Kijana (24 page)

The lack of exposure to outsiders meant that the locals knew very little of Australia, or any other developed country, for that matter. Their only knowledge came from what they saw at the movies – for those who could afford to go to the movies, that is.

The sight of a white person was definitely a rarity, especially a pretty, young Danish girl dressed in clean clothes. On nearly every street corner someone would say ‘hello mister' to Maria. The rest of us were not immune. ‘Hello mister,' they'd yell – beggars, passing cars, stallkeepers, anyone. Male and female, it made no difference. We were all ‘mister'. After a while it started to play on our nerves, so we chose to spend most of our time in the privacy of
Kijana
's decks.

To relieve the boredom while we waited for Josh, Beau devised a way of making a type of homebrew. He took a 20-litre jerry can of water, added 5 kilos of sugar, 1 kilo of diced fruit and a few packets of yeast. After two weeks the jerry can's contents would ferment in the heat of the tropical sun and transform into ‘jungle juice', a fizzy, slightly off-tasting fruit wine. At least, that was the plan. Like so many home brews temptation proved too great and Beau and Maria tapped it after only a few days. By late afternoon the pair of them could be found sitting on the bow, jungle juice in hand. Beau would have his guitar in hand, playing out-of-tune Red Hot Chilli Peppers songs while Maria laughed and sang along with him.

I left the others aboard and went in to see Plan to find out the best way of getting to Toraja. They offered to make some phone calls and said I should call them the following day. On the way back to the boat I walked through a lane of stores that sold homemade birdcages and pet birds. I inspected each bird to see if any were an endangered species. Parts of Indonesia were home to the rare bird of paradise, but luckily there didn't appear to be any among that lot.

I figured that we could do with some new faces on the boat, so I paid A$15 for a small cage and two finch-type birds that seemed full of energy. Feeling happy with my purchase, I continued on until I got to the local international telephone shop where I sat the birds down in my booth and dialled Maya's number.

Unfortunately I had no further news on her joining us, despite the fact that Maria was leaving in a few weeks. I told her how frustrating it was waiting for the tapes, then how the camera had broken. She was quiet and didn't appear to be very interested.

I asked her the latest news from home. There wasn't much. She'd visited a pet shop that day and had seen a small Quaker parrot that she liked, but it cost $500. I told her about the cute finches I'd bought for $15. Again, there was little reaction. It was hard to feel close to her when she was like that.

‘Maria is leaving soon,' I said. ‘She has to meet her brother in Darwin.' We both knew the significance of this piece of news. We were both hanging onto the hope that she could join
Kijana
. I didn't know how best to say what I wanted to say next.

‘So hopefully that means we'll be together soon.' I was trying to be diplomatic. I didn't dare say, ‘you'll be allowed on soon'. She didn't respond, becoming even more withdrawn in our conversation.

‘Isn't that good?' I asked, a little too pleadingly. All I wanted was to hear her happy voice.

‘Yeah, well I can't see that will ever happen.'

‘Well, we've gotta be positive about this,' I fired back. She needed to give me more support.

‘It's easy for you to say, you're the one away from home. I don't think you understand what it's like, living my life for the past six months hoping for something that is never going to happen.'

‘Well it's not that easy out here either. I'm doing everything I can, for you . . . and me! I've got a lot happening, all right.' I was getting angry, which I knew I shouldn't be.

‘Do you actually even want to come?' I asked.

‘Yes, of course, but I'm being realistic here. I don't want to keep getting my hopes up!'

She paused to think about what she'd just said, then continued in a calmer tone. ‘I'm just being realistic. It's all I can do. I've been thinking maybe it's better if I stop it ... Like, at least that's a definite.' She wanted to end our relationship, there and then. I was millions of miles away from her holding onto two birds and she wanted to call it quits. As if that would make things easier!

The words hung in the air. I didn't know what to say. I wanted her to hang on and trust me a little bit longer. But it was her right to do what she needed to do. I only hoped she was saying this out of confusion and didn't really mean it.

