New legacy (and information) from Legacy

I have a new friend on Facebook: Hotnida Saragih. As soon as I accepted her friendship request, she wanted to chat. She knew my book, Legacy, she said, because I had visited her mother’s textile store sometime in the past and because, quite by chance, her grandmother is depicted on page 129. “She is the one wearing a green sweater and chewing betel,” Hotnida said by way of indicating which picture. I had snapped the picture when walking by because it was a rare example of a person still wearing an indigenous headdress, but I had not spoken to its wearer. Now, 29 years later, I was chatting through Facebook to her granddaughter. One cannot help getting a few goose bumps.

Our chat was interesting. Hotnida has taken over her mother’s shop in Pematang Siantar called “Ulos Gedogan Kain Simalungun”. (They used to have a ‘kiosk’ in Saribu Dolok; that is where the picture on page 129 was taken.) This immediately whet my interest. “There is quite a difference between the textile market of today and what your Mom used to know,” I threw out, curious how she would respond. She was in overwhelming agreement. “Nowadays people are interested in quantity but not quality,” she responded. “The artistry in the textiles has disappeared.”

Tapak Satur

In response to my subsequent question about whether there was a demand for textiles of high quality, she was able to answer in the affirmative and point out that she was trying to meet this market by introducing Simalungun textiles in silk. This, too, made me curious. Silk? I had brought silk from Makassar to Hutagalung in 1986 but none of the weavers had been able to use it; it just was not suited to the Batak backstrap loom. Hotnida, however, insisted that it was possible, that she truly was using the backstrap loom, and that it was real silk and not synthetic. She obtained her silk from a friend in Bandung, she said, but she did not know its origin.

She had had a few silk outfits (sarong and selendang) woven in Porsea. Again my interest was piqued. Simalungun textiles woven in Porsea (a Toba region south of Lake Toba) from silk???? “They are still traditional Simalungun textiles,” she claimed…  I could not help but begin to wonder about her definition of “traditional textiles”, especially given that there are essentially no Simalungun weavers left. It turned out she was referring to the textile patterning; her textiles are the Tapak Satur variety, a Simalungun pattern often used by brides. “Tapak Satur being woven in Porsea?” I queried. “Why not?” was the response. “The Porsea weavers are better at using fine yarn than the Silalahi weavers,” she pointed out. I made a mental note to try to look this up someday and take pictures.

Bulang

Then her story about her traditional Simalungun textiles took another interesting turn. The signature Simalungun textile, known as ‘Bulang’, she has woven in Jambi (a province in the south of Sumatra), she said. At this point, I just about fell off my chair. The story became a little more credible when she pointed out that it was Simalungun weavers, originally from Tiga Runggu (until recently the centre of Bulang production in Simalungun) in Jambi who were doing the weaving. Again, she stressed, “traditional Simalungun”.

How much more complex the geography of Batak textile production has become!

Lasma Sitanggang

After leaving the home of the last bulang weaver, it was simply a matter of turning a corner and driving up a narrow path to get to the home of the bulang weaver depicted in Legacy in cloth. The welcome that I received was extraordinarily warm. We were invited into their home where after exchanging pleasantries we talked about Nashir’s book and showed them a copy of it.
Lasma Sitanggang was one of the several young women in the room. When she came and sat down beside me, she confided that she wanted to learn to weave. I was surprised. Until then, I had only heard from young people that they did NOT want to learn to weave because it was too difficult and didn’t pay. From Lasma, I received such a clear and thoughtful answer about the importance of continuing her culture and the work of her ancestors that I asked Nashir to film it. Before the camera, her answer was just as lucid, detailed and even more extensive.

When she was finished and Nashir had put the camera down, she asked if she could tell me more. She confided that she had been selected to compete for a university scholarship, but had failed to make the final selection. She recounted bravely, but the emotions got the better of her and she broke down and sobbed bitter regretful tears on my shoulder. She was a bright, beautiful, articulate young woman with an open and engaging smile. She had lost the future that she dreamed of and felt estranged from her friends who all went off to university without her. She had no money to pay for a university education and she was doing her best to accept her fate with grace. She showed me her hands and said that she was not afraid to work hard in the fields. She would be stuck in the village, probably for the rest of her life.

I found her pain difficult to watch and decided on the spot to give her a copy of Nashir’s book because it would support her in her resolve to explore the knowledge of the ancestors. Nashir and I both expressed our belief that there are valuable forms of knowledge that are not taught at university and we pledged to bring her in touch with people who could support her on her journey to explore the Simalungun weaving tradition.

How strange and wonderful it was to have this happen around the corner from the old woman whose loom was lost amidst the broken-down motorcycles and becaks.

This morning, I shared the story by phone with Restuala Namora in Muara and Jean Howe (Threads of Life) in Bali. Both were receptive and supportive of Lasma Sitanggang. I hope that this remarkable meeting has satisfying follow-up for all concerned. Some employees of Threads of Life will be in Sumatra at the end of November. My heart and thoughts will be with Lasma. I hope that her future will be bright.