Tears for Tentena

Daisy Hadmoko, Contributor, Jakarta

My heart cries for Tentena. For this small town on the edge of Lake Poso and its friendly, hospitable people. And so honest are the people that a fruit seller did not need to guard over his/her produce on the side of the road leading to town but just left a sign giving the price and a small tin to deposit the money for a purchase.

I first visited Tentena in October 1985, and the peaceful setting of hills overlooking the long 35-kilometer lake was so idyllic that I felt I had found the dream place for my retirement. A house made of ebony wood, like that of the American missionary pilot's and maybe a few rooms for travelers. I even went as far as to envision starting a new trade in eel skins like those popular in Korea for accessories and new to Indonesia. The eels weighed as much as 10 kg each.

News reports of the bombing seem to made readers confused between Tentena and Poso. Tentena is actually a town in the Poso district on the northern end of Lake Poso and Poso is the district capital. One either travels by road from Palu, the provincial capital of Central Sulawesi or flies by Merpati to Poso. From Poso, the road is paved and passes through magnificent forests of tall agathis trees, giant ferns, pine, and near the villages cinnamon and clove trees are cultivated.

About an hour's drive from Poso and situated 600 meters above sea level, it was once a holiday resort for the Dutch to escape the heat of the northern coastal area. It had a few inns and as the guest of the head of the Central Sulawesi Tourism Office I was accommodated at the pesanggrahan. An old government guest house on the hillside overlooking the lake, it had no electricity although the town was supplied only from 6 p.m. to midnight. So one managed with oil lamps.

On my first trip in 1985, together with tourism officials, we missed the Merpati flight at Palu which had left 45 minutes early for Poso. Fortunately the tourism chief, Husein Pandan, managed to charter the small Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) seven- seater Cessna which happened to be at Mutiara Airport, Palu. It flew directly to Tentena, in 30 minutes, saving us the drive from Poso.

From the air, rows and rows of clove trees covered the slopes of the hills surrounding the shimmering lake and the long 200- metre covered wooden bridge on the narrow end of the lake looked like something out of a Western movie. The bamboo eel traps rose in weird shapes from the surface of the water and the lake seemed devoid of life.

The Cessna landed on a grassy strip and the American pilot collected the fare. Asked if he would carry tour groups, he was not enthusiastic. "My priority is the local people," he said as for his next hop he had started loading vegetables and chickens into the cargo hold.

The town had a market, a Salvation Army hospital and churches, mostly Protestant. This part of Central Sulawesi was where the Salvation Army had spread with its center in Kulawi, in Dongalla district closer to Palu. The people were mainly Christian although as is usual in eastern Indonesia many traders were from South Sulawesi.

The long lake was the route for people traveling from Palu down to Makassar. Boats operated at night when the wind had died down and the water was calm. It took two hours to reach the southern end at Pendolo, from where one could get a bus to Toraja and further south to Makassar. In those years before the trans- Sulawesi highway was built, the lake was the most popular trading route instead of the torturous road from Toraja.

The pesanggrahan had only the basic comforts but soon we were enjoying a grilled fish lunch cooked by the caretaker in the kitchen. The fish was ikan mas (carp) from the lake which could reach a size of over one metre.

After dinner, by the light of pressure oil lamps and the headlights of a minibus, we watched traditional dances performed by schoolgirls wearing long colorful tiered skirts and gold embroidered blouses.

On their head were "crowns" decorated with feathers. They were accompanied by boys wearing shorts and tunics. The music was a guitar and a drum. It ended with the Dero, a communal dance where the boys and girls hold hands and sing and dance in a circle to the beat of a drum. Performed at most gatherings, the Dero gives the young a chance to meet and get to know each other.

The Loronese as the people native to this area could be called are actually related to the Torajans although they prefer to be separate and do not have the same supernatural beliefs such as cave burials.

Tentena was just a stop en route to look for the mysterious megalithic statues in the Bada valley in the Lore Kalamanta nature reserve.

There was no road and it would have meant trekking for two days to get there but fortunately there was MAF and we could charter a flight with the American pilot.

