Life in Lamalera...

Cinema: More boy band karaoke...urgh!!!
Books: Just finished one of the better WWII books I've ever read, "The Scarlatti Inheritance" (R. Dudlum); though don't dive into that topic much.
Music: Okerville: "Black Sheep Boy"
Folders: "Lamalera", "Diving Komodo", "Sumba Sacrifice"

Personal Accomplishment: Taking a shit in a squatter while in the choppiest of seas near Kupang while holding the door shut.

Adaptation: I realized that 25 hours of constant travel is really not that drastic of a change anymore...I don't even feel the lag.

Go up to your attic and pull the oldest book from under your parents pile-o-past; blow the dust from the cover and open it to the first page where you'll find the ancient yet familar old English script telling you of a people very similar to those of Lamalera. A whaling village nestled south behind a dormant volcano, Lamalera holds something of the past that captivated every part of my being upon seeing...like a child held spellbound at the sight of something unimaginable. Like the print that tells you this story, their culture and customs are fading quickly away as modern becomes something of a devil that burns a sought soul.

According to all accurate accounts, the people of Lamalera have been whaling for over 400 years now and before you staple your green pins and "save the whale" stickers to the monitor...open up a minute. You mustn't imagine the modern Japanese boats that have depth gauges, electronic fish counters, weaponry ranging from machine guns to bomb launchers, and a thousand other gadgets that allow them to unjustly and opportunistically empty our oceans; no no no. Throw those pictures from your mind and picture 12 old men holding positions on a boat made entirely of wood; dowels and tension ropes in place of nails and nuts/bolts. Another man holding watch in front of the 12 soldiers that will move the vessel, and finally the harpooner who courageously stands with meditative posture at the vast ocean in which he will plunge himself. This is one of the most dangerous things a people could do...they certainly didn't "choose" this over anything else.

The basics: They row gently for hours and hours until finally they spot this enormous beast that reigns over the sea. Then all at once they get down and begin to pray and enter a spiritual realm, they quickly raise to their positions and the 12 men thrust the frame forward with every fiber of every tense muscle as the man between tries to position the boat with commands. All this time the harpooner grabs his bamboo pole of 6meters (20ft), makes sure the harpoon is firmly attached to the end of the bamboo and holds the pole upright as if he's about to pole vault. The boat is furiously rowing towards this sultan of the sea and at the right moment the bravest man in the ship throws his body to the fate of life and upon the back of this heavenly creature and with all his weight and strength drives the harpoon into the blubber so that the barb catches. He quickly surfaces and another man throws him a rope while the others are still rowing and he is pulled aboard. The whale will then continue to dive and surface until he tires and is forced to become an unknown part of the food chain. The boat with its brave men return to the village and proceed to butcher and divide the mammal to appropriate families.

All this of course if things go as plan, which many times they do not. The most tragic of recent circumstances had a boat out circa 1994 when a whale, after being harpooned, drug the boat around with the men for a week. The whale journeied some 80km all the way to the island of Timor (15hours by ferry) when the men had to finally give up and cut her loose for the danger that may have lied ahead. Of course this entire week they went without food, with very little water, and with many hardships on the cold sea's night and scolding sun and its reflected heat off the salty sea, among a torturous mental sting in form of a question; "Is it worth it?"...and all to end up leaving it to nature.

Unfortunately, there are very few whales this year--1 in March--and so the Lamalerans don't hunt them; instead they hunt for dolphins, manta rays, sharks, and other large marine life. When I was there...yes, I was THERE, in this amazing place...they took out the boat called "johnson" (yep...they can say they get their johnson wet every day, puttin' her in) and we sought after this second less dangerous prey.

