Unexpected Twists

Giving away books in North Sumatra sounds like an easy job but by times, selecting recipients was challenging. Very often I found myself wondering how things would pan out and I flew by the seat of my pants. A favourite example of this took place in Nainggolan, the southernmost tip of Samosir Island on 21 June. On page 523 of Legacy, there is a picture of a male twiner whom I met back in 1979-80, but I have no recollection of how I met him, his name, or whom I was with at the time. Moreover the likelihood that he was still alive was remote as he was already fairly senior thirty years ago. Nevertheless, by virtue of being depicted there, he - or his descendants – had a right to the book.

As luck would have it, it was market day in Nainggolan when we arrived. The streets were teeming with people from all of the neighbouring communities. I threw my hands in the air and rolled my eyes. “It will be a miracle if we find him,” I said to Mas Nashir. But we both believe in miracles and did not give up. We jostled our way into the market, asking how to get to the textile sellers. There turned out to be several stalls, but one caught our attention because of the fineness of the hand-plaited straw bags that the proprietor was also selling. We admired them, learning that they, too, are teetering on the edge of extinction, when Mas Nashir advised me to ask the seller if she recognized the man on the plasticized page of Legacy that I had brought with me. Bingo! Immediate jackpot! Not only did she know him and was thrilled to be reminded of him by way of the photograph, she was a family member well-connected with his children and was willing to pass on the book to them. He had indeed already passed away.

Our luck seemed like a stroke of divine intervention, but in retrospect, I wonder what our chances would have been at finding him by asking anyone else. Our stall proprietor immediately yelled across to her neighbour in the stall next to hers to come and see Parhusip’s picture. Nainggolan is the place of origin of the Parhusip marga and a goodly number of the people in the town would have been related to him.

In Balige, the home of the Pardede clan or marga, our luck was different, however. The morning of June 24 found us searching diligently for the home of Ama ni Paung Pardede. I had a vague recollection of the house where the photograph on page 146 of Legacy was hung, but I couldn’t remember where it was in the town. My cousin (in Batak kinship terms), Peiza Hutabarat, guided us to the Pardede kampungs and even in the rain, jumped out of the vehicle again and again to ask people for help. We couldn’t find anybody who knew Ama ni Paung.

Because I have an unshakeable belief that my world is unfolding as it should, when my luck appears to have totally run out, I switch gears and ask myself what lesson I should be learning from the situation. That question is always disorienting at first but usually the answer is right under my nose and I have to learn to see it. Suddenly, in Balige, I knew the answer. I ran over to Peiza while she was knocking at yet one more door (luckily the person was not at home) and I asked her to come back to the car. “I want to give the book to you,” I said. Peiza had shown such appreciation for it, had understood the goals of the Back to the Villages project and had helped me so sincerely and unstintingly in so many ways that I suddenly became aware that there was nobody in Balige who could be a better recipient. She was delighted and promised to show it to as many people as possible. She explained that she was building a lending library and she would add Legacy to it. 

Peiza is a lawyer who came back from Jakarta to assume family responsibilities back in her home town of Balige. “What if I find the owner of the picture (on p. 146 of Legacy)?” she asked. “You could give him the laminated picture,” I said, “but the book is yours.” The decision felt right. One more transfer solved in an unexpected way. Such are the twists in the road linking the past and the present. Another seed planted.

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The longest day...

The plan was to head out from Pusuk Buhit to find Ompu Borsak’s son in Pangururan and gradually make our way south to Nainggolan at the southern tip of Samosir Island (across from Balige) and then to return to Pangururan and the land bridge to the mainland and head south to arrive in Muara, a bay west of Balige.

We accomplished that. However, the route was different than expected. From Nainggolan we drove back to Tomok (taking the long route over Pangururan because the road on the shorter trek is apparently bad) and from Tomok, taking the ferry back to Parapat and heading to Muara on the trans-Sumatra highway – again because the road from Pangururan to Muara is apparently bad. In both cases, we took the longer but apparently faster way. I am deeply sorry to not have been able to have seen all the landscapes. I promised myself to take a boat in the future. How much more pleasant the journey would have been in a boat!  Just as in the old days when the great dug-out canoes transported the Batak and their market wares criss cross over the lake. (Large  market boats still sail, but they are too slow for my current purposes.)

