Just when I think the real Bali is hard to find...
A few days after we met them, Martin and Annette (the Norwegians) suggested we check out of our hotel and join them at Sania’s Bungalows, a “homestay”, here in Bali. This place is a beehive of activity – about 12 guestrooms within a large family compound. All told, I think about 20 +family members live on the property, and they pop up all over throughout the day, going about their daily business.
Here in Bali, approximately 25 family compounds make up a “community”, and you can tell exactly who belongs where by the hand-written government address card outside each one. And within each “community”, people really pull together – they say you know your neighbor’s business faster than you know your own. They’re like family.
So we really got to see the family and the community in action a few days ago, here at Sania’s bungalows when one man woke up, stepped outside, got disoriented, and fell off the balcony to his death. He may have been epileptic, but it was definitely an accident - when you see the construction here, it's no surprise.
The man was 42, and a son, husband, brother, cousin, uncle, nephew, father and grandson to the people he lived with everyday. We returned to our room a few hours after the accident, and the grieving was raw and intense. We didn’t see the body at that point, but it was clear that something terrible had happened.
Within six hours, it felt like the entire town of Ubud was assembled within the compound. They closed the street. Motorbikes were everywhere. Balinese men in black sarongs and white head scarfs lined the street in front of the Sania compound, the front entrance, and the temple area within. The widow and daughter were completely surrounded by women in the heart of the compound, wearing yellow sashes to distinguish themselves. The grandmother fell asleep on a mat next to them, not leaving their sides even to go to bed. Every time someone new arrived on motorbike or on foot, they unloaded a pot of food, which the women were efficiently serving to everyone in the open-air kitchen. It felt like a vigil, as they stayed late into the night and returned the next morning.
The Balinese spend a relative fortune on elaborate cremation ceremonies for their dead, and these take place every six months or so. When people die, they are temporarily buried, to allow proper time for planning and for the village religious leader to choose the most auspicious date for the cremation. The body is placed on a sort of gurney-platform, elaborately decorated (of course). While carrying the body to the cemetery, the pallbearers do all kinds of elaborate things to disorient the spirit and ensure that it doesn’t know how to return home.
So at Sania’s house, just two days after the accident, over two hundred people arrived to attend the ceremony at the family temple, say goodbye to the dead man, and escort the body to the the cemetery for its temporary interment. We arrived back at Sania's just as people were paying their last respects and the ceremony was happening inside.
I only took one picture of the whole thing… outside the walls of the compound, where the men gathered just before the ceremony and walk to the cemetery started. It was really beautiful, and really unbelievable.
Martin, Annette and I gave a donation of about $30 US to the widow for the cremation. Everyone was subdued, sad, and their eyes were really glassy. Nothing they said made a whole lot of sense, especially when they were trying to help us plan day trips. (We asked them not to bother.) And when I moved into my new room the day after the accident, I decided it didn't really matter if the lights worked in the bathroom. Whenever I saw someone watering the plants on top of the roof, it made me cringe. But I just kept thinking about how intense, but healthy, it must be for the family to be in such close quarters, at the scene of the accident, and life inevitably goes on.
Photos here are of the family compound from my third floor perch, the guys gathered outside, and various shots around town shopping with M&A. We bought some textiles. We ate some lunch, etc. And the shot of fish eating feet? Don't adjust the monitor - it's a beauty treatment! Annette went to "Fish", a health spa, and got a 15 minute fish-eating-the-dead-skin-on-your-feet session. It was REALLY weird. :)
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