Restoring the Balance : Performing Healing in West Papua [1 ed.] 9789004253902, 9789067182782

Citation preview

RESTORING THE BALANCE

May the words never lose their strength

Cover photograph: Ien Courtens

V E R H A N D E L I N G E N VA N H E T K O N I N K L I J K I N S T I T U U T VOOR TAAL-, LAND- EN VOLKENKUNDE

241

ien courtens RESTORING THE BALANCE

Performing healing in West Papua

KITLV Press Leiden 2008

Published by: KITLV Press Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde (Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies) P.O. Box 9515 2300 RA Leiden The Netherlands website: www.kitlv.nl e-mail: [email protected]

KITLV is an institute of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences (KNAW)

Cover: Creja ontwerpen, Leiderdorp

ISBN 978 90 6718 278 2 © 2008 Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright owner. Printed in the Netherlands

Contents Preface I Performing healing An introduction

vii 1

II Mama Raja The case

33

III

Spirits of the living

45

IV

Spirits of the underworld

71

V

Performing indigenous healing

93

VI

The missionary hospital

123

VII Mama Raja The case continues

147

VIII Knowing God’s mysteries

159

IX

185

Walking together

X Performing healing Conclusion

215

Epilogue

225

Appendix: Healing plants

229

Glossary

233

Bibliography

237

Index

247

Preface I will never forget my first glimpse of Ayawasi. It was mid-July 1994 when Louise Thoonen, a close friend and fellow anthropologist, and I took the Merpati airplane from the coastal town of Sorong to the place that would become our new home. For the next thirteen months, we were to conduct anthropological fieldwork in the interior of the Bird’s Head of West Papua (then Irian Jaya). After a restless 45-minute flight the airplane landed on the grass airstrip in the middle of the village of Ayawasi. I remember that I stood in the doorway of the small plane looking expectantly over the village. It lay peacefully under the blazing sun. Immediately, hundreds of people surrounded the plane, curious about the two newcomers. While I stood there, I saw all those unfamiliar, yet smiling, friendly faces staring back at us. I felt happy, and I already knew that I would find it hard to leave Ayawasi and its people when the time came to say goodbye. In Sorong we had already met some villagers while we were all waiting at the airport. One of them was Lys Korain, a well-known and respected healer in Ayawasi and surrounding villages. As was characteristic of her, she immediately took us under her wing and looked after us. She introduced us to her fellow villagers and kept us informed about the prolonged delay of the aircraft. She was persistent, making sure we understood everything she told us, although the conversation did not go smoothly at all. It was difficult for us to understand the Papuan way of speaking Indonesian, in which words are often fused together. As a matter of fact, it took some weeks before we were used to it. At our farewell party, thirteen months later, Lys proudly reminded all those present that she was the one who had introduced us to Ayawasi. Gesticulating exuberantly, she gave a performance of our first meeting, exaggerating our lack of knowledge of the Papuan-Indonesian language. Roaring with laughter, she told those present over and over again: ‘Saya bikin mop’ (‘I will tell you a joke’), showing how she had had to express herself to us through gestures. The way Lys Korain took care of us was symbolic of the way the villagers approached us: with warmth and humour. During that year, they took us

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into their hearts and made our stay unforgettable, sharing their knowledge and their lives with us; I didn’t want to leave. Their frankness was heartwarming as they shared without reservation. I am forever grateful to all those people who welcomed me into their lives and made me feel so much at home. I would especially like to thank Lys Korain and Petrus Turot, Maria Fanataf, Yosepha Fatie and her mother Maria Yumte, Mariana Yumte and her daughter Sience, Yopi Titit, Ibu Fanataf and Kepala Desa Tenau, Monika Fatie, Yustina Yumte, Therese Kosamah, Kostan Kosamah, Barsalina Same, Yuul Yumte and Rony Kocu, Yustina Saa and Clara Saa, Clara Turot and Afra Baru, and Hans Tenau. I am enormously grateful to Bapak and Mama Raja; and to Father Yonathan Fatem, who shared his spiritual and intellectual wisdom with me. I am also very grateful to the five girls with whom I participated in the fenia meroh initiation rite in Fef – Posien Bame, Senek Hae, Mandor Titit, Weku Momo and Arkomoh Weyak Baru – and to Ibu Ndam Hae, who served as one of the ritual teachers during the initiation. I am forever indebted to Maria Baru and her family, especially her daughter Yosefien, her husband Paulinus Bame, her brother Agus, and Sister Aknes Baru. Maria Baru became my teacher. With wisdom and guidance, she initiated me into the knowledge of healing and its secrets. She was dedicated to her task of giving me a ‘full understanding’ of contemporary healing performance. With unfailing patience, she took me into the forest to gather plants and to instruct me about their healing qualities, the accompanying formulas and ritual actions, in the realm of both indigenous and Christian healing. In doing so, she opened many doors for my research. Seeing she had put her complete trust in me, others followed her in guiding me into the world of healing. But Maria Baru did more: she took both Louise and me into her family. The bond with Maria Baru and Yosefien crosses all frontiers; they made me feel that I will always have a home to return to. I would like to thank everyone using the words of farewell that Maria Baru spoke to us at the Sorong airport: ‘Jauh di dunia tetapi dekat di dalam hati... selalu’, ‘We are far apart, but forever close in our hearts’. The Dutch Augustinian fathers who have their bases in Sorong and Manokwari I thank for giving us a hearty welcome in West Papua, and their willingness to help us whenever possible. I am especially grateful to Father Ton Tromp, who gave us access to the archives of the diocese in Sorong, and Father Frans Jonkergouw, who shared valuable information about the arrival of the church in Ayawasi. To this very day, Father Ton Tromp and Father Jonkergouw keep us informed of the latest news of Ayawasi and its people. Our first acquaintance with Papua was long before our actual journey. Han Schoorl, who was the first (and, before us, the only) anthropologist to conduct fieldwork in West Ayfat (in the 1970s), I thank for sharing his knowl-

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edge and experiences prior to our departure. His enthusiasm made me really look forward to my stay in Ayawasi. I thank Han for his recommendation to contact the Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood (CPS, Congregatio Pretiosissimae Sanguinis), who had lived and worked in Ayawasi for more than 30 years and had founded the missionary clinic there. I am enormously grateful for the openheartedness of Sister Lamberti Yzendoorn and Sister Leonie Possen in sharing so many memories and insights into the medical missionary process from its very beginnings. Hely van der Werff I thank for introducing us to the missionary fathers and organizing a dinner with the former bishop of the diocese of Sorong-Manokwari, Father van Diepen. I conducted the fieldwork as a research associate of the Centre for Pacific and Asian Studies, Department of Anthropology, Radboud University Nijmegen. Financial support was provided by the NWO (Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research) priority programme ‘The Irian Jaya Studies: A Programme for Interdisciplinary Research’, an inter-university research project (ISIR, coordinated by Leiden University), financed by WOTRO (Netherlands Foundation for the Advancement of Tropical Research) and by the Department of Anthropology, Radboud University Nijmegen. I thank Wim Stokhof, Jelle Miedema and Frans Hüsken for the opportunity they gave me to travel to West Papua, and for their faith and confidence in my research project. I also thank the Indonesian Institute of Sciences (LIPI) for supporting the work in the field, and Jacob Vredenbregt and Paul Haenen for their generous assistance during our stay in Jakarta. This book is the outcome of my PhD research and is a revised version of my PhD thesis. There are many people who supported, encouraged and helped me through the years. First of all, I am grateful to my PhD supervisors Ad Borsboom and Willy Jansen for their guidance and support. I thank Frans Hüsken and Verena Keck for their constructive comments on earlier drafts of particular chapters, and my colleagues of the Department of Anthropology, Institute for Gender Studies, and Department of Social Science Research Methodology of the Radboud University Nijmegen who were supportive over the years. I am grateful to the members of the manuscript committee, Frans Hüsken, Bruce M. Knauft and Gunther Senft, for their willingness to participate in the committee, and to Bruce M. Knauft and Lyn. A. Poyer for taking part in the official ceremony, and Eileen Knauft for travelling to the Netherlands. I still treasure the presence of all of you there. Loucas van den Berg I thank for pursuing new perspectives into a golden reality with loving guidance and wise teachings. Under his supervision I entered a new scientific world in which I can expand my anthropological knowledge on healing and my academic work in a new way. I thank the Order of Saint Augustine, the J.E. Jurriaanse Foundation, the

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Radboud Foundation scientific education fund, and the Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood for providing financial support for the printing costs of the thesis. I am enormously grateful to all those people that helped me with the finishing touches of my thesis and turning the thesis into a book. A special thanks goes to René van der Haar for compiling the list of references and adjusting the book to the KITLV house style. My family and friends, and also Louise’s family, have been supportive throughout the years of staying in the field and writing the book. I thank them all for giving me the space I needed and for their never-ending support and interest in my work. I thank Nellie Breed and Frans Aarts, and Fokke Brink and Maria Kumb for being there at the right time. Bokek, how can I ever thank you for the opportunity you gave me to join you on your voyage to West Papua and give me one of my best years ever? It has forever coloured my life, and opened doors to walk my new path.

chapter i

Performing healing An introduction

She is called Mama Raja. Nobody uses her Christian name, which is Cecilia Turot. She owes her title to the fact that she is married to Bapak Raja (Christian name Marten Tenau), the former village head of their home village of Ayawasi, a settlement in the central highlands of the Bird’s Head of West Papua. Bapak Raja received the title of raja (ruler) from the colonial government at a time when the present province of West Papua was still under Dutch rule and known as Dutch New Guinea. Now the title is just a formality, but they are both held in high regard in their village. Mama Raja is loved and respected by her fellow villagers. I met Mama Raja for the first time in 1994, a few months after my arrival in Papua, at the small airport of the coastal town of Sorong. We were both waiting eagerly for our flight to Ayawasi. Mama Raja appeared to be in her late fifties, and with her slight figure she looked simultaneously fragile and strong. Her dark fuzzy hair was combed back and she wore a striking red dress with white dots. Patiently waiting, she sat on a white stone bench, avoiding the blazing sun, in the shade of the airport building. She watched  In 1949, when the independence of Indonesia was recognized, the Dutch government did not include the transfer of New Guinea to the new Republic of Indonesia. In 1962, however, under pressure from the United Nations, the Netherlands agreed (signed in the New York Agreement, NYA) to transfer its last eastern territory to Indonesia on 1 May 1963. In the NYA, the right to self-determination was guaranteed for West Papua. Free elections, called ‘the Act of Free Choice’, were to take place in 1969, using the international standard of ‘one man, one vote’. In spite of this, the Indonesian government selected 1,025 men who opted unanimously for integration with Indonesia. On 19 December 1969, as a result of this procedure, the UN adopted a resolution (Resolution 2504) which led to the Territory of West Papua being incorporated in the Republic of Indonesia. The province was named Irian Jaya, which recently changed to Papua, although Papuans generally prefer and use the name West Papua. Since 1969, various groups of Papuans have been agitating for reinstatement of the NYA and thus for independence, stating that, as Melanesian people, they do not belong to the Asian population of Indonesia (Bertrand 2004:144-53; see also Hüsken and De Jonge 2002:1-11).

Map of the Bird’s Head Peninsula

I Performing healing



the other passengers and, gently smiling, listened with amusement to their lively conversation. She appeared to me to be a friendly, modest, and dignified woman. The next four days I met Mama Raja every morning at the airport. Because of weather conditions and problems with the aircraft, it was always uncertain whether and when we would depart. For three days in a row, all passengers had to return to their accommodations in Sorong until, on the fourth day, we could finally fly to Ayawasi. I never imagined that Mama Raja would become so important to my fieldwork. This happened some months later, when a major crisis shocked Ayawasi and kept the village in fear for quite some time. The crisis upset not only Mama Raja’s personal life, but the entire village. This event became the focus of my research on healing performances in the context of religious change. A major crisis One day, daily life in Ayawasi was suddenly disrupted. It happened one morning when I was taking a walk around the village. Slowly I strolled along the narrow, muddy paths. Reaching the small marketplace, I saw people running to and fro, shouting: ‘Mama Raja is dead! Mama Raja is dead!’ I joined the crowd hurrying to the little pile dwelling. The house was newly built, a bit out of the way, along a recently constructed path in a new part of the village. Many people had already assembled in front of the house. People looked scared, children were crying. It turned out that Mama Raja was still alive. ‘The life-breath [mae; Indonesian: napas] is still in the body’, one woman explained. People climbed in and out of the bamboo house. ‘Everyone who has already seen Mama Raja has to leave the house, to give her some space’, some relatives urged. I was invited to enter the house. When I climbed through the doorway, I saw Mama Raja lying on a mat in the corner. She looked deathly pale, her eyes staring blankly. She seemed to be feeling cold as she was shivering all over. The thin dress she wore did not give her much warmth. I sat down among the women gathered around her. We all just sat there, while Mama Raja was fighting for her life. Every few minutes she endured a severe attack of convulsions. Her arms and legs stiffened. Her face twisted, her mouth opening wide, and her eyes rolling backwards. While some women raised their voices wailing, others watched, holding their breath, to see how Mama Raja bore the spasms. Hours went by, until one of Mama Raja’s female relatives could no longer stand by helplessly and watch as Mama Raja’s condition worsened. She started asking what could be done to save the woman’s life. Her question triggered a passionate debate in which supporters and opponents of various conceivable



Restoring the balance

causes of her illness and various possible treatments cried out at the top of their voices. Some relatives proposed getting help from the sisters at the missionary clinic, who could treat Mama Raja with biomedical therapy. Others were certain that male indigenous healers were the only ones who could release Mama Raja from her suffering. A third group argued in favour of the local Christian healing group, convinced that praying was the only way to save her. Mama Raja herself was not in the least aware of the commotion surrounding her. She was far too ill. She lay there letting the voices wash over her. Here, where tensions between indigenous and Christian religious practices were expressed, it became clear that illness and healing are embedded in the religious domain. Barker (2003:292), in a recent article called Christian bodies, states that ‘most Melanesians regard Christianity not as a foreign religion but as part and parcel of the tradition they have grown up with’. Although this is true for the younger generation, most adults in northwest Ayfat still recall the Dutch missionaries entering their area starting in 1949. Especially during crisis situations, indigenous religion (adat) and Christianity are perceived as separate, even conflicting, domains. This study deals with the available options for healing and how choices are informed by the (conflicting) relationship between ‘ways of the church’ and ‘ways of adat’. In northwest Ayfat, an ongoing dialogue about these two ‘ways’ has resulted in transformations in both the Christian and the indigenous religious realms, bringing the two sides into balance. Multiple healing rites It appeared to be difficult for Mama Raja’s relatives to reach agreement on the cause of her illness. While sitting and listening in the bamboo house, it gradually became clear to me that Mama Raja had been ill for several weeks, and had tried various treatments and consulted different healers without result. So now, rituals were to be carried out to ‘search for answers’, after which various healing rites would be performed. That day I stayed with Mama Raja as much as I could. I witnessed her going through some major healing rituals and listened to the ongoing heated discussions of the worried villagers. It was then that I discovered three things that would be significant for the further course of my research. First, I became aware that a debate like this symbolically represents the multiplicity of present-day healing rituals in northwest Ayfat, where indigenous, biomedical, and Christian beliefs and practices exist side by side. Second, it became clear to me that people not only can choose among various treatments, but that there is also a certain recognized order of merit among the healers and treatments. Third, I realized that the major controversy centred on why Mama

I Performing healing



Raja was ill and who was responsible for it, rather than what the illness was. In fact, people were searching for causes and suspected perpetrators of Mama Raja’s illness: they were trying to think of persons who may have made her ill, evil spirits, or misbehaviour by Mama Raja herself that had caused rage and punishment by the ancestors or by God. I thus discovered that, in the Ayfat region, beliefs about the underlying (social and spiritual) causes of an illness determine the treatment people choose, and what healer they seek help from. In other words, people have to first identify the reason for the illness in order to heal it. As in other parts of the Pacific, in the Ayfat region most causes of illness are thus socially defined. Illness in Papuan cultures is usually not seen as a biological reaction of the body, and is rarely attributed to a ‘natural’ cause. Instead, illness is understood as being closely connected with social relations. The discussion among Mama Raja’s relatives, furthermore, led me to understand that concepts and practices concerning illness and healing in northwest Ayfat are embedded in the religious domain. Illness and healing thus must be seen in the light of the local belief system. I decided to take Mama Raja’s illness as a case study for gaining insight into the complex relations between healing and religion. Domains of healing performances Before the coming of the Catholic Church, female and male healers in northwest Ayfat practised indigenous healing methods exclusively. Women were taught about healing when they were girls, during initiation (fenia meroh). The majority of these healing methods and rituals concerned ‘female matters’, such as fertility, pregnancy, and giving birth, and were referred to as ‘women’s secrets’. Consequently, healing performances concerning these aspects were reserved for female members of the population. During initiation, women also learned to treat what are called ‘minor’ ailments, such as stomach-aches and wounds. Novices were taught the therapeutic effects of a wide range of plants and trees. The healing methods involved medicinal leaves, roots, and tree bark. Initiation was not the only way to obtain healing knowledge, however. Many women learned about healing through dreams, in which ancestral spirits revealed which methods to use. Women thus had their own personal healing rites, combining different elements, which they used on family members.  Baddeley 1985; Barker 2003; Frankel 1986; Keck 1992; Macpherson 1985; Stephen 1987; Strathern and Stewart 2002; Trompf 1991. As Keck (1992:319) says of the Yupno people of Papua New Guinea: ‘be it that the sick person has misbehaved or that another person voluntarily made somebody sick out of rage or hatred’.

Main street of lower Ayawasi

I Performing healing



As a rule, women were not allowed to reveal the background and details of their knowledge, not even to female relatives. Like their female counterparts, male healers gained their spiritual knowledge about healing during a long period of initiation (wuon). Unlike female healers, however, male healers performed their rites both within and outside their own family, and they performed them for men, women, and children. Thus, most public healers were men. Knowledge of the various rituals they performed was secret, and known only to men who had undergone full wuon initiation. These rituals covered a wide range of illnesses. Only wuon healers were believed to possess the spiritual powers needed to heal life-threatening illnesses such as those caused by malevolent spirits. Starting from the 1960s, but especially in the 1970s, initiation rites disappeared in most Christianized northwest Ayfat communities. This was an interactive process between local people and missionaries, in both missionary and government contexts (Thoonen 2005). Missionaries regarded certain aspects of female and male initiation rites as undesirable, because participation in the protracted rites kept children from attending school (schooling being the most important missionary strategy) and kept adults from attending church activities such as mass. Catholic missionaries did not, however, try to abolish initiation rites in their entirety. Although missionary views did influence the practice of initiation and its abolishment, it was local people themselves who decided to abandon the rituals because, at the time, they benefited from doing so. Although extremely important in the indigenous religious realm, initiation was a painful, expensive event lasting many months during which novices and ritual leaders were excluded from community life. In addition, ‘following modernity’ (as it is generally referred to) was regarded as attractive by local persons as it included schooling, Western-style goods and medicines. As a result, female and male initiation rites are no longer common in northwest Ayfat. Nevertheless, various indigenous healing practices remain important, and ill people can call on a number of indigenous healing specialists. As Mama Raja’s case shows, one of the possibilities is to ask for help from a wuon healer, a man who has been fully initiated in the ways of indigenous healing. These rae wuon are respected and feared ritual specialists, capable of performing both healing rituals and sorcery. Women still rely on the spiritual knowledge of healing they acquire in dreams. Clan-bound healing rituals in which ancestor worship is central remain common. Further, indigenous beliefs about illness play a central role in daily life, illness being regarded as a form of ancestral punishment, interference by malevolent spirits, sorcery (kret, caused by initiated wuon men), or witchcraft (suangi, caused by female witches). Moreover, some decades after female and male initiation rites were banned, people started to recognize the importance of the organized transfer of healing knowledge and practices, seeing that this knowledge had been lost



Restoring the balance

after the abolishment of initiation rites. In the last fifty years, the most drastic changes in the religious realm occurred with the arrival of the Dutch Catholic mission. Indigenous healing practices have changed, and new ways of healing have emerged. Since the founding of the mission hospital (1963), Western notions of illness and treatment have become important too. Over the years, the mission’s medical services have gained in significance for inhabitants of Ayawasi and surrounding villages. Presently, there are very few people who do not seek medical help at the outpatient clinic: older people who rely mostly on indigenous methods, and people without the money to pay. Most people, at some point in their search for healing, will visit the clinic. If the treatment is ineffective, however, it is very common to call in the help of others. In the past few decades, there has been a third important group of healers. In the missionary process, a very interesting phenomenon emerged: a new form of healing created by local people themselves. In the early 1980s, local women and men in the village of Ayawasi founded a special Christian prayer group called Kelompok Sabda. Members of the group serve as ritual healers. They pray for the ill, using Christian symbols such as a crucifix, a statuette of the Virgin Mary, a rosary, and consecrated water. What is interesting is that Kelompok Sabda healers combine these Christian symbols with indigenous beliefs and practices such as dreaming, which is central in indigenous religious experience, and the medicinal use of leaves and tree bark as formerly learned during initiation. Kelompok Sabda members perform healing rituals for the benefit of men, women and children. Conceptual and theoretical perspectives Processes of change in northwest Ayfat, as elsewhere, were and still are accompanied by tensions and confusion, but also by new opportunities. Kelompok Sabda appears to play a guiding role in the complex process of changing healing practices, including gender relations and new religious approaches to healing. Correspondingly, Kelompok Sabda has a prominent place in this study. I explore Kelompok Sabda healing performances, and also the multiplicity of healing rites that coexist in northwest Ayfat. Special attention is paid to the contribution of female healers. How do people’s choices of healing performances in contemporary northwest Ayfat relate to religious change and gender? In analysing the various religiously-informed approaches to healing, I show how Christian beliefs and practices have been incorporated in a revival and continuation of indigenous healing practices. I present Mama Raja’s case, which involves all types of present-day healing, as a way of gaining insight

I Performing healing



into contemporary healing performances and the role of gender in religious change. In the weeks after the crisis began, I reconstructed the course of Mama Raja’s illness from the beginning. In this book, I present the path Mama Raja followed in her search for healing, from day one. I use her case as a tool to explore the wider processes of healing in the context of religious change in Ayfat society. I show how people’s choices of healing performances are related to religious change on two levels. First, on the level of contemporary daily life, religious beliefs influence why and when people choose a particular type of healing performance. Second, on the broader level of religious change, people’s choices of healing performances are interconnected with changes in the indigenous religious realm as well as in the local missionary process. Mama Raja’s case illustrates that people’s choices of healing performances, and the creation of healing performances, are dynamic processes that shape, reshape, and respond to religious change. Healing Anthropological studies on healing (with the exception of those on shamanism and other forms of spiritual healing) have nearly all come from the subdiscipline of medical anthropology. Van der Geest (1998:4) emphasizes that the biological and the sociocultural poles of medical anthropology should not be thought of as two separate fields. He describes medical anthropology as ‘a biocultural discipline concerned with both the biological and sociocultural aspects of human behaviour, and particularly with the ways in which the two interact and have interacted throughout human history to influence health and disease’. The vast majority of medical anthropological studies, however, take a biomedical approach (Strathern and Stewart 1999). Characteristic of this approach is that anthropologists tend to interpret illness cross-culturally, in Western biomedical terms, aiming at improving health care. Gilbert Lewis (2000:13), who like many other medical anthropologists is both a medical specialist and an anthropologist, states: The point of classifying diseases is to try to discriminate some similarities and differences in the enormous diversity of things called illness, to identify with what regularity there is harm in some sign or symptom, what causes it, how it develops, and to find out how to deal with it from the point of view of prevention, care, and remedy.



The decision to present a special case is a ‘strategic one’, as ‘a dramatic incident can reveal a whole world, for one can expect things to become manifest that usually remain latent in ordinary life’ (Venbrux 1993:21).

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Women returning to the village after working in their food gardens

In 1992, Keck, in a study exploring illness among the Yupno in Papua New Guinea (combining an emic anthropological and an etic biomedical perspective), pointed out that medical anthropological studies present predominantly an etic viewpoint. The 1990s saw a modest shift within medical anthropology, a shift away from emphasizing biological and biochemical malfunction. Yet medical anthropological studies still largely take a biomedical approach (Strathern and Stewart 1999). By approaching illness and healing as embedded in the religious domain of the people concerned, as well as by exploring healing as cultural performance, my study of healing contrasts with the predominantly universalistic approach of mainstream medical anthropology. In doing so for West Papua, I build on Pacific studies such as Parsons’s (1985) pioneering volume on healing in Polynesian cultures and Frankel and Lewis’s (1989) ethnographically rich volume on medical pluralism in Papua New Guinea. Frankel and Lewis explore how people, with their own medical traditions, respond to new theories and treatments. They argue that this is central to the study of innovation and change. Studies on healing in the Pacific region recognize that ways of healing have changed since the arrival of missionaries, and that new ways of healing have emerged. Looking at the interrelation between healing and change, different approaches can be taken. Scholars such as Frankel and Lewis (1989)

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focus on the medical pluralism that emerged along with religious change. Frankel (1986) presents a composite picture of choices people make among the options that a situation of medical pluralism offers them. Some argue that biomedical and indigenous systems are in conflict (see Strathern and Stewart 1999), while others explore the complementary aspects of the two systems (Keck 1992; Mitchell 1990). Some discuss the creation of new forms of healing as responses to new patterns of illness (Macpherson and Macpherson 2003), whereas others show that belief in sorcery and witchcraft as causes of serious illness remains largely unchanged (Barker 2003; Lepowsky 1990). An innovative aspect of my study is that it fuses all these themes and explores their interconnections. I show that the missionary process led to a situation of medical pluralism in which healing methods are sometimes viewed as complementary and sometimes as conflicting, and that presumed causes of illness have changed, yet remain in some sense unchanged. More importantly, this study explores how, why, and when people make choices in search of healing, and how and why new performances are created in response to religious change. And how and why Christian elements are incorporated in the continuation and revival of indigenous healing practices. Using a biomedical approach, medical anthropologists tend to explore healing in terms of effectiveness. Even Laderman and Roseman (1996) who, unlike other medical anthropologists, explore the use not only of (ethno) medicines but also of song, poetry, and dance in healing performances, and who employ a culturally oriented perspective rather than a universalistic one, do so in terms of efficacy. Despite their focus on efficacy, Laderman and Roseman’s volume (1996:5) is a beautiful study of healing: first, because they approach healing as cultural performance and relate efficacy to issues of embodiment, sensation, imagination, and experience. Second, because they recognize that, although a treatment might not have been successful in the sense that the patient did not stay alive, it may have been effective in another way, for instance because a healing performance achieved therapeutic social healing for a group of people or for the wider society. Although I state the outcome of specific healing performances, I do not assess their medical effectiveness. Rather, my purpose is to explore the healing process: the performed rites that were chosen in search of healing (in relation to presumed causes of illness and fitting in the cultural hierarchy), the contribution of (female) healers, and how choices are related to religious change. 

Laderman and Roseman 1996; Lewis 2000, 2002. As Lewis (2000:14) emphasizes: ‘Much recent theoretical writing in medical anthropology has been concerned primarily with analysis of the representation of illness, with cultural concepts of the body and mental illness, but less with choices of action and treatment’. 

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Restoring the balance

My intention is to offer an innovative anthropological approach to healing in the Pacific region, by departing from mainstream medical anthropological perspectives, and choosing a cultural perspective. I do so by emphasizing an emic viewpoint rather than an etic, universalistic one, by viewing illness and healing as embedded in the religious domain, by exploring the cultural process of healing rather than the efficacy of treatments, by emphasizing choices of actions and treatments, and by exploring healing in relation to gender, especially the contributions of female healers. As Lewis (2000:14) comments with regard to biomedical anthropology and the study of illness and healing: Of course disease constructs fail to represent many aspects of the personal and social experience of illness, the cultural setting of ideas and circumstance by which the people concerned explain and understand the illness. That side of illness is the one to which social anthropology can certainly contribute to a distinctive approach.

Debates within medical anthropology, however, do provide useful theoretical concepts of illness, disease, and illness, curing and healing. As Strathern and Stewart (1999) state, Fabrega (1974) and Kleinman (1980) provide a useful distinction between ‘disease’ and ‘illness’, which is explained by Kaja Finkler (1994:5) as follows: ‘Disease is defined as a biological and biochemical malfunction, and illness as impaired functioning as perceived by the patient within the cultural context’. Seen in this way, illness also has a social dimension. Whereas the term ‘disease’ belongs [to] the Western, biomedical model, according to which diseases are classified by only one taxonomy of universally valid and culture-independent categories, the term ‘illness’ refers to the culturally defined perceptions and experiences of the patient and his/her social group. Thus, the two terms ‘disease’ and ‘illness’ can be grasped by the terms ‘etic’ and ‘emic’. Both ‘disease’ and ‘illness’ are but two terms for two different ways of perceiving and interpreting the reality of ‘sickness’. (Keck 1992:314.)

Curing and healing form a second distinction: As [...] medical anthropologists use the term, curing refers to an act of treating successfully a specific condition, for example a wound or a case of diarrhoea or infection by worms. Healing, by contrast, refers to the whole person or the whole body seen as an integrated system with both physical and spiritual components. Biomedicine, in this view, deals with curing and not healing. (Strathern and Stewart 1999:7.)

Given the predominantly emic approach of my study, I avoid concepts related to Western medicine and I do not refer to illnesses in those terms. I speak of ‘illness’ instead of ‘disease’, and ‘healing’ instead of ‘curing’. Also, I focus on how local people themselves refer to and understand illness, and how they utilize religion in their search for healing.

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Religious change and gender The Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda, created in the missionary process, is prominent in present northwest Ayfat society. It is also interesting from an anthropological perspective, especially when exploring healing in the context of religious change and focusing on the creative ways in which female healers deal with change. During the last few decades, anthropolo­gical studies on the Pacific region have shown that local people play significant roles in determining the course of cultural change without ‘sacrificing their own identity’. Still, anthropologists need greater understanding of the means by which local persons actively seek out and engage in medical and religious change. I explore the active contributions of local participants and how they choose among healing performances, as embedded in the religious domain. Unlike Knauft, I do not limit religious change to a process that is activated by people and ideas ‘from elsewhere’. Rather, I view religious change as an ongoing process that is both internally and externally initiated. In the 1990s, more attention has been given to women’s active roles in religious and cultural change. Hermann (1997), in a volume on religious change in Oceania, shows that women’s involvement in processes of religious change in Madang province of Papua New Guinea is related to their own interests. It is a ‘commitment to securing their own place, sphere of influence, and domain of female power’ (Otto and Borsboom 1997:8). Hermann (1997:100) emphasizes that statements by Yasaburing villagers regarding kastom (tradition) and religious change are gender-specific, with female and male articulations differing in both form and content: Women and men speak out from their assigned positions in society, defending their respective domains. [...] Regardless of whether their statements are formal or informal, women and men plead their specific causes with their own political ends in mind.

 Otto 1993:24. See also Barker 1990; Borsboom 1986, 1993; Borsboom and Ploeg 1992; Jolly and Macintyre 1989; Keesing 1989; Kempf 1992; Otto 1991, 1992, Thoonen 2000c.  ‘In recent years, anthropologists have paid increasing attention to how local people create new beliefs and hybrid practices as they resist the intrusion of modern forces. In complementary fashion, other anthropologists have emphasized cultural continuity through the persistence of distinctly non-modern attitudes and beliefs. The competing sides of this awareness become prominent in the ongoing debate between anthropologists who emphasize transformation and those who emphasize continuity. [...] Anthropologists need to pay greater attention to the ways that local people actively and willingly engage cultural attitudes and expectations that derive from elsewhere’. (Knauft 2002:8.)  See Johnson 1992; Hermann 1997; Jolly and Macintyre 1989; McClain 1989; Obrist van Eeuwijk 1998; Van Oosterhout 2002; Thoonen 1998, 2000b; De Vries 1992.

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Likewise, Knauft (2002:27) emphasizes that, for the Gebusi of Papua New Guinea, most aspects of cultural and religious change are ‘strongly gendered’. With regard to West Papua, however, very little is known about women’s active contributions to religious change, and how the process is gendered. In contributing to filling this gap, I demonstrate that, in the Ayfat region, women in particular have developed strategies to use the benefits of Christianity while incorporating indigenous religious ideas and ritual practices. Moreover, female healers, as agents of change, utilize Christianity to enter domains and create positions that in pre-Christian times were reserved exclusively for male healers. Although previous studies on the Pacific region look at the interconnections between indigenous healing and change in the process of Christianization, the majority of these studies underestimate the importance of female ritual healers. With regard to West Papua, several authors point out that women ‘traditionally’ hold important positions as intermediaries and local healers.10 In some ethnolinguistic groups, indigenous healers are mostly female,11 while in others, the expertise of female healers is valued more highly than that of male experts (Elmberg 1968). Despite this, anthropological knowledge about female healers in Melanesia, and West Papua in particular, is even more fragmentary than knowledge about male healers. My study is not only the first monograph on healing in West Papua, but also the first to deal explicitly with female ritual healers. I examine women as healers in the context of gender relations. Gender beliefs and practices are closely related to power relations. As Briggs (1996:220) states: ‘Curing is not just about “making people well”, it also forms a crucial means of reproducing power relations’. One type of power relations reproduced and contested in healing is that based on gender. In addition, I illustrate the importance of complementarity between the sexes (Lutkehaus 1995:11), as well as the combination of male and female powers. By focusing on the creative contributions of female healers, and to a lesser extent male healers, my study highlights the shifting gender and power relations that, finally, converge in the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda.



See Frankel and Lewis 1989; Haiveta 1990; Keck 1992; Kyakas and Wiessner 1992; Mitchell 1990; Parsons 1985; Schieffelin 1996. 10 See Elmberg 1968; Godschalk 1993; Van Rhijn 1960. 11 Compare Godschalk 1993; Van Rhijn 1960; Zöllner 1988.

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Cultural performance Following Laderman and Roseman (1996), I approach healing rituals as cultural performances: ‘As contextually-situated interactions [...] as historically contingent evocations fusing past traditions and memories with present circumstances and problems’. The concept of healing performance provides a key for explaining social and cultural practices in present-day northwest Ayfat, where changing indigenous religious beliefs and practices, as well as gender beliefs, are embodied in ritual performances. The concept of performance has become increasingly important to the study of religious healing (Csordas 1996:91). In the 1990s at least four streams of research have contributed to defining ‘the contours of a theory of performance adequate to the questions raised by healing’ (Csordas 1996:91-7). My approach is close to what Csordas refers to as ‘the cultural-performance approach’,12 an approach highly suitable for exploring religious change and the active contributions of local persons. The cultural-performance approach emphasizes performance as an active event: Not only does cultural performance constitute an open window on culture for the observer, but it also has a creative dimension for participants. [...] Cultural performance has a power to transform both experience and social relations. [...] Thus, cultural performances are primary arenas not for representation, but for the active constitution of religious forms of life. (Csordas 1996:92.)

By adopting a cultural-performance approach, I aim at finding something that has been ‘markedly absent from anthropological accounts of religious healing, namely: a way to grasp and formulate the experiential specificity of participants’.13 In my study, the experiences of both healers and patients are important, as I explore the particular choices people make among healing performances. The experiences as well as the ritual practices of patients and healers are described. This emic perspective allows me to show why people choose particular healing performances at particular stages of their illness, and the meaning these performances have in their search for healing. On the level of the healing performance, I show the meaning of particular ritual practices for the healers, the patients, the concerned family members, and the missionaries, as well as for curious villagers, in relation to both gender and

12

The other three streams Csordas mentions are the performance-centred approach used in sociolinguistics, the performative-utterance approach, and the rhetorical-persuasive approach used in the study of therapeutic processes. 13 Csordas 1996:94. As Csordas (1996) emphasizes: ‘Many earlier accounts are descriptions of healing rituals – there is attention to what is done to participants without much attention to what the events mean for them’.

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religious change. This requires a situational analysis, for which a case study is extremely useful. By following Mama Raja’s search for healing, step by step, I aim at approximating the experiences of participants (patients, healers and visitors) as closely as possible. Victor Turner, in his studies on the African Ndembu society, perceives ritual as ‘a transformative performance revealing major classifications, categories, and contradictions of cultural processes’ (Turner 1968:157). Although his approach has proved to be fruitful, and has generated fascinating works on ritual performance, it does not show whether or how contradictions in cultural processes might lead to structural changes (Kratz 1994; see also Venbrux 1993). ‘One fundamental reason for these lacunae in Turner’s representation of social process is that he has not linked the Ndembu to any larger world. What their disputes and ceremonies might have to do with larger historical and political circumstances was not a question that entered Turner’s framework’. (Kratz 1994:24-5.) A historical perspective is needed because: the […] work of a ceremony is specifically defined by and through the circumstances in which it is performed. Those circumstances, the ways in which they are understood, and the ways in which they become incorporated into ceremonies are all […] shaped over time. (Kratz 1994:25.)

It is precisely because of this that religious change holds such a prominent place in this volume. In order to understand the healing performances, they need to be seen as rituals shaped in ongoing processes of change, performed by healers who debate the relation between indigenous religion (adat) and Christianity in current society. This is reflected in the healing rites they perform. It is also reflected in the kinds of healing performances ill people choose. I do not aim, however, at exploring religious change as such. Rather, I examine the various healing rites that have evolved over the years and that were being performed at the time of my fieldwork. While studying healing performances as informed by religious change, I do not regard continuity and change as opposites, but rather explore them simultaneously. This is in line with Moore’s (1987) analytical model (Venbrux 1993). Kratz (1994:17) uses a similar argument when she states that ceremonial performances, by transforming particular cases, produce historical and cultural continuity as well as change. In short, healing performances are not only seen as a means by which religious continuity and change are expressed, but also as a means by which healers effect change. By focusing on healing as cultural performance, I explore healing rites as well as the contributions of the healers who conduct the rites and, as well, the situation in Ayawasi in which ritual healers and ill persons deal with new circumstances where they are confronted with a variety of approaches to treating illness. This highlights not only various healing rites,

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but also groups of performers who hold important places in the religious domain: initiated women and men, the female leader as well as some other prominent members of Kelompok Sabda, the missionary sisters and nurses at the local hospital, and the Catholic priest originating from East Ayfat who was initiated into the wuon cult house. Under this approach, people’s visits to the local missionary hospital and the medical treatment provided there by the sisters are also seen as healing performances. The village of Ayawasi Mama Raja’s home village of Ayawasi is situated in West Ayfat in the central highlands of the Bird’s Head of West Papua. The Ayfat district (3,700 sq. km) is home to various tribal groups (suku), having mutual similarities and differences in cultural practices and languages (see also J.M. Schoorl 1979:116). Mama Raja belongs to the Meybrat-speaking ethnolinguistic group. In general, Meybrat is the vernacular of the elderly in Ayawasi. Since the 1960s, however, when West Papua became a province of Indonesia, native people have increasingly become bilingual, in daily life using alternately their native language and Indonesian. Even the elderly who have not mastered the Indonesian language understand or speak at least a few Indonesian words. Mama Raja, one of the senior inhabitants of Ayawasi, however, speaks Indonesian fluently. She belongs to the handful of prominent families (orang kaya, literally: ‘rich people’) of the village and received some years of schooling, which in her day was exceptional. The tribal groups are divided into territorial clans (fam) and lineages. Clans here should be understood as units of people who not only share a common name and claim to descend from a common ancestor, but who also share and inhabit a common territory. The name of the clan is identical to the name of its territory (see also Elmberg 1955:27; J.M. Schoorl 1979:129). Although common ancestry is not demonstrable, in practice membership is based on birth into a clan. Every adult clan member knows the clan territory, and children are acquainted with it at an early age. People feel a strong bond with their land, as it is the location of sacred places and is connected with the ancestors. Mountaintops, rivers, a certain tree or cave, all serve to mark the borders between the various territories. Before villages came into being under pressure from missionary and government officials, clan members lived scattered over their territory in their food gardens in smaller kin groups (lineages). People lived where the crops grew. Using slash-and-burn methods and shifting cultivation, people moved on when the soil was depleted, after an average of two harvests, to start another food garden. This resulted in a semi-nomadic way of life. Usually

Ordinary houses in Ayawasi

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no more than five extended families lived together in one food garden. In addition to farming together and sharing their harvests, clan members gave each other protection, as there was always the fear of raids and headhunting (hongi) by hostile neighbouring clan groups. The overall ideology defining descent is patrilineal. It is, however, possible to become affiliated with, and bear the name of, the mother’s clan (see also J.M. Schoorl 1979:130). In practice, therefore, kinship ties are bilateral. After marriage, when a woman moves to the clan and territory of her husband, she remains a member of her patrilineal clan. The bond with her own clan members, and especially her siblings, remains strong, and women continue to bear the name of their father’s clan.14 As a rule, clans are exogamous, as members are expected to marry outside the group. This rule is marked by the complex ceremonial exchange of kain timur (literally: ‘eastern cloths’)15 by which bride-receivers and bride-givers exchange cloths (kain jalan). Marriage within the group, where bride-receivers would inevitably be bride-givers, would disturb the circulation of cloths that ‘have to fly like birds’ and ‘move through the forest from tree to tree’ (J.M. Schoorl 1979:159, 178). Although, as J.M. Schoorl (1979:159) points out, it may seem that cross-cousin marriages are preferred, in practice any alliance is allowed as long as it does not disturb the circulation of kain timur between groups. Thus, exogamy is defined in terms of sharing bride-price. In present northwest Ayfat society, although kain timur exchange still holds a central place, romantic unions have become widely accepted. Under government and missionary influence, villages were established, expanded and merged. This made it easier for officials to exercise supervision over the various clan groups, as they were no longer scattered over sparsely inhabited areas. In addition, missionaries introduced compulsory school attendance for children of elementary-school age. Families living in food gardens, often a few hours walk from the village and missionary station, made the distance too great for children to reach school on time. As a consequence, many families spent more time living in their houses in the village. In 1973, for example, desa Bori, which since the 1960s had been an autonomous village located a day’s walk southeast of Ayawasi, was moved in its entirety to join 14

In daily life, women are referred to by their children’s name, like Selly mama or Yan mama. 15 Every lineage possesses a number of ceremonial cloths (kain timur). There are two kinds. Heirloom cloths (kain pusaka) are few in number and very special; they are inherited from generation to generation and are meant to stay in the clan. Second, there are the more abundant cloths (kain jalan) that are used for ceremonial exchange within and between lineages. Heirloom cloths (kain pusaka) are believed to be connected to the ancestors and imbued with sacred power which is transferred to all the kin, their gardens as well as their animals (see also Elmberg 1955; Haenen 1991; Miedema 1984; J.M. Schoorl 1979; Visser 1999). These heirloom cloths are kept by women.

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the village of Ayawasi. The inhabitants literally took apart their houses and carried their possessions to their new settlement. Today, on the bare plain that once was desa Bori, only a few desolate graves remain. Cooperating with the missionaries in establishing villages was an interactive process between local people and missionaries in which they both acted in creative ways (see also Thoonen 2005). Only when people saw the benefits of mission-related changes were they willing to cooperate. By creating villages, missionaries ensured protection against hostile clan groups and government officials, and offered goods and services such as schooling and medical care. Settling in villages, however, also brought disadvantages. Women, who tend the food gardens, now often have to walk several hours before they reach their gardens. Further, clans that formerly mistrusted each other now reside in the same village. Although in everyday life villagers appear to live in harmony with each other, the tension between the various clan groups is tangible and comes to the fore especially in the event of sudden severe illness or death. Accusations against suspected offenders who may have caused the unforeseen illness are always directed at members of a different clan group. Since the 1970s, Ayawasi can best be described as a village consisting of two hamlets (desa) divided into four settlements (kampung), centred around the missionary complex. Mama Raja lives west of the missionary station, in the main part of the village, which is called desa Ayawasi or Ayawasi di bawah (lower Ayawasi). The southern part, desa Bori, is built on a hill and therefore sometimes called Ayawasi di atas (upper Ayawasi). Finally, in the north is kampung Fumano, situated next to kampung Tolak. Both of these kampung are small, each composed of only a few houses. Kampung Fumano officially belongs to desa Ayawasi, while kampung Tolak is associated with desa Bori. The two hamlets together have a population of approximately 1,000 people. In 1995, according to missionary archives, desa Ayawasi had 425 inhabitants living in 73 houses, while desa Bori had 539 people living in 64 houses. The fact that desa Bori was founded only recently is still noticeable. While the houses in desa Ayawasi are grouped, the houses in desa Bori are set up on both sides of one straight long path. Nevertheless, both desa Ayawasi and desa Bori are divided into clan groups, since clan groups choose to stay together. In this way, the composition of the village still reflects clan territories: clan members live together on their own territory or on the path leading to it. Thus, the four settlements are subdivided into compounds (called kompleks, such as kompleks Tenau and kompleks Turot). The most prominent clan groups of desa Ayawasi are the Tenau clan, into which Mama Raja married and whose members own most of the land; the Turot clan, which is Mama Raja’s patrilineal clan; and the Air and Yumte clans. Desa Bori consists mainly of the Fatie, Fanataf, Kosamah and Kosho

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clans. The clans of desa Ayawasi are related through intermarriage and exchange relations. The same can be said of the clans of desa Bori. Only rarely does someone from desa Ayawasi marry someone from desa Bori. Kampung Fumano and kampung Tolak, on the other hand, came into being when people from northern Ayfat joined the missionaries going to the central highlands to found a missionary station in Ayawasi. Most inhabitants of both kampung are therefore employed at the missionary station, be it as nurses, carpenters or radio operators. The few houses of which the kampung consists are built around an open stretch of grass facing each other, as most of these families are closely related. These people are Meyah speakers originating from the Meyhabehmase area (in anthropological literature also referred to as ‘Karon’). Although in numbers they form just a small part of the village of Ayawasi, their influence in the religious realm is significant: the founder and leader of the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda, as well as other prominent members, originates from this part of the village. The village of Ayawasi is surrounded by dense mountainous rainforest. The Ayfat river to the north and the Netayn river to the south border the village. From other villages in the Ayfat region, Ayawasi can be reached on foot, along narrow muddy paths. Mosun, the nearest village, northwest of Ayawasi, is a two-hour walk through the forest. Kumurkek to the south, and Konja and Kokas to the west are other neighbouring villages, but all are at least a three-hour walk away. Heavy rainfall often hampers the trek, making people slip and slide on the paths and wade through many brooks and streams on their way. On cloudless days, the Cessna of the Allied Missionary Aircraft (AMA), or a Twin Otter (Merpati) of the national airlines Garuda, based in the city of Sorong on the west coast of the Bird’s Head, may land in Ayawasi, a flight taking up to 45 minutes. Such an arrival is the event of the day. People leave their work, children run out of their classroom, and the ill who are able to walk leave the missionary hospital to hurry to the airstrip. Anxiously waiting, they welcome the passengers and curiously inspect the goods that have been brought in. Meanwhile, children’s voices buzz around the village, calling out ‘Merpati-o, Merpati-o’ or ‘Cessná’. The days of the week are divided into ‘plane days’ and ‘non-plane days’ and, on ‘plane days’, time is divided into ‘before’ and ‘after’ the arrival of the aircraft. According to the timetable, the Merpati lands in Ayawasi twice a week. But because of bad weather, lack of radar, or problems with the aircraft, months can go by before a plane actually arrives. In such periods, the village is cut off from supplies, mail, and transport to the west-coast town of Sorong. Since 1997, as inhabitants of Ayawasi informed us by letter, a sand road has entered the village, constructed through the forest from the town of Teminabuan on the south coast, making Ayawasi accessible to road traffic. Currently, a truck arrives occasionally, delivering goods to replenish the stock of the four kios

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Children attending elementary school

(small shops) in Ayawasi. If their financial situation allows it, people (mostly civil servants or their relatives) open a kios in their house, selling mainly rice, soap, salt, canned sardines, and sometimes dried fish, thus providing them and their families with a cash income. The vast majority of villagers do not have a regular income. Some earn money by selling the surplus from their food gardens. However, because the soil is not very fertile, surpluses are rare and profits are small. A handful of native inhabitants are employed as civil servants, such as the village heads of desa Ayawasi and desa Bori, and schoolteachers. Others are in the service of the mission, as nurses at the missionary hospital and the outpatient clinic, as carpenters, or as employees of Allied Missionary Aircraft. Some women, encouraged by Sister Willemien Derks (CPS, Congregatio Pretiosissimae Sanguinis, Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood), established a weaving room in the missionary complex. The modern kain timur they make and sell throughout West Papua provide them and their families with some income. The small elementary school is situated in the centre of desa Ayawasi, next to the missionary hospital. A few decades ago, Bapak Raja made some land available in the Tenau compound for building a secondary school. The school provides secondary education for the children of Ayawasi as well as those of three neighbouring villages (Mosun, Konja and Kokas). At the edge of the

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village, where the paths begin that lead to their home villages, the youngsters have their own house in which they live together during the school week. Generally, they walk the two to four hours through the rainforest to their home settlements every Friday afternoon, and return to Ayawasi on Sunday. During the week, the youngsters tend their own food garden. The church, built by local people, is situated in an open field next to the airstrip. The Sunday morning mass at eight o’clock is well attended, and people look their best. To be certain that everyone arrives at the two-hour ceremony on time, the church bell is rung three times. First at six o’clock, meaning time to get up and have breakfast. Then at seven o’clock, meaning time to bathe. And finally at a quarter to eight, meaning time to go. The central highlands have a damp, humid climate. The region does not have rainy and dry seasons. Daily, at four o’clock in the afternoon, dark clouds gather over the village and, soon after, the sun makes way for tropical showers that last until sunrise. Foggy mornings result from the damp nights, but during the morning the sun warms the village again. Given the heavy rainfall throughout the year, illnesses such as influenza and malaria easily become epidemics. People with low resistance, such as children and the elderly, are particularly vulnerable. Infant mortality is high, and people generally do not survive beyond 55 or 65 years. It is not only the weather that makes living conditions hard in Ayawasi. Because the soil is poor the food gardens have low yields. For most families it is a struggle just to feed the members of their own household, and shortage of food is a daily problem. The main crop is taro (awiah), supplemented with cassava, sweet potato, and some indigenous vegetables. The daily diet contains very little protein: local rivers have few fish, and any pigs that households might have are saved to be slaughtered for special occasions. Many people are undernourished because of eating too little food and an unbalanced diet. Fish and rice from the kios therefore offer a welcome alternative to the daily meal, for those who can afford it. During the 1990s, many people in the region added a new crop by cultivating peanuts. This gave people a product they could sell at coastal markets and in this way earn a living. They took advantage of the greater demand for peanuts after a large number of Indonesian transmigrants took up residence in West Papuan villages. However, because the supply of peanuts increased dramatically, after a few years profits decreased. Gardening remains the main means of subsistence throughout the Ayfat region, and men still hunt. In line with ancestral custom, gardens are laid out on clan territory in the forest surrounding the village; women and men work closely together, doing gender-specific labour. Clearing the forest is heavy work, a task performed by men. Women and men share the task of burning

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the chopped vegetation. Men build fences to prevent wild pigs entering and eating the crops. Planting, weeding and harvesting are female jobs, and take up a considerable part of a woman’s day. Like most women, Mama Raja leaves the village early in the morning to tend her food garden. At sunset she returns home, her carrier bag (eyu; Indonesian noken) strapped around her head, filled with vegetables and root crops she has picked to feed her family. She cooks dinner in the bamboo kitchen behind her house, in the embers of the open fireplace. Evenings are spent around the fire, talking to relatives or fellow villagers who come to pay her and her husband a visit. When night falls, she makes herself comfortable near the fire and stays there throughout the night. Occasionally, she may go to the main house to sleep in one of the bedrooms. The main house is made of bricks and has corrugated iron roofing. It stands right in front of the small marketplace in the centre of the village. A brick house like Bapak and Mama Raja’s is seen as a status symbol, which only people with monthly salaries – teachers or the nurses at the missionary hospital – can afford. However, these houses are very damp and are used mainly to store goods, as people prefer to live in the bamboo kitchen and sleep near the comfort of the fireplace. The Catholic mission When entering the village, one is immediately struck by the missionary complex in the centre. Built on a hill, the complex overlooks the entire village. The missionary station was founded by the Dutch Catholic mission, which entered the Ayfat region from the north in 1949 via the village of Tabamsere. Father Rombouts, of the Franciscan Order of the Friars Minor (OFM), was the first Catholic priest to travel in the region. His assignment was to open a missionary station in the centre of the Bird’s Head. In 1950, because of serious illness, Father Rombouts had to cease his work, and Father Jorna (OFM) took over. In that same year, Jorna became the first Catholic priest to enter Ayawasi. Bapak Raja, who in those days was Ayawasi’s village head, signed with a thumbprint a letter permitting the mission to establish a school, thereby receiving the Catholic mission in Ayawasi.16 Schooling was the most important strategy used by Catholic missionaries to try to win converts.17 Through the religious education of children, missionaries also hoped to interest adults in the Catholic religion. Although conversion progressed very slowly in the early

16

For further reading on the arrival of the Catholic mission see Thoonen 1998, 2000a, 2005. This was also common for other Catholic missions in West Papua (see for instance J.W. Schoorl 1993). 17

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The airstrip in front of the missionary complex

years, and converts had to be won village by village, the Catholic mission has been, and still is, very successful: nowadays, nearly all the adult inhabitants of Ayawasi and surrounding settlements have been baptized as Christians, mainly Catholics. Ayawasi has only a small Protestant compound where a few families reside. The great majority of the inhabitants, like Mama Raja and her relatives, are devout Catholics. Most of them practise Catholicism with great enthusiasm. They read the Bible and pray every day, visit the church on Sunday mornings (and sometimes on Wednesday evenings), and participate in the various Bible groups that meet once a week, guided by a priest, friar, missionary sister, or a respected layperson. Because of Ayawasi’s central location in the Bird’s Head, and the possibility of making an airstrip there, the village became the centre of the Catholic mission in the Ayfat region. In 1956, the Dutch Fathers of the Ordo Sancti Augustini (OSA) took over from the Franciscans and continued missionary work. To this day, Augustinian priests are still working in the area, especially in coastal places such as Sorong and Manokwari. In Ayawasi, Indonesian priests from various orders have taken over. A minimal staff of three missionary workers (one priest and two friars) reside in Ayawasi and from there they tour the district, visiting neighbouring Catholic villages and saying mass. After the missionary fathers gained a foothold in Ayawasi, in 1963 Dutch

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missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood (CPS) settled in the village and founded a small hospital. The sisters trained local women to become fully qualified nurses. Over the years, the hospital and its adjoining outpatient clinic grew into a well-attended facility that plays a central role in the village and beyond. Each weekday morning the sisters treat up to 40 outpatients, coming from Ayawasi and surrounding villages. Some ill people have to walk several hours through the forest to obtain medical treatment. In the early 1990s, the last Dutch missionary sister left Ayawasi. Nowadays, Indonesian Sisters Franciscan of Heythuysen (OSF) are stationed in Ayawasi and continue the medical work. Anthropological setting and methodological approach My first encounter with Mama Raja at the Sorong airport took place a few months after my arrival in the field. Together with my close friend and fellow anthropologist Louise Thoonen, I arrived in Ayawasi in July 1994 to stay for 13 months and carry out extensive fieldwork. Although Louise and I each conducted our own fieldwork (Louise on female initiation), our research paths crossed frequently, and we exchanged data that we considered appropriate for each other. We chose Ayawasi, in the centre of the Bird’s Head, to be our place of residence for four reasons. The first reason for choosing Ayawasi was that the village and surrounding settlements had rarely been the focus of anthropological research. This was true of most parts of the Bird’s Head, as only a few ethnographies have been published on this peninsula.18 Since the 1990s, Van Oosterhout (2002) and Timmer (2000) have filled this gap for the southern Bird’s Head. The lack of anthropological documentation made it especially interesting for us to study this relatively unexplored area. In fact, only one anthropologist before us had lived in Ayawasi. This Dutch anthropologist, Han Schoorl, conducted extended fieldwork in the 1970s.19 Schoorl’s pioneering study on ceremonial exchange and the social order of the Ayfat region (mostly Ayawasi) provided valuable data that supplemented mine, and his thesis formed the starting point of my research. Schoorl recommends further research on indigenous healing and female initiation, stating that ‘no serious research has been done

18

See Elmberg 1968; Haenen 1991; Miedema 1984; J.M. Schoorl 1979. In addition, some papers have been published that deal with the region and more specifically with religion and health (Elmberg 1955; Bergh 1964; Galis 1956; Massink 1955; Van Rhijn 1957, 1960). 19 The anthropologist Elmberg, who conducted fieldwork in East Ayfat in 1954 and 1957, also visited West Ayfat. His notes of his stay there, however, are fragmentary (see alsoJ.M. Schoorl 1979:9).

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regarding these matters in the Ayawasi area’ (J.M. Schoorl 1979:96-7, 100). Prior to our fieldwork, Dr Schoorl invited us to his home to discuss his book and our plans, showed us slides of Ayawasi, and gave us useful information about doing fieldwork in such a remote area. Secondly, Ayawasi was, and still is, the centre of the Catholic mission in the Ayfat region and thus a suitable place for both of us to conduct research on religious change. Prior to our departure, Louise and I had four meetings with two of the Dutch missionary sisters, Sister Lamberti Yzendoorn (CPS) and Sister Leonie Possen (CPS). The sisters had founded the hospital, the outpatient clinic, and adjoining laboratory, and had lived in Ayawasi for almost 30 years before they had to return to the Netherlands permanently, as a result of the expiration of their residence permits. Both sisters, in extended indepth interviews, gave us valuable information about the initial period of the Catholic mission. Our conversations focused on their missionary work, their contacts with local women, and the daily lives of these women in the light of religious change. Becoming acquainted with them turned out to be our most important gateway to the villagers of Ayawasi, as the Dutch sisters are still held in very high regard. Once our relation with the sisters was known, both Louise and I were immediately classified as being ‘good’ people, people that you can trust. In addition, by giving the sisters’ regards to individual people, it turned out that the sisters had brought us into contact with prominent women of the village right from our first week. The third reason for choosing Ayawasi was the presence of its missionary hospital and outpatient clinic. These were, of course, highly relevant for my study on healing. Moreover, we were aware of the tough living conditions in the central highlands, and considered it safer for ourselves to stay in a place with access to medical treatment. Our foreboding turned out to be correct. We were both struck by malaria almost every month, and on some occasions, without proper treatment we might not have survived the attacks. This brings me to the fourth reason. Although Ayawasi is situated in a fairly remote area, the village could be reached by plane. In the event of severe illness, we would be able to leave the village without having to walk for hours to reach the nearest medical station. Flying was not always possible, however. As the airplanes operate without radar, they are unable to fly on cloudy or rainy days. On more than one occasion, this resulted in our anxiously waiting for the rain to stop. My frequent illnesses had consequences for my research. On the one hand, I had to interrupt my research frequently due to attacks of fever. On the other hand, because of my illnesses, several healers offered their assistance, and in the process I gathered first-hand information about healing rites and interpretations of illness. In addition, I spent many hours in the waiting room of the outpatient clinic, just like all the other patients, until my turn came to be

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treated. In this way, I collected interesting data about why people choose to seek treatment in the medical clinic. My choice of healing as the focus of my research turned out to be a theme that was of major importance in everyday life. Given the hard living conditions, people were constantly ill and therefore continually looking for ways to restore their health. In the Netherlands, people always talk about the weather; in Ayawasi, people always talked about who had fallen ill, what healing performances were about to take place, and who had recovered or had died. Conversations usually started with: ‘Have you already heard who is ill?’ Usually this question was not only followed by an explanation of why a certain healing performance had been chosen, but also by an invitation to join the ritual. This put me in a position to observe all the types of healing rituals that are used in contemporary society, be they performed in the food garden, the village, or the missionary clinic. I took many pictures and most of the time recorded the performances. However, I did not only observe. I was offered the unique opportunity to be initiated in a fenia meroh (female initiation) rite performed in northern Ayfat (for which purpose I stayed in the village of Fef for two weeks), as well as into the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda, as a result of which I was permitted to participate in healing performances. These initiations opened the way to deepening my knowledge because, as an initiated member, I was allowed to receive secrets about indigenous and Christian healing which were, in their totality, revealed to me. I learned healing formulas, the use of medicinal leaves, roots and tree bark, and the ways the cross is employed during Christian healing rituals. Being an initiated member also gave me my indigenous name Yin, by which I became part of the clan group of Ibu Maria Baru, the founder and leader of Kelompok Sabda. Yin is the name of one of Ibu Baru’s ancestors, who together with her sister Bokek (which is Louise’s indigenous name) guard the place where their deceased clan members reside. This place, called tempat keramat, is somewhere in the ground where the deceased stay before they enter a place they call heaven (seweron). I thus learned, in the words of Ibu Baru, ‘all there is to know about healing, both in the ways of adat and in the ways of the church’. Before our return to the Netherlands, Louise and I had several long conversations with Ibu Baru about what we could reveal in our books and what we could not reveal. Although healing rituals are secret, I learned that some things are more secret than others, as we were allowed to publish some aspects but definitely not others. It goes without saying that I will not disclose knowledge that is secret and not meant for other people to know. Still, even the data that I will not reveal improved my understanding of healing knowledge and of the different levels of secrecy. Apart from the fact that I was truly honoured, after the initiations I really felt I understood what had been explained to me before.

