Three trips to Minahasa

Three trips to Minahasa

Timothy C Brickell

Minahasa is a somewhat atypical and lesser known part of Indonesia.Located in the northern tip of the island of Sulawesi, the districtsurrounds the provincial capital of North Sulawesi, Manado. With theexception of Bunaken marine park and some other diving spots,Manado and its surrounding province is not a hugely populardestination for tourists. Furthermore, in the context of the modernIndonesian state, neither Minahasa nor North Sulawesi have beendominant regions within the archipelago. The fact that the populationis majority Christian further differentiates it from other Indonesianprovinces and demonstrates its traditionally strong ties to the Dutchand a very pro western outlook.

This sort of information, gleaned from the literature, provideslittle more than a snapshot of the complexities of the people andculture. I guess this is a way of saying that one can never be fullyprepared for all eventualities when starting a long term fieldworkproject. You just have to jump in and see how things play out. And soit was with me before to my first trip to North Sulawesi. My knowledgeof everyday life in Minahasa came primarily from anthropologicalliterature and a number of hours discussing my fieldtrip with mysupervisor, who had already made numerous trips to the region. WhileI was excited to be heading off, I felt a certain amount of apprehensionat what I was about to undertake. I was truly eager to begin my researchwhich involves documenting Tondano (or Toundano), one of anumber of endangered indigenous languages traditionally spoken inthe area. This eagerness, however, was tempered somewhat by my lackof knowledge of how exactly I would go about this on a daily basis. Atthis stage my knowledge of standard Indonesian was quite limited, andmy knowledge of the divergent in terms of both morphology and

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Copyright Timothy C. Brickell 2013

vocabulary and widely spoken creole, bahasa Manado, was nonexistent.

Arriving in Manado via Singapore, I had my first taste of itstraffic gridlock and heat and humidity. I was met at the airport by myfirst contact and friend in the region, Hendrik. After lunch and sometime in an air conditioned shopping mall, we drove by winding roadsto the higher and cooler areas around the town of Tomohon, and fromthere down again to my initial base, the village of Lolah. It was here inHendrik’s house, a mixture of the traditional Minahasan wooden styleand the more modern concrete variety, where I would stay as I beganmy task of finding native Tondano speakers to work with.

The overwhelming feeling at the beginning of that first fivemonth fieldtrip in 2011 was an awareness of my own ignorance of thenew surroundings. Day to day life with the family in Lolah was quitedifferent to anything I had experienced before. While Minahasa may beunique in some respects, certain things must be nearly universal inIndonesian villages: the chickens, dogs, cows, motorbikes,announcements from loudspeakers on churches (or mosques), theheat, and the incessant droning of insects. These environmentalfeatures, however, all began to seem normal quite quickly. As did mychange in diet, with my normal western breakfast, lunch, and dinnerreplaced by three meals a day of meat, fish, rice, and vegetables. Theseheavily spiced Minahasan meals were always taken in an outdoorkitchen where I, the guest, often had to be the first to eat. After dinnerit was common to drink saguer (palm sugar wine) and discuss numeroustopics with my host, Hendrik. The conversations were always lively andinformative and took place with a spectacular view of the activevolcano, Mt Lokon, in the distance. These are pleasant early memoriesof life in Minahasa.

While certain aspects of life in the village began to seem lessstrange, other day to day activities were still difficult. A novicefieldworker seems to me to be slightly childlike in some ways, and I wasno exception. An initial lack of language skills and cultural knowledgemeant that I was often unable to do things for myself. Added to this,the Minahasan custom of doing as much as possible for guests meantthat achieving a feeling of independence in my daily routine was very

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difficult at first. Slowly, I began to get to know people and discover theidiosyncrasies and expectations of life in the village. People also beganto get to know me, as I would be present at the wedding ceremonies,or funeral ceremonies, or various other pesta (parties) which seemed tooccur constantly and all of which involved, to varying degrees, praying,speechifying, eating, drinking, singing, and dancing.