‘Maybe it would save
both
of us a lot of pain,' she said. I knew her tone. I knew she was trying to hide the fact she was crying. It hurt me that she was trying to hide it and there was nothing I could say. I wanted the conversation to end. I had nowhere to go with it. I tried to wrap it up as gently as I could, saying a few meaningless things before telling her I'd speak to her soon.

‘OK,' she said and hung up.

I returned to
Kijana
with our newest crew members in hand and hooked their cage to the ceiling above the table in the main cabin. Beau asked how it had gone. For a moment I thought he was asking about my conversation with Maya, but I then realised he was talking about our Toraja plans.

‘All right,' I told him. ‘I've gotta call them back in the morning.'

He and Maria stayed on deck while I got an early night, trying to bury my burden in deep sleep.

In the morning I spent the best part of two hours writing an email to the office detailing the reasons why Maya should join Kijana. I tried to be assertive without disrespecting their predicament. I sent it off, then went ashore to call Plan. They told me a bus travelled daily to Toraja. When we got there we'd have to find our own way though. I noted down the times and the name of the terminal, then thanked them once again.

I arrived back at
Kijana
to find Beau hunched over the computer.

‘There's an email,' he said. ‘It's about Maya.'

I asked what it said, knowing he would have already read it.

‘Not much, the same old stuff.'

He knew what her coming along meant to me.

‘It's your trip isn't it?' he said casually, but oh so cutting.

‘Yeah, well, I'm working on it, OK!'

It took three more days before Josh returned. I found myself constantly scanning the jetty, waiting for him to arrive. Finally I saw his skinny figure looking out to the boat. I headed over in the dinghy and shook his hand, unable to disguise my relief that he was back.

‘Good to see ya,' I said with a huge grin.

‘You too,' he laughed back, not at all embarrassed by my enthusiasm. Maria gave him a big hug when we got back, which made me feel better. It had cost A$800 to fix the camera and had been a nightmare to organise. But now we had it and Josh back, and we could hardly wait to leave for Toraja.

The bus departed at 8 a.m. the next day. I emailed Maya, telling her where we were going and that I'd call when we got back. Beau fed the birds while Josh and Maria tied the dinghy on deck. We then hailed a passing longboat to take us ashore.

To our surprise the bus was only a minibus. Even more surprising was that we were the only ones on it. For most of the morning we travelled through flat terrain. After midday we began climbing into the foothills where we stopped at an eating place that looked out over the flats we'd just travelled. After lunch we hit the real hills, and the road became windier. The vegetation became thicker, the higher we climbed and the hairpin bends each revealed some new breathtaking view.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at Toraja. We paid for a night's accommodation at a lodge and locked the camera gear in the room. Maria was feeling ill after the winding journey and opted to remain in the room with the gear while Beau, Josh and I grabbed something to eat.

The town was set in a beautiful location. A deep gorge with a shallow river flowed along the outskirts and there were few cars. We ordered a coffee made from locally grown beans, witnessing the beans being hand-ground in front of our eyes. Despite the thick residue that refused to break down in the boiling water, the coffee was delicious.

We arrived back at the lodge after dinner to be greeted by a man, aged in his mid-thirties, who appeared to be waiting for us. Our enquiries about the funerals through Plan had somehow got back to this man, who offered his services as a tour guide. We could hardly refuse. His name was Gibson and he spoke understandable English, which was a huge bonus for us.

He told us of some burial caves he could show us. We tried to stress that we were actually more interested in filming a deceased person and the process that led to a funeral. He told us we'd like the caves. We assured him we would, then pressed him on the funerals. He knew about the funerals, he said, but wasn't sure if there was one on at the moment. He told us he would ask around. It would cost, of course. The risk was that he'd take our money and only show us the caves. Maybe someone else knew more than he did, but, as he was our only lead, we had to trust him. After agreeing on a figure of roughly A$40, we arranged to meet Gibson the following morning.