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Now I knew what was meant by expressions like ‘transferring knowledge’ or ‘receiving symbols’. Only then were answers to my questions ‘how?’ and ‘in what way?’ made explicit. Moreover, by knowing the secrets, I could recognize how, when, and for what purpose they were applied, in daily life as well as in healing performances. In this way, I could distil the meaning of secret symbols and their interconnections and gain insight into the transfer of healing knowledge. In addition to observing and participating in healing performances, I reconstructed Mama Raja’s search for healing by reviewing the performed rites with the male or female performers, as well as with the people attending the rite. These interviews answered questions that arose during and after the performance. They especially provided me with insights as to how people choose a particular type of healing performance. I interviewed members of the Christian healing group, and the girls with whom I was initiated during the reinstated fenia meroh rite. In addition, I recorded the life histories of Ayawasi’s three most prominent female healers, one from each category: Ibu Baru as Christian healer as well as indigenous healer, Lys Korain as Christian healer, and Barsalina Same as nurse at the missionary clinic. Further, I had indepth interviews with the native priest Yonathan Fatem and other missionary workers. Prior, during, and after my fieldwork, in addition to the CPS missionary sisters, I interviewed Dutch OSA priests who had served in Ayawasi and still do missionary work in the Bird’s Head. Father Frans Jonkergouw provided me with especially valuable data. To this very day, we keep in touch and he passes on the latest news and recent developments whenever he is on leave in the Netherlands. The late Bishop Van Diepen, Father Ton Tromp, Father Piet Tuyp, Father Jan Frank, and Father Ben Noords shared their views and personal experiences during conversations as well as formal interviews. In addition to oral information gathering, I was allowed to consult the sisters’ missionary archives in Ayawasi. Father Ton Tromp allowed me access to the diocese archives in Sorong and allowed me to copy any information I needed. The house we lived in during our stay was situated in desa Ayawasi, close to Mama Raja’s home. From the front we had a perfect view of Ayawasi’s main street, the small marketplace in the centre, and the missionary station. The back of the house gave us a view of the path leading to the river. Every morning and afternoon, villagers walked past on their way to bathe, or to wash clothes or dishes. At sunrise, when the first people passed by and we were having breakfast on our terrace, they stopped to greet us and have a chat, informing us of the latest news. Soon after our arrival, we invited Maria Fanataf and her one-year-old son

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Yan to live with us. Like many women in the village, Maria had been abandoned by her husband. Because her husband had left her to seek his luck in the coastal town of Sorong,20 she was no longer welcome in her husband’s family home, where she had lived since their marriage. Her own kin group was not pleased with the idea of having two extra mouths to feed, and as a result she could not go back there. So Maria and her son were looking for a place to stay. In return for a room, meals, and monthly salary, Maria cooked our meals and washed our clothes. Having Maria in our home not only saved us considerable time, as we no longer had to lay out and tend a fire, or cook our meals; she turned out to be an important informant as well. We shared our meals and sometimes spent the evening together, mostly sitting and talking on the porch. In this way, Maria kept us informed of the latest village news and gossip. Furthermore, she translated discussions we overheard in the streets but could not completely understand, as daily conversations between villagers are mostly held in their local Meybrat language. Patiently, she answered all our questions and gave us useful additional information. It turned out to be impractical to combine my fieldwork with a deep study of the indigenous language. I made sure, however, that I mastered the key words that were important for my research. As all villagers also spoke Indonesian, I conducted my fieldwork in the Indonesian language. Yosefien Bame, the eldest daughter of Ibu Baru, my main teacher, translated into Indonesian and wrote down those parts of healing performances I had recorded which were spoken in the local language. Outline This book explores people’s choices of healing performances as embedded in the religious domain by following Mama Raja in her search to be healed. Chapter II describes the healing performances used to identify the causes of Mama Raja’s illness. The main causes of illness are defined as witchcraft (suangi) and sorcery (kret), which are classified as spirits of the living, discussed in Chapter III, and interference by spirits of the underworld, which is the topic of Chapter IV. The next two chapters discuss the ways healing knowledge is obtained, and how the different performances are used. Indigenous healing performances, through female and male initiation rites, are the focus of Chapter V, while missionary medical treatment is discussed in Chapter VI. In Chapter VII, the case continues with the final stage in Mama

20

It is not exceptional that Maria was left by her husband. Many men leave their native village, before or after marriage, to try their luck in Sorong.

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Raja’s search for healing. The founding of Kelompok Sabda and its Christian healing performances are explored in Chapter VIII. Chapter IX discusses both indigenous and Christian ways of healing, and how people deal with new circumstances to restore the balance between the two. Chapter X, in which the healing performances on the two levels converge, presents my conclusions.

chapter ii

Mama Raja The case

In the heat of the discussion over the causes of Mama Raja’s illness, one of Ayawasi’s elders, Bapak Simon Turot, climbed the steps of the little pile dwelling and entered the house. Bapak Simon turned out to be a wuon healer, that is, a ritual specialist who had received years of training during initiation in the wuon cult house. He was a member of Mama Raja’s matrilineal kin group, and had been called by Mama Raja’s relatives to release the woman from her misery. For a moment the healer stood in the doorway, his eyes focused on Mama Raja. He then asked for a glass of water. One of the women got up, took a glass from a shelf and rinsed it thoroughly, before filling it with clear, cold water from the water barrel outside. Bapak (Mr) Simon was about to perform the ksa aa divination ritual by ‘reading’ the water, in order to ‘search for answers’ for Mama Raja’s illness. He took the glass, held it close to his mouth, and muttered secret formulas into the water. Other people were not allowed to hear the words, otherwise the spell would lose its strength. While the healer muttered the formulas, everyone fell silent and, with great expectancy, closely watched Bapak Simon’s doings. Undisturbed, he murmured his formulas until ‘all the words were used up’. Concentrating, he then walked up to Mama Raja and kneeled by her side. He put one arm under her head and helped her to sit up a bit. Gently, Bapak Simon let Mama Raja sip some water, after which she wearily laid her head down again.



It is an unspoken rule that healers come into action only after a request, either by the ill person or by one of the patient’s kin.  ‘Reading’ water (or leaves) is one of the main techniques healers are taught during initiation in the wuon cult house. Through ‘reading’, the water or leaves are blessed, either to search for the cause of the illness or to transfer healing strength. The collective term for ‘reading’ is potekief (Indonesian: baca). Reciting secret formulas may thus be done either for diagnosing illnesses (ksa aa) or for healing purposes.

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The healer then took some prickly leaves, afa (Laportea decumana; Indonesian: daun gatal), out of a woven mat that he had held under his arm all that time. He ‘read’ the leaves by muttering the appropriate formulas over them. Sitting next to Mama Raja, he then brushed her body with the leaves. Going from head to toe, he first brushed her arms, then her legs, and next her torso, after which he started all over again. He repeated this several times. It was clear that Mama Raja appreciated the massage. Afa is known for its pain-relieving effects, and it eased the pain in Mama Raja’s stiff, contorted limbs. She relaxed perceptibly, and for a short while the convulsions diminished. When he was done, Bapak Simon got up, took the glass with what was left of the water, and walked to the doorway. While he stood there with his back turned to the others, he emptied the glass at one draught. Then, with one pull he forcefully squirted the water on the ground, just outside the dwelling. By doing so, he reinforced the words he had muttered into the water. Searching for answers This act marked the end of the ksa aa divination ritual, to ‘search for answers’. By performing the rite, the healer hoped that the culprit who had caused Mama Raja’s illness would be revealed. For the healer it was beyond doubt that someone had made Mama Raja ill. The only question was who. Others shared this opinion, like Yustina Yumte, a young female relative of Mama Raja’s, who sat next to me and said: Mama Raja was completely healthy while she was staying in Sorong. When she returned to Ayawasi she suddenly fell ill. Mama Raja was taken ill so abruptly; that is definitely a sign that someone made her ill. Besides, she has been ill now for several weeks and has already tried various treatments, including herbal medicine. She also asked wuon healers to perform the saus ritual and lived in seclusion for several weeks observing the strict food taboos that go with the ritual. It all came to nothing. Even this morning when the convulsions started, one of the nurses from the missionary hospital was called in. The sister came and gave Mama Raja an injection. She thought Mama Raja was having a severe attack of malaria. But after the shot the spasms only became worse. I know for sure that someone made Mama Raja ill!

In the search for answers to the question who it was who caused Mama Raja’s illness, several options (according to indigenous beliefs) were conceivable. The wrongdoer could be a malevolent spirit who had taken possession of Mama Raja’s body and in this way made her seriously ill. Such spirits could be ancestral spirits who were punishing Mama Raja for violating or disregarding ancestral rules. Or the spirit could be that of a villager who had died of an ‘unnatural’ cause. These spirits are believed to be unable to find peace

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and as a result wander around the village after sunset, entering people’s bodies, making them fall ill. It was also possible that Mama Raja had fallen ill due to acts of jealousy; this could be sorcery (kret) done by a sorcerer, or witchcraft (suangi) carried out by a witch. As soon as Bapak Simon found out who caused Mama Raja’s illness, he would know what methods to use to counteract the deadly forces. For this purpose, after the end of the divination ritual, all hopes were set on Mama Raja. She herself would be the one to point out the person who had caused her suffering. The water which Bapak Simon had ‘read’ would give Mama Raja the strength and power to see images of the perpetrator. To make this possible Mama Raja first had to fall into a long, deep sleep. Bapak Simon, who was still standing near the doorway, watched Mama Raja until she was sound asleep. Serene, even motionless, the woman lay on her mat, the convulsions having worn off, to the great relief of all present. One of the women got up and covered Mama Raja with a shawl, so she would be warm and comfortable. Bapak Simon then left the dwelling, without saying a word. Everyone present knew that, as usual, he would return as soon as Mama Raja woke up. Outside the house, a crowd of people had gathered. They jostled one another, trying to catch a glimpse of the ill woman inside. Lots of people were milling around, talking at the same time. Some were trying to find out what had happened inside. Others speculated on who might have caused the illness. Many possibilities were put forward and, as before, there seemed to be no agreement. I decided to stay in the dwelling to await the next event. Together with other female villagers, mostly family members of Mama Raja, we made ourselves comfortable and lay down to rest a bit. It was some time before Mama Raja woke up. Slowly she opened her eyes, turned back the covering over her, and tried to sit up. The bright sunlight entering the house through the doorway made her blink her eyes. With great difficulty she sat up straight, leaning on her arms which she had put behind her back. In a daze, she looked around the room. Now and then her gaze rested for a few seconds on one of the villagers present, before she looked away. With enormous suspense we all observed Mama Raja. Was she about to tell who had caused her illness? We all sat there quietly, with our ears pricked. Mama Raja was now staring aimlessly into the dwelling. Then she opened her mouth, first a little bit, then wider and wider. People shuffled forwards, ready to catch every word she might be about to say. It shook the villagers when unintelligible sounds filled the room. At the same time, Mama Raja’s arms and legs started to tremble and before she could say anything she went into another attack of convulsions. Again, women raised their voices in complaint, and the discussion resumed about what could be done to save Mama Raja’s life. At that point, Ibu (Mrs) Lys Korain, a woman in her thirties and one

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of the leading healers of the Christian group Kelompok Sabda, arrived. Determinedly she worked her way through the crowd and entered the little house. While standing right in the middle of the room, next to the fireplace, she scowled at the people around her and told them straight out what she thought: You have to think of God, Yefun. That’s the only thing you should do. Think of Him. Believe in Him, truly believe in Him. Put your faith in Yefun and pray. Pray for Mama Raja. If you do that, then she will get better, then she will be saved.

Ibu Lys kept repeating her belief in the power of the Christian healing group, on and on. Some people present nodded in agreement, while others listened attentively without interrupting. All of a sudden, while Ibu Lys was still talking, Bapak Frans Yumte, another wuon healer, entered the house. Without paying any attention to Ibu Lys, he went straight to Mama Raja. Curative power Mama Raja, who in the meantime had come through her fit of convulsions, sat up, although with difficulty and still unable to speak. Bapak Frans went to stand in front of her, bent forward, and blew forcefully over her head. Immediately after that, he spit some chewed shallots (bawang merah), which he had kept under his tongue, on Mama Raja’s body. First he spit on her forehead, next on her breastbone, and after she had lifted her dress, on her stomach, below her navel. The chewed shallots stuck on her body, while her forehead dripped with spit. Mama Raja, who at first startled visibly at the unexpectedly forceful spitting, underwent the rest of the ritual with resignation, as she was familiar with the performance and knew what to expect next. While the spit dripped into her eyes, she let the healer carry on. Bapak Frans then knelt beside her and put his hands on both sides of her head. Gently yet firmly, he brushed her hair downwards, pulled his hands away, and clapped once loudly in front of her face. After that, he took her arms and then her legs and brushed them with both hands from top to bottom. He pulled on her fingers and toes, and cautiously cracked her knuckles. After the healer had repeated these actions several times, he stood up and disappeared without a word, as suddenly and resolutely as he had come. Meanwhile, it was still a coming and going of visitors. The little dwelling 

Bawang merah, red shallots, represents blood. Blood has to flow (and be vigorous) to maintain health. During convulsions the blood flow stagnates; bawang merah is generally applied to counteract the malevolent powers and expel the illness, thus ending the spasms, with the goal of making the blood flow vigorously again.

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was full to bursting with inquisitive people eager to know what the healer had done. It was said that the healer had been in the forest prior to his performance in the pile dwelling. There, in a quiet spot away from the villagers and under the shade of the trees, Bapak Frans first ‘searched for answers’ by means of the ksa aa divination ritual. For this purpose, he cut a stem from the ksa aa plant (Ficus) and called out names of possible culprits. In this way he determined that Mama Raja was the victim of suangi, female witchcraft, because an insect landed on the twig the moment Bapak Frans called out a certain woman’s name. He then performed the potekief ritual, to ‘read’ (in this case) the shallots. Secret formulas were muttered in order to give the shallots curative power and strength. The healer did not want to wait for the moment that Mama Raja herself was able to point out the culprit who had caused her illness. He thought that immediate action was vital to save Mama Raja’s life. So he did not wait until someone asked for his help, but offered his services without delay. He identified the alleged witch as Maria Tenau, a foreign woman who had come to live in Ayawasi after her marriage. She was believed to have caused the illness out of jealousy and he accused her of having taken hold of Mama Raja’s soul (nawiah). Now the witch was presumably trying to hang on to Mama Raja’s ‘shadow’. Then, while keeping a tight grip, she would pull with all her strength until the ‘shadow’ came loose from Mama Raja’s body, at which point Mama Raja would die instantly. The shallots which the healer had ‘read’ were meant to give Mama Raja the necessary strength to hold on to her soul, and to counteract the power of witchcraft. The healer was sure that Mama Raja would have died if he had not taken immediate action, and so he had not first consulted Mama Raja’s relatives to get their approval. Waiting for answers Mama Raja, utterly exhausted from the consternation, lay down again on the mat. One of the women present folded a pillow out of the shawl that had earlier served as a blanket, to support Mama Raja’s head. Some other women took a seat next to the ill woman and helped her to get through the attacks of convulsions, which came about every 15 minutes. The women held tight to Mama Raja’s arms, legs and head and made sure she would not injure herself. 

Ksa aa (Indonesian: cari tahu) is the collective term for the various rituals to ‘search for answers’. It is named after the ksa aa plant. During initiation, wuon healers are taught to use it to search for the culprit that caused the illness.  The soul accompanies a person outside the body, and is visible as one’s shadow. If the shadow comes loose from the body, the person will die.

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Meanwhile, various visitors sat calmly, waiting hopefully for the treatments to take effect, whereas others continued the debate about what should be done. Ibu Lys, who was still present, was the first to reopen the discussion: We shall soon find out if the treatments were effective or not. In the meantime we should still be thinking of God and believing in Him. So God will give Mama Raja the necessary strength. And tonight, if it turns out that Mama Raja is not recovered, I insist strongly that one of the Kelompok Sabda healers should treat Mama Raja. You can ask me to come, or Ibu Maria Baru, or one of the other healers. It does not matter which one, as long as you ask one of us to come and pray for Mama Raja. Because if you believe in God, then He will save Mama Raja. I’ll go home now and wait there, till it is dark, for one of you to come.

To reinforce her argument, Ibu Lys first looked around the room, and then looked some of Mama Raja’s relatives in the eye, before she left. The news that Mama Raja had been made ill by witchcraft travelled rapidly through the village. This time, women who entered the house walked straight to Mama Raja, knelt at her side, and embraced her while bursting into tears. It seemed the time had come to say goodbye; Mama Raja would surely die, as attacks of witchcraft can hardly ever be counteracted. Mama Raja, who tried to sit up by herself between every attack of convulsions, let the women hold her. She laid her head on their shoulders for support. She uttered sounds but was still unable to speak. Unlike the women, the men who now paid Mama Raja a visit stayed far away from her. Some did not enter the house at all. They stayed in the doorway, whereas others hurried to the furthest corner of the house, terrified as they were of the powers of female witchcraft. For a while, nothing exceptional happened. Now more people left than arrived. Most returned to their homes, shaking their heads in dismay. They knew that there was nothing they could do now except wait – wait for Mama Raja’s condition to worsen, so that she would die, or wait for a sign that she was strong enough to hold on to her shadow and make it to nightfall. Then, after sunset, the help of the healers of the Christian healing group could be called in. Peace settled in the little dwelling when Mama Raja again fell into a deep sleep. Only a few female relatives stayed to sit up with her. I decided to stay and keep watch with these women. It must have been past noon when we heard thumping outside. Some of the women who had lain down to rest were startled out of their sleep. When I looked up, I saw Bapak Hengki Tenau and his wife Ibu Ruth Nauw standing in the doorway. Bapak Hengki, a younger brother of Mama Raja’s husband, is one of the most respected and feared wuon healers of Ayawasi. He and his

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wife had been working in their food garden, where they planned to stay for a few days. This morning, when Mama Raja’s condition declined, a boy was sent to fetch them, as Bapak Raja, Mama Raja’s husband, was still in Sorong for business. Initially Mama Raja had accompanied her husband to the coastal city. A few weeks ago, however, she had returned home to look after her family in Ayawasi, while Bapak Raja stayed in Sorong. As usual, at times when Bapak Raja resides in the coastal city, his younger brother looks after Mama Raja. So, as fast as they could, Bapak Hengki and Ibu Ruth had walked the two-and-a-half hours back to the village. There they were awaited by Bapak Frans Yumte. On their way to Mama Raja’s, Bapak Frans told them what he had learned by performing the divination ritual, namely that her illness had been caused by witchcraft. Mama Raja awoke from her sleep and pulled herself up. Bapak Hengki stared at her for a while, then looked around the room before squatting down next to the fireplace, where he smoked a cigarette. Ibu Ruth walked straight up to Mama Raja and embraced her. The two women sat together for a while, holding each other tight. Ibu Ruth, overcome by emotion, burst into tears. Softly Mama Raja cried with her. Soon, however, Mama Raja was too exhausted to sit up, and laid her head down to rest again. When Mama Raja fell into another attack of convulsions, Bapak Hengki got up to sit behind her, and took her head in his hands. Together with some women, he helped Mama Raja make it through the spasms. Bapak Hengki stayed behind Mama Raja holding her gently in his arms, her head relaxing against his chest. And so, time passed. The peace and quiet in the dwelling was again disturbed and the discussion about what should be done to heal Mama Raja revived when Nurse Barsalina Same and Nurse Clara Turot, who both originate from the Ayfat region, entered. The two women had been working at the missionary outpatient clinic all morning. As soon as they finished work, they hurried over to see Mama Raja. Nurse Clara, who is a younger sister of Mama Raja, blanched with fear when she saw her sister lying there close to death. She walked up to Mama Raja and embraced her tenderly. Nurse Barsalina stayed on the upper step of the small stairs leading to the dwelling. From there she admonished the people present to take Mama Raja to the hospital, saying: Can’t you see that Mama Raja is seriously ill? She needs medical treatment. You must take her to the hospital. If you won’t, I will go there and come back to give Mama Raja an injection. That’s what she needs.

Nurse Barsalina looked hopefully to Nurse Clara for support. Nurse Clara,

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torn by doubt, looked from Bapak Hengki to Nurse Barsalina and back again. She did not know what the best thing to do was: wait and let the potekief ritual do its work, or take immediate action and take her sister to the hospital. Nurse Barsalina did not await her colleague’s answer. She turned and walked back to the outpatient clinic. Meanwhile, Ibu Faustina, who had been in the house all morning and who had left for about half an hour, came back with a pan of cooked rice. She served some of it on a metal plate and handed it over to Nurse Clara, who fed her sister the steaming rice. Mama Raja ate greedily. Then the story went round that Maria Tenau, who was accused of causing Mama Raja’s illness by means of witchcraft, was sitting in front of her house in the village, loudly proclaiming that she had not performed any witchcraft. That she was innocent and that she was not a witch at all; that she would not run and flee into the forest, like most women do who are accused of witchcraft. And that she was not afraid of the wuon healers coming after her. That she would not drink the sap of the poisonous root fo (Derris; Indonesian: akarbori) (which is a common way to commit suicide). It was said that she stayed there for hours, declaring her innocence over and over again. Chasing away evil spirits Before Nurse Barsalina had a chance to come back from the clinic, we heard a voice shouting outside. Yustina Yumte took me by the hand and pulled me up. ‘Quickly’, she urged. ‘The wuon healers have come. We have to go outside.’ I saw people around me leaping up. The only ones to stay seated were other wuon healers. We all ran up the little hill next to the dwelling. There we stopped, with our backs turned to the house. It was strictly forbidden to look behind, the healers called to us. From the hillside we heard voices inside the house, followed by the sound of leaves brushing the body. We listened attentively, trying to understand what was going on. ‘Oh,’ said Ibu Ruth, who was the first to guess at the mystery inside. ‘The spirit of Maksi [a man who had recently been stabbed to death] has made Mama Raja ill.’ Immediately, a shudder of fear went through the crowd. Illness caused by spirits of deceased persons is experienced as extremely frightening. The secret ritual that was being performed inside the dwelling lasted no 

As discussed in the next chapter, drinking the sap of the poisonous root fo is a painful though effective way out of the accusation. Many women accused of witchcraft see it as their only solution.

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more than five minutes. Bapak Agus Yumte, one of the wuon healers who witnessed the ritual, stood in the doorway and invited us to re-enter the house. Slowly, we turned around and strolled down the hill, not knowing what to expect inside. With dragging steps people climbed the stairs and cautiously entered the house. Everyone looked for a place to sit as far away from Mama Raja as possible, as everyone was frightened. And so, in the furthest corner of the house we all sat packed together. Mama Raja still lay on her mat and looked at us. Her eyes flashed with fear. She had blood all over her. Big spots covered her forehead, cheeks and breastbone. Above her head, on the ceiling, hung a bundle of green leaves, tah si (Dracaena angustifolia), wound around with a string. The leaves were covered with blood too. Bapak Hengki explained what had happened. It turned out that Bapak Niko Tenau, one of the younger wuon healers, had also gone to the forest to perform the divination ritual, to ‘search for answers’. Unlike Bapak Frans Yumte, who was sure that Mama Raja’s illness was caused by witchcraft, Bapak Niko was convinced that it was the spirit of a deceased villager that had made Mama Raja ill. More specifically, Bapak Niko was certain that it was the spirit of Maksi, who had recently been killed, that had taken possession of Mama Raja’s body. His premonition was confirmed during his performance of the divination ritual, when an insect landed on the stem of the plant just at the moment the healer called out Maksi’s name. In addition, after saying secret formulas over the leaves, the leaves all of a sudden were covered with blood. Without a doubt, the blood had been sprinkled there by Maksi’s spirit, as bloodstains indicate interference by the spirit of a person who has died a violent death. The healer hastened to Mama Raja. He knew there was no time to waste, and not only because Mama Raja had been made ill by a malevolent spirit. In a vision while performing the divination ritual, the healer had seen Mama Raja’s shadow already walking away from her. Only the back of her shadow was still visible. If the shadow were to come loose from her body, Mama Raja would surely die. With all his strength, and in a final desperate attempt, Bapak Niko hit Mama Raja with the bloodstained leaves in order to chase away the spirit who had taken possession of her body. As soon as Bapak Hengki finished retelling what Bapak Niko had found out, the women started to wail pitifully. Mama Raja looked anxious and her eyes filled with tears. Bapak Hengki was the first to narrow the distance between Mama Raja and the people present. Again, he went to sit behind Mama Raja, and put his arms around her waist. She leaned back and let her head rest against his chest. For a while she closed her eyes. Soon after, Nurse Clara walked up to Mama Raja, and used a cloth to gently wipe the blood off her sister’s face and hands.

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The fact that one healer had diagnosed Mama Raja’s illness as being caused by witchcraft, while another attributed it to a restless spirit of a deceased villager did not seem to bother people. It was not unusual for multiple explanations to be given for the same illness, because various ways of ‘searching for answers’ yielded different results, and people generally tried a number of treatments in succession. Waiting for nightfall The attacks of convulsions continued unabated, while Mama Raja lay in Bapak Hengki’s arms. Each time, he clasped her tightly to support her during the spasms. Meanwhile, Bapak Hengki sent Mama Raja’s youngest son, Yan Pieter, who had been with his mother all morning, to pick some more tah si leaves. When the boy returned to the house, he handed the long pointed leaves to Bapak Hengki. The healer then turned his head to the wall of the dwelling, where no one was seated, holding the leaves in one hand. With his other hand he held Mama Raja. He then bent his head and quietly muttered secret curative formulas over the leaves. One could see his lips move and even hear soft whispering, but as before, we could not understand the words, otherwise they would lose their spiritual power. With the leaves Bapak Hengki then brushed over Mama Raja’s body two or three times. Starting with her head, he next brushed her arms and torso. He went from top to bottom, making throwing-away movements to wipe the spirit out of her body. In addition, he took her hands and cracked her knuckles. By doing so, Bapak Henki reinforced the ritual carried out by Bapak Niko and strengthened Mama Raja’s body to fight off the malevolent spirit. After the performance, Bapak Hengki put the leaves between the bamboo canes on the ceiling, next to the bloodstained bundle of leaves right above Mama Raja’s head. He then sat down again, and let Mama Raja rest in his arms. Soon she fell asleep. ‘There is nothing we can do now’, Bapak Hengki whispered quietly to the people present. ‘We’ll have to wait and hope that Mama Raja has the strength to fight the spirit. Go home now. I will stay and keep watch.’ Nearly everyone followed his suggestion. Only a few close relatives decided to stay and sit with Bapak Hengki. It was only after I left the dwelling that I noticed I had lost all track of time. The sun was already past its highest point in the sky. Only then did I notice that I was very thirsty and very hungry, and I walked straight home. Around sunset I decided to go to the dwelling one more time to see how Mama Raja was doing. On my way I ran into Ibu Lys, who accompanied me.

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This time I did not enter the house. From outside, I could see that Mama Raja was still lying on her mat in the left corner of the room. She was asleep, and while she lay there, comfortably tucked in with a shawl, she looked peaceful. The house was almost empty. Some women sat by the fireplace and prepared taro in the ashes. Bapak Hengki squatted next to them smoking a cigarette. ‘The convulsions have not yet diminished,’ Ibu Ruth remarked, as if she had read my mind. ‘But luckily she falls asleep in between, so she can gain strength.’ ‘Nurse Barsalina just left’, Nurse Clara continued. ‘She gave Mama Raja an injection. Hopefully, this will diminish the spasms.’ Ibu Lys did not forgo the opportunity to again recommend calling in the healers of the Christian healing group. She reassured Mama Raja’s relatives that praying was the only way to save this woman’s life. ‘It is quite possible we will come tonight and request your help,’ Nurse Clara stated. Ibu Lys, satisfied with this answer, turned to go home. I decided to leave the family in peace, and together we walked back to the main street of the village. I was invited to stay with Ibu Lys and wait for someone to call for her. Darkness fell, but no one came. I went home to have dinner. While I sat there eating my rice, I suddenly heard loud crying coming from Bapak Agus Turot’s dwelling, which was just in front of our house. I hurried to the open window. People ran by. For the second time that day I heard them shouting, ‘Mama Raja is dead, Mama Raja is dead!’ Paralysed, I walked back to the table. I sat down, and although I had lost my appetite, I finished my plate. I knew that there was a long night ahead of me, as I decided to accompany Mama Raja’s relatives watching over the body.

chapter iii

Spirits of the living Who is it that made Mama Raja ill? This was the question buzzing about the village. Mama Raja’s sudden severe illness and the uncertainty and anxiety it caused had aroused the emotions of the healers and all the other villagers of Ayawasi. From the moment it was suggested that Mama Raja was the victim of a malevolent spirit, village life became disordered. Although children continued to attend school, teachers went on writing questions on the blackboard, and hospital workers continued bandaging wounds, anybody who did not need to go out remained at home. Women did walk to their food gardens to gather tuberous plants and vegetables to cook for dinner in the evening, but they did not remain there longer than necessary. Men left the village neither for fishing and hunting nor for working in the food gardens. Everybody wanted to stay in the village, close to relatives and friends. They spoke of almost nothing other than what was happening to Mama Raja and the possible culprit who had caused her misfortune. To answer the question, several wuon healers had each performed the divination ritual in which they ‘searched for answers’ to diagnose the illness, as it is necessary to determine the source of the illness in order to heal it. According to indigenous religious beliefs about causes of illness, four options are conceivable. These options centre around two categories of spirits, found throughout Melanesia (Kyakas and Wiessner 1992:136; Sillitoe 1998:218): spirits of the living and spirits of the underworld. In northwest Ayfat, severe illness and death are attributed primarily to the power of spirits of the living. These spirits manifest themselves in witchcraft (suangi) and sorcery practices (kret). Secondly, attacks from spirits of the underworld, which can be either male or female, ancestral or non-ancestral, are considered potentially responsible for illness and misfortune in everyday life. In this chapter, I discuss spirits of the living: suangi and kret. What are suangi and kret? Was Mama Raja made ill by one such spirit? What is the influence of these spirits in contemporary society in terms of gender and religious change, and what types of healing performances do people choose? Witchcraft and sorcery practices are known all over Melanesia and are generally viewed as embedded in the religious context of the society con-

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cerned. The belief that illness and death are attributable to witchcraft and sorcery is widespread in Melanesia, though the details vary greatly. Strathern and Stewart (2002:73) emphasize that ‘Sickness and its treatments figured prominently in the indigenous religious practices in New Guinea, since adverse happenings to the body were often attributed to the agency of spirits, if not to the effects of witchcraft and sorcery’. The present chapter not only foregrounds the importance of witchcraft and sorcery in illness and healing, but also shows how illness and healing performances are embedded in the religious domain. As to religious change, not only did witchcraft and sorcery practices acquire a different meaning in the missionary context, the types of healing performances people choose also changed. Sillitoe (1998:165) states that the distinction made in anthropology, following Evans-Pritchard (1937), between witchcraft and sorcery is relevant for many Melanesian cultures. The distinction in northwest Ayfat is that witchcraft is seen as an innate, malevolent and uncontrollable power, whereas sorcery is seen as a learned skill, used deliberately. Stephen (1987:276-7, 288) adds another valuable distinction to Evans-Pritchard’s classic model by suggesting that a clear dividing line between sorcerers and witches is to be found in their ‘social roles’. ‘Where the imputation of destructive mystical power is used as a means to gain social influence [...] we are dealing with sorcery; where it unavoidably leads to social ruin, we are dealing with witchcraft’ (Stephen 1987:288). A consequence of this sharp contrast is that sorcerers are socially rewarded, while witches are punished. Stephen’s distinction also holds for northwest Ayfat and, more importantly, in the missionary context the social difference diminished. In addition to Evans-Pritchard’s and Stephen’s distinctions, there is another distinction in northwest Ayfat which, in local people’s perception, is of major importance. In addition to the classic dichotomy innate–uncontrollable versus learned–deliberate, and the more recent distinction on the basis of social status, a further distinction between witchcraft and sorcery is based on gender categories: witchcraft is the exclusive domain of women, while sorcery is exclusively men’s work. Female witchcraft In Mama Raja’s case, one of the wuon healers soon identified a possible cause for her illness by performing the divination ritual, in which the healer’s ances

See for instance Barker 1990; De Coppet and Iteanu 1995; Counts and Counts 2004; Hayward 1997; Herdt and Stephen 1989; Knauft 1989; Lawrence and Meggitt 1965; Lindenbaum 1979; Mageo and Howard 1996; Stewart and Strathern 1997; Stephen 1987; Trompf 1991.

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tors were invoked to strengthen the healer in discovering the cause of the illness. While performing the rite, using various techniques, the healer not only discovered that Mama Raja was the victim of witchcraft, he was also able to determine who the witch was. To determine the source of witchcraft by means of the ksa aa divination ritual, the healer retires to a quiet spot in the forest, on ancestral territory. There he cuts a long, narrow stem of the ksa aa plant and, concentrating deeply, chants the required formulas. He then snaps the stem on the ground like a whip, while calling out the names of possible culprits. As soon as a butterfly or grasshopper leaps up, the woman whose name is being called out at that moment is declared guilty of witchcraft. This ritual, however, is extremely easy to manipulate, and demonstrates the considerable power of wuon healers. The healer decides whose names he will call out, and in what order, and he decides when to call out the next woman’s name. Moreover, he decides to perform the divination ritual to search for a possible witch, instead of searching for another potential culprit, for example a male sorcerer or a spirit from the world of the dead. By means of the divination ritual, Maria Tenau was pointed out as the guilty woman. Mama Raja was supposed to confirm the accusation, but she never did, as she had another attack of convulsions and as a result was unable to speak. For that reason, healers performed a rite to strengthen Mama Raja so that she would not succumb to her illness. The fact that Maria Tenau was recognized by the healers as the witch who had caused Mama Raja’s severe illness, however, was accepted as truth and rapidly spread through the village. The suspicion caused by a healer’s having declared that she might be a witch was enough reason for villagers to treat Maria Tenau as an outcast. A healer’s judgement is hardly ever disputed, as they are highly respected bigmen. Although Maria Tenau kept declaring her innocence, finally she felt forced to flee to her food gardens, where she remained alone. How could this happen and why was Maria Tenau forced to leave the village? It turned out that this stemmed from the fear of witchcraft which, to date, is intense even among devout Christians. Suangi is the Indonesian term for the complex phenomenon of witchcraft that manifests itself in several ways. It is found all over West Papua, as well as in other parts of eastern Indonesia, although it is not everywhere exclusively associated with women. Throughout northwest Ayfat, suangi is seen as 

Big-men and big-women (bobot) are influential people, especially in the possession and exchange of ceremonial cloths (kain timur).  See Bergh 1964; Courtens 1998; Elmberg 1955, 1968; Galis 1956; Kamma 1941; Miedema 1984; Van Oosterhout 2002; Van Rhijn 1957; J.M. Schoorl 1979; Van der Werff 1989.  As Stephen (1987:260, 286) mentions, situations of exclusively male sorcerers and exclusively female witches in Oceania are reported for Abelam of the Sepik, Trobriands, Dobu, and parts of the Southern Massim. According to Stephen some of these societies, however, have

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a mysterious force with an uncontrollable desire to kill (see also J.M. Schoorl 1979:84). Each region has its own kind and bears its own indigenous name. The most common type of female witchcraft in northwest Ayfat is called kapes mapo, meaning ‘the spirit of a woman eating humans’. Witchcraft originating from southeast Ayfat is known as kapes fane (spirit of a pig). Other terms for witchcraft in northwest Ayfat are kapes ndah (spirit of a dog), kapes serof (spirit of a forest animal), and kapes apan (spirit of a snake). The fact that various kinds of witchcraft are named after animals is not accidental; it is said that the deadly force of witchcraft can assume the shape of an animal. Whatever animal shapes the spirit of a witch may assume, it operates more or less in the same way. The spirit of a witch can leave her body at night, while sleeping. Outside her body, the spirit may take on the appearance of an animal and then wander through the village incognito. When she reaches her victim’s house, the spirit frees herself of her animal appearance. The spirit then sneaks into the victim’s body, and the power of witchcraft penetrates into the various body cavities. Greedily, the spirit eats the intestines and drinks the blood until she is satisfied. The power of witchcraft then leaves the victim, and the spirit returns to her own body. The next morning, the victim wakes up seriously ill, usually having a high fever accompanied by shivers. And thus, in the event of a sudden severe illness, people will initially fear it is an attack of witchcraft. Throughout the Ayfat region people are terrified of the powers of witchcraft, which can affect men, women and children. This is not only because witchcraft can make someone seriously ill, often resulting in death. Witchcraft is also a threat to social life, and produces a considerable commotion in the village, as the case of Mama Raja shows. Although in practice accusations of

female sorcery instead of female witchcraft, since the power attributed to these women brings them social influence and respect. This is not the case in northwest Ayfat, what we have here is female witchcraft.  Here I do not agree with J.M. Schoorl (1979:83-5), who mentions kapes fane as the most widespread type of witchcraft in West Ayfat. Although kapes fane does occur in Ayawasi and surroundings, it was brought into the region by women who originate from outside West Ayfat. Suspicion and accusations of kapes fane practices are therefore always aimed at women who descend from southeast Ayfat.  The fact that the spirit of a witch can leave her body, taking on the appearance of an animal and consuming her prey, is not exclusive to Ayfat. Stürzenhofecker (1998:161) notes that for the Duna people of Papua New Guinea a witch has the power ‘to transform her body into that of another creature, such as a snake, a cassowary, a bat, […] stealing a person’s internal organs’. Likewise, Lepowski (1990:1054) says that in Vanatinai, Papua New Guinea, witchcraft occurs at night when the spirit leaves the witch’s body as she is sleeping, and attacks her victims, motivated by jealousy or the desire for a cannibal feast.  The Huli of the Southern Highlands of Papua New Guinea believe in exclusively female witches who attack only men (Stephen 1987:260).

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witchcraft are rare (only every few years), the fear of witchcraft continually occupies villagers’ minds. People hardly ever talk about witchcraft, as if mentioning it might evoke it. People spoke to me freely about witchcraft only if they were sure that no one else could overhear our conversation. And thus, it was in food gardens situated far away from the village, or in the shelter of our home, that I learned about spirits of the living. Accusations of witchcraft Witchcraft is inherited through the female line and is passed on at birth from mother to daughter. The only way to escape this inheritance is if a female child is taken away from her mother right after birth, and is taken into another home as a foster child. Therefore, it is considered wise to remove children from their witch mother’s influence at an early age. Although it is believed children do not practise witchcraft and witchcraft will manifest itself only at an adult age, the powers are potentially present in a child born to a witch. The child will therefore never really escape her fate. Sooner or later, in the event of an unforeseen illness or death in the village, she will inevitably be accused of being a witch. Thus, in practice, it does not matter whether or not a child is taken away from her mother, and consequently this rarely happens. Maria Tenau’s only daughter Katharina had always lived with her mother and father in Ayawasi. As a result of the accusations of witchcraft directed towards her mother, she too was now looked at with suspicion and rumours spread that she belonged to the next generation of witches. Katharina, however, was not forced to flee the village and she decided to stay with her father, where she was left in peace. As is common throughout Melanesia, it is conventionally assumed that the main reason for female witches to practise witchcraft is envy or greed. In Mama Raja’s case, the most obvious reason was perceived to be envy, as she had married into the wealthiest clan of Ayawasi and her husband was one of the most influential men of the village. Her social position thus made Mama Raja vulnerable to attack by witches. A witch is thought to become jealous for two kinds of reasons, envy of someone’s possessions and envy of someone’s children. First and foremost, she may envy other people’s possession of resources. If her food garden produces a meagre harvest, for instance, she will envy other villagers who have a good harvest. She may also envy people with regular monthly salaries, like government officials, nurses at the missionary hospital, and other employees of the missionary station, as they can afford to buy things. Various people emphasized the importance of observing certain rules of conduct to avoid becoming a victim of witchcraft. Maria Fanataf, a young Christian woman, stated:

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Restoring the balance Do not ever make a witch angry. When you are at the marketplace and a witch accosts you, saying that she likes what you are buying, just give her what she wants. Try to please her. Otherwise, she will become jealous and her witch’s spirit may assault you.

The practice of witchcraft was something that had been occupying Maria Fanataf’s mind since she came to live in our house with her one-year-old son Yan. In return for domestic work, Maria earned a monthly salary. Most of this money she put aside for Yan’s future education. Sometimes, however, she liked to buy herself and Yan new clothes, in which they proudly paraded on their way to Sunday mass. She noticed people glancing at them as they walked. The looks worried Maria, and she was always frightened that one of the onlookers might be a witch. As a result, Maria gave away money and goods whenever someone, especially a woman, asked her. Because of that, Maria could not fully enjoy the relative luxury that had fallen to her, and she lost a lot of her savings. In addition, Maria constantly felt that she had to be on her guard and was especially frightened that Yan would fall prey to witchcraft. I could see the fear in her eyes each time Yan fell ill, followed by great relief when the medication prescribed by the missionary sisters helped him get well; she was relieved because this meant that it could not have been witchcraft that had caused Yan’s illness. Maria’s fear is typical among women and men. To this day, fear of the uncontrollable, mysterious power of witchcraft is clearly noticeable throughout the village, and people protect themselves as best they can against these malevolent, deadly forces. Usually, villagers try to avoid any encounter with a woman who has been accused of being a witch. If they meet accidentally, they make sure to avoid looking at the witch: it is believed that a witch who comes face to face with a person will be overtaken by the desire to pursue this person as her next prey. During my fieldwork, it did not occur that a man fell ill suddenly in the extreme way Mama Raja did. I therefore did not witness accusations of witchcraft in relation to male victims. Both women and men emphasized, however, that men too may fall prey to witchcraft. J.M. Schoorl (1979:85) confirms this, as well as Father Rombouts OSA, in an undated missionary document. I asked about this in my interviews with the Dutch Sisters Lamberti Yzendoorn CPS and Leonie Possen CPS, who worked in Ayawasi for more than 30 years before they left in the 1990s. They said that, during all those years, each time a man suddenly died or became severely ill, people suspected witchcraft. That is, it was always a woman who was accused of causing the death or illness.



Father Rombouts was the first Catholic priest to traverse the Ayfat region (in 1949).

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Envy of other people’s wealth is thus the main reason for witchcraft. The second reason is that a witch is jealous of other people’s children. She might find other children more beautiful than her own. Or she might wish for a child of the opposite sex. Women with young children are particularly afraid of witches, as witches are believed to target toddlers. To protect their children, mothers cover up their babies’ faces with the sling in which they are carried, to keep them hidden from view while passing a woman thought to be a witch. For this reason, one never sees a young mother showing her baby’s face to a woman from a different village with whom she is not acquainted. As witchcraft is passed on from mother to daughter by birth, it is commonly noted which women of the village are witches or potential witches. In case of outsider women, however, this is not always known and people are extra careful. Although a witch can only be identified with confidence through certain rituals performed by wuon healers, villagers can recognize a potential witch in various ways. The most common sign is when certain animals point in her direction. One such animal is the firefly. Ibu Yosepha Fatie, a devout Christian, explained: If a woman is asleep, always watch out for fireflies, which usually fly around the sleeping-place at night. A firefly in the house is a good sign: it means that the ancestors are watching over you. However, if a firefly comes close to a certain woman and then penetrates her from beneath [...] then it’s a sign that the firefly is a malevolent spirit and that this woman is a witch.

During the daytime, another animal is responsible for indicting a woman of witchcraft. A kuskus (a small marsupial) detected running and sniffing around the village by day is very uncommon and thus considered extremely alarming. People watch it closely to see where it goes. If, by chance, the animal enters a house, one of the women of that house will from that time onward be treated as a person suspected of possessing witchcraft powers. Not only animals may alert people to witchcraft. Other signs, all related to deviant behaviour, are known to be associated with witches. The best-known sign was told me repeatedly, using the same example: Imagine that you have been working in your food garden, somewhere in the forest. Around sunset you return to the village. On your way you meet another woman and you both follow the path home. You are walking in front, the other woman is following. Suddenly, without you having noticed her gaining on you, she has overtaken your position. She now leads the way, just like that. If this happens you know for sure this woman is a witch.

Another time to watch for unusual behaviour is after women return home from fishing in one of the two rivers near Ayawasi. Some women will have a good catch, whereas others are less fortunate. A woman who has a small

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Celebrating Christmas in church

catch, but nevertheless displays a lot of fish on the shelves of her wooden stall at the marketplace, is assumed to be a witch. In terms of gender, witchcraft and ideas of femininity are closely related. It is remarkable that envy of witches is directed especially at characteristics of ‘proper women’. Bearing healthy, beautiful children and producing good food crops are considered to be distinguishing features of a ‘good woman’. A witch, on the other hand, represents the ‘bad woman’, who envies such possessions and is not willing to share hers. Instead she longs for other people’s harvests and is lazy: she does not work for her profits but forces other people to give theirs to her. It is striking that, throughout the area, accusations of witchcraft nearly always fall on women descending from other villages. When unforeseen misfortune happens, such women are viewed with suspicion and produce anxiety in people. By accusing other villages of having witches, people protect and safeguard their own village and its female inhabitants, and maintain peace within the village. Often I heard the statement: ‘No, we [native people of Ayawasi] do not have witches, but over there in Ayata and in the north, there are a lot of witches.’ When I talked to people in neighbouring villages about witchcraft, people laughed and said: ‘Ah, they tell you that in Ayawasi there are no witches? Don’t believe them. Here, we hardly have any witches.

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But in Ayawasi, there are witches for sure!’ Especially at Christmas time, fear of outsider women surfaces. In recent decades, missionary priests have held their Christmas celebration alternately in Ayawasi and in the three nearby villages. Mass on Christmas Eve as well as the festive occasions of the following two days are observed in one or another of the villages. As a result, the chosen village is crowded with neighbouring people for almost three days. At the time of my fieldwork, Christmas celebrations were held in Ayawasi. Weeks before the big event people were cleaning the muddy paths through the village and decorating the church. Above all, they were taking measures against potential spells and the arrival of alleged witches. Protective amulets were taken out of storage and carried along at all times. These could be leaves which had been ‘read’ by a wuon healer, thereby transferring protective power, or they could be Christian symbols like a rosary or a picture of the Holy Mary. Children were instructed to stay close to the house and not to talk to or take food from women they did not know. And cloths were hung before open windows and doors to prevent witches from looking inside. On Christmas Eve, when the people of the neighbouring villages entered Ayawasi, I observed the same fear among the visitors. Mothers held their children close to them, and both women and men avoided looking in the eye of Ayawasi women they did not know. It is remarkable that not only outsider women, but also women with a prominent physical disability, like a squint or a limp, were assumed to be witches. This shows that a combination of personal characteristics can lead to witchcraft accusations: not only belonging to an outsider group but also physical abnormalities serve as markers. This was also a factor in the case of Maria Tenau, who was suspected of having caused Mama Raja’s illness by means of witchcraft. She had a slight limp and descended from a village outside Ayawasi, named Hof, in northern Ayfat. Besides that, it was not the first time Maria Tenau had been accused of witchcraft. For many years, she had lived untroubled in her new home village of Ayawasi, where she had settled with her husband Bapak Agus Turot after their marriage. From one day to the next, however, all this changed. When a woman originating from Ayawasi, Ibu Yuliana Taa, fell seriously ill after an encounter with Maria Tenau, suspicion immediately fell on Maria Tenau. Stories had already been circulating that Maria Tenau was the daughter of a witch. Now that Ibu Yuliana Taa was ill, people saw this as conclusive proof that Maria Tenau was a witch. To escape a possible trial, she sought refuge in her food garden. When Ibu Yuliana Taa recovered from her illness, Maria Tenau was reluctantly permit-



Compare J.M. Schoorl (1979:85). Sister Lamberti Yzendoorn CPS also confirmed this during my interviews with her previous to my fieldwork.

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ted back into the village. Nevertheless, Maria Tenau was constantly watched after that, and, as a result, was the first person to be accused of witchcraft when Mama Raja fell ill. Witchcraft and Christianity Even though the majority of villagers in northwest Ayfat nowadays are devout Christians, their belief in the evil power of witchcraft has not diminished. Although local people cannot easily account for witchcraft, they do not feel a need to question this phenomenon or to search for more convincing evidence, whether they are devout Christians or not. The power of witchcraft is taken for granted and hardly anyone questions how it works. When I brought up the topic, devout Christians initially denied their belief in witchcraft. They emphasized that they themselves were ‘orang Kristen’ (Christians). Nevertheless, in daily life it soon became clear that all villagers, even Kelompok Sabda members, believed strongly in the power of witchcraft. Yet in the missionary context the phenomenon of witchcraft received a Christian label: setan (the devil). By means of this Christian label, which was introduced by Catholic missionaries and adopted by Catholic villagers, the indigenous priest Yonathan Fatem (a secular priest) and Kelompok Sabda members tried to discredit witchcraft by fighting it with Christian means: prayer. In fact, Kelompok Sabda members created healing rites in which witchcraft is counteracted by way of prayers and the use of the crucifix and holy water. In this way, they searched for means to ‘heal’ the fear of witchcraft. While in indigenous religious beliefs witchcraft is inextricably bound up with being female, by equating witchcraft with the Christian notion of the devil, emphasis on femaleness decreased somewhat: the devil is neither female nor male, but stands for everything that is reprehensible. Moreover, the leading healer of Kelompok Sabda, Ibu Maria Baru, tried to improve the position of women suspected or accused of being witches by introducing the viewpoint that it is not these women themselves who should be perceived as evildoers but rather the powers surrounding them: the accusations and punishment of women who are labelled witches. In addition, by constantly emphasizing the Christian view of witchcraft as the work of the devil, she emphasized the notion of witchcraft as an evil power beyond human beings. She argued that what ought to be dispelled was the belief in witchcraft as an evil force possessed by particular persons (women) and the consequences of the belief that women can be witches. However, as Mama Raja’s case shows, the belief that particular women are witches is still prevalent. The most far-reaching change after the missionaries came, to which persons who later became Kelompok Sabda members contributed signifi-

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cantly, is the protection offered to women accused of being witches and the abolishment of witchcraft trials. Before the arrival of the Catholic mission in the Ayfat region, it was common to punish witches (see also J.M. Schoorl 1979:85-7). Various persons explained to me that as soon as a woman was accused of being a witch, wuon healers would confirm the accusation and put the woman on trial, which actually occurred every few years. At such times, healers had several rituals to choose from. The most commonly applied test was to force the woman to drink the sap of the poisonous root fo. Two to four stalks of the root were pounded, and the resulting sticky white fluid from the vigorously acting root was offered to the accused woman. A dose like this is strong enough to kill a person in half an hour. The woman becomes paralysed, lapses into a coma, and ultimately dies. If by chance the woman survived the test, she was declared innocent. However, hardly anyone ever survived the ordeal. Preceding that ritual, other rituals could be performed to determine whether a woman was a witch. Usually, wuon healers filled a bamboo stem with leaves, which they had ‘read’ previously by reciting secret formulas over them. Next, they added water and put the bamboo in the ashes of a burning fire to bring it to a boil. Once the water was boiling, a healer took the accused woman’s hand and put her fingers in the piping hot water. If her fingers came out burned, she was pronounced guilty. Once shown to be guilty, the woman was condemned to death and immediately forced to drink the sap of the poisonous root. Healers made sure they prepared the right quantity, enough to put the person to death immediately. After death had occurred, to reinforce their arguments of being right and to demonstrate the gluttony of the spirit of witchcraft, the healers opened up the woman’s corpse. With a knife or a sharp piece of bamboo they cut open her entire abdomen, thereby exposing her intestines. As accomplished specialists, the healers pointed out the woman’s double organs to the curious onlookers, to show that the woman had ‘two of everything’, which was said to confirm that she was greedy and had eaten her prey’s intestines (compare J.M. Schoorl 1979:86). This fear of having ‘two of everything’ also used to come into play after the birth of twins. Until recently, twins were equated with possessing powers of witchcraft, as there is ‘two of everything’. As a result, the twin babies were generally left to die after the mother’s seclusion period in the birth hut. For fear of being accused of being a witch herself, the mother, after returning to the village, usually remained silent about having given birth to twins. Usually, she would just say that her baby had died. Sometimes, however, a mother kept the first-born twin and left the second twin to die. In this case too, she would not mention that she had given birth to twins. As the midwives who delivered the babies were always relatives of the mother, no one

Wearing the rosary

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ever disclosed the secret for fear of being accused of witchcraft. In the early 1970s Ibu Hae, who is now a member of Kelompok Sabda and resides in the village of Manokwari, was the first woman in Ayawasi to keep her newborn twins. As the wife of a schoolteacher, she agreed, under pressure from the missionary sisters, to set an example. Under the protection of the missionaries, the twins grew up into healthy girls. As a result, more women, however hesitantly, followed Ibu Hae’s example. In the late 1970s in northern Ayfat, Ibu Aknes Baru, the elder sister of Ibu Maria Baru, was the first woman in her village to keep her newborn twins. These days, having twins is no longer seen as unusual and I have not heard of female twins being charged with witchcraft. If, by chance, an alleged witch was found to be not guilty, a heavy fine was imposed on the healer as a penalty for the injustice done to the woman in question and her relatives. The wuon healer’s family had to give the accused woman and her family a large number of ceremonial cloths and some pigs, to compensate them for the injustice.10 The penalty was similar to that imposed in a case of homicide, and calculated by adding up the value of every part of the body. The heart is the most expensive organ and is worth a kain pusaka, a special heirloom cloth that is not supposed to leave the lineage. Next in value is the head. In this way all parts are added up until the value of the whole body has been calculated. As a rule, all lineage members are supposed to share in the costs; because of this, the payment of such a penalty can ruin an entire lineage.11 This, however, did not keep healers from punishing women for witchcraft practices, as hardly any woman survived the trial. No more killing Since the 1970s, mainly under pressure from missionary officials, the punishment of witches in an extreme form was banned: the tests and trials are no longer carried out in the Ayawasi region, and women nowadays are no longer forced to drink the sap of the poisonous root. Maria Tenau was never forced to drink it. Nevertheless, to be accused of witchcraft was very humiliating for her. Despite her intention to stay in the village and her repeated declarations of innocence, in time Maria Tenau, powerless, fled to her food garden just outside the village, where she decided to stay. Every now and then she returned to Ayawasi to seek medical treatment in the missionary outpatient clinic. Even though there never was conclusive ‘proof’ that she caused Mama

10 11

Fines are usually paid with kain timur (ceremonial cloths). I will elaborate on this in Chapter IX.

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Raja’s illness, she was no longer welcome in the village and people treated her as an outsider. No one spoke to her or looked her in the eye because of their fear of the power of witchcraft. In 1979, a public confrontation between healers and alleged witches took place for the last time in Ayawasi. Ibu Baru told me that it was only owing to the intervention of some villagers that four women escaped death. These women, who originally came from the village of Hof in northern Ayfat, were staying with some relatives in Ayawasi at the time. When a young boy from Ayawasi, Yos Kocu, suddenly fell ill and died soon after, the visiting women were suspected of having killed the child using witchcraft. As a result, the relatives’ grief over the child’s death turned into anger. Under the watchful eye of wuon healers, a crowd of men beat up the visiting women with bamboo sticks, determined to drive them to their death. Before the women succumbed to their injuries, the healers were standing ready to inspect the gaping wounds, the coughed-up blood, and the vomit on the remains of the little boy, to determine whether the women had actually used witchcraft and eaten the child. That day, however, things took a favourable turn for the four women. Some bystanders, led by Ibu Baru’s husband Bapak Paulinus Bame (who later became a Kelompok Sabda member), interfered and tried to pull the women away from the crowd around them. Others, in the meantime, ran to the missionary station to summon the assistance of the priests and sisters. When the missionaries arrived, the crowd yielded to the superior authority of the mission and ceased their beating. Outraged, the priests looked around the crowd and then admonished the people in a loud voice: ‘Now the church has arrived. Now there will be no more killing. It is up to God to decide whether someone will live or die!’ Not only missionaries but also Kelompok Sabda members have committed themselves to abolishing witchcraft trials and accusations by standing up for alleged witches. They may actually prevent a trial from happening or give shelter to a woman on the run. As Ibu Baru put it: Believing is a way of life. If you believe in God, you cannot believe in witchcraft anymore. If you believe in God, there is no witchcraft anymore. People continuously think kapes mapo, kapes mapo [the spirit of a woman eating humans]. Their minds are full of kapes mapo, all day long. If they stopped thinking about kapes mapo, there would be no more kapes mapo.

