Ma’nene: When Caring for the Dead Is an Act of Love
ApAfterthe rice harvest, it was time to tend to the dead in a small mountain village in territóT Toraja, ttime to remove the mummified bodies from the coffins, cleanthem gently with aisbrush and let them dry in the sun, dress them in new clothes, talk to them, and put them back comfortably in their boxesboxes atis to promaximum ma’nene. It is away to celebrate family ties and give thanks for a successful harvest.
It was Simon Karaeng who welcomed me when I arrived in Batan, a small village in the Pangala, northwest of Rantepao, on the island IndonisSulawesi Sulawesi. I noticed Destalia, her daughter, wearing a burgundy burgundy fleece jacket and a mark on the tip of her nose that caught my eye; but I didn’t notice Merlin, Simon’s younger sister, with long, straight black hair, whose deep gaze would mark this special day in the village of Batan.
It was the day of May’Nene for the family Karaeng and, as good manners dictate, I handed him a pack of cigarettes as an offering before heading to an area of the village where people were gathering near the tongkonan — the traditional houses tOrayas. But we had to wait for all the relatives to arrive, and, perhaps because it was market day in Pangala, many people were still missing. It is customary for the whole family to gather to see the deceased one last time, perhaps to help open the graves and remove the mummified bodies from the coffins, cleanthemgently with aisbrushes, change their clothes into new garments and place them comfortably back in the coffin inside the tomb.
For the Toraja – “the people of the mountains” –, who resisted the Islamization that spread throughout the archipelagoisin the southis16th and whose culture views death not as the end, but as a passage, the soul’menand (“tratar of the ancestors”) is an actof love and gratitude: thecherish the fact that they can once again be physically close to the people they love, but have already passed away. It is a specialkindkind of family reunion, so to speak, with the particularitythat not everyone is alive.
“We are happy to be able to see them again, to take care of them again. It’s alsoaa way to give back and thank them for everything they’ve done for uswhilewhile they were alive, and it’s a pleasure to be able to continue caring for them after they’ve passed away. And we’re happy because we know they’re happy that we’ve come to care for them apthethe harvests,” Meyske explained to me Meyske, my hostess in the village toraja of Labo.
The rituals of ma’nene can only take place after the rice harvest is over, on dates set by the villagers, usually starting in mid- of AAugust. This is because, in Toraja, it is believed that if they do so before the harvest, the rice will be ruined. It is common to hold the festival only every two or three years, but, unlike in other villages, in Batan the ritual of ma’nene is held annually.
Perhaps that is why the loss of a father, Yohanis, is so evident in the tear-filled eyes of Merlin. He died of natural causes in FFebruary 2024 and, at the request of the family,remained staylong at home. In the toraja, when someoneisdies, it is consideredmerely “sick” untilis until his funeral takes place. His body is mummified and kept at home for manyyears— sometimesisdecades –, upis that all family members sayfrom him and the famhashas the financial means to organize a proper funeral. Atis there, and with the dead merely “sicks” they continue topart of daily life in the house— family members talk to them normally, give them food and cigarettes, asas if they were still present in the world of the living. In the eyes of tOrajas, only on on the last day of the funeral do they actually die.
The funerals, which can last up to five days, are another of the defining moments of the culture Ooraja. They believe that the spirit’s fate depends on the family’s devotion and love, so the family’s commitment to the funerals is taken to the extreme. The ceremoniesófuneral mobilize entire villages, with sacrificess ofbuffalo and pigs, dancethe, cancient and the presence of family members coming from far away. More than just farewells, funerals are community gatherings and demonstrations of solidarity and prestige.
But the expectations surrounding funerals can be a burden for the living. A buffalo can cost many thousands of euros (especially albinos, the epitomethe height of prestige and social status), and at a lavish funeral,more than 24 buffalo– the nthmagicagical at which point the family is entitled to have a tau-tau, the nearly life-size wooden effigies that represent the deceased and reflect their status and which, placed in prominent locations, such as caves or cliffs, serve to shelter their spirits and act as protectors of the living. Even so, the funeral does not is the end of everything in the mountains of Toraja, largely becausereasonsthe ma’nene. In the case of Yohanis Karaeng, 18 months after the funeral, it was time for Simon and his family to see him again.
The Antó,Simon’s hat, wearing a short-sleeved black shirt with the inscription “Rest in love Yohanis Karaeng”, it fell to Missto open the door of the family tomb, situated alongside a dozen other tombs atop a hill overlooking the rice paddies. She did so with the same matter-of-factness as , a blade of grass in his mouth,and serene— in short, with the same matter-of-factness with which his relatives had earlier singed a dog’s fur with a blowtorch and carved its meat into small pieces for the lunch of those present.
