The second historic village we visited on our trip to South Nias was Orahili Fau. While it is not quite as impressive as Hilisamaetano, let alone Bawamataluo, this is still a first-rate traditional village with a large cobbled square, rows of traditional houses and numerous interesting megaliths and carvings. If this village was in mainland South-East Asia, it would probably be a major tourist attraction. However, on the remote island of Nias, it rarely sees a visitor.
The houses of Orahili Fau are arranged lengthwise along the main square
The village of Orahili Fau is located on a flat-topped hill at an elevation of around 150 metres above sea level. This means it is considerably lower than its nearby cousin of Bawamataluo. The locals clearly close it for its defensive position. It is surrounded on all sides by steep slopes and ravines and originally it had only a single gate on the western side. In addition to its defensibility, the site is also blessed with a wealth of water sources. There are seven springs or wells in the vicinity of the village and a small river called Sungai Batu Buaya (Crocodile Rock River!) is located only a kilometre away.
An ornament on one of the houses
As you might expect, this village has a fascinating history. One of the oldest villages in South Nias, it is the ‘ancestor’ village of Bawamataluo, the most famous village on the island. According to oral tradition, Bawamataluo was founded by people from Orahili Fau who broke off to form a new village on higher ground. The two villages are so closely interconnected by familial links and intermarriage that their histories cannot be untangled. According to oral tradition, Orahili Fau is actually the older village, and at some point a group of its residents broke off to found the new settlement of Bawamataluo. In 1864 the Dutch attacked the village of Orahili Fau and burnt most of its buildings to the ground. However, its citizens regrouped and rebuilt their village on the same site. This means that most of the timber buildings we see today do not predate the 1860s. (However, we may assume that many of the stone megaliths we see are of a much greater age.) One of the finest of the current timber houses is a large structure which is raised on massive wooden supports. Out front there is an unusual guardian figure which is part deer and part snake. It is colourfully painted and sports large, tusk-like fangs (see picture).
A lichen-splotched megalith with a traditional weapon motif
Yet there is more to Orahili Fau than just old houses. The village is also notable for its wide range of megaliths. There are six different types of stone megaliths in the village, include stone tables and chairs, megaliths shaped like the gendang (a percussion instrument) and an excellent example of the batu lompat, a jumping stone. In the picture at the top of this article you can see a row of stone slabs in front of the houses. Many of them have interesting motifs, ranging from the peaceful (fern fronds) to the decidedly war-like (shields, swords and spears). While the locals preserve these ancient artefacts, they aren’t exactly treated with reverence. It is common to see laundry drying on top of them.
The ‘batu lompat’ of Orahili Fau
The megalith which will be most interesting to visitors is probably the batu lompat. In the Nias language it is known as the fahombo or batu hombo. These megaliths, which are built from a numerous of irregular stones and topped with a capstone, are one of Nias’s most famous cultural artefacts. The example at Orahili Fau is one of the taller examples, reaching a height of approximately two metres. In pre-colonial times, Niassan men had to jump over this monument not only to prove their athletic prowess but also that they were ready to become a soldier and a husband. From around the age of ten, Niassan started their training to jump the batu hombo. This showed how much traditional Niassan society was imbued with a military mentality. Before the Dutch invasion, everything focused around readiness for war.
One of the most impressive natural sights in Indonesia is Lake Toba, the world’s largest crater lake. Apart from spectacular vistas, groves of pine trees and mountain mist, the area is home to the Toba Batak, one of three main groups of the Batak ethnic group. They have rich weaving traditions which may be of interest to textile enthusiasts. Alternately, you might be more interested in their vernacular architecture, which includes magnificent timber houses, various megaliths and stone tombs. One of the best places to see Batak tombs is in the village of Tomok, which has a beautiful hilltop graveyard.
Before you enter the innermost courtyard of the royal cemetery, it is worth looking at the large group of humanoid figures which is gathered in a sort of public square below the uppermost terrace. These figures, now thickly encrusted in lichen, have small bodies and large heads, somewhat like a miniature version of the statues on Easter Island. They are one of the largest and best-preserved collections of statuary anywhere in the region, though it is hard to find any specific information on these statues. At a guess, they might have been some sort of guardian figure originally.