By praying and believing, Kelompok Sabda members not only found a way to spark debate on the existence of witchcraft, they also offered a means to ‘heal’ the fear of this practice. Initially, people, even devout Christians, found it difficult to imagine that witchcraft would diminish through prayer. Due to the powerful position of Kelompok Sabda, however, the number of witchcraft accusations slowly decreased over time. In the 1990s, the first indigenous

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priest originating from the Ayfat region, Father Yonathan Fatem, even laid a curse upon anyone who either publicly denounced a woman as being a witch, or tried to condemn an alleged witch to death. Father Fatem declared that God would answer with torture, and would punish those people by making them seriously ill, which might even result in death. It is striking that the priest used the strategy of replacing people’s fear of witchcraft by fear of God’s punishment. This implies that God is more powerful than spirits of the living, such as witches. On that particular day in 1979, the seriously injured women were taken to the missionary hospital, where the sisters nursed their wounds. It is said that, when the women were discharged from the hospital, the healers were still not convinced of the women’s innocence, and urged them time and again to drink the sap of the poisonous root. Eventually, one of the women gave in to the unrelenting pressure. She died soon after drinking the poison. The other women eventually returned to their home village in the knowledge that the accusations would haunt them forever. Although wuon healers told me proudly about witchcraft accusations and trials they had performed in the past, I learned that their satisfaction over the death of a witch was fleeting and lasted no longer than the moment death occurred. The fact is that the spirits of women who die because of drinking the poisonous root will never find peace. They do not easily enter heaven, but instead roam through the village, disturbing other people’s lives. At night these spirits (called fota) will come out of their hiding places, making people’s flesh creep. They may hammer on doors or make scary screaming noises. They may also spread death and destruction. In this way, women who were powerless during their lifetime now, after their death, keep the villagers, and especially those who accused them of witchcraft, in the embrace of terror. Drinking the poisonous root, therefore, can be seen as a means for powerless women to exercise power by taking revenge. This applies not only to women forced to drink the poisonous root. To this day, women who do not see any other way out of their difficulties in life, may choose to drink the root, thus exercising power. Although it is not directly related to witchcraft, I will briefly describe something that happened during my fieldwork that illustrates, first, why women may decide to drink the poisonous root and, second, the impact of the spirit of a woman who died from it. The spirit of fota Bibiane Fatie was a woman in her thirties, born in the neighbouring village of Mosun, who came to live in desa Bori when she married Paskalis Kosamah. After a few years of marriage, Paskalis started to resent his wife. He not

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Kain timur ceremonial cloths

only began to beat her up but also committed adultery with several other women. At one point, Bibiane could no longer bear the humiliation she felt. She repeatedly threatened to drink the sap of the poisonous root so that her spirit, as a result, would make his life miserable. Paskalis, however, did not take these threats seriously and kept on beating her. But one day when Paskalis arrived home, he found his wife lying in bed in the middle of the day. Their baby girl lay pressed against her mother’s bared breast, crying loudly. Bibiane was dead. Terrified, Paskalis ran to his parent’s home just a few houses away. The terrible news that Bibiane had committed suicide by drinking the poisonous root spread through the village fast. Severia, a young woman who lived next door to us, had talked to me often about Bibiane. She and Bibiane were best friends and the two of them talked to each other about everything. She knew that Bibiane had gathered enough pieces of the poisonous root to commit suicide, and that she had planned how and when to do it. Severia realized there was nothing she could do to change her friend’s mind. Bibiane was too mortified and ashamed to go on living. It was only a matter of time before she would put her plan into effect. And when she did, she made sure not only that she would die, but also that she would die fast. For that purpose, it turned out, she had mixed the sap of the poisonous root with insecticide and the contents of a battery. To punish her

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husband even more, Bibiane nursed her baby after taking the poison, hoping that she would take the girl with her into the grave. The girl, however, was found before she lapsed into a coma and, thanks to adequate measures taken by the nurses at the missionary hospital, she survived. That same afternoon, a parade of angry, upset relatives of Bibiane from Mosun entered the village, armed with spears and chopping knives, determined to take revenge on Paskalis and his relatives while continuously shouting: ‘Our child has died. Our child has died.’ During my stay, it never actually came to an act of revenge. The case was settled through intervention of the village head and missionary officials. Paskalis and his relatives were required to pay an enormous number of kain timur to Bibiane’s next of kin, which nearly ruined Paskalis’s entire lineage. Although losing your kain pusaka is one of the worst things that can happen to a lineage, the dreadful thing they most feared was physical reprisals. For that reason, Paskalis and his close relatives fled into the forest and stayed there for months, cut off from other villagers, their belongings, and medical aid. Only one of Paskalis’s close relatives did not flee. This was Bapak Kostan Kosamah. A fierce wuon healer in his sixties, Bapak Kostan is also a devout and prominent member of Kelompok Sabda. He does not fear reprisals as ‘he has met with God’ and is therefore invulnerable. Kelompok Sabda members are assured that if someone kills them, the perpetrator will immediately fall ill and die as a result. For that reason, they are not afraid that anyone will try to harm them and are convinced they are invulnerable to witchcraft (and sorcery). God is perceived as more powerful than witches and sorcerers and other spirits of the living. In another way, Christianity provided protection as villagers sought refuge by Christian means, by placing an image of the Holy Mary above their heads at night. This was also done for Bibiane’s baby. For fear that Bibiane’s spirit would come and take the baby after all, the little girl slept with several images of the Holy Mary above her bed. In addition, Bibiane’s sister, who took care of the baby, made sure she did not cry at night so Bibiane would not be able to find her daughter. Praying the Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary, furthermore, was believed to protect people against violent forces, and especially at night people sought solace in prayers. In addition, Kelompok Sabda members came to the house to pray, while holding a cross to ward off Bibiane’s restless spirit. Although the forest sheltered Paskalis against Bibiane’s furious relatives, it would never protect him against Bibiane’s spirit (fota). It was commonly held that Bibiane’s spirit pestered Paskalis continually and that he gradually became crazy with fear. At night he not only heard knocking on wood, which is a sign that Bibiane’s spirit had come; he also heard Bibiane’s voice, a loud and penetrating cry like a child. This sound is heard after a woman has died from drinking the poisonous root.

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When Paskalis finally found the courage to return to the village, he had a wild look in his eyes. He was never again the brave man he used to be. By drinking the poisonous root, Bibiane, who could not stand up to her husband during her lifetime, had a firm grip on Paskalis after her death. As seen in Bibiane’s story, the figure of the witch is ambiguous. On the one hand, a woman who is accused of being a witch has great power because everyone fears her malevolent spirit. On the other hand she is powerless, as she is treated as an outcast and forced to spend her life in isolation and loneliness. This ambiguity is resolved after death, when she is in control, as no one can harm her anymore and her wandering spirit terrifies villagers, even devout Christians. If we compare wuon healers and witches, wuon healers’ power is limited by fear of reprisals by the victim’s spirit and potential claims for compensation in case of unjust convictions. Male sorcery Although it was never established that Mama Raja’s illness had been caused by witchcraft, wuon healers immediately ruled out sorcery as a possible cause. Her body did not show signs of wounds, which is common when sorcery is involved. The practice of sorcery illustrates my argument that, in witchcraft and sorcery in northwest Ayfat, gender categories are important. On the basis of gender, females (witches) and males (sorcerers) each have their own domain for bringing illness to adults, both male and female, and children. And to date, both groups have a central place in daily life. Unlike witchcraft, sorcery is performed exclusively by a select group of wuon healers. These ritual experts are highly respected big-men. Like the witch, the sorcerer is ambiguous, though in a different way. Whereas the ambiguity of the witch arises from her position of being simultaneously powerful and powerless, the sorcerer is ambiguous because he unites being an evil-doer and a well-doer in one person: in northwest Ayfat, as in other Melanesian societies (Stephen 1987), males who act as sorcerers also act as healers. So sorcerers can both cause illness and heal illness. Wuon men not only can practise sorcery, they can also perform rites to heal persons who have fallen ill due to sorcery. Whereas male initiation rites are no longer common, sorcery is still very much alive. In the 1990s, Father Fatem cursed sorcery just as he cursed witchcraft. How, then, is sorcery practised and perceived in current Christian society? And how is it related to religious change and gender? Throughout northwest Ayfat, the practice of sorcery is known as kret. Sorcery, taught to men during their initiation, is practised by administering

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poison to a person. Some initiated men are more competent than others, and these competent sorcerers fill people with dread. During initiation in the wuon cult house, young men were taught to use leaves, soil, roots, and tree bark for malevolent ends. This formed a central part of their education as warriors, because males were trained in sorcery as an effective means to take revenge on their enemies in wartime. Here, sorcery and masculinity are closely connected not only because sorcerers are exclusively male, but also because the practice of sorcery is bound up with maleness: just as sorcery was an essential weapon for men during tribal wars, it was strongly related to a man’s fearlessness and status as a warrior. The braver a warrior, the higher his prestige as a man. Although the various ethnolinguistic groups are no longer involved in warfare with each other, the fear of initiated men practising sorcery is still on people’s minds. As a result, most villagers do not leave their home without carrying protective means, which today may be leaves over which a spell has been said, or Christian objects such as a rosary. Nowadays, the reason for using sorcery is nearly always a dispute about kain timur exchange. However, just as with witchcraft, envy of other people’s wealth is considered to be a common trigger of sorcery. As a result, these days sorcery no longer takes place solely outside the village, but also within the village, between members of different clans. Although the context changed with the abolishment of headhunting, sorcery is still performed above all in a male domain: men are the ones who discuss the exchange of kain timur, which often involves prolonged heated debates, and sometimes violence. Practising sorcery In preparation for using sorcery, a wuon man prepares the vigorously acting ginger-like root bofit (Zingiber officinale; Indonesian halia). Although bofit is commonly used as a herbal remedy, prepared in a different way and with the reciting of different words, the root can be made into poison and it then has the power to make people (men as well as women) seriously ill, or even kill them. Unlike witches, initiated men may practise sorcery on someone else’s orders. In exchange for kain timur, a pig, money, or goods, initiated men can offer their expertise to harm an adversary. Provided they take instant action, fellow initiated men have the power to counteract the crushing effects of sorcery, by performing the proper ritual. If, however, the intervention comes too late, nothing can be done to stop the course of the illness and the patient is certain to die in a short time. Once bofit has been turned into poison and is ready to be used for sorcery, an initiated man can choose between two possibilities. First, the sorcerer can

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send the poison to his prey ‘through the wind’. To do this, a sorcerer, while passing his victim, either secretly shoots some bofit from under a fingernail, or spits some poison from under his tongue. The sorcerer’s spirit guides the poison through the air, and it will never miss its aim. The victim does not necessarily have to drink the poison in order to fall ill. On the contrary, just a drop of poison falling upon a person’s skin or clothes or carrier bag may cause a deep gaping wound. Eventually, the victim will die from side-effects of the wound. Second, a sorcerer can harm someone from a distance, by casting a spell on the victim. To do this, the sorcerer must get hold of some item of his victim’s personal belongings and say a spell over it. The spell will be more powerful if the sorcerer gets hold of something from the person’s body, like nails, hair, blood or faeces. Leftover food (such as a bit of food left in the person’s eating bowl) or tobacco can also be effective. The sorcerer says the secret formula out of the hearing of other villagers. After that, he stashes away the packet containing poison mixed with one of the above items, in a hiding place in his house. In less than no time, the sorcerer’s victim will burn up with a fever that in the end will cause death. People, therefore, will never share a meal with someone they do not know or trust, and leftovers are immediately fed to pigs or dogs. For the same reason, villagers do not go to the toilet behind one of the many bushes, but always, even during the daily heavy rain shower, walk to the river. Both men and women are attentive to where they leave their cut nails and their hairbrushes.12 The first mentioned method of sorcery is irreversible, except by the sorcerer who did it. In the unlikely event that a sorcerer regrets his action, he can undo it by throwing the packet into the river, as water can counteract the force of the curse. As a result, the victim will unexpectedly make a complete recovery. Water is credited with the power to eliminate damaging forces such as sorcery.13 Sorcery practices are usually answered with a counterattack. The target can be either the sorcerer himself or one of his relatives who commissioned the sorcery. To carry out their revenge, initiated men who are kin to the ill person first have to find out who performed the sorcery, by doing the mawe ritual, a variant of the ksa aa divination ritual, to ‘search for answers’. To identify the culprit, the men gather at sunset at a prearranged place in the forest

12

Sillitoe (1998:171), referring to the Dobu of Papua New Guinea, mentions that sorcerers, if they cannot obtain any personal leavings of the victim, can ‘breathe the spell into a length of vine and string it across a track that the victim uses [...] to retrieve it once the victim has brushed against it’. 13 Stephen (1989:174) mentions that among the Mekeo in Papua New Guinea it is believed that sorcerers can release their victims by immersing a deadly charm in water.

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surrounding the village. There they make a fire and then throw a snail into the flames. With a stick, the men poke the snail and call out in succession the names of potential culprits. The man whose name causes the snail to leap up will be assumed to be the guilty sorcerer. From that moment, the sorcerer in question will not be safe: one day, when he least expects it, he will fall prey to a reprisal act of sorcery. Again, this ritual is easy to manipulate, and often sets off a long-term dispute that goes on and on. And thus, fear of sorcery keeps the villagers in a state of anxiety. Maria Tenau, who was accused of causing Mama Raja’s illness but was never forced by wuon men to drink the poisonous root, will forever live in fear of initiated men performing sorcery on her. Not only do wuon healers have the power to accuse a woman of practising witchcraft, and force men to flee the village or to drink the sap of the poisonous root. In addition, a wuon man can reprimand a witch by performing sorcery on her, which, in most cases, will cause the woman’s death. Nonetheless, the wuon man will never be sure when a sorcerer from the woman’s kin group may avenge the killing with a counterattack. As with witchcraft, Christianity and Kelompok Sabda provide a counterweight to sorcery, as discussed next. God’s punishment Because initiation rites, since the 1970s, are no longer common in northwest Ayfat, Ayawasi nowadays has no more than a dozen initiated men who are able to perform sorcery. Still, some of them are known as fearless sorcerers. These men proclaim that they are not impressed by Father Yonathan Fatem’s curse on sorcery nor by the fact that sorcery, like witchcraft, is referred to as an act of the devil. It is assumed nowadays that sorcerers can be punished by God. This view, propagated by Father Yonathan Fatem and by Kelompok Sabda members, is a sign that sorcerers are no longer consistently socially rewarded. Nowadays, although wuon healers are still highly respected, when acting as sorcerers they are punished for using destructive powers. The following case illustrates this. In the village, rumours got around that some initiated men from desa Bori fell ill and died after performing sorcery. It is believed that sorcerers who perform sorcery may be punished by God either with illness or with death. Bapak Kostan Kosamah, the oldest wuon healer in the village of Ayawasi and a devout member of Kelompok Sabda, told me the story of Bapak Niko Tenau, one of the wuon healers who ‘searched for answers’ in Mama Raja’s case:

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Restoring the balance Some initiated men from Bori performed sorcery. They all died. Some died the same month, others three months later. But they all died. God gave his answer. God punished them. I know the answer came from God. Listen: one day, Niko Tenau was preparing to perform sorcery. He had been carrying bofit with him in his bag for some days. He was just waiting for the right moment. Then, when he decided it was time, a big cross fell out of the sky. Just like that, a cross fell beside him. He knew that it was a sign from God, warning him that He would punish him if he actually performed sorcery. He never did [...]. Instead, he went to the river and threw the packet away. After that day, he never performed sorcery again.

If sorcerers fall ill as a result of God’s punishment for practising sorcery, they can turn to the indigenous priest or the ritual leader of Kelompok Sabda, Ibu Maria Baru, in search of healing. Both Father Yonathan Fatem and Bapak Kostan Kosamah, as well as other Kelompok Sabda members, told me that initiated men, after performing sorcery, can avoid God’s punishment only if they confess their wrongful act to either Father Fatem or Ibu Baru. If the sorcerer is granted forgiveness and promises never to perform sorcery again, he will recover and will not die. If he continues to perform sorcery, however, he will be punished with death in the end. Ibu Baru told the following story: Bapak Agus Sedik was a feared sorcerer who had killed many people with bofit. One day he fell ill. He was so seriously ill that he was about to die. His relatives were desperate and came to me for help. I said to Agus: ‘I will help you if you confess everything and show regret.’ He did, and then I asked God: ‘God, Agus has sinned but now he is sorry. Please make him better. If he uses bofit once again, then You may open the door for him. But now he is really sorry. Please let him live.’ Agus recovered completely. Nine months later, however, he had forgotten the agreement and killed someone by putting bofit in his food. Agus died that same week.

Faith in God diminishes a person’s fear of initiated men performing sorcery. Villagers feel the church to some extent protects them against sorcery, as the following narrative shows. One evening, when I was working up my field notes on our veranda, Yosefien Bame, the eldest daughter of Ibu Baru, came by. She looked worried. She had just returned from a stay in her parent’s native village of Fef in northern Ayfat. When I asked her what was on her mind, she told me the following story: I’m afraid. Last night I was talking to Annik [the daughter of her mother’s brother, who accompanied Yosefien to Ayawasi] about Jakob Bame. You know Jakob, my father’s older brother who also lived in Fef. He recently died. Before he passed away, however, he told Posien’s father, Herman Bame [her father’s younger brother], that ‘we Bame people are like ripe bananas. Four brothers already died, soon there will be just two left.’ Jakob continued: ‘You know that a sorcerer of the Ndase clan did it, eh?’ ‘Yes, I know’, Herman answered. And Jakob said: ‘Go, get out of Fef, go to the Bame family in Ayawasi. There you will be safer.’

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Ayawasi, as a centre of both the Catholic mission and of Kelompok Sabda, is known as a place where people can find protection against hostile acts like witchcraft accusations and sorcery. That is why Herman was urged to leave his native village and join his brother, Ibu Baru’s husband. Although he might feel safer in Ayawasi under the protection of Kelompok Sabda, however, it is no guarantee that he will not be subject to sorcery. As in pre-Christian times, fear of sorcery is still prominent in daily life. In the process of religious change, however, not only the way in which sorcery is counteracted changed, but also by whom. Nowadays, sorcery can be counteracted not only by sorcerers, but also by forgiveness dispensed by the Catholic priest or the female leader of Kelompok Sabda, or by God’s punishment. The fact that the female leader of the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda is now able to counteract sorcery has to some extent decreased male dominance over sorcery. Moreover, as with witchcraft, by referring to sorcery as an act of the devil, the priest and Kelompok Sabda members provided Christian ways to take measures against sorcery. The missionary sisters also worked actively against sorcery (and witchcraft), especially by condemning the belief in sorcery (and witchcraft) and accusations related to them. The biomedical treatment offered by the hospital, however, has never been seen by villagers as capable of healing illness caused by sorcery (or witchcraft). Local people were unanimously of the opinion that the hospital’s medicines were ‘not strong enough’ to heal such illnesses. The takuo healing rite As Mama Raja was not a victim of sorcery, wuon healers did not perform rites appropriate to sorcery. Some weeks before she fell ill, however, the village of Ayawasi was in an uproar after Mama Raja’s sister-in-law, Ibu Monika Tenau,14 fell seriously ill. That particular morning, the village was awakened early by what sounded unmistakably like a lament. The wailing voice came from the Tenau complex. I too heard the voice. When I got up and looked out of the window, I saw an old woman squatting on the ground in front of Bapak Raja’s house, wailing loudly with her arms raised. It seemed that Bapak Raja’s older sister, Ibu Monika Tenau, had passed away. Ibu Moni (as she was called) had been ill for a week, from an open wound on her left leg which did not heal. Eventually, she was unable to walk 14

Although Monika Tenau, Mama Raja’s sister-in law, has the same surname as the presumed witch, Maria Tenau, the two women are not considered to be related, as they originate from different parts of the Ayfat region and belong to different clan groups.

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and consequently was taken to the hospital. All the bandages, injections and pills, however, did not prevent the wound from becoming wider and deeper until she woke up one day with a high fever. Dissatisfied with the course of the illness, some of her relatives took her to one of her nearby food gardens, where wuon healers performed the takuo healing rite. Despite the wound on Ibu Moni’s body, the healers initially did not believe that it could have been caused by sorcery. Because Ibu Moni had fallen ill after she returned home from one of her food gardens and the wound was located on her leg, healers assumed that she had trespassed on sacred ground (tempat pemali) without first asking the spirits’ (kapes tabam) permission. In a case like this, the spirits, disgraced, would have caused a wound in the woman’s leg, eventually making it impossible for her to walk. Therefore, healers performed the takuo rite to expel the malevolent spirits. Using bamboo canes, several men built a one-and-a-half-metre-high platform, under which they laid a fire. Meanwhile, one healer cut off some bark which he folded up into a bowl. He then filled the bowl with water and put it into the smouldering fire. In a quiet spot, a wuon healer withdrew to ‘read’ the mainsina leaves,15 by muttering the appropriate formula, and then added the leaves to the water. From nearby, Ibu Moni watched the preparations closely. When the leaves were on the boil and steam ascended from the bowl, Ibu Moni was helped to climb onto the platform. For more than half an hour, the woman lay on her stomach above the steaming bowl, her head covered with a mat. The heat made Ibu Moni sweat, which was the main purpose of the healing rite, so the spirits would be expelled through every pore of her body. Meanwhile, the news that Ibu Moni was going through the takuo rite travelled around the village. When the news reached the Christian healer Ibu Lys Korain, a prominent member of Kelompok Sabda, she did not hesitate. She followed Ibu Moni to her food garden, although she knew that she was not permitted to enter it. Once a healing ritual is started, no newcomers are ever admitted. The place is declared taboo for at least four or five days, or until the patient has recovered. From behind the fence, Ibu Lys, undaunted, tried to persuade the ill woman to come home with her so she could pray and perform a Christian rite for her. While lying under her covering, Ibu Moni assured Ibu Lys that she was feeling much better, and that she would return to the village first thing in the morning. With these words Ibu Lys was sent home. Before the healer reached the village, however, the news came that Ibu Moni had passed away.

15

I was not able to identify these leaves botanically.

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As the wuon healers had considered it obvious that the wound on Ibu Moni’s leg and her illness had occurred because she had trespassed on sacred ground without asking the spirits’ permission, they had not thought it necessary to perform a ksa aa divination ritual to search for the cause of her illness. But now, the fact that she died directly after the performance of the proper rite for the situation, the takuo rite, showed that after all it could not have been the trespassing on sacred ground that had caused her illness. Therefore, after her death, healers performed the mawe rite, to gain insight into the actual cause, now fearing that the wound had been the result of sorcery after all. The news about healers searching for the cause of Ibu Moni’s death travelled rapidly through the village. While performing mawe, one of the healers saw in a vision that a sorcerer had sent poison ‘through the wind’ onto Ibu Moni’s towel when she was taking a bath in the river. It was very disturbing to the villagers to hear that someone had actually performed sorcery. For weeks on end, people were restless, as the healers did not seem to agree with each other about the identity of the sorcerer. People expected another death to happen, either as a result of someone taking revenge, or as a result of punishment by God. Gender and spirits summed up In northwest Ayfat the spirits of female witches and male sorcerers are the main ones held responsible for bringing about illness and death. Although witchcraft and sorcery are used differently, the powers of both kinds of spirits are considered forceful, and occupy an equal place among the spirits of the living. Through certain rituals, healers attempt, sometimes successfully, to counteract interference by these female and male spirits. The religious aspect of witchcraft and sorcery in northwest Ayfat is not merely related to the classic distinction between behaviour that is innate and uncontrollable versus behaviour that is learned and deliberate. Of major importance is that both witchcraft and sorcery are attributed to spirits of the living having the power to cause illness, but are viewed differently within the religious domain on the basis of gender and social roles. In the missionary context, fear of witchcraft and sorcery diminished somewhat, but nevertheless remained strong. The powers of both kinds of spirits of the living are now referred to as acts of the devil; this neutralizes the gender difference somewhat, as the Christian concept of the devil is neither female nor male. With regard to the position of local women, a far-reaching change was the abolishment of witchcraft trials, in which male sorcerers identified and accused presumed witches. These trials were banned through the efforts of female and male missionaries, the indigenous priest, and Kelompok Sabda members. This resulted in the disappearance of the most drastic form of

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punishing witches. Simultaneously, punishment of sorcerers was introduced; the punishment consisted of being cursed by the indigenous priest. The priest propagated the belief that initiated men who perform sorcery will be punished by God with illness and death. In this respect, Stephen’s (1987:288) distinction between sorcerers and witches, namely that witches are punished whereas sorcerers are rewarded, is true for pre-Christian northwest Ayfat. In the missionary context, however, this distinction has diminished because not only witches but also sorcerers are punished, and limits were put on the punishment of witches. The introduction of the gender-neutral figure of the devil and the abolishment of witchcraft trials, along with the introduction of punishment for sorcerers, contributed to restoring the balance between female and male malevolent spirits of the living. In this process of religious change, new healing performances were created, to ‘heal’ fear of witchcraft and sorcery by means of prayer and the use of the crucifix. These rituals were performed by a new category of healers, members of the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda, who broke through the monopoly of initiated men in counteracting witchcraft and sorcery by emphasizing that the spirit of God is more powerful than malevolent spirits.

chapter iv

Spirits of the underworld The question who had made Mama Raja ill was still not answered. The healers did not seem to agree with one another. Of one thing, however, they were sure: it was a malevolent spirit that had caused the illness. But was it a spirit of the living, housed in the body of Maria Tenau, the accused witch? Or was it a spirit of the underworld? It so happened that while performing the ksa aa divination rite, one wuon healer found evidence that the illness was caused by witchcraft, while another concluded that it was the spirit of Maksi, a villager recently stabbed to death, that had taken possession of Mama Raja’s body. The second healer had gathered tah si leaves, said a spell over them by muttering the appropriate secret formulas, and then slapped the leaves all over Mama Raja’s body to chase away the malevolent spirit that had taken hold of her soul (nawiah), trying to tear it loose from her body. This spirit of Maksi that was thought to be threatening Mama Raja belongs to the first category of spirits of the underworld, which consists of spirits who aim at harming people. The second category consists of spirits that both harm and protect people. Although the first group can be divided into subcategories of spirits, the second is of just one kind, namely ancestral spirits. What is the nature of all these spirits of the underworld? And how are they related to which healing performances people choose and to religious change in contemporary society? If an illness is presumed to be caused by a spirit of the underworld, people perform different rites depending on the subcategory the spirit belongs to. More importantly, the rites through which people communicate with ancestral spirits are not only the most extensive, but also the least subject to change. In the process of religious change, these rites, even when performed by and for devout leading Catholics, are not mingled with Christian elements or symbols such as prayer or the use of a rosary and devotional pictures. When do healers incorporate elements of a newly introduced religion in their healing performances and when do they leave them out? For the first category, malevolent spirits of the underworld, ill persons nowadays can choose between indigenous and Christian rituals in their search for healing. In this chapter I 

I explore these healing performances in Chapters VIII and IX, when discussing Christian healing.

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Showing kain timur during the Manes Kaya ritual

explore why healers have not incorporated Christian symbols into indigenous rites to heal illness caused by ancestral spirits. Although the wuon healer who performed the divination rite identified the cause as being a spirit of the underworld, he did not see ancestral spirits as the cause of Mama Raja’s illness. No study on illness and healing in contemporary northwest Ayfat, however, should be without a chapter that deals with ancestral spirits and ritual performances by which persons communicate with these spirits. Throughout northwest Ayfat, maintaining good relations with ancestral spirits is necessary for prosperity in life. This is generally assumed by all villagers, even devout Christians. Ancestral spirits, when honoured by their descendants, cause their food gardens to grow and their relatives to stay healthy. Violating ancestral regulations, however, is punished by the spirits with illness, withering crops, or other misfortunes. Despite the fact that they



As Lewis (1995:166) stresses, throughout Melanesia the relationship between illness and spirits is important: ‘The possibility of illness faces everyone; it is a risk of living. Some dangers can be avoided, but the risks cannot all be calculated or predicted. [...] study on health and sickness may therefore reveal some aspects of people’s perception of themselves and their world. If the study is one of a Melanesian society, it will need to explore local ideas about relationships with spirits, people and the world they live in.’

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risk adversity, however, people sometimes do not comply with the rules, mostly out of negligence. I first turn to perceptions of afterlife, including notions of heaven and of spirits from the world of the dead. Then, after discussing ancestral spirits, I present the manes kaya rite that was performed to heal a man who had been made seriously ill by ancestral spirits. The manes kaya rite serves to illustrate that rituals performed to heal illness caused by ancestral spirits are prolonged rites in which only indigenous symbols are employed. Even when the healers who perform the rite are devout Catholics, they do not choose to incorporate symbols and beliefs connected to the church. The world of the dead Inhabitants of northwest Ayfat distinguish three living environments: first is the present, life on earth, followed by the world of the dead, and, finally, life in seweron, a place located in the ground and nowadays considered similar to Christian heaven. Before spirits of the deceased, known as ahmawian, enter seweron, however, they have to be ‘ready’. This means that their lives on earth have to be concluded. Spirits of people who died of unnatural causes reside in the world of the dead a long time before they are ready to enter seweron. The world of the dead, therefore, contains four categories of spirits. First, hi, spirits of persons who have died because of old age or an illness not caused by malevolent spirits. These spirits pass quickly from the world of the dead to seweron. Next is fota, spirits of women who died from drinking the poisonous root fo. The third category is musuoh, spirits of people whose death was caused by interventions of malevolent spirits. Persons who died because they fell out of a tree or were bitten by a wild pig or a snake also belong to this category. Finally, sah, spirits of people who were killed. The spirits of fota, musuoh and sah are believed to be extremely dangerous. These spirits do not easily find peace and as a result it may take two to three months before they are ready to enter seweron. From the world of the dead, fota, musuoh and sah disturb the world of the living as an act of revenge for their sudden departure. At night, these spirits come out of their hiding places to injure and frighten people in the world of the living. They can ‘enter’ a person’s body and take possession of it, in which case the victim will wake up seriously ill, usually with a high fever. The spir

Some people added a fourth living environment, which is before birth in the mother’s womb. Through the umbilical cord a woman gives life to her unborn child. As only a minority of the people I spoke with differentiated this fourth category, I have left it out of consideration.

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its can also frighten people by knocking on doors or making scary noises, breaking the silence of the night, as the spirit of Bibiane did; over time, such noises may drive people insane. Assailing persons while they are walking is another strategy used by fota, musuoh and sah. A branch falling while a person is walking is therefore always ascribed to a spirit from the world of the dead and will always give people the shivers. Out of fear of these spirits, people hardly ever go outside after sunset: they stay inside their houses in the safety of each other’s company and are wary of unexpected sounds. As a result, evenings in Ayawasi are quiet. Only the murmur of voices is heard in the dark. Musuoh and sah spirits sometimes give a sign before they attack. A roll of thunder on a bright sunny day or flooding of the river without heavy rainfall is seen as a foreboding that, in the near future, someone will fall ill and likely die because of intervention by spirits of the dead. A sign like this always causes anxiety and agitation in the village, as the following example shows. A few months after the reinstatement of female initiation (fenia meroh) in the village of Fef, in northern Ayfat, one of the initiated girls, Posien Bame, came to Ayawasi to accompany her little brother Amandus to the missionary hospital. The boy had been ill for several weeks without any improvement. During her stay, Posien assisted both Louise and me with transcribing tapes of the initiation rite, coming to work at our house every day. One afternoon, she was preparing to leave our house for her relative’s home where she was staying in Ayawasi, when suddenly a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a roll of thunder. I saw the panic in her eyes when she said: This is a sign that someone will die soon. I have to go to the hospital, to see how Amandus is doing. I have to go now, maybe Amandus is going to die.

While we were standing on the porch, people came by, agitated. Someone called to us: ‘Did you hear the thunder? We have to go home to see if everybody is all right, to make sure that no one has fallen ill.’ That evening Ayawasi was blanketed in silence, as people hid from the wandering spirit, hoping that any calamity would bypass their home. Musuoh can weaken a person’s body to such an extent that they may easily fall prey to a wild pig or a snake, or lose their balance when climbing a tree. To conclude their lives on earth and find peace, it is presumed that fota, musuoh and sah make another person die in the same way as they did. As a consequence, if a person dies from a bite by a wild pig, it is assumed to be an attack by the spirit of someone who died in a similar manner. Such a death 

Some people mentioned that a thunderbolt on a bright day might also be a sign of initiated men performing sorcery (kret). Although there seemed to be no consensus on the matter, people agreed that a roll of thunder on a bright day was a foreboding that a death would soon occur due to interventions of spirits, be they spirits of the living or spirits from the world of the dead.

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disturbs village life, creating commotion and anxiety. Out of fear that speaking the name of the deceased person will provoke fota, musuoh and sah spirits to come and disturb the world of the living, using the names of villagers who die of an ‘unnatural’ cause is, from the moment death occurs, extremely taboo (mbo). These deceased villagers are usually referred to as fota, musuoh and sah, depending on the cause of death. Not only the names of these persons are taboo, but also their dead bodies. As the malevolence of the spirit is believed to be the strongest straight after death, villagers in such cases usually keep far away from the corpse. Grieving women will not throw themselves on the corpse, as one is more vulnerable to death once there has been physical contact with the deceased. The following case made me aware that not only physical contact had to be prevented, but all contact. One time, I witnessed a mother mourning her deceased newborn child. The mother wanted to hold her baby one last time. Other women, however, prevented her from touching the baby out of fear that the child’s spirit would make her mother ill and die. As the young mother kept begging her relatives, she finally was allowed to hold the baby in the little wooden coffin. While rocking her child, some tears fell on the baby’s sweater. The coffin was immediately taken away from the mother and, without hesitation, one of the women changed the baby’s sweater. Taking her mother’s tears with her into the grave would make it certain that the woman would soon follow her newborn child. If villagers have to touch the corpse of a person who died of ‘unnatural’ causes, in order to lay out the body for instance, they make sure to carry protective means, which can be indigenous or Christian. When a wuon healer revealed that Mama Raja had been made ill by the spirit of a man who had been stabbed to death, her relatives recalled that Mama Raja was present when his body was laid out. This made it seem plausible to them that the spirit of this man, Maksi Kosho, whom they referred to as sah, had taken possession of her. Driving out the spirit The rite the wuon healer performed to expel the malevolent spirit from Mama Raja’s body, by slapping the tah si leaves on her body, is one of the two options wuon healers have to offer when someone has been made ill by a spirit from the world of the dead. The second option puts less burden on the patient and is usually applied as a preventive measure. It is used if a person is merely not feeling well, but is not yet severely ill. The purpose of the rite is to drive the malevolent spirit out of the house, as it is believed that the spirit has

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not yet taken possession of the body but is still wandering in or around the house. With the essence of smouldering tree bark, the wuon healer sprinkles the room, so that the penetrating smell will drive the spirit out. Generally, the rite is performed at sunset, when spirits come out of their hiding places. Preceding this rite, called usir roh (chasing away the spirit), the healer prepares the bark at a remote place by muttering the appropriate formulas. When the healer enters the house, he lights the bark. Immediately, the room is filled with a strong odour. While the person undergoing the ritual sits in the middle of the room, the healer taps on the floor in every corner. The tapping causes some ashes of the bark to fall off, meant to stay there as a token that the house from now on is protected from malevolent spirits. By sprinkling ‘the four corners of the wind’, all directions are closed, so spirits cannot force their way into the house. The rite is concluded by the healer sprinkling a circle around the patient so that the spirit is prevented from entering the person’s body. To reinforce the protective power, the ill person receives a small piece of tree bark to wear as a necklace. For Mama Raja this ritual came too late. According to one of the healers, Maksi’s malevolent spirit had already taken possession of her body. Life in heaven When the spirits of the dead are ready to go to the next stage, they enter seweron. There they find a house to live in. Each spirit knows which house to go to, as they are divided into causes of death. Seweron has a house for women who died from drinking poison, a house for people who died of old age, and so on. Nowadays, seweron is often referred to as being similar to Christian heaven. However, it is located in the ground. For people of northwest Ayfat it consists of three places, all situated in border areas between villages. Near Ayawasi are two seweron, a large one and a small one. The small one is situated on the border between Ayawasi and Mosun and is called Fathawatiah. Manatari is larger and is situated southwest of Ayawasi, past Konja. The third is Hapoh, another large seweron, located in the north on the border between the villages of Sire and Senie. The idea that Christian heaven is in the sky and the heaven of the Ayfat in the ground is confusing to people. Some persons hesitate to equate seweron with the Christian notion of heaven. When I discussed the topic with Petrus Turot, a devout Christian and a prominent Kelompok Sabda member, he expressed his uncertainty: I do not know where heaven is. Is it in the ground? Or is it in the sky? I know that people say that you can hear the spirits of seweron laughing and talking, or even

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hear them crying when you pass by. But I do not know if that’s true. Maybe seweron is heaven for people who do not yet believe in God. Maybe seweron is heaven for heathens. But I, I am a Christian, I do not know where heaven is.

Ibu Maria Baru, leader of Kelompok Sabda, found a solution to this and tried to remove people’s doubts by stating: Seweron is not the heaven of the heathens. Seweron is our heaven. Only, our heaven is not in the sky but in the ground.

Spirits of deceased persons enter seweron through special places like holes in trees or underground caves along rivers. These places, tempat keramat, are protected by ancestral spirits, as the ancestors reside in seweron. Only after asking the spirits’ permission is one allowed to traverse such places. Ancestral spirits not only guard the entrances to seweron, they also reside in sacred ancestral places like mountaintops or other places marked by special natural phenomena, such as a beautifully shaped rock. From there they watch over their descendants. Likewise, villagers need to ask the consent of these spirits (which in such places are called kapes tabam, spirits of the soil) before passing through the sacred territory. Neglecting to ask the spirits’ approval means dishonouring the ancestors and will be punished by illness. Food gardens, which are passed down from generation to generation, are also associated with ancestral territories. The presence of ancestral spirits is usually felt when working in the food garden, and people generally are careful to observe proper behaviour and to obey ancestral rules there. Ancestral spirits, harming and protecting Although illness caused by ancestral spirits is widespread throughout the Pacific Islands, cause and treatment vary from region to region. Ancestral spirits, as Sillitoe (1998:215-6) argues, can intervene for good or bad in the lives of human beings, and the living attempt to manipulate or control the spirits through various rites and observances. In northwest Ayfat, ancestral rules can be violated not only by breaking rules about honouring the ancestors, such as trespassing on sacred ground without asking the spirits’ permission (as wuon healers assumed had happened in Ibu Moni’s case, as discussed in Chapter III), but also by disregarding social obligations related to marriage alliances or kain timur exchange. In all of these cases, ancestral spirits inter-

 See for instance Courtens 2001; Haiveta 1990; Keck 1992; Mageo and Howard 1996; Mitchell 1990; Parsons 1985; Schieffelin 1996.

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cede in human affairs by making persons ill because they failed to treat their ancestors with the proper respect. Although ancestors can punish their descendants for violating ancestral rules and obligations, their main aim is to watch over and protect them. Descendants can invoke the help of ancestral spirits by calling their names and stating a request. Female and male ancestral spirits are perceived as equally powerful and are usually called upon by both male and female descendants. Their help can be called on for a wide variety of things, from simple requests to healing severe illness. While walking home after working in the food garden, villagers often request that imminent rain be postponed until the village is safely reached, by calling out: ‘Please wait. Please do not let it rain. Soon I will be home.’ Villagers also call upon ancestral spirits to protect them from falling or injuring themselves on the way, asking protection against attacks by malevolent spirits. And so, ancestral spirits look after their descendants and assist them in everyday activities, keeping them healthy and safe from harm. In case of severe illness, however, a complete rite generally accompanies the request, as the request is much more serious and requires a favour in return. To please the ancestors and give them thanks, descendants usually make offerings at sacred places (tempat keramat). People usually offer food, with or without a plate, spoon and fork; sometimes kain timur or cigarettes are offered. ‘We know the ancestors do not need these things’, one of Bapak Raja’s sons, Hans Tenau, explained to me. ‘But they are pleased that they are there, so they know that we have not forgotten them.’ Rarely, similar objects are placed at a gravesite. Mostly just a small wooden cross, placed by the priest, adorns the grave. In general the cemetery fills villagers with dread, and they seldom go there. This fear stems from preChristian times, when only deceased witches and people who died because of malevolent spirits were ‘put in the ground’. Out of fear that their spirits might disturb the world of the living, the corpses of these deceased were usually ‘thrown away’ by putting them in a big hole in the ground without further ceremony. As J.M. Schoorl (1979:110) mentions, out of fear that the malevolent spirits of the dead would wander through the village and harm other people, the eyes of corpses were generally pierced with thorns and the bodies thrown into the hole with their face down. In this way, their spirits were hindered from finding their way back to the village to track down victims. Corpses of deceased persons that died of old age, in contrast, were placed on platforms in trees on ancestral territory and honoured with special ceremonies referred to as maku hi (feasts for the corpse). Like malevolent spirits from the world of the dead, it is common for ancestral spirits who reside in heaven to visit the world of the living. They meet at night and gather at certain places on ancestral territory. From there, they manifest themselves in dreams in which they convey messages to their

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descendants. Knowledge of healing is often gained through dreams in which ancestral spirits reveal what methods to use. Messages may also contain a warning, or advice on major decisions in clan or personal affairs. In return for such protection and advice, the spirits of the ancestors expect obedience and respect from their descendants. Ancestral spirits, illness and healing Ancestral spirits not only reveal themselves in dreams. After sunset, they may wander around the village, just like spirits who have not yet entered heaven. While in the village, they may punish a descendant who violates or disregards ancestral rules by making the person seriously ill. Unlike spirits from the world of the dead, however, ancestral spirits also have the power to heal. If the illness has been caused by ancestral spirits, patients and healers have no choice of healing rituals; there is only one indigenous healing rite that can be performed. No other indigenous rite, nor any Christian healing rituals or medicines from the missionary hospital will be effective. The aim of the healing performance is to worship the ancestors, to ask their forgiveness, and to request their help for recovery. Because Mama Raja’s illness had not been caused by ancestral spirits, such a rite was not performed for her. Some months earlier, however, such a rite had been performed in Ayawasi to heal a man punished by the spirits of his ancestors for violating an ancestral rule. This man, Bapak Agus Baru, was not a member of Mama Raja’s Turot clan, which is important to know because the rites that are performed to appease the ancestors for the purpose of healing are clan-bound: each clan has its own healing ritual. Nevertheless, although the name of the ritual differs from clan to clan and each ritual is somewhat different, the rituals are similar in content. As these rites are clan-bound, kinship relations determine who the performers and participants are: the rites are only for people who belong to the same clan. In the case of Bapak Agus, who belongs to the Baru clan, therefore, only people who share common ancestors with the Baru clan performed and attended the healing ritual. Not only were they allowed to participate in the healing ritual, they were in fact obliged to come and participate. If they did not participate, the ancestors would punish them also, and consequently they would be taken ill. Because we had been ‘adopted’ by Ibu Baru as her 

Haiveta (1990:442) states for the Maindroin of Papua New Guinea that the guardian spirit of a clan oversees and regulates relations by means of rewards and punishments. Clan illness occurs when a rule is broken.

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Offering the vital parts of the pig in the Manes Kaya ritual

daughters, Louise and I belonged to the Baru clan and for that reason were invited to participate in the rite. It was a unique opportunity to gain an emic understanding of illness caused by ancestral spirits in northwest Ayfat. As a result, I am able to present in detail one such indigenous healing rite. These clan-bound rituals are always performed outside the village, generally in a food garden, as a way of preventing other people from attending. Moreover, the food gardens are clan property, so the land is connected with the ancestors. It is proper to worship the ancestors on their own territory. The performance of manes kaya Bapak Agus Baru is a man in his late fifties who lives in Fef, a small village in northern Ayfat. He is the elder brother of Ibu Maria Baru, the leader of Kelompok Sabda. Like his sister, Bapak Agus is a devout Christian. He was among the first in northwest Ayfat to be baptized, and he assisted the priest in introducing the Catholic church to the area (Thoonen 2005:69). He says his Christian prayers daily and reads the Bible regularly. The rite performed for the purpose of healing Bapak Agus is called manes kaya, literally ‘to wrap for the spirits of the ancestors’, which refers to the

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main part of the rite. The rite is performed entirely in the native language, as clan-bound rites do not make use of non-ancestral words. The Baru members originate from the Meyhabehmase area in northern Ayfat and speak Meyah, a language slightly different from the Meybrat language of northwest Ayfat. The manes kaya rite serves to show that when an illness is caused by ancestral spirits, only an indigenous healing rite, unmingled with non-ancestral symbols, can heal the patient. The ritual expresses relationships between the symbols used and notions of illness and healing, especially the curative and protective characteristics of the main indigenous symbols: heirloom cloths, blood and food. The heirloom cloths, and the blood and other vital parts of a pig (heart, liver and lungs), as well as sago, are offered to the ancestors when inviting them ‘to come down’ to heal the ill person. One day, Bapak Agus fell very ill. It started with a minor stomach-ache, but soon the pain got worse. He lost a lot of weight, could hardly eat anything, and had a high fever. Bapak Agus first consulted Bapak Matius Titit, a male relative, who is a well-known wuon healer in his hometown. He gained spiritual knowledge on healing during initiation in the wuon cult house. Bapak Matius treated Bapak Agus with herbal therapy. As is customary for such symptoms, Bapak Matius prepared the vigorous root bofit. For one week, Bapak Agus had to take drops of the mixture. The treatment, however, was ineffective, and Bapak Agus’s condition deteriorated. In his search for healing, Bapak Agus decided to visit his younger sister Ibu Baru in Ayawasi and to seek medical treatment at the missionary hospital there. After he had been hospitalized for almost three months, there was still no sign of recovery. It is interesting that Ibu Baru, in addition to being a Christian healer, is also a well-known and highly respected indigenous healer. When she realized that Agus’s condition was deteriorating, she could no longer just stand by and watch. In the preceding months, she had tried to help Agus by praying for him. This did not have the desired effect, nor did the treatment in the missionary hospital. If Christian prayers and hospital treatment are ineffective, it is likely that the illness is caused by ancestral spirits: all other kinds of spirit illness can be healed by Christian performances. Illness caused by ancestral spirits can be healed neither by Christian prayers nor by biomedical treatment. So, for the sake of healing her brother, Ibu Baru turned to her ancestors and requested their help. She knew that only 

The ritual is also called aufenes, which means ‘wrap sago’. During other (healing) rites, however, the native language and Indonesian are often spoken alternately.  Although it is common to use bofit as a herbal medicine, an overdose can easily kill a person. As shown in Chapter III, bofit is used in this way by sorcerers. 

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the ancestors could restore her brother’s health. That night Ibu Baru had a vivid dream. She saw images of many heirloom cloths and a dead pig. The next morning Ibu Baru confronted her brother with the dream. Suddenly, Bapak Agus recalled a significant event some months previously. Now, because he was seriously ill and because of Ibu Baru’s dream, Agus realized that he had failed to obey a certain ancestral rule. Cautiously, he confessed: one day, Bapak Petrus Titit, a male relative, had requested Bapak Agus to lend him one of the clan’s special heirloom cloths. Bapak Petrus needed the cloth for a major indigenous rite. Bapak Agus, as one of the clan elders, wanted to fulfil his social obligations, and gave him the cloth on loan. In time, Bapak Petrus returned the cloth to Bapak Agus. He in turn handed it over to his sister Ibu Aknes, who stored it away in a safe place.10 At first sight, there seemed to be nothing wrong with the procedure, yet in the process Bapak Agus had disregarded an ancestral rule: he failed to hold a ceremony to assure his ancestors that the heirloom cloth had returned safely. Bapak Agus now realized that, in disregarding the rule, he had upset his ancestors and was now being punished for it. Only a clan-bound ritual could rectify his error. So Ibu Baru decided to perform the manes kaya healing rite in one of her food gardens. This gave Bapak Agus the opportunity to ask the forgiveness of the ancestral spirits and to rectify the disturbed relationship with them. Ceremonial cloths The food garden, where the healing rite for Bapak Agus Baru was performed, was situated just outside the village. To get there, clan members followed a small path that twisted its way through the forest. Ferns grew on either side, under the tall trees that surrounded the village. At one point a small stream interrupted the muddy path. A wooden fence surrounded the food garden to prevent wild pigs from entering and eating the crops. Tall cassava plants shaded the garden. Earlier that day, at sunrise, Ibu Maria Baru and Bapak Matius Titit, who had accompanied Bapak Agus to Ayawasi, had gone to the food garden to make the necessary preparations. They built two bamboo platforms, one higher, the other lower, on the empty space in front of the little pile dwelling, close to the entrance of the food garden. It was late in the afternoon by the time everyone had gathered in the garden. Yosefien, Ibu Baru’s oldest daughter, came to pick up Louise and me, and together we followed the path to the food garden. When we entered we watched some men putting the final touches to the lower platform. With a

10

As mentioned in Chapter III, women are the ones who hold the sacred cloths under trust.

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liana they tied the bamboo sticks together. A pile of rattan leaves lay below, ready for wrapping up the sago in them. Some of the children were running around, others sat patiently with the adults on the little wooden ladder, or on the small porch of the garden house, waiting for the healing rite to begin, while Ibu Baru checked if everything was in order. Out of her carrier bag, Ibu Baru took a woven mat. The mat contained six pieces of kain timur. She unfolded the mat on the ground in front of her and displayed the cloths one by one. Five cloths, called wan Fas, wan Pokek Safah, wan Ataf, wan Habeh and wan Warnau, were very old and all carefully wrapped in packets made of pandanus leaves. The colours had faded, and the cloths were mended here and there with little pieces of cloth. The sixth cloth, called batik Irian, was new, and wrapped in plastic. Bapak Agus watched his sister from the garden house. Slowly he stepped down and arranged the kain timur on the mat. ‘We have to speak clearly and slowly, otherwise the spirits of our ancestors cannot hear us well’, Bapak Agus explained to his relatives. Then Bapak Agus looked up to the sky and invoked his ancestors: Look at us. We are making everything ready for you, here in our food garden, on your territory.

In the meantime Ibu Baru fetched the pig, which she had sacrificed especially for this occasion, from under the garden house. Bapak Arit Baru, the younger brother of Bapak Agus and of Ibu Baru’s deceased father, stepped forward. He was the first to take one of the heirloom cloths, holding it in front of him, his arms stretched above his head. While he focused his eyes on the cloth, he invoked his ancestors by shouting: ‘I open this heirloom cloth to show you that everything here is all right.’ Bapak Matius joined Bapak Agus. Together they unfolded the second cloth. Bapak Agus got up to speak and explain to the ancestral spirits: I give this festive meal together with my clan members, both schoolchildren and adults, because I’m ill. Because I did not listen to you, because I did not obey your rules. I failed to arrange to give a ceremony before, as I promised our ancestor Pofitsteyuo, to show you that this heirloom cloth had returned to our clan.11

This act marked a crucial moment in the healing rite. By opening the heirloom cloth, Bapak Agus fulfilled one of his ceremonial obligations. The showing of heirloom cloths to the ancestors is central in every major indigenous rite. It is performed not only during healing rituals, but also during funerals of local leaders and other prominent men and women.

11

The kain timur Bapak Agus was talking about is wan Fas.

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The ritual proceeded. Simultaneously, the three men started to recite the names of their ancestors.12 Sometimes the men paused for a moment, and then continued reciting the long list of names. Bapak Agus continued: In a minute, I will kill a pig, wrap sago, and return to you your heirloom cloth.

Ibu Baru added: ‘Now this heirloom cloth is back again.’ The other three cloths were unfolded while Bapak Agus told his ancestors that the heirloom cloths were kept safe in his family. Do not think we gave these heirloom cloths away, took them to other places. But I am ill. My stomach aches. I vomit, have diarrhoea, high fever. I know you are angry with me. You have made me ill. You are in my stomach, because I did not listen. But now I give this festive meal and return this heirloom cloth to you.

In turn Bapak Arit, Bapak Matius and Ibu Baru emphasized Bapak Agus’s words by explaining to the spirits that Bapak Agus was very ill. ‘He almost died, and even the sisters at the missionary hospital could not find a way to cure him.’ Then Bapak Agus invited his ancestors: Maria [Baru] will sacrifice this pig for you. We will offer you sago. Come and eat with us. Then leave. Go home, back to your mountain and do not come back.13 Do not disturb us again. Make us strong, so we can work in our food gardens and have a good harvest. Do not let a wild pig enter the food garden and eat all the crops. Now the sacrifice can start. I am ready.

Next, another crucial part of the ritual was performed, to break the connection with the ancestral spirits that had caused Bapak Agus’s illness. Blood The kain timur, all except the batik Irian, were draped over a branch of a young tree growing next to the higher platform. A cord was attached to the top of the tree. The tree represented Bapak Agus, the ill person. The cord symbolized the spirits of their ancestors. Ibu Maria Baru took the cord with one hand while with her other hand she held a string tied to one of the pig’s feet. For the last time the four relatives invoked their ancestors together by loudly calling out their names. Bapak Agus took the heirloom cloth wan Fas from the branch, and put it on the pig’s back, shouting: ‘Kill the pig!’ Ibu Baru still held the cord tied to the tree. She was right next to Agus, and handed him the string to which the 12

The following ancestors were called upon: Kait, Wian, Sekiah, Nsudmbawew, Pofitsteyuo, Faw, Faye, Siendepo, Matiaf, Syewon, Haenebuoh, Sun Wakus. 13 The ancestral spirits of the Baru clan are believed to stay on the sacred mountain Faumair.

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pig was tied. With their free hands they held each other, standing hand in hand. One of the younger men, Marcellino Hay, lifted a big round stick with his two hands. With a harsh blow he hit the pig’s head. The animal collapsed, loudly squealing. Simultaneously, Bapak Matius cut the cord attached to the young tree. By this act Bapak Matius symbolically severed the bond with the spirits who had made Bapak Agus ill. Bapak Agus watched the boy strike the skull of the pig another few times. When blood ran out of the pig’s nostrils and snout, Bapak Agus bent over. At this point in the performance, the central meaning of blood came to the fore. With the index finger of his right hand, Bapak Agus took some of the bright red blood and rubbed it on his chest, on the breastbone. Everyone watched with bated breath as Bapak Agus did this, as it was an important moment in the ceremony. With his shirt unbuttoned, Bapak Agus showed onlookers the bloody mark. With this mark Bapak Agus made clear to his ancestors that he had sacrificed a pig, especially for them. He then begged his ancestors: Do not eat me again. Come down and eat this pig, which we will cook for you. In exchange, ‘close’ my stomach, give me back my health. Pofitsteyuo, do not ever again say that I did not listen to you. This festive dinner is especially for you and for all my ancestors. Come down and take everything we offer you.

As is also true in the case of witchcraft, when ancestral spirits cause the illness, people in northwest Ayfat usually explain their illness as being ‘eaten up’ by these spirits. Sometimes they speak of spirits as being ‘in’ their body. Therefore, food is offered and the ancestors are invited to come eat the food instead. A ceremonial offering is the highest honour that can be given in worshipping the ancestors. Therefore, the best was offered: a pig, and above all, its vital organs. The sacrificial death is a sign of the importance of this animal: a pig is considered a worthy offering for spirits.14 To convince Bapak Agus’s ancestors that a pig was being offered, some of its blood was applied to his body. The blood mark on Bapak Agus’s chest (or on any other part of the body affected by disease) was proof that a pig had been sacrificed. Moreover, the sign would simultaneously safeguard Bapak Agus, ‘closing’ his body to prevent spirits from ‘entering’ and ‘eating’ him again. By sacrificing a pig for the ancestral spirits, Bapak Agus gave the pig in exchange for recovery of his health. In this way blood has the ability to heal and protect. In the meantime, the pig still lay on the ground, half dead, while its abdo14 Likewise, Lagusu (1986:52) states for the Knabu of the Solomon Islands that the sacrifice of a pig is the highest honour one can give to the ancestors. Rappaport (1984:81) has shown for the Maring of Papua New Guinea that pigs are seldom eaten on occasions that are not ceremonial, and are killed in the context of rituals associated with misfortune and illness.

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men moved to the rhythm of its rapid breathing. Some young men made a fire from a large pile of branches, leaves and wood. When the fire blazed up brightly, they threw the pig into the flames. With a final effort the animal jumped out of the flames, but was immediately thrown back. More wood was put on the fire, soon leading to the pig’s death. Food While the young men were busy roasting the pig, Ibu Baru spread out another mat just in front of the higher platform, in front of the garden house. ‘Now let us wrap up the sago we all brought with us and prepared for this festive dinner, to present to our ancestors’, she said. Then, from the narrow porch of the garden house, she picked up a large pan filled with sago. She spread the sago on the rattan leaves, which she had just finished laying out on the mat. She folded the stuffed leaves, wrapped a liana around each one, and piled the long, narrow packets next to her. Bapak Arit, who had taken a seat on the higher platform, assisted her by handing her the lianas. Ibu Baru’s husband Bapak Paulinus Bame, her daughter Yosefien, and Bapak Matius knelt down on the mat to help Ibu Baru wrap up the sago. Bapak Agus sat on top of the ladder of the garden house, exhausted. While the pig was still roasting in the fire, the young men scraped off the scorched hair of its skin with a big chopping knife. After some twenty minutes, they took the pig out of the fire and laid it on its back, in front of the lower platform. From both sides of his snout, they cut downwards along the flanks and opened up the stomach. Dogs licked the blood from the mouth of the blackened dead animal. Then Bapak Agus came down the ladder. Taking some sago in one hand and rattan leaves in the other, he invoked the ancestors for the last time: Spirits, please eat this food I offer you. You have to eat this and then leave, go home. The food, the meat, and the heirloom cloths I already gave back to you... everything is for you. My clan members and I, together we give you all this.

