Tokyo Journal / November 2000

by Richard Humphries

The nine-hour cargo ferry ride to Indonesia's Togian Islands off was almost too agonizing to bear. This was not because of the vessel's construction, admittedly a tad rickety. Nor was it the overcrowding, which was no more and no less than was usual. Neither was it the overpowering odor of clove cigarettes, the disturbing retches of seasick passengers or even the occasional hiccup of black exhaust from the boat's engine. It was none of that. The problem was the with the ship's screechingly loud sound system. For nine hours the crew played only the same two songs over and over again. One was the classic "annoying tune that won't go away"--Whitney Houston's Bodyguard theme song. The urge to jump had to be resisted with no small effort.

At least the water would have been warm. The Togians, located between Sulawesi Island's central and northern contortions, lie merely one degree south of the equator. They comprise seven major islands and about a hundred smaller islets. All major reef systems (fringe, barrier, and coral atoll) are represented here and framed, as if in a postcard, by deep blue skies and a mix of azure and emerald waters. The larger islands are hilly with dense, verdant rainforest reaching down to largely rocky shorelines. A still-active volcano dominates one island, with the delightful name of Una Una.

Unique fauna lurk in the Togian habitat. There is the coconut crab, largest land-living arthropod in the world. There is also the spectral tarsier, a minuscule primate so small it can easily sit in the palm of your hand. None is stranger than the babirusa, or pig-deer. Its distended face suggests a boar with acute smallpox and its feet seem incongruously borrowed from Bambi. Although so unremittingly hard-featured that only another babirusa could ever quite understand its charms, this beast has provoked learned debate in Muslim quarters as to whether or not it can be rendered halal.

The ferryboat stopped at the largest of the island chain's 37 villages to disgorge passengers. Traders were bringing supplies of brooms, chilies, and dried noodles for the local markets as well as Coca-Cola and other "necessities" for the Western tourists, who got off at assorted beach/diving resorts.

A Japanese businessman and his female Indonesian-Chinese partner ran one such place at Kadidiri, I was told. Its appearance at least would certainly please those seeking the idyllic endless summer--bamboo bungalows, outrigger canoes, excellent scuba on demand, white beachfront sandy stretches, and tanning Eurobodies on display. However, this Western affluence seemed deliberately segregated from a nearby and much poorer local village, visible across a narrow strip of water. That settlement was just as picturesque in its own way--clustered and stilted wooden houses hugging the water line--and much more resembling a real community.

I was bound for Malenge, a smaller hamlet on the island of the same name. Very few people stay there and for four days there were no other visitors. This was fine. Within one day the universal children's greeting in Indonesia, "Hello Meester" had lost its novelty value. Malenge was probably the easiest place to see babirusa in the Togians but, in my case, the animals seemed to know someone was coming so they stayed hidden. Crawling through jungle muck and mire at 4 AM, I was only rewarded with the odd mocking oink in the distance.

Malenge made a good base camp for visiting the village of Kabalutan, about an hour away by covered motor boat. This settlement had several score dwellings and a few hundred inhabitants. Except for the fact that it was built around, and occasionally on, three large rock formations, it did not exist on land. The nearest real island was several hundred meters away. Kabalutan was home for a community of Bajau, known throughout Southeast Asia as Sea Gypsies.

The Bajau originally came from the Philippines and their language still betrays that origin. They are found in small numbers throughout the Indonesian archipelago, and live either in somewhat permanent villages like Kabalutan or else lead a nomadic life on wooden houseboats. Many shuffle between the two alternatives on a seasonal basis.

The sea means everything to the Bajau. They are born on it, grow up on it and live off it. Only with burial is there a real connection with land. Even then the departed are placed lengthwise in a coffin, which is really a sawn-in-half boat. For that reason-- the association with death-- Bajau will try to sleep crosswise in boats if that is possible.

The Bajau catch over 200 species of marine life. On nights when there is no moon, fishermen will employ lanterns to enable them to see and spear their quarry. Subsistence is important but commercial activities have also taken root. At Kabalutan, sea turtles were being kept in an underwater pen for eventual transport to an aquarium in Jakarta, or so I was told. It was just as likely they'd end up on a dinner table in Hong Kong.

The sea cucumber, or trepang, trade is one reason Bajau communities, nomadic or semi-permanent, are where they are. The sea cucumber may be unappealing in appearance, and if you squeeze one it becomes even more so, but it has long been a favorite of the Chinese, who ascribe medicinal properties to its consumption. Bajau divers in search of this delicacy can descend up to 30 meters unencumbered by scuba gear.

As befits a people whose lives are largely seaborne, the Bajau are excellent boatbuilders. At Kabalutan, workmen were engaged in the slow process of scraping out logs and using pitch fires to bend wooden planks into appropriate curves.

The Bajau practice Sunni Islam but, as elsewhere in much of Indonesia, adat or local custom signifies the continued existence of pre-Islamic pieties. If there has been a particularly successful haul of the sea's riches then the Bajau will offer sincere thanks to Omboh Dilaut, the Lord of the Sea. Shamans live in some communities. If illness strikes a village or family, they may summon the spirit world to intercede. The shaman accomplishes this by allowing a special "spirit boat" to drift past the settlement.

The beauty of the Togians is unmistakable and its very amicable Bajau and other fascinating peoples make it an even more desirable destination. There is some question, however, whether eco-tourism, such as is claimed to be present in the diving centers, has really been of benefit to more than a few well-connected locals and to outside interests.

Even more alarming, the Togian's once absolutely pristine natural environment is under threat from commercial interests backed up by readily bribable regional political authorities. Reefs have been illegally dynamited for coral to facilitate building and cyanide is being used in the waters to make fast money in the fishing business. One German diver took it upon herself to deactivate one notorious businessman's underwater explosives and barely avoided jail and a large fine in the process. More promising are the activities of locally based non-governmental organizations such as Toloka, which seek to highlight environmental and social concerns and to educate Togian people about these issues at the village level. If they are successful the islands will remain as beautiful as they are today.(RH).