The next day Maria was feeling terrible and we feared there was something seriously wrong with her. With Gibson's help we located the town's doctor, who diagnosed a stomach virus, much like the dreaded Bali belly. She was given an injection and ordered to stay in bed. The pain would subside as the virus slowly worked its way through her system, he told her.

We had no choice but to leave without her. I told her to order any food she wanted and I'd pay for it when we returned, which would most likely be in a few days.

Gibson was the most laid-back tour guide I'd ever met, arriving without fanfare and speaking quietly as if he was telling us a secret. Nevertheless, he seemed to know where he was going. As we sat in his van, bumping along a gravel road, we asked if it would be possible to see a dead person. He nodded his head but didn't say anything.

After travelling for 20 minutes we pulled into a parking area where Gibson pointed to a set of steps leading down to what appeared to be a cave, framed by an imposing cliff face. It was obviously the first stop for any tourists visiting Toraja. We walked past stalls selling knick-knacks and hand-carved motifs and headed down the steps. As we approached the cave entrance, we came across some deep recesses carved into the cliff face. In each recess stood life-sized dolls that, Gibson told us, represented the men and women whose bodies lay in the cave, the largest burial cave in Toraja.

At the base of the cliff was an opening large enough to walk through. This was as far as Gibson was going to go, returning promptly to the car. A few locals loitering at the cave entrance offered us torches and their services as tour guides. We declined, preferring to use our filming lights and explore on our own.

Once inside, we came across a very elaborate cave system. The first thing that struck us was the number of coffins. They were everywhere. They sat on hand-carved ledges that lined the cave walls. Some of the wooden coffins had rotted away to reveal only the thickest of bones – legs, arms and skulls. Offerings were precariously balanced near the remains. Coins, cigarettes, even lolly wrappers, anything of personal value was offered.

Some coffins were bigger than others, and sported elaborate carvings. Others were plain planks of timber nailed together. There were even a couple of small coffins, only large enough to hold a child.

The cave was initially several metres wide and we were able to stand without stooping, but as we got further in the cave began to shrink. We followed what seemed to be the main passage until it narrowed to a small tunnel that looked unnaturally round, as if fashioned by hand. Gibson had mentioned this while we were in the car and, after glancing back at our sizes, reckoned we should be able to fit through. Beau went first, getting down on his hands and knees, periodically setting off the flash on his camera to light the way ahead. Josh went next with the video and I followed with the light.

The further we crawled, the smaller the tunnel became, until we had to do a commando shuffle on our elbows just to move forward.

‘Urgh, smell that!' Josh's voice echoed along the tunnel. I sniffed, trying to catch a whiff of the offending odour.

‘It must be the smell of death,' he said.

‘It sure is!' Beau confessed, ‘I just farted.'

We erupted into laughter before realising it was not a good idea to breathe too heavily.

After crawling for about 15 metres, Beau emerged into a large opening where we could again stand. It appeared to be a passageway that led both left and right. Beau turned right, where the passage continued to open up even more. There were no coffins in this area, probably because they couldn't fit through the tunnel. But what it lacked in coffins, it sure made up for in spiders. They were everywhere. On the walls, floor, ceiling, ledges – anywhere they could get a grip – and they were big suckers, some with legs spanning 20 centimetres.

By that stage we'd been in the cave for more than half an hour and had travelled a fair way underground. It was difficult to estimate how far. The way out was not going to be easy, as the paths we'd followed were not marked. There was a maze of tunnels behind us that all looked the same. Who knew which one would lead us out.

I took some solace from the fact that we had a guide waiting for us, who'd presumably miss us after a while and come looking for us. Thankfully we hadn't paid him yet, so at least we knew he would still be there. I asked Beau, as the leader of this expedition, how we would get out.

‘Simple,' he said, ‘we go back the way we came.'

It wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. ‘When do you think we should turn back?' I probed nervously.

‘You can go back if you want, I want to see if this passage comes out anywhere.'