Bapak Arit, Bapak Matius, and Ibu Baru completed Bapak Agus’s plea for help by asking the ancestors ‘to leave Agus’ and ‘to leave Ayawasi’. Because he had now fulfilled his ancestral obligation, the spirits had no reason anymore to be angry about Bapak Agus’s behaviour. At the same time, they asked their ancestors to watch over all the clan members: ‘Keep us and our children safe. Keep us healthy and let our food gardens bear a rich harvest.’ Some time later, they finished up the pan of sago. Carefully, Ibu Baru and Yosefien carried the stuffed leaves to the lower platform, where they laid out the packets next to each other. The packets took up the whole platform. With the rest of the rattan leaves, Ibu Baru covered the packets. Meanwhile,

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a young boy wiped off the bamboo canes, which stood ready against one of the trees. Children brought the cleaned canes to the men cutting up the pig. Women put out vegetables (sayur pakis). Ibu Baru squatted down, took a bamboo cane, and filled the hollow tube with hunks of meat and vegetables. While a girl chopped new canes from long bamboo stalks, Ibu Baru stuffed the 60-centimetre long canes one by one. Inviting the ancestors The ritual continued by offering the vital parts of the pig to the ancestors: its heart (yasia), liver (yau), and lungs (yemfatan). First, boys laid a second fire under the lower platform. A lot of dry twigs stirred up in the fire produced heavy smoke. A curtain of fog hung over the food garden. One of the boys put a stick in the fire. The top of the branch was forked, in the shape of a Y. Pieces of the pig’s heart were stuck on both ends. Two other sticks were placed in the fire, one with a piece of liver, the other with a piece of the lungs. These pieces of organs roasted slowly in the fire and would be offered to the ancestors later in the ceremony. Young men were still busy cutting the meat, while Ibu Baru stuffed the bamboo canes. The finished ones were put into the fire to be cooked. More leaves were used to cover the sago packets, which were being steamed in the heat of the embers at the bottom of the fire. Children ran around gnawing on the pig’s trotter or playing with its eyes, pricked on sticks. Adults sat together, engaged in lively conversation, waiting patiently for the food to be done. Some time later, Ibu Baru and Bapak Matius got up, took two large bamboo canes, and walked into the food garden, up to where the vegetation began. Firmly, they put the canes in the ground at an angle, so they were intersecting. Bapak Agus joined Ibu Baru and Bapak Matius. In one hand he held three packets of sago. The other hand held the sticks with pieces of the heart, liver and lungs. The three relatives stood close to each other, Bapak Agus in the middle, their backs turned to the others. Then Bapak Agus invoked his ancestors, one by one, loud and clear. By doing this, he invited each of them to come and eat the food they had just prepared. When Bapak Agus was done, he put the sago packets and the sticks with organs onto the crossed bamboo canes. Ibu Baru and Bapak Matius placed sago packets on the ground, so that they leaned against the crossed bamboo canes. For a moment Bapak Agus, Ibu Baru and Bapak Matius just stood there silently, before they turned around to face the others. Now that food had been offered to the ancestors, people were allowed to open the other steamed sago packets that still lay on the platform. The fire beneath had gone out. Bapak Arit and two young men chopped open the

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blackened bamboo canes, took the roasted meat mixed with vegetables out of it, and put it on the opened sago packets. All that time, Bapak Agus was sitting once more at the top of the ladder, on the small porch of the garden house, watching his relatives and the food garden. Bapak Matius took a leaf from one of the sago packets, tore off a piece, and put a hunk of steaming pig meat and some sago on it. He then called out the names of the persons present, one by one, who stepped forward. Bapak Matius handed each one a portion of the cooked food, served on a leaf. Bapak Agus was the first to receive his share, Ibu Baru was next, then Bapak Arit. Then followed all the other relatives, including the children. Everybody looked for a place to sit. Some sat on the ladder or joined Bapak Agus on the small porch. Others took a seat on the muddy ground or climbed onto the platform. Nobody finished their serving of food. Everyone took only one or two symbolic bites, then wrapped up the rest in the leaf and tied it up with a liana to take home. Then there was a lot of commotion, as it was almost sundown. People walked up and down, starting to clear out the place. Bapak Matius and Ibu Baru took some chopped-open bamboo canes and brought them to the place where Bapak Agus had offered food to the ancestors. The remaining bamboo canes and sago packets were divided among the people present. Men checked the smothered fires while women made sure the food garden was left nice and tidy. When people were finished, they took their carrier bags filled with food packets and set off back to the village. Bapak Agus, Ibu Baru, Bapak Matius, and Bapak Arit were the last to go. Before they left, they took one last look at the food garden. Silently they went on their way. Soon darkness would settle. The time had come for the ancestors to ‘come down’, this time not to haunt or frighten someone, but to enjoy their festive dinner. When everyone had left the food garden and peace had returned, the ancestors had the opportunity to come and visit the place and eat the food offerings. It is said that after the ancestors have eaten their share, and are satisfied, they will return to their mountain and will stop interfering in the lives and health of their descendants – at least as far as the particular case is concerned. For safety’s sake, to preserve the peace and quiet, and to give the ancestors free rein, clan members will not work in this particular food garden for several weeks. The section behind the intersecting canes is, in any case, out of bounds until the food has been consumed. The next morning, Bapak Agus felt remarkably better. His fever went down and he had a good appetite. That week he gained some weight and started to feel much stronger. Bapak Agus stayed with his sister and her family for four more weeks, before setting off for his home village. During that time he did not take any medicine whatsoever. By the time he was ready to depart, Bapak Agus was the same healthy man he had been before. He had

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regained the strength to undertake the five-day walk through the forest to Fef. The nurses at the hospital were amazed when Bapak Agus came to say goodbye. As they told me, it seemed to them like a miracle. But Bapak Agus knew better: the ancestors had returned home and so could he. Bapak Agus had fulfilled his ceremonial obligations. He had given a festive dinner to reassure the ancestors that the heirloom cloth had been returned safely. By doing so, he had reconciled his spiritual and social relations. In accepting with thanks, the ancestors, in return, restored his health. In the performance of the clan-bound healing rite manes kaya, heirloom cloths, blood, and food are interconnected indigenous symbols related to the ancestors. In daily and ceremonial life throughout the Bird’s Head of West Papua, kain timur play an important role.15 Although these cloths were originally imported from eastern Indonesia (kain timur is Indonesian for ‘eastern textiles’) starting centuries ago, they are generally referred to by native people as ‘indigenous’. Moreover, the cloths have been incorporated in ceremonial life to the extent that they are central to ancestor worship: the heirloom cloths (wan; Indonesian: kain pusaka) are connected to the ancestors and are passed down from generation to generation. In the manes kaya rite, therefore, wan cloths are central because of their interconnection with the ancestors. In daily life, kain jalan (literally: ‘wandering cloths’) play a central role. To use Weiner’s (1992:47) terms, the heirloom wan cloths are guarded by women as inalienable possessions, whereas the others, kain jalan, are given away in exchange. During the performance of the manes kaya ritual, blood was another important symbol. In northwest Ayfat, blood is what Douglas (1973) calls a ‘natural symbol’: it serves as a metaphor for social life, and here it refers especially to social relations such as kinship (J.M. Schoorl 1979:130; Miedema 1984:135), as well as notions of illness and healing. As Linnekin and Poyer (1990) show, in various other Pacific regions blood serves as an indigenous metaphor of ‘shared substance’, just as children share the blood of their parents and other relatives. For example, only blood relatives of the ill person may participate in the healing rite and consume the food offered there. If food were served to non-relatives, the ancestral spirits would be upset and would not heal the patient, and might even punish the non-relatives by making them ill. The significance of blood relationships also finds expression in the central role of heirloom cloths, which must stay within the lineage and be passed down from generation to generation. Blood is also used as a metaphor for illness, which is usually referred to as ‘having dirty blood’ (darah kotor), ‘having less blood’ (kurang darah), or ‘having

15

Compare Elmberg 1968; Haenen 1991; Miedema 1984; J.M. Schoorl 1979.

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hot blood’ (darah panas). This reflects the belief that illness occurs when the blood is polluted, the correct proportions of the blood are disrupted, or the temperature of the blood is disturbed. Imbalance of the blood is described as ‘hot’ or ‘cold’. As illness is associated with a ‘hot’ state, the aim of the ritual is to ‘cool down’ the patient, that is to ‘clean the dirty blood’ or to ‘increase the blood’.16 Only by restoring the balance, by means of a healing rite, can a person be healed. Jansen (1994) points out that, cross-culturally, in ritual performances blood is ascribed sacred or divine power. During the performance of manes kaya, the ritually offering of a pig whose blood was rubbed on the body of the ill man expressed the central symbolic and sacred meaning of blood. As in most Melanesian rituals, food plays a central role in the manes kaya ritual and is closely connected with social relations.17 In northwest Ayfat, food generally serves as a form of communication for establishing and affirming relationships, not only between relatives but also with ancestors. This is achieved by the sharing and ritual offering of food. Healing rituals such as manes kaya aim at restoring relationships with the ancestors that have been disturbed, by sharing and offering food. During the manes kaya ritual, food is offered to dispel illness and misfortune.18 The importance of food is further expressed by locating the ritual performance in a food garden, which is connected with the ancestors. It is proper to worship ancestors on their own territory, and to give and share food there. Sago is viewed as coming from ancestral land, which clan members pass down from generation to generation. Furthermore, sago is the staple food. In case of a bad harvest from their food gardens, people can always fall back on their sago fields. In northwest Ayfat, food in general is related to notions of illness and health. In case of illness caused by spirits, being ill is similar to being ‘eaten up’ (visible in the loss of weight of the ill person). Therefore, people offer food to invite the ancestors to come and eat the food instead of the ill person. In return for food, the ancestors will restore the patient’s health. The patient can then recover, which means that his blood regains its balance. Finally, all healing rituals are generally performed in the late afternoon. This time of day is chosen not only because illness is associated with a ‘hot’ 16

These metaphors of blood are found throughout the Pacific region (Godschalk 1993; Strathern and Stewart 1999). 17 Meigs (1984:20), following Lévi-Strauss (1963), Leach (1964), and Douglas (1966), states that most Melanesian ethnographers ‘in speaking of the symbolic value of food’ mean that ‘its transfer and consumption symbolize a variety of social relationships’. Van Oosterhout (2002:139) states for the Inanwatan area in the southern Bird’s Head of West Papua that on some ritual occasions ‘sharing food forges a tie that can be stronger than blood’. 18 Meigs (1984:26) mentions that in some Oceanic languages one’s food is even ‘classified grammatically with one’s body parts and kindred, as an inalienable possession’.

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state of the body, and the purpose of the ritual is to ‘cool down’. It is also because it is only after sunset that spirits ‘come down’ and visit the world of the living. Propitiating ancestral spirits The overall aim of the indigenous rite performed to heal someone with an illness caused by ancestral spirits is to honour and propitiate the ancestors and to undo or make amends for the mistake that caused the ancestral spirits to be angry. In return, the ancestors restore the person’s health. In this way, both the ill person and the ancestors restore the social balance that was disturbed by the person violating ancestral rules, and consequently by the ancestral spirits punishing that person with illness. Herein lies the reason why healers do not incorporate Christian symbols into indigenous rites performed to propitiate the ancestral spirits: ancestral spirits harm their descendants only when they disturb the social order. In this way, ancestral spirits preserve the social order. They are capable not only of harming, however, but also of healing – but only if the proper ritual is performed. The proper ritual will be an ancestral rite, using ancestral symbols, by means of which the social balance is restored. So, although the manes kaya healing rite was performed by and for devout Catholics (Ibu Maria Baru, leader of Kelompok Sabda, and her brother Bapak Agus Baru), not a single Catholic or other non-ancestral symbol was used. If we regard language as a system of symbols, the indigenous character of the manes kaya rite is emphasized symbolically by being performed in ancestral language (in this case Meyah), whereas Indonesian words are avoided. Christianity was not used for these ancestral healing rites because the incorporation of non-ancestral notions and symbols would have disturbed the relationship with ancestral spirits and thus the social balance. As Ibu Baru and Agus Baru explained to me: ‘These [rites like manes kaya] are ours! Ancestors have nothing to do with the church [gereja]. This is our adat, not the church.’ Other villagers with whom I discussed the topic responded in a similar way. The relation between adat/indigenous healing rituals and Christianity is explored further in Chapters VIII and IX. The biomedical treatments offered at the missionary hospital are not considered effective in healing illness caused by ancestral spirits. Most people explained that the medicines are ‘not strong enough’ for this kind of illness. With regard to what types of healing performances people choose, for an illness caused by ancestral spirits, people do not have a choice. In order to heal the patient, they must perform an indigenous clan-bound healing ritual like manes kaya. If the illness is caused by the other category of spirits of the

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underworld, namely spirits who have not yet entered heaven and thus still remain in the world of the dead, people can choose between indigenous and Christian rites. Even for this category of spirit illness, however, missionary hospital treatments are believed to be ineffective.

chapter v

Performing indigenous healing After the wuon healer had diagnosed that Mama Raja had been attacked either by spirits of the living or spirits from the world of the dead, I began reconstructing the course of Mama Raja’s illness. It appeared that her illness, not unusually, started with a slight fever. At first, she did not think it was anything serious, or that it was necessary to consult a healer. In this initial phase of her illness, Mama Raja did what most older (and some younger) women do in present-day northwest Ayfat: she chose to perform an indigenous healing rite for herself, the pokonof rite. Like other women of her generation, Mama Raja was well acquainted with herbal therapy and the uses of various kinds of leaves. She had learned these healing methods not only during initiation but also in visions: dreams in which ancestral spirits reveal which leaves, roots, tree bark and healing spells can be used. Both older and younger women have ‘healing visions’, be they initiated or non-initiated, and they are not supposed to disclose this knowledge to others. However, most of the secret knowledge of healing that women use while performing indigenous healing rites is known only to initiated women. Here we touch on the core institution by which secret indigenous knowledge on healing was passed down from one generation to the next: female and male initiation rituals. How were women and men trained as healers during initiation? What healing knowledge was passed on through initiation and, more significantly, to whom? Exploring these questions is relevant, as it gives insight into the ongoing importance of this healing knowledge as transferred through initiation rituals. The main goal of this chapter is to focus on indigenous healing as passed on selectively through initiation rites. Recent years saw the publication of the first anthology (Lutkehaus and Roscoe 1995) and the first monograph (Thoonen 2005) on female initiation rites in Melanesia. Indigenous healing has often been studied by scholars of the Pacific. Although it is widely recognized that healing knowledge is gained



See for instance Frankel 1986; Frankel and Lewis 1989; Keck 1992; Lewis 1975, 2000; Parsons 1985; Strathern and Stewart 1999.

Maria Baru

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primarily through initiation rites, there have not yet been studies bringing these two domains together to explore how healing knowledge is transferred through initiation rites. By looking at initiation and healing together, the present book contributes new insights to anthropological theory. Lutkehaus (1995:13), in the introduction to an anthology on female initiation rituals in Papua New Guinea, notes that women’s participation in initiation rituals results in a difference in status between initiated women and non-initiated women. Barlow (1995:110-2) makes a similar point by stating that through initiation into the women’s cult, Murik women in Papua New Guinea become persons of prestige. Maschio (1995:136), who witnessed the performance of a one-day menstruation rite in Rauto society (Papua New Guinea), notes that only certain girls were selected to participate: ‘the rite is most often performed for the eldest and most intelligent and socially promising daughters of prominent men and women and marks the girls for assumption of a special social status, that of big-woman’. Thoonen (2000a, 2000b, 2005), studying female initiation in northwest Ayfat, shows the importance of examining the different ways individual women deal with their initiation experience. None of the authors, however, point out that differences within the group of novices are also created during the performance of female initiation rites. This stems from the fact that these differences only become visible in the domain of healing. By focusing on healing in the performance of initiation rituals, not only the distinction between initiated and non-initiated is seen to be important, but also the different levels within the group of initiated persons: not all female and male novices were initiated into the most secret and sacred healing knowledge. This difference is crucial for the ways women and men gain prestige as healers in their descent group and society. Women and men who received the extended training during initiation have the status of what I call ‘top initiates’. Here I present the best-known and most highly respected female initiated healer in northwest Ayfat society: Ibu Maria Baru. Ibu Baru had been initiated in the early 1960s, during the last female initiation rite held by her clan in the Meyhabehmase region of northern Ayfat. After that, in the missionary process, female and male initiation rites in her native area were abandoned. As a child, Ibu Baru was the one chosen by her family to be initiated into the secret and sacred knowledge of healing, knowledge that was revealed to very few persons. During my fieldwork, Ibu Baru decided to teach that healing knowledge to me. Moreover, as a ritual specialist, Ibu Baru reinstated the female initiation rite in her native area, and acted as a major ritual leader of the rite. By reviving this ritual, Ibu Baru created a way to pass on healing knowledge and practices to younger female relatives. And for me, it turned out to be a unique opportunity, because Ibu Baru invited me (and Louise) to participate in the secluded phase of the initiation

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as well as the closing ceremony. Moreover, we were initiated into the secret knowledge of initiated women. As far as I know, it had never happened before that foreign women in New Guinea or Melanesia were allowed to participate in the secluded phase of a female initiation rite, or were initiated into the secret female knowledge. What I learned about healing knowledge during the secluded phase of the rite is integrated into this chapter. In addition to contributing to anthropological discussions about the transmission of healing knowledge, this chapter serves as an indispensable basis for exploring the relations between indigenous initiation rituals, religious change, and gender, particularly the creation of the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda. Discussed here are the transfer of healing knowledge through initiation, and the hierarchies within each gender category and between female and male healers. Although emphasis is on female initiation and healing, male initiation and healing practice are also touched upon. Bonvillain (2001) argues that in many societies, whether or not women serve as professional medical specialists, they are often the first to be consulted in cases of illness. This is also true for northwest Ayfat. Women are the first persons to be consulted as healers. Moreover, the fenia meroh initiation rite focuses especially on healing knowledge and techniques concerning ‘female matters’ and preparing women to become mothers and wives. Only when female healing performances do not have the desired effect do women, as Mama Raja did, choose the next option: consulting a male healer. However, perceiving women’s roles as healers as an extension of their responsibilities as mothers, as Bonvillain (2001:261) does, is too limited for describing the situation in Ayfat. Let me first summarize the weeks before the reinstatement of fenia meroh initiation, and tell how Ibu Baru came to the decision to transfer the secret and sacred knowledge in this way. Knowledge of healing We had walked for more than four hours through the dense mountainous forest surrounding Ayawasi before we sat down in the bamboo shelter in one of Ibu Maria Baru’s food gardens. Ibu Baru had planned this day carefully, because it was a very special day. She had decided that the time had come to pass on all the secret knowledge on healing she had learned as a girl during the female initiation rite fenia meroh, to her oldest daughter Yosefien and to her newly ‘adopted’ daughters, Louise and me. None of the other villagers 

ter).

Ibu Baru classified Louise and me as her daughters, and Yosefien called us tao (older sis-

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knew where we were going. Ibu Baru did not even inform her husband. At sunrise, the four of us just took off, together with Ibu Baru’s youngest daughter Novia and Yosefien’s newborn Clara in a sling. We followed Ibu Baru closely, because we did not know where we were going. We just knew it was going to be a long trip to a place where no one would disturb us. Ibu Baru did not bother to bring any food or water with her and even asked us not to take any. We would eat and drink whatever the forest offered us on our way, just like the novices in the cult house used to do. We knew that, in times past, when entering the female cult house, girls were immediately sworn to secrecy. After completing initiation they were forbidden to disclose any of the secret knowledge they had learned, not even to other female members of their lineage, under penalty of death. Why then did Ibu Baru decide to break this rule and pass on her healing knowledge to the three of us? For some time Ibu Baru had felt troubled. Since the 1960s and 1970s, in the missionary and government process, both female and male initiation rites were abandoned in most of the baptized northwest Ayfat communities. Missionaries viewed the performance of initiation rituals as obstacles to the missionary process, for two main reasons (Thoonen 2005:156). Participation in the rituals got in the way of children attending school, which was the most important missionary activity. Second, involvement of adults and children in initiation kept them from attending church ceremonies. Although it was the missionaries who insisted on abolishing initiation rites, the people of northwest Ayfat had their own reasons to actively support this (Thoonen 2005:166-70). At that time, they saw benefits in embracing missionary efforts such as schooling, and saw benefits in abandoning initiation rituals, especially because initiation was a painful and arduous experience. Male and female initiates endured pain (by receiving physical tokens of initiation such as tattoos), and suffered during the initiation period from the strict food taboos and isolation from community life. Although abandoning the rites seemed a good idea at the time, people realized later that they had lost something important. Older persons became aware that there was no opportunity left to pass on to younger generations the secret knowledge of healing, ancestral regulations, and protective power that were taught during initiation. Ibu Baru was not the only one who was worried. Most of the older villagers were concerned about what would happen to their cultural heritage after they passed away; it seemed all their knowledge would be lost. In 1995, Ayawasi had only 10 women left who had been initiated, all of them over the age of 50. Ibu Baru



Fifty years is considered an advanced age, since life expectancy is short because of difficult living conditions.

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looked for a solution. She gathered together the other initiated women, all devout Christians, and consulted Ayawasi’s women of importance. The meetings kept the women up many nights, around the fireplace, in hot dispute. Finally, they reached an agreement. To make sure their knowledge did not disappear, the initiated women agreed that they would each choose one daughter, the one they loved most, to pass on their secret knowledge. These daughters in return would be sworn to secrecy, until the time came that they would share their knowledge with one of their own daughters. Despite the agreement, the women held back from passing on their knowledge, afraid that the ancestors would disapprove and punish them; they felt uncomfortable transferring sacred knowledge without the proper ritual. Again, Ibu Baru gave the matter considerable thought. She retired to one of her nearby food gardens, where she would be left in peace, and asked both the spirits of her deceased parents and God for help. She asked their permission to pass on the secret knowledge of healing to her oldest daughter Yosefien. While she prayed, deep in thought, concentrating on her question, she heard the voices first of her mother and father and then of God; they eased her mind by giving their full consent. Moreover, their soothing voices gave Ibu Baru the strength to ask another pressing question. Relieved and excited, Ibu Baru went back to the village, where she immediately called the women for a meeting. There, Ibu Baru announced that her parents and God had given permission for her not only to share her knowledge with Yosefien, but also to pass on everything she had learned during initiation to Louise and me. In this way, the knowledge would be handed down to the next generation, and at the same time would be documented by us, something Ibu Baru was eager to see happen. The women, who knew that Ibu Baru wanted to share her knowledge with Louise and me, unanimously adopted Ibu Baru’s proposition. If God had personally blessed our projects, no one would object to their sharing their knowledge with us. And so, that particular morning, we set off. On our way to the food garden, Ibu Baru left the track each time she noticed a certain tree or plant that could be used for healing purposes or rituals for menstruation, pregnancy and childbirth. As an accomplished healer, she cut the leaves, chopped off tree bark, and lopped off roots. She described their use in great detail, after which I put the items in my carrier bag. By the time we sat down, I was carrying more than 50 different kinds of medicinal plants. This, however, was only part of Ibu Baru’s plan. In the bamboo shelter she revealed to us the 

It is not unusual for Ibu Baru to make contact with her deceased parents or even with God (see Chapter VIII).  In addition, because of Ibu Baru’s extraordinary position in society as a ritual specialist and leader of Kelompok Sabda, her decisions are generally respected and followed.

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accompanying sacred healing formulas. My training had started. In the course of my stay in the field I amassed a thorough knowledge of the therapeutic effects of all the 60 to 70 different plants and trees the novices in the cult house used to learn. I recorded everything precisely and became familiar with their names, applications and chants. Soon my knowledge proved to be useful to my research, as I could immediately recognize plants used during rituals I observed. In my publications, however, I cannot elaborate on the sacred healing formulas, or even all the names of the healing plants, their uses and curative power, as I promised to keep this knowledge secret. To this very day, I cannot disclose secret knowledge about female rituals for menstruation, pregnancy and childbirth, especially not to men, and certainly not to Papuan men, without the risk of putting Ibu Baru, and other women who shared their knowledge with me, in danger of death. Because I cannot guarantee that no Papuan man will ever read this book, I respect the women’s wish to keep the knowledge secret. Although I cannot disclose any secret information in my book, by documenting sacred healing formulas and the accompanying secret rites women learned during initiation, I fulfilled a deep wish of Ibu Baru and other initiated women: their knowledge would be recorded and ‘saved for future generations’. For this purpose, before leaving the field, both Louise and I gave Ibu Baru copies of the data we had recorded on female initiation and healing matters, and the photographs I had taken, in a suitcase with a lock. In this way, the women had a personal ‘archive’ (as Ibu Baru called it) at their disposal. Even though the knowledge of sacred healing formulas and their application cannot be made public, I can nevertheless present interesting information related to healing and female matters that novices learned during initiation, which allows me to demonstrate my point that, especially in healing knowledge, different levels of secrecy exist, and that differential access to the most secret and sacred healing knowledge serves to distinguish between top initiates and ordinary initiates, and between female and male healers. Female indigenous healing I was told that virgin girls formerly entered the female cult house after having their first menstruation. As female initiation is clan-bound, sometimes only one, but never more than a few novices at a time, stayed together in the cult house for initiation. During initiation, girls were prepared for their lives as adult women. They learned about proper female behaviour and social intercourse, and received practical training; they were taught ancestral rules and regulations (watum) and secret knowledge. The knowledge was transferred by ritual teachers, who were senior top initiates of the clan. During the one-year

Ibu Baru and novices rearranging decorations during the closing ceremony of initiation

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period of seclusion, these close female relatives taught the girls about ‘women’s matters’ such as menstruation and pregnancy and giving birth. Furthermore, the novices were trained in childcare and curing minor ailments. However, healing serious illness or any misfortune caused by spiritual forces was not taught, as this was considered the exclusive domain of male top initiates. The primary concern of the teachers in the cult house was to instruct the girls about their future tasks as mothers. They were taught to prepare the sap of certain plants to make their uterus strong, and to stay healthy. They learned various rituals to regulate their menstruation, in order to have a regular cycle. And methods were taught to facilitate pregnancy and delivery. Information was given on how to avoid pregnancy. All these rituals provided women with ways to control their own reproductive powers. In addition, healing rites were taught, especially ones for children’s illnesses but also for minor everyday disorders like infections and wounds, stomach-aches and diarrhoea. Each disorder had its own remedy. Sometimes leaves were boiled to make a drink, in other cases a leaf was used to rub parts of the body. A liana might be tied around the waist, or tree bark chewed. The novices were instructed what kind of rope to use to stop excess menstrual flow or to stop bleeding after childbirth, which leaf to use to turn a baby that is in a breech presentation, and how to induce labour preceding childbirth. The therapeutic effects of some plants were explained as being stronger than others and could be used for various purposes; the quantity of leaves, root, or tree bark differed from purpose to purpose. In female matters, one kind of plant is extremely important: the root of ahrios (Nothocnide mollissima). The root itself as well as its sap is applied before and during labour preceding childbirth. To facilitate delivery the sap is used to ease the pregnant woman’s backache and, the soft, smooth inside of the root is used to rub on the baby during childbirth. As Ibu Baru stated, ‘Childbirth is like a big flowing river. Just like the water in the river runs, ahrios makes the delivery flow.’ This flowing concept is also relevant to other aspects of health; blood has to ‘flow’ as well, to keep a person vigorous. During initiation, every single day, from early morning till sunset, the novices were instructed in these healing rituals. The lessons were repeated over and over again, and the girls were sent off into the forest to search for the required leaves until they were able to accurately identify all medicinal plants, find them blindfolded, and thoroughly know their uses. And thus, day after day, the girls roamed the forest, sought and picked leaves to prepare, and learned how to use them for rubbing on aching body parts, slap-



It is said that if a woman drinks the sap of ahrios and she has not delivered her baby within the hour, she has not been honest about the identity of the baby’s father.

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ping onto the body, boiling them and drinking the sap, pressing on a wound, or massaging body parts. When the girls had mastered the rudiments of this training, the teachers of the cult house proceeded to the next phase of the initiation: instructions for potekief, the ‘reading and blessing of leaves’. As we saw in Mama Raja’s case, some healing rituals require the reciting of magic formulas to transfer curative power to the leaves. While reciting the proper formula, the leaves are held close to the mouth, and the words are spoken in a whisper. In this way the curative power passes to the leaves. The reason for whispering is that no one is allowed to hear the spell; otherwise the words will lose their power. After the appropriate spell has been recited over a leaf, root or tree bark, it is further prepared, or directly applied during the ritual. Out of the 60 to 70 herbal plants the novices learned about, a dozen are accompanied by sacred formulas, most of them concerning female matters. Rites of fertility, conception and childbirth were disclosed to the novices under strict secrecy: these female matters are the core of the secret world of women, connected to the exclusive life-giving domain of women and as a result reserved exclusively for women to know. However, among these secrets, some facts, formulas and rites are more secret than others. Those related to pregnancy and childbirth are the most secret. Ibu Baru clarified: ‘Rites concerning birth have everything to do with blood. And as you know, female blood is taboo for men. Men who come into contact with female blood will lose their strength, or worse, fall ill.’ As in many other New Guinean and Melanesian cultures, (menstrual) blood in northwest Ayfat is characterized by contrasts: on the one hand it is believed to be dangerous for men, while on the other hand it is beneficial to women’s health. The spell for the ahrios root, for instance, is considered extremely powerful but also extremely secret. Memorizing the spells is hard work. Some spells are longer than others – a formula can vary from four words to a verse of eleven or twelve lines – but all spells are characterized by the complexity of the words. Most formulas sound melodious, although they are monotonous and without rhyme. The strength of a spell is hidden in a combination of factors: the power of certain secret words (mafot), the repeated whispering of these words, and all the words that make up a formula. The sequence of the words is of less importance; they seem to be spoken in random order. Still, no word may be left out, and the spell is said in quick succession and repeated over and over until ‘all the words are gone’. As Ibu Baru explained to me, ‘You just know when all the words are used up, you yourself know when the spell reaches the end.’ 

See Kyakas and Weissner 1992; Lutkehaus and Roscoe 1995; Meigs 1984. This illustrates the power of words, of which M. Strathern (1988:108) notes: ‘knowledge [...] may be converted from an internal state to an external fact. Words are its vehicle, being considered as objectified units of expressed knowledge’. 

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Being able to memorize and apply the formulas proved to be a measure of the fitness of a novice to become a qualified healer and receive full training, leading to the status of what I call a top initiate. It was in this phase of the initiation that a selection was made from among the novices. Not all the girls were able to commit the most complex spells to memory. Some did not have sufficient command over the ahrios formula, for instance, a spell that is considered one of the most difficult to learn. As a result, these initiated women were not able to perform as midwives, although they could always be consulted for advice on effective herbal medicines for other aspects of pregnancy and childbirth. There were several factors in selecting which novices would become the top initiates, for learning the most secret and sacred parts of knowledge connected to childbirth and healing. These most secret parts were taught to very few people. Not only a girl’s ability to memorize and apply the formulas, but also her family’s wealth was a factor. By teaching spells to the novices, the teachers of the cult house were passing down ancestral knowledge. That knowledge, seen as part of the strength of a clan, is extremely precious and is not handed down free of charge. In fact, every single word of a formula has its own price, and some spells (like ahrios) are worth a fortune in pigs and ceremonial cloths. Since a gift of any kind requires reciprocity, secret knowledge, as an extremely valuable gift, must be repaid at a high price. Some families were deeply in debt to the teachers of the cult house. Because of the high costs, each family usually chose only one daughter, the brightest and most eager to learn, to receive the complete training and to learn all the sacred formulas. A top initiate like this was taken aside by one of the ritual teachers on a daily basis. In seclusion from the other novices, she was tutored in the sacred formulas, just as Ibu Baru had tutored us in her garden house. One by one, the words that make up a formula were impressed upon her repeatedly, and the healing techniques were explained until the young woman not only knew them by heart, but also knew how to put them to use.10 In later life, top initiates were especially known for their exceptional skill in healing rituals related to pregnancy, childbirth and childcare. These were the women who served as midwives, because they knew the methods and rituals to use in case of unforeseen complications. As a result, female



As M. Strathern (1988:109) states: ‘knowledge is like a gift’. She further emphasizes that ‘the kind of knowledge […] possessed as custom (skills, spells) can be transferred to others through payment: the transaction detaches the knowledge from the original owner and reattaches it to the new’. 10 This supports Weiner’s view (1992) of secret knowledge as an inalienable possession, knowledge that is kept while given, and which creates degrees of hierarchy by circulating.

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members of the family frequently consulted these women in exchange for crops, ceremonial cloths, or (in special cases) a pig. A further distinction between the novices was that only the top initiates (just like their male counterparts) received the exclusive knowledge of tekifon (reading ceremonial cloths; Indonesian: baca kain timur), which gave them the power to safeguard the ceremonial cloths and negotiate their exchange. Only top initiates, armed with this knowledge, could attain the status of bobot (bigman or big-woman) and therefore have prominent positions in society. Ibu Maria Baru’s knowledge of healing Ibu Maria Baru proved to be one of those bright girls selected for initiation, and she received the full training and the status of top initiate after her initiation in the early 1960s. She was highly proficient at learning the formulas and applying the leaves. In addition, she was the only girl of her descent group selected to be taught how to use the bark of the mutet shrub (Alphitonia) to counteract the effects of the poisonous root fo.11 The ‘reading’ of mutet bark, to counteract the poison, is viewed as a delicate matter and is reserved for a select handful of women. Ibu Baru’s mother, Mbeak Irun, who was a highly respected big-woman, had the honour of passing down this secret healing knowledge to her daughter. While sitting in the bamboo shelter on that particular day, Ibu Baru revealed the sacred formulas, whispering: ‘I will tell you a story about the sun and the moon’. The story is a good example of the vivid ways healing performances were often explained during initiation. It also illustrates how certain spells prescribe a certain position for the healer to stand or walk during the ritual. Mutet, for instance, is applied in the ‘four directions of the wind’. The sun and the moon are siblings. The sun is not married, only the moon is. The moon’s name is Senief, and his wife is called Ita. One day, the moon had worked hard in their food garden and was tired and hungry. When he returned home, his wife Ita had not cooked him dinner. The moon was furious and beat his wife. Ita, who was very upset with her husband, drank fo [the poisonous root] and died as a result. Senief panicked, he did not know how to ‘read’ the healing bark of the mutet shrub in order to counteract the effects of the poison. In fear, the moon cried and called for his sister, the sun Ayo. The sun heard Senief’s cry of distress and rushed to help her brother. On her way, Ayo found some mutet and held it tightly in her hands. When she reached Ita, she kneeled down, bent forward, held her mouth

11

Women accused of witchcraft are often forced by wuon healers to drink the sap of this vigorous root. And women who are badly treated by their husbands may feel so ashamed that they commit suicide by drinking this same poison.

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close to her hands, and ‘read’ the bark by muttering over and over the secret formulas that go with mutet. The sun got up and walked, with the mutet in her hand, beside Ita. While Ayo walked from Ita’s head to toe, and from her left to her right, she kept on mumbling the healing words. Meanwhile, Ita still lay on the floor. She did not move or breathe. Then Ayo kneeled down to pour some droplets of the bark’s sap down Ita’s throat. Immediately the woman vomited. She was ill until her stomach was completely empty. This enabled the liquid to do its beneficial work, and give Ita back her strength. The breath of life returned to her body and Ita awoke from the dead.

Ibu Baru, however, after being initiated by female relatives into healing knowledge, had continued to learn. After initiation Ibu Baru gained additional knowledge about healing because her father, Siyentebu Baru, a highly respected healer and big-man, appointed himself as her teacher and passed on some major life-saving rites he had learned during his initiation in the wuon cult house. The rites and formulas Siyentebu Baru taught his daughter were considered extremely valuable and were rarely passed down. Even during initiation, only a few chosen boys had the privilege to receive this training, and as a result these men became the most competent healers. It is extremely uncommon for a father to transfer secret knowledge of healing to his daughter, especially since Siyentebu Baru had two sons, one of which was the eldest child. As a rule, it is strictly forbidden to pass on the knowledge one gains during initiation, and particularly forbidden to pass it on to someone of the opposite sex. Siyentebu Baru, however, had always been convinced that Ibu Baru was specially gifted and very eager to learn. She frequently asked her father questions, and requested him to share his knowledge with her. In the end, Siyentebu Baru chose his youngest and favourite daughter to train her to become a fully qualified healer. Because Siyentebu Baru, as a big-man, occupied a high position in society, he had the authority to pass on to his daughter any knowledge he thought appropriate. (Presumably he did not divulge any male secrets, such as ways to come into contact with ancestral spirits, for fear he himself, his family, or even the entire village would be overtaken by disaster as a result of ancestral punishment.) In exchange for this healing knowledge, Ibu Baru paid her father a big black pig. With the knowledge her father transferred to her, Ibu Baru learned how to save the lives of people who are bitten by a centipede or a white snake. The bite of either animal is extremely deadly, and people die in no time unless immediate action is taken. The only people in Ayawasi and surrounding villages who have mastered the knowledge of these secret healing rites and the corresponding complex formulas are Ibu Baru and Bapak Raja’s younger brother, Hengki Tenau. Ibu Baru also received instruction from her father in how to heal a deep, gaping wound or a chopped-off finger bone. This skill

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is very useful when people accidentally injure themselves while working in their food gardens, or while clearing a path through the forest; on such occasions they are hours away from the missionary hospital. Her thorough command of the rites and formulas learned during initiation, supplemented by the healing rites her father taught her, gave Ibu Baru an extraordinary position as a prominent healer in her society. The women’s cult house Five months after I met Ibu Maria Baru, she went to her native village of Fef in northern Ayfat. She had told Louise and me that she was going there to prepare for holding a closing ceremony for a fenia meroh initiation. As Ibu Baru explained, she had taught me ‘everything there is to know’ about medicinal leaves and female healing rites, but wanted to give us a taste of initiation in real practice for ‘a complete understanding’ of the rite. It was an opportunity both Louise and I looked forward to.12 Because female initiation is clanbound, the rite has to be performed on clan territory and therefore could not take place in Ayawasi. After almost two months of absence from Ayawasi, Ibu Baru sent an SSB radio message by way of her elder brother Agus, informing us that she was ready for us to come. We arranged for a ticket on the missionary aircraft, and together with Ibu Baru’s daughter Yosefien and her little daughter Clara we undertook the journey to Fef. What we found when we arrived there exceeded our expectations. Ibu Baru had not only planned a closing ceremony. She had revived an entire fenia meroh rite, although drastically shortened. However, we were not yet aware of this when we were welcomed to the village by dancing women and men, dressed in adat clothing, wearing skirts of bark cloth, headbands and chains. We joined the dancing crowd that led us to a house that turned out to be the home of Ibu Baru’s older sister Aknes. As I glanced around the room, I noticed that Ibu Baru was not among the dancing people. After a while, she suddenly appeared in the doorway and forced her way through the room, coming straight to us. When she reached us she tapped me on my shoulder and took us apart from the dancing villagers. We followed her, while three other beautifully decorated women closed the line behind us. Ibu Baru led us through the village, into the forest, until she stopped by a little hut. She shoved aside the cloth that hung before a small opening and, with a gesture

12

Female initiation and the role of Ibu Baru have been more extensively studied by Louise Thoonen (2005).

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of her hand, invited us to enter. We bent our heads, and before we knew it, we were inside the women’s cult house.13 In front of us, on a bamboo platform, sat five girls close together, with their heads down. They were wearing only a loincloth, their bare breasts covered by a band of cotton. A narrower band of cotton was tied around their heads. Although Ibu Baru made an absolute distinction between fenia meroh and the church (see also Thoonen 2005:183), she afterwards explained the wearing of a loincloth by stating: ‘In fenia meroh we only wear a cawat [loincloth], just like Jesus on the cross.’ An older woman was sitting behind them. Meanwhile, Ibu Baru squatted down on the dirt floor near the fireplace in the right-hand corner near the entrance. Ibu Baru invited us to take a place next to the girls and instructed us to listen carefully. We were about to participate in a female initiation rite and have the unique opportunity of being initiated ourselves. We did not leave the house for another two days. Inside, it was hot and oppressive, made worse by the blue plastic covering the hut, which was made of branches and leaves. The plastic gave the house a peculiar light and contributed to the sacred and secret atmosphere. By using plastic to cover the fenia meroh house (to prevent rain from entering) Ibu Baru stated that they ‘ikut modern’, ‘followed modernity’, for their convenience. Although other practical objects (like an oil lamp) were used during the period of seclusion, as far as ancestral rules and the transfer of knowledge, no modernity was permitted (see alsoThoonen 2005:183). The five girls that underwent the rite were all members of the Baru clan. One of the girls, who received the name Ita Senek after her participation in the initiation, was a daughter of Ibu Baru’s elder sister Aknes. She was a twin, and the first twin that had not been left to die in the Tabamsere/Fef area.14 We could not speak with Ita Senek or any of the other girls during our stay in the cult house. None of us were allowed to talk, apart from exceptions like a pressing question, and then only in whispers. The voices of those being initiated were not supposed to be heard by anyone outside the cult house under penalty of death, and the penalty applied not only to the girls but to their entire families. Besides remaining silent, their task was to listen and obey the teachers. This was symbolized by bowing their heads, keeping their eyes focused on the ground all the time. From the corners of their eyes, they now and then tried to get a glimpse of Louise and me. It was only after our period of seclusion that we talked with them. 13

For a full and detailed account of fenia meroh and our participation in it, see Thoonen (2005). For the purposes of this book, I will mention only the highlights of our stay during the seclusion period and those parts that are relevant to healing. 14 Her twin sister was not allowed to participate in initiation as she was pregnant. The twins were born in the late 1970s.

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It seemed that the girls had already been inside the cult house for more than a month, and that Ibu Baru and the older woman, Ibu Ndam,15 were their teachers. The women had instructed the novices about ancestral rules (watum) and proper behaviour befitting a member of the Mehabehmase tribe and Baru clan. Besides that, they had been taught how to become good wives and mothers and how to treat minor ailments using herbal medicines. These final two days, the girls would undergo their actual initiation by receiving the symbols of female initiation: etuoh (string), tah and kwir (wood), awiah (taro), tafoh (fire), and tabam (soil). Because Ibu Baru had already taught Louise and me ‘everything there is to know’, she considered us ready to receive the symbols too. Ibu Baru explained the meaning of these symbols as follows: Etuoh [string] represents the bonds that unite us with other, fellow people. [...] Tah and kwir [wood] mean that human beings should use wood as a model. Tah and kwir have many branches, but they permanently form a tree. The branches are the clans. The wood is like the foundation of life. [...] In former days, awiah [taro] was our most important food. Without taro we would starve. [...] Tafoh [fire] is the principle thing, because where people live there is fire. Without fire we would go hungry, we would die. The laws our elders gave us are like fire: we have to use them. The fire must not be extinguished, but has to stay permanently. [...] It must be passed on to the following generations within the family. [...] The tabam [soil], which the elder women gave to us [...] means that we who have stayed in fenia meroh must obey the law of the ground. We are all people who come from the ground and will return to the ground. (Thoonen 2005:103-4).

Ibu Baru referred to these symbols as major guidelines or codes for ‘good behaviour’ in accordance with ancestral regulations. Regarding healing and female matters, the novices received strength (Indonesian: kekuatan) and protective powers by means of fito and saro and learned to invoke the spirits of their ancestors. Along with the symbols and the ancestral rules (watum), fito, saro and the ancestral spirits are perceived as belonging to the essence of fenia meroh. Ibu Baru said: Fito and saro is our way of praying; by reciting these sacred formulas we transfer strength and protective power to the girls. [...] We lead the girls into their lives as adult women. Moreover, the novices are prepared to become strong and powerful women. [...] By invoking the spirits of our ancestors, we become connected to them.

For this purpose, the tah and kwir symbols have secret and sacred formulas recited over them and are then given to the novices. Reading tah si (the green

15

Ibu Ndam had also served as Ibu Baru’s ritual teacher during her initiation. Because she was now of advanced age, Ibu Ndam mainly assisted Ibu Baru, who served as the main teacher.

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kind, Dracaena angustifolia) and kwir is known as fito, while tah kek (the red one, Cordyline) is called saro. First, the novices receive saro. The red tah is blessed by reciting the spell by which ancestral power is transferred to the leaves. By means of saro, the leaves strengthen the body and prevent the young women from falling ill. Fito, on the other hand, is given to the girls to protect them against attacks by malevolent spirits, whether they are spirits of the living or spirits from the world of the dead. For this purpose the girls should carry blessed tah and kwir with them at all times, as long as they live and wherever they travel. Nobody else is allowed to see the leaves, so that they will maintain their powers. To enhance the protective power of fito, the novices are taught to invoke the spirits of their ancestors. By doing so, the protecting powers of the spirits are transferred to the leaves and will safeguard the novices throughout their lives. The ancestral spirits, furthermore, will give the novices the power to ‘stand firm’ and overcome obstacles. In addition, the young women are taught how to call upon their ancestors for advice or assistance during healing performances like the manes kaya. Symbolizing the transfer of ancestral powers, during the closing ceremony the novices’ faces were decorated with stripes of red powder (kohum). In addition to beautifying, the red stripes symbolize that the power and training received during initiation will ‘enter the heads’ of the novices and ‘stay there forever’, so they will always remember what they have learned. The stripes are to be left on the novices’ faces until they fade away, which is a sign that the power and training have been ‘completely absorbed’.16 The red stripes express strength and possession of knowledge gained through initiation. One day in the women’s cult house It was still dark when the teachers woke up. While they poked up the fire and put some cassava to cook in the hot embers, the girls (and we) were summoned to wake up. We had all lain down to sleep on the same bamboo platform where we had been sitting almost the whole day. Just as the girls sat close to each other in the day, they spent their nights curled up against each other. From the moment we were all sitting up straight, one of the teachers

16

Maschio (1995:139) mentions for the Rauto of New Britain that painting girls’ bodies during puberty rituals ‘makes them healthy and their skin attractive. [...] Red [...] expresses ideas of health, growth, and personal power. [...] Red is the colour most frequently used to signal that a person had acquired an important bit of ritual or traditional knowledge.’ Lutkehaus (1995:21) further argues for the Manam of Papua New Guinea that ‘the prevalence of the use of the colour red in female initiation rites is not associated only with menstrual blood. In Manam, it also expresses ideas of health, growth, and personal attraction.’

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began reciting ancestral rules and regulations. They kept repeating the rules over and over again, for hours on end, in an insistent way, so the girls would memorize and become familiar with these ancestral guidelines. Memorization and repetition are the main methods of teaching. Healing formulas, too, are taught by repeating them over and over again, until the novices know them by heart and will never forget them. For the same reason the girls (and we) were not allowed to speak loudly during the period of seclusion. Just as in reciting healing formulas, we had to whisper when asking a question, otherwise the wise and secret words would ‘leave our heads’ and as a result lose their strength. After hours of listening to good advice and warnings about misbehaviour, while sitting quietly on the platform, we were allowed to eat some of the prepared cassava. While holding a little mat made of pandanus leaves which served as a plate close to their mouths, the girls ate the offered food. Eating like this forms an analogy with ‘reading the leaves’, reciting healing formulas. The novices had to observe strict food taboos in order to make ‘themselves and their uteruses strong’ for their future task of becoming mothers. During the first day we stayed there, no one was allowed to leave the cult house and the novices had to prepare themselves to receive the sacred symbols and get ready for the closing ceremony that would be performed on the subsequent three days.17 On previous days during the last two months of the period of seclusion, however, the girls had left the house for some hours a day, looking for healing plants and for vegetables to cook at night. Although the girls viewed these outings as pleasant, they were accompanied by strict regulations. They were not allowed to come close to the village, as it was forbidden, under penalty of death, to come into contact with other villagers before the period of seclusion had ended. It was prohibited for the girls to wade through rivers, as it was extremely taboo to get wet. Water would ‘wash away’ everything the girls had learned because the knowledge did not yet have a solid base. For that same reason the girls were not allowed to drink running water. Before dusk the girls were due back in the cult house to prepare dinner for themselves and the teachers. Although most of the girls (and their families) would be in debt for the rest of their lives for the initiation, the girls also had to ‘pay’ their teachers during the rite. In return for the wise lessons, the novices prepared their teacher’s meals. While cooking and eating, the girls, 17

We all went outside for just a few minutes to relieve ourselves. Although Louise and I received the sacred symbols and herewith the core of the initiation, we did not take part as novices during the closing ceremony because it would hinder our observations. The events of the closing ceremony, unlike those in the secluded part, are not performed repeatedly but only once.

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again, were told ancestral rules and regulations until they were allowed to lie down and rest for the night. When they did not have to listen to the lectures, the novices were instructed on the healing effects of different plants, lianas and tree bark. And the next morning, the same procedure would start over again. For these girls, however, the festive activities of the closing ceremony would soon begin.18 Although it is common for a select group of initiates to be taught the most secret and sacred healing knowledge during their initiation and become top initiates, in this case none of the girls was given this knowledge. This was not because they did not seem bright enough, but because two months was too short to learn and memorize the more complex treatments and formulas. The ritual teachers therefore emphasized the transfer of ancestral rules (watum) and taught them proper behaviour as members of the Mehabehmase tribe and Baru clan. Nevertheless, the novices were instructed in the application of certain leaves, roots and tree bark, though without the accompanying formulas. And thus, even though the revival of the rite meant that valuable knowledge was passed down, other valuable information was left to be transferred in other ways. Like other initiated women who have not gained the sacred healing knowledge and who do not act as midwives or healers, the novices nevertheless master the basic rudiments of healing knowledge and know enough herbal medicine to treat the beginnings of illnesses and minor injuries like cuts and bruises. In case of slight fever, stomach-aches or headaches, these women will apply the remedies they have learned on themselves and their children. If the pain or fever aggravates, however, they may consult a male or female relative who did receive full training during initiation. In addition to initiation, there is another way knowledge of healing is passed on. It is quite common for women, whether initiated or non-initiated, to receive visions in their dreams in which ancestral spirits reveal healing methods. The visions not only tell the particular leaves, roots or tree bark to use, but also include curative spells. Likewise, initiated women receive additional information from ancestral spirits on the appropriate formula to recite over certain leaves for particular kinds of illnesses as needed. In this way, women compose their own personal healing rites, of which the potoam healing rite, in everyday language called pokonof, is the most widely applied. When Mama Raja fell ill, she made use of this healing performance. These messages women receive in dreams are mostly about healing minor 18

During the closing ceremony, no healing knowledge is passed on and I therefore do not elaborate on this festive occasion. For a detailed description of the three-day closing ceremony see Thoonen (2005).

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ailments and illnesses. They will generally apply these methods only to themselves or their children, and will consult a ‘top initiated’ healer if the illness does not improve. Ancestral spirits frequently intervene in the lives of Ayfat people. In return, people regularly invoke their ancestors for help, guidance and advice in case of illness or any other misfortune. The pokonof healing rite ‘Come in, I will tell you what happened to Mama Raja when she initially fell ill’, said Clara Saa, a close relative of Mama Raja, while waving her hand as a sign of welcome. I gladly accepted the invitation and entered the pile dwelling. Her older sister Yustine Saa was also present, and together we sat down on the wooden benches in the front room. ‘When Mama Raja fell ill’, said Clara Saa, ‘she took her carrier bag and wandered off to the forest in search of the required leaves. I know precisely what she did, as she informed me about it when she came back.’ Moreover, Clara Saa recognized Mama Raja’s actions, as all women perform the pokonof healing rite in a similar way. The particular words individual women use, however, are ones revealed to them personally by their ancestral spirits. Therefore, the formulas differ, depending on the woman who performs the rite. As the formulas are secret, women will not reveal the formulas they use. To make sure I would understand everything in great detail, Clara Saa explained further: Soon Mama Raja found the prickly-leafed plant afa [necessary to perform the pokonof rite], and picked a whole bunch of it. Her entire body was painful. She knew she would need a lot of the leaves to get the maximum benefit from it, and she eased her pain by rubbing the leaves onto her aching body. Next, she looked for the ferny plant montiaf (Microlepia speluncae) and the bark of fas (Alstonia macrophylla), which she would take back with her to prepare in her garden house later on [as she had learned to do during initiation]. It was not difficult to find the plants. She did this every time she felt the onset of a fever. Searching and picking plants along the way, Mama Raja reached her food garden. She walked straight up to the pile dwelling and laid a fire in the open fireplace in the middle of the house. Luckily there was enough firewood in store, so she did not have to go out again. She sat down by the smouldering fire, put the montiaf leaves in a pan, added some water which she had brought along, and then put the pan into the fire.19 Mama Raja knew that she would be alone the whole time she stayed in the garden house. No other family members had plans to work in the garden, so she could prepare and perform her healing rite in absolute privacy. She needed this privacy, as she was about to recite a spell over the prickly 19

Some kitchenware is usually on hand in a garden house, as people regularly stay several days when there is much work to be done, like at times of planting and harvesting.

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leaves. But first, she waited for the ferns to boil. Then, she pounded the fas bark and poured some of the sap in a glass and left it to cool. She put the boiled montiaf leaves on a plate and ate them. The bitter taste was unpleasant, so she washed it down with the sap of the fas leaves. The combination immediately had the desired effect and made Mama Raja feel light-headed and languid. She took her mat out of her carrier bag and spread it out on the floor. In a minute Mama Raja was going to take a long afternoon nap, hoping the montiaf and fas would take effect and sweat out the fever. But before she lay down, Mama Raja reinforced the effects of montiaf by performing the pokonof rite: reciting a spell over the prickly leaves. She took some leaves in her hands, held them close to her mouth, and closed her eyes. She sat there for a while, concentrating on the sentences she was about to recite. Although she was all alone and no one could hear her, she said the words in a whisper, just as she had learned during initiation. Next, she rubbed her body with the blessed leaves. Going from her head down to her feet, Mama Raja rubbed both sides of her body simultaneously.

At this point Yustina Saa stood up to demonstrate the actions, accentuating their importance and emphasizing her sister’s narrative. She repeated the procedure several times until her entire body tingled. Meanwhile, she kept on mumbling healing words. These were the words her ancestors had given to her in a dream, words that only Mama Raja and her ancestors knew, and that reinforced the effects of montiaf and fas, as well as of the prickly leaves. As usual, the ritual was concluded by repeatedly saying the word ‘konof’ [leave! go!], while making throwing-away motions over her body with the prickly leaves, to eliminate everything that made her body feel heavy and made her ill. In a final attempt to remove the malevolent powers from her body, Mama Raja pulled her fingers one by one, and then cracked her knuckles, still whispering the word ‘konof’. Fatigued from the exertion, Mama Raja lay down on her mat and fell into a deep sleep.

‘When Mama Raja woke up, however, she did not feel much better’, Clara Saa added regretfully. ‘She decided to walk back to the village, and pick a new supply of the leaves on her way. The next day she would perform the ritual again.’ In performing the pokonof rite, women have a fairly standard way of doing the actions, yet their formulas differ. More than once I witnessed women performing pokonof in the same way as Clara Saa described. Each woman receives words from her ancestors in her dreams, recites these words over the prickly leaves, and then rubs the leaves over her body. Women frequently use the ritual for stomach-ache, diarrhoea and headache. Before performing the pokonof rite, women generally describe their illness as having a ‘heavy body’. A stomach-ache or headache makes their bodies feel ‘heavy’. Like witchcraft, the pokonof rite is associated with envy and

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is popularly used for what are termed ‘illnesses of jealousy’. The word po means ‘goods’ or ‘things’, and, by extension, po is used to mean having a lot of property or crops. People assume that a woman whose body feels ‘heavy’ has been made ill by people who envy the woman’s possessions or the harvest of her food garden. So, the purpose of the pokonof healing rite is to counteract the destructive, envious powers that made the woman ill. The blessed prickly leaves will soften the pain and relieve the heavy body by making it tingle. Above all, rubbing the body with the blessed leaves is meant to eliminate the forces that caused the illness, reinforced by moving from head to foot, followed by making throwing-away motions and pulling the fingers. The cracking of the knuckles, finally, serves another purpose. If the sound of the cracks is clearly audible, it is assumed that whoever is considered responsible for causing the illness out of jealousy will receive the message to ‘leave’ and will cease causing the illness. ‘The next day, Mama Raja stayed at home’, Clara Saa continued. ‘She waited until all the family members had left the house. In private, she performed the pokonof healing rite once more. Again, however, the ritual did not have the desired effect. To the contrary, Mama Raja’s condition changed for the worse. She knew now that she could not cope with the illness on her own anymore. The time had come to ask one of the wuon healers in her family to perform a wuon healing rite.’ Male indigenous healing By asking a wuon healer to perform a healing rite, Mama Raja was following the usual procedure. When her personal remedies prove to be ineffective, a woman generally proceeds to the next option: consulting a male (wuon) healer. Until the 1970s, boys received their initiation training in the wuon cult house. Usually they entered the cult house at the age of seven. Unlike female initiation, male initiation was only partly clan-bound, and boys remained in the men’s cult house until they reached adulthood. Generally, up to 20 boys might spend their time together in the men’s cult house. During those years, the novices were prepared for their future lives as adult men. They were taught how to behave as fearless warriors, by hunting and above all by offering resistance to and eliminating hostile neighbouring groups. To become fearless, the boys had to ‘leave their mother’s womb’ at an early age and symbolically enter the world of men. Besides being courageous, the boys were taught the concepts of rae ti (man bundle) and rae tu (man talk). Father Yonathan Fatem, the indigenous Catholic priest who, before being stationed in Ayawasi, had been initiated in

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a wuon cult house, explained: During wuon, young men learned how to become full members of Meybrat society and to understand and respect the world they live in. They had to learn how to ‘bundle’ their strength and wisdom to stand strong in a dynamic society and to guard the Meybrat traditions. Just like the women who go to their food gardens every day to take care of their families. If they stopped going, their families would starve. In the same way, men have a responsibility to look after Meybrat society. That is called rae ti. Rae tu is training for men to learn to speak in public and to negotiate kain timur exchanges.

Rae ti is similar to the ancestral rules (watum) the girls received during fenia meroh initiation, in which they learned how to behave as respected members of their tribe and clan. Although all initiated men were taught rae tu, only the top initiates received training in tekifon, giving them the strength needed to negotiate kain timur exchanges. Simultaneously, the boys were apprenticed in every aspect of healing. By the time the initiation period ended, most of the young men had thoroughly mastered some 50 different healing rites, from treating cuts and bruises to healing life-threatening illnesses. Not every boy was selected to learn all the rituals and sacred formulas and receive the status of top initiate. Still, a great many initiated males went on to become very competent healers. Having an accomplished wuon healer in the family was, after all, considered extremely important in case of misfortune or serious illness. Moreover, it was prestigious, usually even more prestigious than having an accomplished female healer in the family. Therefore, most families preferred to run up debts for the training of a boy rather than a girl. As a consequence boys, whenever possible, were urged to undergo the full training of top initiate. During the first years of their initiation, the boys learned all about the uses of leaves, roots, soil and tree bark. These healing techniques were similar for every single boy of the participating clans. For the purpose of transferring ancestral powers, on the other hand, the boys were divided into clan groups and assigned to a ritual teacher from their own clan. And thus, the boys, like the girls, were given secret and sacred ancestral clan-bound healing formulas, with curative power. To transfer these health-giving powers to an ill person, the novices became skilled at ways to prepare herbal medicines and techniques to rub the patient’s body with prepared leaves, soil or roots. They were taught that there is a particular formula for each illness and that each healing rite bears its own name. In general, an illness is not named as such. How it is referred to depends on the overall situation. Depending on the symptoms, the illness is referred to by the appropriate healing rite or by the cause of the illness, like ‘illness from witchcraft’ or ‘takuo illness’ (illness from trespassing on sacred ground).

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The major difference between male and female initiation is that male initiation, by transferring sacred healing knowledge, provided male top initiates with the power to heal life-threatening spirit-caused illnesses. This is regarded as the major accomplishment of wuon healers and their skills. This monopoly on healing spirit-caused illnesses gave wuon healers prestige and power in public life. Only when they grew older were the brightest novices from wealthy families introduced into the secret world of these specialized male healing rituals, requiring exclusive knowledge about healing life-threatening illnesses caused by malevolent spirits. So, especially for this part of the training, a selection was made among the novices. Top initiates learned to memorize and recite complex curative spells. Moreover, they were instructed in ways to open their minds to communicate with ancestral spirits. Although ancestors regularly appear in people’s dreams to give advice, and people frequently invoke them for guidance, only wuon healers possess the spiritual powers to make direct contact with ancestral spirits. In this way, top-initiated men are able to consult their ancestors whenever they are in need of a solution for a serious illness or other misfortune. By entering into contact with a higher power, wuon healers are able to receive visions about conceivable causes of an illness and the methods to apply; this consultation with the ancestors is known as the ksa aa divination rite. During potekief rituals as well, wuon healers are able to make contact with their ancestors. By reciting a spell over the leaves during the performance, a wuon healer can invoke ancestral spirits to assist in transferring power to the curative leaves. To diagnose an illness by contacting the ancestors is considered a healer’s most difficult task. Here we have reached the heart of the special importance of wuon healers, since they were exclusively skilled in communicating with ancestral spirits. They were the only ritual specialists able to discover the cause of an illness, and the only ones that possessed the knowledge and power to identify and dispel the malevolent spirit. To communicate with ancestral spirits, a wuon healer goes into the forest when it is dark or getting dark. Ancestral spirits come out of heaven (seweron) to watch over or punish their descendants, or they may come out to find food. As day and night in heaven are opposite to day and night among the living, ancestral spirits only come out at night. Once out of heaven, a spirit takes on the appearance of an animal, perhaps a kuskus (a little marsupial), a pig, a dog, or a snake.20 In a desolate, secluded place in the forest the wuon healer meets with these animals. By reciting certain ancestral formulas, he can open his mind and communicate with these ancestral spirits. While communicat-

20

For instance, a certain kind of kuskus or snake if seen during daytime is immediately recognized by initiated men as an ancestral spirit that was too late to be able to return to heaven.

