Nusa Lembongan – Being a Local

Asked Mrs Argus to assist me to dress-up in my traditional Bali ceremony outfit. She referred me to Belong, a local man hanging out with us at the Argus Shipwreck Bar & Restraunt. He quickly wrapped me in the two sarongs, purple sash, and udong (head band).

The other westerners asked me where & why I had this outfit and eventually I got around to sharing how I had inventing Being a Local. Thus I experience a relatedness and ability to contribute & be contributed to no matter where I am. Robert, an Australian tarzan look alike, gave me a ride to the village temple/ dance area on his way to watch a Rugby match at the islands only sports bar.

I arrived and like the other tourists was taking pictures over the temple wall of the islanders gathering for the Kuluningan Ceremony.

“Come with me” I hear a strong confident voice say. Turning, I see a smartly dressed middle aged villager motioning for me to follow him. I think, oh of course, I’m a local. So without saying anything I follow him around the wall, over the steps, and sit down next to him in the dirt inside the temple among the couple hundred villagers. I follow his example & adjust my sitting to the cross-leg position like all the other men of the village.

He introduces himself as “Ricky”. Then answers questions to the other villagers in Balenese. I imagine their dialog like: Villagers- “why did you bring this guy in here?”, Ricky- “he has proper dress like a local so is entitled to be here”. That settled, the village men & women surrounding me smile at me and settle in to looking forward or talking. Just like that I’m accepted as a local.

A woman with a fussing infant moves from the crowd to sit on the entrance step right behind me. The cute little kid proceeds to playfully push on my back with his feet. I occationally bump the knee of the guy just behind Ricky. I try not to stare at the cute young woman with her mother just to my front left. Mostly the women are in family groups on the left and men on the right.

The music & ceremony begins and Ricky gives me flower pettles & instructions for praying. “Use flower not 1st time but on 2nd & 3rd & 4th”, says Ricky. He seems unsure about the 5th time and starts to ask another man, but the music pauses to signal its time to pray. Up go the hands together and then to the forehead and back down. Ok that’s 1st time. Now 2nd time and I see the flowers pressed between the fingertips going up and rush to put my pettles in place; “Put flower in hair”, instructs Ricky after hands come down; so I stuff my yellow pettle in back of headband like the guys ahead of me. 3rd & 4th time again with quick prayer and stuffing flowers in hair. Seems like no flower for last cycle; just as well as I’m out.
[Pictures later]

Then comes the blessing holy water. As the priests & priestesses wade thru the sitting people they are springling drops and then pouring water on people. More instructions from wise Ricky, “hold hands like this”, as he demonstrates a cupped right hand on top of left hand. “Drink 3 times then put rest on head”, he continues. He skipped the part about raised palms on knees to accept the sprinkles. Proably too opvious to explain.

The priests cames and did whole blessing of a group of 3 women in front of us and then it was our turn. The sprinkles, I had to adjust from cupped palm to accept sprinkles properly then back to my cupped position and dripple, sip, dripple, sip, dripple, sip as we were holy watered like 3 potted plants.

Then I almost did a big fopaw. Immediately following the holy watering a silver bowl with yellow rice grains was presented to us. Hands went in to get their share to stick on foreheads & necks. I instinctly reached with my hand and stopped myself just as Ricky started to say something to me. I lowered my unclean left hand and reached into the bowl with my right hand. A collective sigh arouse around me followed by the unspoken, “I told you so not to have stupid westerner in here”. Surviving this near disaster the ceremony continued until all were holy watered & rice adorned.

Then it was over. Ricky, I & the back row hurried out to make way for the crowd exiting the inner temple. Ricky explained that he brought me inside because I had proper attire. He pointed out his house nearby and suggested I get a good spot to photograph the following dances.

Then we parted. And I was back in the mists of tourists. But somehow I was now also I part of the local community. There seemed to me the villagers didn’t look at me like they did to the tourists there. I talked with some other villages and they related to me like a local.
Invent a possibility, share it, and be it. Then it becomes real in the world.