Stories from Deli

Sumatra Courant 22-07-1874

None of the houses had windows, so there was constant darkness inside. The population consisted of Bataks; however, the men’s clothing was very similar to that of the Malays. The Malay sarong and headscarf, and the Malay language, which was spoken clearly, would make one think that they were in a Malay kampong, if not for the pigs freely roaming around, proving otherwise. Upon our arrival, the walls of a dilapidated building were immediately removed; mats were spread on the ground, and we were invited to sit on them.

After a moment, the wife, daughter, and mother of the panghoeloe (village chief) came to welcome us; they offered us sirih, which they themselves prepared with betel nut, gambir, and lime. No one else but the mentioned women were allowed to offer it. After we had received the sirih, which would have been an insult to refuse, and we discreetly handed it to one of our followers, some young men and then the young girls performed a few dances, which consisted of graceful movements of the arms and feet. The maidens would never start dancing before the young men had begun. The dance was accompanied by handclapping and a sound made with the mouth, somewhat resembling the buzzing of a bee. After the dance was over, I played some tunes on a music box, which I had specifically brought to entertain the Bataks, and everyone, especially the young girls, was very pleased with it, so much so that they crowded around to look at the instrument.

Mr. Sheppard had brought a flute, but when he played it himself, it seemed to have little appeal to them; at least, they paid little attention to it. The young girls’ clothing was very simple, consisting of a garment fastened above the chest and reaching down to the ankles, with fringed ends; they also wore a kind of sash, fastened above the chest and reaching down to the hips. In their ears, they wore a peculiar silver ornament, quite heavy and about a span long. This ornament was attached to their hair and only removed upon death. The sarongs and sashes were woven by the girls in the kampong themselves, while the ear ornaments and hairpins, which some wore and were also made of silver, were crafted by goldsmiths in the kampong. The ear ornaments were fastened by the goldsmith in such a way that they couldn’t be removed without breaking.

Married women paid little attention to their appearance and were bare to the waist; their only clothing was a garment reaching to the knees. The small children ran around naked. I saw a mother breastfeeding her child, which was certainly four years old; a moment later, I saw the child running off like a hare to play with its friends. These people generally seemed healthy and strong to me, and I was assured that illnesses rarely occurred; only smallpox had claimed many lives in recent years.

After we drank berkat or pola (as the Bataks call it), the sap of the areca palm, we intended to continue and first take another look around the kampong. When we arrived at the panghoeloe’s house, Raja Moedin told me he had heard that a woman was locked up in chains there. We went to her to investigate the reason, and she shared the following with us, which was translated from Batak to Malay: “My little son started a fire in the village chief’s house while playing with fire. My husband, fearing punishment, fled, and to make him return, they put me in chains.” The unfortunate woman was in a small hut, eight feet long and five feet wide, with her child, an infant; her left foot was pinned to a wooden block with an iron peg. She also had an iron chain around her neck, which was attached to the block by nails, and a copper lock around her neck.

The chain was long enough for her to sit but difficult for her to lie down, and as if this method of preventing her escape was not enough, a rope was tied around her neck and attached to the back of the hut. It was horrifying to see how emaciated, pale, and neglected this woman looked. She couldn’t stop crying, understanding that I was interested in her plight. I asked the panghoeloe of the village about the cause of her imprisonment, and he explained it to me as she had done and requested our decision in the matter. I then pointed out to him that it was not just to treat this woman, who was innocent, in such a way. The panghoeloe agreed but said he was ashamed to release her because he had once put her in chains and requested that we do it for him. When the woman was freed from her bonds, she tried to walk, but her legs couldn’t support her, and she fell to the ground. She had already spent six months in that condition, never cleaned; she had relieved herself in the same place. We then took her under the arms and half carried her to the panghoeloe’s house. Gratitude was visible in her eyes. We entrusted her to the care of her companions and left the house. I was told that if someone has been bound in chains like that for some time, it takes several days to restore the natural strength to their legs, for which native medicines are used.

We continued our journey after they offered me chickens and eggs, which I declined because the journey was still long, and I had difficulty carrying those items with me. We arrived in Tankahan at 4 o’clock after continuously climbing and descending along a partly wooded terrain, interspersed with gardens and ladangs. Tankahan is a small place with three houses and an open balei balei (a kind of pavilion), where we spent the night. The chief was very hospitable and offered us palm wine, as well as some chickens and eggs, and provided us with the necessary coolies for transporting our goods.

(Continued)