik, Contributor, Pontianak, West Kalimantan

If you happen to visit Kalimantan, you may see many people with tattoos all over their bodies. In major towns, there are salons specializing in tattooing.

The salons lure would-be customers with tattoos of varying styles, crafted with more ""modern"" equipment and techniques. Few offer traditional methods and motifs.

Although tattooing is often associated with thuggery, the art remains popular even now. For the Dayak ethnic group, which consists of various minor ethnic groups, tattoos are part of their tradition, and to make it last, people innovate.

Among some minor ethnic groups, especially the Iban, tattoos used to be compulsory for both men and women, using traditional motifs and styles.

Over the course of time, however, people have increasingly come to shun the traditional styles and instead, they have ""modern"" motifs painted on their bodies. Now, only a few Iban retain the knowledge of traditional tattoo designs and techniques practiced by their ancestors.

Among the few Iban tattoo artists still loyal to traditional motifs is Patek, who lives in a longhouse in Nanga Sadap of Embaloh Hilir subdistrict.

Patek, who inherited the skill from his father, Sigi, has vowed to remain a specialist in Iban Dayak traditional tattooing.

""As a little boy, I would make tattoos on my brothers and sisters. As a novice in the art, I would do it just for fun -- piercing their skin with a needle,"" he recalled.

Patek said it took a lot of time and pain to learn the art of tattooing. Years of observing his father work was not enough to develop his own flair.

""I became skillful after I lived in Malaysia, where I practiced the art. First, I tried on only a few people, and the tattoos turned out successfully,"" Patek said.

To be an Iban tattoo artist is not easy, as the local custom demands a lot of requirements, including being certified through a traditional ceremony.

In the Iban community, both men and women may equally become a tattoo artist.

""In the past, there was an elderly tattoo mistress, but none of her children inherited her talent,"" Patek said.

As an artist, Patek -- whose name means ""thunder"" in the Iban dialect -- is well-versed in the various traditional motifs and their meanings. For example, an Iban will have a certain motif tattooed on his body after he returns from living outside the Iban community.

""If an artist drew the wrong motif, it would be a humiliation for both the tattoo-owner and the artist,"" he said.

The Iban boast many tattoo motifs that are to be painted on people with specific backgrounds or professional skills. There are, for example, motifs for women who have an exceptional skill in weaving.

One of the most difficult motif to make is called Uker degok, which is drawn on the neck. In the past, this motif was awarded to someone who had successfully ngayau, or beheaded an enemy for a ritual.

However, as ngayau has been officially banned, the motif has now become a part of Dayak history. Patek recalls that the last time Uker degok was made was in 1967, when many Iban were involved in the campaign to quell a separatist uprising led by Serawak Guerrillas and the North Kalimantan People's Army.

Patek, a father of three, is also knowledgeable about the tattoo style of another Dayak minor ethnic group, the Kayaan.

""The Kayaan style is the most complicated of all traditional styles I know. There are a great many intricate details that only the seasoned artist can accomplish,"" he said.

The Iban traditional motif is drawn in a single color, black. Patek uses lampblack as the main component, and will draw the motif directly, without an initial sketch.

""Once I get an idea about the motif, I will fill the needle with the soot, and there it goes -- my hand works on its own.""

To make a simple traditional motif, Patek needs about two hours.

""If you wish to have it (a traditional motif), I can do it right now,"" said Patek eagerly.

Working as a traditional tattoo artist is not a financially rewarding profession. Patek earns Rp 50,000 (almost US$5) for each service, and orders are hard to come by. He said that he has about three customers every month.

To make the ends meet, he also runs a business as a trader with his wife. In his spare time, he makes wood carvings for sale.

""It's not bad; it's enough to survive,"" Patek said with a smile.