History: 1st of May they send out a "Tena" (Traditional larger boat) without any hunters. They never use a motor to hunt whales, primarily because the motor is too expensive and not worth the risk...plus it's the way it always has been. Whales have an average of 6000kg (13500lbs)--an american anthropologist actually performed this tedious stanky task one day--and usually require a ladder to get up to the top of it. The head is split (top/bottom jaw) and divided to two ancestral families that have land rights, while the rest is split up in a very methodical way that is of this 400 year tradition. The harpooner is a special post that is only given to posterity of harpooners or one may be apprenticed. It's a bloody business and the animal lover in each one of you would hate it; yet at the other side it's much better than going to the store and getting a nice, clean, packaged piece of meat that you can take home and cook...this is raw, real, and required for the survival of this people.

It was nothing short of spectacular the way in which the people do this; truly a team effort that unless in step and of communal spirit will be failure time and time again.

So I woke for sunrise at 5:30, had my "breakfast" which consisted of 2 cups of coffee and 4 pieces of fried banana...not much for an entire day, but that's how they do it here. I went down to the beach and sat about until I would see a group of men moving a boat towards the water upon logs that had been stripped and smoothed. I was quickly motioned to get into the boat and help out; without any hesitance I tossed my camera and water into the boat and put my weight behind the motion.

We didn't even get all the way out before we spotted the first group of dolphins; there must have been 20 of them doing their thing that humans find so gripping. Turns out they didn't like what they saw (I have no idea why there were so many and we were right on them) so we quickly moved back towards the original route and found loads and loads more. Actually, the day I went out was a stupendous day for viewing this friendly creature; I must have seen over 150 dolphins arching their fins just out of the water, jumping with all the twists and turns we emulate upon a diving board, and just splashing about...about a bunch of hunters. As soon as Bernardos (44years old; 20 years a harpooner) grabbed for his bamboo I was pulling out my camera as quick as any tourist in the trade...my gut dropped when I saw that there was an error with my camera and in fact prevented me from putting it away because the lense wouldn't shut. I didn't get any pictures of the action that glorious day and it is extremely unfortunate because to see something, to have documentation of such a heroic act of man vs. nature, would've been some of the best photos I could possibly have taken...it wasn't to be. None-the-less, I wanted to experience it more than anything so I fussed about with it and got it to close and put it away. I saw Bernardos steady himself carefully, carefully...and with more anxiety than I could've handled he launched his body to the sea and the harpoon submerged...it resurfaced...no hit. We did this several times before we--sheeyut, THEY--had succes. I put to helping them with things like baling water, steadying the boat (which I was probably rocking) and things that they probably didn't even notice.

I was in between 2 old men--one with a few strands of silver, steel wool-like whiskers coming from his chin and a few more from his cheeks; the other with a distinct hat and match dangling from his chin...they lookes so wise behind those staring eyes--as I baled out water and gave their older, rustier hinges a break. Then it happened, he pierced skin and the dolphin was wounded. He did what they all do in trying to avoid its inevitable ending while the other dolphins rush to its side in hopes to help/save it. Of course, Bernardos is climbing back to the boat while the others are trying to prepare another harpoon for one of these rescuers. He manages to position himself again and another squirt of blood begins to flower the ocean. Unfortunately, the barb didn't quite stick and the dolphin worked the harpoon loose and swam off.

Then something happened, which image I will never be able to erase from my mind; this wounded dolphin suddenly leaped up out of the water some 20 meters away, dived down, and jumped again out of the water. It was then that I saw the gaping hole in his side and the blood spurting out like a fountain lying sideways...he was coming to rescue his "friend"...but he just couldn't do it. We pulled the one dolphin to the boat and waited for 20 minutes for the other to surface, which he never did...not where we were anyway.

The put the dolphin under the ropes to protect it from the sun and keep it out of the way. All this at one time, seeing some 50 dolphins around, the killing of one, the wounding of another, and the same "team" spirit that weakened these dolphins to their death, they mirrored with grace and poise.