However, the spirits of Toba were once again guiding our day. In Balige, we had to make an unexpected stop at my old haunt, the nurse’s residence, which was my pied-a-terre in 1979-80. My photographer had developed such a severe toothache that he needed medical attention. Luckily we were in Balige when he announced that he needed care and the town played the same role as it had played for me in the past, offering care and guidance. My thoughts went back to Nuria Gultom, Ibu Hutabarat, in my day the heads of the residence and the nurses’s training; to Dr. Westerhausen, the kind Germany doctor then in residence. (As the fates have willed it, she phoned me unexpectedly just before my departure to Indonesia because she had purchased a copy of Legacy. The book keeps bringing me in touch with my past.)  My mind also went back to my attack of dysentery, and other medical issues that occasionally brought me back by boat from Harian Boho to Balige. My debt to the hospital in Balige is huge – and continues to grow! In no time, Mas Nashir had visited the hospital’s dentist and had a handful of medicine. We had dinner in Balige and pushed on in the dark to make our destination.

From the turn-off to Muara, the road has been immensely improved and although it was dark, the journey was not too harrowing. Our hotel is new and comfortable. I am hopeful that Mas Nashir will be recovered enough to be able to perform today with his regular spirit and energy.

(Ah! A text message from Mas Nashir. He is up and about, fresh from a good night’s sleep, taking photographs of the sunrise downstairs! Once again, our hotel is on the edge of the great lake.)

Yesterday, our day was long and successful, but I only disposed of 4 books and I would have liked to have had occasion to give more away. More about those gifts anon.

Today, we hope to find the women in the opening photograph in Legacy, the ones with the happy faces. Yesterday, we visited the market in Nainggolan and I saw several textiles there from Muara, so I know there is still active weaving here. Hopefully, we will be able to fill our goals here, if the spirits of Toba are willing.

Pages 10, 11 - fig. Acknowledgements 2 Weavers in Muara. 1986.

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Glimpse of a good future

I met Sebastian Hutabarat in 2003 at an event to call attention to the environmental destruction occurring around Lake Toba. He was a photographer and it quickly became clear that he was artistically very talented. According to the Batak kinship system, because I am an adopted member of the Hutabarat family, he is my nephew. His father, deceased since then, was my brother. His mother showed me her beautiful collection of textiles which she had inherited from her forebears.

In Balige, on our way to the Silindung Valley, yesterday, we dropped in to see Sebastian. He and his wife were building a new house overlooking the lake.  A dream was being realized. Sebastian had designed it himself. He wanted a place of beauty in Batak style to promote Batak art. We joked about the process of the construction of his dream: from Bali to Balige. The young papaya trees that he had planted (because they are expensive to buy in Balige, so why not plant them yourself and share the seeds with everybody around?) were doing well. His garden was organic. He had a solar water-heater on the roof and had cleverly re-used some of the wood that would normally be wasted when a house is built. He wanted a place of beauty and health with low environmental impact – and he wants it to be a showcase of possibilities.

His mother was ailing a little, he told me. She was on my list of people to receive a book and he advised me to give the book as soon as possible to cheer her up. He agreed to take the photographs of the event. So we piled back into the car and drove back down the hill to the centre of Balige where Sebastian’s mother, Mutiara br. Napitupulu lives. She is a woman of tremendous beauty and grace. She received us with shining eyes and Dutch words that she remembered from her past.

I handed over the book in the name of Dirk van Uitert and Sineke de Vries. Sometimes wearing the hat of alderman, Dirk has worked for years on environmental programs and social development. It seemed to me to be a good match, as I know that Sebastian will showcase the book in his studio and exhibition space.

During the course of my travels, I have come to accept, however reluctantly, that the traditional role of indigenous cloth in Batak culture is all but dead and has no future. If there is a future, it is because the designs inspire the artistic creations of current and future Batak artists. With Sebastian Hutabarat, the inheritor of his mother’s textile tradition, the book has found a good home.

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