It was a cloudy day in Padang, Western Sumatra, Indonesia. Aman Lepon, a Sikerei (Shaman) from Siberut Island, prepared himself with a Javanese Batik attire while holding a cigarette in his mouth. A few moments later, he struggled to wear his shoes. "These shoes hurt my feet,” said Aman Lepon as he started to stand up. "Back in the forest, I’m simply barefoot the whole time. It’s a lot easier to walk."

 

Aman Lepon in his Batik attire

 

That day, Aman Lepon was about to attend his eldest son’s graduation ceremony. Talepon—the name of his son, which means telephone in Indonesian, just finished his Public Health study at the end of 2022. He’s the first in his family who left the island to pursue a college education. For that reason, it was truly a special day for Aman Lepon.

 

The Mentawai Islands are a chain of about seventy islands and islets approximately 150 kilometers off the western coast of Sumatra. It consists of four main islands: Siberut, Sipora, Northern Pagai, and Southern Pagai. Over these two decades, Mentawai has been receiving some spotlights from the Western tourism industry. The islands are well-known for their astounding waves, which is the sole reason why the island attracts many surfers from all over the world. The popularity exists not just because of the surfing industry alone, but also because of the indigenous people that still lived and maintained their traditional culture for centuries on Siberut island, the last fortress for the Sikerei (Shamans) to protect the Arat Sabulungan belief system.

 

Aman Lepon (Left) and his son Talepon (Right)

 

For this special occasion, Aman Lepon and some of his family members are off to venture the Indian Ocean by a high-speed ferry ride for about 5-6 hours until they arrive at Padang, the capital city of Western Sumatra. Upon arriving, he also brought some sago, the staple food of Mentawai, directly harvested from their forest.

 

Talepon has pursued his interest in formal education from an early age. Growing up in the midst of the dense rainforest, he was taught by Aman Lepon about Arat Sabulungan’s knowledge, such as medicinal plants, songs, and rituals. The first time he was exposed to modern knowledge was when a missionary priest came to his village and built a jungle school for the children of Sikerei. He was so eager to learn new things. But his turning point is when his family was humiliated by certain people through unpleasant words because his father is illiterate and didn’t have any formal education. Ever since then, he put in a lot of hard work to enter university. “I choose to pursue public health degree not just to put an end to the shame from people who used to badmouth our family name. But also because I want to create a better healthcare system in Siberut,” said Talepon. A few moments later he continued, “But living in Padang is so hard for me. Everything cost so expensive. I can’t plant or harvest like we all did back in the forest. No sago, which means I have to buy rice. I don’t like being here for too long. But I have to finish my degree.”

 

Talepon in front of his Uma (House)

 

A day after his son’s graduation ceremony, Aman Lepon sat near the front door with a cigarette in his mouth. He talked about how proud he was while watching his son on that stage. “I was so relieved. I never went to school at all. Even I can’t read or write. That’s why I want my children to have an education.” It was a rainy afternoon. He then continued, “But that doesn’t mean I like being here (the city). It’s so crowded, too much noise, ta’ maeruk patuatku kaine (not good for my mind). Back in the forest, everything is free. We plant and we take. Here, money talks. We pay for everything, even for peeing too,” he laughed. “Not to mention that the simagre (the good spirits) here in the city is almost absent. Because there are almost no trees where the spirits reside. That’s why in the forest, we can’t simply cut everything out. We need to ask for permission from the spirits first. After all, they are the ones who protect our Uma (Mentawai traditional long house). If we destroy their home (forest), we will get sick.”

 

In most cases—both Mentawaian who still reside inside the forest and those who left the island—the connection with their ancestral spirits is still strong. In Arat Sabulungan's belief, everything has a soul, be it living things or man-made objects. They called it Bajou, a radiated energy. That’s why for them, humans have to respect and treat everything right to avoid getting ill. With this way of thinking, people who are still faithful to Arat Sabulungan's belief will continue to protect their ancestors' land and their community.

 

One thing that must be highlighted in their daily lives is the strong culture of sharing. For Mentawaian who still lives in the Uma, the concept of individualism is almost foreign. Everything they do on a daily basis must be for collective purposes. So when one of their family hunts a wild boar, it’s taboo to consume it alone without feeding the other members who live inside the Uma. In a literal sense, everything you get must be distributed to every family. Bajak Solomon, a Sikerei from Buttui, once said: “You can’t eat alone here. If someone starves, then we all must starve together.” This way of living is what’s absent in the city, according to Aman Lepon.

 

Indigenous Mentawai Tribe

 

According to the report of Amnesty and the UN, the world’s 370 million indigenous peoples make up less than 5% of the total human population. They manage over 25% of the world’s land surface and support about 80% of the global biodiversity. Furthermore, 70% of indigenous people live in Asia. With this statistic, there’s no denying that they are the most reliable earth stewards when it comes to sustainability. But it is also a well-known fact that indigenous communities are currently in a vulnerable position as their lands are under the threat of deforestation, development, eviction, and climate change. Indigenous cultures can’t prevail without their ancestral land, as it’s an essential part of their identity. This explains why many indigenous people like Aman Lepon have a hard time staying connected with their roots when they visit or stay in the city. Urban culture is essentially not compatible with indigenous culture.

 

What does it mean for us who live as city dwellers? As estimated by UNEP, cities are responsible for 75% of global CO2 emissions, with transport and building being among the largest contributors. All of these emerge as we accelerate economic growth without the awareness of the impact on the environment. While indigenous people are the ones who have the most sustainable way of living, tragically they are in the most fragile position as climate change degrades their ancestral lands. “Indigenous people don’t have supermarkets like city people do. Their forests are the only things they do have. Their sources of life. Once all of that are gone, they do too”, said Michellin Salata, an indigenous youth from Toraja, as she marched at the Jakarta Climate Strike 2022 rally.

 

As our climate crisis accelerate our narrative toward extinction, perhaps we all need to pause for a moment. In a culture where capitalism is key, and where no ‘enough’ parameters are given, do we have enough time to change everything? Indigenous cultures teach us two essential things: First, we are all connected and every action we do will affect everything. Second, the most relevant, something excessive is never good. Restoring our interconnectedness with nature is not an instant process. If we want our existence as human beings still prevail, then we don't have any other option than to fix everything. If not, then as all the reports said, this could be our last century on Earth. Going back to Aman Lepon, as he was about to embark on the ship to go back to Siberut Island, he said “Moile-moile”, which means to slow down, one thing at a time. The word that we all should reflect on before we embark on a better narrative.