A large group of humanoid statues alongside the royal graveyard
This graveyard commemorates King Sidabatur, who remains a revered ancestor in this part of the world. His reign is said to date to the second half of the sixteenth century. According to legend, he was the first man to set foot on the Pulau Samosir, the huge lake island which is found inside the Lake Toba. He is also claimed to have mystical powers which were embodied in his long, thick hair. A belief in the mystical powers of long hair in men is a common belief amongst the different ethnic groups of Lake Toba. It is further claimed that King Sidabatur carved his own tomb before his death. It can still be seen today. It looks rather like a Sphinx with a long, mask-like face at one end. At the time of our visit, there were betel leaves left on top of it as offerings. The king is still honored in these parts, with elements of ancestor worship co-existing with Christianity.
The tomb of King Sidabatur is still an object of veneration today
The graveyard also contains many other tombs, including that of other members of the royal family and valued members of his entourage. His loyal bodyguard is one of the people who is entombed in the complex. Another is Anteng Melila Senega, a woman who the king is said to have loved for many years, without her returning his affections. The most interesting of the tombs are generally those with a ‘sphinx-like’ appearance. There has even been conjecture that there might be a direct influence from Egypt, as the Batak traded as long ago as the 3rd century BC with ancient Egypt. Camphor from the island of Sumatra was used in mummification rituals during the New Kingdom. The Batak, a highland people, would take camphor down to the West Coast port of Barus, which was visited by Indian and Middle Eastern traders.
Stone megaliths jostle with Christian-style tombs
Whatever the origin of their design and form, the tombs are certainly arresting pieces of sculpture. They are a testimonial to an ancient megalithic culture, variants of which flowered in all the fertile highland regions of Sumatra. Though the style of each region is markedly different, megaliths can also be found in the Pasemah Highlands of South Sumatra, the Kerinci Valley from the middle part of the island, in the beautiful Minang highlands, and even on the offshore island of Nias. The Toba Batak megaliths and tombs in Tomok compare favorably with the best megalithic art from the island. They are one of the best historical offerings from North Sumatra, and should be seen by any culturally focused traveller who is visiting the Lake Toba area.
The Merasa Hotel was a couple of kilometers out of town, a far enough distance to take us back out into the countryside. On the way we got our first glimpse of Mount Dempo, a three thousand meter high volcano, its peak wrapped in mist. The air up there in the mountains was so clear that we could see the mountain clearly, though set at a considerable distance. Coming from Jakarta, a foully polluted city, this seemed quite a wonder in itself. This was not the only pleasant surprise. The rice paddies, receiving a high annual rainfall, were emerald green, the whole landscape having a cool, lush appearance. We had been drawn to the plateau by its historical remains, but from the start it was its natural beauty that impressed us.
The Merasa Hotel was another matter. The ojek drivers pulled up in the front yard of what looked much like a regular house, and we paid them a fare that, by Javanese standards, felt like robbery. But it was clear that they were happy with the money, displaying the kind of big smiles that are a rare occurrence in hassle-ridden Jakarta. We walked into the front room of the Merasa Hotel, which was a mixture of a restaurant and souvenir shop. There were a couple of young women in Muslim headscarves, presumably the help, and the manager, a middle-aged woman who addressed us in English. She said she surprised to see us; they hardly ever had foreign visitors in Besemah these days. She said that there were plenty of rooms but they were quite simple, without hot water- the price did include breakfast and free tea and coffee, however. We had expected to have to rough it up there, so this didn’t come as a surprise. At least the hotel was cheap enough- the bare rooms cost eight dollars a night. While Cameron took our backpack to the room, I registered us as guests. Looking at my passport, the woman said happily that she had family in Australia, one of her relatives having married an Australian. She said it was a blessing to have family overseas these days because the hotel didn’t bring in enough to cover her family’s bills.
“You don’t get many backpackers these days?” I asked.
“Almost none,” she confirmed, “The last one was four months ago. We used to have them before 1997, but tourism’s never recovered here since crisis monetaire (the Asian monetary crisis.”