As well as a steady increase in my language ability and culturalknowledge, procuring a motorbike greatly helped me to organise myroutine. With this, I could explore the surrounding areas at my ownpace and seek out Tondano language speakers to assist with myresearch. The alternative transport was the slow, noisy, and crampedmikrolet public buses, usually blasting out (English) profanity laden hiphop from a souped up stereo. Although riding a mikrolet was aninteresting novelty at first, and a great way to meet people, I was soonsearching for an easier way to get around. This desire was furtherheightened when I saw an older mikrolet catch fire in front of the houseI was staying in. With no fire extinguisher in the vehicle, the fire wasput out by onlookers using water taken in buckets from a nearby pondwhile the dozen or so passengers all streamed out of the single opendoor. The slightly comic nature of this scene was somewhat dampenedby the realisation of how dangerous it could have been, and I nowavoid these buses whenever possible!

My new found independence meant I was able to strike out onmy own to meet and get acquainted with Tondano speakers. Eventually,I rented a small house near the Universitas Negeri Manado (UNIMA:Manado State University), which is somewhat confusingly locatedapproximately forty kilometres from Manado near the town ofTondano. At UNIMA I would meet the first Tondano speaker I workedwith, Aby, who would take time out from work and familycommitments to help with recording and transcribing language data.His patience and tolerance in answering my constant daily questionsabout the Tondano language is very much appreciated. In addition, ourregular meals together at the various warung (food stalls) around theuniversity campus were always enjoyable. As well as language andculture, we would find time to discuss other shared interests such asfootball and music. The friendship of people like Hendrik and Aby was

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a great help during that first fieldtrip. These were the two people Irelied on most with regards to work, and with regards to help with anyproblems which arose.

I would regularly return to the village of Lolah on weekends,to visit and stay again with Hendrik’s family. Riding the motorbike fromTondano to Lolah was always one of my simple pleasures, especiallywhen the weather was good. From Tondano I would ride to the townof Tomohon which nestles directly under Mt Lokon, and from therethe road led through villages; firstly, through Wolowan, with itstraditional wooden Minahasan houses, then up a steep and windingroad before coming down to the rice fields near Tara tara. The roadthen descends before rising again as it comes to Ranotongkor, andfrom there it finally reaches Lolah. These enjoyable motorbike ridesgave me a great sense of freedom, but they also required my fullattention. Roads in Minahasa also function as footpaths, living roomsand playgrounds, and are in constant use by various kinds (and sizes)of animals, from cows lumbering along to stray dogs having a nap. Inaddition, roads are often closed with minimal warning due to thevarious ceremony or pesta spilling out of houses. I acquired a thoroughknowledge of the numerous side streets around some of these villages.Often this lead to striking up conversations with strangers while askingfor directions, with people usually quite fascinated by the appearanceof a funny looking bule (white guy) on a motorbike.

Despite the achievement of a routine for both research workand socialising, that first fieldtrip was still frustrating and slightlybewildering at times. It sometimes seemed to me that the fundamentaldifferences between me and everyone else posed too great a barrier.For instance, the way in which Minahasan people defined themselveson a daily basis seemed to be by their religious denomination, familyname, marriage and village location. This was very different to how Inormally defined myself, and I felt more of an outsider when I tried totalk about myself, or explain exactly why I was there. In addition, mystatus as unmarried and childless at 35 years old was a thing of greatcuriosity and abnormality to most people, and was something thatcould be discussed at length in almost any situation. While I noted thatnone of these discussions were ever meant as offensive, having things

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like my personal life and physical appearance as the main topics ofconversation at large social gatherings took some getting used to.Moreover, the common practice of having everything I did in thevillage as common knowledge sometimes left me craving the one thingI couldn’t have, anonymity.