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ing with the spirits, the healer can ask for prosperity, health, strength, and assistance in diagnosing the illness. In addition to knowledge of healing, the men selected to be top initiates were also instructed in sorcery skills, such as killing people by using the poisonous bofit root. These top initiates also learned how to counteract the effects of this poisonous root, and to protect themselves and their kin against malevolent forces, such as witchcraft, ancestral spirits, malevolent spirits, or sorcery carried out by hostile wuon healers. By reciting the correct formula, wuon healers are considered capable of counteracting malevolent forces. In present-day society only four male rites are still used regularly. The ksa aa divination ritual, used to search for the cause and treatment of an illness, is one of the most significant. Another ritual is the posarkum or takuo healing rite, used to steam out a malevolent spirit. A minor ritual, yet one often practised, is the pie rite, performed to allow the illness to flow out of the body. In this rite, the healer first says the accompanying incantation and then makes an incision in the skin, usually the forehead. By letting one drop of blood, which is considered polluted, seep out of the body, the illness is supposed to leave simultaneously.21 This rite is a clear example of the common perception that being ill is synonymous with having ‘dirty blood’. The saus healing rite, finally, is the one most frequently applied, and is described below. It was the next step in Mama Raja’s search for healing. In 1982, a decade after the abolition of wuon initiation in Ayawasi, the rite was reinstated in Ayawasi only once, with the permission of the Catholic priest Jonkergouw OSA. That year, the village suffered from extreme drought because there was no rainfall for a whole year. As a result, the food gardens dried out and bore no crops; people were starving. One wuon healer, Paskalis Hara, took the initiative of reinstating initiation after he received a vision containing the message that Ayawasi’s ancestors were upset and had punished the villagers for abolishing the initiation rites. Paskalis Hara involved Bapak Raja and his younger brother Hengki Tenau in his plan, and the three men built a cult house in the depths of the forest. Paskalis Hara stayed in the forest to serve as one of the teachers during the initiation, while Bapak Raja and Hengki Tenau recruited Ayawasi’s young men. That year, only boys aged between 16 and 20 were permitted to enter; the initiation period lasted only four months. Their training included some protective rituals and the four healing rites that are still used in present-day society. As a result of this onetime reinstatement, in 1995 Ayawasi had approximately 25 initiated men. But due to the limited time available, not all the knowledge was passed on. The

21

Bloodletting is found throughout Oceania. See for instance Chambers and Chambers 1985; Haiveta 1990; Strathern and Stewart 1999.

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young men were not taught ways to communicate with ancestral spirits. This partial loss of healing knowledge caused people to search for ways to restore the balance, as we will see later. The saus healing rite That very same afternoon, after Mama Raja performed the pokonof ritual for the second time, she sent her youngest son to fetch Niko Tenau, a wuon healer of the younger generation. As a favoured healer, he is frequently asked to perform the healing rite known as saus (‘reading soil’; Indonesian: baca tanah). One time, I personally observed a woman who had undergone a saus healing rite. This happened one day when Yosepha Fatie took me for a walk to one of her food gardens. Her mother, Maria Yumte, was staying there in seclusion because she had undergone a saus healing rite. I was permitted to spend a day with Maria Yumte to ask her all about the ritual. The two women together explained what had happened to Mama Raja during her days of confinement. I learned that Mama Raja had again gone to her food garden. This time, she was accompanied by some family members and several wuon healers. Mama Raja was seated in a corner of the garden house, and that corner of the room was immediately fenced off with rattan leaves. For the next three days, Mama Raja would stay behind this fence, and it was taboo for anyone except wuon healers to touch her or even to come close to her. While the relatives made the pile dwelling ready for Mama Raja to take up residence, Niko Tenau went into the forest. Some 15 minutes later he returned, holding in his hands some rus leaves22 rolled into a funnel shape, containing soil. In private, he had blessed the soil by muttering the curative words of strength belonging to the saus rite. He was about to rub the soil onto Mama Raja’s skin according to a certain pattern and order. Before this, everyone present made as much noise as they could, by shouting loudly, clapping their hands, and banging on pots and pans. The deafening tumult was intended to be heard for miles around, so people would know a saus healing rite was being performed and that the food garden would be declared taboo for at least three days. After the three days, the patient was allowed to leave the garden house and to receive visitors, although no one was allowed to touch her, or her food or belongings, for at least two more weeks; any person touching her would run the risk of falling ill themselves. Amid the noise, Niko Tenau first drew a line, with the blessed soil, encircling each of Mama Raja’s upper arms. Next, her chest was marked with a

22

I was not able to identify these leaves botanically.

Staying in seclusion after the saus ritual

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Saint Andrew’s cross and her back with a horizontal line. A liana, meant to keep the curative power within the body, was tied around her wrists. Finally, he gave Mama Raja some blessed water to drink. Soon afterwards, the noise stopped, the ritual was over, and Mama Raja was left to rest. The saus healing rite is generally performed for people who are weakened by a lingering illness. Its main purpose is to force the person to take a long rest. During the period in which the patient is relieved of daily chores and social obligations, he or she can regain strength. In addition, to make sure the body is not strained any further, the patient is to observe dietary restrictions; only easily digestible food is permitted. Pork, kuskus, peanuts, oily fish, and coconut oil are forbidden. In addition, all foods that grow quickly and strike root easily are taboo; it is said they would make the patient’s health decline rapidly. A person who undergoes the saus ritual will usually stay in the food garden for one to two months. The patient indicates when the time has come to return to the village, when strength has returned to the body and the patient feels recovered. During the time in seclusion, a close relative usually accompanies the patient. Once a week, the healer will pay a visit to check on the patient and to bring some food. If necessary, the healer can recite words of strength over the food to hasten recovery. For Mama Raja, however, the saus ritual did not have the desired effect. A month later, she still felt very weak and decided to return to the village and consult the missionary outpatient clinic.

chapter vi

The missionary hospital While reconstructing Mama Raja’s search for healing, I remembered the morning of an ordinary day when I decided to take a walk to the missionary outpatient clinic, as I often did. The sun had just broken through and started to warm up the village. I knew that a few hours earlier, with low-hanging fog still surrounding Ayawasi and making the air feel clammy and damp, many people would already have assembled on the field in front of the clinic, waiting for one of the nurses to open the door to the waiting room. Some would stand there, engaged in lively conversation to keep themselves warm, while others were wrapped up in shawls, shivering all over with fever and trying to keep upright. As usual the door would open at eight o’clock sharp. The patients entered and slowly found seats on the wooden benches alongside the wall, waiting for one of the nurses to give them a number. The room would be crowded immediately, as each weekday morning an average of 40 men, women and children attended the outpatient clinic. Yosefien, Ibu Maria Baru’s eldest daughter, who worked as an assistant in the hospital’s adjoining laboratory, waved me inside when she saw me heading for the outpatient clinic. I interrupted my walk, turned left, and followed the muddy track straight across the field to the lab, situated in the far-left part of the missionary complex. Just as I was about to enter the room, I saw Mama Raja coming out. Supported by her youngest son, Yan Pieter, who held her tightly around the waist, she was about to leave the lab. She looked pale, had visibly lost a lot of weight, and was trembling all over with fever. I watched them walking down the pathway and noticed that Mama Raja had difficulty keeping her balance. ‘The nurses diagnosed Mama Raja with malaria’, Yosefien answered my worried look. ‘She just returned from her food garden, where initiated men performed a saus ritual and where she stayed in seclusion for a whole month, to rest and regain her strength. But instead, she felt worse and worse. So when she returned to the village, she came straight to the outpatient clinic’, continued Yosefien while she put a test tube filled with blood in its holder. ‘One of the nurses gave her an injection to suppress the fever and she was sent home to rest. But first, I took some blood so I can verify the nurse’s diagnosis.’

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Mama Raja did what many people do, both young and old. When she fell ill, she initially sought recovery by turning to indigenous treatment. When the treatment did not work, she called upon the medical services of the missionary clinic. Other people do just the other way around: they first visit the outpatient clinic and only turn to herbal therapy if the medication is not effective. Indigenous healing rituals and biomedical treatment in this respect are seen as interchangeable: people try whatever works. As long as the illness has not been attributed to witchcraft, sorcery, or malevolent spirits, people generally are pragmatic in deciding what kind of healing approach to try, either indigenous rites or treatment at the missionary clinic. In the early phase of their illness, the decision for villagers to visit the outpatient clinic or not depends mostly on whether they have cash money at their disposal and whether they are in the village rather than in their more distant food gardens. At some point in their search for healing, almost everyone, whether young or old, calls upon the missionary clinic. Why is treatment at the missionary clinic attractive, and to whom? When do people opt for medical treatment by the missionary sisters? And what does this show about the contribution of individual missionaries as agents of change? The success of missionary health care started the moment the first Dutch CPS sister arrived in Ayawasi to establish the missionary hospital in 1963. The missionary sisters In 1995, the missionary outpatient clinic, with its small hospital and laboratory, were staffed by 14 women, presided over by three Indonesian Catholic nuns, the Sisters Franciscan of Heythuysen (OSF). Sister Andreana, from Java, was in charge of the hospital and outpatient clinic, together with Sister Henrietta, who ran the laboratory. Sister Margriet, originating from Bali, took care of the administration. Aside from a young (non-religious) nurse from Java, all the other nurses were from the Ayfat area. The Indonesian OSF sisters took over the missionary station in 1992 from 

In the early 1990s, Bowie (1993:1) stressed that in historical and anthropological records, missionary work generally was perceived as a task performed by men, whereas in many cases ‘we know little of the roles played by women in the mission field’. In Bowie’s words (1993:6), referring to female missionaries: ‘a few outstanding individuals have left their names as well as their mark on history’. Recently, Huber and Lutkehaus (2002b:7) stated that within the body of mission studies ‘a small but distinguished literature on missionary women, in particular, has now emerged’. Regarding West Papua, however, anthropological literature on female missionaries is scarce. This is remarkable, because the sisters often contributed personally to the medical missionary process and other processes of (religious) change.

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the Dutch Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood (CPS). Twenty-nine years earlier, on 26 August 1963, three Dutch CPS sisters were the first female missionaries to settle in Ayawasi. Fourteen days before the transfer of West Papua to Indonesia under the auspices of the United Nations, Sister Lamberti, Sister Savio and Sister Agnes exchanged their hometowns in the Netherlands for Ayawasi. Sister Lamberti was a qualified nurse, Sister Agnes was a skilled teacher, and Sister Savio was trained in housekeeping. After a short stay in the city of Manokwari, in the north of the Bird’s Head, they flew to the village together with Father van Diepen (then bishop) and their Mother Superior, Sister Damiaan, in a Cessna plane. Sister Lamberti recalled this moment vividly: We were sent to Ayawasi at the initiative of Monsignor van Diepen. Ayawasi was chosen as the centre of the Catholic Mission in the Bird’s Head. My task was to run the outpatient clinic. Agnes was charged with starting up primary education and Savio was in charge of our housekeeping. Father van Baarssen, Ayawasi’s priest at that time, had explained to the villagers about our arrival and our assigned tasks. He had told the people that I would come to cure their diseases, that I would try to restore their health in every possible way. As I stepped down the small ladder of the missionary aircraft, a young mother immediately pressed her baby into my arms. The child had a very bad cough.

So from the first minute of Sister Lamberti’s arrival in Ayawasi, local people called upon her in search of healing. Many others would follow, and the medical service over the years became very popular. Father van Diepen was a Dutch priest of the Augustinian Fathers (OSA), who started missionary work in the Bird’s Head in 1956. Although the first Augustinian priests had started their work in 1953, it was 1956 when they officially took over missionary work from the Dutch Franciscans. The tasks 

The CPS missionary congregation was founded on 8 September 1885 by Abt Franz Pfanner in Mariannhill, South Africa. The Trappist had called on women (in Germany) to join him in his missionary work to reach women and children in South Africa. The first five women to answer his call formed the new congregation and chose its name: Congregatio Pretiosissimae Sanguinis, Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood. The name refers to the blood of Christ, by which He procured the salvation of humanity. The congregation grew fast. In 1888, 117 sisters had entered. Because not all women could endure the living conditions in South Africa, the mother house was moved to Europe, first to Germany, later (in 1891) to the Netherlands. From there missionary work expanded to other areas in the world.  Other CPS missionary sisters had been stationed in the coastal city of Sorong since 1947 (Giesen 2003), while Sister Agnes had been previously appointed (for one year) to Fak Fak, a village on the south coast of West Papua.  Giesen 2003:43. Father van Diepen, who was bishop of Sorong diocese from 1960 to 1988, is highly respected by Papuans and has lived according to his (and the Augustinian) motto ‘to do what is good for the people’, in the conviction that people will follow leaders who look after their interests.

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of the female missionaries were carefully separated from those of the priests. As in other areas, the domains of female and male missionaries were gendered. The CPS sisters were not sent to work abroad to convert people and preach Christianity, which was the domain of the OSA priests. The sisters’ primary professional tasks were educating girls and women, and providing health care. Sister Lamberti’s task was not a religious mission, but a medical mission. In practice, however, these gendered dividing lines for the missions in northwest Ayfat were not that strict. As schooling was the most important missionary activity (Thoonen 2005:63), female missionaries also contributed to the religious mission, as they (especially Sister Agnes) started a primary school. Moreover, because illness and healing in New Guinea are embedded in the religious realm, Sister Lamberti, in her medical work, and later Sister Leonie CPS (a qualified lab assistant who arrived in 1971), were also involved in the religious mission. Through their work in the hospital and schools, female missionaries were closely involved in the daily lives of local people. Some male missionaries, however, such as Father Jan Frank OSA and Father Ben Noords OSA, also dedicated themselves to health care during their trips to neighbouring villages, by providing ill people with medicines and bandages. This, as Father Noords told me, was not only a way to help people but also a way to establish relations with them. Sister Lamberti returned to the Netherlands in October 1992. For almost 30 years she was dedicated to her work as a nurse in Ayawasi and played a key role in setting up the health service. She not only established the outpatient clinic, she also founded the hospital and accompanying delivery room. Previous to my fieldwork, I had four in-depth interviews with Sister Lamberti Yzendoorn, twice joined by Sister Leonie Possen, who in the early 1970s went to reinforce the team of missionary sisters in Ayawasi. Both sisters openheartedly shared their memories with me. ‘We did not know what to expect. We could not imagine what the place would look like’, Sister Lamberti continued her story about her arrival in Ayawasi. ‘The whole village had turned out and all the people were staring at us. And I stood there with the baby in my arms. […] I could not keep from staring back at the people, gaping at all their wounds.’ Sister Lamberti described the initial period as rather difficult, especially because she lacked even rudimentary facilities for starting her nursing work: Monsignor van Diepen led us to suppose there was already a little hospital. Before we departed for Ayawasi, he came to visit me in the convent [in the Netherlands] and asked me to write Memisa [a Dutch organization for Medical Mission Aid] to



Compare Huber 2002; Kipp 2002; Lutkehaus 2002.

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submit an application for the hospital’s inventory and medical supplies. I asked him how many beds we needed equipment for, and he answered ‘about ten or so’. But my conversation with the Memisa employee aroused my suspicions. She said: ‘Sister, first go and see what you find there. Then write us what you require and we’ll take care of it.’ Well, there was nothing. No facilities whatsoever. There was just a room made of corrugated iron with a sand floor.

According to Sister Lamberti, they departed for West Papua in great haste. Not to risk the chance of the Indonesian government withholding a residence permit, it was absolutely essential that the sisters set foot on shore before the transfer of former Dutch New Guinea to the Indonesian Republic. So, for fear the sisters would delay their departure, Father van Diepen had presented a rather rosy picture of how things were in Ayawasi, hoping everything would work out for the best once the sisters had settled down. All the same, one could hear the disappointment in Sister Lamberti’s voice when she proceeded to recount her first sight of their accommodations: People started walking and led the way to our house. It was newly built by the fathers with the assistance of some men from the village, and had just been finished the week before. It was not yet painted. The walls were made of dark hardboard and the floor was all cracked. The bark, which is round on the topside, was hand chiselled and not cut flat. But the house was, to some extent, ready for occupation. There were beds, some wardrobes, and one little table. We got the furniture from the Dutch navy that recently had left Irian Jaya and had left all their goods to the mission. They also left us mats, lots of mats. So we put the mats on the floor to prevent anything from falling through the cracks. As you know, the house was a pile dwelling.

After the sisters had put down their luggage, the crowd continued their way to the presbytery, situated just a little further up. At the thought of the condition of the priest’s pile-dwelling, Sister Lamberti shook her head and laughed. ‘It was not a pretty sight. The house was made of gaba gaba, leaves of the sago palm, and had cracks all over. It was poorly built and the bedrooms had no doors. There were just gaps in the walls where curtains hung, all torn.’ The walking tour ended in the dining room, where the sisters were taken by surprise. On a big table covered with red canvas cloth was a festive dinner, prepared by some local women, waiting to welcome Ayawasi’s new residents. The first years Sister Lamberti had no time to ponder the situation in which she found herself. From the very first day, a steady stream of mothers brought their children to her. As best she could, and with only a few supplies at her disposal,

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Sister Lamberti applied her medical knowledge and nursed the children. ‘In the presbytery was a small medicine cupboard, which the priests allowed me to appropriate and move to the zinc-plated room’, the sister recounts. ‘I had brought a folding table which I put on the sand floor, and a stool… that’s how it all started.’ In the initial phase Sister Lamberti nursed mainly children. Their troubles were manifold. Most children Sister Lamberti attended had ulcerated wounds, scabies, or a persistent cold. ‘Others, however, were very ill’, the sister continued: They [the mothers] came with a great many children who needed extra care. But the room could not serve as a hospital. So we took them into our house. In the pile dwelling was a room we called the sewing room, which was used for all kinds of things. Within two months of our arrival in Ayawasi, we started hospitalizing people by turning part of the sewing room into a ward. The older children and accompanying mothers slept on the mats. For the babies we made cradles, out of empty cardboard boxes we got from the navy, which had contained 5 kilograms of tinned margarine. Luckily, the navy also left us lots of blankets, with which we tucked people in. We just improvised because there was nothing... The main problem, however, was that I could not examine the patients thoroughly. I had no microscope and could therefore only guess what they were suffering from. So, I usually administered a course of penicillin and some malaria medication… and then… I could only await the outcome.

Sister Lamberti remembered that most patients recovered remarkably well, as they were not used to taking penicillin. Besides, the malaria medication seemed to be a lucky venture too, as malaria tropica turned out to be endemic. Soon, the effectiveness of the medical treatment was a major factor in the popularity of the hospital. ‘Once the parents saw a change for the better in their children’s health’, the sister added, ‘they also found their way to the outpatient clinic or even had themselves hospitalized voluntarily. As a result, the pile dwelling became overcrowded in a few months. We even accommodated some people in our bathroom.’ It is easy to see why Ayawasi villagers so readily put their trust in Sister Lamberti. Local persons visited the nurse with the expectation that it would improve their health. There was an enormous need for health care as people were (and still are) in bad health due to the severe living conditions. Sister Lamberti said that people shifted easily from the medical care of the clinic to indigenous healing methods: We had come for them. They were told that we had arrived to improve their living conditions… and that’s it. After all, many people were in failing health or undernourished. So, they gladly tried our methods and medications as long as they saw a change for the better. If not… they usually went back to their food gardens to apply their own rites.

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Sister Savio, who took care of the housekeeping, assisted Sister Lamberti whenever and however she could, until the arrival of another nurse, Sister Therese Mariet, gave permanent reinforcement. ‘The first years were trying times’, Sister Lamberti recalled: We just plodded along. There were still hardly any facilities and we had a structural deficiency of qualified nurses and medicines. And because people assumed that we were always available to offer help, they came as the mood took them, regardless of the time of day. We, too, thought it a matter of course to employ every possible means, every single hour of the day. And thus we worked, day in day out, from 5.30 a.m. till late at night. In spite of all that, we could not cure everyone. To the contrary, many people died those first years.

Although people seemed not to hesitate to go to the missionary clinic, their understanding of the causes of illness and the healing methods used to treat them was very different from that of the sister. Whenever one of Sister Lamberti’s patients died, she racked her brains about what had gone wrong: I kept asking myself whether I had acted correctly. Maybe I had overlooked something... But then again, I was unfamiliar with a great many local diseases and local remedies. You must know that in those days, many people stayed in their food gardens, sometimes for weeks on end. When they returned, some had been poisoned by wrongly using certain plants. They came to me with a high fever, exhausted from being ill, and I did not have any knowledge of those plants and their damaging effects.

Upon her arrival in the village, Sister Lamberti was opposed to the use of indigenous medicines, and she did not change her mind later. She had seen too many people die as a result of ‘the misuse of herbal medicine’ to be convinced of any healing effects. It took two years before the outpatient clinic and adjoining hospital were built (of wood with a cement floor) and furnished. From the sisters’ point of view, working conditions changed for the better. Although they continued to put in long hours, now they could at least claim some private time and space. In addition, the charitable organization Memisa did what it had promised. All the necessities Sister Lamberti requested for running the outpatient clinic and hospital were granted. As a result of the poor infrastructure, the supplies took nearly two years to be delivered, arriving about the same time the outpatient clinic was completed.

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The second decade In the early 1970s, Sister Lamberti started an on-the-job training course for local women to become nurses. By that time, Sister Therese Mariet, no longer able to endure the arduous living conditions in the village, had received the bishop’s approval to return to the Netherlands. Again, Sister Lamberti was on her own in running the outpatient clinic. She realized that she had to look for a permanent solution to cope with the structural scarcity of nurses and decided to follow Sister Willemien’s lead in training local women. Sister Willemien Derks, another CPS sister, had in the meantime arrived to replace Sister Savio who, together with Sister Agnes, was transferred to Fak Fak to reinforce the missionary station there. To lighten her workload in housekeeping, Sister Willemien had begun to employ local women, training them to Western standards of household tasks. First, she trained the young women in cooking, doing the laundry, ironing, and sewing. In due course, Sister Willemien had a team of women who assisted her in managing the household of the entire missionary complex. This gave Sister Willemien her pet name suster dapur, ‘kitchen sister’. Their work included preparing meals for the priests and sisters, as well as for the patients in the hospital, washing and ironing bedclothes, cleaning the rooms, and tending the food garden which Sister Willemien had laid out. Over the years, Sister Willemien introduced tuberous plants like cassava and sweet potatoes, and planted rambutan and other fruit trees as well as cabbage, beans and other vegetables. Many of the plants she introduced have now been incorporated into the local diet, which before that time had consisted mainly of taro (awiah). In addition to supplying themselves with food, another aim of these activities was to improve the diet and thus the health of the local population. Yosepha Fatie recalled: We watched the way Sister Willemien planted these things and we imitated it. So now we have what we call in the Dutch way kol [cabbage], and binces [French beans]. In Ibu Baru’s home area they also have what we call bruin boon [kidney beans]. The sisters also grew flowers in their own gardens, but we did not follow that habit.

This illustrates the selective nature of adopting mission-related changes: incorporating new crops was welcomed by local women because it meant an improvement of their rather limited diet. Whereas the growing of flowers, 

As Bowie (1993:13) notes, this occurred cross-culturally: ‘girls in mission schools were usually prepared to be good wives and mothers on a European model, and their education was largely domestic – cooking, cleaning, sewing, laundry work, hygiene and so on, as well as farming’.

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having merely a decorative function and being considered unnecessary, was neglected, although nowadays some women have adopted the habit of decorating their house with fresh flowers. In addition to household tasks, Sister Willemien trained local women in weaving kain timur. This was one of the ways Sister Willemien encouraged women to become self-supporting. Previously she had taken an extensive weaving course in the city of Manokwari. She not only shared her knowledge with women eager to learn, she also made a weaving room available in the missionary station together with looms and thread. Today, women of Ayawasi are known for their exceptional skills in weaving, winning a national prize in 1989 awarded in West Papua’s capital, Jayapura. Kain timur woven in Ayawasi are sold throughout West Papua and used for ceremonial exchange. In this way, local women gained prestige, as well as a cash income. Native nurses Sister Lamberti, like other CPS sisters, chose the most intelligent and studious girls to be trained as nurses. There is a striking parallel here with indigenous practices: during female initiation in fenia meroh, only the brightest novices and those most eager to learn were fully initiated in healing knowledge. Like these ‘top initiates’, native nurses like Nurse Barsalina Same and Mama Raja’s sister Clara Turot and Nurse Afra Baru, who originated from northern Ayfat, came to be highly respected by local women and men and gained a high status in society. They not only heal ill persons, but also financially support clan members. Together with a small number of other missionary workers, they are among the few local women who earn a regular salary. Barsalina Same, who originated from Ayata, a small village in eastern Ayfat, was the first pupil Sister Lamberti took under her wing. Over the years, Barsalina grew into her confidante and right-hand staff member, and Sister Lamberti eventually assigned her to be deputy chief of the outpatient clinic. Until Sister Lamberti’s departure in 1992, the two women worked together closely. As Barsalina told me: The first two years, however, I did not nurse the ill. At first, Sister Willemien trained me in doing household work. I helped with feeding and washing the patients, and did chores like making the beds. It was in 1975 when I started following Sister Lamberti during her work in the outpatient clinic. I watched carefully 

As Huber (2002:181) says of Papua New Guinea, ‘missions [...] more than other organizations employed women professionally’. Huber and Lutkehaus (2002b:7) make a similar point: ‘women missionaries helped provide many [...] women with access to education and opportunities they would not otherwise have enjoyed’.

Women weaving kain timur

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every move she made. Sister Lamberti in turn did all she could to pass her knowledge on to me by explaining everything she did in great detail. Over the years, she helped me become a qualified nurse.

Over the years, Sister Lamberti trained eight other Ayfat women as nurses; after their on-the-job training they took an examination in the city of Sorong and became qualified nurses. Together, the women staffed and managed the outpatient clinic and adjoining hospital. In 1971, one of Sister Lamberti’s prayers was answered with the coming of Sister Leonie Possen CPS, the last Dutch sister to arrive. Sister Leonie came to reinforce the missionary staff, with the special assignment to set up and run a laboratory. In time, Sister Leonie trained local women to become lab assistants. Barsalina joked: Once we started our practical training, we worked ourselves half dead. Sister Lamberti worked hard and she did not expect anything less from us. The sister was already in the hospital at 5.30 in the morning, to check on the patients. After that, she went to church, had some breakfast, and came back to the clinic at 7.30. This was our time to begin too. One of the girls went to nurse the patients in the hospital and the others ran the outpatient clinic together with Sister Lamberti. From one o’clock till three in the afternoon, we were given some time off to work in our food gardens. Then, one of us went with Sister Lamberti on her hospital rounds and afterwards worked in the outpatient clinic, which opened again from 5.00 p.m. till 6.30 in the evening. Finally, at 9.30 p.m. Sister Lamberti inspected the patients in the hospital for the last time and gave the required instructions to the woman who stayed during the night.

During the 1970s, the clinic’s services were considerably expanded, leading to the building of a new and larger pavilion, located in the centre of the village. This complex, which serves to this day as the medical station, consists of two wooden buildings connected by a small outdoor passageway. Sister Leonie acquired her own laboratory, located at the far end of the larger building. Adjoining it are the administration office, the two wards (one for women, the other for men) of the hospital, and finally the delivery room. The thriving outpatient clinic and waiting room are accommodated in the smaller building. The inside of the buildings looks spacious, having many windows and frugally furnished rooms. Only the most necessary equipment is present, most of it dating from the early years. The wooden shelves along the walls of the outpatient clinic hold the many bottles of tablets and ointments. In front, on wooden benches, people patiently wait for their turn to be seen. After some time, thanks to Sister Leonie’s work in the laboratory, malaria and certain infectious diseases could be diagnosed early. As a result, Sister Lamberti and her staff expanded their medical activities in the 1970s, adding preventive health services by holding information meetings on personal hygiene and dietary advice. Another new initiative was a balanced meal

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offered monthly to undernourished children, cooked by the girls from housekeeping supervised by Sister Willemien. For this purpose, the waiting room served as dining hall and up to 40 children jostled one another for a seat on the floor. Although the CPS sisters have gone, the current sisters continued this project, which is now run by local women. Categories of illness At present, despite the missionary hospital, many people are in poor health, as missionary station reports show. An average of 600 persons per month call upon the outpatient clinic. By far, most people suffer from malaria, averaging 210 cases per month, followed by infectious diseases (120 per month). Scabies (50 per month), influenza (33 per month), bronchitis (28 per month), rheumatism (25 per month), cholera (21 per month), and dysentery (16 per month) are the other common diseases. Even though, as in other parts of the Pacific region, local people do not name or categorize their illnesses in Western terms, people nowadays tend to subdivide illness into two categories. These categories are not perceived by local people as conflicting, but as more or less complementary. The first category, which includes malaria, influenza and infections, is seen as a biological reaction of the body, as illness due to a ‘natural’ cause – because of a mosquito bite, a cold caught while walking in the rain, or an ulcerated wound. In the words of Ibu Fanataf, a school teacher: ‘Now we know about malaria [po mafit; meaning: ‘biting mosquitoes’]. In former times we could only think about kret, or a spirit that had “entered” our bodies.’ For treatment of such illnesses, many people visit the hospital, and biomedical therapies are highly appreciated. Indigenous and medical missionary performances are viewed as equally effective for these illnesses seen as due to a natural cause. Villagers decide based on expected benefit and convenience: they will turn to whatever performance is available and has proved successful in the past. Women and men alike, when falling ill, if they are in the village and have some cash money, may visit the outpatient clinic before turning to indigenous treatment. If people do not have the cash, or if they are in the habit of relying on indigenous healing knowledge, which is the case for women and men who have been initiated in fenia meroh or wuon, they will generally start with indigenous healing performances. Mama Raja would have had sufficient money, but because she gained her healing knowledge 

I thank Sister Margriet OSF, who granted me permission to examine the monthly reports of the missionary clinic, which the sisters kept, starting with Sister Lamberti’s arrival.  See Baddeley 1985; Macpherson 1985; Stephen 1987; Trompf 1991.

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through initiation, her first choice was to use the pokonof rite. When this did not work, she turned to a kinsman who was a wuon healer, who performed the saus healing rite. When her condition deteriorated, she called upon the missionary clinic as a last resort. The second category of illness can be classified as part of the indigenous religious belief system: illness caused by sorcery (kret) or witchcraft (suangi), and illness caused by spirits of the underworld. In these cases biomedical treatment is perceived as ineffective. As soon as patients suspect or realize that the illness belongs to this category, they do not consult the missionary medical clinic, but turn directly to an initiated healer.10 Magical medical care Above, we heard Sister Lamberti’s view on the factors that contributed to the success and attractiveness of the missionaries’ medical care. Why did treatment at the clinic and hospital become so popular with local people, and why especially with women? Native nurses and other local women offered several reasons. As Nurse Barsalina, who clearly recalls her years working with Sister Lamberti, explained, magical powers were ascribed to Sister Lamberti because of the recoveries she effectuated. Barsalina emphasized: People liked coming to the outpatient clinic, because Sister Lamberti took good care of them. Right from the beginning, many people replaced their obat alam [indigenous medicine; literally: ‘medicine of the earth’] by a visit to the clinic. As you know, stories were soon circulating that Sister Lamberti could cure in miraculous ways.

This agrees with one of the reasons Sister Lamberti herself mentioned: the remarkable way patients recovered after being given penicillin and malaria medicine. In addition, Sister Lamberti’s ‘magical powers’ had the advantage of working fast. The ‘easy way’ of taking medicine dispensed by the missionary hospital contrasted sharply with the often lengthy and complicated indigenous healing rites. To this very day, people say with amazement: ‘It’s so easy, you get an injection and you’re healed’, referring to the services of the outpatient clinic.

10

Keck (1992:320) makes a similar point for the Yupno in Papua New Guinea, stating that ailments are first treated with home remedies. If that does not produce relief, people resort to Western medicine. If the ailment turns into a serious illness, they start looking for underlying causes. Mitchell (1990:432-3), studying the Wape of Papua New Guinea, says: ‘While the Wape acknowledge that Western medicine may ease the pain [...] they consider it ineffective against the ghostly or demonic forces that have caused the affliction’.

Nurse Barsalina Same at work in the outpatient clinic

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Nurse Barsalina stressed that it was ‘women in particular who found their way to the medical station’. This has to do with a third factor in the popularity of the missionary hospital. Nurse Barsalina said: When women gave birth, they were supposed to retire to a small delivery hut outside the village, in the forest. The woman and her child would stay there for some weeks in seclusion and total darkness, to prevent evil spirits from coming and taking the baby away, by making the child ill or even killing the newborn. This meant that the woman was dependent on the benevolence of her relatives bringing her water and food and looking after her and her baby. From the very first day, Sister Lamberti insisted that the women come to the medical station to give birth. Although she initially faced resistance by people unwilling to give up their custom, women soon appreciated Sister Lamberti’s care. [Barsalina chuckled at her memories of the sister’s determination.] The sister simply went to the delivery hut with a bucket of warm water and a cooked meal to care for the mother and child, in the meantime persuading the woman to come with her. Once women put themselves in Sister Lamberti’s hands, they experienced the comfort of being taken care of and never again wanted to give birth any other way.

Even now, three decades after Sister Lamberti’s arrival, I heard women excitedly recall their stay with the sisters. An elderly woman, who had given birth at the hospital long ago, stated: ‘After delivery is the only time in life when we bathe with warm water, and that is so nice. Besides, we were not allowed to leave the hospital before we had regained our strength. The sisters saw to it that we were well fed and got enough rest before being discharged from the hospital.’ In short, hospitalization provided women with the opportunity to ‘escape’ from ‘traditional’ customs that women experienced as being harsh. Instead of staying in a delivery hut in seclusion, they preferred to stay in a hospital bed with the comfort and care that came along with it. All in all, the CPS sisters had a keen eye for women’s circumstances and offered them attractive alternatives.11 By providing women with well-balanced meals, Sister Lamberti violated the strict food taboos for pregnancy and childbirth. In addition, Sister Lamberti contributed to the abolishment of food taboos accompanying indigenous healing rites, like the saus ritual, during hospitalization. Over the years, she could never understand people’s indifference in choosing among the health services offered. She noticed people alternating back and forth between indigenous rites and hospital services. While undergoing indigenous rites, people observed strict food taboos; while under missionary supervision, nutritious 11

Basu (1993), Bowie (1993), Huber and Lutkehaus (2002a), and Isichei (1993) all note that female missionaries drew attention to women’s position and status in local society. Bowie (1993:14) goes so far as to say: ‘It can be claimed with some justification that missionaries have been leading exponents of social reform for women’.

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meals were gladly accepted. To the day of her departure, Sister Lamberti, in vain, strove for the abolition of rigorous food taboos during indigenous healing rituals. She could not bear to see people returning from their food gardens undernourished and emaciated. Outside the hospital, food taboos connected with healing rites lasted as long as three or four months. This is still true today, as I observed during my fieldwork. During this period it is nearly always forbidden to eat meat, fatty fish, and other not easily digestible food. In practice, the food that is allowed is limited to certain vegetables, taro and cassava, which in the long term will result in an unbalanced diet. A fourth factor that contributed to the attractiveness of the missionary clinic must surely be the loving care of the sisters. To date many women and men, both older and younger, recall that the CPS sisters helped them unremittingly.12 In 1991, when it became known that Indonesian officials were definitively not going to renew the Dutch sisters’ visas, shortly before Sister Lamberti went back to the Netherlands local women jointly wrote a letter to the Pope asking him to put pressure on the Indonesian government to let the sisters stay in Ayawasi. The letter was never answered, and in 1992 Sister Leonie was the last Dutch sister to leave the village. The sisters’ departure is remembered as a dramatic event in the lives of local women. Stories are still told about how women did not stop crying for days on end after Sister Lamberti got onto the plane and waved farewell. Nowadays letters people receive from the sisters are cherished and proudly announced to other villagers. The rare pictures people own of the sisters are brought to Sunday mass and passed from hand to hand, while kissing and caressing the photo. One woman expressed the absence of the Dutch sisters strikingly: Now the sisters are gone we are all alone. The sisters were like sapu mama [my own mother]. They took care of us. Now we remember them in our tears and prayers.

Ibu Maria Baru recounts the sisters distributing farewell gifts to the vil­lagers: ‘But I threw them back saying, I don’t want these, I want you!’ Not only women, men too regret the sisters’ departure. When Yosepha Fatie talked to me about it, Mama Raja’s husband was just passing by. She waved him over to join us and reminisced: 12

The affectionate care given by missionary sisters is also recognized in anthropological literature. Lutkehaus (2002:208-9), in an article called ‘Missionary maternalism’, aptly characterizes the initial role of missions in New Guinea as ‘maternal’ (in opposition to the ‘paternal’ role of the colonial state). She uses maternalism in the sense of ‘a focus on care giving and nurturance, on the upbringing and socialization of children, and on the development of “inner” qualities of morality and spirituality, all pursued in a compassionate manner’. This can be said of the work of the Dutch female missionaries in northwest Ayfat. Burke (1993:265) notes that people in Zaire addressed missionary sisters as ‘Mama’, viewing them as ‘life-bearer and particularly attuned to promoting the collective life of the wider community’.

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Do you remember when the sisters left? You were in Sorong [the coastal town] at that time. When you came back and heard the news, you ran straight into the hospital, flinging the doors open and calling: ‘Where are my sisters, where are my sisters!’ And then you started crying.

While listening to Yosepha’s story, tears rolled down Bapak Raja’s cheeks. Adaptation and rejection As we have seen, the missionary medical service was and still is attractive to local people, especially women. Women rather easily adopted those aspects that benefited them. However, there was another side. In northwest Ayfat, despite the warm-hearted care of the sisters, the missionary process was also marked by power relations between female missionaries and local female and male villagers.13 Not every aspect of the medical care offered by the sisters coud be adopted, as a result of the mismatch between Western and indigenous views on illness and healing. Sister Lamberti not only objected to the strict food taboos for ill persons, but rejected indigenous medicine in general. As Nurse Barsalina clearly recalls: ‘Sister Lamberti always knew whenever people had been using indigenous medicine. I do not know how she knew, she just did, and she was never wrong. She just looked them in the eye and she knew. Oh, and then Sister Lamberti got angry!’ Sometimes, when people had not taken the medication Sister Lamberti prescribed, but instead had fallen back on indigenous medicine, Sister Lamberti could become so enraged that her whole face turned red with anger. She especially objected to the use of tree bark, as she was convinced that the effect of the bark’s sap was too vigorous, and that your heart would die as a result.

With these words Barsalina illustrated the mutual incomprehension between the two approaches to healing, just as valid now as it was then. Neither Sister Lamberti nor any other missionary sister ever managed to understand and to value the application and effects of indigenous medicines, nor the indigenous religious meanings people attach to causes of illness and healing therapies. Sister Lamberti’s assumption about the poisonous effects of herbal medicine was validated by a Dutch laboratory. The sister had sent some tree bark to the firm for examination and the findings were abundantly clear: prolonged

13

Isichei (1993) makes a similar point, stating that missionary activities and Christianity are not only empowering but can also be disadvantageous to women.

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ingestion of sap of tree bark would cause anaemia. This convinced Sister Lamberti, once and for all, of the ill effects of herbal medicine. Recognized healing properties of other roots and plants could not change her conviction. As a result, the missionaries did not familiarize themselves with the possibilities of herbal therapy and could not understand people’s reasons for sometimes preferring indigenous rites. Local people, in turn, attempted to hide from the missionaries the fact that they performed indigenous healing rites, at home and in their food gardens. Tension and incomprehension is likewise observable when people use medicines prescribed by the missionary sisters. Although injections are very popular, as people ascribe miraculous powers to them because they take effect so quickly, taking tablets causes confusion, as the examples below demonstrate. ‘Sience is ill again’, my friend Mariana Yumte told me when we met. Mariana, a young widow, supports her four children, of whom Sience (aged three at that time) is the youngest. ‘This morning she fainted and collapsed in convulsions’, Mariana continued in a worried voice. ‘I just took her to the missionary station. The sisters immediately decided to keep her there, as her fever was so high.’ Together with Mariana, I followed the path to the hospital to visit Sience. I knew that the child had been ill frequently during the past few weeks and that Mariana had often taken her to the outpatient clinic. ‘Last night, it all began’, Mariana explained. ‘Before she went to sleep, Sience got another attack of fever. So I decided to give her one of these tablets.’ Mariana opened her hand and showed me two tablets, which I recognized as penicillin tablets. ‘Sience got these last time she fell ill [which was some months ago] when she had that big wound. She was told to take these tablets twice a day, but the sister gave us far too many. When the wound was healed and the fever had passed, there were still some tablets left. So I saved them for the next time Sience fell ill.’ Mariana objected to my argument that one needs to complete a whole course of penicillin. For Mariana, as soon as a fever has gone down, the medicine is no longer needed, and it makes no sense to continue taking it, irrespective of the nurse’s instructions. In indigenous beliefs about healing, the treatment ends at the moment the patient feels recovered. Therefore, taking medication longer than seems necessary goes against basic indigenous assumptions: a person is healed as soon as the symptoms have vanished. Body temperature is viewed as a particularly good indicator. Almost immediately after a high fever has disappeared, the treatment is declared successful and the healing performance is stopped. And thus, Mariana had acted at her own discretion, without intentionally bringing Sience in jeopardy. The little girl stayed in the hospital for one week, until the fever abated and she recov-

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ered completely from what the sisters diagnosed as an attack of malaria. Mama Raja, too, had difficulty complying with the nurse’s instructions and, under the influence of her relatives, did not finish the prescribed course of medicine. It turned out that Mama Raja’s blood sample confirmed the nurse’s diagnosis. The test confirmed that Mama Raja was suffering from an attack of malaria. For a number of days in succession, Mama Raja visited the outpatient clinic in the hope of getting well. However, when after the fourth day the fever continued undiminished, some of Mama Raja’s relatives decided to take her to one of the garden houses, situated in a quiet part of the village (this phase marked the beginning of the major crisis described in Chapters I and II). Time and again, I witnessed a person visiting the outpatient clinic every few days, continuing to suffer from the same complaint. Nearly always, it turned out that the patient had stopped taking the medication as soon as the fever abated and, as a result, fell ill again the following day. ‘Yesterday I felt good, so I had a day of rest, without taking medication’, was an explanation I frequently heard. This is also connected to the perception of illness as a ‘hot’ state of the body, whereas ‘cooling down’ is equated with being healed. Hardly ever did people suspect that the recurrence of the fever might be due to not taking the medication as prescribed by the nurse. Instead, they were inclined to look for other causes, like ancestral punishment, attacks of malevolent spirits, or witchcraft and sorcery. In addition to this mismatch between Western and indigenous conceptions of illness and healing, another unfavourable aspect of missionary medical care is salient: medical treatment at the clinic nowadays requires cash money. Although paying is seen as a way to increase the possibility of a successful recovery, it is difficult for people to pay cash as very few villagers receive a monthly salary. People are no longer permitted to pay for the medical consultation with crops from their food garden, as they did when the CPS sisters were still there. By local standards the clinic’s medications are expensive. For that reason as well, as soon as the fever abates people save the rest of the tablets for the next time they or their relatives fall ill. In addition, many people are in the dark about the purpose and effects of the medication. One day Maria Fanataf, the woman who lived in our house together with her one-year-old son, fell ill. She went to the outpatient clinic and returned home with a set of medicines. For one whole week, Maria had to take eight different kind of tablets three times a day. The first day, Maria took the tablets as instructed by the nurse. The next day, however, she felt peculiar. Her arms and legs were as heavy as lead. She blamed the medication and decided to ‘take a few less’. On the basis of colour, she sifted through the

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tablets and decided to skip ‘the little one and the red one’. Like most people, Maria had no notion about the specific functions of the tablets. She did not know for what purpose each tablet was prescribed, and thus was not aware of the possible consequences of her action. On repeated occasions, I noticed that patients were sent home from the outpatient clinic with a couple of stapled small plastic bags containing different tablets, without knowing what the medication was for. They were simply told to take the contents of a bag three times daily. After a few days, Maria’s condition worsened. She went back to the outpatient clinic, and was told to continue to take the medication and stop wondering whether or not to stop the treatment. She was also advised to take some rest to relieve her aching body, and told that her painful body derived from the illness and not from the medication. This time, Maria followed the instructions although she still did not entirely understand what she was being treated for. At first, she felt too weak to resist. Towards the end of the week, however, she regained her strength and decided to keep following the nurse’s advice. Even though Maria fell ill again less than two weeks later, that time she recovered in eight days. The examples above show a remarkable ambiguity surrounding Western and indigenous views of illness and healing. On the one hand people ascribe miraculous powers to Western medical treatments and praise the easy way in which health is regained. On the other hand, they often do not understand the workings of these medical treatments, and if they are not immediately successful, people take recourse in indigenous understandings of illness. Even though villagers nowadays may see illness accompanied by a high fever (for instance) as a biological reaction of the body, healing is generally perceived as connected to the social network. Whereas the sisters at the clinic search for a cure, villagers look for underlying causes and suspected offenders. Only by restoring the balance within the social and spiritual realm, or by chasing away the wrongdoer, will true healing take place. This is most people’s basic assumption. Christianity and illness In the indigenous view, the main causes of illness and death are defined as witchcraft (suangi) and sorcery (kret) as well as interference of spirits of the underworld. It is interesting that in the missionary process, since the 1970s, another category of causes was added: illness as a result of violating Christian rules. This is not surprising, because from that time onwards, inhabitants of northwest Ayfat increasingly became devout Christians. God’s punishment

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is not only feared in cases of witchcraft and sorcery. Adultery and polygamy are labelled sinful by the priests. To avoid falling ill as a result of breaking the Christian rules on conjugal fidelity, villagers search for ways to avoid these bans. The most pragmatic solution is not getting married in church and in this way avoiding the risk of breaking one’s marriage vows. ‘If God has not blessed the marriage, He cannot punish any violation because we have not violated these marriage rules’, was a commonly heard argument. Only a handful of marriages are registered in the missionary archives. Men in particular find it difficult to commit themselves to one woman, and women cannot guarantee they will be devoted to one single man during their entire adult life. As a result church marriages are rare. So in fact, precisely because they are true believers, people hesitate to celebrate their wedding in church. In the process of religious change, a Christian connotation has also been given to the death of a villager as a result of a ‘natural’ cause like old age. Nowadays, when this happens, people generally say that such a person died because ‘Tuhan yang panggil’ (‘it was God who called’). Appreciation Although after the arrival of Sister Lamberti and Sister Leonie and the establishment of the hospital and clinic, tensions emerged between indigenous healing and missionary treatments, there was nevertheless understanding and appreciation on both sides. To this day, the missionary sisters are put on a pedestal and worshipped, by men as well as by women, for their efforts to improve people’s health and wellbeing. The Dutch sisters are not the only ones to be missed and idolized. The Dutch Augustinian Fathers (OSA) also turned into legends. This is closely connected to the priests’ personal commitment (Thoonen 2000a). Many inhabitants of northwest Ayfat nowadays highly appreciate the lifestyle of the earliest priests. People especially admire their dedication, their long treks through the dense rainforest to visit settlements, and their willingness to eat the local food. Thoonen (2000a:152) quotes Ibu Maria Baru as saying: They worked very hard. And they were living the way we did. The fathers walked barefoot through the forest. They really liked eating awiah [taro], which they roasted, or braised in the ashes, just like we did. They ate taro and cassava instead of rice or bread. And they drank the water unboiled. They were eating and drinking the very same things we did. The fathers did not consider themselves superior to us.

Thoonen (2000a:152) explains that the earlier priests are compared with the present missionary situation, in which the sisters and fathers stationed in

Yosefien Bame working in the laboratory

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Ayawasi mainly originate from other parts of Indonesia. In local people’s perception, ‘these missionaries look upon them in disdain. That the [Indonesian] fathers and sisters generally reject the local food, serves as a metaphor for the rejection of native people and their ways of life’. Nurse Barsalina, for instance, is no longer deputy chief of the outpatient clinic as she has been replaced by an Indonesian nurse. The way local northwest Ayfat people perceived the Indonesian sisters is also related to the position of Papuans within the Indonesian state, in which they felt marginalized. During my fieldwork, local leaders in the village of Ayawasi held meetings about the changes that were expected to accompany the arrival of thousands of transmigrants, Indonesian peasants from other provinces. Under the transmigration program of the Indonesian President Suharto, large numbers of mainly Muslim inhabitants from overpopulated islands were sent to sparsely populated areas such as West Papua. When highly educated northwest Ayfat people moved to coastal villages and cities in the Bird’s Head, they often experienced difficulties in obtaining official positions, which were held largely by Javanese immigrants. In addition, throughout West Papua, transmigration settlements were founded on land that native people had inherited from their ancestors generation after generation. People in Ayawasi therefore feared the changes the transmigrants would bring, which they expected to affect socio-cultural life deeply.14 The earliest OSA priests and their Dutch successors, as well as the CPS sisters, are kept in people’s memories and the stories they still tell. In these stories, both women and men stress that the (female and male) missionaries helped them by their commitment. Abolishment of headhunting (hongi) practices is seen as one of the major achievements of missionary interventions. ‘In former times, we used to live in fear’, was a frequently heard expression. ‘We used to build our houses on high poles, so that we could see our enemies approaching. Then, we quickly removed the ladder, so they could not enter. But that is not necessary any more.’ The abolishment of headhunting is recalled in a Meyhabehmase song which I heard Ibu Baru’s elderly relatives sing. The song says that the elderly, in retrospect, are glad that they permitted the church to enter. They feel ndef-ndef, ‘cold’, which here means ‘glad’, or ‘happy’, or ‘good’. Ibu Baru explains: ‘We are glad because the things religion brought us were ndef-ndef. They cooled down the tribal wars. [...] Many people were killed during these wars. That’s why the elderly now are saying ndefndef.’ Appreciation for the missionaries is also expressed by naming children after them. Throughout northwest Ayfat one meets children and adults with 14

For further reading see Thoonen 2005. After my field research the transmigration project that was planned near Ayawasi was cancelled, due to changes in policy after Suharto was disposed in 1998.

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names like Lammi, Yosefien, Aknes, Piet, Yan and Werner. At the same time, local persons recognize that the power relationship between the male missionaries and the local population was one in which the missionaries made the decisions. For example, due to missionary interventions important elements of their adat, especially male and female initiation rituals, disappeared. Although, as Thoonen (2005:155) correctly argues, local persons themselves helped work towards the abolishment of initiation rituals, many hold the priests responsible, and today they see that this loss of a way to pass down healing knowledge encroaches deeply on social life. How do local people nowadays deal with this loss of the transfer of secret and sacred healing knowledge and the performance of healing rituals? In the religious realm of healing, female missionaries were the ones who gave the initial impetus for change. In the following chapters, we will see how local persons became active in the religious domain of healing performances, and served as innovators and agents of change. Despite the undercurrent of tensions between missionary medical care and indigenous views on illness, seeking healing in the hospital has been an important option ever since the missionary hospital and outpatient clinic in Ayawasi was opened in 1963. People usually opt for medical treatment in the missionary hospital in the initial phase of the illness, when it has not (yet) been ascribed to malevolent spirits, be they spirits of the living (sorcery and witchcraft) or spirits of the underworld (ancestral or non-ancestral). Women found missionary medical care attractive for four reasons: the ‘magical powers’ ascribed to the nurse; the convenience of taking biomedical medication (in contrast to the lengthy and laborious indigenous healing performances); the special attention the CPS sisters paid to the situation of local women and the attractive alternatives they offered; and the maternal and loving care of the sisters for women, men, and children.

chapter vii

Mama Raja

The case continues

‘Mama Raja is dead, Mama Raja is dead!’ the voices resounded as I stepped out into the darkness. It was crowded outside. People kept rushing forward from every corner of the village. Their presence broke the still of the night. They looked at each other in disbelief, hoping that someone would deny the terrible news. But no one did. I joined a group of people who continued on their way to mourn Mama Raja. Along the way, people talked excitedly, speculating about whoever or whatever caused Mama Raja’s death. As before, opinions differed greatly. Some were sure that it was the spirit of Maksi, who had recently been stabbed to death, that had taken Mama Raja’s life, while others were convinced it was the deadly forces of witchcraft. A third group argued that Mama Raja was the victim of an attack of malaria. However loudly they proclaimed, they did not seem to come to agreement. As if by prearrangement, the crowd fell silent as soon as we reached Mama Raja’s house. The pitiful crying and loud moaning that came from inside was overwhelming. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other, before the first person entered the room, wailing sadly. Some stayed outside and squeezed in with the onlookers in front of the open window, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. I followed others who wriggled their way through the crowd for a place near Mama Raja’s body. It turned out that Mama Raja’s body had been moved from her relatives’ house to her own home, in the centre of the village, immediately after her relatives had found her dead. As a rule, to treat someone with proper respect, the deceased should be mourned in their own territory. In addition, people are terrified that the spirit of a dead person may roam the village if the spirit does not have the opportunity to leave the body in its own home territory. The front room of the house was packed with people. It was rather suffocating because of too many people in such a small room. I made my way through the crowd, led by Ibu Therese Kosamah, whom I had met outside,

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and together we found a place near Mama Raja. The body had been laid on a plastic mat, in the middle of the room. As she lay there, Mama Raja looked peaceful. Only the bloodstains on her dress showed how she had struggled this day, trying to stay alive. Some women sat on the concrete floor in a circle around the body, mourning and weeping loudly. Mama Raja’s two youngest teenage sons sat on each side of their mother. The boys cried their hearts out while throwing themselves on the body. They were very shaken. As a matter of fact, most of the people present, men as well as women, were upset and crying bitterly. Others showed, at the very least, deep mourning for the loss of this woman of importance. Breath of life I must have been inside for an hour, watching people come and go, crying and mourning, when I noticed Nurse Clara, who sat next to her sister’s body, lay a hand on Mama Raja’s stomach. I did not dare to believe my eyes and looked at Nurse Clara in confusion. While the expression on Nurse Clara’s face changed from grief to utter amazement, she looked around the room, her eyes open wide. Others, too, suddenly fell silent, looked at Nurse Clara, and then focused intently on Mama Raja’s stomach. Then, the impossible happened. The hand moved. And again, Nurse Clara’s hand on Mama Raja’s belly moved gently up and down. I came to the startling realization that this could mean only one thing: Mama Raja was still alive! Little short of a miracle, Mama Raja even opened her eyes for a few seconds and stared listlessly at the people around her. Immediately, the wailing and moaning stopped. People nudged one another and a murmur of both disbelief and relief rose from those present: ‘The breath of life is still in the body.’ Soon, the murmur changed into excitement and people started talking, trying to unravel the mystery. It appeared that there had been no perceptible abdominal respiration by Mama Raja for the last five hours. From the moment there is no respiration noticeable in a person’s stomach, the person is declared dead (mae tepok; Indonesian: habis napas). According to indigenous notions, the final breath of life leaves the body through the crown of the head. When there is only breathing left ‘in the throat’, it is said that the breath of life is ‘just playing’. Even if a person is actually still alive, that person is con-



Death is not referred to by the Indonesian word mati, but as habis napas, the breath of life is gone.

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sidered dead. Consequently, when earlier that day no abdominal respiration was visible, Mama Raja was declared dead. But now, Mama Raja inhaled by way of her stomach again, and as a result rose from the dead and returned to the world of the living. Nurse Clara, who still sat next to her sister, promptly unbuttoned Mama Raja’s blouse and pulled down her skirt a bit to bare her belly. In this way, the next abdominal inhalation could be better observed. More women kneeled down alongside Mama Raja and laid a hand on the uncovered part of the body, to assure themselves that she truly was alive and breathing. In addition, small candles placed here and there to light the room were taken from their spot and held above Mama Raja’s stomach to ‘keep an eye on the breathing’. The candle wax dripping on Mama Raja’s bare belly did not seem to bother anyone, as people eagerly waited for another sign of life. No one believed it to be possible, anxiously fearing that with every abdominal respiration Mama Raja would breathe her last. But the woman kept breathing. With each breath expanding Mama Raja’s belly, the bystanders got more excited, even though they knew that her condition was precarious. She was not at all out of danger, as her respiration was irregular. Besides, during each respiratory pause, Mama Raja lay so motionless that it seemed as if she could still stop breathing any moment and would die after all. Time passed and peace returned to the room, when the pattern of breathing suddenly broke. Every one present was startled and saw with disappointment how Mama Raja gasped while her body stiffened. Unexpectedly, she went into another attack of convulsions. With her fists clenched and her arms, legs, and feet extended, Mama Raja’s body trembled all over. Immediately, the wailing of the bystanders started up again, as they feared the worst. The two sons, who had not left their mother’s side, broke down and cried, while throwing their adolescent bodies onto Mama Raja time and again. Bystanders held the boys back, although with great difficulty. Not only were their bodies much too heavy for their frail mother, the boys also blocked people’s view of Mama Raja’s belly. It looked as if Mama Raja would choke each time she endured an attack of convulsions, which continued to happen every five to ten minutes. It was a grueling sight, watching Mama Raja fighting against death. Her body contorted to the extent that it was pushed upwards and her back and buttocks lifted from the plastic mat. While she leaned on the back of her head, Mama Raja’s face convulsed and her eyes turned away until only the whites of her eyes were visible. She grimaced and opened her mouth as if she had to yawn enormously, meanwhile screaming. Just as we thought she could not stand it any longer, Mama Raja’s body sank down and lay quietly on the mat. Her breathing, however, remained uneasy, first laborious then shallow, and we all knew it was only a matter of time till the next round of convulsions.