I set out to bale water again with my mind and heart in dislodged locations when the reality of it all hit me; the water I once baled was now a thick crimson red...and loads of it in the boat. I began my self-appointed task and with each dip and toss recalled with vividness the last leaping of the wounded dolphin...a battle of wills and no one would want to call the other a loser...just part of life. I don't know if I became numb or really appreciated the life of all things a bit more; I don't know if I'll truly know until a few years later...strange as it may sound.

We did this for many hours and then rested a bit while they spoke of many things...all of which I had no idea because they were speaking the village dialect of Lamaholot. Bernardos got a shark as well but somehow the harpoon came off the rope. Unlike the dolphin, the shark didn't need to surface for air and will die with this jagged metal piece in his body at the bottom of the sea most likely.

When we returned, everyone in the village came to help with the boat. They spent the better half of an hour cutting it up and finally they gave me a bit of the tail, some innards and sent me on my way to my homestay where I'd eat that for the next 2 days.

The next day I was going to go again to get some pics, but decided to climb a volcano instead. I journeied out and the locals said I was crazy for going alone and would probably get lost...I did. However, I wasn't as upset as I might have been earlier on in my life because it was nice to just be out and about muckin' up the trail and seeing the beauty of Lembata Island. I did manage to find myself upon a very steep precipice that gave in and almost showed me how unprejudiced gravity is, but my hands found appropriate flora that saved my arse...heartbeat accelerated and mission accomplished.

I returned and found a Frenchman there--unfortunately, stereotypically French which really put me off, but I found a way to appreciate his folly and company, though more the former--and he said he would be off the next day to see the hunt. He couldn't speak any Indo, complete crap at English, so I wasn't sure how his experience would be, but I never would've guessed it would come out as it did. The poor bugger put in and was out to sea for the entire day. I returned around noon to grub down and thank the Divine for my spared life from that chasm, and he still hadn't come back. I waited till 14:00 and still nothing so I took a normal siesta after the heat, meal, and mandi and at 16:30 I woke to find him still gone. The village was beginning to get worried. I had returned at 13:00 when I went and I was hungry enough returning...I couldn't imagine being out there that long. So Mama Utis cooked up some fried bananas and a bottle of coffee to send along with the boat that would go search for them. I went down with her to put it in the boat and just examine the sitch. Of course all the people asked if my friend was in the boat because ALL WHITE PEOPLE ARE EITHER FRIENDS OR RELATED, must be a motto they learn on the streets. I looked up at the inclination of the village and found many women running down the steep streets with packages, basins, plates, etc. on their heads and each of them placed their "care package" into the boat. I was warmed by the spirit of the village...and the warmth continued as I sat among them on the soft blackish sand in front of a fire that would be their welcoming. The boat came back some 3 hours later--though I couldn't see a thing all the boys could see the boat approaching like it was dead of day...they pointed "right there mister" but it was like looking into blackness. We waited until 8pm and then I decided to go up and eat...I waited above and eventually the people just said, "we must wait until tomorrow". I imagined the pangs of hunger this frenchie must've been going thru, never mind the heat and then surprisingly 180 to the cold of night and seabreeze. They made it back around 20:30 and he told me in an accent that made me cringe all the "horror" of it; I was quite happy that he made it back and felt he was lucky to have had such good people with him. I must say that it later occurred to me that had I not been so in love with the steep terrain and draw of volcano and the heart pumping that I thrive on...that would've been my story, not his.

I did go out again and I couldn't believe the difference in sightings; we didn't see one single dolphin the entire 6 hours we were out there...not a one!!! Of course I wouldn't be able to show you all and have for myself such amazing shots, but one thing that day was incredible for me. I spotted something...I only saw it role over like any normal wave just a lot bigger. I started to raise my hand and the men looked. Then I said with more certainty..."yeah...there" and just then I saw a burst of water rise up into the air like a cloud of smoke. They ascertained my thoughts...it was a whale. It was too far away to try to catch and like I said they wouldn't have gone after it in the boat we were in anyway; turns out it was a blue whale.