I also had to get used to being flexible in my daily plans andarrangements. The ability to adapt to changing situations was aprerequisite for life in Minahasa, and to begin with I struggled with thefact that my best laid plans would often go astray. One particularmorning my plan was simply to travel to the Sekolah Menengah Atas(SMA: senior high school) in the middle of Tondano to pick up adictionary from the library. I had been advised that this book was keptthere by one of the teachers I had met earlier, Imelda. While myintention was to simply pick up this book, say hello, and then leave, thiswas not how the situation played out. Instead, within twenty minutesof my arrival I found myself in a nearby house having tea with fivefemale school teachers, all of who were discussing me at great lengthsand berating me for my unmarried status. It was through experienceslike this that I began to learn the importance of being flexible when itcame to making arrangements, as they would often change withoutwarning. I also learnt the importance of stressing that while I wasofficially unmarried, I was also unavailable (due to my long termpartner). In fact, possibly the first phrase I ever learnt in the in theTondano language was ‘Niaku wewèanou tu’awènè’ (I already have agirlfriend)!

As well as the more obvious cultural and linguisticmiscommunications in that first fieldtrip, there were those which weremore unexpected, yet still very memorable. One such incident relatedto something as innocuous as the name I wanted to be known by. Afterfinally convincing people that formal labels such as Pak (from bapak‘father, sir’), Professor, Meneer (from Dutch mijnheer ‘mister, sir) orTimotius (Biblical: Timothy) were unnecessary and unsuitable, thedefault moniker of bule also did not sit well with me, as occasionally itfelt slightly too close to a racial slur, albeit unintentional. I then madethe decision that my unabbreviated first name was easiest, although theonly person to call me ‘Timothy’ at that time was (and still is) my



mother. Differences in phonology between English and the languagesI was now using meant that ‘Timothy’ was changed slightly to ‘Timoti’.I was quite pleased to have settled on a suitable name for myself, and Ibegan to use it to introduce myself at social gatherings and insist mynew friends and family use it also.

While not noticing at first any specific reaction whenintroducing myself, I increasingly began to suspect that people werefinding this name amusing in some way, but because people were oftensmiling I did not really think anything was amiss. The slightly clichédslogan of ‘land of the smiling people’ used to describe Minahasaactually holds up very well. Minahasans smile when they are happy,embarrassed, uncertain, sad, and in many other situations which peoplein the west may think somewhat strange or inappropriate. Despite this,the feeling that people found something amusing about my namepersisted, and it was only after much cajoling of my friend Hendrik thatI discovered why this was. The name ‘Timoti’ is almost identical to theTondano word timonti, literally ‘be penised’, from the root word tonti(penis). Upon asking why this hadn’t been pointed out to me earlier,Hendrik’s unusually direct reply was ‘You never asked me, and besidesI didn’t want to insult you.’ This response taught me two importantlessons; firstly, that it might be occasionally necessary to ask veryobvious questions, and secondly, that Minahasans will go to greatlengths to avoid causing direct offence, even if this results in someindirect embarrassment. I then decided to use my first choice of name,‘Tim’, from this point on. (I had previously deemed ‘Tim’ unsuitable asit was used as an English loanword meaning ‘team’).

Discovering various unexpected social and cultural pitfalls waspart and parcel of my first fieldtrip. While stumbling through theseinitial obstacles wasn’t always a hugely productive way to conductresearch, I now feel it was a necessary process. Only after I hadobtained all this information, could I truly understand the manyidiosyncrasies of the society I was trying to be a part of. This madesubsequent fieldtrips much less stressful and more productive. Thisgreater productivity in the field means that the fieldworker is morerelaxed and perhaps this, in turn, makes him or her appear moreamicable to the people he or she is trying to work with. At least this

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was the way it worked for me. With the knowledge of how to be myselfat the same time as fitting in to a very different way of daily life, I wasmuch better equipped to work effectively and to feel that I could enjoymy non work time also.

On my second and third fieldtrips in 2012 and 2013, Ibenefitted greatly from my previous experiences in 2011. Through thepeople I met originally (and from contacts in the small Minahasancommunity in my hometown of Melbourne), I was able to expand mynetwork of native Tondano speakers to work with and also to findmore suitable accommodation closer to them. My later fieldtrips werespent living with the Nangin family in the neighbourhood of Rinegetanin Tondano town. Their comfortable house was only a couple ofhundred metres from a knowledgeable, well known, and very smoothtalking Tondano speaker I would get to know well, Kalo. Kalointroduced me to his older friend Leo, and together they helped me tolearn many things about Minahasan culture, both as it was in the earlierpre Christian times and as it is now.

