Village of the dead
In most of the world, the death of a loved one is a traumatic event that carries with it an unavoidable sense of finality. But in the remote highlands of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, the Toraja people perceive death very differently. For the people of Tana Toraja, the line between life and death is far from clear, and whether or not you have a pulse is not a key factor. For Torajans, the moment the heart stops beating marks the beginning of the most important part of a person’s life. Funerals are so lavish that they can push families into debt for generations. So lavish, in fact, that a family can often not afford to hold the event for months or even years after a person’s death. During this period, the body is considered “to makula”, which translates loosely as ‘sick’. The deceased often remains in the home for several years, is spoken to as if he or she were still alive, and brought three meals a day, which are typically left on the ground beside the coffin. Once the funeral is eventually held - an event that can last days and see dozens of pigs and buffalo slaughtered in honour of the deceased - the body is buried in a tomb hewn out of a local cliff, only to be periodically exhumed, redressed and paraded around the village over the coming years.
In most of the world, the death of a loved one is a traumatic event that carries with it an unavoidable sense of finality. But in the remote highlands of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, the Toraja people perceive death very differently. For the people of Tana Toraja, the line between life and death is far from clear, and whether or not you have a pulse is not a key factor. For Torajans, the moment the heart stops beating marks the beginning of the most important part of a person’s life. Funerals are so lavish that they can push families into debt for generations. So lavish, in fact, that a family can often not afford to hold the event for months or even years after a person’s death. During this period, the body is considered “to makula”, which translates loosely as ‘sick’. The deceased often remains in the home for several years, is spoken to as if he or she were still alive, and brought three meals a day, which are typically left on the ground beside the coffin. Once the funeral is eventually held - an event that can last days and see dozens of pigs and buffalo slaughtered in honour of the deceased - the body is buried in a tomb hewn out of a local cliff, only to be periodically exhumed, redressed and paraded around the village over the coming years.