Flying southwest again over endless forest, we came down to land in Gintu, the center of the sub-district of South Lore on the edge of the reserve. Here there were no cars but surprisingly some motorcycles belonging to government officials and police turned up to take us on a tour of the village and the river for the crossing to trek to Seppe, where the main megalithic statue was located. The houses made of wood and bamboo, stood on stilts, with roofs made of thatch. There were two middle schools and a church.

Crossing the river by bamboo rafts, actually just about seven bamboo poles tied together we were poled to the other side. Each raft took just two people who stood, balancing between a raised center bamboo, but I did not dare take the risk of falling into the river and insisted on sitting down and as a consequence got my feet wet.

On the other side we waded through swamps looking for the stone cisterns scattered through the valley. Then on to Seppe on a hill where the main attraction was, the Batu Palindo, four metres high and 1.55 metres wide. Carved from a boulder, this was a male with a rounded head, it had been separated from the female found elsewhere in the valley. The land on the hilltop had been cleared and there were two large traditional houses. The larger called lobo was used for gatherings while the smaller tambi could accommodate guests. Both made of wood, they stood on stone pillars and the entrance was over narrow steps hacked out of a tree trunk. The tambi had wide raised platforms along the sides which could be used for sleeping.

A welcome reception awaited us from a gathering of 14 villages and their chiefs or kepala adat. A warrior in tribal dress carrying a spear pranced around giving sharp cries in greeting. The honors were done by the ketua adat, chairman of the traditional community, a wizened old man of 85 who presented both the tourism chief, Husein Pandan, and I with newly laid eggs, a white hen and a basket of rice each. Then tuak (a tangy white palm wine) from a bamboo tube was offered of which at least a sip was expected. We were then considered members of the tribe.

Dinner was cooking in an open kitchen in one corner of the open field and brought in covered plates to us seated on the lower floor of a lubu (rice barn). The people were educated, with even the ketua adat speaking proper Indonesian. The food was rice and chicken with a side dish of stir-fried green beans served on plates. It was all very clean. The people did not gape or follow us around like they do strangers in many other places, which they do even in Bali. And the children were polite and well behaved. The interior of the community hall was clean and latrines had been built in out-houses. As the elders retired, the young people got together to form a large circle and through the night they never tired of dancing the Dero. I found myself a corner platform and laid a mat and pillow but sleep was impossible as this was a community building open to everyone and the drumming of the Dero was hypnotic.

The next morning we returned to the river and the raft crossing where motorcycles awaited to carry us to the airstrip. Arriving first, I waited in a small warung (stall) near the airstrip. I ordered a glass of coffee. As I was getting ready to leave the young stall owner presented me with five chicken eggs wrapped in banana leaves like a necklace. "For you to take back," he said. He was so poor yet he was giving me something which he could sell and earn money from. I felt I would lessen his kind gesture if I paid him. I looked desperately in my bag for something in exchange. All I could offer was a plastic cigarette lighter. This was such an unforgettable experience as in many places, strangers are taken advantage of.

My next visit to Tentena was in August 1991 for the Lake Poso Festival. Central Sulawesi had realized its tourism potential and organized a festival to promote the lake and the unique culture of the people in the area. Also new natural attractions had been discovered such as a multi-cascade waterfall and an English bird enthusiast had found a vast diversity of birds in the forests.

The road from Poso was wider and there were a few new small hotels. Some international tourists turned up, mostly backpackers. As there was not enough accommodation since the hotels were blocked for government officials from the different districts of the provinces, the people had opened their homes for these visitors. They provided basic but comfortable bedrooms, some with sitting rooms and common bathrooms. A tourism kiosk near the site of the festival provided information on accommodation and places of interest. In addition, volunteers were standing by to escort visitors to these homestays.

I do not know how much Tentena has developed since then but I believe the people in this rather isolated area have remained as friendly and hospitable as they were then. As the trans-Sulawesi highway has opened possibly the trade traffic via the lake has been reduced. I only hope that the eel skin had become an industry to bring prosperity to the people besides the produce from the clove and cinnamon trees.

It is sad that the earlier sectarian unrest in Poso could have been expanded to this town and disturbed its peace, where the people have been living together in harmony all their lives.