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While most people stood by helplessly, wailing over Mama Raja, Nurse Clara stayed by her sister’s side and assisted her through each spasm. She gently wiped Mama Raja’s perspiring face and clasped her arms tightly so Mama Raja would not injure herself. The last sacraments It must have been about ten o’clock that night when Father Yonathan Fatem appeared in the doorway. He first looked around the room before he walked up to Mama Raja. Immediately people stepped aside and made way for him. He was casually dressed. Only the long, small scarf around his neck, with tail ends reaching his knees, betrayed Father Fatem’s priesthood and showed clearly that he had come to perform a church ceremony. While he took a place right by Mama Raja’s head, he raised his arms and motioned to people to listen. ‘Why did you not call me earlier?’ Father Fatem asked the bystanders. ‘When someone is seriously ill, you commonly turn to a wuon healer. Likewise, you ought to call me so that I can administer the last sacraments, so that the soul will be guided to heaven, so that the soul will be ushered into heaven.’ The more Father Fatem raised his voice, the louder those present wailed, as people feared that the last sacraments would bring Mama Raja closer to her end. While the acolyte, a native young man who accompanied the priest, walked around Mama Raja swaying the incense burner, the priest opened his prayer book and began to recite a prayer. Among those present were people who did not cry or lament, but had continuously, quietly yet imperturbably, read the Bible in search of words to support Mama Raja in her struggle. Immediately those people chanted along with the priest. The prayers concluded when Father Fatem administered extreme unction, by means of making the sign of the cross with blessed oil on Mama Raja’s forehead. After the anointment, the attacks of convulsions seemed to follow each other in quick succession. The acolyte asked for some water. With a cloth, he dabbed Mama Raja’s face, belly and low neckline. This was done not only to give Mama Raja’s sweaty body some cooling. In case of severe illness, when someone is facing death, an act like this is usually performed ‘to make the body cold’, with the purpose, at this stage, not ‘to heal’ but to accelerate the process of dying. In addition, Father Fatem knelt by Mama Raja’s head and pulled with both hands at her hair, each time she endured a spasm. If the hair broke off, it was a sign that she would presently die. The atmosphere in the room got more and more oppressive the moment the priest showed a wisp of grey hair. Father Fatem and the acolyte, however, did not await the presumed hour of death at Mama Raja’s side. Instead, they returned to the presbytery, but only

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after the priest had insisted very strongly, in fact left an order, that someone should call him as soon as death occurred. Although no one actually wanted Mama Raja to die, people started praying, hoping that death would occur soon, as they could not stand to watch Mama Raja continuing in such terrible pain, fighting the inevitable. Intervention by Kelompok Sabda When ‘the lights were out’, not long after Father Fatem had left, Bapak Yopi Titit entered the room. His wife, Ibu Maria Kosamah, had not left Mama Raja’s side from the moment Mama Raja was brought to her own house. All evening Ibu Kosamah had wept quietly, her eyes focused on Mama Raja. After Father Fatem had administered the last sacraments, Ibu Kosamah just could not believe that Mama Raja, now the breath of life had returned to her body, would pass away after all. She could not bear to watch Mama Raja suffer any longer and, as she explained to me later, decided to go home to fetch her husband,. Bapak Yopi, an initiated member of the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda, initially resisted his wife’s request. He did not understand why he should travel all the way from Kampung Tolak, while no Kelompok Sabda member in lower Ayawasi, the part of the village where Mama Raja lives, had been asked to come and pray. Ibu Kosamah left the question unanswered, although she knew that it was probably because Bapak Yopi, along with his relative Ibu Maria Baru, the founder and leader of Kelompok Sabda, is Ayawasi’s most qualified healer. In fact, no Kelompok Sabda members other than Ibu Baru and Bapak Yopi are qualified to perform a healing rite for someone who is doomed to die. Without saying another word, Bapak Yopi decided to obey his wife’s summons, took what he needed, and walked to Mama Raja’s house, accompanied by Ibu Hae. Because Ibu Hae was staying at their house, she had



The missionary station, in the centre of the village, is generally illuminated during evening hours (until 11.00 p.m.) with electric light by means of a generator. The glow lightens the village and breaks its total darkness. When recounting a special occurrence, people usually divide the evening into ‘when the lights were on’ and ‘when the lights were out’.  At that time Ibu Baru was staying temporarily in the coastal city of Sorong, taking care of family affairs.  Ibu Hae, who nowadays resides in the village of Manokwari, was visiting her hometown for a few weeks. Ibu Hae is a well-known woman, not only because she is a member of Kelompok Sabda, but foremost because she was the first woman in Ayawasi to keep her newborn twins, in the early 1970s. In those days twins were associated with witchcraft, because witches, who had eaten their prey, had ‘two of everything’. Ibu Hae’s twins, nevertheless, grew up to be healthy girls. In present society, having twins is no longer seen as unusual.

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witnessed Ibu Kosamah’s plea and decided to go along with Bapak Yopi to offer assistance, if needed. Before Bapak Yopi entered, he first observed the overcrowded, oppressive room and immediately sent all the children out. He then walked up to Mama Raja, put his bag on the floor and looked at her for a moment, before squatting down next to his bag. Piece by piece, Bapak Yopi took out all the required Christian objects from his bag and displayed them in front of him: a small black notebook, a crucifix (actually it was a statuette of Jesus, with his right arm missing) and a little bottle of blessed oil (minyak suci). Finally, he took a glass out of his bag, gave it to the person standing next to him, and asked them to fill the glass with cold water. While Bapak Yopi prepared the ritual he was about to perform, Ibu Hae opened her Bible and began to read to herself intently. Her eyes closed, then opened. Neither she nor Bapak Yopi seemed to take notice of the commotion going on in the rest of the room. People were noisy, talking animatedly. ‘Could Bapak Yopi, this Christian healer, save Mama Raja’s life?’ Blessed water Bapak Yopi remained crouched when he started to mumble a prayer, his hands joined, his eyes squeezed together. He concluded his prayer by crossing himself, and took the glass, which by now was filled with water, in his left hand and the crucifix in his right hand. He then rose to his feet, kissed the crucifix, and immersed it in the water three times, followed by the sign of the cross. Next, he began to recite the secret Christian formulas he had chosen by murmuring the words into the water, while holding the glass close to his mouth. In this way, Bapak Yopi transferred the healing powers to the water. The ritual continued until ‘all the words were gone’ and Bapak Yopi felt that the strength of the formulas had been transferred to the water. He then took the little notebook, placed it on top of the glass, and laid the crucifix on the notebook. For the first time since he had started performing the ritual, he looked into the room and invited the crowd to join him in his prayers. People fell silent and complied with Bapak Yopi’s request. To begin with, Bapak Yopi together with the bystanders said the Lord’s Prayer, followed by three Hail Mary’s. The final stage of the blessing of the water was reached when he again squatted down, took the bottle of oil, poured some drops on his thumb, and then dipped his thumb in the water. Carrying the glass, he then walked to Mama Raja’s feet. Mama Raja, meanwhile, had endured a whole series of convulsions. At the moment Bapak Yopi approached her, however, she was lying quietly on the mat, her breathing shallow. The people surrounding Mama Raja cleared the way for the healer, as everyone knew what was about to happen. All others

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kept silent and breathlessly awaited Bapak Yopi’s next actions. Bapak Yopi stood there for a moment, in deep concentration. He then took a drink of the water, looked at the woman lying in front of him, and spewed the liquid forcefully over Mama Raja’s body. The spurt of water, spouting like a fountain over Mama Raja’s body, reached all the way to her head. As if by a miracle, Mama Raja immediately opened her eyes. Her features softened and it looked as if her body unclenched from the convulsions. She remained peaceful on the mat when Bapak Yopi, in total control, walked first to her head and next to her right side and then to her left side, where he repeated the procedure. Forcefully, he spewed another sip of the blessed water over Mama Raja’s body. Mama Raja, still lying on her back with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, now raised her arms to her head, rubbed her eyes, and then wiped the drops of water from her face. It was the first time since awaking from the dead that she could actually move her arms by herself. Besides that, she lifted her legs and rolled over on her side as if she just awakened from a long, deep sleep. She seemed unaware of all the turmoil going on in the room. Everyone was stunned into speechlessness and looked at each other in bewilderment. Blowing on the crucifix Everyone but the healer and Ibu Hae was surprised. Undisturbed, Ibu Hae kept reading the Bible, now and then looking approvingly at Bapak Yopi. Meanwhile, Bapak Yopi, self-assured and apparently not overwhelmed by what was taking place in front of him, continued the ritual by spewing the water one more time over Mama Raja. As before, he started at her feet, continued his way to her head, and then to both sides of her body. He then put the water aside, took the crucifix, kneeled down by Mama Raja’s head, and, holding the crucifix on the crown of her head, forcefully blew once on the crucifix. Folding her hands together, he then took both her thumbs and again blew on the crucifix. Finally, he sat down by Mama Raja’s feet and performed the same action by blowing strongly with the crucifix on her big toes. Bapak Yopi now stepped back and observed Mama Raja’s next moves closely. To our amazement, Mama Raja, who had left the healer to his own devices, now leaned on her arms, pushed herself up, and then sat up straight on the mat. Startled, people stepped backwards while exclamations of ‘ooh’ resounded around the room. Others nudged their neighbours, saying: ‘Look, look!’ At first, Mama Raja looked into the crowd dazed, as if she did not quite understand what had happened to her, where she was, or why all these ­people were staring at her. Then she stared back, looking the bystanders straight in the eye. It made people feel uncomfortable and they slowly shuf-

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fled back and forth. At that point, Bapak Yopi approached Mama Raja. He kneeled down, bent forward until his face was close to hers, and asked: ‘Do you know who I am?’ Her eyes sparkled while she nodded her head. Now over their initial shock, more people, reluctantly, started asking questions. Although some spoke at the same time, Mama Raja cautiously turned to each and every one and answered their questions with a nod. Her gestures were wooden and constrained and it was obvious that she moved with great difficulty. Bapak Yopi tried to see if she could drink some of the blessed water, but her jaws refused to move. He then poured some of the remaining water over her head. With his hand, he brushed the water dripping off Mama Raja’s head over her face. Mama Raja obviously did not appreciate the wet hand in her face and pushed Bapak Yopi aside, while she tried to stand up. Immediately, some people ran up to help Mama Raja get up, and, although shaky, she managed to keep her footing for a moment. While she stood there, it even seemed as if she would walk away and escape the crowd. However, she was much too weak. She lowered herself and sat down on the mat again. Once more, Mama Raja startled the onlookers as she began to move around in circles. On her bottom she spun round and round, meanwhile gazing at the people surrounding her. Her movements became uncontrolled as she spun faster and faster. Bapak Jakob Korain stepped forward and followed her in her turns, holding a shawl in front of her crotch as her skirt got blown up by the spinning movements, leaving her crotch uncovered. Everyone present gave a deep sigh of relief when she finally eased up and lay down on the mat again. She then rolled over onto her side and peacefully fell asleep. Bapak Jakob took the shawl and spread it out over her, so she would be warm and comfortable. Bapak Yopi, who had watched Mama Raja’s every move closely, decided, as things stood, that it was safe to go home for a little while and have some rest. First, however, he put the glass with the remains of the water in a secure spot and instructed those present to guard it. Other people followed his lead and went home to get some sleep. I decided to stay and wait for his return. Along with the others who stayed behind, we looked for a place on the floor to rest our legs. Time passed. Some dozed off, others talked quietly, though excitedly, about what had just happened in front of their eyes. Mama Raja, meanwhile, slept deeply, her breathing laboured but even. When Bapak Yopi returned, less than an hour later, Mama Raja sat up straight. To everybody’s astonishment, she had sat up of her own accord after she awoke. While she sat on the mat, she held her ankles to keep her balance, in the meantime stretching her aching body. Although obviously ill and very

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tired, Mama Raja’s eyes were bright as she looked around the room. However much she tried, she was still unable to speak, and instead smiled faintly at those present. Bapak Yopi then took the glass of blessed water from the shelf, walked up to Mama Raja, and offered her some to drink. By now able to open her mouth, Mama Raja took a sip, looked Bapak Yopi in the eye, and subsequently answered his questions as if she had never experienced difficulties talking. The words came out fluently, with no stuttering whatsoever. Still, the talking used up all her strength, and she lay down to rest. Soon she fell into another peaceful sleep. As before, since the performance of the Christian healing rite, the convulsions remained at bay. Impressed by another miraculous event and relieved at Mama Raja’s rescue, most people now returned home for the night. Nurse Clara, exhausted but happy, huddled up next to her sister. Some others, too, decided to stay overnight to watch over Mama Raja. Together with Bapak Yopi I left the room. Before our paths separated, Bapak Yopi invited both Louise and me, as initiated members of Kelompok Sabda, to come the next evening and assist him during the next healing rite he planned to perform to further strengthen Mama Raja. The days after That morning I arose at daybreak after a restless night in which I was haunted by images of Mama Raja fighting a life-and-death battle. Repeatedly I was startled out of my sleep, anxiously wondering if Mama Raja was still doing well, considering the circumstances, hoping that her condition had not taken a turn for the worse again. As I lay awake, I just could not take my mind off Mama Raja, and I reviewed everything I had witnessed the previous night. I had seen a woman escape death and asked myself if Mama Raja was really out of danger now. Had Bapak Yopi actually saved Mama Raja’s life? Reassured by the quietness of the night, I eventually managed to doze off. The morning light did not ease my worried mind and, right after breakfast, I decided to go and see for myself how things were. The place looked unoccupied, in sharp contrast to the night before. No crowd was gathered, and nobody was fighting for a viewing place at the open window. I entered the house and immediately noticed the empty plastic mat in the middle of the room. I was terror-stricken. Where had Mama Raja gone? Ibu Ruth, who sat on the floor, leaning against the wall while finishing her plate of white rice, saw me standing as if pinned to the ground. Calmly she reassured me, as if it was a very ordinary thing, that Ibu Clara had taken her sister to the back so she could go to the toilet and freshen herself up. At that moment Mama Raja appeared in the doorway. She looked refreshed,

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her hair combed, her dress changed. And although Ibu Clara initially supported her, she managed to walk the last few steps to the mat on her own. It was obvious that the excursion had taken a lot of her strength, as she panted with exhaustion when she slowly kneeled down in constrained movements. Yet her eyes were bright when she smiled gently at the onlookers. The boiled rice Ibu Clara then served her, she ate with great relish. Soon after, Mama Raja lay down again to fall into another peaceful sleep. In the meantime, people were coming and going, to check on her, and this would continue to happen all day long. Throughout the entire village, Mama Raja and last night’s event were the talk of the town. After sunset, the room slowly filled up again with curious and concerned people, eager to witness Bapak Yopi’s next performance. The healer had invited three more initiated members of Kelompok Sabda, two women and one man, who were all still in the process of learning, to assist him during the next healing rite. The five of us stood together around Mama Raja, waiting for Bapak Yopi’s instructions. Mama Raja, meanwhile, slept soundly. The noise surrounding her did not seem to disturb her. When I looked around the room, I noticed that last night’s worried faces had made way for expressions of hope and joy. I could feel the relief radiating from the bystanders as Mama Raja recovered noticeably by the hour. Bapak Yopi handed the Kelompok Sabda members a glass of water and took his place at Mama Raja’s head. Rony Kocu then walked to her feet, while Petronella Wafon and Louise went to her left side and Ibu Fanataf and I to her right side. Louise and I had only recently been initiated into Kelompok Sabda and this was our first time to participate in a Kelompok Sabda healing performance. As usual for neophytes, our assigned task was a small one. The ritual started when Bapak Yopi led in prayer, whereupon we opened our notebooks, which we had each brought along together with a crucifix or rosary. While Louise and I each held a notebook in one hand and a rosary in the other, we joined the healers in their prayer, by reciting in whispers the formulas Bapak Yopi had indicated earlier. Meanwhile Bapak Yopi, Rony, Petronella and Ibu Fanataf immersed their crucifixes in the water. When Bapak Yopi considered the strength of the Christian formulas to be transferred to the water, he filled his mouth and, as before, spewed the water at full blast over Mama Raja’s head. His action was promptly followed by the other healers who, almost simultaneously, took a sip and spurted water over Mama Raja’s feet and sides.



Tasks of newly initiated members are usually limited to following in prayer and observing the healers’ actions closely.

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Just like the previous night, Mama Raja immediately opened her eyes and wiped her dripping wet face. This time, however, she was conscious of the situation and knew what was expected of her, as the actions of the previous night would be repeated, and she remained peacefully on the mat. The ­healers thus squatted down and continued their ritual by blowing forcefully on the crucifix placed on Mama Raja’s body. Bapak Yopi blew once on the crucifix while holding it on the crown of her head, while Rony, at the same time, blew on both big toes. Petronella and Ibu Fanataf, finally, blew strongly with the crucifix on Mama Raja’s left and right thumbs. Following Bapak Yopi, we all stepped back to make room for Mama Raja, who slowly came to an upright position. While she sat on the mat, absorbing the ritual she had just undergone, Bapak Yopi approached her and offered her the glass of blessed water. Greedily, she took a gulp, after which Bapak Yopi poured some of the remaining water over her head. This time again, Mama Raja was visibly annoyed by the dripping water and wiped the excess off her face. Bapak Yopi, at this point, kneeled down next to Mama Raja and reassured her in a quiet voice that everything would turn out fine. ‘You need a lot of rest. Take as much sleep as you need’, he continued. Mama Raja, still weak and exhausted, followed Bapak Yopi’s instructions straight away, rolled over on her side, and fell into a calm, deep sleep. The healer now addressed the crowd saying, ‘It’s okay. She needs a lot of sleep and must not be disturbed! Tomorrow I’ll come back to perform the next ceremony.’ With these words Bapak Yopi concluded the ritual, packed up his belongings, and walked out the door, leaving behind a profound silence. The next day, all of the Kelompok Sabda members present in the village of Ayawasi gathered in Mama Raja’s front room, all invited by Bapak Yopi Titit. The healer had requested each member to come and support him during the healing rite he was about to perform, for the third night in a row. The strength flowing from the joint prayers and healing formulas would enter Mama Raja and give her renewed energy. Unlike the previous nights, Mama Raja was not lying on her mat, but came from the kitchen where she had just finished her dinner. Willingly, she took her place in the middle of the room and underwent the ritual, which turned out to be the last phase in her search for healing. To begin with, Bapak Yopi handed each member a candle, and soon 13 flickering flames lit the room. This time, he did not think it necessary to spew water over Mama Raja nor to blow on his crucifix to transfer the healing powers to her body. He blessed a glass of water while we all said our prayers, and then he offered Mama Raja a sip of the blessed water, after which she lay down to optimally absorb it.

chapter viii

Knowing God’s mysteries In the early 1980s, Ibu Maria Baru, who was already a renowned healer in northwest Ayfat, founded the Kelompok Sabda healing group. Kelompok Sabda literally means ‘Group of God’s Word’, although the members prefer the meaning ‘the group that knows God’s mysteries and secrets’. Ibu Baru and Bapak Yopi Titit are Kelompok Sabda’s most prominent healers. No other member has their position or healing abilities. When Ibu Baru returned from Sorong later in the week following Mama Raja’s recovery, Bapak Yopi immediately paid her a visit. As usual after one of them had performed a Kelompok Sabda healing rite, the two of them discussed thoroughly what had happened during the performances for Mama Raja. Since the beginning, Ibu Baru has served as the leader of Kelompok Sabda, and as such has the highest position within the group. As the most prominent healer, she is highly respected and appreciated for her healing abilities, not only in Ayawasi and surrounding settlements, but also in the wider Ayfat region. When ill people or their relatives come to Ibu Baru to request her help, she grants it: ‘Seek and ye shall find’, she explains. If the patient is too ill to walk, Ibu Baru goes to their house. Otherwise, they come to her. Healing sessions in Ibu Baru’s house are centred around a small altar, in front of which both the ill person and the healer sit or kneel. The altar is a clear expression of Ibu Baru’s belief and practices in her role as a healer. The altar, a little table, is located next to the entrance and under the front window. It is covered with kain timur, a reference to the indigenous culture. On the altar are displayed some Christian objects: a Bible, a framed portrait of the Virgin Mary holding Jesus in her arms, and a painting of the apostles Peter and Paul. Above the altar, draped over deer antlers, dangle the objects Ibu Baru received during her initiation as a child. These items not only are fundamental to Ibu Baru’s healing practices, but also symbolically represent present-day healing in northwest Ayfat. The use of this items demonstrates that within the missionary process, local people created new healing performances, in which both indigenous and Christian notions and practices

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Maria Baru near the altar in one of her garden houses

are incorporated. In northwest Ayfat, I found that new forms of healing have been created not to respond to new patterns of illness but rather to treat causes of illness for which Western biomedicine has no answer. Moreover, Kelompok Sabda healers have succeeded in incorporating indigenous ways of healing into the biomedical missionary environment. In fact, Kelompok Sabda members, in the religious domain of healing performances, act as innovators and agents of change by employing Christianity to help ensure that important indigenous religious beliefs and healing knowledge are kept alive and passed down. Within this process a new category of healers emerged, healers who shift gender definitions and cross gender boundaries.



In line with this, Macpherson and Macpherson (2003:191) in a volume titled Medicines across cultures state that for Pacific regions it is ‘frequently supposed and oversimplified’ that with the arrival of missionaries ‘the superiority of a healing system founded on Western biomedicine rapidly displaced a healing system based in religion […] and local plants’. In accordance with my findings for northwest Ayfat, they show for Samoa (2003:202) that people ‘combine elements of various available forms of health knowledge and practice in a new healing system’. They argue further that Samoans create new forms of healing to respond to new patterns of illness.

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Exploring Kelompok Sabda and how its members perform healing rituals helps identify the situations in which people call upon the help of Kelompok Sabda healers. In Mama Raja’s case, Bapak Yopi Titit as a Kelompok Sabda healer was called in last, in a long series of healing performances. However, I first present a case in which Ibu Baru was requested to heal a small child before any other healer was involved. .

Helena’s ill child Early one morning Ibu Maria Baru and Louise and I were sitting on the bamboo floor of her sister Aknes’s kitchen in northern Ayfat, where a few days earlier we had undergone the female initiation rite, fenia meroh. Ibu Baru was preparing our breakfast of taro in the embers of the fireplace in front of her. Suddenly a boy appeared in the doorway. He had run all the way to her house to seek her help. Calmly and politely he requested Ibu Baru to come and pray for Helena’s baby, who was very ill. Without saying a word, Ibu Baru nodded her head and took a sip of her coffee. When she had finished breakfast, she invited me to accompany her, took the white handbag she always carries with her, and walked to Helena’s house, just a little further on. It happens that Helena was a relative of Ibu Baru’s husband. When Ibu Baru entered the ill child’s house, she was welcomed by a few family members who were waiting for her to come. On the kitchen floor, near the fireplace, sat the young mother, holding the baby boy in her arms. Ibu Baru unfolded the shawl in which the baby was wrapped. The child was breathing heavily, with a blank look on his face. The mother explained to Ibu Baru that her baby had been ill for some time, but since the day before had refused to drink her breast milk anymore. Ibu Baru opened her white bag and took the devotional objects out of it: a little glass bottle of blessed oil, a crucifix, a white statuette of Mary, a stone statuette of the baby Jesus in his crib, a rosary, and a little red notebook. She laid out these objects in front of her. Then, one by one, she took the objects and kissed them while taking a deep breath. After that, she made the sign of the cross and started praying out loud a personal prayer in the local Meyah language. She continued by reciting the Lord’s Prayer, in which she was joined by the family members present. Then Ibu Baru called on the Virgin Mary, ‘as one woman to another’, and said the Hail Mary three times. Taking the bottle of blessed oil, she poured some of it in her hand, and gently rubbed the oil on the statuettes of Mary and Jesus first and afterwards on the baby’s head and belly. She made the sign of the cross on the boy’s head, held the Jesus statuette to the top of his head, and started blowing on it. Then, she placed the Jesus image on the baby’s mouth and blew again, and repeated this on his hands and feet. Next, she sucked on the boy’s

Yopi Titit

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chest and spit a gag of blood on the floor. She repeated this several times. She ended the healing session with a personal prayer, after which she wrapped the baby in his shawl, and spoke a few words to his mother. Shortly after Ibu Baru returned home, she heard loud crying coming from the house of her husband’s relatives. The little boy had passed away. To Ibu Baru this was no surprise; she had known this would happen. Before she left Helena’s house, she had told the young mother that her son would die that same day. How did the healer know she could not save the child’s life? In the beginning, when Ibu Baru started praying, she asked God not to let the baby die. Yet when she blew on the Jesus statuette, while holding it against the baby’s body, she felt that the breath of life (napas) had already left the boy’s body. ‘As if I was blowing on a flat tire’, she explained to me. ‘It was a sign that the baby would pass away.’ Because the baby was certain to die, Ibu Baru prayed to the apostles Peter and Paul, ‘who watch the doors to heaven’, to open the gates and let the baby enter. After this, she tried to discover the cause of the illness by sucking the baby’s chest. The fact that she had spit blood was a sign that it was an infection that had destroyed the child’s health. Learning this, she could dispel the family’s anxiety that the illness might have been caused by malevolent spirits. The death of a baby is generally attributed to the interference of malevolent sprits (as is the case for other people who die in unusual ways before they reach old age). Now Ibu Baru could reassure the family that the little boy had not been attacked by spirits. When Ibu Baru visited Helena again after the child had passed away, she tried to find out how the child had been infected. Helena and her mother, who had been told that the death was caused by an infection, gave her the following explanation. When Helena gave birth to her child, she felt so shy that she insisted not only on keeping her skirt on, but also her underpants. Following teachings learned during female initiation, older women rubbed her belly with the sap of the ahrios root to increase the pace of the delivery. But the initiated women could not do their job properly because they could not see what they were doing. That is how it happened that, when the boy was born, he swallowed amniotic fluid and some blood. The following days, each time the baby drank from his mother’s breast milk he had to vomit. Helena did not consult the village clinic nor did she seek advice from older female relatives. By the time she asked Ibu Baru to pray for her son, it was already too late, so the boy’s life could not be saved. Ways of the church Members as well as non-members of Kelompok Sabda refer to the group’s healing performances as ‘ways of the church’. Interestingly, when observing

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and analysing the various rites described above and elsewhere in this chapter, it was clear to me that these rituals are actually new healing rituals in which healers combine Christian and indigenous elements. Healers pray for the ill while using Christian symbols such as a crucifix, a statuette of the Virgin Mary, a rosary, and blessed water. In addition to honouring God, the healers honour his son Jesus and the Virgin Mary by kissing the statuettes, while asking their help and strength to heal. The statuette of the Virgin Mary is used by both female and male healers. Ibu Maria Baru describes the exceptional position of the Virgin Mary by stating that Mary as the mother of Jesus is the mother of all people, and therefore has the ability to heal women, men and children. During their healing rituals, however, female healers call on the Virgin Mary in particular, ‘as one woman to another’, to request her strength in healing the ill (Courtens 2000:170). By doing so, female healers use this Christian symbol to consolidate their positions as healers. The way these Christian symbols are employed, however, is according to indigenous notions and practices. Kelompok Sabda healers, when called in before it is too late, can ‘close the door’ of the body of the ill person by making the sign of the cross with their thumb on the top of the head, on the mouth, ears and nose, so that the breath of life will stay in the body. According to indigenous beliefs, when a person dies, the breath of life leaves the body through the head. From there, it seeks contact with the spirits of deceased relatives in heaven. Another practice connected to indigenous healing notions is the ‘blowing’ and ‘sucking’ onto and ‘spewing’ over the patient’s body for the purpose of eliminating the illness or spirit that has taken possession of the body (compare Sillitoe 1998:225). In indigenous healing, the only persons to master these techniques were the ‘top initiates’ of wuon. Just as the initiated man in Mama Raja’s case (Chapter II) spewed shallots, Bapak Yopi (Chapter VII) as a Kelompok Sabda healer spewed blessed water onto the patient. Further, blessed oil, a symbol of Christian origin, is applied in the same way healers use medicinal leaves during indigenous healing rites: they rub the oil on particular parts of the body. These beliefs, symbols, and methods are basic elements of the rituals Kelompok Sabda healers generally perform and can be recognized in the subsequent healing performances. Some other central elements, however, were not part of the above case (as it concerned a baby that was about to die), but were present in Mama Raja’s case. After a Kelompok Sabda healer has prayed, the healer gives the patient blessed water to drink, so that the person (according to indigenous practice) can ‘cool down’, allowing the illness or spirit to be expelled from the body. Just as initiated men do when a person is seriously ill, Kelompok Sabda healers will return for several evenings in a row. They pray, while muttering ancestral formulas as well as Christian prayers, and give the patient blessed water to drink until there is some recovery. Generally the

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healer mixes the blessed water with the sap of medicinal leaves. The healer can also rub the affected parts of the body with blessed water or even wash the patient’s body all over with it, a practice similar to the way indigenous healers apply medicinal plants or leaves. The voice of God The driving force in innovative healing by the ‘ways of the church’ was and still is the founder and leader of Kelompok Sabda, Ibu Maria Baru. The religious path she followed as a person who had been fully initiated into the secret and sacred indigenous healing knowledge through the fenia meroh ritual, and who had also become a devout Catholic, was decisive for the nature of the healing rituals Kelompok Sabda members perform nowadays. The experience of visions through dreams and voices was crucial in this innovative process. Dreams are an important means through which healing knowledge is transferred from ancestral spirits to their descendants. Ibu Baru’s experiences (and those of other Kelompok Sabda members) demonstrate that not only dreams, but also visions (voices and particular events that happen to people) were decisive for the creation of new healing rituals, which are strongly embedded within the religious realm. Although Ibu Baru as a youngster was fully initiated into indigenous healing knowledge during fenia meroh, once initiated she did not use the knowledge. Instead, as her life history shows (see Thoonen 2005), she moved further into the Catholic missionary domain. One day, however, Ibu Baru began to experience visions that changed all this. The visions started during a troubled period in her life, she told me. Ibu Baru was already married and had three children, but was unable to have another child. In spite of all her expert knowledge on female fertility acquired during fenia meroh initiation, she did not succeed in getting pregnant again. It is not surprising, then, that it was precisely during this difficult period that Ibu Baru experienced visions at a time when she was searching for ways to heal illness. In her first vision she heard the voice of God, which led her to a renewed appreciation of the knowledge she had obtained during initiation. Her second vision was when her husband, Bapak Paulinus Bame, became very ill and Ibu Baru requested help from the spirits of her deceased parents. Soon afterwards she had an encounter with God. Finally, the spirits of her deceased 

Lohmann (2003), Stephen (1979), Herdt and Stephen (1989), and Tonkinson (2003) confirm that experiences such as dreams are important in many Melanesian religions. Tonkinson (2003:97) furthermore recognizes that in the creation of new rituals ‘dream experiences play a crucial [...] role’.

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parents sent her a message, which not only led her to use her knowledge of indigenous healing, but also gave her the strength to search for ways to use Christian rituals. This is her account of her visions: First I took part in fenia meroh training. The older women showed me everything about the use of leaves, trees, everything... But the priests, the church, they had already come to the village. And after I left fenia meroh, I went back to school. I was not able to use what I had learned in the adat house, because I was going to school. And I had grown accustomed to the kind of medicine used at the hospital. So I abandoned all the methods the older people had shown me when I was young. When my children or others got ill, I set all my hopes on the hospital. Later on, when I had three children, special things happened to me. It was in the month of September. I had visions, just like Mary of Lourdes. I heard the voices of God and of my deceased parents. The voices repeated what I had learned as a child about the use of leaves and plants, the knowledge I had learned during fenia meroh. The visions showed me what I had lost.

First, God spoke to Ibu Baru after she had requested his help to heal ill persons: The first time was when I was reading the Bible. I prayed with a crucifix of Jesus Christ, my statuette of the Virgin Mary, and a picture of Peter and Paul. When my prayer was finished I heard a voice that said to me: ‘Maria, you requested strength to draw me nearer to you. But I already gave this strength to your elders, and they handed down everything to you. You already know everything, all about the application of leaves, roots and tree bark. You already have the knowledge.’

Some time later, when her husband became very ill, Ibu Baru invoked the spirits of her deceased parents: I was praying, I called the spirits of my mother and father: ‘Mama, Papa, Paulinus is seriously ill, I request your help.’ Then, in the afternoon, they came. I heard ‘tok, tok’. I could hear the voices outside that said, ‘Maria, what is it you are asking for?’ I answered that my husband was constantly ill, and in return they let me know what kind of leaves I needed to use to heal him. So I cooked the leaves as they had told me, and gave them to Paulinus.

In the weeks that followed, Ibu Baru received more divine messages. When she was praying using her rosary and the statuette of the Virgin Mary, the voice of God spoke to her again. While Ibu Baru was asleep, God revealed himself in her dreams and, once, in the form of a white, bright shining ray. One afternoon I was reading the Bible again and when I was finished I fell into a deep sleep. Then I saw a ray. It wasn’t a dream. I also heard the voice again. The voice repeated what I had learned as a child. The knowledge I gained in fenia meroh, everything my mother had taught me, and what my father had told me about apoboh [Embelia], the medicine we use for protection against a bite of the

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poisonous white snake, and the rituals I learned to make our soil fertile. After I heard the voice, God appeared to me. He was dressed in purple clothes, the colour the priests generally wear in the days before Easter, when we recall Jesus dying. When God appeared, I kneeled down and said: ‘God, I am just a sinner. I am not allowed to look at you.’ But God spoke: ‘Come, come here’, and I walked across a path and reached God. I could even touch his hand. God gave me a banana, of the kind we call Apitiwiah, and he told me: ‘Maria, take this banana. You eat half and I eat half.’ I held the banana in my hands and said: ‘God gave me this banana to eat, but my elders taught me that this banana is a token that I will die.’ He answered: ‘No, no, it isn’t. This banana I gave to you, you will eat and I will eat. Now this banana is a token that I have given it to you to eat.’ I ate it. I accepted the banana and I ate it.

After her encounter with God, Ibu Baru felt confused and longed to meet with the spirits of her parents once more: I longed for advice from my parents’ spirits again. They came and told me: ‘We already know what you want from us. But wait, we will go and ask permission.’ Because over there, my mother and father work a lot. They have to work harder than here. That’s why they can’t visit me over and over again. God would not agree. So my parents asked God’s permission to visit me once again. When they came back, they told me: ‘God commanded us to visit you again. He said: “Go to Maria, because she asked. Let her know she should use everything you already gave her. Tell her she should use everything that is present. She already possesses the knowledge. She should use it so she will be able to help other people. And she should pray. When she prays in the name of God or in the name of Jesus, people will be healed. As Jesus said: My Father, He is here and He created all. I died and opened the door on behalf of all the people, for the ones who already died and for the people who are still alive. Seek and ye shall find.”’

Although the visions appeared to Ibu Baru in various forms, the message was always the same: they instructed Ibu Baru to use the healing knowledge she had received during initiation: I heard the voices and from that moment on I had the courage to help other people with the powers the elders had given to me, what I had learned during initiation. Only now did I dare to use it. I pulled myself together to help women who had tried to commit suicide by taking the poisonous root. And to help women deliver a child, by giving them water which I had ‘read’, over which I had spoken the secret formulas. I was mindful of God because he himself, he himself had given those powers to us. To my parents, to my parents’ parents, to our ancestors.

Throughout Melanesia, people may seek guidance in direct communication



Stephen (1979:15) suggests that Melanesians may seek guidance in direct communication

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with sacred powers. In northwest Ayfat too, it is very common to communicate with spirits of deceased parents and ancestors during dreaming or waking. What occurred to Ibu Baru, however – receiving visions directly from God, in which she experienced a dialogue with God and was even able to touch Him – is extremely exceptional. Initially, Ibu Baru revealed these visions only to her closest relatives. As she told me, ‘One does not talk about these matters in public, as you must act humble.’ It was another divine event that eventually led villagers to recognize Ibu Baru’s extraordinary spiritual (healing) powers. After this event, other villagers requested her to take them under her wing and to share her knowledge with them. Sacred powers The last message from God urged Ibu Maria Baru to heal ‘by the ways of the church’. Initially, she felt confused and did not know how to deal with this assignment. Soon, however, she found clarity and actually learned how to apply her sacred powers. This time she was not guided by visions but consulted a spiritual healer who, like her, had had visions. She said: I had to help ill people and I knew I possessed the powers. But I did not know how to use the ways of the church. Everything was there, on my little table. The picture of Jesus, the crucifix, the statuette of the Virgin Mary, my rosary, and the picture of Peter and Paul. But how was I supposed to use them? And then I met someone who showed me. It happened when I was staying in the city of Manokwari. I fell ill and requested someone to pray for me. A man came. He originates from Bintuni, but now lives in Manokwari. He visited me and healed me by praying. It turned out that this man had received visions too, just like me. When he prayed for me, he showed me how I could heal by using the ways of the church. Now I can reveal the knowledge to my friends, to my husband. I reveal to them how to heal by means of prayer, using the ways of the church. When I was young I learned about healing in fenia meroh. But I did not take it to heart, apart from a few things. The older people wanted to give it to me, but at that time I had a small heart. However, it must not be forgotten, it all has to live on. After that, I prayed to God. He gave me back what the older people had already shown me. He gave it with sacred powers ‘if a tradition […] is forgotten or fails to meet new circumstances’. The powers Stephen (1979) and Stephen and Herdt (1989:10) allude to are ancestral spirits. ‘Dreams and other non-ordinary states of consciousness provide the means for a continuing dialogue with the ancestors.’ As Guiart (1993:137) states: ‘Melanesians dream all the time or have day visions about the dead, to whom they will talk as if they can feel their presence at their side’. Tonkinson (2003:97) mentions that in Vanuatu some people reported having dream experiences involving visions and the presence of the Holy Spirit.

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to me directly, I heard His voice. Now I use everything, everything that I got from the church to heal ill people. And what I learned from our tradition, everything, everything till the end.

Additionally, Ibu Baru happened to receive unique sacred and secret information from her deceased father, with whom she had had an exceptionally close relationship, in a vision. She said: After the church had entered, I did not pray much at first. But after my father died, this was in 1974, I started to pray more frequently. Then one day, I came face to face with my father. He looked like [the OSA priest] Father van der Kraan. First, of course, I thought it was Father van der Kraan. So, when he approached me, I bent my head to greet him, like I always did. When I looked up I saw that it was not Father van der Kraan but the spirit of my deceased father. He offered me his hand and said, ‘Maria, I will show you everything: I will show you the place where I am now and lots of other things.’ And thus it happened that my father gave me everything I know to this very day. He gave me everything that is in my red notebook. He gave me all the words of the church.

In the period that followed, Ibu Baru performed healing rituals in which she combined indigenous ways with Christian beliefs and practices, using a crucifix and a statuette of the Virgin Mary. During the healing sessions she muttered the ancestral formulas she had learned during fenia meroh as well as secret Christian formulas and prayers. It is still recalled that she healed some seriously ill persons in ways that other Ayfat people perceived as miraculous. To date, the ‘resurrection of Petrus Turot’, who is now a devout member of Kelompok Sabda, is still recognized by villagers as one of the most striking examples. Various people told me about this ‘miracle’. Petrus’s own version is as follows: I have already been in heaven, I have already been dead. I was killed by a snakebite. The snake’s poison was so strong that it killed me instantly. So I died and went to heaven. But I rose again. When people found me it was too late to administer medicine of whatever kind. Blood was already streaming out of my nose. But Lys [his wife] would not give up. She did not accept that I was dead and called Ibu Baru. She came and prayed for me. The bleeding stopped immediately. While praying, Ibu Baru said to God: ‘God, if it is his time, then take him, that is your right. But if his time has not yet come, then please, let him live.’ In the meantime I had entered heaven, through a glaring white shining ray. Jesus was there, sitting behind a table. In front of him lay a thick book, which is called ‘Book of the living’. All the names of all people living on earth are written in that book. If the spot behind your name is empty, you have to return home. So, Jesus looked in the book and then said to me: ‘Do not die, go back. It is not your time yet, go home.’ Then light came back into my life. I opened my eyes, saw Lys and Ibu Baru, and said: ‘I’m alive, I’m not dead.’

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This miraculous healing of Petrus Turot was a crucial factor in Ibu Baru’s attaining a reputation as a leading and highly respected Christian spiritual healer. The miracle was interpreted by villagers as a token that Ibu Baru had actually ‘met with God’ and possessed sacred powers giving her a direct link to Him. In the meantime, after Ibu Baru had another vision in which she heard the voice of God, she succeeded in getting pregnant again. The voice told her that she should reveal the secret healing formulas from her red notebook to her husband, so he could follow her in living in accordance with the ‘ways of the church’. As Ibu Baru told me: My husband, he refused to follow me in praying and reading the Bible. I went to sleep. Then, in the afternoon, I heard the voice of God. He said: ‘Maria, Maria, why do you come to me alone? Where is your husband?’ I answered, ‘God, you yourself know that my husband has to work hard and does not follow me.’ But God told me that my husband had to understand the meaning of prayer and the Bible. The kind of praying the fathers and sisters had taught us. For eight years we did not get another child because my husband did not actually join me in praying and reading the Bible. What was I to do? But then I asked God if my husband could join me. God answered me that my husband was willing to follow me, if I revealed to him what I had written down. And so I did, and after that he followed me. I became pregnant with my child Paulince Neset Bame. God gave her to me because my husband and I were praying side by side.

Thereafter, Ibu Baru’s husband Paulinus Bame became a devout Catholic and a dedicated member of Kelompok Sabda, which Ibu Baru founded later on. After Ibu Baru finally succeeded in becoming pregnant again and their fourth child Paulince was born, Ibu Baru gave birth to three more children. Becoming a disciple For several years, Ibu Baru was the only person in northwest Ayfat who had visions and could heal using the ‘ways of the church’. Nowadays, other per

Although Maria Baru also possesses the specialized knowledge to administer an antidote for the extremely poisonous white snake bite, it is not known whether she actually uses this knowledge in this case. For the villagers, however, this question was not relevant at all. Giay (1995:68), for the Paniai region in West Papua, alludes to a similar interpretation of the ability to raise people from the dead. In his study on Zakheus Pakage, a native Christian religious leader and healer, Giay describes a case of a man who was killed by a falling tree. Relatives of the man immediately said that ‘if Zakheus was from God, He would have to raise him from the dead’. Although in Zakheus’s case no such miracle occurred, it illustrates that in other parts of West Papua too a procuring of a ‘resurrection’ is perceived as the ultimate sign that the healer is linked directly to God.

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sons in the area experience Christian visions. They have the visions in various ways: during or after praying, in dreams, or while performing ordinary daily tasks. Sometimes people discover a cross in the forest or other uncommon places. Others find a devotional picture of the Virgin Mary somewhere along their path, or see a ray across the river. Receiving a Christian vision is a prerequisite for initiation into the first stage of Kelompok Sabda. After a person has had visions, which need to be validated by Ibu Baru, she accepts the person as a new member of the society. During the second and third stages of initiation into Kelompok Sabda, Ibu Baru reveals the knowledge of the Christian symbols she received from God. However, she only shares her spiritual knowledge with those who make a personal request to her and who really long to learn about it: I show them the various methods of healing, because they don’t know how to apply the rosary and the cross. If they do not learn how to use them, they will get very ill. They have to meet God also. I show them how they have to pray. ‘You have to read the Bible’, I tell them. ‘You have to meet God.’ For people who truly search, who sincerely believe, the door to my heart will open. I’ll have compassion and give them hope. But I cannot heal them on my own. I need God’s help. Just like Jesus himself at a time of great suffering when the Pharisees said to him: ‘You can heal other people, you can raise the dead, but why aren’t you able to raise yourself?’ So, in my turn, I ask God’s help. For that, people have to have sufficient faith in God, otherwise God’s spirit may not help them.

The first person to join Ibu Baru as a disciple was Ibu Lys Korain, the healer who proposed involving Kelompok Sabda in Mama Raja’s case (Chapter II). Ibu Lys originates from Mosun, a nearby village. She was married for six years to Bapak Petrus Turot from Ayawasi, but the couple remained childless. They asked Ibu Baru for help. Ibu Baru prayed to God, who informed her that Ibu Lys would become pregnant if she and Petrus truly believed in Him. Ibu Baru told the couple they had to read the Bible over and over again until they understood everything, especially those parts about Adam and Eve. And so they did. In the meantime, Ibu Lys and Petrus talked about the Bible and explained the passages they had read to the people of Ayawasi and surrounding villages. In addition, Ibu Lys and her husband joined the Ayawasi priests on their trips to other neighbouring villages, like her home village Mosun, or Konja and Kokas, to assist them in church masses, calling themselves ‘apostles’. After four years, in 1989, their first son was born and they named him Hosti. Two years later Ibu Lys gave birth to a daughter, Ekaristi. Hosti and Ekaristi are both synonyms for the holy communion, the blessed wafer one receives during Catholic mass. By giving her children these names Ibu Lys wished to declare her faith in God. Nowadays, when Ibu Lys or Bapak Petrus assist the priests during mass, they tell the people their personal story: because they put their confidence in God they were blessed with children,

Lys Korain (left)

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without taking any medicine whatsoever. Soon after their son was born, Petrus was bitten by a white snake and had his death experience. Both events led Ibu Lys to turn to Ibu Baru and request her to teach her to heal by praying, as she was a devout Catholic and truly longed to become a healer. Although Lys Korain did not have a vision, having been able to get pregnant and bear a child after all those years was seen as a ‘mystery of God’ too, and as such Ibu Baru approved Ibu Lys to become a Kelompok Sabda member. Ibu Baru opened up to Ibu Lys and taught her how to use the cross, the rosary, and the statuette of Mary. She revealed to her the secret formulas to recite when blessing the water an ill person needs to drink. Shortly after, Ibu Lys began joining Ibu Baru when she was called on to pray. Nowadays, Ibu Lys is a well-respected healer and a devout member of Kelompok Sabda. On her frequent journeys with priests to surrounding villages she prays for people when they come to seek her help. Soon after Lys, Petrus joined his wife as a Kelompok Sabda member. Even though Petrus is a devout member, he does not serve as a healer. Ibu Lys not only works closely with missionary and church officials, she is also consulted by them as a healer. She is very proud, for instance, that even one of the Catholic missionary sisters, who originated from Sumatra and worked in the Ayawasi hospital, asked her for help. For several years, the sister suffered from severe headaches. She had taken medicine and had even undergone surgery in Java, without any result. One late afternoon Ibu Lys visited the sister in her small room in the nunnery, next to the outpatient clinic. The two women sat close together. Ibu Lys took a glass of cold water and prayed her prayers. Then, she blessed the water by plunging first a crucifix and next her rosary into the water, while muttering the secret formulas Ibu Baru had taught her. Nobody is allowed to hear the formulas, otherwise the words (like the sacred formulas of wuon and fenia meroh) will lose their spiritual power. Next, the sister drank the blessed water. In her prayers Ibu Lys saw an image of the sister in a cemetery, lying with her head on a gravestone. She shared the pictures with the sister, who told Ibu Lys that she still felt very sad about the death of a beloved uncle who passed away some years ago. ‘You have left your head on the graveyard’, Ibu Lys explained, ‘and you will only be healed when you accept your uncle’s death and say goodbye to him.’ With these thoughts Ibu Lys left the sister alone. The following two evenings the healer visited the sister again. She performed the same rituals, after which the sister drank the blessed water once more. In the end they prayed together, they prayed for the deceased uncle so that he could rest in peace, and the sister said farewell to him. After the third evening, the headaches diminished and the sister felt released of this burden. Now, the sister has headaches only occasionally, as she explained to me, but never as painful as they used to be.

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Experiencing visions In 1995 Kelompok Sabda had 23 members, each one of whom had experienced visions, seen a ray, received a cross, or found a portrait of the Virgin Mary. Members reside all over the Bird’s Head. The youngest member, Aligonda Taa, had a vision when she was 13 years old; the oldest, Bapak Kostan Kosamah, is one of the oldest male inhabitants of Ayawasi (his age is unknown). He is a wuon healer who had his year-long initiation in the wuon cult house. He possesses knowledge of sorcery, such as killing people by means of the poisonous root bofit, and as a young man was successful in headhunting. To everyone who wants to hear it, he narrates his breath-taking headhunting adventures about the time he was a brave warrior. Starting from the day he experienced Christian visions, however, he abandoned using bofit and reviles everybody who is still practising sorcery. In church he sets an example, and he tells the people of his village about the ‘wrongs’ he committed as a young man. Both Aligonda Taa and Bapak Kostan shared their visions with me. One afternoon Aligonda Taa, aged 15 at that time, told me: It happened to me two years ago. It was night and I was sleeping. I went to bed early because the next day I had to go to Kumerkek [a village a day’s walk south of Ayawasi] to take an exam for school. Suddenly I awoke. When I opened my eyes, I saw a bright shining ray. The whole room was illuminated. There in the light the Holy Mary appeared. She spoke to me and said, ‘Tomorrow, before you leave for Kumerkek, go to the river.’ I fell asleep again and the next morning I went to the river, as I usually do, to bathe and wash my clothes. I had completely forgotten about the ray that had lit my room the night before. So, when I was almost finished, I sat down for a while to rest. I was staring at the other shore when all of a sudden I saw a ray again, this time in the form of a cockroach. I tried to grab the ray because a cockroach that bites you in the stomach is a sign that you will grow old. When I had a hold of it and opened my hands, the cockroach was not there. Instead I found this [showing me her necklace] little Mary medallion. I took the medallion with me to Kumerkek. On my way I already could picture the exam questions that I would have to answer. And when I saw the exam, it indeed had the same questions that were already in my head. So I did not have to think anymore, I just filled in the form and passed the exam easily.

Before Aligonda went to Kumerkek, however, she first went to the indigenous priest Father Yonathan Fatem. The priest not only validated her vision, he also gave her a silver necklace with a small cross. The priest told her she had to wear the cross together with the medallion at all times. By visiting Father Fatem, Aligonda did what most people do. Generally, after receiving



Headhunting was abandoned earlier in northwest Ayfat.

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a vision, people go either to Ibu Baru or Father Fatem to validate their vision. The two spiritual leaders work together on this, and will at all times refer to each other and jointly discuss the validity of villagers’ visions. Bapak Kostan’s vision is completely different. While we were both waiting for treatment in the medical outpatient clinic, he took the opportunity to inform me about his experience: I used to be a brave warrior. Together with my brother, we were feared warriors throughout the region. I do not know how many enemies we killed, but it was many. We killed them with our spears, took their skulls, and ate their hearts to demonstrate our invincible power. After headhunting was abolished I continued killing rivals by using bofit. But then one day, I fell ill. I was really ill and felt so bad that I was sure I was going to die. While I was lying there, I suddenly heard the voice of God. He told me that I had to stop killing people, that I had to stop using bofit. I promised God that I would not kill anymore if I got better. That night Ibu Baru came and she healed me by giving me blessed water to drink. From that moment on I have not taken another life.

The nature of the visions varies, and visions occur to both women and men, to various age groups, and to people of various social positions. Some Kelompok Sabda members experience visions through dreams, such as Ibu Baru’s husband Paulinus Bame, who dreamt that he was wearing Jesus’s crown of thorns. Others, like our next-door neighbour in Ayawasi, Ronny Kocu, a male civil servant in his thirties, discovered a wooden cross in the pocket of his shirt when it was left to dry outside his house. After Ibu Baru has validated a person’s vision, he or she is invited to become a member of Kelompok Sabda and come to the meetings. Just as women and men of various age groups and with different social positions receive visions, people who seek help from Kelompok Sabda healers are diverse. Faith in God and in the healer is the main reason for calling upon Kelompok Sabda. The spiritual power of these healers to heal the ill or to drive out malevolent spirits comes from God, they say, but they will heal only those who truly believe in God. This applies also to the person who seeks help. It is God who decides whether a person will live or die, whether the person will be healed or stay ill, the healers state. Secrets of Kelompok Sabda Kelompok Sabda members meet one evening per month, under the leadership of Ibu Baru. The meeting takes place in one of the members’ homes, who is the host for that evening. During the meeting they pray together, accept new members, passionately discuss interpretations of the Bible and members’ dreams and visions, and also village matters. The meetings are well attended,

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as the members are proud to be part of Kelompok Sabda. Most villagers look up to Kelompok Sabda members, especially those who have healing powers. Not all Kelompok Sabda members are healers. Of the 23 members, only six can perform healing rituals. These six healers were initiated by Ibu Baru into the second stage of Kelompok Sabda, during which members receive healing knowledge from the leader. The six members, three women and three men, were judged by Ibu Baru as capable of becoming spiritual healers. As she explained to me, they proved to be dedicated members of Kelompok Sabda, set a good example in society by being loyal villagers who care for fellow villagers, and were really longing to learn the ways of healing by means of prayer. Ibu Baru shared her spiritual healing knowledge with these followers. Although visions come to persons of different levels of social standing, it is striking that all Kelompok Sabda members who are trained as healers belong to the upper crust of northwest Ayfat society: most of them are civil servants (such as teachers) or are in the service of the local Catholic mission (Bapak Yopi, for instance, is employed at the missionary SSB radio service in Ayawasi), and some are bobot (big-women, big-men). This was the case as well with indigenous initiation rites in the past, where only the brightest individuals of the wealthiest families were fully initiated into the secret healing knowledge. Despite the similarities between indigenous initiation rites and Kelompok Sabda, there is one remarkable difference. Initiation into the healing knowledge of Kelompok Sabda provides a means for women to enter healing spheres which, in pre-Christian times, were reserved for male healers only: through Kelompok Sabda women gain positions as publicly recognized ­healers. Women who were initiated as healers in the female initiation rite served as healers only within the domain of their own descent group. Public healing was reserved for male healers. So, through Kelompok Sabda, local people created a new category of public healers, consisting of women as well as initiated and non-initiated men. In this way, women and non-initiated men, as Kelompok Sabda healers, gained prestige and respect in society, which in pre-Christian times was reserved for wuon healers only. The second (as well as the third) stage of Kelompok Sabda initiation is referred to as ‘handing over the key’ (Indonesian: serahkan kunci), which means acquiring the competence, authority and knowledge to help and heal other people. During the second stage, Ibu Baru first shows the neophytes how to use the crucifix, the rosary, and the Mary statuette. Next she teaches the notes from her little red notebook, in which are written down all the secret formulas a healer needs. Each illness is connected to one particular healing formula and usually a healer adds some personal words or prayers. During a Kelompok Sabda meeting the new healer is initiated into Kelompok Sabda by taking the secret vows. This, too, is similar to male and female initiation of the past,

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during which initiates also had to swear secrecy of the secret knowledge they had been taught. The evening ends with a festive dinner for all participants. During the following months the Kelompok Sabda novice accompanies one of the experienced healers to learn from them in practice, before starting to treat illnesses by her/himself. Initiation into the third stage, finally, provides the new healers with knowledge and skills to heal spirit illness (see below). The initiation rite for Kelompok Sabda largely parallels the last phase of the male and female indigenous initiation rites of the past: the part in which the most important secret knowledge, formulas and symbols were revealed to the novices. However, the duration of Kelompok Sabda initiation is extremely short compared to the female and male indigenous initiation rites and is not characterized as a painful or arduous experience. I attended a Kelompok Sabda initiation rite when, three months after our initiation into fenia meroh, Louise and I were initiated into Kelompok Sabda. Ibu Baru had prepared this initiation carefully. She wanted us to be initiated into Kelompok Sabda too, and she knew that I longed to learn everything there is to know about healing. However, she was also aware that I (and Louise) had not had a vision, which is a precondition for being accepted as a member. To take away her doubts, she discussed our possible initiation with Bapak Yopi Titit and Bapak Kostan Kosamah, the oldest living Kelompok Sabda member and wuon healer. Both of them approved. We had proven to be loyal villagers; moreover, we were seen as ‘children of Father Rombouts’, the first Dutch priest to bring Catholicism to the Ayfat region in 1949. Because of that, the three healers recognized our extraordinary position and agreed to our initiation. Besides that, we would be initiated into all three stages at once: acceptance as a member; the ‘handing over of the key’ by which healing knowledge ‘in the ways of the church’ was disclosed; and the transfer of knowledge of healing spirit illness. For that reason, not only Ibu Baru but also Bapak Yopi and Bapak Kostan acted as ritual leaders during our initiation and instructed us in the secret knowledge of healing and driving out malevolent spirits. The actual initiation was preceded by a visit of Ibu Baru and Bapak Kostan to our home on Easter Sunday. When it was dark outside and most villagers had retired to sit around the open fireplace in their homes, the four of us sat down at the table with the light of four little candles. As she had done during the fenia meroh initiation, Ibu Baru took her task seriously. Although she normally likes to laugh, while performing as a healer or teacher she is strict and concentrated on her task. It was a magical moment when Ibu Baru opened her little red notebook and showed us the sacred formulas. I had seen the



As our initiation into Kelompok Sabda was the only initiation into the second and third stages of Kelompok Sabda that took place during our stay, I describe only our own initiation.

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notebook so many times, and now at last I was allowed to hold it, open it, and leaf through it. Bapak Kostan impressed on us that these words were meant only for us to know. Although these words are as secret as the healing formulas learned during fenia meroh and wuon initiation, in which knowledge was passed down orally, Kelompok Sabda healing formulas are written down. This is seen as being similar to the Bible, as it is also a written document. Each new member initiated into Kelompok Sabda healing knowledge copies the words from either Ibu Baru’s or Bapak Yopi’s notebook, and in this way starts his or her own notebook. Each formula we copied was explained by Ibu Baru and Bapak Kostan as to its meaning and its use. Some illnesses require more words and actions than others. It was after midnight when the two healers, satisfied with our understanding of the formulas, left for home. The following week we were expected to become familiar with the sacred words we had copied down. The healing formulas had to ‘enter our head permanently’. We had to repeat the spells so intensively that we would be able to recite them by heart for the initiation performance. The next Sunday, Louise and I bought a big pig, which is common practice for a major ceremony, for the festive dinner following the initiation. At noon, all Kelompok Sabda members present in Ayawasi had assembled at Ibu Baru’s house to prepare for the evening ceremony. Men slaughtered and roasted the pig, while women cooked and prepared the rice and vegetables. Others decorated the front room. That evening, around Ibu Baru’s altar, Louise and I took the sacred vows, swearing secrecy, and received our initiation. From that night onwards we were allowed to join Ibu Baru and the six other healers during their healing sessions. Besides that, we had the opportunity to participate in Mama Raja’s final healing performance. Chasing away evil spirits The third stage of Kelompok Sabda initiation is crucial for learning special healing skills. These third-stage healers, in contrast to biomedical treatments 

Knowledge of fenia meroh is now written down in our anthropological field notes and transcriptions of the tapes we recorded during the performance of the fenia meroh rite in which we participated, as well as in the notes made by one of the Fef initiates.  For this occasion, Louise and I bought rice from the missionary station and did not serve the local crop, taro. Although we had our own little food garden, we could not harvest enough to feed 18 people. Usually, for a festive dinner, people collectively buy rice in order to save what they harvest from their food gardens.  Although both Louise and I were allowed to disclose symbols we received during our initiation into fenia meroh, we swore secrecy about those we received during initiation into Kelompok Sabda.

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used by the missionary clinic or indigenous healing methods learned during initiation into fenia meroh, are able to heal illness caused by malevolent spirits. By initiation into the third stage, Kelompok Sabda created a way to transfer knowledge for driving out and destroying malevolent spirits of the underworld by using Christian symbols, while combining these with indigenous beliefs and practices learned during indigenous initiation. In this way they found a solution for passing down healing knowledge that had not been passed down since the abandonment of indigenous initiation rites. It takes years of practice before a Kelompok Sabda member completes the third stage and is able to perform rites connected with driving out malevolent spirits. Here is another parallel with indigenous initiation: only the brightest novices (top initiates), after a training of many years, were capable of expelling malevolent sprits. For this reason, not all healers of the Christian healing group possess the spiritual knowledge and power to chase away evil spirits. At the time of my fieldwork, only two people had been initiated into this most secret and sacred third stage of Kelompok Sabda: Ibu Baru and Bapak Yopi. If the illness is caused by an evil spirit, there are two healing rituals that third-stage Kelompok Sabda healers can perform. Both rituals are considered equally difficult. In the first ritual, as seen in the previous chapter on Mama Raja, the healer blesses a glass of water by using a rosary or a crucifix and whispering secret formulas over the water. When the patient drinks the water (in combination with the healer spewing the water over the patient) it purifies the body and causes the evil spirit to leave the body. The other ritual is called ‘look in water’ (Indonesian: lihat air). By means of this ritual, the malevolent spirit is not only dispelled but also destroyed. When an ill person requests it, Ibu Baru or Bapak Yopi Titit can perform the lihat air ritual. Below I describe the performance of both rituals as used by Ibu Baru, which I witnessed as a Kelompok Sabda member. Saving Martha The morning of the burial of Maksi Kosho, who had recently been stabbed to death,10 his oldest teenage daughter Martha fainted on his grave, after enduring a serious attack of convulsions. Startled, bystanders immediately took the girl to the missionary hospital, while others ran to Ibu Baru’s house to ask her to come and pray. In the meantime Ibu Maria Baru and I had just returned from the burial and were discussing the event in her front room: ‘Did you hear what Martha

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Maksi’s case is discussed in Chapter IX.