The plunge in tourist arrivals was a common tale throughout Sumatra, but it seemed to have reached it logical extreme on the Besemah Plateau- it was only a small exaggeration to say that no one had stopped by in a decade.
I then asked her about something that had been bothering us, ever since we arrived in the highlands. Guidebooks never devoted much attention to Besemah- it was much too far off the beaten trail- but in their scant coverage of the area, they invariably called it the Pasemah Plateau. Yet since arriving there, every sign we had seen had referred to it as the Besemah Plateau. We wandered what accounted for the discrepancy. She said that Pasemah was the old colonial name, which Westerners still seemed to prefer, but it was incorrect and no locals had used it for decades. It was not the last time we were to find that information about the area was hopelessly outdated. More than even most places in Sumatra, Besemah was a world forgotten and apart.
That afternoon, free map from the hotel in hand, we set off to explore the Besemah Plateau, wanting to catch our first glimpse of the region’s megalithic past. For Besemah’s main claim to fame is its large collection of stone monuments, dating back to the Late Neolithic era, some two or even three thousand years ago. We were keen to catch a glimpse of South Sumatra before the rise of Sriwijaya, and see what light this could throw on its historic development. Knowing that the nearest relics where in a village just a couple of kilometers away, we set off on foot, thankful for the chance to go walking in a temperate climate.
After about twenty minutes, we arrived in the village of Tanjung Aru, which held much of architectural interest quite apart from its megalithic remains. Many of the buildings were handsome old wooden houses, set on stilts. Some of them had shutters on the windows. These were thrown open to admit a breeze during the heat of the day. People, mostly women, sat in some of the windows, looking down into the street. Upon seeing us, they usually called or waved, sometimes inviting relatives to come and have a look too. But unlike in the kampongs of Palembang, the attention seemed mostly benign- there was no one heckling us or shouting out taunts. It was just a quiet, out-of-the-way country village, surprised by our unlikely arrival.
In the middle of the village was a sign pointing out a couple of ancient cyst graves. Turning down an alley between two, old wooden houses, we soon came upon these prehistoric tombs. The excavated structures, originally built below ground level, were now enclosed by a barrier fence. A local youth arrived, asking if we would like him to bring the key. We said that we would appreciate it and waited for him to return. Once he had done so, we stepped down into the excavation pit, looking at the cyst graves. They were created from stone slabs, with an especially large one functioning as the roof. This created quite a large-sized cavity, but there was nothing inside but a little pooled water. Yet the significance of the place was not lost on us: here on this plateau, a millennium or so before the rise of Sriwijaya, South Sumatra’s first monument-building culture had arisen.
Cyst graves on the Pasemah (Besemah) Plateau
There was an unusually informative signboard at the site. It said that these tombs were a communal building effort and were sometimes used as a hiding spot during times of warfare. They had been excavated in 1931 by a Dutch archaeologist by the name of Van der Hoop. Subsequent research revealed that he had spent seven months living in Besemah, conducting detailed investigation of the area’s prehistoric remains. The presence of stone carvings on the plateau had been noted by the colonial administration as early as the 1850s, but they had resumed them to be of Hindu-Buddhist origin. The work of Van der Hoop had proven decisively that Besemah’s megaliths represented a separate, earlier cultural flowering. The signboard indicated that the tombs had not originally been empty. Important figures in the community, likely chieftains, were buried with necklaces, bracelets, cloths and even housewares. This reminded us of Nusa Tenggara, a comparatively ‘backward’ part of Eastern Indonesia, where as late as a century ago village chieftains went into their tombs wrapped in valuable textiles. Even today, some villages on the island of Sumba sprawl around the large, stone slab-tombs of revered chiefs. Perhaps the traditions of Sumba and ancient Besemah are distantly related scions of the same megalith-building culture, which was once widely dispersed through island South-East Asia.
There was one more sight in Tanjung Aru, our first example of a Besemah carved megalith. We asked directions from the youth who had unlocked the tomb, and he showed us the right path. It was set in the rice paddies behind the village. As we walked across to it, we could see mountain peaks in the distance and the whole area had a lush, fertile look. Though we had gone there in search of history, again and again it was the area’s natural beauty that impressed us.