It was in Rinegetan where my research was most productiveand where I was able really to get to know people on a personal basis.Since socialising in Minahasa is often done in extremely large groups, itis often difficult to spend time having an in depth discussion with justone or two individuals. The time I spent with Kalo and Leo on a dailybasis was related to my work, but our discussions would often digressinto everything from music and movies to marriage and relationships.I came to know both of them as more than work colleagues and theycould satisfy some of their curiosity about westerners in general and,more specifically, about life in Australia.

I also met other neighbourhood people on a regular basis, asthere would often be socialising at the house in Rinegetan. The owners,Pak Roy and Ibu Ros, regularly invited friends for food and drink, orpeople would simply invite themselves around! Food was cooked in thegarden, where a fire would be lit using the tempurung (coconut shells),giving the ragey (pork kebabs), mujair bakar (grilled tilapia fish) and milubakar (grilled corn) a delicious smoky flavour. These simple but tastydishes were supplemented with stir fried kangkung (leafy greenvegetable), stir fried ricarodo (a mixture of corn, beans, aubergine and



chilli), the ubiquitous nasi putih (white rice), and dabu dabu (fresh chilli,shallots, and oil). There would always be huge amounts of food anddrink, although almost none would be leftover. To say that Minahasanpeople enjoying eating would be an understatement. This fact appearsto be known amongst Minahasans, who say about themselves that‘Samua bakaki ampa kacuali meja torang makang’ (We eat everything onfour legs except the table)! My own experience confirms the proverb,as I have now tried r.w. (rintek wu’uk: small hair dog), tikus (bush rat),paniki (bat), kodok (frog), ular (snake), watè (sago grubs) and yaki(monkey).

While endeavouring to eat my share (often under strictinstructions from the Minahasan women), I never quite managed toobtain a perut Minahasa ‘Minhasan stomach’, that is, the ability to eathuge amounts like my hosts. I never ceased to wonder at their need fora minimum of three hot meals a day of meat, fish, rice and vegetables,and they in turn were amazed at my ability to survive without eating inthis way. Despite this, my guilty fieldwork secret is that, rather thanbecoming gaunt as a result of time spent in a developing country, Iactually gained some kilograms. Whatever the case in other parts ofIndonesia, I know that I am not the only fieldworker to have had thisexperience in Minahasa!

The time I spent as part of the households in Rinegetan andin Lolah gave me an experience of family life that I hadn’t had before,namely, being part of a large family unit. Both my nuclear and extendedfamily are very small, and life growing up rarely involved large familygatherings. In truth, this new experience took some getting used to onmy part. It had been a long time since I was told to do things like ‘Wearyour shoes or your feet will get cold!’, ‘Eat more!’, ‘Be careful riding themotorbike’ and ‘You must get married before you are too old’. Ibu Rosand her pembantu (housekeeper) Ibu Enda would tell me such things ona regular basis, whether I wanted to hear them or not. Although I neverquite managed to get used to this slightly over protective nurturing, Igrew to appreciate it the more time I spent there. I now realise that itcomes from a strong desire to take care of guests and also perhapsfrom the overall Minahasan culture of mapalus (working together),where everyone looks after one another.

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The sense of security and belonging that my Minahasanfamilies afforded to me, an almost total stranger, is something that Iwill never forget. The welcoming and accepting attitude I alwaysreceived from people in Minahasa is one reason I hope to continuegoing back there in the future. Before I spent time in Minahasa, I hadan academic interest in the indigenous languages of the area; now thisinterest has been heightened by knowing so much more about thepeople who use the languages.

Timothy Brickell is currently a PhD candidate at the Centre for Research onLanguage Diversity, La Trobe University, Melbourne, Australia. He hopes tosubmit his PhD thesis by the end of 2014 and return to Minahasa in 2015. Hisemail addresses are: [email protected] and [email protected]



Three trips to Minahasa

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