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said during the funeral?’ Ibu Baru asked me. Without waiting for my answer she continued: ‘Martha said: Papa, wait for me, in a while I will follow you. I will go home and let mama know that I will follow you.’ Ibu Baru’s husband, Paulinus Bame, who had just entered the room and heard what his wife said, interpreted the meaning of this according to indigenous religion. He said: ‘Oh, the spirit of her father already entered the girl’s body!’ ‘What does that mean? Will she die?’ I asked, while looking from Ibu Baru to her husband. ‘We do not know whether she will die or not’, Paulinus answered. ‘But she can only be saved if people come and “read” for her, transferring sacred healing formulas to her, if wuon healers, or Mama Maria or Bapak Yopi “read” for her and in this way expel the spirit of Martha’s father.’ His answer put wuon healers and third-stage Sabda healers on the same level as far as being able to drive out evil spirits. At that point, Martha’s younger brother entered the room. He told what had happened and asked Ibu Baru to accompany him to the hospital to pray for Martha. Without hesitation, Ibu Baru got up, took her white bag, waved at me to follow her, and walked out the door. On our way to the missionary clinic she said: ‘If this girl dies, it will mean that there will be another killing to avenge her death.’ Upon our entering the hospital ward, the people present instantly fell silent and anxiously looked at Ibu Baru. The room was packed. Many people had assembled and were crowded round Martha’s bedside. Without anything being said, everyone made space for the healer at the girl’s head. When in position, Ibu Baru took the Mary statuette out of her bag and put it on the bedside table, facing Martha. Martha had not opened her eyes since being brought to the clinic. She only groaned now and then. With her crucifix, Ibu Baru started praying and asked God to help this girl. After that, she put the crucifix in a glass of water, filled from the little bottle she carried in her bag. With two fingers, she sprinkled some of the blessed water over the top of the crucifix, and inhaled deeply while she held it close to her mouth and nose. As Bapak Yopi had done in Mama Raja’s case, Ibu Baru then blew on the crucifix, first putting it on top of Martha’s head, next on her lips and on her folded hands and feet, after which she ‘closed’ those body parts with the sign of the cross to prevent the breath of life from leaving the girl’s body. One woman who had witnessed the performance from close by, Yosepha Fatie, stepped forward to assist Ibu Baru without being asked, as she knew what needed to happen next. With both hands, Yosepha lifted Martha’s head and Ibu Baru helped the girl drink all the blessed water from the glass. As usual, Ibu Baru then asked those present to pray with her. After the Lord’s Prayer, three Hail Mary’s resounded through the hospital ward. While Ibu Baru watched the girl, who was lying motionless on the bed, she took a little bottle of blessed oil out of her bag, poured some drops on her hand, and

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firmly rubbed them on Martha’s face, starting from her forehead down along her cheeks. The girl responded to this with a groan while her face went into a grimace. At this point, Ibu Baru sat down beside the girl’s pillow and looked into the crowd. I noticed that anxious faces had made way for eyes filled with hope. ‘Do not think of sah’,11 the healer addressed the people in a firm voice. ‘Think about God. He is the one who determines life and death. Do not be afraid at night, because nights are the same as daytime. You do not have to be afraid, because the spirit of God is stronger than any other spirit.’ She was alluding here to the restless spirit of Maksi, who, after being killed, roamed the village at night scaring people. The healer continued: Yes, the spirit of Martha’s father has indeed entered this girl’s body. But trust in God. He is the one who resolves everything. There are many ways to die. Some die young, while others will die in old age. But all deaths come from God. If He looks into his big book and says: ‘Yes, your time has come’, then He will call you, ‘ring, ring’. And then, when you enter heaven, there will be a dinner ready and you will enjoy a festive meal. After that they will say to you: ‘Come, this is your home’, and they will bring you to the house where you will stay.

Afterwards, the healer left the hospital and urged the crowd to follow her so Martha would have enough rest to absorb the blessed water (as Bapak Yopi had done in the case of Mama Raja). That evening Ibu Baru called at our house. Glowing with happiness, she said: ‘Martha has just gone home. A few hours ago she opened her eyes again and felt good, relaxed. The missionary sisters pronounced her fit to return home. I knew she would be safe because I did not hear voices asking for the key to heaven, to open the door to heaven.’ What is remarkable here is that Ibu Baru was called in to perform a healing rite in the missionary hospital. As we have seen, the Catholic sisters opposed the performance of indigenous rites and the use of herbal medicine. For that reason, wuon healers are never allowed to perform in the clinic. Although Ibu Baru combines Christian and indigenous practices during her performance, the fact that Kelompok Sabda is known for healing ‘in the ways of the church’ and because Kelompok Sabda healers show their deep belief in God, Kelompok Sabda performances are not only welcomed by the missionaries but even encouraged, both in and outside the hospital. By chasing away malevolent spirits, however, Ibu Baru introduced indigenous healing practices into a biomedical missionary environment. 11

Here, Maria Baru is referring to the spirit of Maksi. The spirit of a person who has been killed is perceived as one of the most malevolent. For that reason the name of that person is no longer spoken but instead referred to as sah, which means the ‘spirit of a person that has been killed’.

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Looking in water It was dark and quiet in the village when a young woman knocked at Ibu Maria Baru’s front door. The day before, when they had met in the food garden, the woman had asked the healer to ‘look in water’. She had been ill for some weeks now, had lost a lot of weight, and felt weak. The medicines from the hospital she had been taking for weeks had produced no result. The visitor took a seat near the altar, while Ibu Baru searched for a blank piece of paper. On the top part of the page she wrote a secret formula and the Christian names of the ill person. She then tore off the top part, folded it, and laid it aside. Next, she wrote a formula all over the rest of the page. She folded the paper twice and held it against the light. Already she could sense things other people could not yet see. From the kitchen she then took a glass vase filled with water and put it in the middle of the altar. She placed the smaller piece of paper under the vase, and the larger one on top. Then she opened her white bag and took out her red notebook and the crucifix, which she laid on top of the notebook on the altar in front of her. From the altar, she then took her Bible and read aloud Matthew 8:17, after which she said a personal prayer in her local language in which she asked God to help the ill woman by giving her strength to recover. After that, she prayed the Lord’s Prayer and a Hail Mary. Next, she called upon the Virgin Mary and asked her to give her strength so she could heal the woman. She then took the crucifix, kissed it while taking a deep breath, and held it above the vase. She performed the same actions with the picture of Peter and Paul. Next, she removed the piece of paper from the vase, took the crucifix, kissed it, breathed deeply, and put it in the water, where it sank in halfway, the arms leaning on the edge. She sprinkled water over the top of the crucifix and took it out of the water. For the second time she covered the vase with the larger piece of paper and held the crucifix on top before taking the statuette away. Next, she put the paper in the water and held a candle behind the vase. Now she could ‘read’ the paper ‘like an x-ray photo’, Ibu Baru explained to me afterwards. If the illness is caused by a malevolent spirit, the shadow of a person appears on the paper, which is visible both to the healer and the patient. The woman’s illness indeed turned out to be caused by an evil spirit. In the lihat air ritual, the healer not only chases away the evil spirit, as is the case in the healing performance when the patient drinks a glass of blessed water; the healer also destroys the malevolent power by tearing the paper to pieces with the crucifix, until only tiny scraps of paper are left whirling in the water. ‘Tomorrow you will feel better’, the healer reassured the woman, who was very relieved. Ibu Baru then ended the session by thanking God and Mary in her prayers, for helping her during the performance. The lihat air ritual is generally performed in non-acute situations. Especially

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in this rite, the cross is seen as a spirit-dispelling symbol, emphasized by the action of tearing up the paper. This is closely connected to the belief that the spirit of God is stronger than any other spirit. To amplify God’s power, Ibu Baru puts the piece of paper, on which the Christian formulas are written, in her Bible. The paper will stay there until the patient has recovered. Healing in a Christian context Visions not only give guidance for the performance of healing rituals, they are also used to justify the continuation of certain aspects of indigenous healing performances within a Christian context. In this way, local people, acting as innovators and agents of change, create new healing performances. They correctly refer to these new rites as being in accordance with the ‘ways of the church’. Simultaneously, however, medicinal leaves and indigenous healing formulas are incorporated. Furthermore, Christian symbols are employed according to indigenous religious beliefs and practices. These new healing performances provide ways to eliminate especially those illnesses whose causes are embedded in the indigenous religious realm and for which the biomedical treatments of the missionary hospital are considered ineffective: illnesses caused by malevolent spirits. In pre-Christian times, only ‘top initiates’ among male wuon healers were capable of healing spirit illness and driving the spirits out of the possessed body. With the abolishment of initiation rituals, the transfer of this secret healing knowledge came to a halt. By creating healing performances on the third-stage Kelompok Sabda level, particular healers (we might call them ‘top initiates’ as well) became able to heal illness caused by malevolent spirits. Though missionaries strongly opposed indigenous healing rites, the activities of Kelompok Sabda healers form no hindrance as they fit in with the Christian context. From a local perspective, Kelompok Sabda healing performances form a means by which important indigenous healing methods are kept alive and can still be transferred to younger generations. Moreover, Kelompok Sabda created new opportunities. Kelompok Sabda provided certain categories of persons with positions they would not have been able to hold in the indigenous religious domain: positions as public healers. In pre-Christian times, only initiated male healers acted as public healers. Through Kelompok Sabda, local people created a new category of public healers, a category including women as well as non-initiated men. In doing so, these women and non-initiated men, as Kelompok Sabda healers, shifted gender definitions and crossed gender boundaries.

chapter ix

Walking together The Sunday following Mama Raja’s final Kelompok Sabda healing rite, the Merpati airplane landed on Ayawasi’s airstrip. As usual for this festive occasion, as many inhabitants as possible gathered around the field to welcome the passengers, meanwhile curiously observing the goods they had brought with them. People were in high spirits, still excited about Mama Raja’s escape from death. The relief could be felt throughout the entire village. Grief and mourning had made way for cheerfulness, sounds of laughter had returned. After the first passengers got off the airplane and blended into the crowd, Bapak Raja appeared in the doorway. Immediately behind him, other relatives of both Bapak and Mama Raja, who all lived permanently in the coastal town of Sorong, made their appearance, meanwhile jostling one another for the first sight, after a long absence, of their native village. In the midst of the bustle, Bapak Raja remained in the doorway, blocking the way, waving to the crowd. He was visibly pleased to be returning home after an absence of almost two months. Then, all of a sudden, one of the women coming out of the plane pushed Bapak Raja aside and her wailing could be heard above everything. The cheerful crowd died down. While people wondered what had happened on the plane, another woman descended the small stairs wailing distressingly. Soon, however, the mystery was solved, when Bapak Raja straightened his face and from behind his back brought out a big and beautifully decorated funeral wreath. He held the wreath above his head, so all the villagers gathered at the airstrip could see what he had brought along in honour of his deceased wife. For one moment an awkward silence fell upon those present, before the crowd burst into a roar of laughter, which drowned out the throbbing engines of the plane. It turned out that Bapak Raja still thought that his wife had passed away and that he and the other family members had come to take Mama Raja to her grave. Some time during the last couple of days, when Mama Raja took a turn for the worse, one of Bapak Raja’s sons had taken it upon himself to inform his father of Mama Raja’s condition, by sending an SSB radio message to Sorong. The message ran that Mama Raja was seriously ill and that it was

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Mama Raja (in the middle) shortly after the final Kelompok Sabda healing performance

only a matter of time before she would die. Bapak Raja immediately decided to gather his and Mama Raja’s family members and return to Ayawasi on the first available airplane flight. In the days of joy following Mama Raja’s recovery, however, people completely forgot to inform Bapak Raja of his wife’s unexpected recovery. Ignorant of the situation, Bapak Raja lowered the wreath and stared indignantly into the laughing crowd; finally someone hurried up the small stairs of the airplane to break the good news to him. While the expression on his face changed from disbelief into relief and happiness, he hung the garland around his neck. And with his hands clasped above his head like a victor, he walked into the village as if he had beaten the illness himself. Bapak Raja’s homecoming marked the last week of my stay in Ayawasi. The festive atmosphere lingered in the village for the rest of that week, although tragedies continued imperturbably in the death of a one-year-old in desa Bori. Nobody seemed to care anymore about the pressing question that had occupied everybody’s mind since the beginning of the crisis: who had made Mama Raja ill? Was it Maria Tenau, the presumed witch, after all, or had Mama Raja been made ill by spirits of the underworld? I myself was still seeking an answer, and went to see Bapak Yopi Titit. He

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showed me the formulas from his notebook that he had used. Because I was initiated into Kelompok Sabda, Bapak Yopi could reveal to me the sacred words he had used, and I immediately recognized that they were formulas meant to expel malevolent spirits. ‘Yes’, Bapak Yopi confirmed. ‘Mama Raja was possessed by sah [the spirit of Maksi, who had been killed recently].’ While performing the healing rite, Bapak Yopi had seen images of Maksi, which was a sign that it was his spirit that had taken possession of the woman’s body, and the healer thus knew what formulas and actions to use. ‘Mama Raja had cried over his dead body’, Bapak Yopi explained. ‘She had been too close to the murdered man, so sah could easily have taken possession of her. But the blessed water, together with the formulas, expelled the spirit from her body.’ Mama Raja’s story has a happy end: she eventually recovered completely. For that reason, Bapak Raja took her back to Sorong on the next plane. Although Mama Raja was still very weak and the trip would definitely tire her out, Bapak Raja was convinced that his wife would regain her strength much better in the coastal town, where sufficient food was available. Before my return to the Netherlands, Bapak Raja came to visit Louise and me in our hotel in Sorong to bid us farewell and to inform us about Mama Raja’s continuing recovery. Mama Raja’s case is not exceptional for how people in northwest Ayfat search for ways of healing. Quite the contrary. In a case of persisting illness, people usually pass through several kinds of healing rites, until recovery is found. Mama Raja’s case further shows that there is an order, even a hierarchy, in the healing rites people go through. Usually, when people start feeling ill, both men and women first apply indigenous methods. One can treat oneself or consult a male or female healer, who will generally use herbal medicine to treat the illness. Another frequently chosen option in an early stage of an illness is going to the outpatient clinic for treatment by way of an injection or taking tablets. Taking herbal medicine and taking medication from the outpatient clinic are interchangeable: not infrequently, people combine these two healing methods at the same time, use them in succession, or even by turns, until their health improves. As the cases studying this book show, if there is no improvement, a more extensive healing rite is required, as the illness is then believed to be caused by witchcraft (suangi), sorcery (kret), or spirits from the underworld. If the ill-



Likewise, when I fell ill shortly after I had taken photos of Maksi lying in his coffin at the request of Maksi’s next of kin, a rumour soon went through the village that I had been too close to the body and that I probably had been made ill by Maksi’s spirit. Although the blood test at the missionary clinic confirmed that I had malaria, villagers were only convinced of this alternative diagnosis after the medication proved effective.

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ness is due to ancestral punishment, a clan-bound healing rite, usually manes kaya, can be performed. Otherwise, wuon healers will come into action to perform one of the rites they learned during their training in the cult house. In pre-Christian times, these initiated men were the only healers who were able to heal life-threatening illnesses caused by by witchcraft, sorcery or malevolent spirits. Since the founding of the Christian healing group Kelompok Sabda, third-stage Kelompok Sabda healers are also available to deal with such illnesses and can be called upon when a patient’s life is in danger. Treatment by wuon healers and Kelompok Sabda healers, however, is subject to a certain hierarchy. It is an unwritten rule that wuon healers have to perform their healing rites before Kelompok Sabda members come into action. Devout Kelompok Sabda members explained this clearly. ‘Wuon is our adat. And because it is our adat, wuon healers have the right to go first’, Petrus Turot emphasized. ‘Nevertheless, there is another reason’, Lys Korain added. ‘We have a firm belief that God is higher [lebih tinggi] than wuon, more powerful [lebih kuasa] also. For that reason, healing rites by Kelompok Sabda members ought to be performed last. It would be a serious insult and an evidence of lack of faith if we carried out another healing rite after invoking God’s help in healing a patient.’ Lys Korain’s statement confirms my findings. During my fieldwork I never witnessed an indigenous healing rite performed after a Christian healer had come into action. Either the patient was past hope and expected to die soon after the Kelompok Sabda rite was completed or, as in the case of Mama Raja, the patient would take a turn for the better and, finally, make a complete recovery. The other way round, however, did happen repeatedly. More than once, a Kelompok Sabda healer performed a Christian rite after an indigenous healing ritual failed to achieve the desired result. A Kelompok Sabda healer will nonetheless never interfere, nor perform out of turn, but will await the outcome of the indigenous healing ritual, although an exception can be made at the personal request of the patient. And thus, a Kelompok Sabda healing rite can and will be performed before indigenous healers have come into action whenever the patient does not intend to go through an indigenous healing rite at all but instead directly requests help from a Kelompok Sabda healer. In such a case, Kelompok Sabda healers may immediately come into action, as Ibu Maria Baru did for Helena’s baby. They do not have to ask permission from indigenous healers, as a personal decision of the patient is respected. In this chapter, the relation between adat and ‘ways of the church’ as connected to Kelompok Sabda is explored further. Healing is analysed within the broader religious realm.

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Adat and church Whether to follow ‘adat rules’ or ‘rules of the church’ is a matter that preoccupies the minds of many people. To anyone who cares to listen, Kelompok Sabda members and the native priest, Father Yonathan Fatem, will provide their answers. ‘During our Kelompok meetings we often talk about what is more suitable: adat or the church, wuon and fenia meroh or the Bible’, Petrus Turot said. ‘Now we know that our adat reinforces the Bible and the Bible reinforces the adat.’ This view of adat and church as mutually influencing each other is common nowadays in the Christianized parts of northwest Ayfat. Petrus Turot explained: The adat and the church ‘walk together’, they are joined because they preach the same values. During initiation in wuon and fenia meroh, men and women received wise lessons: they were taught not to run into problems, yet live a good life. This meant not to be lazy, but instead work hard in the food gardens and reap a rich harvest. Behave properly and act correctly. Do not steal, nor argue with someone, but approach people with affection and marry someone with a good heart. Father Fatem, and the other priests who have been in Ayawasi, all teach us the same during mass. And so we came to understand that the rules of the church and the rules of wuon and fenia meroh are the same.

Since his arrival in Ayawasi, in 1985, the indigenous priest Father Fatem has had a prominent part in raising a Christian consciousness among the vil­ lagers. He told me: When I first came to Ayawasi, Father Frank and Father Van Driel [Dutch missionaries of the OSA order] were here at that time, I noticed that on church days, Sunday and Wednesday, only the teachers and the schoolchildren attended mass. I witnessed that and thought to myself: I don’t approve of that. If the adults stay at home they will never understand the Bible. So I went to the adults and asked them why they did not go to church, and they told me: ‘We are not yet baptized, we do not yet know how to pray.’ You must know that in those days the Dutch priests only baptized young children, as those children were still pure, they had not yet committed a sin, in contrast to adults, who lived in sin because they had fought in drunken fits or had murdered by using bofit and headhunting practices.

After his ordination, Father Fatem decided to do things differently. In 1988, he performed a big ceremony in which he baptized Ayawasi’s adults en masse in the Netayn river, bordering the village in the south. He said: I knew that the adults would not come if I performed the ceremony in church, because they had never been inside the church. It would likely scare them off. So 

Church in this way is used by Kelompok Sabda members to mean everything Kelompok Sabda stands for and the way Christianity is practised locally.

Girls holding the Bible after receiving the sacrament of confirmation

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I performed the ceremony on familiar territory, in the river they use day-to-day for bathing. I made sure the adults would understand what Christianity was all about before receiving baptism. I told them: ‘People die. Everyone will die some day. And when you die you need religion [agama], so you can enter heaven, so you can enter seweron. And in heaven there are several rooms; rooms that are evil [jahat] and rooms that are good [baik]. If you receive Christianity it does not mean that you will never be ill again, or that you will live forever, or that you will not die before long. No, it means that when you die you will enter the good room in heaven, the room in which God lives.’ I further explained: ‘If people did not die, religion [agama] would not be necessary. But then again, who does not die?’ The adults understood what I said and, just like their children, they wanted to enter heaven after death and willingly submitted themselves to baptism.

And so, Father Fatem baptized about three hundred adults at one time. He said: From that time on, up till today, adults attend church whenever they can. If ­people understand what you mean, they want to follow. People like to be part of the group. People like to join in, as no one wants to be excluded.

Since that time, adults attend the weekly two-hour services. Not uncommonly, they even wear a rosary all the time as a visible outward sign of their sense of belonging to the Catholic church. Or, as Lys Korain puts it, ‘By wearing a rosary, the adults show that they now have the right to enter heaven.’ Once Father Fatem achieved his goal of reaching as many people as he could, from then on he concentrated on imparting the content of the Catholic faith, mainly by drawing a comparison between adat and church. Again, his purpose was to involve as many inhabitants as he could and, therefore, he started to celebrate mass in the local Meybrat language. He told me: During the sermon, my main purpose was and still is to educate the villagers, to teach them the meanings of the Bible. So I lecture in their own words, in their own language. By doing so, I focus especially on the common ground between adat and the Bible.

Father Fatem thus performed Christianity in a way that was accessible to all people, young and old. By saying mass in the local language he did not exclude older persons unfamiliar with the Indonesian language. Besides, the priest translated central meanings of the Bible in such a way that they harmonized with indigenous views. In addition, by preaching about the similarities, Father Fatem not only emphasized the interconnection between adat and church in the way they both proclaim and uphold the same values. He went one step further, by saying that Ayfat people have known prayers all along: Our people said prayers long before the Catholic church entered the area. We have always prayed like we nowadays do in church on Sundays. Only the words

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were different. Therefore I explain to them: ‘We know about praying in our adat too. Yet, in adat we don’t call it praying [sembayang] but baca, reciting a formula.’ And then I clarify as follows: ‘When someone is ill, you usually call upon wuon healers to expel the spirit that caused the illness. The wuon healers then baca daun [“read leaves”] by saying the secret formulas and thus chase away the malevolent spirit so you can get well again. In a similar way, the Holy Bible also tells about a malevolent spirit that can interfere with your health: the devil. As in adat, the devil can only be expelled from your body by praying. Baca, reciting formulas, is the adat way of praying, which we use in our homes, in our food gardens. Sembayang is praying in the ways of the church.’

Likewise, people in northwest Ayfat emphasize that God and the Bible as well as the cross and heaven were already known. This was pointed out not only by Father Fatem, but also by others who had gained in-depth knowledge about indigenous as well as Catholic religion, like members of Kelompok Sabda. Kelompok Sabda members discuss these matters often during their monthly gatherings. Ibu Maria Baru emphasized the above view repeatedly, while stating that Christian symbols were (and still are) recognizable in indigenous beliefs: Father Rombouts, the first priest to enter the Ayfat area in Tabamsere, brought us the Christian religion. But we already knew the Bible before the mission entered. When the Catholic church arrived, they just used a different name for what we call Wefo. We heard the priests and knew that the Bible is similar to Wefo, it’s synonymous. Just like God and Jesus, whom we have always known as Siway, the older brother of Mafif, the two main characters in our most significant myth, the story of the Creation. The sign of the cross we recognized as the four directions of the wind, which plays a significant part in healing rituals. In initiation, both in fenia meroh and wuon, the novices learned to work in the four wind directions when performing a major healing rite. They were taught to walk from head to foot and from left to right beside the patient when administering healing leaves or reciting secret formulas. Thus, the sign of the cross too was already part of our adat. The spirit of a deceased person, finally, goes to seweron. Seweron is a holy place, located in the ground. Seweron is our heaven. Our heaven is not in the sky, but in the ground.

This passage shows that people in northwest Ayfat interpreted Christianity in terms of indigenous religious concepts as known by their ancestors before the missionaries arrived. Wefo is a concept that stands for religious regulations or teachings by which society’s rules of behaviour were preached through ancestral regulations. It is perceived as similar to the Bible and especially the ten commandments of the Old Testament which, comparable to Wefo, gives moral and religious rules and guidelines. Siway and Mafif, the male creators, are equated with the Christian figures of God and Jesus.

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The Bible, God and Jesus, the symbol of the cross, and the notion of heaven thus already existed in northwest Ayfat before the Dutch missionaries arrived. In his study on indigenous religious discourse among the Me in the Paniai region of West Papua, Giay (1995:134) argues that ‘God was already known to their ancestors’. Giay (1995:152) further states that, for the Me, ‘their existing religious commandments are the same or the summary of the whole content of the Christian Bible’. Giay (1995:166) mentions that the Me say that the Christian Bible used by missionaries is ‘only a copy of the real Bible’ of their ancestors, which was lost. Giay (1995:166-9) explains that the religious rules in current Me society were reintroduced in a process of conflict and change: in that process Me people emphasize their own indigenous ‘tradition’ and identity. In northwest Ayfat too, a process of rapid cultural change is taking place in which indigenous identities and cultural beliefs and practices are being revitalized (as is the case with the reinstatement of female initiation rite). It is beyond doubt that this process contributed to the emphasis on the existence of key religious beliefs in northwest Ayfat before the arrival of Christianity. In my view, however, there are far more important explanations for this phenomenon. Giay does not explore, for instance, why it is important for the Me people to emphasize that perceptions about God and the Bible already existed in pre-Christian times. In my opinion, for northwest Ayfat there are three answers to this question. First, when analysing the above statements from an emic point of view, it becomes apparent that they all centre around one main theme: who were the first persons to possess religious knowledge? In their statements, local people emphasize that it was not foreign missionaries that were the first, but their own ancestors. The missionaries merely presented religious knowledge and practices in another way. Being the first to know is a central element in indigenous northwest Ayfat religion, as we will soon see. Second, by stating that this knowledge already existed in pre-Christian times, local people stress the equality of adat and Christianity. In this way, they legitimate continuing the transfer of key indigenous religious beliefs and practices to the Christian context. The importance of this second reason is related to the third one: keeping and restoring the balance between adat and Christianity within local society. Kelompok Sabda plays a central role in that process: Kelompok Sabda serves as a means through which northwest Ayfat people restore the balance that was disturbed on several levels by the abolition of initiation rites.



Timmer (2000:287) also notes for Imyan in the southern Bird’s Head of West Papua that biblical stories relate to events that have taken place in the Imyan area.

Kostan Kosamah

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Being the first to know The view that people in northwest Ayfat knew ‘God and the Bible long before the missionaries arrived’ is part of many legends and myths, like the one below. This myth is not only crucial in illustrating the way people view Christianity, but also essential for understanding why people in northwest Ayfat accepted Christian religion into their lives. Kelompok Sabda members and Father Fatem not only stated more than once that people in northwest Ayfat knew the essential parts of Catholic religion before the arrival of the missionaries. Ibu Maria Baru went further and said that Jesus Himself had given them the sacred knowledge of fenia meroh and wuon: After Jesus died, three women took a walk up to the burial ground. When they arrived there, however, the women saw that the grave was empty. Full of surprise they called out: ‘We have come here for Jesus, we are looking for Jesus.’ Jesus heard their call and appeared to the women, after which He gave them His blessing and wise lessons. In this way, the women received the wise lessons of our adat. The women were the first to receive the sacred lessons of the adat. Jesus Himself had given the knowledge to them. Then the women went home with all the sacred knowledge they had received. They did not think it appropriate, however, to keep the wise lessons to themselves. They did not think it proper to pass on all their learning only to other women, and decided to hand over the most sacred knowledge to men. Thus the most highly valued lessons the women received from Jesus, they gave to men. And so wuon came into being. The women were initiated into fenia meroh and passed on the knowledge they considered suitable for women, to other women.

Here Ibu Baru appropriates and gives new meaning to the biblical passage in Luke 24:1-11 on the resurrection of Jesus, where Mary Magdalene visited the grave and discovered the tomb was empty. Mary Magdalene hurried back to tell the apostles what she had seen. In the indigenous religious realm, however, Ibu Baru takes the story one step further, and this is important because of the link between gender and sacred knowledge: the women not only found an empty grave and were the first to discover the resurrection of Jesus, they simultaneously received sacred knowledge from Him. They did not keep this knowledge to themselves, however, but instead handed over most of the sacred knowledge to men.



While analysing local myths, Maschio (1995:160) and Zöllner (1988:52) note a similar point. Maschio says of the Rauto in Papua New Guinea that ‘men stole their political power from women. Thus, men’s political and cultural primacy is derivative and rightfully women’s possession.’ Zöllner, studying the Yali in West Papua, stresses that ‘women were the first to find the [initiation] ritual, but the men took it away’. In contrast to the Rauto and the Yali, men in the

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In Ibu Baru’s interpretation, which is shared by other devout Christians in the area, indigenous male and female initiation rites (wuon and fenia meroh) thus have their origin in the resurrection of Jesus, in which he gave sacred indigenous knowledge to women. In northwest Ayfat, this biblical passage is considered extremely important, as it informs a widespread indigenous view of gender and the sacred knowledge of initiation rituals, in which a crucial point is that women were the first to receive the healing wisdom. The answer to the question why the three women did not keep the most sacred lessons to themselves is related to the fact that people in northwest Ayfat continually search for ways to maintain balance in their lives. Regarding the sacred knowledge of wuon and fenia meroh initiation, the balance is linked with gender relations. Because, in the words of Ibu Baru, ‘the womb is the source of life’, women throughout northwest Ayfat are perceived not only as key actors in society but also as powerful persons owing to their life-giving ability. Therefore, it is considered ‘inappropriate’ if women, who unlike men have the procreative power to bear children, simultaneously possess the most sacred knowledge of healing. Women would become too powerful compared to men, which would disturb gender relations and cause the society to be out of balance. This is the explanation for why, after women received special knowledge from Jesus, they gave the most highly valued knowledge to men, to keep things in balance. Father Fatem had this to say, simultaneously explaining why only men are priests: In the adat of the Meybrat, women were the first to receive the secrets of adat. They were the first to meet with the sacred. But the women did not think it suitable to live and decorate themselves like wuon healers. So they gave the secrets to the men. As in adat, in church it is not appropriate for women to dress up like priests. The women handed over the sacred knowledge to the men. And thus in church, it is men who say mass.

Ibu Baru gave an explanation referring to Christian symbols: As in the Catholic religion, there is a difference between the fathers and the sisters. Only the sisters may wear the long white dresses, just like the fathers only wear their robes. And the sisters do not say mass, nor do they put on priest’s robes. Besides that, the sacred wafer, the highest sacrament during mass, can only be taken after it is blessed by a priest.

The points in common and the interconnections between adat and church are

northwest Ayfat version did not ‘steal’ nor ‘take away’ the sacred knowledge, but received it from women, who voluntarily gave it to them.

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considered to be of extreme importance, not only by Father Fatem and Ibu Baru or any other Kelompok Sabda member, but also by a great many other inhabitants. It gives meaning and certainty to their lives in the process of religious change for people to unite the two narratives. In addition, the view that local people knew religion (agama) before the Catholic church entered the area is of even greater significance, along with the fact that Jesus himself transmitted fenia meroh and wuon. As Ibu Baru said: Jesus himself gave fenia meroh and wuon to us. He himself revealed the sacred knowledge we were to pass on from generation to generation. Fenia meroh and wuon is not something we invented ourselves. No, Jesus showed it to us. He gave us strength and healing knowledge. He gave us our rules, which we must obey and must never forget. When the church entered, people recognized that the rules of adat and the rules of the church are the same, that the wise lessons are the same: that wuon and fenia meroh are the same as God and the Bible.

Here, similarities between adat and Christianity and the view that ancestors in pre-missionary times already possessed the sacred knowledge is emphasized again, along with the need for the knowledge to be passed down from one generation to the next. Keeping the knowledge Adat and Catholicism converged in a special way the day Father Fatem was ordained priest. Dressed up in adat clothing and decorations, as used during the closing ceremony of a wuon rite, the villagers fetched Father Fatem from the forest, where he had stayed in seclusion. Like a newly initiated man he was then welcomed into the village before he got into his priest’s garb and before the Catholic ceremony with the bishop started. This performance symbolized the priest’s views on the interconnection between adat and Christianity. During his priesthood in Ayawasi, Father Fatem not only contributed to raising a Christian consciousness. He likewise emphasized the importance of adat: The church has to be supplemented with adat, so both stand strong. Moreover, ­people may never forget their origins. They must never forget the adat of Meybrat.

Before Father Fatem’s ordination, women in Ayfat had no ways to become active in church. By stressing the significance of women in adat, while relating adat with church, Father Fatem cleared the way for women to have a chance to participate in Catholic services. Although it is not considered appropriate

Father Fatem performing a funeral ceremony

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for women to dress up like priests or say mass, since Father Fatem’s ordination, women (mostly Kelompok Sabda members) have taken up prominent roles during mass. They lead in prayer, take the offering, or serve as acolytes, dressed in red and white robes. More than once the priest stated during a sermon, while holding the Bible above his head: The Bible is the wan [kain pusaka] of God. Women guard the kain pusaka and therefore they are key figures in our adat. Just like women were the first to discover Jesus’ empty grave.

Just as Jesus had given fenia meroh and wuon knowledge to women first, Kelompok Sabda was also initially given to a woman, Ibu Baru. This time, however, the woman did not give away the sacred knowledge but kept it and used it herself. Simultaneously, she shared the knowledge with certain other persons, but not exclusively with men: she shared it with both men and women members. She shared it with those who had received visions and who longed to learn to heal in the ‘ways of the church’. It is remarkable that Ibu Baru received the healing formulas written in her notebook from the spirit of her deceased father (see Chapter VIII), a respected and renowned wuon healer. In this way, she received knowledge of wuon healing methods. Ibu Baru did not have a way to transfer this knowledge to others because initiation rites had been abolished. By sharing healing knowledge with both men and women, Kelompok Sabda created a means to pass on indigenous knowledge in a new form and in this way restored the balance that had been disturbed by the abolishment of initiation rites. By reintroducing the transfer of indigenous healing knowledge that was in danger of being lost, Kelompok Sabda members crossed gender and clan boundaries: healing knowledge is transferred to people who have received visions and long to learn to heal in the ‘ways of the church’ regardless of their gender or clan origin. Because Kelompok Sabda transcends clan boundaries and its members originate from and reside in different parts of West Papua, not Papuan vernacular but Indonesian is spoken as the lingua franca during Kelompok Sabda initiation and during Kelompok Sabda healing performances. Continuity within change Analysing the healing performances presented in this study, the techniques used by Kelompok Sabda healers are seen to be based on the methods of indigenous healers. As such, Kelompok Sabda represents continuity within change. The similarities in techniques used by indigenous and Sabda healers

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are manifold, although the techniques are given different names. Kelompok Sabda healers walk around the patient in the form of the cross when applying blessed water, while indigenous healers perform their rituals in the four directions of the wind. Tah and kwir (wood), known for their protective and healing powers, are replaced by the cross in a Kelompok Sabda rite, symbolizing the strength of God who can heal and protect. Another correspondence is found in the use of water into which secret formulas are mumbled, even though indigenous healers use leaves and Sabda healers a crucifix to bless the water. The water is given to the patient to drink and the healer spews the water over the patient in the four directions of the wind or in the form of the cross. Wuon healers generally also spew the blessed leaves on the patient, and both male and female indigenous healers rub ill parts of the body with the blessed leaves, while Kelompok Sabda healers wash ill parts of the body with blessed water. In both cases, the healer performs the ritual after sunset and leaves the patient to rest after the rite is completed, to return each day until, hopefully, full recovery is achieved. The most remarkable similarities, however, are found between ‘top initiated’ wuon healers and third-stage Kelompok Sabda healers. Both not only have the ability to identify causes of illness, they can also treat life-threatening illnesses caused by malevolent spirits from the world of the dead. To identify the cause of illness, wuon healers as well as Kelompok Sabda healers know how to make contact with ancestral spirits. While the healer is in a state of sleep-wakefulness, ancestors address their descendant and generally provide useful information not only concerning the cause of the illness but also ways to fight the illness. Ancestors may appear to healers in any place, although healers sometimes prefer a special location for getting in touch with their ancestors. Wuon healers visit ancestral sacred places located in the forest, whereas Kelompok Sabda healers invoke the ancestors at the Ayawasi cemetery. After sunset, preferably at night, the healer sets off on his or her own, in search of silence and solutions. Causes of illness can also be identified in another way. Wuon healers as well as Kelompok Sabda healers can find answers by means of expectorating blood after forcefully sucking on a part of their own body or the patient’s body, usually the underarm or chest. Coughing up blood is usually a sign of ‘dirty blood’, nowadays sometimes called an infection. Kelompok Sabda ­ healers



It is remarkable that Kelompok Sabda healers visit the cemetery, especially at night. The cemetery fills most people with dread. Even during a burial, hardly any villager will go all the way up to the graveyard, but instead will wait near the edge until the priest has finished the rite. Fear of the cemetery stems from pre-Christian times, when the only people to be buried were people who died an unnatural death. Others were placed on platforms in trees. In the missionary process this practice was abandoned.

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may also find answers by ‘looking in water’. A paper with certain formulas written on it, which is put into a glass, provides clarification: if the healer sees a shadow, it means that the illness was caused by a malevolent spirit. If spots disfigure the piece of paper, it indicates an infection. Wuon healers, on the other hand, find their answers in leaves, roots or liana. The colour, the composition, or the way these are laid out on the ground gives insight into the illness and its treatment. These healers may see a shadow in the foliage, another sign that a malevolent spirit is interfering in the patient’s life. If the shadow is seen walking away from the spot, death will soon occur. The power to heal or chase away malevolent spirits is achieved, by wuon healers as well as by Kelompok Sabda healers, by pressing the body either with healing leaves or with a crucifix: on top of the head, between the shoulder blades, and on the chest. Furthermore, to expel the illness or malevolent spirit that has taken possession of the body, wuon healers pull at all the fingers and toes, whereas Kelompok Sabda healers blow (using a crucifix) on hands and feet. A major difference is that Kelompok Sabda healers do not have to pay for their initiation, although members do pay an annual contribution of Rp 25,000. Ibu Baru reveals the secret formulas and sacred words to whoever wants to learn to heal in the ‘ways of the church’ but, importantly, only to those whom she considers qualified. Ibu Baru justifies her decision by stating that ‘handing over the knowledge is nowadays more important than paying for knowledge’. Indigenous initiation rites, on the other hand, were coupled with a lifelong obligation to pay for the knowledge obtained: each healing rite learned had to be repaid with ceremonial cloths, pigs or (nowadays) cash. Whether an indigenous or a Kelompok Sabda rite, however, the performance of the healing rite must be paid for by the patient and their family. Adat and church rules Just like male and female indigenous initiation, participation in Kelompok Sabda is marked by an initiation ceremony. The ceremony, however, is not performed in a cult house, far away in the forest, but instead in one of the member’s homes in the village, and all Kelompok Sabda members are welcome to attend. Although both initiated and novice Kelompok Sabda members may witness the ritual, the actual initiation ceremony is surrounded by the strictest secrecy. While the novice kneels down, two of the main symbols



ties.

The contribution is kept by the treasurer Petrus Turot and is used for people in difficul-

Tah kek planted in front of a house as a protective measure

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of fenia meroh initiation are given to the novices, by which strength is passed on to them. This not only gives them the power to perform the healing rites, but also provides them with wisdom and will protect them against danger of any kind. In Ibu Baru’s words, ‘They now meet with God.’ A vow, swearing strictest secrecy, is said out loud. A failure to observe the vow of secrecy is no longer followed by a killing, as it was in former times, but punished by God, as a result of which people go insane or turn seriously ill. In pre-Christian times, violating the oath of secrecy after initiation into wuon or fenia meroh was synonymous with signing your own death warrant: Although it was said that the offender would be punished by the ancestors and as a consequence would become ill and die, the person was in fact killed (either by sorcery or by cutting the throat) before ancestor-induced misfortune could strike. Nowadays, although the fear of being killed is still strong, this custom is no longer practised. I know of no case of initiated Kelompok Sabda members breaking secrecy and being reprimanded, but the strength of their belief in punishment is apparent in the way people react to breaking indigenous rules or failure to observe the ‘rules of the church’. Breaking a fenia meroh rule: Ita Weku Not long after the closing ceremony of our female initiation rite fenia meroh in the village of Fef, Ita Weku,  one of the initiates and a daughter of Ibu Maria Baru’s elder sister Aknes, woke up with a high fever. As usual in case of sudden rise of temperature, Ita Weku assumed she was suffering from an attack of malaria and asked a relative to get some chloroquine tablets from the missionary clinic. While she waited for the fever to decline, she made herself comfortable near the open fireplace of her home. After 24 hours, however, the fever did not go down. On the contrary, she felt increasingly worse and was dangerously ill as her temperature kept rising. Ita Weku, as well as everyone else, immediately understood that it was not malaria, but that something else was wrong. For that reason, Ibu Baru was called upon without delay by way of an SSB radio message, as she had already returned to Ayawasi. Ibu Baru, however, refused to take the plane to Fef to pay her sister’s daughter a visit. ‘Ita Weku violated a very crucial ancestral rule’, Ibu Baru said. ‘She was taught during initiation not to take off her sefot [decorations; Indonesian: hiasan] after completing initiation. She knows she has to wear 

Ita (literally: ‘flower in bloom’) is the designation girls receive when completing the secluded phase of fenia meroh. Men, when leaving wuon, receive the designation bofit, which refers to their status as warriors, because bofit was used during wartime to take revenge on enemies.

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her braided bracelets, necklace, and carrier bag until her bracelets fall apart of their own accord.’ The moment the braided charms split is seen as a sign that the ancestral rules and healing power, passed on to the novices during initiation, are completely incorporated into the body. Ita Weku, however, did not feel comfortable wearing the indigenous decorations to school. So, some days after the closing ceremony, she decided to take off the decorations when attending school and only wear them in her free time. Nonetheless, Ibu Baru said, ‘by this decision Ita Weku violated a major ancestral rule and in this way broke off the powers passed on to her.’ Never before had I observed Ibu Baru deny a request for help, nor had I seen such an adamant expression on her face. For days she was relentless in refusing her relatives’ plea to save the girl. ‘Why should I help, why listen to her demand? Ita Weku did not care to listen and obey the rules she learned during initiation. She knows the consequences and has to accept them.’ Tension mounted in the Baru family home. Everyone knew that if Ibu Baru did not intervene, it was only a matter of time before Ita Weku would die. Because the balance between Ibu Baru and the ancestors on one hand and Ita Weku on the other had been disturbed, the disturbed relationship could be restored only if they worked together to restore the girl’s health. And then, when Ita Weku’s condition reached its climax and she was hallucinating with fever, Ibu Baru could not deny her family’s pleas any longer. She did not want the girl to die and took action, but not before she made Ita Weku promise to obey adat rules from now on. Then she told the girl to take the plane to Ayawasi. During the healing rite she performed, Ibu Baru asked the ancestors not to disturb Ita Weku any longer. The girl, without any doubt, had been struck ill because of breaking ancestral indigenous rules. Ibu Baru appeased the ancestors by promising that Ita Weku would never again break these rules and that she would wear her decorations permanently until the bracelets fell off by themselves. That night the fever broke, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief. The crisis between Ibu Baru and Ita Weku, however, was not yet over. Ibu Baru was still very disappointed in the girl and did not, as she usually does, check on her patient the next morning. And thus, the girl knew what was expected of her. As soon as she felt strong enough, Ita Weku apologized to Ibu Baru for her transgression and thanked her for her intervention. During the remaining week, while Ita Weku was waiting for the illness to run its course, she wore her complete indigenous outfit, including her carrier bag tied around her head, even when she was resting beside the fireplace in Ibu Baru’s kitchen.

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Breaking a ‘rule of the church’: Simon Turot Once, at a monthly Kelompok Sabda meeting, Petronella Wafon, one of the members, entered the room with a bewildered looking elderly man on her arm. He was barely able to speak, and stared at those present with big, hollow eyes. This man, who turned out to be Simon Turot, had been found the day before near the bank of the river, with his face down, floating on the slowmoving water. He was unconscious and close to being drowned. Once warm and safe, but still confused, the man had falteringly told his story, after which he had lost his speech completely. During the Kelompok Sabda meeting, Petronella Wafon told what had happened: One day, while walking through the forest, Simon Turot had found a small crucifix on his path somewhere just outside the village. He picked it up and admired the shiny, silver-plated object. He had never seen this crucifix before and was sure it did not belong to any of the villagers. Simon Turot then asked himself what to do with this beautiful object. He did not think it appropriate to keep it, as he was not a Christian; he was not baptized, hardly ever went to church and, because he was illiterate, had never read a single passage of the Bible. And thus Simon decided to leave the crucifix on the path for someone else to find. Relieved by what he considered a well-thought-out decision, Simon Turot continued his journey. That night, however, he did not return home. Because it is not unusual for people to stay some days or even some weeks away from the village, Simon Turot was never reported missing. His family just assumed that he had gone to live in his food garden. Fourteen days went by before Simon Turot was found some miles downstream of Ayawasi, by someone who happened to be passing by. The drowning man could not remember what had happened during that fortnight and seemed to have lost all sense of reality. He only knew that he had tried to return home but, strangely, had lost his way. Kelompok Sabda members were only too aware of what was wrong: by leaving the crucifix, Simon Turot had disregarded a Christian vision and as a consequence turned foolish. Only a special rite performed by Kelompok Sabda members could change his condition. For this reason, the lost object was tracked down. And thus it happened that, while saying special prayers, the crucifix was ritually presented to Simon Turot, thus returning it to its true finder. It was impressed on him to always treasure and cherish it. That same night, we witnessed how Simon Turot slowly regained his speech and notice

When a devotional object is found, word immediately goes around and it does not take long before everyone knows exactly not only where it was found but also what it looks like.  This passage shows that people who have not been baptized into the Catholic religion may nevertheless receive Christian visions.

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ably became more relaxed and lucid. By the end of the week he resumed his daily life as he had lived it before this event, with one exception. Simon Turot became a regular churchgoer, and later on, after Ibu Baru had validated his vision, a member of Kelompok Sabda. Losing one’s mind or becoming seriously ill not only occurs because of violating an ancestral or ‘church rule’. It may also happen to a healer who uses the methods or formulas in the wrong way, for instance by forgetting the right words or the right order of the sentences. For this reason, both in indigenous initiation and in Kelompok Sabda, only the brightest novices are trained to become accomplished healers and receive the status of ‘top initiates’. Both during indigenous initiation and initiation into Kelompok Sabda, the leader decides whom this honour is conferred upon, and only a few achieve this standing. In Kelompok Sabda, everyone who has received a vision can become an ordinary member, but Ibu Baru decides to whom she will pass on the secret healing knowledge of the second and third stages. In addition to imparting Christian faith, by pointing out the similarities between adat and Catholic religion, Father Fatem also uses his influence in the community to banish witchcraft and sorcery practices and other acts of violence. Father Fatem depends greatly on the collaboration of Kelompok Sabda members, who try to live their lives in accordance with biblical principles. In doing so, Kelompok Sabda members serve as forerunners in the religious domain. Together with Father Fatem, they combat witchcraft and sorcery with Christian prayer, using the crucifix and holy water. As Easter approaches, they perform the Stations of the Cross, using the opportunity to reflect upon adat and Christianity. During the performance that I witnessed, Kelompok Sabda members walked in procession through the village of Ayawasi, with the man impersonating Jesus in front. Dressed in a long white gown and wearing a crown of thorns, he carried a huge heavy cross from station to station. At each station a Kelompok Sabda member recited a text, both in Meybrat and in Indonesian, for the numerous onlookers. It was striking that the passage where the Bible says ‘Jesus died because of our sins’ had been replaced by ‘Jesus died because we used bofit [poison]’. At the end, the man who impersonated Jesus was actually tied onto the erected cross, an act that caused feelings of deep grief among onlookers. Maksi’s death Although during ordinary life adat and the church are experienced as ‘walking together’, during crisis situations tensions between the two domains surface. As we have seen, this became apparent at several points in Mama Raja’s search

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Negotiating kain timur after Maksi’s death

for healing. The death of Maksi Kosho, the man whose spirit was held responsible for Mama Raja’s illness, however, not only disturbed Mama Raja’s health, but also seriously disrupted village life.10 By exploring the crisis following the homicide, tensions arose between adat and Christianity. Some villagers wanted to resolve the matter according to adat, and others according to the ‘ways of the church’. In the end, local people found ways to restore the balance by reuniting adat and Christianity, with Kelompok Sabda playing a central role. Two different views The night Maksi Kosho was killed, the village was startled out of its night’s rest by people anxiously running back and forth shouting in panic. Before I had a chance to get up and see what was going on, Maria Fanataf, who lived with us, together with her one-year-old son Yan, knocked at our door urgently. ‘Yin, Bokek’, her voice sounded fearful. After I opened the door I looked

10 ‘In a dramatic incident such as a homicide one can expect things to become manifest that usually remain latent in ordinary life.’ (Venbrux 1993:21.)

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into her terrified eyes while she explained, ‘Maksi Kosho has been murdered. He has been killed. Stabbed by a spear in his belly by Steven Kosamah. His whole belly is disembowelled. Desa Bori is covered with blood.’ Overcome with an ominous feeling, as we knew a dangerous situation had been created, we remained in the house out of sight. Together we spent the rest of the night sitting in the darkness, listening to the sound of people running back and forth. Maria was very upset, as her entire family lived in desa Bori and she feared for their safety. She did not dare show herself in front of the open window, as she was afraid that someone might notice her. So, once in a while Louise and I tried to get a glimpse of what was going on outside. We saw men running with raised spears and people taking refuge in the forest, carrying only kain timur. The next morning the village was not only full of fear, it was half deserted. It turned out that many villagers had fled. All members of the murderer’s clan had run away in terror: according to adat, Maksi’s death had to be avenged by another death, preferably by killing the perpetrator. In this way the hostile party would suffer an equal loss.11 Yet, if Steven Kosamah could not be found, any other member of his clan would do. And thus, from the moment the homicide occurred, all villagers lived in fear, as it was likely that a second homicide would follow. In addition, every person in the village deeply feared interventions by the killed person’s restless spirit that was wandering around the village and would definitely cause serious harm. It turned out that Steven Kosamah had killed Maksi Kosho in a night-time row involving a dispute about payment of kain timur. The fact was that Steven was the brother of Paskalis, the husband of Bibiane, who had committed suicide by drinking the poisonous root fo because of being maltreated by her spouse (Chapter III). The Kosamah clan had not yet finished compensating for Bibiane’s death by giving large numbers of kain timur. Although the villagers’ panic emerged from the expectation that the matter would be resolved by a revenge killing, the local village head, who originated from Ayawasi, reported the homicide to the police in Sorong, so the killer would be brought to trial. The next morning, one of the priests at the local Catholic mission discovered that the murderer had fled into the presbytery, where he had hidden himself in the guestroom. Father Fatem decided that Steven should remain there until the Sorong police arrived to arrest him. The case embarrassed the villagers and caused great controversy. Many of the villagers took the position that Father Fatem, because he was one of them, as he originated from the eastern Ayfat area, should set the perpetrator free 11

The revenge killing is also a ritual practice intended to calm down the restless spirit of the murdered person, so the spirit will stop wandering around and disturbing the world of the living.

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so the victim’s kin could take the law into their own hands. A larger number of people, while stressing their Catholic identity, took the position that Father Fatem had made the right decision. People were uncertain and sometimes changed their opinion from one moment to the next. This not only depended on the social context in which they gave their opinion, but was also because they found the situation confusing and it was difficult to form a clear opinion. For many adults, it was the first time they had faced the problem of a murder in their own community, and they were not sure how to deal with this new situation. Showing no fear That morning after the killing, when people were angry as well as afraid and confused, I noticed that not everyone appeared to be terror-stricken. When I looked out the window, I saw Lys Korain walking down Ayawasi’s main path at a good pace, holding the Bible in her hands. She stepped right up to a group of men who were standing angrily opposite each other, their spears ready to throw. Decisively, she positioned herself in their midst and pushed the crowd apart, showing no fear. While pointing at the Bible, Ibu Lys preached: People have no right to decide whether someone will live or die. That is up to God. We have to obey the rules of the church now. We do not kill anymore. Instead, we hand Steven over to the authorities where he will be put on trial and brought to justice.

Although Lys Korain’s statement met with strong resistance, as many villagers wanted to avenge Maksi’s death, no one actually harmed her. As a matter of fact, Lys Korain moved freely among the hostile crowd. While I watched Lys Korain, I saw Ibu Baru heading in our direction. I presumed she was coming to support Lys Korain in her plea for peace. But instead, she walked straight up to our house, ignoring the tumult around her. Ibu Baru had brought some food to share with us and took a seat before the open window. ‘Come’, she urged Louise and me. ‘Let’s sit here for a while and watch what is happening outside, like we are watching television.’ Ibu Baru did not seem impressed by the animosity lingering in the village. ‘Why should I be afraid?’ Ibu Baru answered my question. ‘I do not have to be afraid. Kelompok Sabda members are inviolable. No one can nor has the courage to harm or kill us, as we have met God.’12 12

The presumed immunity of Kelompok Sabda members is connected to Ibu Maria Baru’s vision during which she met with God, ate an Apitiwiah banana, and did not die, even though according to adat, Apitiwiah is a sign of death.

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All the following days of the crisis, Lys Korain and her husband Petrus Turot frequently referred to the Bible they held in their hands, while stating that Christians are not allowed to kill people. Other Kelompok Sabda members hid relatives of the murderer in their houses or food gardens, to protect them against the violence of the victim’s kin. For several weeks after the homicide, Kelompok Sabda members, together with Father Fatem and other missionary workers, patrolled the village day and night in order to prevent acts of revenge. They were unable, however, to prevent a hostile party going to Steven’s house to set it on fire and burn it down. Substituting the soul Those who supported resolving the matter by a revenge killing, nearly all of whom were Christians, generally took this view because they were deeply hurt by Maksi’s death and wanted his soul to be paid by another soul. One of these persons even referred to a biblical passage to support her opinion, stating: If the family of the murdered man does not get the opportunity to kill Steven, they surely will kill someone else. So the father [Fatem] has to act as Pilate and purify his hands while stating: ‘Whoever wants to kill, kills.’ In that way, the two men can be buried simultaneously. Then we will cut a taro root in half and put one part on each grave, thereby resolving the matter.

The speaker is referring to the ritual repayment expressed by the term mafitania, which means ‘substituting the life force’.13 In pre-Christian times, after the homicide had been repaid, the dispute was settled in a symbolic manner: the two parties together cut a piece of taro in half, while stating awiah fetah awiah fetah mafitania: two parts of an awiah make up a whole (life force). This was a way of expressing that, now the parties had suffered an equal loss, the matter had been disposed of (compare Thoonen 2005:57). Villagers opposed to a revenge killing (all Christians too) were generally of the opinion that the matter should be resolved in accordance with the Bible. Still, some of them were in favour of a solution according to adat, because they were afraid that the ‘new way’ would lead to another killing anyhow. Despite the differences in views and reactions, both parties shared one overwhelming emotion: deep fear of the victim’s malevolent spirit that

13

A revenge killing is nowadays sometimes referred to as ganti jiwa, replacing the soul.

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was roaming around the village and would not rest in peace as long as his death had not been repaid.14 Christian protection As soon as the sun started to set, nearly everyone who still remained in the village fled into their houses, as spirits of deceased persons appear after dusk. It was said that sah (Maksi’s spirit) visited Steven each night to frighten him. Sometimes by spitting blood into the room where Steven was staying, and on other days by making him sweat blood instead of water. These happenings were viewed as a sign that Maksi’s spirit was so angry that it had followed Steven all the way to Sorong. The victim’s spirit also visited his own house each night. It was said that, one night, Maksi’s spirit brought the bloodstained spear by which he was killed to his house. Because of fear of the spirit of the murdered man, it was hard to find family members who were willing to keep watch over the corpse. After two days, a Kelompok Sabda member decided that he had to do it because otherwise the body would be eaten away by mice. Some other members followed his example, stating: ‘We are not afraid. The spirit of God is stronger than the spirit of a murdered man.’ In this situation of deep fear, Christian symbols and practices were perceived by the majority of the villagers as protective. Most people prayed frequently with a crucifix, as praying and the cross would fend off malevolent spirits. As they explained: ‘When we pray using a cross, the spirit does not enter the house. Because when we pray, God will come and the spirit does not dare enter.’ Many people also blessed their house with a rosary in order to keep the malevolent spirit outside. Simultaneously, they said indigenous spells to ward off the spirit, and planted tah leaves, known for their protective powers, in front of their homes. Father Fatem performed a ritual on the bloodstained place where Maksi had been stabbed to death. The blood, like the spirit, was perceived as a force that could cause insanity: whoever looked at it would become mad. During the ritual performance, the father planted a cross in the ground, and simultaneously covered the bloodstain with tah leaves. The tah leaves, in their turn, were blessed by Kostan Kosamah, the oldest living wuon healer and a promi-

14

The spirit of a person who is killed is perceived as the most malevolent: in addition to fear, such a spirit may cause serious illness or insanity, and it may even kill other persons. Maksi’s daughter, for instance (Chapter VIII), was believed to be possessed by her father’s malevolent spirit because she had convulsions after his death. The fact that, during his funeral, she stated loudly that she would follow her father soon was perceived as evidence that she had gone gila (mad), which is the result of a malevolent spirit penetrating a person’s body.

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nent member of Kelompok Sabda, in a ritual he had learned during wuon initiation, stating: ‘Please, God, help us to make this village beautiful again so we can live together in harmony.’ Then Father Fatem said his prayers and stated, as Ibu Baru had done at Martha’s side: ‘There is no need to be afraid, because the spirit of God is stronger than any other spirit.’ In order to further diminish villagers’ fear, the father also said prayers at the local hospital where Maksi had died. Although Maksi’s family did not want him to be buried before his soul had been ‘paid for’, Father Fatem, together with other missionary workers, decided to bury him in the local graveyard three days later. He was afraid that the seriously wounded body would cause illness among the villagers. Out of fear of the spirit, very few people were present at the graveyard, watching from a distance. Seeking solutions The village head organized several meetings in which the killing was discussed. In the end, after some weeks, it was decided that the killer would be turned over to the police. At that time, the party of the murderer and the party of the victim agreed that the victim’s life would not be repaid by a ‘soul’, but by huge numbers of kain timur, including kain pusaka, pigs and money. Paying fines is customary when someone has violated local regulations, such as committing adultery or causing someone’s suicide. This was the first time in northwest Ayfat, however, that paying a fine had been used to settle a homicide dispute, heralding a new era. In the end, Maksi’s family agreed and claimed damages, a total value of Rp 5,000,000.15 What followed was a prolonged, emotional process in which members of both parties, from a distance, publicly negotiated the number of kain timur that had to be paid. During the negotiations, each part of the victim’s body was mentioned, and counted for a certain number of ceremonial cloths. The heart was recognized as the most precious body part. During these weeks the victim’s mother and wife kept protesting, but they could not prevent the murderer eventually being brought to Sorong. Various people, however, informed me that the fact that the homicide was resolved in this way was no guarantee that Steven or someone of his family, after some years, would not still be killed after all. As one Kelompok Sabda member remarked, there had been a sign of this. He told me: ‘On the day Steven was brought to Sorong, it rained heavily. We call this “blood rain”. It

15

As a comparison, the average monthly salary of a civil servant at that time was Rp 40,000.