Gunung Dempo, misty and majestic
I said, “Don’t you think it’s strange how beautiful this place is, and there’s not a tourist in sight. Even when I left questions on online travel forums, I only got a single response back.”
“It is very isolated,” said Cameron, “It took us seven hours coming from Palembang and who even goes to Palembang? It would take forever to get here from West Sumatra.”
“But you’d think it would get some word of mouth buzz. I mean, this would be perfect hiking country. The map at the hotel had lakes and waterfalls marked everywhere.”
“But there are no facilities,” countered Cameron, “Look at where we’re staying- in some woman’s spare bedroom, basically. That isn’t what most travelers want. And did you see a single restaurant in town?”
“It’s too far from Palembang to get weekend visitors looking for a hill resort. No one’s going to make a six hundred kilometre round trip for a couple of days away- not on Sumatran roads. If it was a bit closer, they’d get local holiday makers.”
“Just as well it isn’t,” said Cameron, “Look at Puncak.”
Puncak was Jakarta’s main hill resort, situated a couple of hours from the capital. But its proximity to Jakarta’s fifteen million inhabitants meant that the narrow mountain pass became a horrid traffic snarl every weekend. Moreover, the views were crowded out with hundreds of illegal buildings, giving the whole area a slummy look.
“Yes, you’re right,” I agreed, remembering the horrors of Puncak’s traffic.
“If this was close to Jakarta,” continued Cameron, “The roads would be decked with garbage, and every megalith would have a hundred pairs of initials carved into the side of it.”
This sobering thought brought us to the carving. There was no graffiti but the elements had eroded the face of the stone, making the image hard to discern. We had heard elsewhere that it depicted a man struggling with a great serpent. Certainly some kind of figure had been carved out, the artist following the natural contours of the rock to give a three-dimensional impression.
“It’s strange,” I observed, “How many years we’ve talked about coming to Pasemah and here we finally are!”
“Yes it is,” agreed Cameron, “And it isn’t even called Pasemah after all!”
That night, we walked into town, looking for somewhere to eat. As the largest town on a plateau that was home to some seventy thousand people, we thought that Pagar Alam had to have at least one restaurant. We spotted one shop serving trays of cold, canteen-style food, but there really was nowhere with a menu. Trying to make the best of the situation, we headed to the market, looking for outdoor food stalls. Predictably, about the only thing on offer was lamb or chicken satay, cooked over hot coals. We compared a couple of places, choosing the one whose satay wasn’t ‘extended’ with liver or chunks of fat. The food came a couple of minutes later, served with cold, lumpy, pre-cooked rice. This whole experience prompted a return to one of our favorite topics- the utter drivel spouted on the food-oriented travel shows of cable TV.
Every one of these shows featured some gregarious individual strolling about the markets of Asia, enraptured by the smells and flavors of the ‘exotic East’. Why, we like to wander, do they never turn up in a nowhere place like Pagaralam and say, ‘Great scenery, shame about all this cheap, nasty food?’ Of course, we already knew the answer. Not wanting to appear derogatory in their attitude to anywhere non-Western- it might have smacked of racism or ‘neo-colonialism’- they went about ignoring the obvious truth that food in many places in Asia is anything but wonderful. Provincial Indonesia is a particularly bad offender, offering hard, grey, days-old food in any number of questionable eateries. You can also find innumerable food stalls selling such fabulous cuisine as instant noodles or pink ‘fried rice’, flavored with almost nothing but chili sauce, right out of the bottle. However unfashionable it may be say it, the traveller to small town Indonesia will more often be disappointed than delighted by their meal and had better save their appetite for the bigger cities.
After dinner we strolled back to the main street, buying drinks at a little grocery store. We could easily and cheaply have caught ojeks back to our hotel, but decided to walk and enjoy the cool night air. In Jakarta it can be hot at three o’clock in the morning. On the way we spotted an Internet café- or warnet, as they are called in Indonesia. Having nothing else to do, we went inside but found that every booth was already taken. It may not have had any restaurants, or any real hotels, but Pagar Alam did have an online community. There is, indeed, a lively ‘Facebook Besemah’- not Pasemah- community. Such are the vagaries of the modern world.
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