Dazed and confused

A retro post.

(Except for this fact: A couple of hours ago, I drank water from the Zamzam Well, which is located in the Masjid al-Haram in Mecca, Saudia Arabia.  Countless Indonesians go on Hajj, and one of my co-workers just happened to have returned.  We went to her house to welcome her back.  She had brought Air Zamzam (water Zamzam) back as oleh-oleh (souvenir), and served it to us in little shot glasses.  Apparently, this well sprang up when Ishmael cried out for water from thirst while going through the desert.  The well has been going strong since that time; thus, Muslims believe it is a modern day miracle.

I'm sure he said, "Alhamdulillah," Thanks be to God, which sort of coincides nicely with Thanksgiving.  I say "Thanks be to God" on a daily basis, several times a day, for my friends and family back home, whose prayers, good vibes, care packages, emails, good thoughts and love overwhelm and sustain me.  Serious Alhamdulillah for my fellow PCVs.  Alhamdulillah for my kick-ass counterparts, supportive principal, and accepting co-workers.  Alhamdulillah for my host family, who give me space and privacy.  Thanks be to God for His goodness and bounty, and His strength and mercy to live the richness and challenges of serving in this place.)

This happened one night during Pre-Service Training in April 2012.  There was a traditional performance happening in my village called Kuda Lumping (woven horse).  I didn't know anything about it, except that it's Javanese.

Up I went, to the pendopo at the top of the hill where we usually had language classes during the day, accompanied by my high school-aged host sister.  We found this set up:

I wasn't sure whether I had just missed the performance, or it was about to start.  Everyone sort of milled around listlessly for a while longer.  (Side note: This is one of the more common activities here, listless milling.)  It became clear that I hadn't missed anything when I saw these folks appear and take their places:

The music started, the riders mounted their kudas, got into formation, and started dancing and twirling around.  Cool, I thought, how ethnic.

And then strange things began to occur.  Suddenly, a rider hit the ground HARD, with a loud splat.  I was scared he'd just passed out or had a stroke or something.  But there was no reaction from the crowd, and the other riders kept doing their thing.  Eventually, the rider got up and started dancing again.  This happened at irregular intervals, riders smacking on the ground.  In the meantime, the riders kept dancing and twirling, increasingly wild and frenzied.  

I inadvertently locked eyes with a few of these men, and they looked back with what can only be described as The Ol' Crazy Eye.  I started to get this weird feeling in my stomach, laced with a faint hint of anxiety.  I kept thinking, "What is happening right now, what the heck is going ON?  Can somebody PLEASE tell me what is happening and WHY?  What IS this???"  I cannot emphasize the depth of my utter bewilderment.  It really had been a long time since I was so thoroughly confused, unable to make heads or tails of what I was seeing, and frankly, it was sort of exhilarating.

And then, this O.G. in a sarung and kopiya slowly descended the stairs among the frenzy.  Carrying a whip.    

He calmly moved around the dancing and bucking riders and, every once and again, I saw him feed some of the riders something from his hand.  I couldn't make out what it was, but it looked like hay.  I didn't see him use the whip, but I didn't want to stay longer to find out.  I couldn't articulate what the vibe was like, except for that the atmosphere got increasingly tense and intense.  I decided I had seen enough, so we left.

On the way back, I tried to ask my host sister to explain what that was, but my Indonesian was still rudimentary (about two weeks in-country at that point) and her English nil, so that didn't lead to any satisfying answers.  I gained no insight until language class the next day, where my teacher elucidated the following: Kuda Lumping is a spiritual event held on or near the full moon, where men will go into a trance and channel the spirit of horses.  The O.G. with the peci is the horse master, in other words, a shaman.

Oh.  Right.  Duh.

I still had many questions after that, such as: Why horses in particular?  Who are these men, like, are they known spiritual or religious figures in the community?  Does one audition?  What qualifies one to be a Kuda Lumping rider?  Not all questions were answered, but he did say that he himself participated as a rider  when he was younger.

That piqued my curiosity, because he is Catholic.  But according to him, many people who check the box next to "Muslim" or "Christian" or any of the six officially recognized religions* on their government identification card still adhere to and incorporate local beliefs into their religious practice.  So, one can still go to mosque for Magreb prayer and then be a Kuda Lumping rider in the evening, that's all perfectly square for some.

As confused as I was during it, it was a fascinating experience and thing to behold.  It was the first time since arrival where I felt like I had pierced the surface of official facts and truths about Indonesian culture, and had my own, very personal and intimate encounter.  And it felt as though it was just the beginning of exploring the depths and complexity of culture here.

*(Indonesia officially recognizes only six religions: Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism and Confuscianism.  Everyone pretty much has to check a box.  Atheism isn't recognized, and frequently feared and thought of as synonymous with Communism.)