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means that, some day, another life will be taken.’ The homicide had caused confusion and controversy about the way the crisis should be solved. People divided the possible solutions into two categories: first, solutions according to adat, and second, solutions according to the church. In everyday life, however, villagers do not emphasize differences or incompatibilities between adat and Christianity. On the contrary, most people combine indigenous with Christian religious beliefs and practices, as is usually done in healing preferences. In the end, after a prolonged and emotional period, adat and church were reconciled: in line with adat, Maksi’s soul was paid for. The type of payment, however, was in accordance with biblical rules: it was not another life that ‘repaid’ the life that had been taken; instead, a huge fine compensated for the loss of life. Concerning the danger posed by the victim’s malevolent spirit, the villagers all feared it. Here too, they followed the principle that adat and church should ‘walk together’; people sought protection against malevolent spirits by means of both indigenous and Christian practices. Finding a balance Over the years, with the disappearance of indigenous initiation rites, people of northwest Ayfat had come to believe that the younger generation ‘did not know how to live well anymore’. The younger generation lacked rituals for passing down ancestral rules and powers, and there was no longer an opportunity to transfer knowledge of healing. As a result, the transfer of sacred indigenous knowledge of various kinds had stopped. Many were troubled wondering what would happen to indigenous beliefs, practices, and knowledge after the older generation had passed away. In this process of cultural and religious change, people searched on several levels for ways to restore and safeguard the balance. By acknowledging that indigenous knowledge passed down through initiation rites is equal in value to knowledge of God and the Bible, people of the Ayfat area restored a balance in terms of ideology: they made sense out of what seemed to be conflicting worldviews and reconciled them in a more coherent narrative. Kelompok Sabda, moreover, restored the balance between illness and health, and between female healing (fenia meroh) and male healing (wuon). While creating positions as public ritual healers, which from an indigenous perspective is an extraordinary achievement, Kelompok Sabda members incorporated indigenous religious beliefs and practices in the healing rituals they perform. In this way, in the religious domain, Kelompok Sabda has ensured continuation of these practices in a changing and dynamic society. With the creation of Kelompok Sabda, a new secret society arose which fits into the

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present Christian context and in which not only indigenous healing methods but also indigenous religious beliefs and practices are safeguarded in a new form: the sacred and secret healing knowledge of both fenia meroh and wuon is now passed down through rituals that are recognized as ‘ways of the church’.

chapter x

Performing healing Conclusion

Who made Mama Raja ill? Five words that preoccupied the minds of many people during my fieldwork in Ayawasi, a village in the Bird’s Head of West Papua. Five words behind which a whole world of illness and healing emerged. In this book, I have searched for an answer to this question, spotlighting the domain of illness and healing in contemporary northwest Ayfat society. The book follows the course of Mama Raja’s illness and the path she followed in her search for healing. Her case not only serves as a starting point, but is used as a tool to explore the wider process of healing in the context of religious change in the society. In this way, I seek and find answers to the main research question: how are people’s choices of healing performances in contemporary northwest Ayfat related to religious change and gender? Missionary activities had started in 1949 with the arrival of male missionaries, first Franciscan priests (OFM) and later Augustinians (OSA). Initially, the most important impact in the religious domain of healing was made by the first female missionary, who arrived in 1963 and founded a missionary clinic. Later, in a Christian context, local people abandoned, shaped and reshaped healing performances. By focusing on healing as a cultural performance (following Laderman and Roseman 1996), by emphasizing specific behaviours and treatments, by exploring the cultural process of healing (Csordas 1996) rather than its effectiveness, by looking at healing in relation to religious change and gender, and by presenting Mama Raja’s case (through which the realm of illness and healing emerges), this study shows how people’s choices of healing performances are related to religious change on two levels. First, on the level of contemporary daily life in current northwest Ayfat society, a multiplicity of healing performances exist that emerged in the process of religious change. Taking the emic point of view, these are divided into three categories: indigenous (fenia meroh, wuon, personal rituals received from ancestral spirits in dreams, and ancestral clan-bound healing rituals),

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biomedical (treatments at the missionary hospital), and Christian (healing performances by Kelompok Sabda members). On this first level, the study shows the interconnections between people’s choices of healing performances and religious change by exploring when, and for what reasons, people make their choice from among the present-day healing performances available to them. Second, on a broader level, changes in the indigenous and missionary religious domains are intertwined with changes in healing performances. I have explained why and how people, by incorporating Christian idiom and symbols, chose to create new healing rites, and how this relates to gender. This second level particularly concerns the creation and activities of a new healing group, Kelompok Sabda. My analysis of Kelompok Sabda, comparing it to indigenous female (fenia meroh) and male (wuon) ritual healing, shows that local people in the missionary process ensured a continuation of the transfer of ancestral healing knowledge by creating new ritual performances. Furthermore, women gained new roles in healing, with Christian legitimization, thereby challenging the monopoly of male wuon healers as public performers who exclusively possessed knowledge and skills to heal spirit illness. Approaching healing as a cultural performance, the book explores healing rites as well as the contributions of the healers who conduct the rites. In daily life, ritual healers and ill persons deal with new circumstances and are confronted with a variety of healing methods. In examining these, not only the various healing rites but also individual performers who hold important places in the religious domain come to the fore: initiated women and men who perform as healers, Ibu Maria Baru, the female leader of Kelompok Sabda, and other prominent members who serve as healers such as Bapak Yopi Titit and Ibu Lys Korain, the sisters at the local hospital, and the native Catholic priest Father Fatem. The first level: a variety of healing choices Mama Raja’s case illustrates the multiplicity of present-day healing rituals available in northwest Ayfat, where indigenous, biomedical and Christian performances exist side by side. Within this multiplicity, ill people can choose among the various healing rites. Mama Raja’s case serves as an example for the way people make choices in their search for healing. The case shows that in the initial phase of an illness, indigenous and biomedical healing performances are interchangeable. When men and women, both older and younger ones, start feeling ill they initially choose to seek recovery through indigenous therapy. One option is to perform such ­methods

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by oneself, either as learned during initiation, which older people went through in their youth, or as received in visions: dreams in which ancestral spirits reveal healing methods and spells and which both young and old, initiated and non-initiated, can experience. This is explained in the description of the pokonof rite in Chapter V. Another option is to consult male or female initiated healers who are known for their healing abilities: those ritual specialists I term ‘top initiates’. In the early phase of an illness, these healers will generally treat the patient with herbal medicines. If these indigenous performances are ineffective, the patient next makes use of the medical services of the missionary clinic. At times, people do things in the opposite order, first visiting the outpatient clinic, and if the pills and injections prove to be ineffective, turning then to herbal therapy. Not infrequently, people combine the two healing methods simultaneously, or even alternate between them, until their health improves. The fact is that, in this early stage of illness, people are generally very pragmatic in their choices of healing performances, be it indigenous rites or treatment at the missionary clinic. The biomedical treatment is generally perceived as an ‘easy way’ of getting cured, whereas herbal therapy is experienced as ‘hard work’ because of the need to search for leaves, roots and tree bark, their preparation and application, and the time it takes for the substances to be absorbed by the body. Whether villagers choose the outpatient clinic or indigenous therapy also depends on whether they have cash at their disposal, and how far away they are from the clinic. If, in this initial phase of the illness, indigenous or biomedical healing performances do not result in recovery, people enter a new stage in their search for healing. In such a situation, people usually try several, sometimes all, of the available healing rites, until they recover, as happened in Mama Raja’s case. In this stage, choosing a particular healing performance and healer depends primarily on the (presumed) cause of the illness. Mama Raja’s case shows that determining the reason she had fallen ill and who was responsible for it was considered far more important than what her illness was. People look for possible causes of the illness such as misbehaviour that has aroused rage and punishment from the ancestors or from God, and people look for sorcerers, witches, and malevolent spirits, any of whom may have caused the illness. The main indigenous causes of illness (and death) are defined as witchcraft (suangi), sorcery (kret), and the interference of spirits from the underworld. In the missionary process, through which inhabitants of northwest Ayfat have increasingly become devout Christians, another category arose: illness as a result of violating Christian rules. God’s punishment is feared for practising adultery or polygamy after a church marriage. (As a result, people rarely choose to be married in church.) Further, following biomedical explanations

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by the missionary medical staff, people nowadays recognize the existence of diseases such as malaria and influenza. These diseases are perceived as a biological reaction of the body and not seen as conflicting, but rather as complementary, with the illness causes mentioned above. In this study, I divide indigenous causes of illness into two categories: interference by spirits of the living, and interference by spirits of the underworld. Witchcraft and sorcery belong to the first category, whereas ancestral spirits and malevolent spirits from the world of the dead belong to the second category. Sorcery and witchcraft are both performed by spirits of living persons; such spirits make people ill, mostly out of envy. For northwest Ayfat, two other distinctions must be added to Evans-Pritchard’s (1937) classic model of sorcery and witchcraft: not only the innate and uncontrollable (witchcraft) versus learned and deliberate (sorcery) dichotomy is significant, but also dichotomies based on gender and social roles: witchcraft and sorcery are gendered counterparts, as only women are accused of witchcraft while sorcerers are exclusively male. Whereas witches are punished, sorcerers are socially rewarded. On the broader (second) level of religious change in northwest Ayfat, this difference has faded. Choices of healing performances are limited if a person has fallen victim to sorcery or witchcraft. In the indigenous religious domain, only wuon healers (rae wuon, men who have undergone full initiation) are capable of counteracting acts of sorcery or witchcraft. However, religious change has empowered other groups, especially women, to take on this role. Nowadays, healers belonging to the Christian healing group called Kelompok Sabda, created in the missionary context, are also considered to have the spiritual powers needed to heal illness caused by sorcery or witchcraft. Kelompok Sabda members use their position not only to heal illness, but also to strive to eradicate belief in sorcery and witchcraft. In this, they support the missionary priests and sisters who condemned sorcery and witchcraft and, more importantly, they contribute to improving the position of society’s marginal women, who are the exclusive victims of witchcraft accusations. The second category consists of spirits of the underworld, spirits of deceased persons that enter the world of the living to harm and punish. These include ancestral sprits and malevolent (non-ancestral) spirits of people who died of an ‘unnatural’ cause, such as suicide, homicide, or an accident (all of which are believed to be caused by the interference of malevolent spirits). Although ancestral spirits watch over and protect their descendants, they can also punish them with illness for disregarding ancestral rules or social obligations. Spirits of people who died of unnatural causes may turn malevolent because of their sudden and sometimes violent departure from the world of the living. They harm people by frightening them or taking possession of their body, such that a victim falls ill or goes mad.

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Among illnesses caused by spirits of the underworld, the distinction between ancestral and non-ancestral spirits determines which healing performances are chosen. Intervention by ancestral spirits cannot be healed by wuon healers’ rituals, nor by Kelompok Sabda healers, but only by the performance of an indigenous clan-bound healing rite (such as the manes kaya rite). During the performance of such a clan-bound rite, the ancestors are honoured and the victim acknowledges his or her violation of ancestral obligations. In return, the ancestors restore the victim’s health. Central indigenous beliefs and symbols mark such clan-bound healing rites, emphasizing their ancestral origin. In contrast, an illness caused by non-ancestral spirits can be healed either by wuon healers or by certain Kelompok Sabda healers; these are the persons who can perform rituals to expel malevolent spirits. The biomedical approach used by the missionary clinic is perceived as ineffective in healing spirit illness of either kind. Not only is spirit illness considered to be the most difficult to heal, but ancestral ways of healing are seen to be far more powerful than biomedical ways. Only if an illness has not been ascribed to sorcery, witchcraft, or spirits from the underworld is the missionary clinic an attractive choice to people. At first sight, it may seem that in present-day northwest Ayfat, in the process of religious change, a great range of healing choices is available. By exploring illness and healing from an emic perspective, however, the range of choices (after the initial phase of the illness) is seen to be limited in two ways. First, the healing performance needed is based primarily on the presumed cause of the illness. Second, there is a hierarchy between two of the categories of healing performances: indigenous (more specifically wuon) rituals and Kelompok Sabda rituals. As a result, choosing a healing performance by one of these two categories may effectively exclude the other category. There is thus an area of tension between healers of these two categories. Wuon healers argue that wuon belongs to the domain of adat, which existed long before the coming of the church. They argue that they have the right to perform their healing rites before any Kelompok Sabda specialists come into action. Kelompok Sabda healing performances are referred to as Christian, and viewed as healing ‘in the ways of the church’. Kelompok Sabda healers emphasize that, because God is the highest and most forceful power, no other rite may be performed after a Kelompok Sabda healing rite. A closer exploration of male (wuon) and female (fenia meroh) initiation rites and of Kelompok Sabda revealed a second level of interconnections between people’s choices of healing performances and changes in religion and gender.

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The second level: healing, gender and religious change Mama Raja’s case was concluded with healing performances by Kelompok Sabda, the Christian healing group, illustrating how choices of healing performances on the second level are related to religious change and gender. Special attention was given to the rise and development of this group in analysing how choices of healing performances are linked to changes in religious and gender relations. In exploring Kelompok Sabda in relation to wuon and fenia meroh initiation, I uncovered the operative factors when people in northwest Ayfat actively seek out and engage in healing performances, and how they have incorporated and restored religious knowledge and healing abilities. In this way, the study offers insights on the active contributions of local participants in the domain of healing and religious change in the Pacific region which, as Knauft (2002) notes, are still rather understudied. I have shown how and why local people themselves created new healing rituals in the recent missionary process, and the pioneering contribution of women in this. By focusing on these pioneering contributions, I have shown that not only local women but also female missionaries acted as agents of change. On the second level, the most important phenomenon concerns the creation of the new secret society, Kelompok Sabda, through which the transfer of indigenous ritual healing knowledge continued, despite the abolishment of the former initiation rituals. The Christian character of Kelompok Sabda provided legitimation for the founding of the society and for the performance of healing rituals by its members. By exploring the creation of this society, and the choices of healing performances in Mama Raja’s case, I have shown why local people chose to create Kelompok Sabda, and how this restored a balance on several levels. The creation of Kelompok Sabda in the early 1980s was initiated by healing performances of one local, devout Catholic woman, Ibu Maria Baru, after she had obtained healing results that villagers perceived as miraculous. At the heart of her performances are a combination of indigenous practices and Christian prayers and symbols, such as the rosary and blessed water. Ibu Baru claims she had visions urging her to create these new healing performances. She received divine messages, and had encounters with God and with ancestral spirits, all emphasizing the necessity of making use of the ancestral healing knowledge that was formerly transferred during the abandoned fenia meroh initiation rite; simultaneously, the visions disclosed knowledge of new ‘Christian’ healing methods. The visions served not only as inspiration for the creation of new healing rituals but, more importantly, as justification for the continuation of certain aspects of indigenous healing performances in a Christian context, and as such for the founding of Kelompok Sabda. That Ibu Baru received these divine messages stems from her personal

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characteristics and her connection with Christianity. She held an extraordinary place in the religious domain and in society at large, as she was fully initiated into the healing knowledge acquired during the female initiation rite fenia meroh and thus belonged to the exclusive category of ‘top initiates’. In addition, she had gained secret healing knowledge from her father, who was a respected wuon healer. It was extraordinary that important healing knowledge had been transmitted from a man to a woman, since such knowledge is usually passed on exclusively through the same gender line. The combination of Ibu Baru’s extraordinary position and her exceptional indigenous and newly received Christian healing knowledge and skills, moved people to become her disciples, united in Kelompok Sabda. Kelompok Sabda represents an ongoing process of continuity in change. Through this healing group, local Christian people restored the ritual transfer of sacred and secret ancestral healing knowledge, this transfer having stagnated in the missionary process after the abolishment of indigenous initiation rites (fenia meroh and wuon). As agents of change, Kelompok Sabda healers created innovative spiritual healing performances in accordance with ‘ways of the church’, but the manner in which Christian symbols were employed was in fact consistent with ancestral ways as learned during fenia meroh and wuon. Thus, in the creation of Kelompok Sabda, a new secret society arose that fitted in the Christian context and in which indigenous healing performances and ancestral healing beliefs could be continued in a new form, combined with Christian symbols and practices. In terms of the content of ancestral healing performances and knowledge, Kelompok Sabda aimed at continuation, whereas regarding what kind of people could become healers, it aimed at change. In Kelompok Sabda a new category of healers emerged: women and non-initiated men. Kelompok Sabda provided them with positions they would not have been able to hold in the indigenous religious domain. In Kelompok Sabda, women as well as noninitiated males can perform as public healers whereas, in pre-Christian times, the public healing domain was reserved exclusively for the fully initiated men known as wuon healers. This new category of Kelompok Sabda healers are trained in the ‘tradition’ of fenia meroh and wuon, in which a distinction is made between ordinary novices and top initiates. During fenia meroh and wuon initiation, only the most intelligent and promising female and male initiates from wealthy families received the most sacred knowledge. They were the only ones to be fully trained in healing and, as such, belonged to the exclusive category of top initiates. My identification of this category of top initiates is a new finding in the study of female initiation, which resulted from my combining indigenous initiation rituals and healing in one research study. The category of top initiates in the former initiation rites is comparable to third-stage healers in Kelompok Sabda. What characterizes them as extraordi-

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nary is not only that they perform in public, but that they have gained healing skills that, in pre-Christian times, were possessed exclusively by wuon healers: skills to chase away and destroy non-ancestral spirits of the underworld. In this way, women in particular, as Kelompok Sabda healers, have been able to shift gender boundaries in two ways: by acting as public healers, which previously was a male privilege, and by entering the domain of healing spirit illness and thus appropriating the most highly respected healing power. The importance of Kelompok Sabda in current society can be understood from two perspectives. First, due to the abolishment of initiation rites, especially wuon initiation, indigenous avenues for healing and for transferring healing knowledge of illness caused by malevolent spirits stagnated, and was threatened with permanent loss. Second, the biomedical treatments introduced by the missionary hospital were considered ineffective in healing illness caused by malevolent spirits. By creating Kelompok Sabda, local people solved this dilemma. Though missionaries were strongly opposed to indigenous healing rites, the activities of Kelompok Sabda healers raised no objections, as their Christian character fitted in the missionary context. Further, Kelompok Sabda healers in this way succeeded in combining indigenous ways of healing with the missionary biomedical approach. In doing so, they restored a balance between illness and healing that was disrupted by the missionary process. Simultaneously, by acknowledging that fenia meroh and wuon are of the same status as God and the Bible, and more significantly by emphasizing that key religious beliefs already existed in pre-Christian times, people of the Ayfat area made sense out of what seemed to be conflicting worldviews and reconciled them in a more coherent narrative. By doing so, they restored the balance between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ worlds. This balance is emphasized by the expression that adat and church nowadays ‘walk together’. Although aspects of indigenous healing knowledge and practices are continued in Kelompok Sabda, wuon healers and Kelompok Sabda healers are not perceived as equals. As people’s choices of healing performances on the first level show, there is a hierarchical relation between Kelompok Sabda healers and wuon healers. This, too, is the subject of a continuing debate aimed at finding a balance between indigenous and Christian healing. On the level of religious change, the theme of restoring the balance is also part of Chapters III (Spirits of the living) and IV (Spirits of the underworld). Among spirits of the living, the dividing line between witchcraft (suangi) and sorcery (kret) has faded. In the missionary context the gender division was neutralized by equating both witches and sorcerers with the gender-neutral Christian figure of the devil. The division based on differences in social roles faded even more when the native priest cursed sorcery practices and spread the belief that God punishes people for performing sorcery. Simultaneously, the most drastic form of punishment for female witches, the suangi trial, was

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banned. This contributed to restoring the balance between male and female spirits of the living. Local people willingly embraced Christian symbols and beliefs to heal fear and illness caused by spirits of the living. As far as illness caused by ancestral spirits, Chapter IV shows why healers did not incorporate Christian symbols into indigenous rituals performed to heal illness of this type. Essentially, since ancestral spirits can both punish and heal, they are central in preserving the social balance in the community. The incorporation of Christian and other non-ancestral elements would disturb relationships with the ancestral spirits and thus the social balance. In addition to the above insights, the present study contributes to anthropological theory in three domains: healing, initiation rites, and religious change. Concerning healing, throughout the Pacific region new forms of healing performances have emerged in which elements of various healing systems are combined. Anthropological studies have shown that these new healing systems are primarily a response to new patterns of illness (Macpherson and Macpherson 2003). I found, however, that Kelompok Sabda healers actively created new healing rituals not in order to respond to new illness patterns but, on the contrary, to eliminate illnesses whose causes are embedded in the indigenous religious realm and for which the biomedical treatments introduced by the missionary hospital were ineffective: namely, illnesses caused by non-ancestral malevolent spirits of the underworld. By focusing on the domain of indigenous healing, this study has, moreover, provided new insights about female initiation rituals. Anthropological studies on Pacific cultures point out that initiation rituals often create differences in status among women. between initiated women on the one hand, and non-initiated women on the other. I found, however, that in healing, it is not so much the distinction between initiated and non-initiated that is important, but above all a differentiation within the group of initiated persons. During the performance of initiation rites, differences among the novices were created by the highly selective way in which the most secret and sacred knowledge of healing was transmitted: only a few female novices were fully initiated into this knowledge. The nucleus of initiation performances, the transfer of sacred and secret ancestral knowledge, thus determined the prestige and the positions that women as healers gained in their family and society. I have labelled this exclusive group the top initiates. In the field of religious and cultural change, there is an ongoing debate between anthropologists who emphasize change and those who emphasize



See Barlow 1995; Lutkehaus 1995; Maschio 1995.

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continuity (Knauft 2002:8). This study shows that, for northwest Ayfat, the question whether change or continuity is more important is not relevant. Both are equally important. The Kelompok Sabda Christian healing group serves as an example that religious change is above all a process of continuity in change. In this way, continuity both promotes and reflects religious change.

Epilogue Ten years after I had left West Papua, I returned to the land and people I had longed to see for so many years. The reunion was heart-warming. Tears flowed abundantly and cries of joy echoed through the land: ‘Our child has returned!’ Two questions especially occupied my mind before I undertook the journey. ‘Is everyone healthy and alive, and how are people dealing with the restored balance?’ I would soon find out. Thanks to the help of the Dutch priest Father Ton Tromp OSA and the missionary workers of the AMA, I was able to make a round trip by plane, visiting the village of Fef, and from there to Ayawasi and back to Sorong, in only a few weeks. In Fef I saw that Ibu Maria Baru had found balance in her personal life. Shortly after we left Ayawasi in 1995, she returned to her home village with her children. She had wanted to do this for many years. She now leads a somewhat retired life, although her major goal is still for everyone to realize that adat and church ‘walk together’. She teaches young Catholic girls the wise lessons of adat and is raising funds for a statue in honour of Father Rombouts, the priest who brought Catholicism to the region. And of course she is still a renowned healer. Her oldest daughter Yosefien had recently left her mother’s native area to settle in Sorong with her husband and baby boy. Aknes and Agus Baru, Ibu Baru’s older sister and brother, live close by. The family had only just gone through a major crisis. Ita Senek, one of Aknes’s twins and the girl who participated in the reinstated fenia meroh rite, had recently committed suicide by drinking the poisonous root fo. She could not bear the embarrassment that the man with whom she already had two children did not choose to marry her. All the people in the village, including the other Ita’s, all of whom were married and had children, were in deep mourning. In the village of Ayawasi people had found a way to restore the balance after Maksi’s death. The land had been reallocated and now, even more than before, clans live together somewhat separated from the other clans. The

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Kosamah family moved back to where desa Bori once was founded, a day’s walk southeast of Ayawasi. Bapak Kostan Kosamah did not live to see this happen. He died peacefully, of old age. The Turot clan moved to the opposite side of the Netayn river. They can reach the central part of Ayawasi by way of a suspension bridge. The main part of the village is still inhabited by the Tenau, Air and Yumte clans. In this new setting people continue to live their lives in peace together. Lys Korain took over the leadership of Kelompok Sabda from Ibu Maria Baru. She turned out to be a wise and influential leader of the community who takes her task seriously. From far and near people come to her for advice. Even the village heads of Ayawasi and surrounding villages ask her for guidance. Under her leadership Kelompok Sabda remains a strong and influential group that maintains a balance between adat and church and between indigenous ways of healing and biomedical ways. Bapak Yopi Titit still works at the missionary station. After Ibu Baru, his position as a Kelompok Sabda healer is unequalled. He is renowned and appreciated for his exceptional healing abilities. Bapak Yopi has also become an important advisor for the missionary board on matters of adat and church. Maria Fanataf, who used to live in our house, remarried and had two more children. On Christmas Eve 1999, however, her husband was stabbed to death in a fight with two drunks. Now she searches to regain her balance in life in finding ways to take care of her three young children. The staff of the missionary clinic had not changed. Nurse Barsalina, Afra Baru and all the other native nurses still hold their positions. And, just as in Sister Lamberti’s day, they are dedicated to their work and work very long hours. They still go on house calls, at any hour of the day or night, whenever people are in need of help. Father Fatem, the native priest, passed away the day I left West Papua again. He had been hospitalized in Jakarta for many months without recovering. At the end of his life, his wish to die in West Papua was granted and he was repatriated to his native land. Shortly after, he passed away. I did not have the chance to meet him again. And Mama Raja? Well, she is alive and healthy. Proudly she told me that she had not been ill since my previous stay. And although she is now one of the most senior residents of Ayawasi, she is still strong and fit. She was so happy to see me and is very proud to be a main character in my book. And what about the anthropologist? The years of being in the field and writing the book were not only an academic achievement. For me it was a wondrous adventure which turned out to be a journey through the soul, my

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own soul and the souls of the Papuan people who taught me the wonders of healing in so many ways. Being initiated into secret and sacred knowledge, receiving ancestral strength, wise lessons, and even a new Papuan name, Yin-o, made me, in the words of Ibu Baru, ‘melahirkan keluar’, which means: revealing with body and soul in all respects (of life). And in a way, that is what happened. By writing the book I could give prominence to the healing knowledge and wise lessons of Papuan people. The book reveals the essence of their lives and fulfilled a deep wish that this part of their knowledge be written down and made visible to the world. In doing so, we exchanged gifts of life as, in return, writing the book made me realize that I was searching for ways to converge this knowledge and strength in my life beyond the academic world. In this way, writing the book helped me restore my own balance. More than once, Ibu Baru had referred to the powers and strength that were given to me and the consequent responsibilities these entailed. But how could I bridge the Papuan world with the academic world? How could I intertwine this new view of life with the life I was living? In the process of searching for answers I found a new teacher in the Netherlands, drs Loucas van den Berg, psychologist, spiritual therapist, and researcher on the development of new holistic sciences. He opened the door and guided me into a new way of life and work in which I could ‘reveal with body and soul’. I have been admitted into a new scientific world in which I can bridge my anthropological knowledge of healing and my academic skills with a new science of the soul and the power of manifestation. In this new setting I expand my knowledge on healing and my academic work in a spiritual way, based on inner research and the gathering of experiential data. And so I work at the Academy of Music, Education and Healing (in Dutch: AMEG), where people are offered ways to restore their balance, and are encouraged to explore and use their total potential of manifestation power, to the benefit of their souls. So, I expanded my academic and anthropological horizons and I continue my journey, now as a spiritual anthropologist, studying people in all aspects of life. Ibu Baru’s presence still accompanies me on my new journey. I will value her teachings forever, and now the mastership has passed to Loucas. And so I walk further on my path, with deep respect and gratitude for my old teacher and my new teacher and for the Papuan people, in the knowledge that our souls are bonded forever and that I will never have to walk alone.

appendix

Healing plants The scientific names are based on the: Preliminary list of the use of the plants of Ayawasi, ISIR botany sub-programme, by Wanda Avé (1998). Avé’s list does not include all the plants women learned during initiation; therefore some scientific names could not be identified. Plants used during the performances discussed in this study afa

ahrios

apoboh bofit

fas

Laportea decumana; Urticaceae Prickly leaves, known to women and men for its pain-relieving effects. After being blessed, the leaves are brushed over the aching body to ease pain and dispel the illness. Initiated women healers also use afa, blessed by reciting formulas, for women about to give birth, to relieve labour pains by rubbing the leaves over the woman’s stomach. Nothocnide mollissima; Urticaceae Root, blessed by reciting formulas known to top initiates of fenia meroh. The sap is given as a drink to ease the pregnant woman’s backache and to make the delivery proceed well. The smooth, soft nucleus of the root is used to rub the newborn during childbirth to facilitate delivery. Embelia; Myrsinaceae Leaves, used by initiated men to protect against the poisonous white snake. Zingiber officinale; Zingiberaceae Root, blessed by reciting formulas known to initiated men, used either as herbal medicine to treat minor illnesses or for performing sorcery (kret). The blessed root is also given by initiated men as a protective means to female novices when they complete their initiation. Alstonia macrophylla; Apocynaceae The sap of the pounded bark is drunk in cases of continuous fever. Also used by men to raise the alcohol content of palm

230

fo

ksa aa

mainsina montiaf mutet rus tah kek

tah si

Appendix

wine. Put on the fence of the food garden, the smell prevents wild pigs from entering and eating the crops. Derris; Leguminosae Poisonous root. The sap of the pounded root is drunk by women either to commit suicide (in case of extreme humiliation) or when forced to by initiated men as punishment for witchcraft. Also used when fishing, as the sap, when thrown in the river, will kill the fish. Ficus; Moraceae Stem, blessed by reciting formulas known to wuon healers, used to ‘search for answers’ to diagnose an illness. If an insect lands on the stem the moment the healer calls out a name, that person is indicated as the culprit that caused the illness. Also used as a collective term for all rituals and techniques to ‘search for answers’. (not identified) Leaves, blessed by reciting formulas known to initiated men, used during the performance of the takuo healing rite to expel the illness. Microlepia speluncae; Dennstaedtiaceae Ferny leaves. Cooked and eaten in cases of continuous fever to sweat it out. Learned during female initiation. Alphitonia; Rhamnaceae Bark, mixed with water and blessed by reciting formulas known to top initiates of wuon and fenia meroh, used to counteract the poisonous root fo. (not identified) Pointed leaves, folded as a cornet and used by wuon healers during the saus ritual, performed in cases of lingering illness. Cordyline; Agavaceae Leaves, blessed by reciting formulas taught to novices during female initiation, to strengthen the body and protect against misfortune. Also used during inauguration ceremonies of food gardens to ensure a rich harvest. Also planted in front of houses as a protective means. Dracaena angustifolia; Agavaceae Leaves, blessed by reciting formulas and used by initiated men in healing performances to expel malevolent spirits. Also used during female initiation. The blessed leaves are given to novices to protect them against attacks by malevolent spirits. Mixed with water, the leaves are used to wash

Healing plants

231

women after childbirth to get the afterbirth going and the womb to shrink. Also used by top initiates of fenia meroh to give to women to induce childbirth after miscarriage. A selection of other healing plants (not mentioned in this study) ara awiah

ara kwano awusie basijief

etuoh

foya

kawian nawe

Gymnostoma; Casuarinaceae Bark, its uses learned during fenia meroh. The moment a woman found out she was pregnant, she rubbed a piece of bark over her stomach and then put it under her sleeping mat. When the bark fell out from under the mat, childbirth would soon begin. (not identified) Known to initiated women as ‘women’s tree’. The bark has a perfumed scent and is carried for its nice smell. Uncaria cordata; Rubiaceae Stem and leaves contain drinking water, used while traversing the forest. (not identified) Leaves, known to top initiates of fenia meroh. Mixed with water, given as a drink to strengthen a woman’s body (in general) or after childbirth to regain strength. Also applied as bandage on wounds to aid the healing process. (not identified) Liana, one of five symbols women received during fenia meroh initiation. Known to female top initiates, and when blessed, used to strengthen a novice’s body and to regulate her menstrual cycle. Plectranthus scutellarioides; Labiatae Leaves, known to men and women. Sap given as a drink for anaemia (Indonesian: kurang darah; having less blood) or a cold. Known to female top initiates, and when blessed, used to regulate the menstrual cycle. Also used during inauguration ceremonies of food gardens to ensure a rich harvest and make the soil fertile. Tabernaemontana aurantiaca; Apocynaceae Bark, known to initiated women. Mixed with water, given as a drink to women in labour to get childbirth started and relieve backache. Artocarpus altilis; Moraceae Sap, known to female top initiates, and when blessed, used to

232

rii sewey sibuk

Appendix

improve their health and protect against falling ill. The fruit of the tree is also used for tea. (not identified) Sap of the stem is used to treat skin disorders. Learned during female initiation. (not identified) Sap is drunk for diarrhoea or stomach-ache. Learned during female initiation. (not identified) Leaves of the ferny plant, used by female top initiates, after blessing, as a bandage to heal deep wounds.

Glossary The glossary includes Meybrat and occasionally Meyah words, spoken in respectively West Ayfat and northern Ayfat, and Indonesian words used in this study. In using the vernacular as well as the lingua franca, I follow the villagers who, depending on the context, used terms from Meybrat, Meyah or Indonesian (Ind). Unless otherwise indicated, words in this glossary are Meybrat or Meyah. adat (Ind) custom, traditional beliefs, body of traditions, guide for social behaviour afa prickly leaves, used (after being blessed) to ease pain agama (Ind) religion ahrios root, used (after being blessed) by initiated women during childbirth am multifunctional mat woven of pandanus leaves, suitable as sleeping mat, raincoat and bag (Indonesian: koba koba) awiah taro baca (Indonesian; literally: ‘reading’) reciting sacred formulas bapak (Ind) Mister, Mr bobot (Ind) influential big-men and big-women, especially those engaged in possession and exchange of kain timur ceremonial cloths bofit ginger-like root, used by initiated men as herbal medicine or for performing sorcery desa (Ind) hamlet fas plant whose bark is used for cases of continuous fever fenia meroh (literally: ‘woman come down’) female initiation fito strength, transferred through initiation, protects against illness and misfortune

234

fo fota gereja (Ind) ibu (Ind) Ita kain jalan (Ind) kain pusaka (Ind) kain timur (Ind) kampung (Ind) kapes mapo kapes sera kapes tabam Kelompok Sabda kret ksa aa kuskus (Ind) kwir lihat air (Ind) manes kaya mawe Meybrat Meyhabehmase musuoh napas (Ind) pokonof potekief rae wuon sah saro

Glossary

poisonous root (Indonesian: akarbori) spirit of a woman who died by drinking the sap of the poisonous root fo church Madam, Mrs (literally: ‘flower in bloom’) term for a novice when leaving the secluded phase of fenia meroh initiation kain timur used for ceremonial exchange heirloom cloth, kain timur passed down within the lineage ceremonial cloth (literally: ‘eastern cloth’) settlement type of witchcraft, ‘spirit of a woman eating humans’ ancestral spirits spirit of the soil name of the local Christian healing group sorcery, a skill acquired by fully initiated men ritual ‘to search for answers’; from the name of the plant used in the ritual small marsupial wood, one of the five symbols received during fenia meroh initiation (literally: ‘looking in water’) ritual to dispel and destroy malevolent spirits healing ritual to appease ancestral spirits divination ritual to ‘search for answers’ ethnolinguistic group in West Ayfat; also the name of the language spoken ethnolinguistic group in northern Ayfat who speak the Meyah language category of spirits: persons whose death was caused by malevolent spirits life-breath also called potoam, healing ritual especially performed by women reciting secret healing formulas fully initiated male healer, usually referred to in this book as ‘wuon healer’, also capable of performing sorcery category of spirits: persons whose death was caused by a killing strength, transferred through initiation, protects

Glossary

235

against malevolent spirits healing ritual performed by wuon healers for a lingering illness (Indonesian: baca tanah; literally: ‘reading soil’) seweron underground place where the spirits of deceased persons live on; nowadays equated with Christian heaven suangi (Ind) female witch, female witchcraft tabam soil, one of the five symbols received during fenia meroh tafoh fire, one of the five symbols received during fenia meroh tah leaves, used in healing performances; also one of the five symbols received during fenia meroh tah kek leaves, the red kind tah si leaves, the green kind takuo also called posarkum, healing ritual to expel malevolent spirits after a person has trespassed on sacred ground tekifon (literally: ‘reading kain timur’) power and strength to safeguard kain timur and negotiate kain timur exchange tempat keramat (Ind) sacred place that is an entrance to seweron tempat pemali (Ind) forbidden place; sacred ground wan sacred cloth (Indonesian: kain pusaka) watum ancestral rules and knowledge wuon male initiation in the wuon cult house wuon healer rae wuon; man who received full initiation in the wuon cult house and is therefore recognized as a ritual specialist, able to heal illnesses caused by malevolent spirits saus

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Index

Abelam 47 Act of Free Choice 1 adat 4, 16, 28, 91, 106, 146, 166, 188-9, 191-3, 195-7, 199, 201, 204, 206, 208, 210, 213, 219 – and Christianity/Church 185-214, 222, 225-6 Air clan 20, 226 Allied Missionary Aircraft (AMA) 21-2, 225 ancestral – formulas 111-2, 117, 164, 169 – healing knowledge 216, 220-1 – healing rite see manes kaya – land/territory 47, 77-8, 90, 200 – language 91 – knowledge 103, 220-1, 223 – obligations 86, 219 – power 109, 116 – punishment 7, 91, 105, 141, 188 – regulations/rules 34, 72, 77-9, 82, 91, 97, 99, 107-8, 110-1, 116, 192, 203-4, 206, 213, 218 – spirits 5, 34, 71-3, 77-85, 89, 91, 93, 105, – 108-9, 111-2, 117-9, 165, 168, 200, 215, 217-20, 223 – strength 115, 227, see also fito and saro apostles Peter and Paul 159, 163, 166, 168, 182 Augustinians viii, 25, 29, 125-6, 143, 145, 169, 189, 215 awiah 23, 108, 130, 143, 210 Ayawasi see all chapters Ayfat 4-5, 9, 14, 17, 21, 23-7, 39, 48, 50, 55, 59, 67, 76, 96, 124, 177, 192, 197, 222 – East 17, 26, 131, 208 – northern 21, 28, 53, 57-8, 66, 74, 80-1, 95, 106, 131, 161

– northwest 7-8, 13, 15, 19, 45-8, 54, 62, 65, 69-70, 72-3, 76-7, 80-1, 85, 89-90, 93, 95-7, 102, 126, 138-9, 142-3, 145, 159-60, 168, 170, 174, 187, 189, 192-3, 195-6, 212-3, 215-20, 224 – southeast 48 – West viii Bali 124 Bame, Herman 66-7 Bame, Jakob 66 Bame, Paulinus viii, 58, 86, 165-6, 170, 175, 180 Bame, Posien viii Bame, Yosefien viii, 30, 66, 82, 86, 96, 98, 106, 123, 144, 224 Baru clan 79, 80-1 Baru, (Bapak) Arit 83-4, 86-8 Baru, (Ibu) Maria see all chapters Baru, (Nurse) Afra viii, 131 Baru, Agus viii, 79-80, 82, 84-88, 91 Baru, Aknes viii, 57-8, 106-7 Baru, Arit 83-4 Baru, Siyentebu 105 Baru, Weyak Arkomoh viii Bible 25, 80, 150, 152-3, 159, 166, 170-1, 175, 178, 182-3, 189-93, 195, 197, 199, 205-6, 209-10, 213, 222, see also Christian objects Bintuni 168 Bird’s Head vii, 1-2, 17, 21, 24-6, 29, 89-90, 125, 145, 174, 193, 215 bobot 47, 104, 176 bofit see healing plants (bofit) Bokek see Thoonen, Louise Bori 19-22, 59, 65-6, 186, 208, 226 breath of life, life-breath 3, 105, 148, 151, 163-4, 180

248

Index

Catholic Church 5, 25, 80, 177, 191-2, 197 Catholics 25, 71, 73, 91 Christian objects, symbols (used for healing) – Bible 25, 80, 150, 152-3, 159, 166, 170-1, 175, 178, 182-3, 189-93, 195, 197, 199, 205-6, 209-10, 213, 222 – blessed water 121, 152-5, 157, 164-5, 173, 175, 180-2, 187, 200, 220 – crucifix 8, 54, 70, 152-3, 156-7, 161, 164, 166, 168-9, 173, 176, 179-80, 182, 200-1, 205-6, 211 – Jesus statuette 107, 161, 163 – rosary 8, 53, 56, 63, 72, 156, 161, 164, 166, 168, 171, 173, 176, 179, 191, 211, 220 – Virgin Mary statuette 8, 159, 161, 164, 166, 168-9, 171, 174, 182 Christianity 4, 14, 16, 54, 65, 91, 126, 139, 142, 160, 189, 191-3, 195, 197, 206-7, 213, 221 clan 17, 19-21, 28, 49, 63, 66-7, 79-80, 82-4, 86, 88, 90, 95, 99, 103, 107-8, 111, 116, 131, 199, 208, 225-6 – illness 79 – lineages 17, 20-1 – property, territory 17, 20, 23, 80, 106, see also food gardens clan-bound (healing) rituals 7, 79-82, 89, 91, 99, 106, 114, 116, 188, 215, 219, see also manes kaya and initiation Congregatio Pretiosissimae Sanguinis (CPS, Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood) see Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood Courtens, Ien (Yin) 28, 207, 227 Derks (CPS), Sister Willemien 22, 130-1, 134 Diepen (OSA), (Bishop, Monsignor) Father van ix, 29, 125-7 divination rites 33-5, 37, 39, 41, 45-7, 64, 69, 71-2, 117-8 Dobu 47, 64 Dutch Augustinian Fathers see Dutch Fathers of the Ordo Sancti Augustuni (OSA) Dutch Fathers of the Ordo Sancti Augustuni (OSA) viii, 25, 29, 125-6, 143, 145, 169, 189, 215 Dutch New Guinea 1, 127 Fak Fak 125, 130

Fanataf clan 20 Fanataf, Ibu viii, 134, 156-7 Fanataf, Maria viii, 49, 141, 207, 226 Fatem, Father Yonathan viii, 29, 54, 59, 62, 65-6, 114, 150-1, 174-5, 189, 191-2, 195-8, 206, 208-12, 216, 226 Fathawatiah 76 Fatie clan 20 Fatie, Bibiane 59-62, 74, 208 Fatie, Monika viii Fatie, Yosepha viii, 51, 119, 130, 138, 180 Faustina, Ibu 40 Fef viii, 28, 66, 74, 80, 89, 106-7, 178, 203, 225 female initiation see initiation (female), fenia meroh fenia meroh viii, 5, 28-9, 74, 96, 106-8, 116, 131, 134, 161, 165-6, 168-9, 175, 177-9, 189, 192, 195-7, 199, 203, 213-6, 219-22, 225, see also initiation (female) fito 108-9 fo see healing plants (fo) food gardens 10, 17, 19-20, 22-3, 46-7, 49, 68, 72, 77, 80, 82, 84, 86, 90, 96, 98, 106, 116, 118-9, 124, 128-9, 133, 138, 140, 178, 189, 192, 210, see also clan property formulas – ancestral (healing) 111-2, 117, 164, 169 – Christian (healing) 152, 156-7, 164, 167, 169-70, 173, 176-80, 182-3, 187, 192, 199-201, 206 – indigenous (healing) (fenia meroh and wuon) viii, 28, 33-4, 37, 41-2, 47, 55, 68, 71, 76, 99, 102-6, 108, 110-1, 113, 116, 118, 173, 178, 183, 192, see also potekief fota 59, 61, 73-5 Franciscan Order of the Friars Minor (OFM) 24-5, 125, 215 Frank (OSA), Father Jan 29, 126, 189 Gebusi 14 gender – boundaries 160, 183, 222 – categories 46, 62, 69-70, 96, 218, 222 – and healing 12, 52, 99, 126, 160, 195-9, 216, 220-4 – and religious change 8, 9, 13-6, 46, 62, 96, 215, 219-20, see also religious change – and spirits 69-70 Germany 125 God 5, 36, 38, 58-9, 61, 65-7, 69-70, 77, 98,

Index 142-3, 159-184, 188, 191-3, 195, 197, 199, 200, 203, 209, 211-3, 217, 219-20 Hae, (Ibu) Ndam viii, 57, 151-3 Hae, Senek viii Hail Mary 61, 152, 161, 180, 182 Hapoh 76 Hara, Paskalis 118 Hay, Marcellino 85 healing formulas see formulas; see also rites healing plants see also herbal medicines and medicinal leaves, plants – afa (Laportea decumana; Urticaceae) 34, 112 – ahrios (Nothocnide mollissima; Urticaceae) 101-3, 163 – apoboh (Embelia; Myrsinaceae) 166 – bofit (Zingiber officinale; Zingiberaceae) 63-4, 66, 81, 118, 174-5, 189, 203 – fas (Alstonia macrophylla; Apocynaceae) 112-3 – fo (Derris; Leguminosae) 40, 55, 73, 104, 208 – ksa aa (Ficus; Moraceae) 33-4, 37, 47, 64, 69, 71, 117-8 – mainsina 68 – montiaf (Microlepia speluncae; Dennstaedtiaceae) 112-3 – mutet (Alphitonia; Rhamnaceae) 104-5 – rus 119 – tah kek (Cordyline; Agavaceae) 109, 202 – tah si (Dracaena angustifolia; Agavaceae) 41-2, 71, 75, 108 heaven 28, 73, 76-7, 117, 191-2 heirloom cloths see kain pusaka and kain timur herbal medicines, therapy 34, 63, 81, 91, 102-3, 108, 111, 116, 124, 129, 139-40, 181, 187, 217 Holy Mary 53, 61, 174 Holy Spirit 168 Inanwatan 90 Indonesia 1, 17, 125, 145 – eastern 47, 89 initiation (female) viii, 5, 7, 26, 28, 30, 74, 93, 95-114, 117, 131, 135, 146, 159, 161, 163, 165, 167, 177, 178-9, 189, 192, 193, 201, 203-4, 206, 220, see also fenia meroh – and (top) initiates 95, 97, 99, 103-4,

249

11, 131, 177, 203, 206, 217, 221, 223 – cult house 97, 99, 101-3, 106-10 – red powder (kohum) for decorating face 109 – rites 8, 93, 95, 96-8, 100-2, 106-11, 146, 176, 183, 196, 199, 201, 213, 218, 221, 223 – symbols awiah 23, 108, 130, 143, 210 etuoh 108 kwir 108-9, 200 tabam 108 tafoh 108 tah 180, 200 initiation (male) 7, 30, 33, 37, 62-3, 65, 81, 93, 95-7, 105, 114-8, 146, 174, 177-8, 189, 192, 196, 201, 203, 212, 218, 222, see also wuon – and (top) initiates 97, 99, 101, 116-8, 164, 177, 183, 206, 217, 221 – and rae ti 115-6 – and rae tu 115-6 – cult house 17, 33, 63, 81, 105, 114, 116, 118, 174, 188 – rites 8, 93, 95-7, 116, 118, 146, 176, 183, 193, 196, 199, 201, 213, 218, 221-3 Irian Jaya vii, ix, 1, 127 Ita 104-5 Jakarta ix, 226 Java 124 Jesus 152, 159, 161, 164, 166, 167-9, 171, 175, 192, 193, 195-7, 199, 206 Jonkergouw (OSA), Father Frans viii, 29, 118 Jorna (OFM), Father 24 kain jalan 19, 89 kain pusaka 19, 57, 61, 89, 199, 212 kain timur 19, 22, 47, 57, 60-1, 63, 72, 77-8, 83-4, 89, 104, 116, 131-2, 159, 207-8, 212 Kampung Fumano 20-1 Kampung Tolak 20-1, 151 kapes mapo 48, 58, see also spirits and witchcraft kapes sera see ancestral spirits kapes tabam 58, 77, see also spirits Kelompok Sabda 8, 13-4, 17, 21, 28, 31, 36, 38, 54, 57-8, 61, 65-70, 76-7, 80, 91, 96, 98, 151, 155-7, 159-61, 163-5, 169-71, 173-9, 181, 183, 185-9, 192, 195, 197, 199-201, 203, 205-7, 209-10, 212-3, 216,

250

Index

218-24, 226 – initiation 171-8, 199 – (top) initiates 179, 183, 206, 221 Knabu 85 Kocu, Rony viii, 156, 175 Kocu, Yos 58 kohum (red powder for initiation ceremony) 109 Kokas 21-2, 171 Konja 21-2, 76, 171 Korain, (Bapak) Jakob 154 Korain, (Ibu) Lys vii-viii, 29, 35-6, 38, 42-3, 68-9, 169, 171-3, 188, 191, 209-10, 216, 226 Kosamah clan 20 Kosamah, (Bapak) Kostan viii, 61, 65-6, 174, 177, 211, 226 Kosamah, Maria 151-2 Kosamah, Paskalis 59-62, 208 Kosamah, Steven 208-11 Kosamah, Therese viii, 147 Kosho clan 20 Kosho, Maksi 40-1, 71, 75-6, 147, 179, 181, 187, 206-13, 225 Kraan (OSA), Father van der 169 kret see sorcery ksa aa rite 33-4, 37, 47, 64, 69, 71, 117-8 Kumurkek 21 lihat air ritual 179, 182, 201 Lord’s Prayer 61, 152, 161, 180, 182 Madang 13 mae see breath of life Maindroin 79 Maksi see Kosho, Maksi male initiation see initiation (male), wuon Manam 109 manes kaya ritual 72, 73, 80-2, 89-91, 109, 188, 219 Manokwari viii, ix, 25, 57, 125, 131, 151, 168 Mariannhill, South Africa 125 Maring 85 Massim 47 mawe ritual 64, 69, see also rites and divination Me 193 medical clinic see outpatient clinic and missionary clinic medical, biomedical treatment 4, 17, 26-7, 30, 39, 57, 61, 67, 81, 91, 124, 128, 134-5, 139, 141-2, 146, 178, 183, 216-7,

219, 222-3, 226 medicinal see also healing plants and herbal medicines – leaves 5, 8, 28, 106, 164-5, 183 – plants 98, 101, 165 – roots 5, 28 – tree bark 5, 8, 28 Mekeo 64 Melanesia 1, 4, 14, 45-6, 49, 62, 72, 90-1, 96, 102, 165, 167-8 Melanesians 4, 167-8 Memisa 126-7, 129 Merpati airplane vii, 21, 185 Meyah 21, 81, 91, 161 Meybrat 17, 30, 81, 116, 191, 196-7, 206 mission 20, 22, 58, 126-7, 192 – (Dutch) Catholic 8, 24-5, 27, 55, 67, 125, 176, 208 missionaries 7, 10, 15, 19, 20-1, 54, 57-8, 69, 97, 124, 135, 140, 145, 160, 181, 183, 192-3, 195, 222 – Catholic 7, 24, 54 – Dutch 4, 189, 193 – female 69, 124-6, 131, 137-9, 145-6, 220 – male 69, 126, 145-6, 215 – Indonesian 145 missionary – clinic ix, 4, 28-9, 124, 129, 134-5, 138, 179-80, 187, 203, 215, 217, 219, 226 – outpatient clinic 8, 22, 26-7, 39, 40, 57, 121, 123-6, 128-31, 133-6, 140-2, 145-6, 173, 175, 187, 217 Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood (CPS) ix, x, 22, 26, 125, 130 – CPS Sisters 27, 29, 50, 53, 124-6, 130, 131, 134, 137-8, 141, 145-6 – Sister Agnes 125-6, 130 – Sister Damiaan 125 – Sister Lamberti see Yzendoorn, Sister Lamberti – Sister Leonie see Possen, Sister Leonie – Sister Savio 125, 129-30 – Sister Therese Mariet 129-30 missionary station 19-21, 24, 29, 49, 58, 124, 130-1, 134, 140, 151, 178, 226 Mosun 21-2, 59, 61, 76, 171 Murik 95 musuoh 73-5, see also spirits napas see breath of life Nauw, (Ibu) Ruth 38-40, 43, 155

Index nawiah 37, 71 Ndase 66 Netayn river 21, 189, 226 Netherlands 1, 27-9, 125-6, 130, 138, 187, 227 New Britain 109 New Guinea 1, 46, 96, 126, 138 New York Agreement (NYA) 1 Noords (OSA), Father Ben 29, 126 Oceania 13, 47, 118 OSA priests see Dutch Fathers of the Ordo Sancti Augustuni (OSA) Pacific (Islands) 5, 10, 12-4, 77, 89, 90-1, 134, 160, 220, 223 Pakage, Zakheus 170 Paniai 170, 193 Papua New Guinea 5, 10, 13-4, 48, 64, 79, 85, 95, 109, 131, 135, 195 Papuans 1, 145 Pfanner, Abt Franz 125 poisonous root 40, 55, 57, 59-62, 73, 104, 118, 167, 174, 208, 225, see also healing plants (fo and bofit) pokonof (potoam) rite 93, 111-4, 119, 135, 217 Possen (CPS), Sister Leonie ix, 27, 50, 126, 133, 138, 143 potekief 33, 37, 40, 102, 117, see also formulas Protestant compound 25 rae wuon see wuon healers Raja, Bapak viii, 1, 22, 24, 39, 67, 78, 105, 118, 139, 185-7 Raja, Mama see all chapters Rauto 95, 109, 195 religious – beliefs and practices 4, 14-5, 46, 183, 192-3, 213-4, 222 – change 3, 8-9. 11, 13-6, 27, 45, 62, 67, 70-1, 96, 124, 143, 197, 213, 215-6, 218-9, 222-4, see also gender – domain 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 12-3, 17, 30, 69, 146, 160, 183, 206, 216, 218, 22 – healing 8, 15, 146, 160, 213, see also formulas (Christian healing) Resolution 2504 1 rites, rituals – ancestral see manes kaya – Christian 68, 71, 92, 166, 188, see also Christian objects, formulas (Christian)

251

and Kelompok Sabda – clan-bound healing 7, 79-82, 89, 91, 99, 106, 114, 116, 188, 215, 219, see also manes kaya and initiation rites – divination 33-5, 37, 39, 41, 45-7, 64, 69, 71-2, 117-8, see also ksa aa and mawe rituals – indigenous healing see pokonof, saus and takuo rituals – initiation see initiation (female), initiation (male) and Kelompok Sabda Rombouts (OFM), Father 24, 50, 177, 192, 225 Saa, Clara viii, 112-4 Saa, Yustina viii, 112-3 sacred ground (trespassing on) 68-9, 77, 116 Saint Andrew’s cross 121 Same, (Nurse) Barsalina viii, 29, 39-40, 43, 131, 133, 135-7, 139, 145, 226 Samoa 160 saro 108-9 saus ritual 34, 120-3, 137 Schoorl, Han viii, 26-7 Sedik, (Bapak) Agus 66 Senek, Ita 107, 225 Senie 76 Sepik 47 seweron 28, 73, 76-7, 117, 191-2 Shamanism 9 Sience viii, 140 Sire 76 Sisters Franciscan of Heythuysen (OSF) 26, 124 – Sister Andreana 124 – Sister Henrietta 124 – Sister Margriet 124, 134 Solomon Islands 85 sorcerers 35, 46-7, 61-70, 81, 217-8, 222 sorcery 7, 11, 30, 35, 45-6, 48, 61-70, 74, 118, 124, 135, 141-3, 146, 174, 187-8, 203, 206, 217-9, 222 Sorong vii-ix, 1, 3, 21, 25-6, 29-30, 34, 39, 125, 133, 139, 151, 159, 185, 187, 208, 211-2, 225 South Africa 125 spirits – ancestral 5, 34, 71-3, 77-85, 89, 91, 93, 105, 108-9, 111-2, 117-9, 165, 168, 200, 215, 217-20, 223 – malevolent, evil 5, 7, 40, 68, 70, 78, 109, 117-8, 124, 137, 141, 146, 163, 175,

252

Index

177-9, 181, 183, 187-8, 200-1, 211, 213, 217-9, 222-3 – of the living 30, chapter III, 93, 146, 218, 222-3 – of the underworld 30, 45, chapter IV, 93, 135, 142, 146, 186-7, 217-9, 222-3 suangi see witchcraft Suharto, President 145 Sumatra 173

Tuyp (OSA), Father Piet 29 United Nations 1, 125

Taa, Aligonda 174 Tabamsere 24, 107, 192 takuo healing rite 67-9, 116, 118 tekifon 104, 116 Teminabuan 21 tempat keramat 28, 77-8 tempat pemali 68 Tenau clan 20, 226 Tenau complex (kompleks) 20, 22, 67 Tenau, (Bapak) Hengki 38-43, 105, 118 Tenau, (Bapak) Niko 41-2, 65-6, 119 Tenau, (Ibu) Monika 67-8, 77 Tenau, Hans viii, 78 Tenau, Kepala Desa viii Tenau, Maria 37, 40, 47, 49, 53-4, 57, 65, 67, 71, 186 Tenau, Marten see Raja, Bapak Thoonen, Louise (Bokek) vii-viii, x, 26-8, 74, 80, 82, 95-6, 98-9, 106-8, 110, 143, 155-6, 161, 177-8, 187, 207-9 Titit, (Bapak) Matius 81-8 Titit, (Bapak) Petrus 82 Titit, Mandor viii Titit, Yopi viii, 151-7, 159, 160-2, 164, 176-81, 186-7, 216, 226 top initiates see initiation Trobriands 47 Tromp (OSA), Father Ton viii, 29, 225 Turot clan 20, 79, 226 Turot complex (kompleks) 20 Turot, (Bapak) Agus 43, 53 Turot, (Bapak) Simon 33-5, 205-6 Turot, (Nurse) Clara viii, 39-41, 43, 131, 148-50, 155-6 Turot, Cecilia (given name of Mama Raja) Turot, Petrus viii, 76, 169-71, 188-9, 201, 210

Wafon, Petronella 156, 205 wan see kain pusaka watum see ancestral regulations Wefo 192 Weku, Ita viii, 203-4 West Papua vii-x, 1, 10, 14, 17, 22-4, 47, 89-90, 124-5, 127, 131, 145, 170, 193, 195, 199, 215, 225-7 witchcraft 7, 11, 30, 35, 37-63, 65, 67, 69-71, 85, 104, 113, 116, 118, 124, 135, 141-3, 146-7, 151, 187-8, 206, 217-9, 222 – and Christianity 54-7 witches 7, 35, 37, 40, 46-63, 65, 67, 69-71, 78, 151, 186, 217, 222 wuon – cult house 17, 33, 63, 81, 105, 114, 116, 118, 174, 188 – healers (rae wuon) 7, 33-4, 36-8, 40-1, 45-7, 51, 53, 55, 57-9, 61-2, 65, 67-72, 75-7, 81, 93, 104, 114, 116-9, 135, 150, 174, 176-7, 180-1, 183, 188, 192, 196, 199-201, 211, 216, 218-9, 221-2 – initiation 7, 118, 178, 212, 221, 222, see also initiation (male)

Vanuatu 168 visions (concerning Christian healing) 165-71, 173-7, 183, 199, 205-6, 209, 217, 220 visions (concerning indigenous healing) 41, 69, 111, 117-8, 217

Yali 195 Yefun see God Yin see Courtens, Ien Yumte clan 20, 226 Yumte, (Bapak) Agus 41 Yumte, (Bapak) Frans 36-7, 39, 41 Yumte, Maria viii, 119 Yumte, Mariana viii, 140 Yumte, Yustina, viii, 34, 40 Yumte, Yuul vii Yupno 5, 10, 135 Yzendoorn (CPS), Sister Lamberti ix, 27, 50, 53, 125-31, 133-5, 137-40, 143, 226