The coffins were then placed on the floor, in the spacein in front of the family tomb, so it was time to open them and remove the bodies of the deceased. Not only Yohanis, but alsoisRatte Limbong, themother of Simon, and also of Tangdiasik, the grandfather, and from Nonie Karaeng, the sixth of 13 siblings of Simon, who died in Kalimantan, in 2023, but whose body was taken to Toraja,as tradition dictates. Because a resident of Toraja, even if they leave in search of a better life elsewhere, always returns to Toraja. Even if it is only after death.
Once the coffins are opened, family and friends— some from neighboring villages who had come to help with the other’nene –startedcleaned the cleaning tasks. First, with a broom, they removed the bulk of the dirt from the stiffened bodies still lying there. Then, they lifted the bodies from the coffins, removed their clothes, worn away by time, and began to clean them carefully with brushisbrushes, of the pés to head.. Next, the bodies of the deceased were laid out to dry in the sun for a few minutes before being dressed again in clean clothes. It was the perfect moment for family members to take photos with their departed loved ones, playing with them and lifting them into the air, facing the rice paddies below, as if to give thanks for the last harvest. “See, look, so many people have come to see you?”” I heard Destalia say to her late grandfather Yohanis, as he posed next to him, pointing to family members and a few tourists who, like me, were witnessing the ritual.
Nonot deny deny that the care with which the Toraja treat their dead is so delightful and touching as disturbing. Amongthe many, I noticed a man, Simon’s neighbor, with his wrists turned inward and his palms facing the che, making downward movements as he pressed a washed pillow placed at the end of the coffin, thus ensuring that that thecushion was comfortable for the deceased Yohanis. I left Batanwith that image etched deep in my mindmind. It occurred to me that perhaps the people of Toraja treat their dead better than Western societiestreat their elderly— and that thought is truly disturbing.
Lost in these thoughts, Iit it wasn’t long beforeit that, after everything was thoroughly cleaned and tidied up, the time came to put the dead back into their coffins. Time to adjust the accessories, including necklaces, earrings, and beltsjewelry, place the shoes at the corner of the coffin, brush the face one last time to remove any stubborn debris, adjust the new clothes, dust the frames with photos of the deceased, and place them next to the bodies. All with great joy, as if it were, in fact, a pleasure to beonce again with their families— only they are dead. And it.
Just Merlin was feeling down, the sclerreddenedreddened by the tears streaming down her closed face, her eyes fixed on her father Yohanis lying in the coffin once more, looking more handsome and well-groomed in the impeccable brown and gold shirt they had dressed him in this time. All that remained was to close the coffins again and place them in the graves to bring the family cleanup operation to a close.
A few days later, just before I said goodbye to the hostess Meyske, she askedme what I thought of the culture tnowand and everything I had seen— the funerals, the cemeteriesisin the rocks, in caves, and in the trees (the drinkétoothless ones are buried in the trunk ofand living trees, as if returning to the womb throughitof nature and were nourished by sap), the dead who remain at home for years, the ritual of ma’nene – as if to assess whether I was worthy of theshe was about to give me: “Do you want to meet my grandmother Martha? She hasbeen sick here at home for two years…”
I was kind of in shock, not realizing that over the course of those days I had been living with a dead person in my home. “It would be an honor,” I replied. We went downstairs, he knocked on the door as if asking permission to enter, and there, in the middle of the small room, was a coffin covered by a doily that Meyske uncovered so I could see the face of his grandmother.. During the time we were therewith the deceased, she told me how prcloseto her grandmother and how much she enjoyed hosting tourists in her home, while I didn’t quite know what to say or do, Meyske didn’t stop strokingwhite hair. “I still like to run my fingers through her hair, just like I used to. You know, itwe’ll be close and having her here at home is a way for me to say goodbye to her more slowly.” I had never thought of it that perspective.
Deep down, perhaps what Merlin lacked was that time to say goodbye to his father, little by little, slowly Merlin. A year and a half after his death, she may still be mourning him and seeing him again perhaps brought sadness back to her eyes. It could be. I couldn’t help but notice that, moments before the coffins were closed, leaning over her father’s coffin and with herheron his face, Merlin didn’tcould hold back her tears and wept like no other family member. Perhaps it was too closeclose to her father, just like Meyske of grand.. And perhaps that is why she was given the honor of closing the tomb,as if she were determined to be the last to say goodbye to her father, atis the prómaximum ma’nene. In a year, apóthe rice harvest, they’ll be together again.
